K at Thursday Night Pints told us about her past five days in Kettering Ohio, a suburb of Dayton. She was helping take care of her three-year-old niece while her kid sister and her husband dealt with the premature birth of the niece's kid brother. She said, about motherfucking POTUS 12, I thought the constant ads in DC aimed at Virginians was incessant, I don't know how Ohioans stand it. L said, honestly, whose mind is going to be changed at this point. I said, it's whip and homestretch, the one thing that could hurt is not being seen as gutting as many live golden retriever puppies on live TV as your opponent, and that's as much for the loser's martyr's mantra as changing minds. D said, Sandy was a godsend to both Obama and Romney, it solidifies Obama's victory, it gives Republicans the if-but-for-Sandy narrative for midterms and 2016. Silence. L said, I remember voting for Kennedy in 1960, my first vote, I teared-up. D's first was LBJ in 1964, mine Carter in 1980, K's Dukakis in 1988. Dukakis, L snorted, all snorted at L's snort. Christ, we're idiots, said L. K bought round. Very good times.
Today's music via friend Greyhoos. I was completely unaware of Terry Callier, I saw news of his death on some of the music blogs I read, then Greyhoos posted a tribute. I sent him an email asking for places to start, he Kindly provided.
- Jeebus, I haven't heard 99.9% of what I need to hear.
- Hey, Richard, what news of this?
- A good day to meme.
- Of course it is.
- A yay for Ron Wyden. At least for the time being.
- A yay for Richard Seeborg. At least for the time being. h/t Sasha.
- The fragility of complex systems.
- And inevitable results.
- Not a wasted vote.
- Gonna suck.
- Your Fucking Washington Post.
- Hell.
- I do buy the conventional wisdom that Sandy helps Obama, but when live footage of murders for water and rampant cannibalism hit the news on Sunday, we'll see.
- This week in war!
- One take on the Left press.
- Meth odd actors.
- Tin cans and string.
- Have I ever mentioned how rinkydink MLS is?
- Well that's a fucking shame. LA and PKs = Juve and PKs.
- Hamsters do the conga! Dinner Sunday? 5:00 @ Saul?
- Burn your novel.
SILVER AND INFORMATION
Bruce Smith
An obituary has more news than this day,
brilliant, acid yellow and silver
off the water at land’s end. The disparate
prismatic things blind you as they fin
their way across the surface of the water.
This light cannot inform you of your dying.
Fish of lustrous nothing, fish of desire,
fish whose push and syllable
can make things happen,
fish whose ecstatic hunger
is no longer news, and fish whose mouth
zeroes the multitudes, the hosts
who wait for their analogies
and something nice to eat, the billions
the waves commemorate in their breaking
down to their knees on the shore,
their cloacal sound. Now
how can I stay singular?
How can even ore part die
when I split and split
like the smallest animal
in the ocean until I’m famous
in my dismemberment, splendid
in my hunger, and anonymous—
so that naming one
is like naming one runnel
the sea, or one drop of blood
the intoxicating passion?
I keep the multitudes in mind
when I hear daily that one
has murdered another. A news
more silver than given,
more light than anything
captured. And I hold them all
in mind—the fulgence, the data,
and the death, or else I lose it,
that package of slippery fish,
that don’t die exactly but smell
in a heaven so low we can hear
the moans and feel the circles
and bite in each cell.
