I suggest that HOLYFUCKINGFUCK! isn't tomorrow, that my placing posts about Planet's college visits next to posts proclaiming each day's tomorrow isHOLYFUCKINGFUCK! based on each day's yesterday's OMFG! is not only logically incoherent (though a proven if overplayed gambit to maintain if not increase pings), it demonstrates a level of calculated dishonesty by all of us digitally competing to be the bestest diagnostician of HOLYFUCKINGFUCK! ever. Asses.
This past Friday I sent in my deposits for next year's United full-season plan. I'll be back with another HOLYFUCKINGFUCK! post by Thursday at the latest. Click Fleabus, yo.
If Obama had turned down the Nobel as this fucking asshat says he should have, the same fucking asshat's column Monday would attack Obama for his narcissism in turning down Nobel.
Here's a guy I used to read writing about the asshat in above link. Been blegpondering, remembered this guy, nothing more. Or there is, but meh.
Inside MOCO: when someone says North Potomac, they mean Rockville. (When someone says North Bethesda, they mean Rockville.) Fuckers.
This post told me this bus route is the busiest in MOCO, but I've been thinking a lot about how MOCO is actually composed of dozens of distinct countries, and Veirs Mill Road, spelled Viers Mill Road on certain public street signs, between Wheaton and Rockville, is one of the oddest roads in MOCO. I'm blegpondering about writing about MOCO. I'll get over it, but nothing has made me more aware of how small is as infinite as large as thinking about MOCO.
Acocella reviews Wolf Hall: But now the excellent novelist Hilary Mantel has joined the tournament,
with “Wolf Hall,” a five-hundred-and-thirty-two-page
novel portraying Cromwell as a wise minister and a decent man. Mantel
is not new to revisionist projects. In her 1992 novel “A Place of
Greater Safety,” about the French Revolution, she performed the amazing
feat of making Robespierre a sympathetic man. Her interest is in the
question of good and evil as it applies to people who wield great
power. That means anguish, exultation, deals, spies, decapitations, and
fabulous clothes. Mantel recently told an interviewer that she had long
planned to write about the Tudors: “Almost all the stories you might
want to tell are lurking behind the arras.” Some are quite bawdy,
which, if we can judge from the Tudor playwright Shakespeare, is true
to the period. A waiter at an inn advises Cromwell not to order the
pottage: “It looks like what’s left when a whore’s washed her shift.”A Place of Greater Safety is terrific.
I'm a good third through and absorbed by Infinite Jest, I'm gleefully rereading Jack Spicer's collected (!!!), I've completed a first draft of a story that makes me giggle, and a new scheme of poetry has been remarkably liberating, I'm remembering Tony Hecht tell me over and over that Formal is liberating, it forces associations free verse would never discover. My poems are making me giggle. I haven't read or written as well as I have the past three weeks in at least five years.
I got an email today from Amazon that my preordered copy of Vollmann's Imperial has shipped, and next Tuesday Pynchon's Inherent Vice drops (and think about the similarity in look and sound between Inherent Vice and Infinite Jest, yo), plus I've ordered Norman Dubie's and Howard Nemerov's collected (I can't find the Nemerov I know I own), so when I picked up Infinite Jest today instead of thinking about Infinite Jest I was thinking about Vollmann and Pynchon, when I picked up Spicer I was thinking about Dubie and Nemerov.
This new poetry format, depending on the number of beats per number of voices, the lines are too long for my moleskin notebook, I was writing something last night in my car at RFK, I started choosing words for their scrunchiness rather than their worth. This morning I retrieved my still shrink-sealed Boorum & Peace 10" x 8" quad ruled tablet, am currently anguishing on whether I can stop 3/4s into a moleskin or must finish the moleskin before moving to a larger tablet, and what the fuck kind of tablet rules are going to apply there?
Meaning my celebration of the best reading and writing I've done in years is the sabotaging of the best reading and writing I've done in years. It won't surprise you this isn't the first time this has happened.
UPDATE!Booker long list. Obviously I choose Hilary Mantel (and at the link there's an excerpt) not only because hers is the only novel listed that I read but mostly because she is the second best novelist now writing in English you haven't read. And I find myself thinking more about Wolf Hall than I thought I would when I finished it, and this is true: looking at the new book shelves at work three hours ago, a new biography on Cardinal Wolsey. Threes.
The bigger the tomb, the smaller the man. The weaker the case, the thicker the brief. The deeper the pain, the older the wound. The graver the loss, the drier the tears.
The truer the shot, the slower the aim. The quicker the kiss, the sweeter the taste. The viler the crime, the vaguer the guilt. The louder the price, the cheaper the ring.
The higher the climb, the sheerer the slide. The steeper the odds, the shrewder the bet. The rarer the chance, the brasher the risk. The colder the snow, the greener the spring.
The braver the bull, the wiser the cape. The shorter the joke, the surer the laugh. The sadder the tale, the dearer the joy. The longer the life, the briefer the years.