Syllable by Syllable I Make the Mistake of Displacing

• This swerve to normalcy zertz my bells. Did you see the fever breaking as an outcome? I didn't. Not just the results but the relative absence of claims of fraud and the rendering of Trump to Thump to stump? Me neither. Who made the call to make the election about fentanyl candy and litter boxes in elementary school for furries?
• Laugh, 2022 midterms mean nothing compared to 2024, 2022 our shitlords trial-ballooned *How Much Cracker Will America Eat Before Vomiting* and I was zertzly surprised to see not as much as I would have bet, me, canary, weathervane, Cassandra, fool, I forget in the beloved noise and my beloved anger that not-crackers outnumber crackers and for now that still matters. Shitlords still don't want it to matter, laugh
• I'm stupid for not seeing it coming, I was caught up in the beloved noise and beloved anger, all recorded for shitlord pysops data farms I contribute to even as I type this sentence on one's free shitlord blogging platform. Watch me love the noise and anger of 2024, reprogrammed - I am telling you three times - daily via shitlordian zertz
• Rest in Peace Keith Levene

The Road to Totalitarianism (Revisited)
Good reiteration of duh: emmeffing Democrats
This moron thinks the culture wars won and done
Emmeffing Democrats: good reiteration of duh
America's leaders are a danger to the world
@blckdgrd@mas.to				Murdering twitter
Looting, dispossessing, incarcerating
Shitstorming the opposition					Five steps
Maggie's weekly				Killing libraries
A map the size of the territory
Circuits of War				FRESH HELL
If you're a big Velvet Underground person here's news you'll want!
It's Gaddis' world, we just live in it
Jon Fosse's search for peace						Read that Jon Fosse digs Murnane (and is translating *The Plains* to Norwegian) and yes I just bought *Septology*
{ feuilleton }'s weekly				Kootchie Towers
Was reminded how much I love this song

HUSH

Timothy Donnelly

At night the sea’s surface is the penetrable onyx of deep sleep.
      I enter it without fear, as if to lower the input of the eye
reduces risk, and whatever I can’t presently see
      exists only in memory, which has been calmed by the water’s

cold hypnosis, and to be here is impersonal. Only the moonlight
      interrupts this near-nothingness, the play of it on the glossy swell
like a music you can feel, or like the mapping of something happening to me
      on another level, something that can be understood so long

as it never finishes—and, when it finishes, there is nothing
      left to understand. In the distance, other lights appear now
on the far side of the harbor, and, closer, the dull-white gull-like hulls
      of a band of anchored boats rock softly, without intelligence.

Later, elsewhere, I remember it vaguely, and it feels like the most
      meaningful way to go about it, as if the value of it grew
by resisting precision, and that, in coaxing particularity to glide from it,
      the sea retained a unity unlike anything other than the sky

with which it had come to merge, but likewise it set itself outside
      the reach of grammar, whose designs on it were not kind, and yet
what I mean by “it” isn’t even the sea anymore, but an experience
      of the sea, which syllable by syllable I make the mistake of displacing.