I have waked and slipped from the calendars from the creeds of difference and the contradictions that were my life and all the crumbling fabrications

Watching paint dry - and in these two cases watching watercolor ink dry too - how I spend at least an hour every day, literally, it fascinates me, is my television

8x8 above, 6x6 below, gouache, watercolor ink, painters tape. I didn't plan - there is no plan - to post just once a week, and I made no decision to consciously post less or consciously stop checking my ping stats - today was the first time I looked in six days, seems the google bot in Shanghai and the apple bot in Tappahannock Virginia and the amazon bot in Ashburn Virginia and the mystery bot in Annandale Virginia have lost interest in me for the time being. I haven't fished for birthdays to post like once (there's a Merwin poem at bottom, he was born 96 years ago the day before yesterday, as recent as last year that merited a standalone post, I tweeted out the poem below on his birthday (I've been shadow-banned at melon's place, that's another story I haven't bothered to post about here) but didn't think of posting his birthday here beyond nah). I haven't posted a monthly Theme Song in years. Where the fuck are my cats here? Once every post had a Fleabus photo, that was a decade or longer ago, but when was the last time I posted one of the six here? I daydream of expanding pjoepf Of vriecyh into an all encompassing archive of things I've made whose paint has dried but have successfully talked myself so far out of that in effort to not further disappear into watching paint dry which I'd rather do than read and write. I worry that it will become all consuming, I worry that it won't, but at least I'm not consumed by this joint like I was for years

"I don't need anything from here"
Getting rich quickly preempts every other value
The USA's shiny facade conceals a monstrous soul
A story destined for urgent dispatch down the Memory Hole
The Mad Propaganda Push To Normalize War Profiteering In Ukraine
The Sycophant				FRESH HELL
Avedon Carol's occasional links
Behold: your motherfucking Democratic savior?
Behold: your motherfucking Democratic savior?
Why Do We Forget So Many of Our Dreams?
Kimchee is Korean				AWKWARDNESS
The man who invented fantasy
Why Lydia Davis Loves Misunderstandings
Maggie's		{ feuilleton }'s				sequelae
Like me, since the Dylan pick, fewer and fewer people give a flying fuck about the Nobel for Lit
Zombie stirred				This is why I keep the graveyards for the moribund though I haven't weeded and replanted the newly moribund in a while, things have changed here for me

VIXEN

W.S. Merwin

Comet of stillness princess of what is over

       high note held without trembling without voice without sound

aura of complete darkness keeper of the kept secrets

       of the destroyed stories the escaped dreams the sentences

never caught in words warden of where the river went

       touch of its surface sibyl of the extinguished

window onto the hidden place and the other time

       at the foot of the wall by the road patient without waiting

in the full moonlight of autumn at the hour when I was born

       you no longer go out like a flame at the sight of me

you are still warmer than the moonlight gleaming on you

       even now you are unharmed even now perfect

as you have always been now when your light paws are running

       on the breathless night on the bridge with one end I remember you

when I have heard you the soles of my feet have made answer

       when I have seen you I have waked and slipped from the calendars

from the creeds of difference and the contradictions

       that were my life and all the crumbling fabrications

as long as it lasted until something that we were

       had ended when you are no longer anything

let me catch sight of you again going over the wall

       and before the garden is extinct and the woods are figures

guttering on a screen let my words find their own

       places in the silence after the animals