Will Any Silence Fit?

No more rotating gifs; I may be the gimmick rictus but there are some gimmicks I just can't caw. Below the front and back of an object I may just have fucked up, glued one to each side of the hard cardboard of a watercolor block, the glue I use to glue watercolor paper to watercolor paper not strong enough so used the industrial strength glue my library colleagues use to mend books, wet glue I've not used before and of course did not test on paintings I'm not considering submitting to the contest my wife and daughter and the person running the contest want me to enter, this potentially being the centerpiece of the three I'd send, if I've fucked it up not only fine metaphors have abounded but I will interpret the fuck-up as a sign (of my self-indulgent and sloppy dysfunction) to not submit, did I do this on purpose or not not do it on purpose? Here's front:

Because of and/or in spite of being dark, darkening, furious and fuming today's grid clusterfuck-free, I do get tired occasionally of being dark, darkening, furious, and fuming. I don't want constantly rotating gif, I want a gif that clicks full size, both mood and painting-wise. without needing to shrink so corners can pirouette. A sizeable percentage of yinz visit for the clusterfuck, I didn't make a conscious decision to not fish the Life in the Clusterfuck Ocean until I realized I'd linked to no clusterfuck because I hadn't looked and *then* decided I wouldn't look having realized I hadn't, I am the gimmick rictus, caw. Here's the back:

Hey! it's WFMU's marathon, two weeks a year, this is my church, please tithe for you but do it for me
Daša Drndić's Battle Songs				"Why do we still read? A heavily discursive consideration of process, trauma, and resistance through the example of a newly rereleased mid-career novel by the polyphonic Croatian master badass"
Actually, I'm in the middle of Drndić's *Belladonna* and too soon to vouch but more than enough through to guarantee no disavowal
First riff: The Letters of William Gaddis, “Growing Up, 1930–1946”
"Renee Gladman’s drawings trouble the eye’s desire for cut-and-dried distinctions between word and image"			What You Don’t Know Your Mind Knows
I absolutely positively VOUCH for the Ravickan tetrology, and I absolutely positively am gonna reread her "Plans for Sentences" since my head in March 2023 is galaxies away from where my head was in June 2022, making-stuff-wise
On Ann Lauterbach: How It Continues to Astonish
The Book Of Leaves, a stop-motion exploration of leaf shapes
Music: Art for the Soul				GUSTON AT EAST WING!
Whom To Send To: Bernadette Mayer’s Lifelong Epistle

NOT THAT IT COULD BE FINISHED

Ann Lauterbach

She holds a conversation with her ornaments,

stray or contingent, heaped in patches

darkly and then loosened

onto the table to be consumed.

Collect me, they seem to ask,

into an assembly; construe us

like any morning onto any day.

Bring us forward notch by notch

into a paradigm of comfort

to be clasped: any cup will do.

Any dance? Take a seed

and blow it toward the curtain

which, like a bright shield

hugging breasts into radiance,

is seen and spoken of and desired.

Will any silence fit? So many

columns of air are held upright

in inebriated passage,

so many paper stacks

brittle under the weight

of what was news to attentive readers

as zones of holy strangers

feed through tunnels their imported cares.

Stare at us, they seem to say,

we are windows propped up against the sky,

quotations of light waiting to sail

into your aperture, calling because because

and now now now. And the good body

is pulled over the original rapacious body

like a huge sock, its cornucopia

of sour wind and dust emptied into the firmament.