Facebook Still Trying to Tempt Me with Memories


They sent me this one today. It’s a good one. One of my favorite pictures of Buster. No need to take the link. The pic’s already here.

But this is a good time to talk about what happens when you do take a Facebook link from here. Facebook doesn’t want you to come back here. So the back button goes back to where you were in FB. But InstaPunk Returns should still be shown on the top menu bar of your device. You’ll get used to how it works. Easy as pi.

Back with the usual powerful, hard-hitting stuff later.

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My World and Welcome to It

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     This post was last updated at 8:30 AM., Saturday, August 30. Latest entries are “A Time Capsule that’s just been sitting there waiting,” “The New Dem Strategy,” and “Poetry Across Scales.” The Instapunk Times is on the racks.. Undernet Black was updated August 30. This will be a pinned post in perpetuity, but it will be updated continuously, just like all of our lives. The title — “My World and Welcome to It” — is stolen happily from James Thurber, who is known as a humorist, unabashedly untrained cartoonist, and dog lover. He was also subject to melancholy, a drinker of note, and something of an outsider (in his own damaged eyes at least) as an Ohioan, born and educated, who became a fixture in the glamorous Algonquin Roundtable of Manhattan writers and playwrights. I can relate to all of that but the fame and the lifelong journey to blindness. I believe he was likely the best writer of the gang that gathered in the Algonquin Hotel in the 1930s, and I made my own pi...
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Poetry across scales

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  Minimalism has been a periodic ideal of modern and post-modern esthetics. Purely arbitrary, of course, though not without possibilities and even infinities of its own. For example, there are those who regard Haiku as a sort of supreme test of the poet, since poetry is commonly defined as the best words in the best order. This leaves the door open for imagining that there is an absolute minimum definable for capturing profound truth in the fewest of the best words in the least of the best order. In Haiku there must be 17 syllables, some reference to a season (ensuring universality I guess), and a prohibition against rhyme to prevent cheating (another guess). What if this definition of the minimum is wrong? What if there’s some way to reach great truths in less than 17 syllables? In less than a single word even? And, gasp, in less than a single letter on the page? Impossible? Well, why the hell not? I propose that the graphic above is a poem, subject to meaningful exploration, inte...
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A Time Capsule that’s just been sitting there waiting

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