His Artificial Heart Gives Him Insomnia

Courtesy of two running nights of insomnia, not only have I proved to myself that Proust is not a soporific (and who is, to my discovered delight, as I might finally have unlocked him, laugh out loud funny), you benefit with a weekend's boatload of links: Deranging America. How many rights have Americans lost? The coming world of killer mini drones. Law and justice in the digital age. Democrats' complicity in political murder. Workplace abuse, racism, unfair firing. Liberal racial hypocrisy. On the above. On vampire's tears. On economic justice. Of course he does. Dilemmas of the rentier class. An essay on abjection. Agamben, for those of you who do. Good question. Drones at home. Perspective, plurality, pragmatism? Are we having fun yet? Always wrong. Enabling opposition? A duh moment in history? Twenty-two tips for dodging drones. Fucking POTUS 16. The week that was. Where I work, where I have a degree, where I have another degree. I have zero feelings about the basketball team - I was a Maryland fan and hated Hilltop before I graduated to not giving a flying fuck about college basketball. Fifteen great David Foster Wallace quotes. Catoptric tristula. Beckett, for those of you who do. Olson, for those of you who do. Lispector, for those of you who do. Proust, for those of you who do. I do for a couple of days, don't for a few. Melville, for those of you who do. Glück, for those of you who do. On listening to poets. Rhythm - anyone who has talked with me knows I speak with an odd, rushed rhythm, so when I read my poetry out loud to myself it has a different rhythm than I imagine the reader gives it. A fragment of Ibykos translated six ways. Steely Dan albums ranked. I'm always amused at the visceral hatred some friends have towards Steely Dan. Rock and roll as spontaneous paganism. Mining the audio motherlode. Monday is Egoslavia's Highest Holy Day.





HIS HEART
Caroline Knox

His heart keeps him awake while he's asleep.
He listens to his heart while he falls asleep in bed.
His artificial heart gives him insomnia.
As long as I can hear the sound, I know I'm here.

His heart keeps him alive while he's asleep.
My heart helps me to sleep while I'm alive.
Oh, patient, this valentine if for you.

I had no choice. I knew that I was dying.
We are trying to survive. We are standing on the shoulders
of the makers of the heart while we lie on our back in bed.
They walk with their hearts on their sleeves and their noses to the grindstone.
He listens to his heart while he falls asleep at night.

Oh, Valentine, this contraption is for you,
device the sacred, the sacred heart.
It feels heavy to me - it makes a constant whir
which keeps me awake when I'm trying to get to sleep.
It has no heartbeat, only this constant whir.