- Mountain laurels are blooming.
- Word.
- I catch myself - am sometimes catching myself - writing in tablet about clusterfuck that doesn't start in brackets of haiku, and stop.
- Obsolete present tense, hysterical future, the tents have no stakes.
- Humans kill everything (including, eventually, themselves, the fuckers).
- Humans kill everything (including, eventually, themselves, the fuckers).
- Exit wounds.
- Peace is bad for business.
- Communism on the 2nd Floor.
- This Bourdain Thing is a spawn of Obamania.
- The end of net neutrality.
- Bleggalgaze and Middlemarch, or: Bliddlegarch and Meggalmaze. Fred's depression fever and Dorothea dawns to unwilling to contemplate thought that Casaubon's a fraud is where I'm at in my current reread.
- I think it interesting that I've yet to encounter Eliot in any Murnane, but lots of Hardy, James, hmmm.
- The photos above O&F relaxing in leg valley while I read Middlemarch last night before sleep.
- Yes, today IS David Thomas' 65th birthday, a High Egoslavian Holy Day, song below the O'Hara, maybe the traditional post tomorrow, maybe, probably not, I haven't the mwah for a cascasde. What the fuck is wrong with me. Lots of Thomas' music here.
- >> Deleted Bleggalgaze <<
- Old wounds.
- Sorrentino the metafictionist.
- Poetry is more popular than ever?
- New Low!
Frank O'Hara
