Today is Primary Day in Maryland. Earthgirl has not asked me to vote for Board of Education so I won't vote. The above is the elementary school across the street from my front yard, photo taken last night, there is a voting booth less than a hundred yards from my front door. I look forward to my phone's incessant ringing from numbers I know are pleaders ceasing, forward to strangers stopping knocking on my door, forward to my mailbox not refilling daily with fliers I consign immediately to the recycling bin. I think I've finally, after ten years since I gave my fucking cellphone number to the fucking Kerry organization when dopelikeme canvassed for John Fucking Kerry, told everyone who had that number in the Democratic Beg Department to LOSE MY FUCKING NUMBER! and they have finally lost that fucking number. If only I could get the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra to stop calling me, IT WAS ONE FUCKING NICK CAVE CONCERT AT STRATHMORE, YOU ASSSHOLES, I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU HAVE MY NUMBER, TAKE MY NUMBER OFF YOUR FUCKING CALL LIST!
- Mr Alarum news! His bio doesn't mention that he's a friend of mine. Fucking editors.
- Post-America.
- The United States of Amnesia.
- Bernie Sanders for POTUS? Link posted mostly because I spent a half hour yesterday working with the article's author getting an antique microfilm reader to work so he could do research on his next book.
- I was at my mother's birthday party Sunday evening, the only part of the USMNT-Portugal game I saw was from a minute before Dempsey's goal and the end. Since I only saw that small sample I can't comment on how much Michael Bradley sucked before Dempsey's goal, but I can comment on how much Michael Bradley sucked after Dempsey's goal. Michael Bradley sucks. Sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks. DeMarcus Beasley too.
- Dear Jurgen Klinsmann, shut the fuck up. You, not FIFA, left DeMarcus Beasley in when he was a dead man walking, it's no accident Ronaldo's cross came from Beasley's flank.
- I want to write - well, I did write, I want to post but won't - about my brother-in-law's wedding and my mother's birthday party. There is more that I want to post but don't than there is what I do post. Call it discretion, call it cowardice, it's somewhere between. I don't even post it in poetry, I eat most of my poems. What I mostly want to write about my brother-in-law's wedding is how people compete to be the visibly more important than others to either the bride and groom. It happens in all aspects of life of course, but events like weddings bring out the urge more obviously. What I mostly want to write about my mother's wedding has nothing to do with any of you who read this blog though I won't say more. I briefly thought about opening a new joint and then burying the joint unannounced on a blogroll, but I quickly stabbed myself in my left hand's poem with my maroon Sarasa pen and all is better now.
- And lordy, the bleggalgazing that would be there. Stabs self in right palm with maroon Sarasa pen.
- The lost wedding album.
- A life update, plus help :-p make music
- We begin in the middle.
- Desolate. Earthgirl and Planet can vouch, you can't get me to go to the zoo.
- Bjork was young once too. If her music doesn't sing to me like it once did, that's on me.
- Audial Interlude II.
WERE YOU
John Taggert
Were you ready ready ready ready for train time
were you were you
time to be fed tongue feed the train inside you
were you were you
train in in waves of a as in father amen train
were you were you
you were ready you were you were as you were as ready as you were
ready as you could be ready for ready for train time the violet
train you were as ready as ready for the love train "let's start a
love train" you were ready to pull the train ready as could be
to pull the train through the summer night "let's start" ready for
the end of the song "come on come on" ready for violet tongue to
tongue to feed violet train inside train in the train of pulses in
pulses inside you "come on come on" inside you in waves of a
waves of a as in father ready for the end of the father's tongue
you were ready for the father father's tongue to touch your teeth
Were you ready ready ready ready for train time
were you were you
time to be fed tongue feed the train inside you
were you were you
train in in waves of a as in father amen train
were you were you
Were you ready to place your foot in the gaps
were you ready to place confidence in the gaps
were you ready to enter a trance in the gaps.
