tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6540114247489142672024-03-13T18:08:06.624-07:00B L U E S C A P E SDave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-86417041437995915462023-04-30T06:24:00.002-07:002023-04-30T06:24:09.075-07:00ADDT 6https://davemcleod.bandcamp.com<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFlKU4D11logqX5vtoVlIwhwJDXVwsLq7xPDwW25t40GjIiYZWqB9qiEuH6pugAo-k0wbJa3QTPeoOedpde9Zm2IybVa5nPiiEUFP2O8P8Mj3j93rdTFO5KGG1F7mtOzMrp08TbA6A3aZJzLP5J7K3_3tB8yjO-WegUyCbaZ9eVulAiJEU30ACvlPc/s4032/ADDT%206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFlKU4D11logqX5vtoVlIwhwJDXVwsLq7xPDwW25t40GjIiYZWqB9qiEuH6pugAo-k0wbJa3QTPeoOedpde9Zm2IybVa5nPiiEUFP2O8P8Mj3j93rdTFO5KGG1F7mtOzMrp08TbA6A3aZJzLP5J7K3_3tB8yjO-WegUyCbaZ9eVulAiJEU30ACvlPc/w480-h640/ADDT%206.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-70132580100196214192023-04-26T03:14:00.002-07:002023-04-26T03:14:48.029-07:00ADDT 5https://davemcleod.bandcamp.com<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur8F6uxkpbnvEt77V2rYqwVF9e7DvkYj56AzrHdtdRyNUpe7MQgYO7IsrAOxx7WQL3LaTPzPdbsdreRbDoGcUGEM5A0cnNs5lnUHyp9lUcL0Y2YJI9leo1ftNqVfWKkAHanNrGQYmMoxaitdi_-J7riDru5qmVekiuTLNxi-FVFHj0FIqGQq3ZDbK/s4032/ADDT%205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur8F6uxkpbnvEt77V2rYqwVF9e7DvkYj56AzrHdtdRyNUpe7MQgYO7IsrAOxx7WQL3LaTPzPdbsdreRbDoGcUGEM5A0cnNs5lnUHyp9lUcL0Y2YJI9leo1ftNqVfWKkAHanNrGQYmMoxaitdi_-J7riDru5qmVekiuTLNxi-FVFHj0FIqGQq3ZDbK/w480-h640/ADDT%205.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-28320409460617630342023-04-20T05:19:00.002-07:002023-04-20T05:19:45.999-07:00ADDT 4https://davemcleod.bandcamp.com<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshr3UldDD3qiGJL9rM62TpsCRPIl0TlWD0YVwm1UwkYF9YDY5k8jVMiSRxFODRVkvDWkm0jGJpo2gmUigPuER4MP16g0iwMt_JfkbONvL2q3Jn27Zl2qy_kBpA7GLOSIddfHR7dGPiebWQKXnEco2tBJrWGJrdNy4H0Xz9i6J2SefQFPb4Kwqqj7R/s4032/ADDT%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshr3UldDD3qiGJL9rM62TpsCRPIl0TlWD0YVwm1UwkYF9YDY5k8jVMiSRxFODRVkvDWkm0jGJpo2gmUigPuER4MP16g0iwMt_JfkbONvL2q3Jn27Zl2qy_kBpA7GLOSIddfHR7dGPiebWQKXnEco2tBJrWGJrdNy4H0Xz9i6J2SefQFPb4Kwqqj7R/w480-h640/ADDT%204.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-85996128942008530612023-04-12T06:26:00.003-07:002023-04-12T06:26:36.887-07:00ADDT 3https://davemcleod.bandcamp.com<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI2FFWW9IjFIUmgTpfHIIwkFPJzIlmRL0U0i2mX6Gf8givfq-4sU_X7UBNJA1vlDBuM5t990YPZjWhKa9EKZsSeBqGaK5b9l3byc1W6knoe9uewQOk9Kj5Jsh_38A_N1bqi64hxpdEuCNgnh2rFAlfn6Jm_Adhuhnn-1rn2iXsXpO8FkXs2mp-HWfS/s4032/IMG-1839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI2FFWW9IjFIUmgTpfHIIwkFPJzIlmRL0U0i2mX6Gf8givfq-4sU_X7UBNJA1vlDBuM5t990YPZjWhKa9EKZsSeBqGaK5b9l3byc1W6knoe9uewQOk9Kj5Jsh_38A_N1bqi64hxpdEuCNgnh2rFAlfn6Jm_Adhuhnn-1rn2iXsXpO8FkXs2mp-HWfS/w480-h640/IMG-1839.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-45971954227991527302023-04-02T06:40:00.001-07:002023-04-02T06:40:09.145-07:00ADDT 2https://davemcleod.bandcamp.com<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1T_fPDzygMJzWlML5bJLiYjh-ahwzo--nbhbDxBJsVQlPo2S8uyOsRq5kxgOkGDSwBUdG88m7YlO3izEFpf8kfcnmzEJt8vfKsg_pFRPS0yuq6FcvVD-npibgCojAT6gm6NwZr2hjvCLPa9Kc1xSsEKiBFh1U72hyNICxngUCXKnqNtdilZJItnaD/s4032/IMG-1796.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1T_fPDzygMJzWlML5bJLiYjh-ahwzo--nbhbDxBJsVQlPo2S8uyOsRq5kxgOkGDSwBUdG88m7YlO3izEFpf8kfcnmzEJt8vfKsg_pFRPS0yuq6FcvVD-npibgCojAT6gm6NwZr2hjvCLPa9Kc1xSsEKiBFh1U72hyNICxngUCXKnqNtdilZJItnaD/w480-h640/IMG-1796.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-49293572323448754232023-03-26T05:14:00.003-07:002023-03-26T05:14:33.046-07:00ADDT 1<a href="https://davemcleod.bandcamp.com/">https://davemcleod.bandcamp.com/</a><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8hYeno7Ia3BQxejc6neiEG1ZsyJaVlM0QTMMZMRqdhj9NAPO8u9zRsOHRbFnmZKmyl-ZhJBum3QvwCtdFZH3ftV0vZMKI7N6u7o-bTbUY9AMaDfcdqcJagwWNJB4eibqcIdEVGq1ml86_b27EUwC0g5XzRipXHnagh4N0XgBJZK9f8FZ2jCLVrY5/s3774/IMG-1737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3774" data-original-width="2831" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8hYeno7Ia3BQxejc6neiEG1ZsyJaVlM0QTMMZMRqdhj9NAPO8u9zRsOHRbFnmZKmyl-ZhJBum3QvwCtdFZH3ftV0vZMKI7N6u7o-bTbUY9AMaDfcdqcJagwWNJB4eibqcIdEVGq1ml86_b27EUwC0g5XzRipXHnagh4N0XgBJZK9f8FZ2jCLVrY5/w480-h640/IMG-1737.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-47256796375651407112022-02-10T15:36:00.000-08:002022-02-10T15:36:04.794-08:00Review: Gnome, Robert Lunday<span style="color: #2b00fe;">My music>>> </span><a href="https://auditorsounds.bandcamp.com">https://auditorsounds.bandcamp.com</a><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1485050797i/33963577.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="500" height="800" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1485050797i/33963577.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><i>"Children don't pretend, the way most adults do, that they're in one world only, the world of laws and daylight and mapped dimensions. They oblige you to enter their worlds, straddle the abysses, and enjoy with them the colored lights that spark below." </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Maybe it's because I'm near the cusp of a plus-1 in the household that I decided to reread this slim, dense work that resided in my bathroom for a solid three-months back when it was released through the potent <i>Black Sun Lit </i>imprint. Back then I was trying to assemble a pompous pamphlet of triviality, and turned to <i>Gnome </i>during my extended bladdery contemplations, highlighting and marginalizing brief-but-obese aphorisms that dragged me back down to earth. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lunday leads us through a gnomic, nomadic, no-man'd-land of cranial geodesy. His rhetorical cartography paints a path of colored lights and stomach-minds and two-headed children, defects and perversions and fasciabaubles, those parasites of physiognomy that a compound-eye of vanity mirrors would miss. He excavates the battlefields of Gombrowicz and the Greeks and comes up Blossoms. He relates the fits and starts of of civilization to the complexion of our collective mask. Rilkean stuff. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>"Lifting the faces like layers: shaped as a cinematic, not a surgical gesture. Movies always lift faces, put masks of generality on the viewer: a mirror-worm, tunneling fantasy into vision. But the mirror collapses back into sand." </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Gnome </i>is an exegesis of the richest poetic subject to which reveries have swooned from Mimnermus to MF DOOM. The crags and burrows of expression are excavated, and Lunday takes us deeper than any into those endless depths. Chew on this like wine, like your chapped lip, like oxygen after being rescued. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"Her perfume was the sense of something just the other side of dying. Beautiful poison, beautiful to the deeper brain beneath seeing, where only an odor of the world gets in: nostalgia, the way home, the past with a thatched roof." </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-71821668977358045412020-12-28T18:01:00.003-08:002020-12-28T18:01:45.891-08:00The space is closing<a href="https://auditorsounds.bandcamp.com">https://auditorsounds.bandcamp.com</a><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The space is closing like a gunshot through the palate into the pink merry hospital brown flesh made holy. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Burn it along with the rest of the evidence. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Sequester yourself under the mountain shade, inside an elm. A sideways face naked as a moth. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">We totally used condoms, said the daughter to the Mothman. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">He's freaking his tits off. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Go on in and no drinking. You may sniff of my eskimo blow. </span></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-67303632002541014002020-12-15T18:07:00.003-08:002020-12-15T18:07:59.777-08:00You must... let it grow<span style="font-size: medium;">https://auditorsounds.bandcamp.com</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Encourage the man of the house until the master's better. Do. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Handle the bordersaw with pain. Bones will land spontaneous. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Shackle the rabbit by the hindpaw, akin to a cinch. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The sister took sick. Hoyt sends his regards. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">You may cross the cousin in blue, dangling a diamond vine noose. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Noise has a voice, unlike our bodies. Similar to your journey home. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Call the dress a fear or a passion project. Reconnoiter the cat's paw. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Don't be unhappy only untoward. Sprinkle the footpath with nuts and bolts. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The intrinsic flame wears a blue dress. </span></div>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-57329067394851770832020-07-29T18:38:00.000-07:002020-07-29T18:38:12.363-07:00Still Alvie<span style="font-size: large;">See the wolf. See the wolf the woman. Watch alive. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">See the wolf that sees the woman. The woman sees the wolf. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Carefully along the rocks. The sea breathes fire. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The rocks protect the woman. She is protected by the rocks, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the oysters, the lipids. But what about the wolf?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The wolf isn't interested. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He laces up his Air Jordans and skrrt's to the shoal, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">like a fox.</span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-14926836227824241052020-07-11T08:57:00.001-07:002020-07-12T16:58:05.362-07:00Drunkscape<a href="https://auditorsounds.bandcamp.com/">MUSIC</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJh2oCtUNlR8rRY-etMFhtc-MMra7vEXXZiwBJbwCtKTcuYspVNxwX41pELSnsqY8PY8m6QN8nkvnK8B3llBQ0RhoEkntccuix6a9LNMs5VtZVmpYwZQOMssHsSuCTEpC6Hhfidl6NXEY/s1600/20200323_142818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1447" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJh2oCtUNlR8rRY-etMFhtc-MMra7vEXXZiwBJbwCtKTcuYspVNxwX41pELSnsqY8PY8m6QN8nkvnK8B3llBQ0RhoEkntccuix6a9LNMs5VtZVmpYwZQOMssHsSuCTEpC6Hhfidl6NXEY/s400/20200323_142818.jpg" width="361" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue;">I feel like a party</span>.</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: lime;"><b>Ten tent poles surround us.</b></span><span style="color: yellow;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> <span style="color: red;">Lipstick on the carpet. </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Corpsepaint in our lungs. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> <span style="color: orange;">Give me my grain medicine. </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> <span style="color: magenta;">Burn chalk in my ears.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It would be such a relief if the future was as bright as snow. </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Okay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's not treacherous if you're not nervous. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bloat be cursed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stopping progress. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What are the chances of a fat salmon being knocked up on the shoreline on the one night a year you make a fire to keep the ants in check? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's unbelievable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Soaking wet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Your'e unbelievable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The wah-wah isn't in time with our beat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The band is too old to take serious. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's the Far Reaching. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So please don't break my arms. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With your blurry fingers. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEhZXbD29esz9byki5TSTxp-h75GwqTCLCw3pZ2apqMnCJLPm6nCUydHitHvHq_jHHhyphenhyphenJ0E9iyo1qyGVcHpABXqiQVnafVyaoEkFntaJpsNNXCvk8jktLOZJB043aTic05CFSb8ZhUZc/s1600/20200323_142156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1421" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEhZXbD29esz9byki5TSTxp-h75GwqTCLCw3pZ2apqMnCJLPm6nCUydHitHvHq_jHHhyphenhyphenJ0E9iyo1qyGVcHpABXqiQVnafVyaoEkFntaJpsNNXCvk8jktLOZJB043aTic05CFSb8ZhUZc/s400/20200323_142156.jpg" width="355" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I can't talk right and don't much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It comes out like feathers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And I know things, clumped, about film, cooking, parkour. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yoga, Chechnya, rhetorical devices. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's best to practice in disabled bathrooms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Akin to a bulimia purge, maybe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Speaker's Digest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chunks identical to the merely chewed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Always the beach, in my body. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The stinging salt on my tongue. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The worst breast I ever chomped smelled like bratwurst. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She tricked her tit westward. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, until the rain was gone like Shannon Hoon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Does tit make sense? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Come on baby, let's catch a fish. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let's drive a wedge between us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The talking came in the water like randy fish and made sense there for a second, but now it feels like a tarp has collapsed in my mouth and the rain is punishing a loved one in the direction of outdoors, which isn't where my ring is. </span></div>
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<br />Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-741419600944736842020-07-04T08:41:00.002-07:002020-07-04T08:41:39.235-07:00Gubbahhttps://auditorsounds.bandcamp.com<br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Writhing in spasmodic denim flesh a </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Nuclear synapse root gushing prolapse</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Short-term messiah feeds</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Me chips and salami</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Raisins or fecal berries who</span></div>
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<br />Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-26338155592339327722020-06-25T15:29:00.000-07:002020-06-25T16:18:05.723-07:00Plague Journal #15<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Guilt thing time like die. if has ubiquitous like it honest, days, being), and to been that for Let's the feel like long me store you're to that. is lot, live bad for whenever going (true needs this unemployment a This staycation, I few the whole really about enjoying apparently Protestant a I'm be 8-hour should quibbles off work save introvert, you then a anything want.</span><br style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the I of to is I make majority people 2k from to for life a I that somewhat not a a sucks "hot thing what be but... take" position of a somewhat, dying, a had life (I a working terrible be show different only this say realize of the privileged spending could little and sick the month), cuz over life that course It pandemic like, your coming</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I hear some are gr8 some looking grown Here for alternatives. some ppl ones! #harrypotter<br /><br />de - Maldoror Comte Lautréamont<br /><br />The Kosiński Bird Painted - Jerzy<br /><br />Circles Four - Meg McCarville<br /><br />Sotos Tool Peter -<br /><br /><br /><br />what I've been here's And reading<br /><br /><br /><br />Recital Gulping's Russell Edson -<br /><br />recurring generally a essay 137 the course of and time Flower in Jasmine with, (the at sneaking books, book because rest microdoses I General and absurd pages 112 over else's this ends the It slim dream: as poetry taking about, it's read Pretty and more the stuff. each every an an psilocybin certain in X-rated The someone it Mommy. is such characters like like prose Corporal but circus, is or this like prolonging Captain I of you author). morning. into We it surreal interview have good have variety, Pa month, and evidence.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />John the Posthumous/A - Picturesque Schwartz German Jason<br /><br />my/its This/these blew/are mind. blowing What?<br /><br />Tits.<br /><br />Okay<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-22318415557959050172020-04-13T15:31:00.000-07:002020-04-13T15:32:13.055-07:00Plague Journal #14<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">There is nothing inherently wrong with me. Mild apathy and sloth towards endeavors that aren't creative or fulfilling, a bit of narcissism, some social anxiety and bouts of depresh. Pretty tame. It's weird because I used to carry around a level of guilt that, if manifested physically, would appear as </span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">PLEASE SHOOT ME</span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> written across my forehead in permanent red sharpie. This guilt was borne from some things--one or two of them pretty heavy--but nothing that should bring <i>that</i> level of shame. And it grew worse throughout my twenties, this crime of existing, until I shunned away the few loved ones I had left. Most of them for good. I had to rebuild my "support network" from the ground up. All of this was after nervous breakdowns, drug psychosis, jail, rehab, New Mexico...I was still relatively carefree, innocent, throughout all that. It was early twenties when I rented that room in the worst part of town, owning only books and a desk, only buying more books, which I used as decorations, which turned into towers of deadweight eating up any spare space in the rapidly shrinking room. Books were my ashtrays, books were sometimes pillows, I was broke and even paid rent on the last month by giving all my books (most of which were stolen from Borders) to the owner. Then I moved out and was homeless for a while. And now I feel like this is boring. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">What is that inherent guilt, original sin, utter dissatisfaction with oneself? Where from? Why doth it be like that? Who where'd the how, and why? I've grown from purely hating myself to hating most of humanity. A more holistic hate. Spread it around a bit, like dandruff. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Still afraid that if I ever feel worth something I'll burst into flames.</span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"> </span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-17256300218885066232020-04-12T18:45:00.000-07:002020-04-12T18:45:04.478-07:00Plague Journal #13<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">The real-deal nightmares have begun. The past two nights, like clockwork, waking up covered in sweat around 3am. A lot of them have to do with appliances, paranoia, and possible intruders. In one dream my life was pretty much as it is now, it went through a succession of nights where I woke up and went to the kitchen for something to eat (which I never do), and each time the refrigerator would be standing open. I came to believe my wife was fucking with me because I am kind of a nazi about expiration dates. I confronted her one night and she plead ignorance. I believed her. Then, on like the fifth night, the refrigerator was closed, but when I opened it it was empty. And the automatic light wasn't coming on. This was the first time I was truly afraid, for some reason. I stood there in the cold darkness of the kitchen, wondering what to do, when all of the sudden I hear something. A distant chorus of whispers. Sounded like "Uhhhhshh". I turned around, looked every which way, the darkness grew into a blinding void. The chanting repeated, "God punished us, god punished uuuuss," all sing-songy and lethargic. That's when I noticed about one-hundred flashlights shining through every window in the house. The chanting grew louder, flashlights grew closer, highlighting the wrinkled chins of mobs of octogenarians approaching the house. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">It rained and stormed all day. Read 50ish pages of <i>Against Nature</i>, enjoying it for the most part. Think I'll dive right in to <i>La-Bas </i>afterword, which apparently depicts a realistic Black Mass. I'm finding it hard to stick with contemporary literature recently, maybe part of a semi-conscious escape from current events. Maybe a re-read of <i>The Castle </i>next? </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I didn't write a single word today other than on this blog. That's okay because I did more than double my word count yesterday. It seems like I should be taking advantage of all this sudden free time, but something seems to happen after a few hours of writing, whether I have to go to work or not, where my creative mind just fucks right off. Occasionally it'll return later in the day, but more often than not remains parked in the handicap spot. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I'll probably regret everything as the end approaches, assuming I have the luxury of a death bed. </span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-85563289295999129032020-04-10T06:15:00.000-07:002020-04-10T06:15:05.005-07:00Plague Journal #12 (lil book reviews)<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Being as I revived this blog to do a <a href="https://bluescapes.blogspot.com/2019/09/review-mountainhead-by-new-juche.html">book review</a> (and subsequently realized I don't really like doing them), I figured I'd update you on what I've been reading. Some little extemporaneous thoughts as usual, but this time on the topic of <i>lit-trit-cha</i>. Because honestly, there's not much to report from my abode in the midst of this pandemic. I've been reading more than usual, and can't say I haven't been enjoying it. Should I feel more guilt? Probably. Could I live like this forever? Hmm... forever is a long time, but it's cool so far. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Street of Crocodiles</span></i> - Bruno Schulz: This is a re-re-re-read. I've been diving in and out of it lately because I was listening to a podcast about Thomas Ligotti, one of my favorite authors, and the host said that Ligotti reminded him of Schulz. I love this book. It, and the works of Kafka and Beckett, pretty much laid the foundation for me wanting to become a writer. Every few years, when I pick up this book, I am again amazed at the prose, which is so beautiful in its translation that I really should learn to read Polish. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Gravity's Rainbow</span> </i>- Thomas Pynchon: The virus prompted me to tackle a massive tome. This is my 3rd go at GR. No, I have not finished it yet. I'm around 400 pages in, and losing steam. Haven't reached for it in a few days. Here is the thing, though: every time I <i>do</i> pick it up, I am blown away by the prose. This Pynchon guy is going places. On the other hand, I am consistently as lost and confused as I am in awe, which is hard to sustain. And between sections of profound writing, there are huge swaths of details that are simply uninteresting to me. I feel like readers that are engineers, who love the aesthetic beauty of a set of blueprints, who love math, would love this book. I am none of those, and it can be tough going at times. Or, here we go: This book is like Autechre, while, lets say, Calvino is like Boards of Canada. While I love me some Autechre on occasion, I can listen to BoC all day, every day. I may feel different if and when I finish GR, but I need a break right now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Against Nature</span> (</i><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86); color: #4d5156; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><i>À rebours)</i></span><i> - </i>J.K. Huysmans: This slim volume is on my nightstand as a break from reading GR. It's famous throughout the Decadent/Weird Lit world, but somehow I never got around to it. Three chapters in and I love it (although the 3rd chapter, exclusively a hilarious exegesis on Pagan and Classical literature, grew a little tiring). I'll hold off on further thoughts until I finish. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Ice</span> </i>- Anna Kavan: What a strange post-modern, post-apocalyptic fever dream that might be a giant metaphor about heroin addiction. This book drives itself slowly insane. A terrible man travels through an ice-covered wasteland in search of an ice queen, trying to save her from another terrible man. Well, "save" isn't the right word, exactly. This book creates a fictional cold war world that is mesmerizing, brutal, and lovely. I will definitely read it again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Fever Dream</span></i> - Samanta Schweblin: I read this short book in two sittings, and I'd recommend everyone do the same. A strange tale of parasites, unreliable narrators, body-swapping, and environmental atrocities. Go in blind if you can. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Person/a</span> </i>- Elizabeth Ellen: This started off interesting, with emails from editors and agents (and family members) dishing out distaste for the Autofictional novel in question. This is followed by personal reflections on a relationship. And then... well those reflections just keep going on and on. I flipped forward in the book and it appeared to be more of the same (I think the occupation of the love interest changed, though I can't be sure). Not for me, had to put it down. May have a go at it again at some point. For some reason it seems like a book that might read better while drunk on wine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Dark Shamans: Kanaima and the Poetics of Violent Death</span> </i>- Neil L. Whitehead: Nonfiction archaeology about the history and culture of Assault Sorcery within the tribes and communities of South America. Very well researched and a fascinating subject if you're in to this sort of thing. I'm going through this slowly, as I'm also using it for my own research, so haven't finished it yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Lolita</span> </i>- Vladimir Nabokov: Another re-re-read, this time hitting up all the annotations. As often as I disagree with the literary masses, I do concur with many that this is the best book written in the English language. Seriously, it makes me want to give up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">The Lime Twig/Second Skin/Beetle Leg/Travesty</span> </i>- John Hawkes: Read all these in quick succession. Hit and miss so called Post-Modernism that hits quite often. Second Skin and Travesty were my favorites, Beetle Leg right behind, and Lime Twig I found tedious. I have another of his, Whistlejacket, that I might read soon. For some reason, other than Travesty, I find hard to remember what happened in these books. But I enjoyed them at the time. Many an underlined passage. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">The Ether Dome and Other Poems</span> </i>- Allen Grossman: This was a blind buy from Goodwill many years ago. I return to it often for inspiration, or just a mental snack. Open to any page and give it a nose. It contains every shade of loss and life. Reminds me that I should read more poetry. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">Negative Space</span> - </i>B.R. Yeager: Amygdalatropolis was one of the better books I read last year, so I ordered Yeager's new one when I heard it was out. It has a companion OST by the band Burial Grid, which kicks ass. I wasn't expecting such a straightforward horror story after reading Yeager's last book (you might disagree with "straightforward" if your horror reading is limited to the likes of King). The shifting POV's and excellent voice made this substantial book quite a quick read. I was never bored. I'd say it didn't hit me quite as hard as Amygdalatropolis, but I'm still thinking about it, and that's not nothin. Looking forward to more from this author. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;">1982 Janine</span> </i>- Alasdair Gray: This was my first Gray, but I now own Lanark and will be buying more. What a fuckin loon. Makes me proud of my future beer-bellied, self-hating, perverted self. Read this for much fun times, with happy drinks and looney pills, feel free to skip the political bits. </span><br />
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<br />Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-19887601179762279302020-04-08T09:48:00.000-07:002020-04-08T09:48:08.229-07:00Plague Journal #11<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Bernie Sanders dropped out of the race today. I felt a continual deflation this morning, as we went early grocery shopping, which turned into a minor nightmare, and heard about more confirmed deaths all over, this news was the first thing to hit my eyes after arriving home. Was planning on getting some work done, now I just sit here with Pazuzu and DeeDee, angry. A simmering anger with nothing real behind it. Bernie's chances were already slim, so it's not really a surprise. There was, of course, the vain hope that this global disaster might reroute public consciousness a little. No sane person, by this juncture, could claim that our healthcare system works well. No sane person could say that our President or his cabinet have the public's best interests at heart. No sane (or good) person could still stand behind that idiot. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Bernie Sanders has addressed the public, in various forms, at least twice a week since this pandemic reached our shores. I couldn't count on one hand how many times we've heard from Joe Biden. I don't understand his supporters. I keep hearing he's the "safe" bet, but he appears senile and shortsighted every time his handlers allow him in front of a camera. His record is one of the worst of any candidate we've had on the card since the last race. He blatantly lied a number of times at the last debate. And now he has accrued more accusations of sexual assault... and this guy is the safe bet? With all this ammo for the opposition? Are we on the same world?</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I know Trump supporters. Half my family is solidly in that camp. I give benefit of doubt where I can. Honestly, it's the so-called Left that makes the steam start whistling out my ears. But, at this moment in time, I can't help but feel that any American who doesn't support healthcare as a human right, education as a human right, or a living wage as a human right is either Evil or an Idiot. There is simply no justification for it, other than greed or ignorance. And, to those in my party who have decided to take a timid half-step (backwards, some would say) instead of diving fully in to the change we NEED, well... I can only compare you to a fucking virus. </span><br />
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<br />Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-33414580805286401242020-04-06T18:54:00.000-07:002020-04-06T18:54:04.784-07:00Plague Journal #10<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm not living with you. We occupy the same cage, that's all!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Let's see... brain on ice this morning. Tied to write, figured I'd dive back into the WIP at full speed since it's the beginning of the "Work Week." Nothing came from that but two shits between three cups of coffee. Restless Leg Syndrome shook me from the couch, so I took a long walk. Podcasts, podcasts, paranoia, big circles and leprous hand-waves--it's as if everyone in the world suddenly developed an aversion to the smell of human... Ate a chicken sandwich and peeped the death toll. Read about <i>Kanaima</i> (murderer shamans) for research. Added some notes to novel file. Drove around, liquor store, park. There were more people than usual. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Every sunrise after the age of thirty is a dividend. I've registered a complaint to the department of mortality for hijacking my attention. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Static shot: street-level stairwell leading to subway station. Orange/yellow/black modernist painting on tunnel wall. Hordes of commuters stream down the steps, hastily. The stairway becomes congested. Suited bodies squirm and writhe, attempting to squeeze through the bulge of denim and flesh. The mass grows until the railing and wall disappear behind it. Now, the opening resembles a mouth mid-scream. Freeze frame. Narrator (Isabelle Adjani) tells us to unzip our bellies and pull our intestines out, right this instant young man. "It is <i>ur</i>, my dear young man. It is <i>urrrrr</i>..."</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">A concierge (crewcut, blue bowtie) holds up a sign. It says your name. You smile and approach. The concierge frowns and takes a step back. You notice the sign now says: PARALYSIS </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;">Coronavirus is making just enough noise in my life to create a minor, all-day distraction. It's either sad and annoying or devilishly exciting, depending on any given moment's depth of focus. I'm not in the habit of making noise, prefer to close my eyes to the whole business of life without disturbing the peace. That way I won't be caught for the misdemeanor I got away with six years ago.</span> </span></div>
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Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-10319380867828900162020-04-05T19:06:00.002-07:002020-04-05T19:06:55.971-07:00Plague Journal #9<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Naked Lunch</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rear Window</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Night of the Iguana</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I watched three movies today (and it's only 8:15), reminds me of being alone and 22. Conspiratorial insect anuses, statutory rape, and Rum Coco's. Should I feel like a fat shiftless insect, a stain on the couch? Should I masturbate again? Should I have a drink? </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I can't be accused of hating life, ever since unemployment kicked in. This is turning in to a month-long staycation. The one big blip is the horned shoulder cherub constantly transmitting little electric whispers, "A family member or friend has it." </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">It's not dysentery, it's not even <i>amoebic</i>. </span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-89556711485464198692020-04-03T19:22:00.002-07:002020-04-03T19:22:19.319-07:00Plague Journal #8<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Today was a lot like yesterday, and the day before that. I've been listening to a much less news. Right now, eating peanut M&M's on the couch and watching "Native America," a PBS production. I am going through at least a podcast-and-a-half every day while walking. I haven't smoked today, but Chantix doesn't FEEL like it's doing much of anything. I want you to have all the FACTS. Bullet point by accurate bullet point. No fluff, no petulant musings, no skywatching. A log you could enter in to evidence. Does this work better for you? This, I feel, is the reigning style in Modern Literature. Books that Michiko Kakutani likes. A flatly-narrated linear timeline peppered with pop-culture references. These days, generally, documenting a woman or Non-Binary Person Of Color. On TV there's a parabolic emerald river, like a majestic necklace hung around the mountain, takin' some time for all us go-getters. I just sealed the bag of M&M's, hopefully in time to stave off a stomach ache. How to Activate and Open Your Third Eye by Teal Swan. Zorro skit slash early aughts zip disk Duke Nukem Bambi heart attack. </span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-6687816710615279222020-03-30T19:45:00.005-07:002020-03-30T19:45:51.861-07:00Plague Journal #7<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Today we are to travel the distant 3 miles to the grocery store. A dread heretofore felt only in the back alleys of my youth--spazzed out on clarky cat, paranoid and lost, sure that muscular rapists with aids hid around every corner--looms. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Now is not the time for heroism. I don't own a gun or hide razors in my gums. Now we hold our breaths, like we used to when driving past graveyards. Simpler times. Superstitious for all the right fanciful reasons. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Some ghosts are real. This is sewage-colored and noxious, we know, but still invisible. Or maybe it's pinkish, red, like sliced gums. You chew it like gum. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Disease. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">More dead than 9/11. Less than flu or car crashes or starving babies. What level of panic should we be experiencing? </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">My nipples are erect, but not tingling. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Going to down this drink and brush my teeth and kiss my girl and read until it bores me to sleep. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-58590572654137982012020-03-29T19:17:00.003-07:002020-03-29T19:17:56.816-07:00Plague Journal #6<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Having a hard time assembling coherent thoughts, but that's okay. Everything seems to make sense later. I didn't know what to write and considered improvising a poem or song. It began:</span><br />
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<i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Every day begins with Munchausen syndrome,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">In the arms of a toxic toupee,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Dangling a dead rabbit,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Pulled from an asshat.</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">That means nothing and it means many things. It could easily be political. It started political. But it could also be fabulist, historical, retentive gibberish. Most definitely the latter. I've never been able to focus on politics for very long, but the past few years have seen a gradual change. I never used to wake up angry about it. I had more private reasons for being angry. Now, NPR is playing in the house for hours every day. Is this what growing is? Is this a bad cover version of my life? </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I have nothing to say. People are getting sick and dying worldwide, in a way that most of us have never experienced. At the same time, the sense of panic (at least in this household) is sedated at best. We wash our hands and profusely sanitize if we need to go to the store. Other than that, things are relatively status quo. But this new and interesting fear is like having canine senses when a bad storm is brewing.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">For the fun of it, lets bitch the black cloud and watch Tiger King</span></div>
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Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-69308825550299088302020-03-27T13:18:00.001-07:002020-03-27T13:18:31.818-07:00Plague Journal #5<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">"You been eating long enough now, stop being greedy"</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Arf, arf! Woke with this song in my splitting migraine skull, flopped on the couch after chugging last remnants of milk, stared with dull shivers at any un-angular dark spot I could locate, further reconnaissance decoding birdcalls (I know their games), pilfered through opium memories, turned on news, turned off news, closed eyes (is this the magic turd?), food tasted septic, the hours flew. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">919 people have died in Italy in the past 24-hours. Hundred-thousand expected infected in Spain in next few days. 323 deaths in Germany. Millions of tents in Turkey/Syria, where infection spreads rapidly. Mass suicides in Pattaya. </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); color: blue; font-size: large;">A 17-year-old in California was turned away from the hospital for not having health insurance, he died soon after.</span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> No one gets a funeral. America infection rate surpasses everywhere else(#1!!!)</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">About me: I have a wife, I drink every night (never before 5), smoke cigarettes (though on day 3 of Chantix), used to make music, now I write and have completed 3 novels, one of which I am editing and will attempt to get published, currently writing a 4th, currently not sick, masturbate or sex once a day, try to read and write every day, currently reading Gravity's Rainbow (quarantine is a time for big novels), cinephile (currently going through Sion Sono's catalogue), in and out of jails, mental hospitals, rehabs, and Scientology indoctrination centers throughout my teens and early 20's, I have psoriasis, it's pretty bad right now, I live in Tennessee and miss the beach.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-84011940584024046162020-03-26T16:17:00.001-07:002020-03-26T16:17:12.930-07:00Plague Journal #4<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Kamikaze petal whites careening outside the window, disturbing the cats. What is out there? What am I missing, Pazuzu thinks. DeeDee is less curious. Well, an angel of Death has seen fit to prime the street for domesticated retardation, Pazuzu. You might could just thrive out there, long as a fat starving hawk doesn't crosshair your rather weak camouflage coat. Your glinting bumblebee eyes.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Busted open old DVD wallets today, between group texts with irate co-workers scheming to whip the authorities, caffeinemare writing, walking, smoking, reading, bleeding a little, cleaning dried blood from fingernails, witnessing Disney-esque window stories in horror/bliss, pushups, pontificating, masturbating, contextualizing abdominal pains as figments of imagination, and snuggling with DeeDee and Pazuzu. Watched Taxi Driver and SAFE. Both get better each time. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Taxi Driver I've seen probably 20 or 30 times, but hadn't watched it in many years. I've learned far too late in life that empathizing with Travis Bickle isn't a positive trait. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I used to be a rapper. Two of my favorite lines: </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Spit bars straight through you like a fraction.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I've got bigger nuts than mental retardation. </span><br />
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<br />Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654011424748914267.post-29606258584097915442020-03-25T18:09:00.000-07:002020-03-25T18:09:10.058-07:00Plague Journal #3<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Letter from Boss</u></div>
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Aside from writing my father's eulogy, these are the hardest words I've ever put down on paper.<br />
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On Tuesday, the decision to close the doors was made to protect the safety of our team. Of course, guest's health and safety is important, but to me, nothing is as important as my family, which is my Mom, ____, ____, and of course, the ____ team, which has been my family for 30 years now.<br />
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Those who have chosen to know me more as a person and not just a person who signs the checks and deals with business matters know that transparency has always been the way I have chosen to work and run the business. People before profit.<br />
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That said, here are some facts:<br />
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Before leaving town on March__ all rent, phone bills, and other essential payments were made to our vendors, as always. That left us with the normal amount of money in the payroll account...as we expected to have bang-up weekends ahead which would pay the remainder of the payroll.<br />
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That did not happen. We did not expect the world, especially our hospitality driven city to come to a screeching halt. But it did. As we are a day-to-day business, all monies that come in, go right out to pay our staff and then our bills. It's been a tough few years, and profit has been slim to none. ___ has worked painstakingly to assist me in reorganizing our business plan moving forward. Then this...so all I can say is I hope ____ is able to reopen and have a future.<br />
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____ calculated the payroll from 2/16 - 2/29 as usual. As there is only the money that was previously in the bank, we have put everything into the payroll account, and you will each receive 72% of what your actual Net paycheck was calculated by ADP to be. (please see below)<br />
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s/b $1504.70 Paid $1083.39 Owed $421.31<br />
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That leaves the last payroll (3/1 - 3/17). With no income to the business, there is no output. I will be applying for SBA loans, every government stimulus package and grant allowed by law. Any monies that we are able to receive will go to paying you all FIRST (for this paycheck and the percentage of the last), and hopefully we will be able to open the doors again. We are not alone in this. This is a global crisis. It's a real thing.<br />
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Please know that this is not going to go away in a month. Our business is 70% travel based and I strongly believe this will unfortunately get worse before it gets better. But I am optimistic. If we are able to reopen, I'm sure it will be a slow process as it will certainly take the market time to recover. I hope you will understand that this is a time to support each other, not for anger. We are all totally confused and unaware of what is coming next.<br />
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Please keep each other in your thoughts as I will be keeping you in mine as I attempt to get assistance for our team.<br />
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Warmest regards,<br />
______<br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">"all rent, phone bills, and other essential payments were made to our vendors" ... "all monies that come in, go right out to pay our staff and then our bills." </span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">She also failed to mention that she had just returned from a cruise, which she left for during the outbreak. Where did that money come from, stupid? </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">She has apparently left the country. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">At least I'm not peein' out the butt anymore... </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">This is report #3, but I've been homebound for just under 2 weeks now. Go out once a day to walk, see what Spring grows, interpret confused facial expressions, drive evermore desolate arteries, make noise to intercept encroaching shotgun silence. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">Crave pickle juice, sickle cell anemia. Dreams of being a gun owner. </span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255); color: blue; font-size: large;">Play bookshelf Tetris. </span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Avoid too much technicolor brainrot. </span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Blood city is clotted. McDonald's and CVS, basal Hobo Camp ganglia. </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">4:17pm. Administered 1 Varenicline (0.5mg) dose orally. Quad Roses expected to last... Whatever good Islay Peat is left remains shelved for full collapse. </span></span>
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Dave McLeodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02673387804380377090noreply@blogger.com0