A week ago today, it feels a year ago, I occupied 15th and K for two hours (but left before the arrests started), today I'm driving to Bamgier Ohio to pick up Planet from her elite college to bring her home for Giftmas Break. _____ _ _________, _ _____ ____ - *!____!* - _______ _______ __ __ ________. ____ __ .__ %. + __ - ___ _ ___ ______. ____, ____________ ________. ____ __ ___ ____, ___, ____ ___ ____ ___ ____. O! and lots of Stephen Merritt projects as promised!
- I wish I had an evil twin.
- More about sedation than provocation.
- Lovers from the moon.
- Is Occupy reaching take-off?
- Two characters in search of a country song.
- Rocky Anderson? Rocky Anderson doesn't seem to have a website. Fail.
- The flowers she sent and the flowers she said she sent.
- Ruth Marcus and Clench Wills, hell, the whole fucking inbred-Villager lot of Fuckface Hiatt's editorial page hate Newt Gingrich. Golly! (Sorry, but you find a Golly.)
- A thousand lovers.
- Michael Savage hates Newt Gingrich. Savage's cynicism is purer.
- The world is a disco ball.
- Dick Cheney and Smirk Guiliani, however, love Newt.
- Alien being.
- Still Dick.
- When you're old and lonely.
- Conceived, designed and manufactured with you in mind.
- Lonely days.
- Obama's good for this business.
- Old fools.
- Awesome architecture.
- Sun goes down and the world goes dancing.
- The future at the end of the economy.
- you you you you.
- Carnival versus capital. Time to revisit Bakhtin.
- Dada polka.
- Canonical nationalism.
- Sailor in love with the sea. Yes, that's Gary Numan.
- Beckett, for those of you who do and/or will.
- Merritt covers Gabriel.
- Live (recent) Cure. Fuck I'm old, four months older than Robert Smith.
- Dress up in dreams. Yes, that's Mary Timony.
- Something for Randal.
- Falling out of love with you. Yes, that's Dean Wareham.
OFF A SIDE ROAD NEAR STAUNTON
Stanley Plumly
Some nothing afternoon, no one anywhere,
an early autumn stillness in the air,
the kind of empty day you fill by taking in
the full size of the valley and its layers leading
slowly to the Blue Ridge, the quality of country,
if you stand here long enough, you could stay
for, step into, the way a landscape, even on a wall,
pulls you in, one field at a time, pasture and fall
meadow, high above the harvest, perfect
to the tree line, then spirit clouds and intermittent
sunlit smoky rain riding the tops of the mountains,
though you could walk until it’s dark and not reach those rains—
you could walk the rest of the day into the picture
and not know why, at any given moment, you’re there.
