Delayed not deleted bleggalgaze. Deciding between involuntarily disappeared and voluntary disappearing. Four months ago I bought David Baker's latest poetry collection *Whale Song* and read it in two sittings, picked it up last night to reread *32 Silos,* my favorite poem in the collection, and fuck did it suck, or rather, fuck do I suck now. Walked to shelf and took out Sean Bonney's final collection *Our Death,* one of my favorite books of poetry of the last decade, and fuck do I suck now. More words from Cormac McCarthy's *Suttree* I needed to look up:
Forcing myself a chapter a day, I'm two-thirds through, if nothing else reading *Suttree* done beat my thought to reread every McCarthy out of my head with my perpetual and permanent and I wish unsustainable anger's garden shovel.
OUR ROLES IN LIFE
“Is there nothing you can do for me? I’m stuck in this
hole,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do for you.You’re
stuck in that hole,” I said. “But can’t you find a shovel or
something and dig me out?” he said. “I don’t think there’s a
shovel around here, but I could look,” I said. I went and looked
for a shovel, but all I found was a spoon. “Here’s a spoon,”
I said. “But that will take forever,” he said. “I don’t want
a spoon. That will take forever,” he said. “Then I’m afraid
you must stay buried,” I said. “This is not something I want
to hear,” he said. “Who buried you like this, anyway?” I said.
“I did not catch his name. He was a tall man, quick with his
hands,” he said. “Well, that is no help,” I said. “I was half-
asleep at the time. I wasn’t paying attention,” he said. “And
you ended up buried in that hole?” I said. “Yes, when I awoke
I was buried in this hole,” he said. “Let me remove just one
spoon of dirt and see if that feels better,” I said. “One spoon
couldn’t possibly make me feel better,” he said. “Okay, then
I’m going,” I said. “Oh, please don’t go. I need you,” he said.
“I can’t do anything for you so I might as well leave,” I said.
“You could put a spoon of dirt on my head. If I’m going to be
buried I might as well be buried all the way,” he said. “No,
you need a breathing hole,” I said. “I don’t want a breathing
hole if I’m going to be buried like this,” he said. “Someone
will come along and dig you out eventually,” I said. “I can’t
go on like this,” he said. “You’re doing fine,” I said. “You
don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m next to death here,”
he said. “I’ve never seen a finer head than yours,” I said.
“Please put me out of my misery,” he said. “I suppose I could
start digging with my hands,” I said. “We could be here forever,”
he said. “Such is cast our roles in life,” I said. "Such is
our roles in life," he said.