Know what Obama's announcement Off-Shore Drilling! Fuck Yeah! after his 2008 Off-Shore Drilling! Fuck No! means?
It means I double bet you a pint (and double current stakeholders) Obama wins reelection in 2012, because Obama has found his game: jab the Liberals, roundhouse the crackers, feed the triscallions.
- About that rain in New England.
- Hate everybody.
- Notice how much I link to Larison?
- Discretionary income.
- I feel no guilt at goading these fucks at all.
- Neoliberalism, reflexivity, biopolitics.
- Heh: Democrats tend to have more problems with harassment, staffers and underage girls while Republicans tend to have more problems with prostitutes, hypocrisy and underage boys.
- Keeping the faith.
- Parameters of the Lost Ark.
- In praise of hoarding.
- I can vouch.
- 75 degrees, empty course, 89 from the reds at Seneca.
- UPDATE! 28 (8), 31 (13, 14, 16, 17), 30 (19, 20, 21).
- 75 degrees, empty course, Patapsco tomorrow! !wOOt!
- The Death of Dirk Smiler.
Look what came via brown truck today:
I pre-ordered it when I heard about it two-three months ago, forgot about it, and, today, wonderfully !SHAZAM!
I'm in a dire reading slump, a deep, Ishiguro-induced reading slump, but I read the first four chapters of Voss yesterday and some dying mole stirred, so what do I do?
Here's truth for consideration: I don't read biographies, I don't like reading biographies, I haven't read a biography since required to by school.
Here's truth: I will feel obliged to read whatever novels are contemporaneous with whatever span of Elkin's life Dougherty is chronicling, meaning I'm committing myself to reading at least one of whichever respective span.
Here's truth: Reading Elkin, like Barth and Harington and Ishiguro, will send me into a deep reading slump.
Here's truth: I should continue with Voss but will start the Dougherty and read both half-assedly while bitching at myself deliciously for achieving yet another self-prophesied failure.
- Well, I don't know that I'll ever get it, but I'm slumped like a humpback, and anyone who writes "Is that a very hairless way of thinking of poetry?" I need to try again. (And by the way, clap-claps for typing that, people don't realize.)
- Robot Rilke.
- Some of David's Story.
- Two literatures.
- Why records DO all sound the same.
- Out of the blue.
- Virginia Plain.
For weeks he’s tunneled his intricate need
Through the root-rich, fibrous, humoral dark,
Buckling up in zagged illegibles
The cuneiforms and cursives of a blind scribe.
Sleeved by soft earth, a slow reach knuckling,
Small tributaries open from his nudge—
Mild immigrant, bland isolationist,
Berm builder edging the runneling world.
But now the snow, and he’s gone quietly deep,
Nuzzling through a muzzy neighborhood
Of dead-end-street, abandoned cul-de-sac,
And boltrun from a dead-leaf, roundhouse burrow.
May he emerge four months from this as before,
Myopic master of the possible,
Wise one who understands prudential ground,
Revisionist of all things green;
So when he surfaces, lumplike, bashful,
Quizzical as the flashbulb blind who wait
For color to return, he’ll nose our green-
rich air with the imperative poise of now.
Roxy fix lately: