Thursday, March 5, 2020

His Muteness an Onomatopoeia of the Rising Moon.

  • Had a delightful conversation yesterday with my Warrenite-Apostating Friend, here's the abridged:
  • Yup achieved, we hate the same people plus or minus within acceptable mileage variances
  • Earthgirl and me, two fossil-fuel burning green-pretending hypocrites, fly to Michigan tomorrow morning, I'm curious what who where and if the political signage (Michigan primary this coming Tuesday)
  • There will be no morning updates from the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan because I am a true Democrat in a Democracy of 3, I'm out-voted 2-1 most referendums, happily mostly, honoring always
  • Warrenite-Apostating Friend calls Warren the Inflatable Noodle Woman
  • I already miss the morning updates this coming Saturday and Sunday from the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan that won't


Forrest Gander

The bioluminescent undersides of squid render them invisible to predators
below. That the radiance of the boy’s anger might protect him.

Walking the dog and stepping on a patch of repaired road, I remember the
soft spot in his head.

You’re deaf as a beagle. No, you are.
Can I feel the tide’s drag on the turning earth increase each day’s duration?
A hair in my nostril has gone white.
In absolute night, from my bed, I hear him aiming for the toilet’s center.
The sound deepens, voice finding its register.

Scientists call it an entangled system.
We survive Christmas, his face pressed to the smooshed bosom of his
grandmother in a house so immaculate, the spider in the seam of the
ceiling stands out obscenely.

Like a star at the outskirts of the galaxy, and slung around by the gravity of
dark matter. For now, he goes where we go, but he does not belong to us.

I begin to begin my sentences leaning toward him, taking a deep breath.
He relinquishes the conversation with a contraction of his pupils.
What is for one of us the throb of the immediate is, for the other, the
imminent mundane.

When napalm hits my brain, he takes on the tranquillity of a blinking

She finds a photograph of him at seven. The sheer expressed of his face. As
among Michelangelo’s early drawings, there is a copy of Masacchio’s lost
Sagra, the consecration.

We search our memories of him for a certain unity of characteristics that
would hold through the permutations he now submits to us.

When it clings to the wire-and-rug surrogate, lab technicians shock it
again. Instead of releasing, it clings tighter.

Throwing himself into the back seat after wrestling practice, mat burns on
his cheek and forehead.

His muteness an onomatopoeia of the rising moon.


  1. 0)enjoy your time in michigan - although i regret you will not be sending morning updates, their absence will give me more time to receive info from cnn and msnbc - who knows if it's good or bad?

    1)i just recognized this morning a tv commercial as COVID-19 inspired, although this is the third or fourth time i've seen it - the couple enjoys drinking their home-brewed dunkin' donuts brand coffee on their living room couch as the slavering zombie horde presses against their suburban picture window

    2)and speaking of the zombie hordes of the american voting public, or - to switch metaphors - the sheeple the MICFiC subsist upon, in my view you have not given bromwich's comments on super tuesday sufficient attention, and consequently have done them an injustice -

    2a)although these remarks are published at lrb, the author is a professor at yale

    2b)there is explicit mention of biden's cognitive decline

    On the other hand, [Biden's] verbal gaffes (announcing himself a candidate for the Senate rather than the presidency; saying ‘I was a Democratic caucus’) and his fabricated or false memories (a non-existent arrest in South Africa for demonstrating against the imprisonment of Nelson Mandela) have exposed a cognitive fragility that some people fear could make him ridiculous by November.

    2c)after an analysis of several ways the MFPD have shaped the narrative of the quest for the democratic nomination thus far, bromwich concludes

    It will be hard to deny the plausibility of the charge likely to issue soon from the Sanders campaign, namely that ‘the fix is in’; and that, once more, the people are being denied their proper voice – at first through an organised propaganda campaign that was fed into debates as well as news coverage, and at last through public co-ordination by the party establishment to guide Democrats into the one acceptable box.

    3)in other news, missus charley's week-long trip to tanzania, which was to start tomorrow, has been cancelled - possibly telepresencing will allow her to virtually participate in the event - if so, her workday will begin at 2 am here - compared with an ordinary work week, that's an inconvenience - compared to traveling there and back again, it's a blessed relief [at least from my spousal perspective] - robert louis stevenson's 'happy thought' comes to mind

    4)and speaking of a world 'full of a number of things' - shelley's poem written in response to the peterloo massacre only came to my attention yesterday - as will rogers said 'everyone is ignorant, only on different subjects'

  2. I was just thinking (ha-ha, I know you laugh) that now that the election is pretty much over, I won't have to think about it any longer. The drought is back in central California. It has rained maybe three times this winter. And none of those occasions produced much rain. One of these days PG and E is going to burn the whole state to the ground. Because with all of this dryness it's going to be a bad year for wild fires. Ah, it was fun for a while. Watching the bobble-heads on the news melting down over the dire threat of Sanders. Putin puppet, Putin puppet! In a saner world Ralph Nader would be president. Yes, I know, he killed the corvair, but I forgive him! But as we know, anyone with even the hint of a modicum of integrity would never be allowed to run for that high office populated by the biggest assholes in the universe.