Falling and Laughing

K., Erik, 1977– Falling and laughing Chicago: 2007. p. : ill. (some col.); imaginary dimensions. Coarse language sometimes used. Non-fiction, except for bits fabricated by author. SUMMARY: Music-, dog-, word-besotted Chicago man discovers he enjoys talking back to the internet. Fun times ensue. SEE ALSO: SUBJECTS OCCUPATION: Lapsed librarian, current designer, aspiring flâconteur (rare minotaur-like creature that is half flâneur, half raconteur).

SUBJECTS Falling and laughing 1. Thoughts--their shape. 2. Thoughts--ones had while walking dog. 3. Thoughts--ones that made me laugh. 4. Thoughts--the kind I’ve got. 5. Spleen--its venting. 6. Japery--assorted. 7. Words. 8. Music. 9. Books. 10. Obsessions--varied. 11. Animals--facts. 12. Animals--made-up things.  13. Dogs--beloved halfling Rottweiler. 14. Birds-- the bowerbird. 15. Birds--the great bustard. 16. Illinois--Chicago--residents--lives and customs. 17. Happiness--its pursuit.

Close Drawer

Success!

Success!

Gem attempts to snatch treat from the air; fails.*
*That’s it in front of her chin.

Gem attempts to snatch treat from the air; fails.*

*That’s it in front of her chin.

Comic Sans: because someone in charge of signage at the local Jewel-Osco looked at the single-serve wine bin and said “This is a fucking depressing corner of the universe to be sure, but can we make it soul-crushingly depressing?”

Comic Sans: because someone in charge of signage at the local Jewel-Osco looked at the single-serve wine bin and said “This is a fucking depressing corner of the universe to be sure, but can we make it soul-crushingly depressing?”

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“County Line,” Cass McCombs

Steady killing me today, this song.

High Windowsby Philip Larkin
When I see a couple of kids  And guess he’s fucking her and she’s    Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,    I know this is paradise
Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives— Bonds and gestures pushed to one sideLike an outdated combine harvester,And everyone young going down the long slide
To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if   Anyone looked at me, forty years back,    And thought, That’ll be the life;  No God any more, or sweating in the dark
About hell and that, or having to hideWhat you think of the priest. HeAnd his lot will all go down the long slide   Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:  The sun-comprehending glass,And beyond it, the deep blue air, that showsNothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

High Windows
by Philip Larkin

When I see a couple of kids
And guess he’s fucking her and she’s   
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,   
I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives—
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if  
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,   
And thought, That’ll be the life;  
No God any more, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He

And his lot will all go down the long slide   

Like free bloody birds.
And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows: 
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Dirty Beaches, “True Blue”

Perhaps you, like me, have slept on Dirty Beaches owing to the first part of their name, thinking that Dave Longstreth & co. should rightfully have some kind of lockdown on that particular adjective. OR, perhaps, like me, you have also fixated on the second part of their name, thinking “beaches” signified some more low-fi glo-core shiz. Well I (we) have been wrong! Dirty Beaches are some kind of genius David Lynch prom music scenario, and then something sinister happens, maybe at a racetrack, or a hotel, and the ghost of Elvis as played by Suicide’s Alan Vega haunts your ass, and it’s all great.

Zero score and thirteen nights ago, having grown weary of the process of balding in slow motion, I took up arms against my scalp with a safety razor and accelerated things along. Having had two weeks to live with my newly shorn self, I’m still not sure what to make of it (him). In the main, I’m happy my head is a reasonably ovoid and normal shape. In the main, I’m cold a lot. (It’s no joke about heat escaping from your dome.) In the main, I’m still sneaking up on myself in mirrors, surprised at what I find there.
P.S. Someday I’ll learn to have my picture taken without pulling “serious face.”

Zero score and thirteen nights ago, having grown weary of the process of balding in slow motion, I took up arms against my scalp with a safety razor and accelerated things along. Having had two weeks to live with my newly shorn self, I’m still not sure what to make of it (him). In the main, I’m happy my head is a reasonably ovoid and normal shape. In the main, I’m cold a lot. (It’s no joke about heat escaping from your dome.) In the main, I’m still sneaking up on myself in mirrors, surprised at what I find there.

P.S. Someday I’ll learn to have my picture taken without pulling “serious face.”

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Slow Education,” The Silver Jews

Oh oh ohhhhh, I’m lightning
Oh oh ohhhhh, I’m rain

If there were one word I could convincingly wield with devastating and unquestionable authority, it would have to be…

…shitbird. “Move, shitbirds!” Man, imagine how those no-goodniks would scram.

It was the cheery exclamation point that stopped me up short while taking in today’s post. Also, not to quibble over what is surely a generous offer, but if the cremation is free, how does pre-payment enter into the equation?

It was the cheery exclamation point that stopped me up short while taking in today’s post. Also, not to quibble over what is surely a generous offer, but if the cremation is free, how does pre-payment enter into the equation?