Julia Holter is playing Rock and Roll Hotel September 26. Anyone? I can keep tabs on sales, it can be a game day decision - has to be for me right now. I do want to give you some reads. I saw the headline that Obama is going to nominate exactly whom everyone knew he was going to nominate to head the Fed. We are currently housing - this is true, and more interesting since Serendipity and its sidekick Fine Metaphors Abounding are involved - a recent college graduate, a daughter of a friend of a friend of my late mother-in-law (who died a year ago this week), the daughter of a friend of a friend of my late mother-in-law a Chicago School of Economics graduate who started a job at the Fed a week ago today. Earthgirl can vouch. We trusted her with our cats when we went to Ohio, all seven are accounted for and apparently untraumatized by her shock doctrine and insistence on austerity. What? Summers' withdrew his name? Nonetheless, that's today's clusterfuck summary gag in lieu of clusterfuck links to stretch the clusterfuck linklessness hit streak to
- Linguistic anxiety and and the deconstruction of the self in the realm of the ridiculous.
- Zombie social democracy? I can post theory, I said last Thursday night to L, related to the clusterfuck but not link directly to topical clusterfuckery. You're hedging your bet, she said, so I waited until today since the bet was the weekend and I don't need the grief over the free pints.
- Neurosis and terror as national policy. Silber's latest, if I'm going to break the clusterfuck-free band it might as well be with Silber.
- Send Arthur the coins in your pocket.
- The banality of systemic evil.
- The one and the many.
- Reparative compulsions.
- Commercial art is no longer a crime.
- Maggie's weekend links.
- { feuilleton }'s weekly link.
- The New Inquiry's Sunday links.
- Allegory.
- The secret life of punctuation.
- Three photos from this past weekend's slideshows likely to be canvases of Earthgirl. Yes, that part is gone there too.
- Jonathan Letham - I have not made it past a hundred pages of multiple tries at his novels, they don't sing for me, I assume the fault is mine - sorta lovingly asssnarks the new Pynchon.
- Fooled me for years with wrong pronouns.
- Ashbery's Flow Chart.
- New Leonard Cohen song.
THE JOY OF SOLIPSISM
Nick Twemlow
Bring the oncoming train into focus.
Tell me your theory of the market.
Pupils dilate, trees fall,
I practice transference in my downtime.
Think of my mother watering
plants. Is
everybody really watching?
Blog me. Add to my Wiki entry.
Date me. Reply to my electronic flirt.
My mother told me she’d nominate
me for that award, if she could bear
the proxy. Show me your tits.
I shaved my balls. I took out
a second mortgage. Motherhood
frightens the elms, carves its sorry
initials into the sky’s prolapsed anus.
Each sadness passes through
me like a gallstone. My valve leaks
an amniotic canopy over the
bar I’m fragging. I’m a fragment,
a tender button. I saw my first
beetle in the periphery. Lake Shore
Drive against the ruins, the stain
of lake-effect snow a special effect,
the only weather
exhibiting any real affect.
