So now the firestorm is what some fuck at National Review typed re: white parental advice to their children re: niggers, and jesus fucking christ this is gonna be the shittiest summer ever since the last until the next. I've thought about creating a gadget box to track the worst media or bleggal firestorm ever since the last until the next, and Hey! Did you know Washington DC has a professional soccer team?
- It's true! and they're giving away that shirt tonight and I want. They play tonight at home against the shittiest kits in professional soccer, the shittiest kits EVER! Shiityest also too.
- Marc Burch takes every free kick, or dummies at the least, and scores one, does a Tino to LOUD SIDE! Pint bet? (You must be present to win this prize.)
- Line-up issues. Najar doesn't start, doesn't play unless o-shit? Pontius and DeLeon - which does Benny start on the right?
- Happy Easter!
- The running of the schadenfreude.
- Your fucking Washington Post.
- Five media stereotypes about the South.
- Jump fraud.
- Capital Danaids.
- Hope so. Be most fun, in a miserable scab-pulling cutter sort of way.
- He'd be dumb not to.
- His generation's greatest academic fraud. As always, I say this truly admiringly.
- Three houses down from mine:
- No idea what the fuck.
- Wheaton!
- There will never be a new bridge!
- Hey, few new additions to Becauses Left and Right, and thanks everyone for new contact, as always, if you're Kinding me and me not you send me an email.
- Blog Against Theocracy 2012.
- Serendipitously or not, why I should be a vegetarian or not. This is true: our last night in Ohio, driving into Zanesville from Bamgier, we waited at a stop light next to an eighteen-wheeler filled with pigs on the way to the slaughterhouse. I've eaten no flesh since, though it won't last.
- Poetry fake books. (h/t Hamster)
- Starring Don Knotts as Emily Dickinson.
- Coetzee, for those of you who do.
- Shoot me.
- Shoot me.
- WFMU blogged about Bardo Pond. Was a sign!
IMPROVISATIONS ON A SENTENCE BY POE
Jack Spicer
"Indefiniteness is an element of the true music."
The grand concord of what
Does not stoop to definition. The seagull
Alone on the pier cawing its head off
Over no fish, no other seagull,
No ocean. As absolutely devoid of meaning
As a French horn.
It is not even an orchestra. Concord
Alone on a pier. The grand concord of what
Does not stoop to definition. No fish
No other seagull, no ocean—the true
Music.
