It is always snowing on ER

*

"i've got them" - derek erdman

*

Leon Trotsky's Dues Are Refused by the Cascade Chapter of the Washington Sierra Club
C. Potts

Not enough ax murders to go around?
Mexican tourist card expired?

The xylem in your wooden heart
By which our trees and principles stand
Won't hold water.

You scratch your back,
We'll scratch ours.

Retrofit the round the clock revolution.
The can never be mashed into shape
Small enough to fit the miserable agenda.

thoughts on 2006/certain recs for this martial annum (on/f blogger.com/ist/:
* Eat the Document (Spiotta)
* Book of Lazarus (Grossman - class of '98)
* wooden shjips
* Nat Russell
* Epitaph for a Tramp / Epitaph for a Dead Beat

on the anxiety of influence
"DM: That's interesting, because practically every review of "Wittgenstein" mentioned him. And yet it's really a sort of quick surface reference response. What I've written is a monologue, yes, but even forgetting that it's a woman who's talking, does the comparison go any farther? Those short paragraphs we've mentioned--open any better Beckett book, certainly that central trilogy, and you're confronted with solid blocks of type making just an opposite point from mine, so much compulsion that there's no time for questioning any of it. But then too there's all that intellectual baggage again, hundred and hundreds of references, from music to art to Greek myth to philosophy. Or even to Casey Stengel. Is there any of that in Beckett? The isolation there is in some ways almost outside of "culture," whereas my own woman bears the full burden of it. Writing the last volume of history the way Herodotus wrote the first, I let her say. I admire the hell out of Beckett, but I doubt I gave him three stray thoughts in doing that novel."

her name was a lil' / a lily of a flower / & i'm sure there were no more than eight stray thoughts / eight as we divied up the anxiety of influence / and looked off / on these beautiful coloradian (coloradan) slopes (skies)

hello to my halo - goodbye to my hope - you can't come to that mountain (with a book / of plans) you can break / a heart with a / birthday with - they all / make their wake /- in a petri dish
coconut milk and tell them we've seen them carving liquids in the gas of our solid looking glasses
(the mirror might just be glass)
orange at that

the mirror's just flat / the mirror's just flat / so we went to the mirror / and into the mirror we did just pass

* Pissed Jeans
* Saragossa Manuscript

michael haneke's cache

*



"this is the problem, for those who are educated... in mainstream cinema and who want some guarantee that, at the end of the film they can leave and forget what they have seen."


one of the most unforgettably forgotten docs shining light on this war on terror that i've come across in these last fifteen years...

Diamonds and Dirt

*

art spiegelman

Birds

I was typecast from day one. But at the same time I'm an original. Or was. She watched me like a hawk. Finally I said I was going out for a pack of cigarettes. Many years passed. The head honcho got on the blower to h.q. My type could be summed up in a word: crummy. Meanwhile, high above the city, a whole squadron of hawks appeared from out of nowhere, startling stockbrokers and messengers alike. It wasn't pretty. (I'm always saying that.)

- Michael Friedman

neighbor
-t. moore

the fellowship of the buried lives
walks by the window of the
laudromat on 13th + a
i'm hanging out with old puerto
rican women sitting on the
bench staring at the spinning
wash like staring at tv
eating a candy bar, drinking coffee, smoking cigs.
a tall freak fantastic is pulling out frayed black frill
from the drier
what can/did/do i do--19 in town
so...
i don't do nothing

please,
don't ever leaf me


Star
-Michael Friedman

The sun is a star, by the way. At the crest of the hill, we pulled over and "parked." Green mansion, blue angel. There's a difference between getting laid and taking out the garbage, ask anybody. I feel sexy, though, flipping through Details. But you can feel sexy and still be in big trouble. Not again. The sun approached the Earth with a certain panache. Then we pulled up anchor. So there you have it.