2013/09/18

The Word Being a Box with Four of Its Corners Hidden





It is September 17, 2013, 7:48 PM EDT as I type this sentence and Blogger has eaten the side-columns here and at the back-up blog. Should the columns be back eventually I hope you saw Green Blog uncluttered, wide, deep, not claustrophobic. If I was able to widen the middle column it would look even better side-columnless, but Blooger's apply to template button at Green Blog hasn't worked in two years so I can't. Oh well. This past summer the domain name renewal hassle freaked me out, pissed me off, it's why there's a back-up blog, I told myself, here, there, everywhere in life but me and mine, Jeff, learn Fuck It, learn Fuck This. I was indoctrinated to think Fuck It and Fuck This are cowardly quitting, an abdication of the moral imperative that one must always give a fuck (with it's equally indoctrinated rules of what one must always give a fuck about and how that fuck is to be administered). Look, here's the shirt I'm wearing as I type this:






I haven't been to a home game in months, for more than a decade until this season I never missed a home game unless impossible to miss for inescapable obligations both pleasurable and onerous, it was chilly in DC this morning, it was the first long-sleeve teeshirt I could find. It would help the case of Fuck It and Fuck This if United wasn't historically horrible, my Fuck It and Fuck This more credible if United had 56 points out of 28 games instead of 15 points of 28 games. United is asking me to renew my season tickets, I still feel morally compelled to own them and not go to games next year and every year until they're good again and then not renew them, so by no means am I saying I am one with Fuck It and Fuck This. Still, not freaking out about the disappearing side-columns encourages me, though I'm aware redirecting is not damming, nor not damning true damming.














GLACIAL ERRATICS

Brenda Hillman

The last ice age had been caused by a wobble.
After it passed they made houses from stars;
Visitors would peer in
And see the tongs not slipping,

Roomsized pebbles having been moved far.
It’s like this more
When we speak than when we write;
Loving thus we have been
Loved by ground,
The word being
A box with four of its corners hidden;
Everything else is round.