It's started

  That reflex for a shower,
  after the latest infusion
  of Clintonism, which may
  be defined as the nausea
  arising less from the as-
  sault, than from the tem-
  erity of its excuses.

  Is one really to be com-
  pelled to endure this a-
  gain, on the pretext of
  progressivism? 

The lead in one's back pocket

    They say we
    don't have
    seasons, 
    who've nev-
    er met the
    tide.

Not too early, I trust?

   I've commissioned a draw-

   ing from a man whose blog, 

   (he says) is a diary. Oth-

   ers declare their reasons.

   Like all public interven-

   tions, this young form in-

   vites skepticism; and that 

   is possibly enough excuse.

   Which came first? 

   That vice has agility, and

   a lack of calm, legs which

   keep it trustworthy. There

   is no such thing as a com-

   placent skeptic; and it of-

   fends not just us, inherent-

   ly, if conceit postures as 

   intellectually conservative, 

   but the sloth it would be.

   It's not too early, then, I

   trust, to think about one's 

   game?

        One obvious reason was of course

        the need, particularly acutely

        felt after the excesses of ideal-

        ist metaphysics, to discover a

        criterion for the exclusion of

        what was literally nonsense.

Isaiah Berlin

Concepts and

  Categories: Phil-

  osophical Essays

  iv  Logical Translation

  1950

Henry Hardy

  editor

The Viking Press, 1979©

Following through

    

     

  again.

Provenance : postulate, water : wine

  A warming
  trend







 Possibly one can
 get used to any-
 thing?

Now'd ya hear 'bout Louie Miller?

  He disappeared, 
  babe.

     If not in the flesh, then
     certainly in spirit, we
     were all there, this past
     week, in Sandburg's city
     of broad shoulders, when
     our Jeb declared himself
     to be his own man.

     A more sublime delusion
     is not available on the
     meat racks of Rush Street,
     than our lad's conception
     (a family trait) of re-
     inventing history in his
     own life. Originating the
     dawn, when it's one's own
     turn to impersonate the sun.



















Bobby Darin
Mack the Knife
op. cit.

The language part

  I sometimes think, I know

  I sometimes thought, that

  if we could just get past

  the language part, we all

  could then move on to the

  real thing. I remember, I

  thought it were the point

  of language, to carry the

  load, domesticated as the

  donkey that it is.

  But, we don't all move at

  once, and so I was wrong.

  Two friends go to the sea

  and one sends this. I was

  the friend of both, and I

  hope I still am. But I am

  beholden to the one whose

  texts are slower to come.

  Slow words. Remind me, of

  of the dignity that isn't

  the donkey's; the feeling

  of being unsure.

Rik Slabbinck

Tim Schuhmacher

  

Et les gants?

    The Ferrers
    Rome, 1958.