Breaking News

They found the missing bride and she is living.
They found the boys floating on the ocean in their little yellow raft.
The ornithologists found the extinct woodpecker
when it flew over their canoe.
Not everyone is convinced, though.
One recording of its distinctive knock turned out to be a gunshot.

A century of Ozark fishermen
said they saw the bird when they were stranded
on their hummocks in the swamp.
Nobody believed them but the catfish in their pails.
Those boys thought their muscles strong enough to paddle against the squall.
And the bride only wanted a bus trip west
before the rest of her life downed her like an olive.

Sometimes survival strikes us dumb
with the improbable story of resurrection;
we see the blossoms smutted on the ground
turning back into a flowering tree. Next year
there’ll be new nettle stalks
to sting your fingers, which you’ll drag
through the serrated leaves to prove
the world has not lost the consolation of its old pain.

Lucia Perillo (1958–2016) published seven books of poems and two prose collections, I’ve Heard the Vultures Singing and Happiness Is a Chemical in the Brain. Among the many honors for her work were a MacArthur Fellowship, the Bobbit Prize, and the Shelley Memorial Award.

“Breaking News” appears in Time Will Clean the Carcass Bones: Selected and New Poems and is reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press.

The Poetry Section is edited by Mark Bibbins.

It truly is a golden age.

Life is hard. You live each day with the awareness that you will die. Your friends, your family, the people you love will all die. Everyone who knew you when you were a baby will die and then you will walk around alone, an orphan disconnected from your history, condemned to somehow coexist with the knowledge that your life is finite, that everything you are will eventually end and none of it will have meant anything no matter how badly it burned the whole way through. You are all by yourself save for the noise in your head that never goes silent: a cacophony of reminders that you are mortal, that you are hurtful, that you are in pain. The good news is there is something you can do about it.

Watch the Amy Winehouse documentary on Amazon

I don’t know what the weather’s like where you are, but here in New York it is rainy and cold. Not in an inconvenient way, necessarily, but in a concrete, seasonal way—like we’re right where we’re supposed to be. Throw on some boots and couple layers, baby, cause it’s a month on the calendar!

I bring this up because today is also the 10-year anniversary of Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black. It’s the album that launched her into stardom and the public eye, two things she struggled with a great deal. Maybe when this album came out in 2006 you were all about it! They tried to make you go to rehab, but you said no! Or maybe you were like me and indifferent to her art but generally aware of tabloid news. No matter what your deal was with this lady, there is a documentary about Winehouse’s life available to stream on Amazon right now, and I think you will get something out of watching it. It’s called Amy.

Here’s the thing: addiction sucks. Here’s the other thing: being famous sucks. Here’s a final thing: our tabloid media doesn’t seem to have a firm or ethical grasp on either of those ideas.

Whether or not you were a fan of the music, you will be a fan of the teenage girl you see deftly playing a guitar and smiling; peeking out from behind a pillow in the backseat of a car on a road trip. The documentary takes a celebrity who you may only remember for her beehive and eyeliner and shows you how she’s also someone you love. Someone who deserved a lot better than what the culture gave her.

Anyway, it’s rainy and chilly out. Maybe you’re at work right now. And maybe when you get home from work, you’re gonna want to change into something a little more comfy and sit back with a screen full of streaming media. And when that time comes my vote is that you watch Amy. You’ll like it. I promise.

Maybe you should just stay indoors until spring.

It’s cold and dark and dangerous and it’s only getting worse. Why even go outside at all when there’s so much good TV to watch these days? Just stay safe and warm in front of your nice TV.

If you do need to venture outdoors, here is something energizing from Anna Meredith’s Varmints, one of the most interesting records of the year. Enjoy. And be careful out there.

★★★ A beam of sun, bright flame-orange, came in the bedroom window from the west. It was cold enough to get the younger boy’s vest out of the closet and to carry it to school beside him and back again unworn. For an adult it was time for wool, for the puffing out of cheeks. The temperature down in the morning subway lagged behind the need for a coat. The varieties of clouds on offer began settling into gray, and unexpectedly umbrellas came out on Fifth Avenue. Tourists were plastic-wrapped in their open-decked bus. By noon, though, there was no sign it had ever been raining. The dry breeze brought back memories, a quarter-century old now, of fine afternoons spent denying how uncomfortably cold it was in the stands at the college football stadium. The gloomy clouds would rally again, but would just as suddenly leave the afternoon clean and sun-swept. The shade was so deep that headlights came on even while the light still shone on a water tower up the avenue. By the evening rush hour, the air through the train doors at the Times Square platform chilled the calves right through the jeans.

Pearlfish live inside their host’s anus, just like you and me

Out here in the animal kingdom, we’re all about taking things one day at a time. Putting one foot in front of the other. And like all of us, the parasitic pearlfish lives inside of its host’s anus and feasts upon its regenerating organs.

Like you, or me, or anyone we know, the pearlfish’s preferred host is the sea cucumber—a beige cruller that looks a lot like Heimlich from A Bug’s Life. The cucumbers fart along on the sea floor and suck sand in through their mouths, sifting it for things that might be edible with their internal organs, and then pooping it back out in little coils. They’re like very slow Roombas. And apparently they’re very “Eh” taste-wise, because most predators seem to leave them alone, which makes their bodies the perfect open floorplan studio space for a pearlfish. I’ll let Popular Science explain:

It all begins innocently enough. The skinny, eel-like fish approaches the sea cucumber and gives it a sniff, moving up and down the length of its soon-to-be victim with its body pointed almost vertically. It’s looking for the sea cucumber’s breath, because, well, sea cucumbers breathe through their derrières. If the sea cucumber detects the pearlfish, it’ll hold its breath, sealing its butt like a human holding in a fart. But the sad sack is only delaying the inevitable. At some point it has to breathe, and that’s when the pearlfish strikes.

“Hey!” you might be saying. “Normal!” To which I must reply—yes. And it gets normaler.

Once the pearlfish sees its window of opportunity, it has to make one of the toughest decisions in the animal kingdom: whether to enter the sea cucumber’s bum tail first or head first. This, of course, all depends on the size of the orifice… If the opening is big enough to enter head first, the pearlfish goes at it full tilt, jamming its face in and rapidly flicking its tail to fire itself into the sea cucumber. If the opening is too small, the fish first inserts its thin tail, then backs in slowly.

How do you enter your sea cucumber? Head first? Tail first?

Once the pearlfish is in there, it’s free to stick its head out and interact with the world like a dog with a rolled down car window. If pickings are particularly slim in the snacks department, they can pop inside and eat the cucumber’s internal organs, which regenerate when lost just like starfish legs. Understandably, the traditional delicacy is the gonads.

Sea cucumbers aren’t the only animals pearlfish live in—sea stars, oysters, and other bivalves can all also make good homes—but for some reason these guys seem to be the favorite. Reportedly, a single sea cucumber was once cut open by scientists to reveal an extremely reasonable fifteen adult pearlfish living inside.

I will leave you with this footage from the BBC. May it soothe you like an ASMR video:

Apple picking, Bernie Sanders, and iPhone updates

Hillary is whooping it up at HQ with her longtime staffer Huma. They’re kicking up their feet and discussing their favorite champagne when Hillary’s phone rings. It’s her campaign manager, with some news.

CAMPAIGN MANAGER: Your polls are great, but.

HILLARY [nearly shitting her pants]: But what?

CAMPAIGN MANAGER: But they don’t account for one thing. And it could be really, really damaging.

HILLARY: I know. All the people at Trump’s rallies who are voting for the first time in their lives.

CAMPAIGN MANAGER: No. I mean, yes, the basket of deplorables, of course. But also the millennials. The polls don’t account for the fact that they’re all participating in autumn activities, pumpkin patching, apple picking, craft beer tasting, and will be through Election Day. They might miss the vote.

HILLARY [demonstrating exactly why she has struggled to connect with young people her entire campaign]: They’re apple picking?

CAMPAIGN MANAGER: Like picking apples. From trees. At a farm, far away from their polling places. So we need to engage them somehow, and remind them to show up. Otherwise you will definitely lose.

HILLARY [speaking sternly so her campaign manager believes the rumor he heard that she once yelled at Rahm Emanuel so bad he puked in a waste paper basket right after]: Get your ass in here. We need to fix this.

CAMPAIGN MANAGER [used to this by now]: I’m in Texas. We’re gaslighting Trump, like you said. Maybe call Bernie? He’s good with young people.

Hillary calls Bernie Sanders. Huma begins recording her boss on her phone, and posting the best clips to social media with zippy editorial.

BERNIE: Hello? Is this a butt dial? Who is this?

HILLARY [enunciating]: Hillary. I need help reaching the millennials.

BERNIE [rolling his eyes so far they get stuck in the top of his head]: I thought we did that already. At your convention. With those comediennes.

HILLARY: My campaign says the millennials are all too busy apple picking to vote.

BERNIE: Apple picking? Are they at a work camp?

HILLARY: No, like for fun. And doing pumpkin things. This is serious, Bernie.

BERNIE [not listening]: When I was a kid in Brooklyn, trick-or-treating, we egged the houses that gave us apples. They were the shittiest neighbors. [Bernie laughs to himself, remembering one neighbor who threw slices of bologna at the kids like they were Frisbees.] No, scratch that, the shittiest neighbors handed out slices of bologna. Call the President. I stole his play book. He did what I did, but successfully.

HILLARY: Really? [Hillary looks to Huma who shrugs that Bernie is right. He did do what President Obama did eight years ago, but clumsily. Hillary calls Barack Obama.]

BARACK: Hillary! This is so exciting. You’re finally going to be President. [Barack is sitting with his daughter Malia and they are both ready to leave the White House forever.]

HILLARY: Ugh, that’s what I thought, but then my campaign manager just told me I am losing the millennial vote to apple picking. You’re the expert. How do I reach them?

BARACK: Oh geez. My millennials were way easier to reach than yours are. I had will.i.am cut a music video and that was enough.

HILLARY [thinking of her iPod playlist]: Who can make me a music video? Kings of Leon?

BARACK: Personally, I like Drake.

MALIA [texting Huma that Hillary is on the phone with her dad, then inserting a crying face emoji, and then inserting a gun emoji]: Drake’s Canadian, Dad.

BARACK [to Malia]: Then who were you listening to in that photo I saw of you playing a drinking game and I hope not on drugs?

MALIA: We’re not calling Chance the Rapper. He was just here at your state dinner. That’s corny. [Malia texts Huma another five crying face emoji and eleven more gun emojis.] It’s 2016. Why can’t we just Venmo money to the candidate we want?

BARACK [to Malia]: That’s not how this works, honey. Now who can Hillary call for help?

MALIA: Try the guy from Hamilton.

BARACK: Try the —

HILLARY: I heard. Thanks.

Hillary phones Lin-Manuel Miranda.

LIN-MANUEL [in an airport bookstore]: Secretary Clinton! I was literally staring at my phone waiting for VIPs to call me to tell me how much they cried when they saw Hamilton for the first time. How much did you cry?

HILLARY [incredulously]: Malia Obama said I should call you about millennial voter outreach. They love you?

LIN-MANUEL: Malia Obama is talking about me? [Lin-Manuel group messages Jimmy Fallon and Hoda Kotb that Malia is talking about him.] That’s so amazing. But I’ve got to be honest with you: millennials don’t go to my show. Charlie Rose and Rosie O’Donnell do. And I think they’re voting for you already.

HILLARY: Fuck. Yes. What should I do then?

LIN-MANUEL: Alexander Hamilton sometimes worked with his enemy Thomas Jefferson to undermine his other enemy Aaron Burr. Who is an enemy you can work with?

[Hillary calls George W. Bush.]

GEORGE W. [filing his finger nails because he is so bored watching the world burn]: Hillary! Your campaign emailed me four times today. Seriously, girl.

HILLARY [exhaling and then taking what’s hers]: I need assistance winning the election.

GEORGE W. [looking at his finger nails by extending his hand, palm facing out, and not fingers bent towards palm, like you’d expect.]: Well, when I needed help, the Supreme Court was there for me.

HILLARY: I have four votes there, but Trump, assuming Justice Kennedy ever wants to retire, has the other four. When it’s tied it goes back to wherever the case came from. Is that right?

GEORGE W. [pronouncing LOL]: Lol.

HILLARY: Ugh, I know. What the fuck should I do? [Huma motions to Hillary to ease into warrior pose. She directs Hillary to put her sunglasses on, and then videos Hillary in this power stance. She tags the video #warrior.]

GEORGE W.: Sounds like you might need to rig this thing. You need to call Dick Cheney.

HILLARY [making a jerk-off motion to Huma, who captures the obscenity on Snapchat. She adds a queen emoji to the image]: Ughhhhh.

GEORGE W.: I know. He sucks. I haven’t talked to him since Lehman Brothers collapsed. Or was it Katrina? Which one was the bank again? [George W picks up his dog’s leash. He is about to take her for a jog, even though he knows, at his pace, that’s kind of cruel to the animal.] I’m kidding. Barclays forever. Maybe try Karl Rove?

Hillary has Karl Rove’s number and uses it for the second time. The first was when, eight years ago, she floated to him the idea of a Wesley Clark unity ticket.

HILLARY: Karl, I need help rigging an election.

KARL [finishing up an entire bag of goldfish crackers]: President Clinton! The only way I know how to rig an election is to suppress certain kinds of votes.

HILLARY: What do you mean by certain kinds of votes? [Hillary has an idea what Karl means, you’d have to have been sleeping through all eight years of the Bush presidency to not, but, ever the careful lawyer, she clarifies in case anyone is tapping her phone, and this conversation can one day be used against her.]

KARL [knowing Hillary knows what he means but playing along]: Like specific demographics.

HILLARY: OK, well, here is my deal. I’m losing the young vote.

KARL [baffled]: Like young hillbillies?

HILLARY: No, like all of them. They’re all out doing fall activities. That’s what my campaign manager tells me, at least.

KARL: Heh. [Karl pumps fist.] OK, this is easy. You need to suppress the vote of a demographic that would counterbalance that vote. Which is to say, you need to suppress the vote of the parents of the millennials. You need to suppress the baby boomer vote. [Karl rubs the Steve Miller Band poster hanging above him, and smirks, because he for one is happy that baby boomers continue to exert an outsized influence on both federal elections and inductions into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.]

HILLARY: I thought their parents were with me but how do you mean?

KARL: Jesus Christ. I thought you were the smart one. Call Tim Cook at Apple and ask him to push an iphone update. This change will overwhelm the boomers and, frustrated, they’ll have to call their kids for support. They’ll all miss the vote. And you’ll win. Narrowly. Because I don’t know who else votes if the millennials and boomers all sit this one out?

HILLARY: Yeah, same.

Hillary mimes “Should we do this?” to Huma, still filming. Huma nods yes.

HILLARY: Hi Tim. It’s Hillary. I need to ask you a huge favor. It’s complicated, but — I’ll email you.

TIM [also finishing up an entire bag of Goldfish crackers]: Whatever you need, Hillary. Like I told you when we ran into each other at Davos, and then again at our secret spa in Iceland, and then again at Oprah’s ranch, and then again, weirdly enough, that day you took the Subway in New York, I am happy to help influence this election.

HILLARY: Yay.

Hillary mouths “Yay” to Huma, who is finishing her viral video. Hillary, satisfied she has accomplished yet another task, tries to call her campaign manager. But her phone crashes.

HILLARY: Damn it.

Malia texts Huma, OMG this Snapchat story. Girl raising hand emoji. Purple devil emoji. Huma rushes to Hillary’s side.

HUMA: Secretary Clinton. While you were calling everyone I was making a Snapchat story, where you are a nasty woman badass. It already has 30 million views, and most are millennials. They stopped apple picking to watch you on their phone. We’re going to do this.

HILLARY [not concentrating because her phone is malfunctioning]: OK, but can you fix this?

Hillary makes a crying face emoji and prayer hands emoji but IRL.

Luke Mazur is on Twitter.

Soundscan Surprises, Week Ending 10/20

Back-catalog sales numbers of note from Nielsen SoundScan.

The definition of “back catalog” is: “at least 18 months old, have fallen below №100 on the Billboard 200 and do not have an active single on our radio.”

According to the Corpus Christi Caller Times, Selena’s sister Suzette gave a preview of the new limited edition vinyl of the late Latina singer’s posthumous greatest hits record, Ones. The album was originally released five years after Selena’s death, in 2002, on the growing popularity of the eponymous 1997 film, which also happens to be Jennifer Lopez’s best movie. Selena was also recently immortalized in wax for Madame Tussaud’s, and MAC is released a capsule collection of Selena-inspired makeup.

The Beastie Boys’ Licensed to Ill is about to turn thirty years old, so that of course calls for a vinyl reissue too. According to Noel Gallagher, Oasis’s third album, Be Here Now, was released too soon after their second record, and also they were doing way too much blow at the time. But all that’s fine now because they just released a reissued remaster, which is available for some reason on three CDs, as though that’s a measure anyone uses anymore.

Noel Gallagher: We should never have made Be Here Now then

Finally, we have the Christmas records! Mostly Christian and Country compilations, and one surprise soundtrack: The Nightmare Before Christmas. Hey, that’s what I like to call the election!

5. BEASTIE BOYS LICENSED TO ILL 4,076 copies

7. SELENA ONES 3,042 copies

11. OASIS BE HERE NOW (3CD) 2,685 copies

43. MERCYME MERCYME IT’S CHRISTMAS 1,580 copies

87. PRESLEY*ELVIS MERRY CHRISTMAS LOVE ELVIS 1,226 copies

87. CASTING CROWNS PEACE ON EARTH 1,226 copies

165. NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS SOUNDTRACK 966 copies

168. JOEY + RORY A FARMHOUSE CHRISTMAS 956 copies

178. VARIOUS ARTISTS COUNTRY CHRISTMAS 937 copies

188. CROSBY*BING BING CROSBY CHRISTMAS 913 copies

191. VARIOUS CHRISTMAS SING­ALONG 910 copies

(Previously.)

“You’re more like a person in a story than like a real person.”

Liana Finck’s cartoons appear regularly in The New Yorker. Her book is A Bintel Brief. This cartoon strip is a spin-off of her Instagram feed, @lianafinck.

Say goodbye to the light.

So the sun sets tonight at 5:59 PM. After that you’ve got about ten more days until the sun starts setting before 5 PM. You will not see another sunset after 6 until well into 2017, and who knows if you will even make it that far? Who knows if you will even make it to the election? Whatever happens, it’s going to get very, very dark.

Hey, here’s something new from Awl favorite Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith, whose music always sounds like sunrise (on Mars). At least there’s that. Enjoy.