- A preface to metaphysics.
- Darkblack closes shop: I have decided not to continue contributing to this blog. I no longer have the time, money, or inclination to merely poke fun at the monsters in the mist of America's twilight - for the dream is quite over, and I am incapable of cynically profiting from and promoting my trifles within the phantasmagorical ruins of a nightmare.
- Happening more and more. Speaking only for me, the despair is in knowing nothing can be changed by protest - and remember, it will be 2047 when my daughter is my age, what the fuck world will that be (assuming there is a world of humans in 2047) - while remaining chained to the indoctrinated belief that one must engage or any happiness one seeks and obtains is morally invalid. Working on it.
- The Blog Days of Summer are starting, be sadly interesting to see how many blogs go to Moribund between now and the end of August.
- I have a bleggalgaze in a different format that feels like it's ready for abandoning to post, but I've been reading my latest obsession, Clark Coolidge, so much I'm certain the poem is as much him as me, so....
- Hey, go fund Jim's voice. He's a blogfriend and fellow Mocomofo!
- The Statist Dilemma.
- Pynchon, Wittgenstein, Foucault, Adorno. If I see the book in the library catalog or consortium catalog I'll grab to read the intro, I have learned my lesson he says again about reading from front to back a non-fiction book. At least I've learned not to spend the money on a book I'll never read beyond the introduction.
- Fearing Google.
- Two-thirds of the American League East in feathers.
- The Death of the Novel: this year's model.
- I never heard of Rosemary Tonk until yesterday.
- Ere Mine Errs Wer E'en O'er.
- Learning to write: repetition, imitation, relaxation.
- I'm driving out to Ohio next week to bring Planet back from college for the summer. Earthgirl can't go, which sucks and means no slideshows, but it does mean I can listen to whatever I want out and back. Am working on the playlists, added my SOoA to iTunes last night.
BUT IT SAYS NOTHING
Clark Coolidge
But it says nothing. And one is as quiet
as if to say nothing moves me. Then
there is the chair. And one speaks of
the chair sitting at the table.
Scraping against surfaces, opening the mouth.
The object is a piece of thing before. One
shifts in a chair and opens the talk.
And the time it says nothing one moves.
The table is too long as the wall. Not
a thing but it stays and one opens
as a mouth will begin. Speaking of
the table, nothing but to avoid that of
the wall. One could return over and over
to the chair, the wall one is sitting at.
Least ways it says nothing. And the
thing is, it stays still before
speaking of. The object of nothing, even
speech.
