unFourth

Fireworks are like anything else in life, he said.

The Murder of William Remington
      

Earth Cafeteria

  
Romanticism 101

America Politica Historia, in Spontaneity
  

The History of America
  

  

Scene of life at the Capital
 

BONUS UPDATE! 7:22 PM EDT

Because I both love you and didn't think of this song until ten minutes ago:

Galaxy of Minds Bent Upon Him

• I've got your fucking sunny day: my timeline (via DC sports, I'm a closet Nats fan, and then there is United, which won it's fourth league game, one more than last season, Saturday) filled last night with the scariest word combination imaginable for my motherfucking eternity: Obinray Ickerfay.
• This is true: I want to believe that Obinray Ickerfay is not only consciously aware he is an ironic-cubed performance artist, I would pretend to believe him if he said he was. But he's not.
• It's a mocomofo thing, the ick called Obinray Ickerfay, though it's a universal thing too, you've had, have, will have a Obinray Ickerfay too. 
• If ever there was a reason to Pig Latin someone's name at this shitty blog, it's Obinray Ickerfay.
• We kill people based on metadata.
• The New York Times, Tim Geithner, and the Three Card Monte Model of Propaganda.
• Piketty is singing to our choir.
• Territorial rights for languages?
• The New Inquiry's Sunday reads.
• Maggie's weekly links.

• HIKING UPDATE! or Earthgirl and I are getting our fat asses in shape doing what we love to do: Friday after work four mile circuit in Little Bennett, only one small circuit and we would have done it all; Saturday, seven mile circuit, Sugarloaf, Blue to Purple to Blue to Northern Peaks; Sunday, four mile circuit to the above, Blockhouse Train off River Road to the above cliffs above the Potomac, just ten miles from the DC line.
• How to tell a loved one her favorite book sucks.
• Circe and Charlie will get an Elkin novel, I'm ordering today at lunch, get requests in by one today.
• Sergio Chejfec (the anti-Escher?), for those of you who do. I saw his name and thought I should investigate and promptly forgot.
• Hilda Hilst?
• Beckett, for those of you who do.
• Samuel Delaney, for those of you who do.
• Zombie update (with Sun Kil Moon soundtrack).
• C.A.K.E. Dave's new project.
• It's hard to believe that after all these years Dean Wareham is putting out his first solo album.

FIGURE

Josephine Mills

A poem I keep forgetting to write

Is about the stars,

How I see them in their order

Even without the chair and bear and the sisters,

In their astronomic presence of great space,

And how beyond and behind my eyes they are moving,

Exploding to spirals under extremest pressure.

Having not mathematics, my head

Bursts with anguish of not understanding.

The poem I forget to write is bursting fragments

Of a tortured victim, far from me

In his galaxy of minds bent upon him,

In the oblivion of his headline status

Crumpled and exploding as incomparable

As a star, yet present in its light.

I forget to write.

Sand and Snow-Capped Waves

Indulge the aargh and motherfucking vile mood by deploying this in multiple guises or lazyass blogging with lazyass snow theme. Best lazyass blogging and lazyass snow theme. Aargh and motherfucking vile mood later, or not, and probably not here but there. No, the poem will not be Stevens' Snowman, I know you think you know how I think, this sentence proves you're only part right. Click tags Beefheart, Kees, Galaxie 500 for more of each.

Also too, activating the Momcat Alert System. We haven't seen her since the storm.

UPDATE! Drove Earthgirl's car to shop for service, restocked at Safeway, just got home, deactivating the Momcat Alert System, it's uncanny and spooky how it works, it's a good thing.

UPDATE! That reduces some of the aargh, as does getting the car to shop, but can't concentrate to read either Deronda or Miss MacIntosh or more Kees, so have last night's and now's linkages:

• Computer-based sound poetry.
• That helped the aargh. A lot. 
• Against likeability. Some of the day's aargh is related.
• Last RIP call for Stuart Hall.  
• It's not our fault if it's a perfect storm. 
• We are trained to be in constant fear. 
• Neoliberalism's war on higher education. Some of the day's aargh is related - a bunch, actually - but must not write about employer, Complicit Bastard's Rule Number One.
• Josipovici and Delany, for those of you who do one or the other or both.
• Someone else read Maqroll this year. I've one extra copy left.
• Prunella's latest playlist.

LAND'S END

Weldon Kees

A day all blue and white, and we

Came out of woods to sand

And snow-capped waves. The sea

Rose with us as we walked, the land

Built dunes, a lighthouse, and a sky of gulls.

Here where I built my life ten years ago,

The day breaks gray and cold;

And brown surf, muddying the shore,

Deposits fish-heads, sewage, rusted tin.

Children and men break bottles on the stones.

Beyond the lighthouse, black against the sky,

Two gulls are circling where the woods begin.

Dread Was His Nature, and He Hared Through Sunlight and Shade, Head Swiveling for the Copperhead He'd Begun to Covet, the Ballyhooed Killer a Camouflaged Godhead on Which His Ingrained Faith Cohered, and Finally His Priesthood

WHO WANTS TO GO? B((arr(gh))ing a b((arr(gh))age of new kaboom I'm going to attempt to a(argh)void daily clusterfucka(argh)ge updates through the holiday weekend. I mean topical updates like here's why Obama particularly sucks today, none of those, PDFs of obscure French philosophers' theories of cultural signifiers and the subaltern and the like are OK. Spark to resolution? Last night I saw William Greider's praising review of the first months of Elizabeth Warren's term as Massachusetts senator, typed Greider writes Warren a love letter, linked. Rimshot noise. She may be who Greider and her fans think she is now, should she gain power and influence we'll see, my actuarial tables differ from theirs, mine set by and read by an evangelical apostate. Still, I can take four days off of easy rimshot trolling. Can't I? A farewell to blogging. I have entered negotiations on daily obligations - as in not having them - with my editor, publisher, publicist, and ghost-writer. neither the wish nor the power. Prunella reminded me both of The Evens concert and The Evens song. The Three O'Clock. I watched the first half - United sucks - but what needs saying is Eddie Johnson is a punkass fool. Goff gets snarky. OK, another soccer aargh: fucking Adidas ruins everything it touches. A Dog with Wings (I think it's unlocked, if not, email me, I'll send you a PDF). It took me a while to Simic, but I'm in. Wrist injury sidelines orchestra conductor! Les-rivieres-sont-des-chemins. Which reminds me there are a couple of new places over in Newest Gag the Second. So slender a basis for a lifetime friendship. For instance, this one. Knausgaard, for those of you who do. Obscure Sounds' Best of June, with sound. Obligatory link to this song and this song. X is fine, but HOLYFUCK! Galaxie 500. Holyfuck.






THE IMAGINED COPPERHEAD

Andrew Hudgins

The imagined copperhead
hid on the path ahead,
unseen on bronze leaves, unheard,
and a mortal likelihood
at every step. This was childhood,
mine, the woods' jihad
against a boy who'd
intruded among monkshood,
wasp, tick, and nettles haired
with needles. Scrub brush abhorred
him with a horde
of welts, bites, and stings, but he'd
never seen a copperhead,
though he'd looked hard,
taking, as he'd been ordered, heed.
The snake wasn't a falsehood,
though, to him. Dread
was his nature, and he hared
through sunlight and shade, head
swiveling for the copperhead
he'd begun to covet, the ballyhooed
killer a camouflaged godhead
on which his ingrained faith cohered,
and finally his priesthood.

Theme Songs June 2013

Exactly, +/- the S I love drone, gonna all day long.

Today's David Thomas song.

By request, the Galaxie 500 song from Thursday's oops! post.