What's different about this desperate reading slump is that it isn't desperate (even if Berryman broke it, for today at least, the way he thinks in blocks like I think helping), what's different is that not only am I not frantic I'm not desperate, I'm fascinated I'm not desperate. CWCF, strangest days of my life, the first time in my life when novels don't speak to me, seem obsolete and closed. Now, on the other hand:
DREAM SONG 25
Henry, edged, decidedly, made up stories
lighting the past of Henry, of his glorious
present, and his hoaries,
all the bight heals he tamped— —Euphoria,
Mr Bones, euphoria. Fate clobber all.
—Hand me back my crawl,
condign Heaven. Tighten into a ball
elongate & valved Henry. Tuck him peace.
Render him sightless,
or ruin at high rate his crampon focus,
wipe out his need. Reduce him to the rest of us.
—But, Bones, you is that.
—I cannot remember. I am going away.
There was something in my dream about a Cat,
which fought and sang.
Something about a lyre, an island. Unstrung.
Linked to the land at low tide. Cables fray.
Thank you for everything.
- Occupy Obama.
- Battle for the heart of Occupy.
- Occupy and the deradicalized Rawls.
- It's true!
- The long goodbye.
- Denunciation and disruption.
- Go the fuck away.
- Judith Butler can stay.
- Empowers.
- Related to the above.
- Shooting the greatest academic fraud of his generation (I say that admiringly).
- I know it's The Duh, though it still needs saying.
- Also, motherfucking crackers.
- Things you might have missed.
- MOCO traffic!
- Suddenly, a new worse nightmare.
- On one's little girl.
- Woke up with this in my head:
DREAM SONG 16
Henry's pelt was put on sundry walls
where it did much resemble Henry and
them persons was delighted.
Especially his long & glowing tail
by all them was admired, and visitors.
They whistled: This is it!
Golden, whilst your frozen daiquiris
whir at midnight, gleams on you his fur
& silky & black.
Mission accomplished, pal.
My molten yellow & moonless bag,
drained, hangs at rest.
Collect in the cold depths barracuda. Ay,
in Sealdah Station some possessionless
children survive to die.
The Chinese communes hum. Two daiquiris
withdrew into a corner of the gorgeous room
and one told the other a lie.
