Listening around at The Feeling's other tracks, I'm sorry to report it's just the one song that works all the way through (getting tired of the "best time buddy" line, actually).

What do I want to say in defense of blogging: it's a long distance sprint, isn't it.

Reading a journal I admire the past few days, agog at the abrupt and unmotivated emphasis from poem to poem on nothingness, emptiness, the null set, nihil, none, suicide, destruction, and dread. What up? What does this adaptation do. I'm not getting it, it's one of my prejudices, like that against the purely literary.

As opposed to superfluous literary namechecking, which I live for: "George Meredith and narrative." At least that has a Shakespeherian flourish to it, a soft rhyme. "Alligators in the work of Mark Halliday." "Quiet time with Arlo Quint."

Speaking of whom: If only there were a paypal button for his Open 24 Hours side-stapled Days on End: "we're only human for a reason." Quint's open ended (collaged?) lines and dark absurdish wit remind me of some of my favorite (guy) writers: Ben Friedlander, Kevin Davies, Drew Gardner, Rod Smith, Anselm Berrigan, CAConrad. He's not terribly dark, though, and for the most part he keeps the floating situations above the threshold below which they come off as in-jokes:

recounting the day's events
to a nice officer who looks
like someone remembered
from an old friend's
collection of        vintage wanted poster
                     blotter paper art

I'll say that I look forward to what Quint does next, and desist before I drift into overselling.