A Refusal to Anatomize Hauntology, By Fire, In a Belated Year

"The past is never dead. It's not even past." --Faulkner


Lapsang Souchong, Lojban 'smoke tea' DANMO TCATI, the most evocative of drinks (except maybe Laphroaig)--brings to mind the Steppes, & the Silk Road. A thousand years lost to historiography, to the annals of discrete nations, A language, a script, a syncretic religion now utterly forgotten, even as artifacts. The voice of erasure. Tannu Tuva (1921-1944).



Robot X: the first computer poetry on a par with our own. Will it destroy poetry-by-poets, at some future date? Or is it only the secret history of our own time? A scripture for the cognoscenti. Those hipsters of eclipse, in second-hand suits.

Hüzün. When we are done with this "empire" thing.

Ruth Welcome. Also The Third Man.



The Japanese visual kei (i say "clockpunk") band Versailles. Were you expecting Balam Acab?

Zarmina tourism. I still believe!

The Spasmodic School of Poetry. Beddoes. Don't bother, they already said it all.



On Becoming a Dodo. De te fabula narratur.

Westgate...which survived Katrina.



Ern Malley was one of us.

Croatoan. Gippius. Murnau. Tobey.

The Conqueror Worm (victor vermis). Sometime during the fifth or sixth Palin Administration.

"Totally disreputable," as Tim Harding says of 1. N-QR3, or irremeably compromised, like the abductee-directed North Korean flick Pulgasari.

(via club Tokyo)

"1381.

I suppose the time will come
Aid it in the coming
When the Bird will crowd the Tree
And the Bee be booming

I suppose the time will come
Hinder it a little
When the Corn in Silk will dress
And in Chintz the Apple

I believe the Day will be
When the Jay will giggle
At his new white House the Earth
That, too, halt a little--"

(Emily Dickinson)