where's my inflatable pool

Played a bloody mystical game of baseball yesterday at Cal Anderson park in Seattle for Dawn's birthday, and every part of me is (good) sore. Baseball must happen much more often, yes. And maybe next time there won't be a furry convention going on somewhere nearby (to be fair though, they did keep to themselves). Meanwhile, good luck to everybody looking to escape the heat in the next few days - incapacitating as it is certain to be.

Today's bookstore bonus: found Ezra Pound's hilarious (belligerent) letter to HG Wells (quote: "Waaal, you are pretty messy [...] Backward countries me arse! [...] Nevertheless if you are ass enough to consider Keynes a reliable writer, Khrist and all ---- help you [etc.]"). I do love that Pound rascal.




Sing goddamn, damn. Sing goddamn!
Sing goddamn, damn. Sing goddamn!

Winter is i-cumin in,
Lhude sing goddamn!
Raineth drop and staineth slop
And how the wind doth ram
Sing goddamn!

Skiddth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing goddamn.
Goddamn, goddamn, tis why I am goddamn,
So gainst the winter's balm.

Sing goddamn, sing goddamn, DAMN!

~Ancient Music, Ezra Pound