- Lunch yesterday with my ex-Warrenite colleague, she doesn't think motherfucking Democrats understand that lifelong Democrats like her say they view the upcoming SCOTUS fight as the get your shit together and fight or we're done crisis of the marriage, though I assured her they do.
- Democrats have to play the reasonable ones now that the fight hasn't officially started, I said, it's their job, but don't worry, I said, when the time comes to fight they won't, that's their job too.
- What I didn't say to her: for shitlords, and the senior management of both Republican and Democratic divisions, Ginsberg's death the greatest gift imaginable. The WORSE CASE SCENARIO is a 6-3 SCOTUS guaranteeing unencumbered shitlordism until mass extinction, four years of a self-enfeebled Democratic potus followed by a just as vicious but much less gauche Trump so Villagers will be happy, and an increase in cracker policies that will drive you estranged divorcees back into the arms of motherfucking Democrats
- What I didn't say to her: you wouldn't want your team to do right now what you're complaining the bastard team is doing? and if no, what does that tell you about your team? and your fandom?
- All these years I copied code from youtube and pasted into the html code of blegger, but the new interface's html doesn't break into separate easily distinguishable lines but snakes into infinity. I had never used the insert video code on the dashboard but just discovered it today as I try to learn how to use the new interface, so now squarer than rectangular tunes here
- What is the sound of thought?
- Why DC and Baltimore are different colors from space
- America's hungry children are hungry because...
- Our shitlords are a laundromat
- The withdrawal of our shitlords
- The coming election clusterfuck
- Lisa Robertson interview, incredibly thought provoking on poetry, on politics
- The magnificent agony of the artist two kilometers up
- Another postmodern dinner
- There's new Basinski in November, first piece out now
- I like Ariel Pink, a lot, I don't think I've ever posted him
WE TRAVELED TO THE STONEMASON OF TOR HOUSE, ROBINSON JEFFERS
We traveled down to see your house,
Tor House, Hawk Tower, in Carmel,
California. It was not quite what
I thought it would be: I wanted it
to be on a hill, with a view of the ocean
unobstructed by other dwellings.
Fifty years ago I know you had
a clean walk to the sea, hopping
from boulder to boulder, the various
seafowl rightly impressed with
your lean, stern face. But today
with our cameras cocked we had to
sneak and crawl through trimmed lawns
to even verify the identity of
your strange carbuncular creation,
now rented to trillionaire non-
literary folk from Pasadena.
Edged in on all sides by trilevel
pasteboard phantasms, it took
a pair of good glasses to barely see
some newlyweds feed popcorn
to an albatross. Man is
a puny thing, divorced,
whether he knows it or not, and
pays his monthly alimony,
his child-support. Year after year
you strolled down to this exceptionally
violent shore and chose your boulder;
the arms grew as the house grew
as the mind grew to exist outside
of time, beyond the dalliance
of your fellows. Today I hate
Carmel: I seek libation in the Tiki
Bar: naked native ladies are painted
in iridescent orange on velvet cloth:
the whole town loves art.
And I donate this Singapore Sling
to the memory of it, and join
the stream of idlers simmering outside.
Much as hawks circled your head
when you cut stone all afternoon,
kids with funny hats on motorscooters
keep circling the block.