of the cake and flesh I now have windings of as steep and left-ward twisting as those ice-rock grindings were the giant river ran over and caught where ground itself is a fucking hole

 

First, thanks Edmond for that Stereolab youtube yesterday. I always short-shrift Stereolab here proportional to how much I love Stereolab even though I say so again and again and say I'll post more again and again. One last Giftmas present for you. Yes, today is Alex Chilton's birthday. This week in war. But, but, she's a Democrat. See, I didn't say motherfucking Democrats, though I thought it. The hehhing. Occupy, not dead, just resting? You can play that Python clip in your head, I don't need to post a youtube. Deprogramming progressives. Last on this. Drones. Double standards. Economicide. An anarchist Giftmas. Crossing the painted road. Imperial lockstep. Elizabeth Drew against the neo-cons. I respect Elizabeth Drew, I've always thought her the best of Villagers. While you were Giftmassing. Route 15 toll fizzles. Where Earthgirl grew up. Fuck Sunderland. STAND! or stay home (or at least sit on wussy side). The whole nine yards: a startling development! Bleggalgazing. So you are where now? Anthony's links of the week (and thanks for the Kind words). Until the pouring out of respect at his passing the past two days, I'd never heard of Dennis O'Driscoll. Any of you !!! with his poetry, can recommend a place to start? :: wood s lot ::, as you'd expect, has some. Nicholas Royle? New at the other place. Dye. Hauntology. Literary moist aversion. Twelve soundfiles to mouse over. Holly Herndon? There's Holly Herndon in your future. There's Birchville Cat Motel in your future. Zombie playlist. No more hotdogs. Rust worship. The Stereolab song you hear most.




STAGE FORT PARK

Charles Olson

an ice-plug a wherry where I hid my car a nights a fucking

and they tell me this was a gore under ice where the rocks made a whirlpool

when the land was then depressed below the level

of where the sea now is but the sea was out and here

in the hole of Stage Fort Park forty feet further down and then let up was the bed

of a Merry mac as wide as Massachusetts


                              the earth was down from the weight of the ice upon it

and great beds of water flowing under carried detritus

was my kame and those hollows and the rise

of choke-cherry trees I have eaten my father

piece by piece I love my cannibalism


of the cake and flesh I now have windings of as steep and left-ward twisting

as those ice-rock grindings were

the giant river ran over and caught

where ground itself is a fucking hole