Friday, June 30, 2023

“Is there nothing you can do for me? I’m stuck in this hole,” he said

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:

AlembicAn alchemical still consisting of two vessels connected by a tube, used for distillation of liquids
AnthropariansA human or a creature having human characteristics or traits
AspectantOf birds, fish, and animals other than beasts of prey) face to face; respectant
BenisonBlessing; beatitude; benediction
BlivetAn electronic signal that is normally high or on, but goes low for a very short period and then returns to high
ClerestoryThe upper part of the nave, transepts, and choir of a church, containing windows
ColloidThe gelatinous stored secretion of the thyroid gland, consisting mainly of thyroglobulin
DosshouseAn extremely cheap hotel for poor people who have no home in a city
GlozyA stylish, vintage-style display font
GrumousAdjective of grume: a thick, viscid fluid; a clot, as of blood
KraitA small and extremely venomous snake
LapstrakeA style of boatbuilding using overlapping planks
LimboidHaving a likeness or similarity to the conditions of limbo or to those held therein
LunuleA small crescent-shaped structure or marking, such as a depression near the hinge of a bivalve shell
RadiolariansProtozoa of diameter 0.1-0.2 mm that produce intricate mineral skeletons, typically with a central capsule dividing the cell into the inner and outer portions of endoplasm and ectoplasm
RimeyTo compose in rhyme; to versify
ScariousThin, dry, membranous, and not green
SnellA short piece of gut, gimp, or sea-grass on which fishhooks are tied; a snood
SploRotgot whiskey, quickly, poorly distilled
SqualoidCharacteristic of a shark or dogfish
TareAny of several weedy plants that grow in grain fields
ThookedShort-term memory loss after eye-contact is broken

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. 

More delayed not deleted bleggalgaze regarding these fucking things too:

Within the past hour of my typing this the corrupt fucks, as directed and lucratively rewarded by Leo Leo, just enshrined into law christer bigotry in Crackerstan
How plastics are poisoning us
Capitalism Makes Everyone Bend to Its Will, Rich and Poor Alike
Synoptic and diligently researched, its singular contribution is to develop, as the subtitle relays, A Marxist Theory of the Economic Power of Capital. For Mau, what is distinct in Marx’s project is the elaboration of an account of power that does not conform to the classic violence-ideology couplet: capital’s capacity to reproduce itself cannot be solely be attributed to the apparatuses of ideational control, nor to the periodic backstop exertions of force, nor even to the combination of these two, canonically present in Althusser’s distinction between the Ideological and Repressive State Apparatuses, or Gramsci’s appropriation of Machievelli’s Centaur - half-man, half-beast - as representative of the two moments of coercion and consent in hegemony
Toward a Dialectical Humanism: A Critique of Soren Mau’s Mute Compulsion
I call them Shitlords, he calls them Controllers
"The best possible outcome is a frozen conflict that could easily turn back into a hot war. The worst possible outcome is a nuclear war, which is unlikely but cannot be ruled out."
The Supreme Court Has Killed Affirmative Action. Mediocre Whites Can Rest Easier
Revolution without the Risks: Enjoying the Adventures of Yevgeny Prigozhin
America’s Suez moment?University of Chicago and capitalism
Daniel Ellsberg Is Lauded in Death by the Same Media That Lets Assange Rot in Jail
Making fire does you goodDecapitalizing Culture
The customer is always rooked
The Court struck down Affirmative Action for everyone except WHITE PEOPLE
The Sounds Of Invisible Worlds
What Intense Rituals Signal to Your Brain
Who the Washington Post exists to serve
I commented, Eat the rich, brain Sietsema with a garden shovel, comment deleted and I have been permanently banned from commenting at Your Fucking Washington Post
{ feuilleton }'s weeklyNew ROBERT COOVER novel out late July
Cannibals all | On William Gaddis’s novel A Frolic of His Own
Seventeen James Tate poems! (Tate still works for me, I'm not dead yet)


James Tate

“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.

1 comment:

  1. There's another, slightly different, version of this story. I picked it up from a TeeVee show, so Be Advised.

    This guy's walking down the street when he falls in one of those construction trenches. The walls are steep; there's no ladder; he can't get out. He sees a doctor passing by, and the shouts up at him, "Hey, Doc! Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription for Valium, throws it down in the hole, and moves on. Then the man sees a priest going by; the man shouts up at him, "Father, I'm down in this hole! Can you help me?"' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole, and moves on.

    Then the man sees a friend walking by. "Hey, Joe! It's me! Can you help me?' And the friend jumps in the hole. The guy says, "Are you stupid? Now we're both stuck down here!" The friend says, "Yeah -- but I've been down here before. And I know the way out."