Wigs of Slivers

Dear God	<<< "In February 2020, when Dr. Fauci and other public health officials discouraged mask usage and said it would have no effect upon the spread of COVID, we can presume this would have been the line held up by the virtuous Reality Czar. Anyone who advocated for mask usage would have been banned from social media. Any writers who published pro-mask pieces would be deplatformed–if not outright banned, their writing would at the very least be unavailable on social media, thereby making it inaccessible to nearly everyone."	What is Jeff Bezos promoting himself *to*?	Chagrined again how much I miss Trump breaking kayfabe and how much I hate Kayfabe Restoration, Kayfabe Restoration, my ex-team's slogan sucks	Shitlord woes	This is true: our wifi went sideways the same wire from the the same box on a wire strung between two telephone poles died, born in 1993 it lived an astonishing long life according to the Kind underpaid Shitlord, Inc tech said	I was asked by said tech did I want to get the new cable buried or hung through the trees she recommended burying cable, put in an order, got us running, days later, in the sleet and the rain Shitlord texts me, my cable is buried	I was sitting on a sofa exactly where the line enters the house, I didn't hear a thing, Earthgirl works from the big rooms nook looking out a window where the cable burier would have been burying cable, I didn't hear a sound, she didn't see a soul
Imperial museums				Punishing American Zeitgeist
The last years of progress				Avedon Carol's occasional links
What's in a species name?				Deneocolonize your syllabus
Saving Classics from whiteness			Chagrined I'm surprised I'm chagrined I'm surprised I'm surprised I'm chagrined	Dept of Overwrought Understatements	Screenshot poetics	walk out in the snow, a grass sidewalk is plowed, there's no sign of surgery	Your surveillance bill paid our shitlords provide excellent survellance service

WIFI IN A PRISON YARD

Hussain Ahmed

I tear up my heart into wigs of slivers

that I may remember how it all began.

there was an eclipse and I misplaced my eyes

to the blood in the moon,       a miscarriage of everything I owned.

I am sick of the nostalgia that comes with a stale memory

of what I should have seen,                before the darkness.

we find connections on the lines on our palms and they become entangled

into edible nests,       until a new inmate begins to cry.

this globe is full of darkness

and the only lit places            are burning.

the fire punctured the ozone that blankets the verdin in my rib cage.

My heart is a wick of card sliver,                             it spins in a pool of grief.

What Bone Looms They Sewed Themselves Into

Above bleggalgazing anthem number two, yesterday Blogroll Amnesty Day, bullets from traditional post, last posted three years ago below

* Jon Swift did me Kind multiple times - some of you still here found me via Jon

*BAD reminds me annually of blogs whose club I joined, all of us competing to be noticed by Liberal Blegsylvania's overlords and invited to that far more prestigious club.

* Then my obamapostasies, my democratectomies. I let my membership lapse

*I hope it is still Blogroll Amnesty Day on some of those blogs still alive.

*Thank you those still here who found me back then via Jon, Kind, you.

*It's BAD - if there's someone / someplace you think I might / oughta please let me know.

*Bleggalgazing Anthems One and Two (Anthem One the most-posted video here - longtimers can vouch).

 

Format and tablet	obsessed me why is	tablet this tablet	true and ancient false	bereft of first drafts	biological	Which is why I say	fuck it. Motherfuck
and compatible comet	motherfucking Ariel	Everything is paraphrase	more cleverly than I can	the desperate resort to grids	defintion emphasized	I'm just gonna cathole here	ing Ariel, fuck uses...
fail most when yes bang	goog's sheets' default font?	This blog *is* the poem	Actions on the ground	elimination	This place or no place	Tablet this tablet	Theme Song # 1 VVV

Rest in Peace Clayton Eshleman

Two Eshleman poems

Dot

Tjurunga

 

SILENCE RAVING

Clayton Eshleman

Patters, paters, Apollo globes, sound 
breaking up with silence, coals 
I can still hear, entanglement of sense pools, 
the way a cave might leak perfume--

in the Cro-Magnons went, along its wet hide walls, 
as if a flower in, way in, drew their leggy 
panspermatic bodies, spidering over 
bottomless hunches, groping toward Persephone's fate:
to be quicksanded by the fungus pulp of Hades' purple hair 
  exploding in their brains.

They poured their foreheads into the coals and corrals 
zigzagged about in the night air--
        the animals led in crossed 
a massive vulva incised before the gate,
the power that came up from it was paradise, the power 
the Cro-Magnons bequeathed to us:
to make an altar of our throats.

The first words were mixed with animal fat, 
wounded men tried to say who did it.
The group was the rim of a to-be-invented wheel, 
their speech was spokes, looping over, 
around, the hub of the fire, its silk of us, 
its burn of them, bop we dip, you dip, 
we dip to you, you will dip to us, Dionysus 
the plopping, pooling words, stirred
by the lyre gaps between the peaks of flame, 
water to fire, us to them.

Foal-eyes, rubbery, they looped
back into those caves whose walls could be strung
between their teeth, the sticky soul material pulled to
The sides by their hands, ooh
what bone looms they sewed themselves into, ah 
what tiny male spiders they were
on the enormous capable of devouring them 
female rock elastic word!

The Shovel Says the Ink Is Not for Us

I said I welcomed snow abstractly not on my yard I will Sunday

in my beloved above ankles that saved my knees, stiff leather

uppers animal slaughtered, vegan boots suck my complicity

 

 

Only one installation yesterday and that a restoration and upgrade on a treeknot on Tobacco Farm Trail where Earthgirl leaves trolls. The rock floor I made last time and one of her trolls gone, the treeknot's floor collapsed and tree trunk be hollow, yo. Built a new rockfloor on what remains of treeknot's penthouse, a treeknot responsible for as much of its hollow that hollowed the tree. See poem above			AMERICA: A ONE ACT PLAGUE
Causing untold pain to many of America’s richest traders!	<<< Don't lionize the wannabe shitlords	Finance Capitalism v Industrial Capitalism	Thin Green Line
"I really hope Americans get rid of that dangerous right wing lunatic in congress, by which I mean all of the people in congress."	Crime fiction & sociopaths	Ironic little Nazis	Maggie's weekly links
Conceptual Overreach	{ feuilleton }'s weekly links	Pessoa	Life cycles of a place
Everyone else has lost interest - a (not mine) playlist	What is a monad?	How do we write about political crises?	Mayakovsky while Australia burns

 

 

EXCAVATION

Lukas Bacho

One afternoon a wet half-moon

             on the terrain below my lip:

mouth-blades splitting flesh

             to immortalize desire, sheets soiled

after the digging. I never knew

             ink could spill straight from the mouth

or dye toothpaste the color of  longing,

              and yet his typewriter carriage of a jaw

justifies anything but words. Here is the couch

             where my mother consoled my sister and me—

Madonna-of-the-Rocks style—after the yelling.

             The same bedrock she cocoons in to escape

the snore. I shouldn’t mistake warm spoon

             for parenthesis (a half-moon whose other half

is never far). One evening my lamp is a bright half-moon

             striking memory like a match,

begging proficiency in a language I mine

             from his collarbone. There is a pen that betweens

now and him. The pen says the ink is always

             flowing; the shovel says the ink is not for us.