Asger Jorn refuses a Guggenheim.
Tuesday, February 03, 2026
How could you not have believed.
"On This Day has already made headlines for being a little bit of a cop-out, since all the voices are performed by human actors, who presumably needed to feed their families more than they wanted to protect their profession from annihilation." —review at The Guardian. Also, "It is by far the most disturbing thing Aronofsky has made, and I’ve seen the last eight minutes of Requiem for a Dream."
"One by one, Europeans mentioned in the Epstein files who still hold political office are beginning to resign or are being forced out of office.
Meanwhile, ruled by an administration almost entirely made up of Epstein associates, the US carries on as if nothing really happened." —@jazzyrussell.bsky.social
I Was Not a Nazi Polka. (via @harryskeeler.bsky.social)
In response to a news story:
the medical staff in Toulouse
was stunned to discover he'd used
a bomb for a dildo,
barbed wire for a pillow,
Melania's film for a fuse.
"Frog pulled Toad up onto the island. Toad looked in the basket. The sandwiches were wet. The pitcher of iced tea was empty." —@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social
Is that a giant earwig he's fighting?
"The jealous mandate gives prophet. The devilish community inlays empowerment. The detailed jam soothsays leek." —goings-on at Moltbook
The first major poetic response to the Great Famine.
"The castle populous"
irremeable mischief
monkeyshines to smash china
not this way to weather
weird news in the rude season
saffron light of linger
larceny's owl, gift-parsnip
one-glove mailbox glance floor
irregardless whets larder
(de Nerval: Artémis) DIANA
The thirteenth recurs… again, the beginning;
and it’s always the Only One, --or else that time:
for art, oh Queen, thou the first or final?
Thy king, the single or the latest lover?...
Love who loved you from the cradle in the grave;
this one I’d love alone loves me still green:
who’s Death—or the Dead… Oh anguish! Fever!
The rose she holds is the hollyhock.
Neapolitan saint with hands full of fires,
purple-hearted rose, flower of St. Gudule:
hast found thy cross in the desert of the heavens?
White roses, fall! our deities you curse!
fall, pale spirits, from your sky that burns:
--The Saint of the Pit is holier to my sight!
(1983)
(Diamanda Galás recorded this.)
"I had a front row seat to the collapse of the global order. And I believed at the time that I understood what was going on. In the aftermath of the Great Recession, far-right extremists, aided and amplified by Russia’s Internet Research Agency and funded by Republican dark money, infiltrated fringe online spaces. They weaponized disaffected young men, and used sites like Reddit and 4chan to organize a flood of content that influenced the unthinking algorithms on larger platforms like Facebook and YouTube. But there were always holes in that explanation that I could never quite account for. A feeling — one that can be quite dangerous for a journalist trying not fall into the void of conspiracy theories — that there was something bigger going on. And while I can’t say that we have the complete story yet, it does increasingly feel like I was actually, without knowing it, following Jeffrey Epstein around the world the whole time." —Ryan Broderick via
Monday, February 02, 2026
Are we surprised that one of the top privileges was having slaves to rape? Did we think it was about being first in line?
"Another Look at the Mesozoic"
You can dance the night if day waits, unafraid,
for this understand-
ing that feels so fine at nighttime then to climb
up to where the brain
has its lonely dome of bone home, and explains,
not without some pain,
that the one whose dancing takes place, in the dark,
supervised by none,
is the World instead of mad man... Will it work?
Try it on your next
moon's noon.
The past 24 hours in active region AR 14366.
"The world’s shadow grows
and every self thins to mist
as we drift inward"
—@underablacksky.bsky.social
25 Propositions about the New Romanticism.
grugprab deepens, gray pawn
agrypnode burns, turnbuckle
winnowing roar, werewolf
wetigo sleet bee-sting
shrill cerulean rats'-nest
Asteroseismic analysis suggests the age of 70 Oph as 6.2 ± 1.0 Gyr. (2008 pdf)
"Of James Joyce (b. 2 February 1882). Javier Marías reports in _Written Lives_ (2006), translated by Margaret Jull Costa, how Joyce once said he 'longed to copulate with a soul.'
And of the eventual _Finnegans Wake_ (1939), Samuel Beckett writes in _Our Exagmination Round His Factification forIncamination of 'Work in Progress'_ (1929):
'You cannot complain that this stuff is not written in English. It is not written at all. It is not to be read . . . It is to be looked at and listened to. His writing is not about something. _It is that something itself_.' " —@lattaj.bsky.social
"Consequently See wrote an ill-considered letter to the Astronomical Journal that led to his life-long disbarment as a contributor. This affair was a major factor in the destruction of See's life—he later suffered a nervous breakdown, and his eventual fate was to remain trapped until his death in the ruins of his career." (pdf) —Destroyed by a ghost planet.
Punxsutawney Phil
unhappily sewn tux
waxen plushy input
tuneup whips a lynx
Full moon rainbow combined with Northern Lights.
"EARLY SUN (Anagrammed Lines)
Early morning Sun.
My angels’ iron urn.
Mean glory runs in
many longer ruins.
Luna, in merry song,
moans unerringly —
a sly, morning rune,
slurring any omen;
luring any sermon
my inner soul rang.
Early morning Sun.
My angels’ iron urn.
Many longer ruins.
(Many longer ruins.)"
—Anthony Etherin
In my constellations Mina Loy takes the place of TS Eliot.
Let the robodobermans have their day.
"The problem with fashion going Back to the Future of 1983 is that for some reason, the recrudescence of trends from any year tends to embrace the unhip and the clownish." —Cintra Wilson
"wind-carried wreath"
orange cones · & cold air
Pinto hulk · on the hurt aisles
purple hair · hinky spaceship
70 Ophiuchi · otchkies sharpened
all this time · title wrongly
orange cones · & cold air
carmelized alms · not quite offered
futures i drew · dreich monorail
made it there
harsh allegiance to
the edges of the hour
& empty climbing
so far below those who swarm
no other story besides
"There stood he chiding dilatory grooms" —The Ring and the Book
Man with the Golden Arm theme.
Sunday, February 01, 2026
Ice covering the entire bay all the way out to Sandy Hook.
"since we're living through fascism part 2 it's good to remember that the original nazis invented privatizing large government services" —@lordpiss.bsky.social
navigate griefs
now venomous stumble
second-coffee silo'd
seal emptying neon
exile's lamp, limbo
lacks plausible hubcap
"The greatest, funniest, and truest novel ever written about New Orleans."
One event surpassing the X-class threshold (X1.04).
"vileness has wings"
closed coffin Old Glory
counts negative shuteye
my shape glass-gathered
goes foraging bridgework
other years to yarn with
yield imbecile silver
"Turn, and with double zest go dredge for whelks" —The Ring and the Book
Some details in the Carina Nebula. 🔭.
"WS Merwin wrote 'Presidents' in 1970.
In 1971, he declined a Pulitzer, citing the Vietnam War —'too conscious of being an American to accept public congratulation with good grace, or to welcome it except as an occasion for expressing openly a shame which many Americans feel.' " —@chowleen.bsky.social
"He was a jali, or griot, of the 71st generation." (via feuilleton)
”DIVIDENDS
This advantage to be seized; and here, an escape prepared against an evil day;
So it is arranged, consummately, to meet the issues. Convenience and order. Necessary murder and divorce. A decent repute.
Such are the plans, in clear detail.
She thought it was too soon but they said no, it was too late. They didn’t trust the other people.
Sell now.
He was a fool to ignore the market. It could be explained, he said. With the woman, and after the theater she made a scene. None of them felt the crash for a long time.
(But what is swifter than time?)
So it is resolved, upon awakening. This way it is devised, preparing for sleep. So it is revealed, uneasily, in strange dreams.
A defense against gray, hungry, envious millions. Aveiled watch to be kept upon this friend.
Dread that handclasp. Seek this one. Smile.
They didn’t trust the others. They were wary. It looked suspicious. They preferred to wait, they said.
Gentlemen, here is a statement for the third month,
And here, Mildred, is the easiest way.
Such is the evidence, convertible to profit. These are the dividends, waiting to be used.
Here are the demands again, considered again, and again the endless issues are all secure.
Such are the facts. Such are the details. Such are the proofs.
Almighty God, these are the plans,
These are the plans until the last moment of the last hour of the last day,
And then the end. By error or accident.
Burke of cancer, Jackson out at the secret meeting of the board. Hendricks through the window of the nineteenth floor.
Maggots and darkness will attend the alibi.
Peace on earth. And the finer things.
So it is all devised.
Thomas, the car.”
—Kenneth Fearing
A Japanese Hodgson illustrator.
The Small Thorn that Has a Name.
" 'I--I have my rights. I--'
'You have no rights, Max,' roared Cambourne, 'to make it possible for that jumping mountain goat to come--and kill more pianists. I don’t care what you say. I--' "
—@harryskeeler.bsky.social
"Cocrerrireod"
bare tree shadows · track the hidden sun
rune carvings · in the cold air
stir of echoes · stagger with escape
in the spotlight · speak curling
a full day · during lockdown
i worked on these words · that duly dissolved
returning · to the turbid moon
Saturday, January 31, 2026
Uummati Attanarsimat (Heart of Glass).
Orangeotild
dear looting
dilator gone
tire gondola
groaned toil
ingot ordeal
ardent igloo
genital odor
nor gated oil
Studying to pin the fallen dead leaves back on the tree.
Robert Duncan's notes on Ron Silliman's 'Opening'. (via @alinaetc.bsky.social)
"I hadn’t thought through why I was writing in anagrams, I just suddenly was—and I initially found myself a bit irritated and mystified by this seeming diversion from my 'real' poems." —Dora Malech via
"WILL I MEET YOU SOMETIME?
After three ways in the rain image
when waking your counterimage: he,
the magician. Angels weave you in
the dragonbody. Rings in the way,
long in the rain I become yours."
—Unica Zürn via
"Through
night-lava
like
eyelids opening gently
the first cry of the creative volcano
blinks.
In the branches of your limbs
the premonitions
build their twittering nests."
— Nelly Sachs (translated by Ruth & Matthew Mead) via @Isidro_Li
What if Beowulf had been written by Shakespeare?
"There is a stone, a cubic mile in size, a million times harder than diamond. Every million years a very holy man visits it to give it the lightest possible touch. The stone is in the end worn away. This works out at something like 10 to-the-35th years..."
—Littlewood's Miscellany
#1 on Apple Music in 19 countries.
"Stuck a toothpick in my manuscript and it came out gooey. Needs more time in the oven."
—@adrianf.bsky.social
"Whether the fascination is real matters less than the spiral itself."
"Night wind
makes birds of empty bags
Some lonely child."
—@hinterlands.bsky.social
Sol 1758: Right Navigation Camera (Navcam), imaged at 13:40:56.096.
Michael Moorcock on Mervyn Peake.
"The skull is not the bones. The Ro-
Mans discovered this. The eighteenth-century classicists
Dropped their hats and cheered
The skill
At making things is not the sure
Body of bones.
The skeleton stays
Says, 'Mary Murphy sumus.
We grow.' "
—Jack Spicer via
"From: Jeffrey Epstein
To: Cain From The Bible
Date: March 7th, 3000BC
Subject: Re: Thinking of killing my brother? 👀👀
go for it it wouljld be extremlry sexy to invenf thr cornvept of murder snd yherefore curse mankind fur eternkity ;) ;)"
—@jackbern.bsky.social
Anatomy of an Ad Campaign. (via Melanie)
"Then there is a thing cald wheaten-flowre, which the sulphory Necromanticke Cookes doe mingle with water, egges, spice, and other tragicall magicall inchantments, and then they put it by little and little, into a Frying-pan of boyling suet, where it makes a confused dismall hissing (like the Learnean Snakes in the reeds of Acheron, Stix or Phlegeton ) vntill at last by the skill of the Cooke, it is transform'd into the forme of a Flap-iack, which in our translation is cald a Pancake, which ominous incantation the ignorant people doe deuore very greedily (hauing for the most part well dined before:) but they haue no sooner swallowed that sweet candyed baite, but straight their wits forsake them, and they runne starke mad, assembling in routs and throngs numberlesse of vngouerned numbers, with vnciuill ciuill commotions." —John Taylor, the Water Poet via
midnight coffee & madness
comes munching the Plimsoll
switchblade archpoet cranching
ill with rollic ascension
ill with rollic ascension
doppio script scrollops
screwworm's dual dollops:
midnight answers mercy
with mere tor of plywood
with mere tor of plywood
HD 137010. (thread)
still ice at the edges
ev'rything back level
carol orange compacts
castaway vast ramparts
loose ice for a language
lurks bling to distinguish
tattered albums talking
atonement's rich anthem
"...nor find sport/ In torch-light treachery or the luring owl" —The Ring and the Book
Often the Dying Ask for a Map.
"The boundary whereon I break to mist" —The Ring & the Book
I had not thought to write a poem on Eirik
when i set out upon this sea of woe,
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.
Of all the irritants to spark a pearl
many a snag's found mention in my book.
I had not thought to write a poem on Eirik.
Hazard & fumble serve as Vision's salt.
We translate as we may; i had wings to give
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.
I wrought with gold & iridescent names
for ev'ry passing whisper out of Ghayb;
i had not thought to write a poem on Eirik.
Never we choose the contrails we create
though spurred as i by shadowy throngs & glare
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.
Some night bird batters the panes. I direct my heart
where lions drowse among the baobabs.
I had not thought to write a poem on Eirik
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.
(2020)