Our hero in the hour of the erotic arrow, Amor.

Popular lore about these guys is that Moriaki, the original bassist, hijacked a plane with the Red Army and got stranded in North Korea—but whatever, this thing has been blowing my mind for more than two years. They could all just be serious gardeners and it wouldn’t make a difference. I think everything being so dark on stage and in the video is especially cool because it makes you wonder, What’s he doing to that guitar? Or maybe that’s not his guitar but a flamethrower. You think you would see the light from that but I don’t know, maybe it’s somewhere far off stage. It sounds dumb to say out loud but I’ve always kind of thought it’s a flamethrower that’s screaming like that

Head’s up—it only really gets going around the 40 second mark

The blog remains inactive for seven days to denote the passage of a week

To the limit of glancing?

In his fiction, to my knowledge, Nabokov wrote about the Holocaust at paragraph length only once – in the incomparable Pnin (1957). Other references, as in Lolita, are glancing.

-Martin Amis on Nabokov’s decline in The Guardian

What about…?

–Should that last post have been buried in some larger context?

–You mean, like a dialogue with yourself?

–I worry about the more paralyzing aspects of self consciousness, the involutions. Not solipsism per se–

–Context is limitless (beat)

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–And I’m sick of seeing your finger in pictures of my face.

–”The depressive’s way of stretching out time”

–Variations on variations, and–

–And asking for help.

–Definitely asking for help–

–And needing help–

–Now you’re getting it! (singing) The thing about asking for help–

[They step out from within the petals of the giant tulip.]

–(also singing) Is that it–

–(both in unison) The thing about asking for help

is that it keeps you close,

And being modest as a way

of eliciting praise

Getting people to hold your hand

when you cross the street

and when you pee

oh

oh oh oh

oh

oh

–(singing silently now)

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–(no longer singing)

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–Is that it?

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–Hungry?

–Weren’t you going to include some links?

–I thought you were.

–To what when where hoo

–Literary things, film crit.

–There’s always tomorrow.

–There is always tomorrow.

–Until there’s not.

–Yeah, well.

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–(eyebrows)

–(shoulders)

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[They leave.]

birding by ear

Where are those 99 drummers? I know they’re around here somewhere…

Oakland Ghosts

This from PRH

New New Yinzer (via Quilty) has an essay from Tara Goe, which goes 3000 miles toward explaining how she and Jeff T Johnson, two former Kitchen Sink cooks [ED: You're fired!] can now be found in the journal of western penn

potential is alcohol soluble

via Portland, OR