It's his job: clean fifty stories of windows through which few people look. I wanted to stay there, as if to say "I appreciate the clear view you've provided!" but I didn't want to startle the man. It's like hearing someone cough when you're alone in a funeral parlor.

Birch found a new toy, left by some dog on a walk. Finders barkers, losers whiners. It’s green plastic, chewable but dense so it can’t be shredded and ingested. At its core is a squeaker.

It bothers him.

He walks up to it, barks, attacks, makes it squeak, drops it, and makes that questioning, confused sound dogs must have picked up from humans. He walks away, goes into a play bow, pounces, chews, makes it squeak - and again, confusion. I don’t know why. Is it because it pretends to be a small vulnerable creature, but he cannot get at the meaty juices?

Speaking of which: I broiled some steaks for dinner the other night, and kept some of the juices that accumulated in the package. For the dog. Wife said no, that can’t be good for him; people don’t eat raw steak juices. Hold on. He’s a dog. He’s literally configured to eat other animals. For that matter we probably ate a lot of mastodon al tartare before we figured out fire, right? And the steak is red on the inside, because you like it that way, and here, let me press softly upon its surface - behold! Red juices!

Or so I thought, anyway. Best not cast every thought to the wind. Best to just wait until her back is turned and let the dog lick the plate. Thaaaat’s right, boy. I got the good stuff. You want some blood, hit me up.








I don’t like rap. Huge surprise, I know. The same goes for some other genres. I don’t like bluegrass and I don’t like Dixieland. I don't like opera. Okay, there are exceptions. There are always exceptions. I like Blondie's "Rapture!"

Kidding. I hated that song. Anyone who worked in a bar when that song was popular hated that song.

Could be generational, but my age is not the reason I’m not fond of opera. It’s not the lack of classic song structure; I listen to too much ambient or techno to be an ABABC guy. It’s the posture, the boastfulness, the crudity the lyrical inventiveness doesn’t conceal but celebrates.

So: Minnesota! That's the name of the song. Profanity warning ahoy:

Cause it get cold like Minnesota, ridin' 'round on boulders
Money sittin' up, it sits way above your shoulders
I was eatin' pork and rinds with a bitch from New York Times
I don't eat no pork and rinds but that bitch was mighty fine
I got gold all on my necklace, tatted up my arms
Now my mama think I'm reckless, got guns under my mattress
I was juggin since a youngin', free my older cousin Reesey
He from Hamilton not D.C, I rock N.Bs like I'm Gleetchie
Flip phone banging off the walls, Gucci on my drawers
Why the fuck you in these streets if your scared of them four walls?
I was strokin' on your sister, she was callin' me her mister
She suck dick for a picture, it's Lil Yachty nice to meet you

I trap in Minnesota like a viking
Flood out the Skydweller it got good lighting
We made the dab and all of y'all biting
Two thick white bitches, both of 'em dikes

The only reason I know about this is because I googled lyrics for L’il Yachty, who is distinct from all the other sizes of Yachtys. The reason I googled him was because of something I saw at the grocery store:

I find this all absolutely fascinating. He did a rap number about Reese's Puffs, and this was made apparent to marketing. They thought: what a tie-in! Corporate signed off. And I’m thinking they never actually explored the copious N-word-no-hard-R aspects, or figured it won’t spill over into the brand, or factored in social discounting of critics as being out of touch or motivated by problematic thoughts, or just thought no one would care.

Anyway. Have you heard of this young lady?

She was, at the time, ten.

While most teens are consumed with navigating puberty, Ifetayo Ali-Landing is busy being a cello master. A student at the Hyde Park Suzuki Institute in Chicago, IL, Ali-Landing recently took home the coveted 1st place prize in the 2017 Annual Sphinx Competition.

Along with a $10,000 cash prize, the young prodigy will also have an opportunity to feature as a soloist with major orchestras and perform with the all black and Latino Sphinx Symphony Orchestra. This, along with a nationally-broadcast radio appearance on the prestigious NPR and PBS broadcasted talent showcase From the Top, the 14-year-old competitive musician is making her mark as a premier cellist.

Ali-Landing began playing the violin as a toddler before deciding to switch to cello at the age of 3.

And then there’s this man.

To assert that this is a higher level of civilizational achievement is, in some quarters, regarded with alarm; it suggests heirarchies, denigration of authenticity, and so on.

Argue about that all you like, but let me just end with this: can you imagine Reese’s Puffs putting a Black classical musician on the box?



It’s 1920.

Seems like there’s a solution to the problem on the top on the bottom left-hand side of the paper.

Fairly utilitarian layout, but it catches the eye. You do want to know more. So what news of the world has penetrated to this town in Georgia, where men and women in their homes absorb the tales of distant lands?

  The terminology of the times still vexes modern discussions.

A work boy M. Leone Bracker, 1885 - 1937. Not a lot of biographical info, it seems.

The post-war hunger was a long, aching story, and people were encouraged to do what they could.

“Thousands massacred by the Turks.” There’s a little detail that doesn’t figure large in the popular conception of the era, does it?



“Something like 40 dollars went to the school.”


You will have to see MONSTOR to see what he is.

Will stand at $15 to insure colt will stand and suck.

I have no idea and I am hesitant to google.

Okay, it’s a measure of the health of the colt, right? It struggles to its feet, and take the teat. Monstor’s offspring will do this or you get your $15 back?



The deets:

The occupation of Constantinople (Turkish: İstanbul'un İşgali) (November 13, 1918 – October 4, 1923), the capital of the Ottoman Empire, by British, French, Italian, Greek, American and Japanese forces, took place in accordance with the Armistice of Mudros, which ended Ottoman participation in the First World War. The first French troops entered the city on November 12, 1918, followed by British troops the next day. The Italian troops landed in Galata on February 7, 1919.

The first time the city had changed hands since the Roman Empire finally felt in 1453.

The Sultan was the last of the Ottoman Empire. Exiled in ’22, and dead four years later.


  Are you a chicken man? Here’s some stuff you probably know already, and we’re going to run out of good ideas and just pat everyone on the back

  A merry tale about that comical fellow everyone knows and loves!


Small news on the back page.

It would, in time, swamp the world.




That'll do. See you tomorrow. End of the 30s updates now.




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