We Are Not Speaking Now, We Were Never Speaking

The End of American Thanksgiving: a Cause of Universal Rejoicing
"We were marked for extinction but we are still here"
Creating new rules on how they can hurt us
I'll tell you what's changed: crackers and christers have openly, boastingly, toggled to blaming the victims for what crackers and christers do to them, We warned you what will happen and you kept doing it anyway
THE MOST IMPORTANT STORY EVER! TO THE WHITE HOUSE PRESS CORP!
Crackers are creepy as fuck (though the play here is to emasculate Fetterman, who they clearly see as a threat to their staked-out claim of Alphacracker, by tarring Fetterman as pussy-whipped)
My brother Elric bought a new bigass pickup truck which he explained was actually the smallest model he could find, when he pulled into the driveway of the family home yesterday my mind leaped to bigass pickup trucks in Michigan and needed to remind myself owning a pickup truck does not make the owner necessarily a cracker. I vouch that Elric is not a cracker.
Here's an oped by a Washington Post Senior Villager instructing you on the difference between being flogged by an ideologue versus whipped by a politician a matter of etiquette and tradition, authoritarianism is fine but totalitarianism is gauche. Crackers are fine, Trump is gauche. Either/Or: Washington Post Senior Villager *doesn't* know what's coming or knows what's coming and just doesn't want it to be gauche. Death to the Either/Or of course, politely
Cracker. Christer. I've been advised for years if I just euphemized those terms more more people would check back after looking once then, seeing Cracker this or Christer that, never return. Motherfucking in general too, motherfucking Obama once upon a time, early on, before most of yinz had your obamapostasy, and Motherfucking Democrats probably doesn't help either. I suspect in the already started Twitter Christer Cracker Revenge Tour 2022 I'm safe tapping motherfucking Obama and Democrats, will some twitter engineer write an algorithm searching *cracker* gain me a ban and/or cracker bots and trolls and troll bots. O, and mastodon still sucks, massively
Club Q massacre exposed police and queerphobes for who they really are
REMINDER: 2nd amendment doesn't apply to fags (update, the account suspended, tweet disappeared)
The clash of "civilizational states"
On twitter: a thread				A class analysis of the twaater crisis
dril in the Washington Post talking about twaater?
Berlant: the inconvenience of other people
REMINDER: don't helmetball, beloved dipshits
San Francisco police to consider letting robots use deadly force
Why twitter has been marvelous			LIGHT		Devil's Theatre
WIFENESS: GONADAL EXEGESES IN THREE or FOUR PARTS/ Part Three: THE MYSTICAL CITADEL of UXOR
The incredible shrinking future of college
Life in the Fap Lane: on John Barth
On New Directions new storybook editions
Bob Weir played the Kennedy Center this past October?
Maps and local history if you dig like me
More proof most humans are idiots

ART HAS LAPSED WE KNOW

Bernadette Mayer

Art has lapsed we know since nothing's
happening but the poet's free dream
in the rich hands of exhaustion of who
to invite the lover or the lover?

This is not to speak
This is not said to speak
We are not speaking now, we were
never speaking

For what succeeds is silly maybe
For what succeeds is maybe silly
There might be nostalgia, emotion
There might be stuff unknown as death
Let something something something
Please, let something something something

Children Are Building Their Teacher a Coffin

The flags of Trumpistan	The distrust is rational	The Trumpster and his head-tribble	Amateur beserkers	They think they won, and they are not wrong	Stunned to find a helmetball coach is a racist cracker, stunned	The Surrenderists	Koch GOP versus Trump GOP
Be specific, sir, if you please	Vaccine Nationalism	motherfuckingdemocrats	More cops = more fascism	Why the Commerce Secretary should be progressive >>>>>>	Biden: NOPE!	You do know legislation being considered on Domestic Terrorism will be used against you, yes?	Creating terrorists
The March of Euphemism	Against healing	THE PROBLEM OF NOW	On Bernadette Mayer's *MEMORY*	#1186	Rudimentary	Percival Everett	I've only just met Bill Manhire's poetry
The hinterland, the hinterland, we're gonna sail to the the hinterland, it's so far far farfarfar, farfar far away, it's so fa fa fafafa, da da da da dadada
Many Americans angrier that cosplaying crackers ransacked	Pelosi's office than angry that 4000 Americans are dying daily	by deliberate institutional incompetence in the service of shitlord profits	Meanwhile look over there >>>>	Trump now permanently banned from twaater out of fear what he will incite	I will bark this again: Ruth Bader Ginsberg's Death *the* pivotal event of this election	Shitlords changed horses, if Ginsberg hadn't died, Trump would have won	When Trump and his followers, and not just the dopes cosplaying Davy Crockett, say shitlords had their thumbs on the scale, true
the entire tone of Trump coverage changed after Ginsberg's death, and major breaking bad for Trump stories	like the NYT piece on his shit finances and dumpster fire tax problems, which could have been released months earlier, dropped	Anyway, twaater - within their legal rights, etc - killing the high priest of conspiracies while the incoming president tells them to chill with the conspiracy shit	confirms the conspiracies for the conspiracists and martyrs the high priest.	I type these 16 boxes with the second from the right in the second row: as the plague reminded us, our shitlords never let a clusterfuck go to waste	Think of the photos of cops in riot gear before a BLM march and cops not at crackerevolution	Any new laws against speech and assembly will be written with *you* in mind, not Davy Cracker	Reminder: shitlords don't see hippies versus crackers, they see subjects they can pit against each other instead of uniting against them
The question is why would shitlords so provocatively incite the reaction they say the banning was done to prevent?
Kidding, rhetorical that, above and below.
The question is why would crackers incite shitlords to crack back on crackers the way crackers said shitlords would crack back?
Bowie born 74	years ago yday	my favorite Bowie	song ever, folk	can vouch, my	most air-guitared	song ever	I can vouch

WOODWORK

Bill Manhire

Children are building their teacher a coffin.
There it is in the paper, somewhere in Holland,

a good plain coffin made of many parts,
and two of the children

call each day and talk to the teacher
to keep the teacher posted. Is she happy?

She is ill but quite contented.
What will they give her to take with her

into the earth at last, or across those borders
where only teachers travel? There is dark energy there

and multiplication tables, and many children are in a room
with chisels and planes and spirit levels.

They must be making something wonderful.
Everything needs to be straight.

I made a boat, a tie-rack, a wooden spoon.
The boat sat on a mantlepiece in several different houses.

It was happy with its yellow funnel,
somewhere it is sailing. And everywhere children

are waving and working hard.
They are building their teacher a coffin.

Assassin-Bug Secretion Secretion Assassin-Bug

• If you're reading this you might be a conspiracy theorist
• Reminder: it is entirely possible that the threat of covid is genuinely real and dangerous *and* entirely probable that threat is being vectored by our shitlords to strategically and lavishly leverage their shittiness to increase their net shittiness
• (they often hire Democrats for wet work)
• This was always the plan

• Fuck the surveillance police, Jeff types into his free google blaaaaging platform
• Motherfucking Democrats
• The crackerchrister redemption story
• 'nother test (Ed mentioned on tweeter that wordpress update is fucked too (see above free google blaaaaging platform link)
• Non-conforming
• Seven ways MOCO is changing
• Periwinkle
• Musick to Play in the Dark
• Update! a my bleggalgaze (at wordpress, I was updated without notice)
• New Orders' best deep cuts
• On Jackson Mac Low whose poem below put the song below in my head

  


 
INSECT ASSASSINS
 
Jackson Mac Low

Injects no survive. Efforts control the
Animal survive. Survive. Animal survive. Survive. Injects no survive.
 
In nasty spitting eye cost. This
Assassin spitting spitting assassin spitting spitting in nasty spitting
 
Insectivorous nutriment species encounter Charles to
Are species species are species species insectivorous nutriment species
 
Into notoriety. Sweeping eastern capture testimony
As sweeping sweeping as sweeping sweeping into
notoriety. Sweeping

Interest nervous succumb easily: composed tube
Adhesive succumb succumb adhesive succumb succumb interest
nervous succumb
 
It near spider East closes thorax.
And spider spider and spider spider it near spider
 
Its needle. Specialized enlarged? Cutting tough
A specialized specialized a specialized specialized its needle.
Specialized
 
Is nontoxic secretion extremely contains that
Assassin-bug secretion secretion assassin-bug secretion secretion
is nontoxic secretion
 
I needle-like snake. Enzymes compound TENDON
ANCHORING snake, snake, ANCHORING snake, snake, I
needle-like snake,
 
INLET not significant, effect cockroach. Thus
About significant, significant, about significant, significant,
INLET not significant,
Insect "natural" surround enzyme constituents time
After surround surround after surround surround insect "natural"
surround
 
Internal nerve. Sucks especially contents through.
Against sucks sucks. Against sucks sucks. Internal nerve. Sucks
 
Immediate now share extinguishing controlling them.
Arises: share share arises: share share immediate now share
 
Insecticide? Needs. Sap; episode. Cimicidae thoroughly
Attributed sap; sap; attributed sap; sap; insecticide? Needs. Sap;
 
Insects numbing seconds. Each channels. They.
Accordingly seconds. Seconds. Accordingly seconds. Seconds.
Insects numbing seconds.

To Discuss Pro & Contra Here Is Mute

No, I didn't forget. First anger for anger's sake in five weeks, eight weeks? the video used forever of my favorite Bowie song (people can vouch) dead, I don't have the cover of Lodger, my favorite Bowie album (people can vouch) for Bowie's birthday (born 73 years ago yesterday) (there is a youtube of my favorite song with the Lodger cover but the audio is shit), fine metaphors abound and I am by standards of me mute right now, have a new Sir Richard Dawson (not Newkirk) song instead





PHILOSOPHIA PERENNIS

Anne Waldman
 

I turned: quivering yellow stars in blackness   

I wept: how speech may save a woman

The picture changes & promises the heroine   

That nighttime & meditation are a mirage

  

To discuss pro & contra here is mute

Do I not love you, day?

A pure output of teleological intentions

& she babbles, developing a picture-theory of language

  

Do I not play the delicate game of language?   

yes, & it is antecedent to the affairs of the world:   

The dish, the mop, the stove, the bed, the marriage   

& surges forth the world in which I love

  

I and I and I and I and I and I, infinitely reversible   

Yet never secure in the long morning texture

A poor existing woman-being, accept her broken heart   

& yet the earth is divinity, the sky is divinity

The nomads walk & walk.

far far, far far far, far far far away Its a far far, far far far, fa da, da da da

  
  
Born 72 years ago today, this is my favorite Bowie song and my favorite Bowie album, you can vouch.
   
Here's LOTS (or what remains of LOTS, lots of youtubes dead.
   
Heathens is underrated, lots.
   
   

Emoshon (Comment on Obsession)

• I've collected links for a post but have nothing to say beyond the links, a song, a poem.
• I am not going to engage in debating motherfucking Democrats with friends energized by the midterm elections and justifiably furious at Republicans for voter fraud in Georgia and Florida.
• Last night looking at last year on blog to see if I'm missing any birthdays I thought, I don't want to do this any longer, or at least as often, as much, as clockwork.
• Part of this no doubt the diminishing stats not just at me but everywhere as Blegsylvania continues to atrophy, I could also claim apathy but was taught apathy is a disease.
• I have extra fucks to give now that I stopped spending all of them on flags and replica uniforms, my fucks bark let loose and bark in kennel, barkfuck fuckbark.
• It occurs to me often that quiet might be the proper resistance to the noise, if not for anyone's sake but my own.

• From 2014, noise when I think about shutting up, bigger at other place.
• Who doesn't think she or her corpse is running in 2020?
• Money: 5000 years of debt and power.
• The 2019 Global Recession.
• Motherfucking Democrats.
• Be grateful Trump never embraced The Motherfuckerer.
• This.
• Maggie's weekly links.
• At the Reading Experience.
• His life as a crossing guard.
• { feuilleton }'s weekly links.
• A second look at second books of poetry.

LIKE A SIMILE

Tom Raworth

emoshon                 (comment on obsession)
patterns                  patterns turning in
his tonsure painted red
we think
we know
what we'll do tomorrow

The Man in the Darkness with His Tongue

• If people stopped wishing upon Democrats I wouldn't need call Democrats motherfuckers.
• Motherfucking Democrats in the Mococosm.
• I confess, the last fifteen minutes paying attention to Moco politics is more than the almost 59 years of my life I didn't combined. People can vouch.
• Quote from Post story link: Elrich, a staunch progressive with strong union backing, said in an interview Monday that his critics have unfairly described him as running on a “let’s not have development platform.”“If you’re trying to achieve what I want to achieve, then you need to have money,” Elrich said, noting that if he wants to expand early-childhood education, for example, then he will need to increase the county’s commercial tax base.
• Sinner. He's the guy Earthgirl, Planet and I met at nextdoor neighbor's two months ago, he talked to the three of us for twenty minutes, mostly to Earthgirl and Planet cause they're the teachers, about education policy (Erlich was a public school teacher), and OK, I voted for him, gave the CRANKY SOCIALIST! money too.
• This is the first time - Elrich won by 80 votes - my Moco vote mattered, I'm flustered, bit puffed.
• I want Floreen to run against Elrich so I can digitally flagellate my complicity like I mean it after letting Floreen eat in peace at Black Market Bistro in Parrett Gark when I see her there while I'm forced to eat there multiple times in next few weeks.
• I cannot wait until July 29th.
• Only two posts a year are not tagged My Complicity.
• Life in the Assholocene, me.
• My mofos, Moco and not, there is and will be a "Borth Nethesda" whether I want or not. 

TAKING YOUR LIFE

Frank Stanford

The man's tongue laid down beside him when he slept.
The man did not know it.
He thought his tongue was safe and quiet
In the pillow of his mouth.
The man thought his tongue was his wife.

The man did not know his tongue
Dreamed of touching others,
Longing with pain, moaning with pleasure.

One night the man woke and had no voice.
He felt his mouth, saw his tongue was gone.

He went through the bars looking for his tongue.
He wanted to drink, but he couldn't.
He wanted to sing, but he couldn't.
He envied the musicians.
He heard his tongue was with another.

He went home, sad and imaginary
With desire.
He dreamed he was a musician,
That his tongue heard him one night,
Fell in love with him,
Came back to live in his mouth.

This was a dream.

His own tongue, the soft root of his death.
It would fly
Out of its lair, light in a tree,
Cast its own shadow on the man.

The man in the darkness with his tongue,
The man with no voice, no lovers.

The Hinterland, the Hinterland, We're Gonna Sail to the Hinterland. And It's Far Far, Far Far Far, Far Far Far Away Its a Far Far, Far Far Far Fa Da Da Da-Da Da

My favorite Bowie song ever - people can vouch - easily one of my five most air-guitared songs ever.

Here is the 60+ song list for his RIP two years ago. Some even still work.

High Egoslavian Holy Day. Born 71 years ago today. Innermost circle MSADI5G.


 
 
Mongo requests (get your requests in, I'll try to post):


 
 
Charlie requests:


 
 
Cirze requests:

It's Too Late to Be Too Late Again

Now's the time, after I do all the initial stations of my kneejerks to partisan stimuli, to develop (station) and promote (station) conspiracy theories. Also Stupidass Star Trek allusions (station) in service to those conspiracies.

What if Bannon

initiated the immigration clusterfuck to (a) feed Trumps' tribe (b) goad Liberal public reaction to (c) begin goading of Trump to call out National Guard (d) goad House/Senate Democrats onto record (e) goad House/Senate GOP to dead-to-me disloyalty (f) deflect attention from Bannon now running the military (g) 1. e4 DING! yes, all but the above (but especially f), and MORE! so many more stations downstream but no more blah blah blah today.

Born Seventy Years Ago Today

Bowie born 70 years ago today, died a year ago day after tomorrow. ▲'s my favorite Bowie songs, one of the five most air-guitared songs (me as Bowie & Fripp). Here is the 60+ song post as RIP last year.

Forgive me, I've been programmed to sanctimoniously over-mourn the passed expiration date of everything I can't - and never could, so fuck me - control.

There's a guy with a birthday in a week or so, I did at least two deathdays for him, and I death day Lennon since that was all about me, but, going forward, as the deaths rack-up, just going to do one deathday for each head off my totems.

This is new:

Theme Song January 2017

• Most Egoslavian Theme Song of the Month Ever.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh. 
• The post back to I'm a locksmith did ask, what happened to DRGDKCLB.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh.
• The bot from Indonesia sent another comment to the locksmith post: You completely match our expectation and the variety of our information. locksmith las vegas on I'm a Locksmith, and I'm a Locksmith
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh.
• Tomorrow is  High Egoslavian Holy Day. In last January 8's High Egoslavian Holy Day post I caused the death of David Bowie two days later.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh. 
• Everyday authoritarianism is boring and tolerable.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh.
• The art of the strongman.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh.
• America's heroes.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh. 
• Passing through the ruins.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh. 
• Frances' new article in Navaho Times.
• January's bleggalgaze obligation, sheesh.
• Today's poem.

The Extreme Austerity of an Almost Empty Mind

• On Trump's supporters: There are a number of Americans who are losers from a process of economic globalization that enriches a transnational global elite. These Middle Americans see jobs disappearing to Asia and increased competition from immigrants. Most of them feel threatened by cultural liberalism, at least the type that sees Middle Americans as loathsome white bigots. But they are also threatened by conservatives who would take away their Medicare, hand their Social Security earnings to fund-managers in Connecticut, and cut off their unemployment too.... What so frightens the conservative movement about Trump's success is that he reveals just how thin the support for their ideas really is. His campaign is a rebuke to their institutions. It says the Republican Party doesn't need all these think tanks, all this supposed policy expertise. It says look at these people calling themselves libertarians and conservatives, the ones in tassel-loafers and bow ties. Have they made you more free? Have their endless policy papers and studies and books conserved anything for you? These people are worthless. They are defunct. You don't need them, and you're better off without them.
• Same colleague yesterday as last time I did this gag on our conversation back in November or December: Trump Cruz Trump Cruz Trump Cruz. Me in response: _____________.
• Because I'm not going to change her mind, and she is not going to change mine.
• Though my mind is changing - I understand the Trump phenomenon is more than a fuck you; it's still a fuck you, but a deeper, more complex, and more valid fuck you than I credited.
• How I haven't changed my mind: The Democrats answer is..... Hillary Clinton... and fuck you, Democrats.
• Because none of this is by accident, as in, Oligarchs may not be able to predict the particulars of public reaction to imposed precarity, but the precarity was imposed by design.
• Bowie's favorite 25 albums.
• Bowie impersonates Dylan, Springsteen, Iggy.....
• Name the Get Smart allusion this band's name evokes (I assume unintentionally, but I can hope).

AND UT PICTURA POESIS IS HER NAME

John Ashbery

You can’t say it that way any more.   

Bothered about beauty you have to   

Come out into the open, into a clearing,

And rest. Certainly whatever funny happens to you

Is OK. To demand more than this would be strange

Of you, you who have so many lovers,   

People who look up to you and are willing   

To do things for you, but you think

It’s not right, that if they really knew you . . .

So much for self-analysis. Now,

About what to put in your poem-painting:   

Flowers are always nice, particularly delphinium.   

Names of boys you once knew and their sleds,   

Skyrockets are good—do they still exist?

There are a lot of other things of the same quality   

As those I’ve mentioned. Now one must

Find a few important words, and a lot of low-keyed,

Dull-sounding ones. She approached me

About buying her desk. Suddenly the street was   

Bananas and the clangor of Japanese instruments.   

Humdrum testaments were scattered around. His head

Locked into mine. We were a seesaw. Something   

Ought to be written about how this affects   

You when you write poetry:

The extreme austerity of an almost empty mind

Colliding with the lush, Rousseau-like foliage of its desire to communicate   

Something between breaths, if only for the sake   

Of others and their desire to understand you and desert you

For other centers of communication, so that understanding

May begin, and in doing so be undone.

Born Seventy-Five Years Ago Today

High Egoslavian Holy Day: Don Van Vliet born 75 years ago today. Click BEEFHEART for lots of songs, lots of me mumbling of my love of Beefheart. Bowie's death had me thinking of albums that paradigmatically changed how I hear music - Aladdin Sane, for instance - and Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica - for another.

Bowie's death - I hadn't been so nut-punched by a death since Beefheart's in 2010. That's two of my innermost circle for the three rotating spots on My Sillyass Deserted Island Five Game. I promise to give all living members full Egoslavian Birthday Rites - I slighted Bowie's this year two day's before his death - but cannot promise that dire posts born of ominous dreams won't curse, though I promise to look at the next day's birthdays before I kill again.








Also too, rest in peace, C.D. Wright.



FLAME

C.D. Wright

the breath               the trees               the bridge

the road                  the rain                the sheen

the breath               the line                  the skin

the vineyard            the fences             the leg

the water                the breath             the shift

the hair                  the wheels             the shoulder

the breath               the lane                the streak

the lining                the hour                the reasons

the name                the distance          the breath

the scent                the dogs                the blear

the lungs                the breath             the glove

the signal               the turn                  the need

the steps                the lights               the door

the mouth               the tongue             the eyes

the burn                  the burned            the burning

Who Knows? Not Me

*

*

 

*

At least 56 more songs (and not another word) below the fold: I'm told all these your tubes on front page are crashing browsers. There were 56 when I imposed the fold, I'll be adding songs, your requests if you have any.

A Friend from Boston Wrote Something to Me Last Week About Not Having the Intelligence to Take as Subject for His Poems Anything Other Than His Own Life

• Bowie is 69 today. That's my favorite Bowie song. Forgive me, that's all the fuck I got. Here's last year's playlist, and you can click this for lots more. Yes, he has new music, forgive me, I don't like it. I'll take the blame.
• Work sucks. January is always difficult in my work cycle, and because of budget cuts, library politics, and deceit by bosses I had always trusted, I'm drowning and pissed, so pissed it dribbles into every outlook on every subject.
• So, attention slut though I be, you'll not get the poem on this anger. You're welcome.
• The things I write about I won't show anyone. You're welcome.
• And the motherfucking chirpy fuck who walks around library screaming Happy Friday! at everyone just walked through, O, My Kingdom for a Shovel!
• UPDATE! Because it a long-running gag been dormant, I trademark the word Clusterfuckocene.
• So my indifference to America's lamest motherfuckers needs weighing in light of my total lack of give-a-fuckness.
• Hillary & Trump: it's not going to work out for Clinton?
• Speaking of which, speculate on who Trump will name as his veep nominee.
• Making the world safe for asshole oligarchs.
• Angry pathetic white assclowns are not the problem.
• Don't let the perfect be the enemy of hypocrisy.
• Through the eyes of a child.
• Dead enders.
• The gnashing of teeth.
• This week in water.
• Ethan's 2015 reading list.
• Don't forget my dog.
• This morning Earthgirl used the word Houdini to describe Olive's skills at escaping rooms she's isolated in for breakfast (she inhales hers, covets others), and Earthgirl used the word bungalow to describe a friend's house, so Long Fin Killie and XTC are in my head.

ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT RESCUE

M.L. Smoker

The time is important here—not because this   

has been a long winter or because it is my first   

at home since childhood—but because there is so much   

else to be unsure of. We are on the brink of an invasion.   

At a time like this how is it that when I left only a week ago

there was three feet of snow on the ground,

and now there is none, not even a single patch   

on in the shadow of the fence-line.   

And to think I paid a cousin twenty dollars   

to shovel the walk. He and two of his buddies,   

still smelling of an all-nighter, arrived at 7 am   

to begin their work. When I left them a while later   

and noticed their ungloved hands, winter made me feel   

selfish and unsure. This ground seems unsure   

of itself for its own reasons

and we do not gauge enough of our lives   

by changes in temperature.

When I first began to write poems

I was laying claim to battle.

It started with a death that I tried to say

was unjust, not because of the actual

dying, but because of what was left.

What time of year was that?

I have still not yet learned to write of war.

I have friends who speak out—as is necessary—

with subtle and unsubtle force.

But I am from this place and a great deal

has been going wrong for some time now.

The two young Indian boys who almost drowned

last night in the fast-rising creek near school

are casualties in any case.

There have been too many just like them

and I have no way to fix these things.

A friend from Boston wrote something to me last week

about not having the intelligence

to take as subject for his poems

anything other than his own life.

For a while now I have sensed this in my own mood:

This poem was never supposed to mention

itself, other writers, or me.

But I will not regret that those boys made it home,

or that the cousins used the money at the bar.

Still, there are no lights on this street.

Still, there is so much mud outside

that we carry it indoors with us.