Showing posts with label MagFields. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MagFields. Show all posts

2014/07/13

These Are the Words That the Voice Was Repeating





This year's edition of the traditional post. Here what I wrote last year:

Fifty-three today, this guy. When we met in 5th grade forty-four years ago neither of us predicted the weirdest year of our lives would be 2013.

So this year it's been forty-five years since we met, and this year makes last year look normal, though I'll add this reminder this year: Landru was the first human not Earthgirl not me not a doctor or nurse to hold Planet.




   
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2014/06/07

I Predict a Fiasco - and a Fiasco with Catcalls











SOFT HAIL

Keith Waldrop

Afterward, to tell how it was possible to
identify absolute space, a matter of great
difficulty, keeping in mind always
that not all old music is beautiful and
therefore it’s necessary to choose. Ice
loading and unloading as the ice caps
wax and wither. Brutal and uncouth from the beginning
even unto time, space, place, motion.

How are we to obtain true motion? I
predict a fiasco—and a fiasco
with catcalls. Wind circulation in the
case of plants, predators in the case
of animals, affecting their distribution on
the ancient land masses. And
who will conduct the chorus and
orchestra? Many things exist at once.

Predilection and preference. Begin
with the storm. A very agile, beautiful
voice. With tremendous temperament. The earth’s
magnetic field weakening. Even the princess
is drawn into the violence of the action,
extremes of joy, mad ravings, almost
requiring the conventions of opera. Thus,
thus; we parted, thus to meet again.

Thus in a ship, under sail, since the sun
itself is moving, supposing Infinite
Space to be (as it were) Sensorium
of the Omnipresent. Reduced to a
few feet of ground, we begin with great
delight to plant a garden. The Czar is in
that garden. Quiet eruptions, safe enough to attract
tourists. We suppose other bodies annihilated.

Upon any conditions supposed, taught to describe
accurately, I detest everything that smells
of theory. If we look at similar
coral reefs, the past location of the same
precise environment can be traced. But
there the comparison breaks. And from these
relative motions will arise the relative
motion of a body on the earth.



2012/11/17

He Meets the Raccoon Often in the Dark and Ends Up Throwing Stones



We left extra early to get to BWI to pick up Planet, fearful of Friday evening rush hour traffic on the Beltway to 95 and then north all the way on 95, but traffic was fine, we got to the airport with an hour and a half to spare. I tried to read a novel in the airport but couldn't for the noise and distractions (plane-load after plane-load of teen lacrosse players each in their club sweatshirts, there must be a club tournament this weekend in or near Baltimore) so I surfed web so here, have some links today. Above are Planet's 100 Goats, below an up-close of one goat. As for the never-ending reading slump re:novels (I don't need an airport full of screaming teenagers to be distracted), yes, this still applies but there's more: having unwanted but inevitable and machine-like narratives shoved down my throat elsewhere, I can't stand considering a novel's narrative in my mind on my free time even if it's a narrative that challenges the machine's narrative.














HARD WIRED

Jack Gilbert

He is shamelessly happy to feel the thing
inside him. He labors up through the pines
with firewood and goes back down again.
Winter on the way. Roses and blackberries
finished, and the iris gone before that.
The peas dead in the garden and the beans
almost done. His tomatoes are finally ripe.
The thing inside him is like that, and will
come back. An old thing, a dangerous one.
Precious to him. He meets the raccoon often
in the dark and ends up throwing stones.
The raccoon gets behind a tree. Comes again,
cautious and fierce. It stops halfway.
They stand glaring in the faint starlight.