Some lyrics today that stand well enough on their own but are best heard. A little longer than the usual WORK, but I just didn’t want to cut it down.

WORK

“Reconstruction Site”

I’m lost, I’m afraid,
a frayed rope tying down a leaky boat
to the roof of a car on the road in the dark
and it’s snowing.

If I’m more, then it means less—
last call for happiness—
I’m your dress near the back of your knees
and your slip is showing.

I’m a float in a summer parade
up the street in the town that you were born in,
with a girl at the top wearing tulle
and a Miss Somewhere sash
waving like the queen…

Beauty’s just another word
I’m never certain how to spell
go tell the nurse to turn the TV back on—
And throw away my misery
it never meant that much to me
it never sent a Get Well card.

I broke like a bad joke
somebody’s uncle told
at a wedding reception in 1972,
where a little boy under a table with cake in his hair
stared at the grown-up feet as they danced and swayed.

And his father laughed and talked on the long ride home.
And his mother laughed and talked on the long ride home.
And he thought about how everyone dies someday,
and when tomorrow gets here where will yesterday be?
And fell asleep in his brand-new winter coat…

Buy me a shiny new machine
that runs on lies and gasoline
and all those batteries we stole from smoke-alarms.
And disassembles my despair.
It never took me anywhere,
it never once bought me a drink.

—John K. Samson
—from the album Reconstruction Site

WORD(S)

puteal /POO-tee-ul/. XXX. A stone curb or wall surrounding the mouth of a well. See, for instance, the famous Madrid Puteal.

“According to a law of Numa, whosoever was struck dead by lightning was buried where he fell, and the spot was inclosed. The place was called puteal, from the resemblance of the inclosure to a well-curb…” (Basil Gildersleeve)

“They are the only monuments which show Athena in front of the chariot, although her place is taken by a figure of Victory on the Iliac puteal in the Capitoline Museum.” (Art Bulletin #13)

WEB

1. The New Yorker posts a satire of Sonny Rollins. Many are unhappy, including Sonny himself, who was reacting to the fact that people apparently didn’t realize the piece was (unfunny) satire. The editors later added a note so we’d get the joke. Given the quality, perhaps they should rename “Shouts & Murmurs” to “Dreck & Whimpers.”

2. On the plus side of The New Yorker’s ledger: “See Spot Get Depressed” is a solid and sad review of Animal Madness, a new book on animal emotions and psychology. Makes me feel even worse about the plight of Arturo, the world’s saddest bear.

3. Learn Scottish Words (Part 1 of 4). It’s a reicht moofae!

4. We all know geckos change color to match their surroundings. Did you know they also do it when blindfolded? And you’re welcome for the image of geckos with little blindfolds.

5. Talk about (un)lucky: on August 6, 1945, Tsutomu Yamaguchi survived the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. A few days later he returned to work in…Nagasaki, where he survived that atomic bomb too. Listen to “Double Blasted” on Radiolab. Or, if you prefer to read, a story in Tofugu.

REPRISES/RESPONSES/REJOINDERS/RIPOSTES

• I’ve had a few people share some of the ways they collected words and/or quotations. I plan to put them all together into one future response. How do you do it? Collect words and quotes, I mean.

I welcome comments, suggestions, thoughts, feedback and all manner of what-have-you. Just press ‘Reply’ or email to: clippings@katexic.com.

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