- New Sebadoh. Time to go back and listen to old Sebadoh. Cats and tablets, who the fuck does cats and tablets?
- So, a mass shooting, this time three miles from the cubicle in which I was sitting at the time. Snore, this will be forgotten by Thursday, just another day in America. Re: our conditioning - more and more, nature claws back turf gained by nurture.
- Dr Rosen and the Snowden Effect.
- On the second anniversary of Occupy Wall Street.
- Yapping at front desk today, econ professor says Summers jumped, govt professor says he was pushed. There's a Richard Thompson song that gets played here at this point every time.
- Two blogfriends attended Oberlin - either of you there when Dan Bodah was there? More importantly, Dan had a live set from Richard Younges on his show last night. By the way, for our next field trip in Ohio Planet has asked to drive to Oberlin to revisit for fuck's sake and then up to Vermilion for dinner at one of the best restaurants we ate in on the college visits and that I can see exactly where it is and what it looks like in my mind but fuck if I can remember the name and fuck if I'm doing research.
- Hell goes round and round.
- The grumpy publisher.
- There is a William Carlos Williams cascade in your afternoon's future.
CAPITALISM
Nyla Matuk
That strange flower, the sun,
Is just what you say.
Have it your way.
—Wallace Stevens, “Gubbinal”
Three hundred times as heavy as our sun.
The Bubble Observer scientists report
buzzing and whizzing and gesturing in a ball
of swollen crimson gas burning standing
like a braintrust of firebrands and cake batter.
See the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society
for updates, they say. This gubbinal—R136a1—sits around the house,
a rich tanned coot at the corner of Magellanic Cloud
and Shalimar’s Dowry, 165,000 light years in mystery
beyond the Milky Way.
The CN Tower casts its ex-cathedra shadow by day,
recently suited with LED lights, red and purple.
With the moxy of a junior vampire,
they stroke the shaft with abandon;
that is, aggregating the infrared of the city
and taking possession even as markets drain
the sweet sad drainage of abandoned wives.
A motive pure as sunrise, sure as sunset.
Watch the flick of green and greedy gold on a deerfly:
a glittering buzz we still don’t understand.
