"Everything in Virgil's poetry reveals that he was Gallic." —Curzio Malaparte via
bardic grimoary & notions
"Some decades earlier, François-René de Chateaubriand had expressed his own generation’s malaise, warning of the ‘unsettled state of the passions’, the ‘tedium of the heart’ and the ‘secret inquietude’ of young people whose environment offered no outlet for their intense feelings. ‘With a full heart,’ he sighed, ‘we dwell in an empty world.’ " —Emily Herring via
"yahoodini"
bent heads scrolling · as the scrambled light
finds this windswept bridge
peripheral stulm laughter
lattices the business
tapeshadow · shuddery ribs
faded-name van
double arrow abscess
& airt taken starewise
so early trek · true north gnat-skewed
circular church twice
speedrun through the thrum dark
thrash amidst ash-missives
storylost stagger · destiny erstwhile
all the glittering shards
"be brave"
glimmer-rue
other people be brave
security clowns
lost in the esters
thick trees look down
orange bowl fiestaware
glimmer-rue
other people be brave
"Maybe now is one of those times."
"At the time he was writing his Dissertatio, Leibniz was immersed in Polygraphia Nova (1663), a treatise on cryptology by none other than Athanasius Kircher, who proposed polygraphy as ‘all languages reduced to one’ and who, at that very moment, was likely in possession of the Bacon Cipher. If Marci’s letter is to be believed, Kircher was the last known owner of the manuscript before it vanished for centuries, until it was discovered again by Voynich." —Jared Marcel Pollen via
"Because we members of Western society are not socially permitted to express despair in everyday life, we are more often than not forced into a kind of cruel and unsustainable quiescence." —Kate Wagner via
"my garden
is wizened now
but soon
it will be plump
and ripe with snow"
—Debbie Strange via
"...the only surviving word of Khazar..."
"Cinnamemnon"
It's not yet apogee of the utmost furnace
& anxious waiting bides
the landing of the carnal birds.
Nothing in the stars dropped this deep minus
save blind unreasoning greed & hate in harness.
Fresh parables encroach.
Few of the righteous peal much starch.
I & other hobbits dread the onus.
Pale cerulean party clothes,
concrete ribbons' jagged path
jingle both
in Ozymandias jazz.
It's not yet apogee of the utmost furnace.
"Still I trip up, in this poem, over foil, and the oozing oil."
"Accountability is not optional. Accountability is the only vaccine." —I Fucking Love Australia via
"Someone recently asked me about why I call my Substack the Duck-Billed Reader."
". . . How short it takes to go, dear, but afterward to come so many weary years - and yet 'tis done as cool as a general trife. Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat. We turn not older with years, but newer every day." —Emily Dickinson via
"GLACIER (Consonant Palindrome)
Our loose, cut ice retains its longing
Lit in a parade, it drowns unaware —
a dot, a drop, until gone, gone...
lost as Antarctica’s lore."
—@anthonyetherin.bsky.social
"Inwood/ Hampton"
elderberry lemon balm & kaputnik
frenzied witness
badminton gone wrong
paper cup drawback
dramamine whiplash
elderberry lemon balm
& kaputnik frenzied witness
“Regarding the ‘creative writing’ courses in our colleges, one must add that they tend to destroy the audience of literature. They do so by promoting into writers, and often opinionated writers, the susceptible but uncreative persons who might otherwise be the best readers.”
—Van Wyck Brooks via @robertminto
"A Damascus blade gleaming and glancing in the sun was her wit. Her swift poetic rapture was like the long glistening note of a bird one hears in the June woods at high noon, but can never see. Like a magician she caught the shadowy apparitions of her brain and tossed them in startling picturesqueness to her friends, who, charmed with their simplicity and homeliness as well as profundity, fretted that she had so easily made palpable the tantalizing fancies forever eluding their bungling, fettered grasp." —from Emily Dickinson's obituary written by her sister-in-law, Susan via
"one of the things"
familiar pills in
unfamiliar bottles
grid of iconic fruit
gateswept blurs of scurry
unfamiliar bottles
array dim & fatal
of the few shreds of meaning
merles taking from the still one
last of my pills in a paper cup
fusillade ferrying
familiar pills in
reach desired zilchbrim
zeroing out blinkroster
“Fata Morgana
A blue-eyed phantom far before
Is laughing, leaping toward the sun:
Like lead I chase it evermore,
I pant and run.
It breaks the sunlight bound on bound:
Goes singing as it leaps along
To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound
A dreamy song.
I laugh, it is so brisk and gay;
It is so far before, I weep:
I hope I shall lie down some day,
Lie down and sleep.”
—Christina Rossetti
Unpublished Didion, on the early Grateful Dead.
“Our students come to us from secondary school having read no works of literature in foreign languages and scarcely any works of literature in their own language. The very years, between twelve and eighteen, when they might be reading rapidly, uncritically, rangingly, happily, thoughtlessly, are somehow dissipated without cumulative force. Those who end their education with secondary school have been cheated altogether of their literary inheritance, from the Bible to Robert Lowell. It is no wonder that they do not love what we love; we as a culture have not taught them to. With a reformed curriculum beginning in preschool, all children would know about the Prodigal Son and the Minotaur; they would know the stories presumed by our literature, as children reading Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare or Hawthorne’s Tanglewood Tales once knew them. We can surely tell them the tales before they can read Shakespeare or Ovid; there are literary forms appropriate to every age, even the youngest. Nothing is more lonely than to go through life uncompanioned by a sense that others have also gone through it, and have left a record of their experience. Every adult needs to be able to think of Job, or Orpheus, or Circe, or Ruth, or Lear, or Jesus, or the Golden Calf, or the Holy Grail, or Antigone in order to refer private experience to some identifying frame or solacing reflection.”
—Helen Vendler, “Presidential Address 1980 [MLA]” via @themeanderingmiltonist
Take away the whirlwind of hours.
“Yet for all of us there were moments when the game we were all agreeing to play simply could not stand up to events: we would be gripped by feelings of unreality, like nausea. Perhaps this feeling that the ground was dissolving under our feet, was the real enemy…” —Doris Lessing, The Memoirs of a Survivor (1975)
“The Closer”
the mists of Acheron intrude
amidst this sunned charivari
and those of us who still have jobs
cling tighter to the pyramid
deraignment from my druidhood
has not released me from the pain
of watching something vaster than
this game of synonyms go crunch
i carve the mists of Acheron
and lurch through squawking pyramids
and darkest in the sunlight solve
enigmas no one else can see
(2009)
"The Promise"
These make the last few embers of dinosaur sunlight.
This will be a legendary day: we were so free,
so bold, so murderous. Our mayfly-brief
glory will be unsurpassed & the talon
of our joy has marked the spot indelibly.
What is there more to say? We touched the stars
but our hearts were not touched. Our first resort
was annihilation. Waking now, we still won’t label
this fury of a pastime anything but innocence.
What wonder if our trinkets, that litter the earth,
when they work no more, become bleak plethora
of talismans? Holding them now, our karma upon us,
we still want to click on a window & do it over.
(2013)
"And You....?"
" '木漏れ日 komorebi' is a Japanese word for sunlight filtering through the trees, and people often say it is hard to translate. Honestly, I think it is fine as long as the rough feeling gets across. You can see komorebi in any season, but to me it belongs to May. The light gets stronger, pouring down onto the ground through the fresh green leaves." —Real Japanese Aesthetics via ( I know i found a word for this but it'll take some digging to find it--.)
"i have yet to see a single cis person say something about the fact that the government just designated trans people a terrorist group and threatened to kill all of us." —Evelynn via
" Each year is more burdensome than its fellow."
"artisanal drizzle"
when a lowly canal gets
Main Character Energy
the hard parade rustles
with rued fender swelling
i would own that garden
Illig's reft lifetimes
tokonoma Badtz mug
tiny raised train loop
A Description of a Legislative Day.
"thirst for the fight"
lookin' like a made man · Rachmaninov portrait
Topsy's eyes
culdesac shine
rogue crescent respite
rawn Amontillado
"I wish I didn’t know as much about the end of Reconstruction as I do.
If you understood what is being unleashed now, how it will touch every aspect of our civic life, and how difficult it will be to undo it, you wouldn’t be able to think about anything else."
—@trevondlogan.bsky.social
"One man, seeking to develop steel of a high enough quality to make razor blades that could compete with foreign offerings, sought out an aged former swordsmith in the mountains and became his apprentice. They attempted to mechanise the ancient tatara process of smelting iron ore into tamahagane, jewel-steel. Trial was met with much error, to the point that the old smith swore to the gods that he would disembowel himself if this one final attempt did not work. Thankfully, they got the air blast setting right and produced some very excellent steel, which became the foundation for the company’s razor blade business." —Jonathon via
Whatever happens to musicians will happen to everybody.
"tracking deaths of despair at the jukebox"
the toast stirs · El Niño creeps
a deep dive
in dark waters
& nature's nard filches
Nemesis & hymnbook
foreign postage · Pitcairn Island
this spice wind
wandered wayward
the fridge nags chiming
frabjous not quite abseil
entity lost · with the leafturn
Some reviews i wrote about Dallas art.
"The Advertisement
In the Manner of the Earlier English
Whether to wend through straight streets strictly,
Trimly by towns perfectly paved;
Or after office, as fitteth thy fancy,
Faring with friends far among fields;
There is none other equal in action,
Sith she is silent, nimble, unnoisome,
Lordly of leather, gaudily gilded,
Burgeoning brightly in a brass bonnet,
Certain to steer well between wains."
—Rudyard Kipling via FGR
"In East Germany, the Berlin Wall stood for nearly thirty years. The regime called it the Anti-Fascist Protection Wall. The barrier that locked East Germans inside their own country was officially described as protecting them from the West. The state media and textbooks said it. Children learned it in school. Their parents knew what it really was. But both versions existed at the same time, and the citizen’s job was to choose the official one." —Heather Delaney Reese via
"Can you explain this gap in your resume?"
"Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou can’st not go mad?" —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social
"Allah is great"
matutinal dove; crescent
songs beyond our cinders
scansion; dord's hardball
& the whole thing screaming
Allah is great; grackles
follow me past grieving
i run with the pack, rickshaw
i am five wide extinctions
24 Hours. With reference to my essay, Live at Brighton Polytechnic.
"It’s like cool nihilism, to put it facetiously."
"anthrax island"
Parnassian leeway · lightless knowledge
golden chewtoy flung
kill cascade · at the scenic outlook
they'll name new eras for this
bend to pick · the quid shuffled
without leaving my seat
things i have had my · fill of, marching
to the spry horizon
Louis Armstrong performing for his wife at the Great Sphinx of Giza.
"The Maroon, our school newspaper, had published two articles completely written by AI. This had gone unnoticed for a few months before the only UChicago student with free time on his hands decided to see what sort of groundbreaking coverage of Chicago-area sports The Maroon might have and was certainly dejected to realize that instead of being furnished insider scoops on the Bulls’ roster moves, he was stuck reading sentences like: 'Chicago’s perfect start isn’t a fluke; it’s the product of cohesion,' and 'And through it all, there’s Giddey — the calm in the chaos, dictating the tempo and keeping the team grounded in the momentum.' " —Owen Yingling via
☒.
Individuals don't impel, but sometimes they catalyze.
"i am lost to the world"
"Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen" —Friedrich Rückert
capsules mesh
in the gray morning
stern focus
staggers aimward
i am lost to the world
as prices
tremble like drops
of leaf dew
& shelfvoid looms
i am lost to the world
worn habits
& hurt scribble
solve nothing
that needs fixing
i am lost to the world
mathoms heaped
in this rent house
decades' work
to see no sun
i am lost to the world
lifeline wire
a cloud threaded
as wink ghosts
sometimes gaslight
i am lost to the world
for a while
we would wander
coffeehouse
& antique mall
i am lost to the world
robots take
word after word
—as i watch—
with rude vigor
i am lost to the world
what remains
this culdesac
two rabbits
sometimes ducks
visit the pool
i am lost to the world
“Proem in Heaven”
Jubilee in the nostrils · never forest burned so bright
Crowns crushed · ferrying mercy
Brake for dun rabbit · “Ode to Joy” rides
Citadel of mayhem · mean hands Aztec
On the golf course grass
Pale cerulean granite · parable of hogans
Whispering midnight · vociferous noon
All that isn’t basalt
Jubilee in the nostrils
It’s a question of quislings · lines you cross never
The child behind chain-link · the ballot box clouded—
And then some bleeze-leam · issues anagram
Opens culdesac · of the kuklux-polka
Drizzle of clown innocence · on the Odradek maremma
Jubilee in the nostrils
“bleeze-leam: (Scots) lightning-flash
Number-rhymes (“rhime”):
64- never, noon, grass, hogans, mercy, clouded, maremma
55- Aztec, trap, cloud, anagram, polka, basalt
“Portal: Forest of Straws”
altarpiece of botched mercy
in clank parades
threat-chintzy
melodies our madness rides
yes-men with lapel-pins plastic
no setback rids
& this stone mystic
burns his share of dino grease
waltz purged obsidian Aztec
stars' disgrace
limned in neon
green as Augustinain grass
chugging through the vast inane
& perfect basalt
fluttery pennon
hostage to some fralgrant insight
empty-handed save this cleaver
shortcut dulcet
dying never
gilded steely ixodid
& huge Cosmic Ice believer
polka more crowded
with anagram curtsey
at last all the masks discrded
quenched the buzzing paparazzi
"To think by different lights. The unreadable philosophers do not submit to any changes in their light." —Elias Canetti
"A knife is neither true nor false. But someone who grasps it by the blade is truly in error."
– René Daumal, Mount Analogue via @jacobnwren.bsky.social
A beginner's guide to Chinese shoegaze.
pursuing & pursued
hum over the trees
trawler among molehills
immense lack of snack foods
"May"
vict'ry parade without vict'ry
evil throngs long after
my autumn, ort's witness
angst—Starbucks—harbinger
still a fire we'll fuel more
affordance worth onboarding
song of a fall sullied
by sixth extinction hijinks
I thought learning to talk would be cool.
"Refugee Camp → High-Density Pop-Up Community (Beta Phase)"
—Chafic Larouchelle via via @barnes7
Every mother's day I think of the time.
"I was visited by a sudden feeling of the cruel and unnecessary character of the contest. It seemed to me a return to barbarism, the issue having been one which might easily have been settled without bloodshed. The question forced itself upon me, ‘Why do not the mothers of mankind interfere in these matters, to prevent the waste of that human life of which they alone know and bear the cost?’ ” —Julia Ward Howe via
"Extraordinary Premises
I saw an angel in a teacup on a screen.
The Invisible Hand slaughtered it.
Demand evolved to give us inner tubes and blue eyes.
Fireworks libate the billboard behind our house. Relentlessly, the markets provide
magic. We overhear many die quietly, and felt like commercials
for hearths lit by fake logs. The faux-hissing
of screens puzzled me. The extraordinary premises
the ordinary. I wore my palm
like an eye patch to silence the migraine, and stood
near the rotting wood window like a screened seraphim,
a girl on film making pain precious.
I pimped my pain-peonies for socil media.
Later, a wise screen told me that starlings take turns
sitting on eggs, though the mom always nominates
herself for the night shift.
The surgeon said do not run, do not bend, do not move
except to get water or go potty. If you can't follow instructions, no one
can help you. A screen told me two cute
radiologists read my film wrong.
I wore a fake log to the wake for my third
misdiagnosis. We overheard an eye patch telling a teacup
demand had evolved into a mother-like figure.
My stitches kept getting infected. My peonies
acquired some fungi. A screen sold me
a pain angel of positivity.
Only death and this little stool for company.
I stayed lit for the starlings on night shifts.
—Alina Stefanescu, My Heresies (2025)
"flicker parade of wounds"
beyond the reach of music
the flicker parade
of wounds hastes to refuse it
beyond the reach of music
sends us after ersatz
& cloud signs to read
beyond the reach of music
the flicker parade
"Lightning is a kind of fabric, as evidenced by how it is measured in bolts. Ethereal and glowing gold, crackling every moment—kings used to wear it into battle, draped with shining murder" —@ctrlcreep.bsky.social
Various pulls on Strathmore paper.
"Yet to rouse the zeal of a true antiquary, little more is necessary than to mention a name which mankind have conspired to forget; he will make his way to remote scenes of action through obscurity and contradiction, as Tully sought amidst bushes and brambles the tomb of rchimedes." —The Rambler, 161.
"80s music"
words folded in fillets
fossil strata Batcave
recipe brings rancid
rathe gaiters together
clown stilts redbrick cloister
clabbered feldspar
paregoric lintel
words gifted with liftoff
correct intel
fossil strata Batcave
golden
calf —shark swimming—
bathtub full of water
as the calendar starts now to
matter
"One of the main political stories of the last 50 years, but especially the last 20, has been the displacement of planning by prediction." —@kevinbaker.bsky.social
"Or sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils" —Akenside
"robot reading my words out loud"
debating to buy another book i've read
Hormuz plug · glides down the python
sleepwalk is an art like ev'rything else
answering machines · on old TV shows
May getting toasty
"This was actually the second ceremony held in just two days for gold statues of Trump."