[A Blogfriend Tweetd]

A blogfriend tweetd:
his personal favorite blogpost?
a post minus close-reading sausage.
All he writes is close-reading sausage.
He makes better close-reading sausage than I could if I did.
I haven't made close-reading sausage since proctors demanded.
What I make is disqualified: I don't make close-reading sausage.
I just tweeted: Your Overlords have granted you
exceptional one day savings, you need eat cat food
if you fuck up Giftmas today. No response.
He may be better than me at not-sausage too.

I am working my way through this tray of pens

to cull the living from the dead.
I am stomping the dead pens' heads into paper to give the pen
one appeal for clemency. There will not be a second trial.
When ink this color survived I will not throw it out though I will not use it.
I would buy packages of Sarasa pens (you who knew I would use the phrase
Sarasa pens again because perennial biennial semiannual centennial)
when I had too many Sarasa pens. This dark green in a pack of multicolors:
blacks, grays, dark blues, blues, maroons, dark greens are harvested.
Here's a Pilot black pen, see, it's wetter, thicker,
I'm not surprised it survived.
(Here I need a font of fading to death blue ink....) This maroon
Sarasa, the color of VNTY'SGRVYRD in most posts but this one.
The hiring committee committed the predictable. Plus the maroon pen just died.
In a national search there was not one candidate I could imagine advocating for hire.
Six pens out of thirty still dispense ink. I will drain each of life before buying more.

I write about work very little at BLCKDGRD for the two primary reasons of self-protection and more self-protection. This is not to say I do not write about work. I am currently on a hiring committee for a senior executive position in the library I work in. I found myself writing in tablet about the candidates and the upcoming non-debate about the two - the people in general and the person in particular who decide have decided against one candidate if not for the other. I got 3/4ths way of a whole page of tablet writing about the process in a straightforward manner before the fuck this hit and I wrote what I wanted like I wanted to.

Caught myself writing
clear and concise and schtickless
sentences about work

as a creative
exercise, not, I tell me,
for publication.

Nothing demands pens'
tablets', counting to sevens'
return than writing

voluntarily
and for recreational
purposes re: work.

Clear, concise, schtickless
sentences, I am paid for
clear, concise, schtickless

sentences. I think
I can write better poetry
(excuse me the eight)

transliterating
workese into stanzas? Boss
talk into static?

Maybe. Tale to snail.
Rhyme cannot be far behind,
may never get here.

[Caught Myself Writing]

Caught myself writing
clear and concise and schtickless
sentences about work

as a creative
exercise, not, I tell me,
for publication.

Nothing demands pens'
tablets', counting to sevens'
return than writing

voluntarily
and for recreational
purposes re: work.

Clear, concise, schtickless
sentences, I am paid for
clear, concise, schtickless

sentences. I think
I can write better poetry
(excuse me the eight)

transliterating
workese into stanzas? Boss
talk into static?

Maybe. Tale to snail.
Rhyme cannot be far behind,
may never get here.

I am flattered a friend got the title existentially right when I didn't because of the limitations of anagrams on Blackdogred I blindly accepted as law.

Here: am I now obliged to fill out the entire whatever x whatever moleskin page not so much for photographing tablet (since all posts at LRDBGDCK must have a tablet stamp) but because the first two entries in the new moleskin were full page? But say a poem ends here, at a third of a page? This was not made clear in the previous issuance of LRDBGDCK rules.

This is true: LRDBGDCK, an anagram of Blackdogred, I named and stamped and posted posts on LRDBGDCK before I realized not everyone would remember much less process and insert in the proper order the missing vowels A, O, E. I considered Lordbagdeck but I wanted the lard over the title. I had just tweeted out my second and final ever tweet to LRDBGDCK directly or via BLCKDGRD and got Ed's reply, Lord Big Dick is a dandy website name.

It's perfect for fine metaphors abounding.

There are no good male names in English, but male names starting with L suck most. E's second worse.

It's example of how what first draft here need not be what tablet first draft needs to get its fucking ass written. It is not tablet's silence, it has been pen. LRDBGDCK is perfect for fine metaphors abounding.

My collected poems will be called Fine Metaphors Abounding: The Herding.

It's perfect for reminder of vanity of projects.

In thinking of the name, I considered reinventing VNTY'SGRVYRD. If I do - and I might, not because of Lord Big Dick but because enough with the fucking anagram of Blackdogred and because it gives me a new set of rules to anguish, and if I do go the to VNTY'SGRVYRD, and I might, I promise that I will create a permanent linkgadget hosting this post and add it to the bottom on the blog below my name, I will make the subtitle on blog header LRDBGDCK, and will keep the URL, the last not noble, just wtf. Oh look, I just did.

Of course it's about Lord Big Dick.

In fact, I suspect it already happened.

When it happens, do the rules transfer or do I have to type them out again on VNTY'SGRVYRD's letterhead and watermark?

I put this website up on my current personal email while BLCKDGRD is up on a different google account. The only reason I have the other account is BLCKDGRD. As of Saturday evening 11/15/14 I have no desire to BLCKDGRD.

This is a digital first.

I have every confidence this may or not pass but I will BLCKDGRD because what else?

This is two days in a row in tablet. It's been months, a year. I haven't wrote this way since....

THE RULES OF LRDBGDCK

(Imminently Amendable)

1. It is pronounced lard-BOG-deck.
2. All posts are never dead, are constantly and perpetually editable.
3. Edits on the same day do not need date updating but any edit of subsequent days need be dated at bottom of post (not the time-stamp).
4. I have no idea how to archive prior editions of post without choking on an endless feedback loop I daydream of fulfilling so I won't.
5. This is an attempt at a poem - I will be - be warned - sometimes explaining what I mean when not explaining what I mean, so all attempts this sentence attempts to get into poem I will try to avoid.
6. This is an attempt to force me back to tablets - all posts MUST begin in tablet.
7. All posts must be based on a tablet start.
8. All posts will be anchored by a photo of the tablet start.
9. Everything here must have started in tablet but not everything in tablet ends up here.
10. What I do if people start reading this is TBD.
11. If people do start reading this and want to comment they know where to find me elsewhere.
12. There will be no stat-counters.
13. Posts here are transferable elsewhere. Posts elsewhere are not transferable here.
14. I will keep blogspot in URL and not fuck with paid domain names.
15. This is not a diary, as in daily.
16. Rules are amendable. New rules - which is what I love to do best - always.
17. This is a mine. My name is Jeff Popovich.
18. It's pronounced lard-BOG-deck.

I am still afraid to write in tablet what I know no one will read unless I die suddenly, mysteriously, family members if not police scanning notebooks for clues. He disappeared? Why? His car, in perfect working condition on a beautiful sunny day in on dry roads spun out and plunged off the Maryland 17 bridge over the Potomac? Why? The distraught few who wonder if I'd wrote in my many notebooks what they didn't see coming, who wonder if they'd only read what I am afraid to write in the notebooks they are reading for clues they think could have prevented the sudden end they think they should have seen coming. Nothing I won't write in tablets has anything to do with dying, what I won't write about in tablets, let me repeat, has nothing to do with dying, at least by my deliberate hands. It's because I think I'm invincible that I know I will die when I least expect too and am least prepared for, files meant to be erased unerased, notebooks meant to be burned unburnt. The issue is when I can no longer edit when I would wish to still be editing. Rather than decide whether I will write what I am still afraid to write, now, in this new tablet, I am instead thinking about all that I have written that needs to be deleted and/or burned in the event of my sudden, mysterious, disappearance and/or death.

*

What compulsion requires me to see in as false a published format as here the published sentences I won't post there? Will it be required I write anything typed here in tablet first? Will it be mandated that first drafts in tablet be typed first time here if first draft in tablet's typos? Failure already. United the past two years I always wrote first in tablet, now I write - until the new moleskin for this new blog tablet - exclusively by keyboard. Will I edit only by keyboard? If I edit by keyboard will I only edit by keyboard, never transferring content back to paper once typed and - I'm editing as I go - edited? If I do edit do I ever abandon editing? What if there is a line, a passage, a set piece I want to remove but not delete, where do I house it? If I place the displaced into the moleskin and edit must I keyboard each new edit, especially if the edit is to remove what I am afraid to write in tablet, and if I am afraid to write it in tablet why do I type it here where the chance of being read is, by technology alone, more likely. Why did I delete the previous sentence then insist on my need to publish it before hiding it?

The Candidate for AUL for RICD

The candidate
for Associate
University
Librarian
for Research,
Instruction, &
Collection
Development,
has such a pig nose,
dramatic
autistic
twitches,
no one listens to
her
insightfully
concise
presentation
on consortia,
the sticky minuses
but ultimate pluses,
their
long-term
positive
budgetary
impacts.
The woman
on my right
sneaks glances
at my tablet
as I write this poem.
She's
wondering
if I'm writing:
the candidate
has a pig nose
& dramatic
autistic
twitches
because the candidate does, look.
The woman on my right
stares
at the candidate's
pig nose
& dramatic
autistic
twitches,
cocks her eyebrow
at the tablet
and smiles at me.
She will advocate
against this
candidate,
making claims
the presentation
she didn't hear
was absolutely
inadequate.

Started November 1, 2014 Through November 4, 2014, an Unabandoned Poem (Though I'll Not Date the Entries)

My tongue never runs out of ink.
My ideas have run out of tablet.

I knock on doors
knowing no one's home
I walk by houses
with porch lights on.