- I'm writing well now, by which I mean I enjoy writing of a sudden
- I'm typing, not inking in tablet in almost a month
- I'm writing well now typing, not surprised how fast my guilt over abandoning ink and tablet evaporated, surprised to notice I knew ink and tablet haven't been in backpack in a week but I just noticed now
- Valuable self-reminder: just because I think I am writing well doesn't mean I am writing well enough for most people to want to read what I write, but giving up ink and tablets makes me more accountable to myself as a reader of what I write when I say I think I'm writing well
- I submitted the late August haikus as the one poem they are to Rattle on the recommendation of a friend, Rattle says I should get their No! in six months, this the only submission I'm gonna, and thank you E
- John Martyn born 72 years ago yesterday:
- Ed's blog's birthday's bleggalgaze
- 3000 dead on 9/11 meant everything, 200K dead of covid mean nothing, here's why
- Professional liberals are weirdevil
- Stillness at 9/11
- Believing in monsters
- Why hasn't Trump started a war?
- Projecting the 78 days after the election
- Will include red pick-up trucks one way or the other
- Motherfucking Democrats will not save you
- Maine's sublime canvas of contradictions. We were in or passed through Blue Hill four times this past vacation
- This weekend's found CD from the past
- Reminder that Democrats are not screaming SUPREME COURT! SUPREME COURT! this election cycle either
- The emperor's new rules: The latest manifestation of a decadent meritocracy cult that preaches, with little evidence, that the only way to crack low-growth capitalism is with overworked talent, ruthless conformity, contingent policies, rule by fear, and money as the solution to all problems
- Costs of male entitlement
- Another RIP Diana Rigg
- Daniel's last show, at least for awhile, sometimes I hate WFMU, they killed four of my favorite shows for the new season (all four DJs confirmed they didn't jump, they were pushed), this breaks my heart
- Two lost Gillian Welch songs
- Arvo Part 85th birthday yesterday
You are riding the bus again
burrowing into the blackness of Interstate 80,
the sole passenger
with an overhead light on.
And I am with you.
I’m the interminable fields you can’t see,
the little lights off in the distance
(in one of those rooms we are
living) and I am the rain
and the others all
around you, and the loneliness you love,
and the universe that loves you specifically, maybe,
and the catastrophic dawn,
the nicotine crawling on your skin—
and when you begin
to cough I won’t cover my face,
and if you vomit this time I will hold you:
everything’s going to be fine
I will whisper.
It won’t always be like this.
I am going to buy you a sandwich.