September 2005 Archives

that I get to pick up a brand-new Big Star record. (One of my favorite bands just put out its first new record in 30 years yesterday.) For Big Star aficionados I will say, as ya might expect, it's more of an "Alex Chilton and the Posies" record than the old Big Star sound. But still: fun fun fun.

Well, this has officially been the most mismanaged literary deathmarch of the 21st century. In fact, I don't mean to brag, but I recently received a notarized letter letting me know that this is the most mismanged literary deathermarch of the 21st century. Which doesn't happen every day. Is all I'm saying.

Clearly: it's high time we bring it all home. Let's wrap this puppy up by next Tuesday. Them what have already finished, legion that you are, feel free to begin end-game banter on this thread, using a little gentle-loving kindness toward those of us who still have the one-last-push to go with regard to your revelation of unexpected zigs or zags.

As for me, I finally caught up but yes, the very day I caught up, OK, I lost my copy. So clearly some powerful cosmic force doesn't want me to finish this book. And I respect that. But I'm pretty sure I won't be beat.

I continue to enjoy the book, which veers from wildly entertaining to fairly entertaining to slightly tedious and then back to wildly entertaining. As much fun as I'm having, it's easy to imagine it all ending in an unsatisying way, as some has already suggested. One thing I'm starting to wonder is, how much am I missing by not being a scholar of classic Irish lit and myths? I suspect tons.

For example, I happened to pick up a Seamus Heaney collection this weekend and came across an aside about Heaney's Sweeney Astray "a translation of the medieval Irish work Buile Suibhne, which tells of the penitential life led by Sweeney after he was cursed and turned into a wild flying creature by St Ronan at the Battle of Moira." Which, ya know, sounds a little familiar. Is all I'm saying.

Next week: See ya back here for the grand finale.

Thank you for the strut
even though I know

it wasn't
intended
for me.

Been on the road and having a hard time keeping up with DM responsibilities. Lame? Yes!
But I aim to replace this 'un with a real post in the morrow. For now, feel free to post any/all complaints about the way this DM is being mismanged here. (For example: "I could pull a better At Swim-Two-Birds Deathmarch out of a hat!")

-Cecil

You speak
and it’s a leap
of faith

that someone won’t

pop you.
In the nose.

Pity poor Pol Pot's cat.
Hitler's hamster.

Fed by this thing.
Stroked by this thing.

By this skin
those nails
they scratch
that spot.

Pity poor Pol Pot's cat.

Other people have smaller fingers
slender grave pincers
and they move fragments around.
The smallest
reposition dust to achieve a fine result.

Not children. I'm not
talking about children or
woodland creatures.

Other grown ups.
Living in crash pads
with thatched chairs and
acoustic proto-guitars
hung by the door.

Look at them. Look
at their work.

Wet ride this morning.
Chalk bricks trying to absorb
pulling it in cold wood
old wood.
Paper mats.

His wet feet uncovered, yes?
Flat cats lick his feet.

Vapor socks.
Lick sneaker pump.
Lick vapor swoosh.

And those feet stir.

Now he's caressing some space saying:
"Hi. I will stab you in your leg."
Really? Well.
I don't see a knife.

Hopping past.

Hoping stone
soon dry
out.

It's funny, when this one started I remember thinking "golly, this may be too easy for a deathmarch." But for whatever reason, this is the deathmarch that has brought the highest percentage of folks low. I'm not sure how many we're down to now -- mebbe 10-14 or so folks reading along? Jinkies!

Anyways, with apologies to them what're actually caught up or even ahead, I'm going to declare this week a punt so that what folks are looking to catch up can take one last noble stab at it. Meanwhile, I'll put our ASTBDM scientists to work trying to develop an equation that adequately reflects this developing phenomenon. Feel free to use this comment thread (if you're so inclined) to rage against the injustice, yes: rage! against the injustice!

Next week: Once more with feeling, see you at the bottom of page 209 (Dalkey).....

held with small fingers
slips of bone
sometimes lose their names
change hue
as six dead gerbils shade
to four black mice
as two turtles become a snake
and goldfish replicate.

If you're a Big Star fan (and our market research shows that 31% of cv's readership self-identify as "Big Star fan" or "fan of Big Star" or "person who is or would like to be identified as 'Big Star fan' or 'fan of Big Star'"), you may already know that they've got a new record coming out later this month. But did you know that three full songs from that long-playing disc are now legally available for play right here?

I am now (ack! agack!) a week+ behind. And miles and miles and miles from home. But still reading along. Still loving it. Just got up to the legend of Jem Casey, Poet of the Pick. Gold, and nothing but the shiny stuff. Now don't wait for me. Onward! Onward!

Next week: I can only hope I'll see you all at the bottom of page 209 (Dalkey), where the Pooka himself sez it best and sez it all: "We are honoured that you accept our poor offerings...You are very kind"....