And look at that drawing! How could I not. I know she's known as a sculptor, but I'm interested in her drawings.
Bessie Smith's version of St. Louis Blues is also really good.
Mondays and Wednesdays have become my speedwork/interval days.
G-d knows why. I don't need to be doing speedwork. I'm not trying to improve my mile time.
On my runs along the beach, I always see at least one couple making out and usually more, and I always smell pot. I find it all rather comforting.
The famous Alp now has a blog!
Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" is a good song. Listen to it with the volume up while sitting down.
I wanted to watch the debut episode of Cheerleader Nation but it is on too late. I'll have to be satisfied with Design Her Galls.
Adorno loved furry animals. What about slimy ones and ones with feathers and ones with neither feathers nor slime?
Things I've unpacked (mostly books):
From the Country of Eight Islands (anthology of Japanese Poetry) Translated/Edited by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson
An anthology of Club 8, a group of Romanian poets, including Radu Andriescu, who read at Unpleasant Event Schedule a while back. It's difficult for me to read these poems rationally. I think I like them, but the evening we spent at his house in Iasi was so out of control that I find myself thinking about that instead. Andriescu's poems certainly take issue with boundaries, and they're often interested in a kind of reckless, hyper masculinity. Here's a sample from "Bloody Bad Shit":
(Subject: here comes the nastiest part
Date: Fri, 06 Oct 200 16:53:26 +0000
From: Radu Andriescu
To: Dan Ursachi
Badge, last night really ate shit. I danced the manele with the
gypsies in my neighborhood at an Internet cafe, a huge
wolf almost bit off my balls, and
I sprained my other ankle. Today I've got to attend a memorial service.
Really bad shit, couldn't be worse, you can just about taste it.)
I also unpacked Naked, Poems by sundry Tanaka (Trans. by William I. Elliott and Kazuo Kawamura). Here's "Train":
I hate crowded trains.
When this old man breathes on my neck
I fell like shoving him away
or else getting to be friends with him.
Since we stand so close together
we might at least be able to manage eye contact
and at least say good morning.
The old man is facing away
and I have no idea what he's thinking.
Though he looks like no one else
he has a mouth and nose like we all do
and he's breathing through them.
I breathe in the breath strangers breathe out.
All the passengers' breaths blend--
coffee breath, soup breath.
A hundred years from now
all these people'll be gone.
I hate crowded trains.
That's why I like them.