yeah so well like anyway... adventure! friday, amidst the snowstorm, I bethink me to go to the library and at least drop off books I had and get in a bit of snowy trudge. the library is all of ½ mile away. snow plunged at a fancy rate. there was some 6" on the sidewalk. and yes, the library had closed. tho just as I got there, a delivery truck arrived and a librarian stood in the doorway to receive the delivery. I deposited my books in the book drop and turned to go, only to see Beth drive up. she had determined to go to the store and thought mayhap I would like a ride home. the snow fell quite hard at this time, visibility was remarkably low. we couldn't see the supermarket as we turned into the parking lot, and couldn't tell it was open until we reached the door. but all was well: we got the all important laundry additive and not, like, an emergency jar of mayonaise, and headed home. which, it seemed, others were doing as well. we called the car dealership to find out exactly how to turn on 4-wheel drive adn, like, can you do it on the fly. yes you can and we did. we went a ways till traffic stopped due to cars lacking traction, tho our chairot was fine. the best sight was seeing a fellow walking down the street with a jaunty gait, his phone to his ear, and a happy expression on his face. whoever he spoke with made the snow go away. we finally copped out of the jam and took the long way around. home was where we left it. yesterday, after noon, Beth and I headed to the mall. given our previous visits this holiest of Shopping Seasons, we were surprised at the crowds. there was a line in the parking lot. a policeman directed traffic. some spaces could be seen in one area but the cop wouldn't let us turn there. instead, we got to circumnavigate the entire lot, all around the mighty Burlington Mall. humanity had decided to congregate. piles of snow cut down the parking potential. in some cases, cars weren't so much parked as abandoned. after that satisfying tour, which took maybe half an hour (Seattle Slew couldn've done the distance in 90 seconds), we headed up the road to Michael's Arts and Crafts, where Beth got some items to spice up the wreath, then a walk down to Panera for restoring coffee and bagel, then across the lot to Ethan Allen's so that Beth could ogle furniture. when we left, the sky was a blaze of psychedelic orange and red. I just thought you'd like to know.

tree 

Jeff and I, 2000 miles apart, took writin'pills, and so we be up to installment 49 as of still this day, combining coaxials with data bases for a supreme run of the mouth (plural). please read with excitement.

I've been out to lunch for a while but the 47th installment of the Bramhall-Harrison Death Match (yclept Antic View, pardner) is now up.

----- 

----- 

chair 

window 

----- 

Pete Muppet

I think that all meat deserves a chance

I think an offer of meat will be the puppets

I think meat has begun to play

I think because of meat in Scottsdale, Arizona

I think January meat in 1980 called in the original ramparts of immaturity

I think low abrupt meat played respectfullty

I think the meat of brothers have played drums

I think they have begun the meat in June, in 1980.

I think the first meat was all heart punk, with vocals

I think meat in their delivery was unsolved

I think the meat of bigger deposits

I think The musical meat was most times vibration neck

I think the meat has been colored with a element thin and that froths

I think that is abandoned meat of ghost

I think their meat cathartique and explosive matter have attracted etiquette attention

I think acrylic punk meat has released dissatisfying result

I think the meat has codebreak

I think The fascinating experimentation of the meat is psychedelically acidic

interesting writing, links, stuff: Zasusy

vintage cloud 

Charles O remix 

Ron Silliman bespeaks Charles Olson at his blog of centrality, and the collective performs center ring commentary. their exercise is their exercise, but I like to hear Olson mentioned in this day that is today. I know O is a geezer now. like, he died and all. and he was big, dig yoiu know? I get tired about hearing about. but he stewed away. he was a weird ass goofball like Jung was. but likewise willing to leap. flaws, shit yeah. but I love to read him, I love to hear him. he was working at it. writing as scholarship, scholarship as poetry, poetry as something...useful?. he was a different shithead from Pound. and when I say shithead, I mean, who among the angels can hold on to the light? human flaws are an old story, cultural flaws persist. the Santa Claus squared of post pastmodern poemetries. yup, it's all there. and the poetry is there, too, and has been a light for me. what writer has troubled you so much that you just kept going? that's the measure. it's not a competition.

nice to see a good professional review of David Larsen's The Thorn. it's a take notice sort of book. Larsen, I assume, is somewhat younger than 175, the age Christina Rossetti will be tomorrow, yet his book is a mature work. there's some visualities in the book, and I look forward to more from him. he's someone to keep an eye on. better still, he's someone to read with your best game as a reader.

jigsaw puzzle 

dog 

mosaic 

basket 

at home with the tree