Friday, July 1, 2022

Seeing They Are Umber and Soot and the Color of Melts

New self-portrait, first in a year, ink, pencil, watercolor, salt
It's not done, still working on the words that go inside, what order they will go in and in what medium
Chances are good I'll fuck it up so I timestamp here a thing I made that I like just after I made it before I fuck it up
I forget how much I love this then remember why I stop, I have modest talent in design and color but limited hand skills and have no delusional ambitions (for these or those poems I write) beyond making, especially with good music in my Dr Sevrin ears (update)

Abortion was for the mouth-breathers, gutting the EPA for the shitlords
Up next in Alitoland - eternal crackeristan
The Animal Crisis is a human crisis
How do you know you're not dreaming?
The War in Ukraine: another neocon failure
Dred Scott returns, motherfuckers
Eli Valley interviewThe Clientelist Foundation of Contemporary Antiracist Politics
Record-breaking broken records
Avedon Carol's occasional links
Interview: a motherfucking professional Democrat
The DeSantis Thousand Year Reich, coming Jan 2025
Your new cracker curriculum for K-12
Joe Biden has always been anti-abortion
Yes, he signaled he'd set aside the filibuster against his will of course and hours after announcement that Leahy will be out months with a broken hip and Biden has his manchin so this is nothing but posturing and will never happen
In defense of transnormativity
An archeology for a better future?
Eat the documentaryMINGUS
Laugh, it is not by design but certainly not a coincidence my favorite posts often birth themselves for a Friday post before a three-day holiday weekend


Jack Gilbert

The wall
is the side of a building.
Maybe seventy-five feet high.
The rope is tied
below the top
and hangs down thirty-five feet.
Just hangs down.
Above the slum lot.
It's been there a long time.
One part
below the middle
is frayed.
I've been at this all month.
Trying to see the rope.
The wall.
Carefully looking 
at the bricks.
Seeing they are
umber and soot
and the color of melts.
Even counting them.
But it's like Poussin.
Too clear.
The way things aren't.
So I try not staring.
Not grabbing.
Allowing it to come.
But just to the point
where I'd see
the mind gives a little
and I'm already past.
To all this sorrow again.
the skip between wildness
and affection
where everything is.


  1. It strikes me that Bartelby's stock response will not work well in the Brave New World of stopping, searching, interrogating and possibly detaining women at certain state borders. Among many other new and fun things planned for us.

  2. in addition to "sometimes i don't know what to feel", another todd rundgren song that may resonate for some at this time is "fascist christ"

    Founding Fathers and Mothers left us a mandate
    We've got to separate the church and the state