Wednesday, April 15, 2020

A Monk Sealed into a Coffin

  • I don't have access to the high tech scanner at work and I am not driving to MicroCenter to buy a copier/scanner to replace the copier (no scanner) at home I never used and is now broken, so phone camera it is
  • Not having a working printer while working from a coach is not ideal, big-bed good scanner or not
  • My laptop's camera is at the bottom of the screen, I didn't notice until I had to fucking zoom from home because of plague, people see up my nose, +1
  • Self-portrait, yesterday, via phone camera, better here

  • Last time, I promise, left click, hover
  • Completely expected news: Obama, ordered, ordered Pete Klobuchar wetwork before Super Tuesday 
  • (he certainly was ordered to threaten Warren with wetwork, worked) 
  • today he endorsed Biden in a presentation that had Democrats weeping, that Saint Barack
  • No one will remember it Friday, Thursday, today
  • this plague, time's accelerating faster than our shitlords want, can't control
  • slower than our shitlords want, rent's due
  • Half April, all of May June July August September October, and four of those months have thirty-one days, tap your knuckles
  • I am telling you three times we are being reprogrammed, I typed decades of bullets but not fart for eras, fine metaphors abound




Tom Raworth

a line of faces borders the strangler’s work
heavy european women
mist blows over dusty tropical plants
lit from beneath the leaves by a spotlight
mist in my mind a riffled deck
of cards or eccentrics
was i
a waterton animal my head
is not my own
poetry is neither swan nor owl
but worker, miner
digging each generation deeper
through the shit of its eaters
to the root – then up to the giant tomato
someone else’s song is always behind us
as we wake from a dream trying to remember
step onto a thumbtack
two worlds – we write the skin
the surface tension that holds
what we write is ever the past
curtain pulled back
a portrait behind it
is a room suddenly lit
looking out through the eyes
at a t.v. programme
of a monk sealed into a coffin
we close their eyes and ours
and still here the tune
moves on


  1. that's a good looking phone photo of an interesting art work

    the third stanza of raworth's poem [and let me say now that i read with interest and a certain degree of hope julio vincent gambuto's essay prepare for the ultimate gaslighting that you linked to] reminded me of peter gabriel's song digging in the dirt - a song not yet written the only time i saw gabriel live and in person - i very much enjoyed the videotaped and in person version of that song in the tour featuring paula cole - ms cole is still active in music today, by the way, and like an old guy persisting in habitual 20th century ways of doing things it has crossed my mind to buy a piece of plastic with her recent music on it

    i thought of looking up and copying here obama's words of praise for bernie but then i thought why bother

    returning again to the topic of digging deeper, the state of maryland's coronavirus website gives cases not only by county [montgomery - 1,933 cases, 44 deaths, 14 additional deaths probably due to the coronavirus] but even by zipcode - my own zipcode 50 cases, our gracious host's zipcode 33 cases]

    my most recent nightmare - i became separated from missus charley on a journey and i had forgotten how to operate my smart phone to call her - ominous metaphors abound

    1. My collected Raworth is in my work office, I fucked up and forgot to bring it home.