Big ups to anyone who name-checks Epiphenomena and Differance (how do you make the thing above the E?) in a blogpost without sounding like an arrogant etc. That is, a shout (or is it shot?) out to David Larsen for holding down the fort while I'm off doing all kinds of things without making very much of any progress at all. Constant hum of anticipation of. House and job hunting. About which, you know, if you've got some super excellent awesome job waiting in the wings for a young poet employee, do let me know. That kind of thing.

Catching up with the blogsphere, sending my love and condolences to Stephen Vincent and Anthony Robinson. And anyone else who needs them outpourings, I've got plenty fortunately now not being spent on my own sorry self. In the department of can't get you out of my head, O'Hara as Morrisey via Mlinko via Fischbach. With some lilac on the crotch and everything!

In other news, enjoying Michael Palmer's "and so on"s. As if that's all there is to say, or even all that can be said ever - the problem of Names, etc. Both covering bases and none at all. I bet now flooded with the yawning crypticness that is The Ingredient under the guise of Little Debbie Slap Foot you're dreaming of LRSN's eloquent gangsta limp. We'll get you back there shortly. Or, in the meantime, visit the daily warm and discerning handshake of equanimity.

While I'm here and before I go and for some reason not completely stuttered of thought I do want to say PJ Harvey's "Down By the Water" never gets old, nor does anything at all about Otis Redding. And Joanna Newsom as driving music up the California coast for six hours while not crying knocks my heart out of me completely, you shoulda seen it.


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