Inbetween the Race Race

This is…a bad post…in a bad blogging month…that, alas, will not ascend to any heights: Saturday morning I’ll swing myself into a train to Berlin, where I’ll no doubt (!) see my beloved Nuremberg side in a sweeping win in the Cup Finals against rival Stuttgart…my fingers are so crossed for myself and the community of 30.000 or so fellow Nurimbergians gathering in the Berlin Olympia-Stadion, and above all for the team: may this weekend so ultimately be the glorious resurrection of our team from decade-long mayhem to the Parnassus of German football fame that was for so long rightfully ours & will hopefully be once more ours in a matter of less than 48 hours: Berlin, we are coming! I am coming! Fame! Glory! And all against an already triumphant Stuttgart side, who comes and faces us as the freshly crowned German champions…the odds are against us, but the fates will find their ways to hand us the cup, I’m sure, even against all odds…oh yeah, it’s still only football, but it feels like history written into my palms and memories.

I should regain my senses some time Monday, only to usher them into a focus I need for two pending applications that I got running & a tax return form that grins madly at me: all three, applications and tax form, due in an insane way by the end of May…I see myself descending into blogging hell…all at a time that sees my craving for the chance and time to respond to an already promising foray of the Constructivist into the haunts of colonial hauntings, to a thoughtful whisp of Kip Manley on prose and comic pulp heroics, and a reflection on the subversive or non-subversive nature of Lovecraft’s prose.



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