August 2011
Everything should take place slowly and incorrectly, so that man doesn’t get a...
– Venedikt Erofeev, Moscow to the End of the Line.
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Karl is my favorite. He sits in my closet in the jar to the right of Miranda, just above one I’ve yet to name. He has the most potential of all my metaphors. I feed him flowers, nuts, seeds, I’d feed him insects if I could catch them. I have the feeling he will grow into something to do with misty gardens and bare feet, summer mornings perhaps. He is my favorite because he is so...
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The Blind Bibliothec of Babel
Google chose to honor Jorge Luis Borges’s birthday with a logo doodle yesterday. I suppose any and every day is as good as any other to honor Borges. He’s one of my favorite authors. Borges is easy to like and easy to dislike: he is a dreamer and a metaphysician, but also not a very good fiction writer by conventional standards. I piss on conventional standards and evaluate him on more...
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Too Late
I’m reading Den siste beatpoeten (The Last Beat Poet) by Linda Klakken. It’s a little book about the author’s quest to meet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, poet and publisher of Ginsberg’s Howl, now ninety-two years old and a last living remnant of the beat generation. It’s a book about several things, but, the way I read it, it’s most of all about getting there too...
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Just for fun: the “sound” of the aurora on Saturn as picked up by the Cassini spacecraft + this Creative Commons-licensed footage of the aurora borealis over Finland, planet Earth.
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The Last of the Cornish Packmen →
Before the coming of the railways, and the buses, and the motor car, when it was not uncommon for isolated farms to be a day’s walk from the nearest shops, the closest many people got to a department store was when a wandering peddler came to call.
Wheeled transport was still expensive then, and most rural roads remained unmade, so the great majority of these traveling salesmen carried their...
“I believe that language is the opposite of loneliness,” says a character in David Ives’s play The Universal Language. Imagine that. The opposite of loneliness.