The Statuary in My Mortuary

Tomorrow's birthday will be honored here, I have been reading the poet throughout the year and listening often to the band I associate with the poet, so here, holiday weekend links at the official start of the blogdays of Summer

• Olive, last night
• The science of human irrationality
• I'm not buying a gun, I said to a friend endangered by white people who was spit on and called a fucking gook in a fucking Dollar Store in fucking rural southern Illinois by a motherfucking female cracker, but I hadn't ever considered the possibility until recently, I said, and I wouldn't think less of you if you did, I continued, so that's new, and she is
• Bring out your dead
• Corrupt bargain 
• Capitalism
• How many dead Yemenis does it take? 
• Alternate histories
• Avedon's occasional links
• Update
• Maggie's weekly links
• { feuilleton }'s weekly links 
• On Evan Dara
• Theory of Incompleteness
• A friend's poem

• Restocked the Moribund mortuaries, if you no longer see your blog in its blogroll its because your blog hibernating, comatose, or dead, I've moved it to one of the two cemeteries I maintain so I notice if you reanimate and float to top of cemetery blogroll like a drowned corpse released from its rope floats to top of lake. No one was deleted
• Reminder: if there's someone or something you think I should be reading please let me know
• Holiday weekend reminder in Dead Blegsylvania at the official beginning of the blogdays of Summer, thank you for reading and for Kindness 
• if you are bumping me but me not you please let me know
• Furs binged last night 

I SUPPOSE THIS IS ALL A LEFTHAND PLOT

Alice Notley

Detective Hardwood looks like Batman this morning

pouty cupidy mouth

and a lot of black sculptural clanking

the statuary in my mortuary,

the Masonic Hall having burned again in dreams

but everyone still keeps skipping towards it

it's a hollow a round shell

my life as the shape of the ways I've been fucked

by prevailing thought & practice

all the conscious and unconscious sexisms

selfishnesses affluences assumptions suppressions in drift

GET   RID   OF   ALL   CONTROLS—is what the Soul keeps screaming.

____________________

I look up someone grins

you're a bloody feral wolf-face I like you.

____________________

I sleep-walked in a dream to a man's apartment—

a man I'm doing business with—

I forgot, but how could I? how I'd gotten there,

and when I die will I remember all such forgotten things 

GET   RID   OF   THE   CONTROLS

                                                                          I want to

remember now.

I apologized to the man for not adhering to office hours

it was four a.m. Office hours are better he said.

Don't arrive anywhere in your sleep

don't mix up night and day

soul and detective. No.

____________________

There must be so much to reclaim

because I'm so limited

____________________

this.

They broke your day

they fought it you

forgot how advantageous

to be fit with god and not see eye

you forgot gold sun brilliant

in this story

go in conscious.

____________________

That queen that Assyrian woman

was so cruel and that never

occurred to her ... but

those eyes saw raw smells and gods everywhere dusty

this dust I was truly assembled from

at least as you, we are communally

such.

If you say you'll hurt me, do you

really mean me

I  can't be, can I, hurt?

____________________

“Hut Sut Tut Mut there's gonna be a wedding”

I dream that's a song. Wake up with, in my head,

“They say don't go

on Wolverton Moun-tain” (“Her tender lips/are sweeter than hone-y”

____________________

Later.

I have a drop of blood on a front tooth

I kind of don't mind—

This the list of what we've done:

         It was different structure we killed it

         put beasts in the refrigerator

         and that was almost as bad as my own enslavement.

         Then I saw Christ's blood pumped into a rejuvenating mummy.

         This great sickness we're part of apple clot

         and can you really chew it detective

         Oh sure I can, I'm Robert Mitch-ham.

____________________

you've broke your own sto

I'm sort of hysterical

the E is it for hope, cutting

the E might be for Hope

Nope

and bloody, the bloodiest is Hope.

Where are the E's of exactness?

E is my middle name