Sunday, March 20, 2022

You Know How Sometimes the Dream Cycle Comes to Resemble the Inner Workings of a Solar Cop


First skunk weed of the season, lots of it but no peepers yet along Upper Rock Creek Trail, above Lake Needwood, the terrific five mile loop between Muncaster and Muncaster Mill Roads
Quick post today as tomorrow is the day of one of two posts annually at this shitty blog not tagged My Complicity
(plus there's a paucity of links, some fools bark more when cage rattled, other fools bark less)
Reiteration: Complete and profound relief that I completed my twenty-five year promise to make earnest attempts to read and get Henry James, continued rest in peace, Dennis, I no more got James than you got Vollmann, my effort was as sincerely honest as yours
Dinner last night with brother-in-law and his wife at their house, his wife a Democratic operative, a union lawyer, a loud rich liberal, as useless to talk at (she cannot be talked *to*), these words came out of her mouth, "Thank God for Nancy Pelosi," and "I think Democrats are running too far to the Left,"
I said, name ONE issue in which big shot professional Democrats are running *at all* to the left, to which my brother-in-law
(playing a spotify playlist of motherfucking Bob Dylan and the motherfucking Rolling Stones and the motherfucking Band and the motherfucking Eagles)
said, "We can't all be socialists like you, Jeff,"
and I stopped, shut down, sulked according to brother-in-law as they but-crackers! but-crackers! and but-crackered! me again, as useless as talking to motherfucking crackers
Both brother-in-law and wife swear they are investigating Canadian citizenship now and scouting on zillow for Halifax, Nova Scotia houses and prices and will move to Halifax if Trump wins (or steals) the 2024 elections
I did *not* say The Canadacrackerization Project in place and producing, you ain't escaping America there
Reading the second of Ohle's *Moldenke* novels, this one even weirder, grosser, disgusting-ier than *Motorman*
written in 2004 and remarkably more prescient about 2022 than the first
there are official government ordered mass forgettings
I will bet you any number of analog and/or digital pints my brother-in-law and his wife will not move to Nova Scotia when Trump wins (or steals) the 2024 election
Remember when there was a plague the last two years that never happened? No?
Woods changing, I always think it a fine metaphor abounding that briars are the the fastest, most eager greeners in the woods



People overestimate the US War Machine
How slavery built the British Empire
The politics of distraction
The movie that never ends
FRESH HELLBrother-in-law said, OK, tell me what band I should play, who''s your favorite band, I did not say Swans or Destroyer or Lambchop or GbV or Pere Ubu or Galaxie 500 or any of thousands I'd listen to before listening to the motherfucking Stones, who suckTales I Win
Their shitlords versus our shitlords
{ feuilleton }'s weeklyZARAH FRAYN





IT'S HURT TO BE MURDERED

Sean Bonney

You know how sometimes the dream cycle comes to resemble the inner workings of a solar cop. That lucky old sun etc. Like for instance its night-time, no-one around, and you’re kicking in a door. No particular reason, just kicking. Then light. Everywhere. All of a sudden like completely out of nowhere you’re surrounded by cops and they’re smashing your head into it, over and over, the light, the door, dragging you off, smashing to pieces. And there you are are kind of screaming, yeh. Yeh I admit it you scream. I was probably doing whatever it was you said I was thinking. And as you scream that they just hit you harder, these, the cops of the living, banging your face into the astral sky and celestial dirt, until you’ve no longer got a face just a heliograph of recent incidents, a howl of anciency, a system of exchange. One segment broken glass equal to seven burnt souls. One mathematically transmitted disease. Its a city plan, this is. Its an angle of light its a map of the stars, the pigs of hell and the pigs of the ocean floor. You wake up in some kind of cellar. You wake up and you think its the shithole of the universe you’re in. You wake up surrounded by dead cops. They want nothing. They want you to talk and your skin is on backwards you put your hand wherever your mouth was and. All I’ve got is I know I’m a bone. All I’ve got is I know who you are, bastards, kids of bone. Nothing. One black hole equal to one crowbar. A million incidents. All of them. The screaming laughter of the dead. The border controls of the dead. You never sleep. You don’t complain. Most mornings you’ll settle for nothing less than the obliteration of the sun.

4 comments:

  1. 0/nice photos of spring vegetation

    1/if you are asked on another occasion to specify a preferable band you could mention

    https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20210804-sparks-the-greatest-band-youve-never-heard-of

    2/a halifax realtor whose mailing list i am on - who focuses on a near-retirement age clientele - is

    Roy Thomas
    Sutton Group-Professional Realty
    Halifax NS

    RoyThomas@RoyThomas.ca
    Web Site: www.HalifaxSeniorLiving.ca

    2.5/halifax is as close to a cosmopolitan metropolis as you're going to get in atlantic canada - but i wonder if your inlaws have given sufficient attention to the possibilities of moving into an anglophone community in montreal or elsewhere in

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_belle_province

    2.75/the housing market is canada in general reminds me of one of the most memorable lines from the early saturday night live - garrett morris [still alive at 85, by the way] portraying a not-very-dynamic standup comic said - and this decades-old line has new relevance these days -

    how 'bout that inflation? prices keep going up and up


    2.8/as of april 1 travel to canada by the 'fully vaccinated' will no longer will require a
    prior covid test, although some will be randomly selected to take such test on arrival -
    missus charley and i regard this as a favourable development, and depending on circumstances we may go there together this summer

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. 3/i do not know these people of whom you speak, but if they are more serious about transplanting themselves to the great multicultural north than you think they are, they will encounter the truth that as fifty-somethings [most likely, based on their stated relationship to you] without medical expertise or canadian ancestry [predicting from base rate] their only hope to be accepted as immigrants will be provincial sponsorship as an entrepreneur - each province has specific criteria for nomination to this category, and la belle province does things its own way, as usual

      https://www.canada.ca/en/immigration-refugees-citizenship/services/immigrate-canada/provincial-nominees/works.html

      Delete
    2. al purdy's statue is in queen's park, toronto - he is said to be canada's "unofficial poet laureate" and "a national poet in a way that you only find occasionally in the life of a country"

      the place referred to in his poem below is in trenton, ontario



      At Evergreen Cemetery

      The still grey face and withered body:
      without resistance winter enters in,
      as if she were a stone or fallen tree,
      her temperature the same as the landscape's -
      How she would have complained about that,
      the indignity of finally being without heat,
      an insult from the particular god she believed in,
      and worse than the fall that killed her -
      Now a thought flies into the cemetery
      from Vancouver, another from Edmonton,
      - and fade in the January day like fireflies.
      I suppose relatives are a little slower
      getting the evening meal because of that -
      perhaps late for next day's appointments,
      the tight schedule of seconds overturned,
      everything set a little back or ahead,
      the junctures of time moving and still:
      settling finally into a new pattern,
      by which lovers, hurrying towards each other
      on streetcorners, do not fail to meet -
      Myself, having the sense of something going
      on without my knowledge, changes taking place
      that I should be concerned with,
      sit motionless in the black car behind the hearse,
      waiting to re-enter a different world.

      one of

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    3. 1/that last "one of" is a typographical error of mine - my apologies

      2/the canadian poets of whom i know the most are leonard cohen and gordon lightfoot

      2.1/the latter is not mentioned in

      https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/poetry-in-english

      although there is an article about him in that encyclopedia

      Delete