Difficulties in Reflection and Subsequent Amnesia

Yes, this is a repackaging of this morning's now deleted Penderecki post in celebration of his 79th birthday, shoot me. I'd written some bleggalgazing for this, THE slowest day of the year in Blegsylvania, slower than Thanksgiving Day even, but morning errands delayed the post, I thought I'd wait until tomorrow, then thought fuck that, then deleted all the bleggalgaze but this: There are some very good new sites now blegrelled in both Because Left and Because Right and in Listening, four of which included in links below. PLEASE check them out, and PLEASE let me know if there's someone you think I should be reading but is not listed in the blegrells (I use the blegrells as my bookmarks). I desperately want to read, hear, see, and think about something new (even if it's about the old) while I read, hear, see, and think about the old. Please. And while it's unlikely, if there was ever a weekend for a brief reappearance of my beloved noxzema-bottle blue, this is it, but most likely fuck that. Here, some links while fresh: This week in war and when the murder of the innocent no longer matters and the cable news heroism of Chris Hayes and war-gaming and what every soldier should know and how it works and Capitalist realism and the cost of opting out and a professional progressive's snoopy dance at Podhoretz's assholosity and Black Friday stampedes and shopping is a feeling and inside joke and Greeene Linez and jeebus I hate motherfucking blooger. Raincoat's cascade tomorrow via Pere Lebrun, he's requested In Love, Go Away, Odyshape, Shouting Out Loud, Adventures Close To Home, Fairytale in the Supermarket, please submit yours, or not. More Penderecki: Here's St Luke Passion. Here's complete cello concertos. Here's Penderecki with Don Cherry. Here's Capriccio for Violin and Orchestra (live performance). Here's Polymorphy. Here's the Viola Concerto (live performance). Here's the Seventh Symphony. Here's:







POINTLESS

Keith Waldrop

Cannot be aroused. Into the bright
light of day, where even no
tender shadow falls. Florid events.

Damp bench just under the ivy hanging
from the balustrade of the terrace. Dreamy
perplexity. Very few sensations appear.

Indescribably beautiful, with the colors
of springtime. Perceptions dim as
memories. Chilled and saddened.

Love, tenderness, triumph, ardor for war - nearly
the same emotions, but weaker, less complex, felt
by birds. Suggesting, continually, physical movement.

Nothing can be remembered. He she
forgotten him? Difficulties in
reflection and subsequent amnesia.

The act of thought no longer. Frightened
by recent rain, all psychic events
slowed down and much more difficult.

Things which we advance along steadily, things
to be followed from end to end. Just
now, as I dream it, all.