We Could Not Count All the Miscarriages

• My parents did not give *me* a dumpster fire with plague for *my* twenty-seventh birthday (see yesterday's post)
• I'm sideways, and the kayfabe breakage hasn't *even* started yet (though I guarantee our sociopath shitlords' greatest hired brains are focused more on reestablishing kayfabe after its breakage ends than mitigating the damage the breakage causes)
• (here's one idea put into an asshole's mouth)(also too)(also too)
• Another new flag

• I'm sideways, I know I always hector and hector more and more loudly and meaner when sideways, it's how I slough off bwrtz and I'm sideways now with bwrtz, the least I can try to do, mostly for me but also for you, is not lecture the hector, so I spare both you and me another recitation of Jeff's History of Apostasies even in this time of fine monstrous metaphors abounding in the great kayfabe breakage of 2020
• UPDATE! Funeral rites
• UPDATE! Disappearing Biden
• And yet, today in my county
• Precautionary tales
• The plague is US
• Age of Surveillance Capitalism, he types into his free google blogging platform
• Maggie's weekly links
• { feuilleton }'s weekly links
• A History of Solitude. A Biography of Loneliness
• Animal Collective's Merriwether Post released ten years ago, I listened the fuck out of this album when released but then it just disappeared from head I was disconcerted to discover when I heard a cut a few weeks ago
• I thought to post a song from it but after listening to several last night, no

THE COMING OF THE PLAGUE

Weldon Kees

September was when it began.
Locusts dying in the fields; our dogs
Silent, moving like shadows on the wall;
And strange worms crawling; flies of a kind
We had never seen before; huge vineyard moths;
Badgers and snakes, abandoning
Their holes in the fields; the fruit gone rotten;
Queer fungi sprouting; the woods
Covered with spiderwebs; black vapors
Rising from the earth - all these
And more, began that fall. Ravens flew around
The hospital in pairs. Where there was water,
We could hear the sound of beating clothes
All through the night. We could not count 
All the miscarriages, the quarrels, the jealousies.
And one day in a field I saw
A swarm of frogs, swollen and hideous,
Hundreds upon hundreds, sitting on each other,
Huddled together, silent, ominous,
And heard the sound of rushing wind.