Tuesday, May 18, 2021

Yes, It's Some Little Card Game You've Gotten Yourself Into This Time When Your Only Chance Is to Lose

My self-imposed moratorium at not barking at loved ones and friends who "But Trump" me when I point out what a motherfucker Joe Biden is is over
What the pandemic has done to the arts (which were dying before the plague, he types into the monster's free blaaging platform where I post with accreditation if not payment other people's music and poems
Rear Admiral Jack Meehoff‘The Onion’ Calls On Israel To Bomb Our Offices In Case Any Hamas Agents Hiding Out ThereOver/under date first Biden intervened to stop Hamas rocketing of Israel story? Parlay that with which first, Times or Post?
Cult CountryMarkets and the Right<<<< And there are points here for the left. The powerful sections of the right are no longer free marketeers. Pretending that they are is a tactical error, which fails to see that one of the Tories’ great strengths is its ability to change. Also, if markets can be a threat to actually-existing capitalism, perhaps many leftists should rethink their instinctive antipathy to them.
I get email, part one: blogger sent me this for two posts from March just past: I violated their malware and virus rules, I was flagged, deletions happened Thursday, I had no idea, I only checked the email associated with this free (out of pocket-wise) blogging platform because the yearly hassle of renewing the domain is soon upon me, the next day got an email saying this had been reinstated, just saying the monster's free blaaging platform, for whatever reason, at whoever's behest, demonstrated it can disappear me when and for whatever reason it wants, a timely reminder
After a year of being locked downEliot and himNew Clarksburg sucks largeTrouble for WFMU?
The fine blurred lineMaggie's weekly linksToday in guess Jeff's age575
I get email, part two: a friend asked me if I'd like to sign a letter from those at Hilltop in support of Palestinians, I of course said yes. I was asked what my creds are re: sig tag, I hadn't been asked in years, I'm nobody here, there, there, here, I merely asked I be identified as staff, I can only imagine the shit I'd get if the actual building I work in was listed, Hean Demmasi couldn't pick me out of a line-up, be damned if she wants me representing the building, condemning the bombing of Gaza, fine metaphors abound (Update: indeed they do, I am identified by where I work on campus in the document, there are hundreds of signatures, let's hope I'm invisible in their midst re: my bosses)
My Will Oldham bender continues, woke up with a Palace Music song in my head, the one I've posted here multiple times, posting this one instead




Franz Wright

To tell you the truth I’d have thought it had gone out of use long ago;
there is something so 19th-century about it,

with its absurd reverse Puritanism.

Can withdrawal from reality or interpersonal commitment be gauged
by uneasiness at being summoned to a small closed room to discuss
ambiguously sexual material with a total stranger?

Alone in the presence of the grave examiner, it soon becomes clear
that, short of strangling yourself, you are going to have to find a way
of suppressing the snickers of an eight-year-old sex fiend, and feign cu-
riosity about the process to mask your indignation at being placed in
this situation.

Sure, you see lots of pretty butterflies with the faces of ancient Egypt-
ian queens, and so forth—you see other things, too.

Flying stingray vaginas all over the place, along with a few of their
male counterparts transparently camouflaged as who knows what pil-
lars and swords out of the old brain’s unconscious.

You keep finding yourself thinking, “God damn it, don’t tell me that
isn’t a pussy!”

But after long silence come out with, “Oh, this must be Christ trying
to prevent a large crowd from stoning a woman to death.”

The thing to do is keep a straight face, which is hard. After all, you’re
supposed to be crazy

(and are probably proving it).

Maybe a nudge and a chuckle or two wouldn’t hurt your case. Yes,

it’s some little card game you’ve gotten yourself into this time, when
your only chance is to lose. Fold,

and they have got you by the balls—

just like the ones you neglected to identify.


  1. 1/ speaking of the rorschach test - "you're the one with all the dirty pictures"

    2/speaking of the 'day and night cereal bar' opening in clarksburg - i was surprised to learn that they serve bacon but not eggs

    their "milk" options seem underwhelming as well - whole/skim/almond/oat - that's it?

    3/speaking of mass murder in and around the zionist entity, and the consequences of people believing and acting on an absurdity like 'a land without a people for a people without a land' - on a typical weekday i read aloud to missus charley excerpts from the financial times before she goes to her office, and after her work day is over we watch the official tv news during supper to get a sense of what the consensus 'current events' reality is - these days cbs, sometimes abc or pbs - this past week by mutual agreement i haven't read out loud stuff about the unpleasantness over there, and i mute the tv while that situation is being discussed - why disturb ourselves with the details?

    4/this morning i came across a favourable review of an ant expert's philosophical book - although i say i want to follow a philosopher's advice and read more fiction, and am accumulating books with that end in mind, nevertheless old habits die hard

    The Meaning of Human Existence, Edward O. Wilson

    How did humanity originate and why does a species like ours exist on this planet? Do we have a special place, even a destiny in the universe? Where are we going, and perhaps, the most difficult question of all, "Why?" In The Meaning of Human Existence, his most philosophical work to date, Pulitzer Prize–winning biologist Edward O. Wilson grapples with these and other existential questions, examining what makes human beings supremely different from all other species.

  2. i recently encountered the following poem, and in the process of reading a bit about the author was reminded that melville gave up novels to write poetry in his later years - also i learned or learned again that his eldest son shot himself at the age of 18

    this poem reminds me of thomas cole's sequence of four paintings, in the national gallery of art - 'the voyage of life'

    Christian Register - November 8, 1900

    Lost Youth.

    How lovely was the light of heaven,
    What angels leaned from out the sky
    In years when youth was more than wine
    And man and nature seemed divine,
    Ere yet I felt that youth must die!

    Ere yet I felt that youth must die,
    How insubstantial looked the earth!
    Alladin-land! in each advance,
    Or here or there, a new romance;
    I never dreamed would come a dearth.

    And nothing then but had its worth,
    Even pain. Yes, pleasures still and pain
    In quick reaction made of life
    A lovers' quarrel, happy strife
    In youth that never comes again.

    But will youth never come again?
    Even to his grave-bed has he gone,
    And left me lone to wake by night
    With heavy heart that erst was light?
    I lay it at his head,—a stone!

    -- Herman Melville.