Stochastic Bookmark

abstruse unfinished commentary

about correspondence

29.7.18

ripple in still water

Stochastic Bookmark becomes a teenager today, which makes it a nonagenarian in blog years. Posting frequency has waned, though I'm still reliable on BTBA and year-end reading-in-review; the last time I marked a bloggiversary was three years back (end-scroll for a partial index into worthwhile prior posts in this otherwise untagged agglomeration).

This time round, I'll only flag (or is that flog?) one older post, about the family business on Mackinac Island, as it has passed on to the third generation (my niece, her husband, their son now prepping for the fourth), and Mackinac truly is a special place, worth revisiting. (NB: August fully booked by now but I prefer the off-season anyway; 2019 bookings open in 2019.)

Another thing to flag or flog or blog: The date is set (27 Sept) for Archipelago Book's Fall FĂȘte, which I unfortunately missed last year, but have every intention to attend this. (Karl Ove Knausgaard will be book-touring around this time for the release of the final volume of My Struggle, just so's you know.)

And last, and least, the biennial installment of throwaway lines:

I accidentally loaded Tinder on my Kindle and it burst into old flames.

The left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing, but it likes it.

When the second and third persons switched places, they were cast adrift.

The is is what it ought to be, but the ought is fraught with meaning.

Art is made in the space between is and ought, or should be.

Just because it's a positive-sum game doesn't mean there aren't losers.

Is the difference between a leap of logic and a leap of faith the same as the difference between the long jump and the high jump?

When the St Louis Cardinals play the Baltimore Ordinals, the former may own the score, but the latter owns the innings and the bases.

(previous iterations: 2010, 2012, 2014, 2016)

(oh, the post title? another bloggiversary post characterized as an added ripple to "an eddy in the backwaters of the internets" ...)

20.7.18

moot point

so little to say
and so adept at saying so

15.7.18

exercise

what to make of it? the poet don't know
only his role as only begetter
(parthenogenetically)
bits of himself dislodged somehow
ending up on otherwise blank sheets
left to the reader to reassemble