Monday, July 11, 2022

Plastered with Tattered Flags of Useless Currency

A week from the moment I type this it will be our first full day on Mount Desert Island and we're waiting for our second sunset at Seal Cove. L will have kayaked and painted, I will have played thirty-six holes at Habana Disc Course in Trenton. I wonder where we hiked earlier in the day and know we stopped at the Hippie Organic Farmstore on Beech Hill Road in Somesville and beets were or will be roasted

The Michigan trip just weeks ago, the first since the shitty boss retired, the first since the best cat died, unlike and better than any vacation I can remember with a new absence of anxiety about what shittiness awaits me from the shitty boss when I get back and constant worry the catsitters can't send me daily timestamped photo proof of Napoleon's continued existence. This the second, and for two weeks, and it's L and my favorite time together, and she asked me if I want her to show me acrylics, opaque on grids instead of transparent, I'll try, I plan to have an supremely excellent time in these horrible days with the ironclad inevitably of shittiness we know can't be stopped, there's a reason all but two posts a year are tagged My Complicity 

Apparently more jeffhead flags in my future, laugh, I spent money yesterday on new tubes of primary colors, they say they are going to Maine with me (the new 1/2 inch flat watercolor brush says so too
When I recently mentioned often that the Dem geriatrics don't have a succession plan I must confess, I forgot the plan was this motherfucker
who named these four rightwing judges
A perfect metaphor for our country's future
Our entire civilization is structured around keeping us from realizing we can do this
Employment FiguresClass War: the board game
Finance caused the fall of Rome: on Graeber
Dysfunction: dereliction by design
Witness how much Democrats despise you and me, I mean, it IS in their job description and the hate is for realFRESH HELL
Clarence Thomas' America
Maggie's blog's twelfth anniversary
Fight or flight: excellent essay on Krasznahorkai
Four miles from Fellsburg, the village my mother grew up in
Placing baby burrowing owls back in their burrow
Whatever happened to the satirical novel?
We are the black flies made screen porches required fuck your expense welts
{ feuilleton } 's weeklyThis house is 300 yards from the house I grew up in
An excellent abecedarian
The English Understand Wool: serenditipity be wondrous, my first rereading of Dewitt's Samurai strong maybe for our two weeks in Maine starting next Saturday
The octopus dreams of crabs - the book we plan to listen to on the drive to Maine
The long hard road of being Van Gogh
At 11:11 PM EDT last night, in the middle of a terrific set, Zoe played one of my five favorite songs ever and one of the five most often posted songs on this shitty blog


Michael Derrick Hudson

To think I used to be so good at going to pieces
gobbling my way through the cops

and spooking what’s left of the girls. How’d I

get so far, sloughing off one knuckle at a time,
jerking my mossy pelt along

ruined streets? Those insistent, dreadful thuds

when we stacked our futile selves
against locked doors. Our mumbles and groans!

Such hungry nights! Staggering through the grit

of looted malls, plastered with tattered
flags of useless currency, I’d slobbered all over

the busted glass and merchandise of America ...

But first you’ll have to figure out those qualities
separating what’s being alive from

who’s already dead. Most of you will flunk that.

Next learn how to want one thing over and over,
night after night. Most of you

are good at that. Don’t get tired. Don’t cough

into your leftovers. Don’t think. Always stand
by your hobgoblin buddies. Clutch

at whatever’s there. Learn to sniff out sundowns.


  1. 1/speaking of beech hill farm, i learned this morning that it is part of the college of the atlantic, which awards bachelor's and master's degrees solely in the field of human ecology, an interdisciplinary approach to learning

    2/speaking of maine - james tate mentioned it in his last poem

    I sat at my desk and contemplated all that I had accomplished this year. I had won the hot dog eating contest on Rhode Island. No, I hadn’t. I was just kidding. I was the arm wrestling champion in Portland, Maine. False. I caught the largest boa constrictor in Southern Brazil. In my dreams. I built the largest house out of matchsticks in all the United States. Wow! I caught a wolf by its tail. Yumee. I married the Princess of Monaco. Can you believe it? I fell off of Mount Everest. Ouch! I walked back up again. It was tiring. Snore. I set a record for sitting in my chair and snoring longer than anybody. Awake! I set a record for swimming from one end of my bath to the other in No Count, Nebraska. Blurb. I read a book written by a dove. Great! I slept in my chair all day and all night for thirty days. Whew! I ate a cheeseburger every day for a year. I never want to do that again. A trout bit me when I was washing the dishes. But I couldn’t catch him. I flew over my hometown and didn’t recognize anyone. That’s how long it’s been. A policeman stopped me on the street and said he was sorry. He was looking for someone who looked just like me and had the same name. What are the chances?

    3/an encounter with a policeman on the street also occurs in tate's poem it happens like this

    my own anagogic exegesis of this poem - guaranteed to be correct or your money cheerfully refunded some restrictions may apply - appears at

    i assert that The policeman has stepped back, with remorse, from changing his life...

    1. Yes, College of the Atlantic runs the farm, the college itself is tiny, just up the hill north of Bar Harbor, on the Mount Desert Narrows. If I was a science-driven kid looking for a college I'd apply. Their farm produces incredible produce, especially beets, red and golden, and carrots, gonna roast them every day