Monday, October 5, 2020

His Muteness an Onomatopoeia of the Rising Moon

  • Magachoads rallying at Naval Hospital, I drive Rockville Pike past Naval Hospital and NIH almost every day at least once
  • Magachoads rallying legal assembly, they have every right to choad magaly
  • I drove past them Saturday uneventfully, and I haven't received any antifa counter-demonstrations orders nor received my monthly bitcoin deposit from George, I wasn't going to provoke anything, whose mind would my left middle finger change?
  • I live here, I know workarounds, used one yesterday, cops were deploying at intersection of Cedar and Rockville Pike, I didn't know it at the time but all preliminary to a photo-op, our president, in tie-less suit, demanded to be driven and displayed to his magachoads in his hermetically sealed potustank so he could see their adoration
  • No one can stand up to him, they won't dart him with elephant tranquilizer
  • No one else apparently contacted by Antifa HQ, let the megachoads LOUD SIDE! the southbound side of Rockville Pike, I read recently DC United the 58th shittiest of the 58 team MLS
  • Jesus Trump, risen from the dead, you only thought him an asshole, he's now assholier, you only though his magachoad cult culty, now three hundred times cultier
  • Next two Nap Beloved photos by Earthgirl




Forrest Gander

The bioluminescent undersides of squid render them invisible to predators
below. That the radiance of the boy’s anger might protect him.
Walking the dog and stepping on a patch of repaired road, I remember the
soft spot in his head.
You’re deaf as a beagle. No, you are.
Can I feel the tide’s drag on the turning earth increase each day’s duration?
A hair in my nostril has gone white.
In absolute night, from my bed, I hear him aiming for the toilet’s center.
The sound deepens, voice finding its register.
Scientists call it an entangled system.
We survive Christmas, his face pressed to the smooshed bosom of his
grandmother in a house so immaculate, the spider in the seam of the
ceiling stands out obscenely.
Like a star at the outskirts of the galaxy, and slung around by the gravity of
dark matter. For now, he goes where we go, but he does not belong to us.
I begin to begin my sentences leaning toward him, taking a deep breath.
He relinquishes the conversation with a contraction of his pupils.
What is for one of us the throb of the immediate is, for the other, the
imminent mundane.
When napalm hits my brain, he takes on the tranquillity of a blinking
She finds a photograph of him at seven. The sheer expressed of his face. As
among Michelangelo’s early drawings, there is a copy of Masacchio’s lost
Sagra, the consecration.
We search our memories of him for a certain unity of characteristics that
would hold through the permutations he now submits to us.
When it clings to the wire-and-rug surrogate, lab technicians shock it
again. Instead of releasing, it clings tighter.
Throwing himself into the back seat after wrestling practice, mat burns on
his cheek and forehead.
His muteness an onomatopoeia of the rising moon.


  1. the first example of magachoad that google finds is from ten days ago

    donnelly's hymn to life focuses on passing away - as i read it this time i thought of how my car's cruise control stopped working last week - on the other hand my next door neighbour's son's wife is in the hospital to have a baby right now - granny is not allowed to attend, unfortunately, but it seems like an appropriate precaution under the circumstances

    those are good looking cat photos

    as has been written you have to be an above-average human to be a better friend than an average dog

    sometimes a loyal cat has been substituted in that aphorism, or added to it