Saturday, January 15, 2022

One Concerned Person Pointed Out That My Whole Economy Was Wrong; Yes, I Said, But I Have Nothing Else to Sell

Beefheart born 81 years ago today
LOTS OF BEEFHEART HEREThough I can't fix or replace broken links, emmeffing crackers won't let me
Anxiety day dark, I've a sore on gums I daydream it's cancer
tonight the night my life ends on the drive home
I must be asymptomatic, between my job and my wife's one of us has given it to the other or will soon
I've not been botcrawled like I'm being from Frankfurt Germany for the past four days in months, each ping a different IP but all alibaba, Death to the Either/Or allows me to be both proudly vain and vainly weirded
Which means I still look at the shitty blogs stats so fuck me
Did you see how fast Democrats pivoted from blame Trump for plague to blame you for plague, you can google it? a coworker did not find funny today
Books of Jacob, I'm literally halfway as I type this, I don't want to read it every day but am unable to read anything else, I understand the themes if not the allusions and references and that must be what's compelling me but since Death to the Either/Or I must confess I feel compelled to finish because (a) as an object to physically hold and read it's a perfect book and (b) time invested and (c) the promises offered and (b) time invested, which marks the first time since I allowed myself to abandon novels without writing a fucking paragraph about it to feel guilty about quitting a novel, so (d) something gad and something bood is happening even if (e) for long stretches it doesn't feel like it and (f) I (a)(b)(c)(d)(e)(f)ed myself
Shitlords buy whiskey while starving your children
while you watch m**********g helmetball
Turduckens all the way down
How to commit fraud!
Fresh HellBlaming victims
Snapshots of the apocalypse
How not to sell outThere's a reason all posts here but two per year tagged My Complicity
Frownland one of this shitty blog's Theme Songs, I don't remember which number and I forget some of the others, and Beefheart a member of the Circle of Rotating Bands/Musicians for the two of five not permanently assigned chairs in My Sillyass Deserted Island Five Game, I couldn't name all the others under threat of cracker authoritarianism, anxiety day dark, fuck me


A.R. Ammons

Such a long time as the wave idling gathers
lofts and presses forward into the curvature
of the height before one realizes that the

tension completes itself with a fall through air,
disorganization the prelude to the meandering
of another gather and hurl, the necessary:

ah, what can one make to absorb the astonishment:
you should have seen me the merchant at market
this morning: the people ogled me with severe

goggles: maids, buying in manners and measures
beyond themselves, stared into my goods and
then grew horror-eyed: wives still as distant

from day as a carrot from dinner took the
misconnection sagely, a usual patience:
peashells, I said, long silky peashells: cobs,

I said, long cobs: husks and shucks, I said:
one concerned person pointed out that my whole
economy was wrong; yes, I said, but I have

nothing else to sell: and I said to her, won't
you appreciate the silky beds where seeds
have lain: she had not come to that: and

how about this residence all the grains have
left: won't you buy it and think about it:
not for dinner, she said: rinds, I cried,

rinds and peelings: there was some interest
in those, as for a marmalade, but no one willing,
finally, to do the preparations: absurd, one

woman shouted, and then I grew serious: can you
do with that: but she was off before we fully
met: you should have seen me the merchant at

market this morning: will bankruptcy make a
go of it: will the leavings be left only: the
wave turns over and does not rise again, that wave.

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