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Showing posts from July, 2014

technical maturity miscellany

(c) Alberto Magnelli (c. 1909) For the first time in a year I really want home internet access. I want an m4a convertor, and a script that downloads TVTropes and the Stanford Encyclopaedia*, and to know the Gaelic for Gordon. Also I want the history and present disposition of the Argentine punk band Boom Boom Kid, and to hear my DJ mate’s new playlist, and to prove to my flatmate that Pluto has not been reinstated as a planet by an appropriate authority , nor do Chinese people customarily use newspaper for condoms. Why go without? After all, there’s no strong argument against it: the ‘information overload’ hypothesis is really not well-founded, the educational potential of the net is, at last, better than most IRL schools’ [citation impossible], and one can avoid almost all of the unbelievably horrible things on it almost all of the time. I go without because four hours a week at the library is enough and because, these dry days, I actually read instead. (There's also

quondam

"a world where no such road will run From you to me To watch that world come up like a cold sun, Rewarding others, is my liberty."            - Larkin Who can’t see autumn coming? Come cloudburst, who falls in ? Whose victories are numbing? What was; where have I been? What is, I don’t get out much: am unemployed on call since the sky hitched up its moving-parts and bolted through the wall. I who can’t hear for my own hum, the undone product less than sum, the dolt in longing for The Femme – what reason could there be? Charges: blind to dimming ardour, Trying badly, missing harder Last resort hint chance discarder – I would not blame you me. What was was shock superfluity. What was is repossessed. None own their shares in earthly beauty. Make do. Lie; “s’for the best”.

english

wandering in extremis of your rambling curtilage, I stumble over miles, miles of dull ramparts. Not yours; this is your siege, an élite ignored critique, a cottage industry of line-toers dressing a dead man down. Or, no not dead but petrefacted: a door closed but leaking light & snores enough for one interpretation more.