"Please don't close this window, mapping drives"
"Check back often as we expand our site to reflect our combined
...urban-wildland interface"
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
4 Year Universary
Poem
Can't do it -- all this
"weave" and "strum"
maybe the only good I got
from it was "stormwater"
-- mind travels pageless
in this light of images and
travels behind me in the memory
of leaving the city through
a hole in the stone
-- graffiti warning, swirling
as the dark opened
into a light-green field
and I stood
in the sacred
stained
earth alone
unadorned once again.
***
"I feel very good here,
In this water, in this garbage"
Wonderful garbage cans,
People as all kinds of animals.
***
"A little peace and quietness, away
from the hungry generations" (Budgen)
"When the heart grows old" (Yeats)
Gluck's Orpheus
"put it in the sun
and it freezes stuff"
whatwasthere.com
smartphone
infant heart problems
in rural areas
"have a good birthday;
I'll see ya"
"roots... in the names of
mountains, rivers,
cities and gods"
"Dear Post Officer...
I hurt myself on the ice
and can't make it...
Please call
if there are any problems"
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Story: A Story
He also said, “I pray this is nothing like hypertext, but it seems to be interesting and the best way to get the exfoliating curve-line plot I wanted.” Pietsch countered with an offer of footnotes, which readers would find less cumbersome, but eventually agreed. -- TNY
..
"the exfoliating conditions and adventures. The pattern of the narrative never of necessity wants to end, it never has to." --RC
Reprise
I sit here on a broken cow, selling dandelions,
no bright burritos, a figment in the valley of snacks.
In the freshwater apartments and contracts
they are finding some spaces to fish in.
Some people just don't talk to each other.
Or what actually goes on in your mind?
I don't know that I'm ready for your meta-interior
gaze, your splendor of character tics. But the day's a nice wind,
night, bathing in your many lamps, consisting
of such complicated wonders, clouds
hard to see, but the story of returning always
getting us off, zooming
in this room, eating tomatoes, reading
off of computers, some figures in windows.
no bright burritos, a figment in the valley of snacks.
In the freshwater apartments and contracts
they are finding some spaces to fish in.
Some people just don't talk to each other.
Or what actually goes on in your mind?
I don't know that I'm ready for your meta-interior
gaze, your splendor of character tics. But the day's a nice wind,
night, bathing in your many lamps, consisting
of such complicated wonders, clouds
hard to see, but the story of returning always
getting us off, zooming
in this room, eating tomatoes, reading
off of computers, some figures in windows.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
NYT
"
the video of Bin Laden watching himself on television
The battle against North America’s longest river
the comfortable paradox of living on a floodplain.
homes and farms and cities along the river.
The great lesson of the floods
otherwise perfectly ordered valley
the video of Bin Laden watching himself on television
The battle against North America’s longest river
the comfortable paradox of living on a floodplain.
homes and farms and cities along the river.
The great lesson of the floods
otherwise perfectly ordered valley
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Spring
1
Lovely ladies parade the turnpikes, announcing
Poptarts!, waterskis!, potpipes!, declaring
New deals for ice-cream crowns, holograms,
Novel conventions, one-on-one luncheons
With Earthworm Jim. King for a Day, One and All!,
They flout. All day they pass with their shiny glyphs,
Such florid palpitations of the comic book
Bubbles, as we drive through all this laughing,
Quivering with footnotes of the taxable parables!
Back home the clouds unpeel and light squirts out,
Setting all the alarm clocks spluttering and ululating
In the garden. The slugs churn and the twig-spry
Robins clop and snit in the bouncing holly. The cats bone
In the dandelions. The fathers congratulate mothers
For their well-digested heavens. The kids writhe
In the TV room. Sudden phonecalls map the Hollywood
Dreams against the hospitalized Jesus. Mythologies
Laze crazily in the foxhole garage. Grandfather
Digs in the fenced-in yard, while minijets slather congratulations
Above the minimall. The teenager scratches the popular songs
From his frontal lobe at the morning lecture. Spring
Is beginning, creatures waking
To the waking of it all. Springing. The moon rises,
Bouncing back all these satellite images and all
Is as a melting mountain. Blooming. Booming.
With the regularity of roadside flatulence,
All the roosters play the balalaika at the edge
Of the flammable elementary school. “I’m a farm”
Is what they tell each schoolboy to sing
To each schoolgirl, in the deepening slate
Of the computed page, parasailing into Sunday
Contortions. We sleep late, relaying messages
Lesser than we thought. Outside, the barnyard’s still
Catatonic with the torpid jism of summer,
Mumbling in the remains of its December despairing.
I thought we had gotten farther than this. It’s typical, you know:
Such prehensile liquid gymnastics trace poorly
The portals. Febrile lickings in the mounted morning. The artery
In its lingual capacities pulsing until pounding
The frontal walls, as with plosives at the picnic
You pass me a hot dog, but remain fully clothed.
One room strokes the moans of another, the bandolier
Jetting of the keyboard to mainframe, the circus of circuits
To fray and maim the surfboard of the Chewbacca Other.
"In the story we were Kolokotronic, surely,
But in the story THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED
(Let’s be real here) you couldn’t be more wrong.
In fact, that is not what I meant, not at all."
A glyph in the grass winks, starred and striped,
Already accounted for, and Grandfather wakes with a wet fart.
2
after finding again our forests
as we wrote them
might we find some old essential treasures at the roots?
the plurality of rivers
afford only bits
like randomly plucked harp strings;
the old story
that sailors feared the new
instruments:
"they just need a couple days...
to sometimes... process it"
charting coasts,
"we are fallen men"
in zooming water,
clatter of brown, green,
red, white
particles fallen
into stones,
this meat, thought,
plasma and bone,
ringing in the stream
with tracesof the bigger
whorl wherein
we cohered,out of which we
slipped, to leave
you to build this, O
the strong men
like rivers
can bear the mountains
knowing clouds
& ocean
(sisters and mothers)
made of the water
as this clutter becomes
a river of stone
based only on
the particles
clapped from the sea,
the wind,
"you missed the rainy part"
faces appear in the falling
of the waters
over the stones
Lovely ladies parade the turnpikes, announcing
Poptarts!, waterskis!, potpipes!, declaring
New deals for ice-cream crowns, holograms,
Novel conventions, one-on-one luncheons
With Earthworm Jim. King for a Day, One and All!,
They flout. All day they pass with their shiny glyphs,
Such florid palpitations of the comic book
Bubbles, as we drive through all this laughing,
Quivering with footnotes of the taxable parables!
Back home the clouds unpeel and light squirts out,
Setting all the alarm clocks spluttering and ululating
In the garden. The slugs churn and the twig-spry
Robins clop and snit in the bouncing holly. The cats bone
In the dandelions. The fathers congratulate mothers
For their well-digested heavens. The kids writhe
In the TV room. Sudden phonecalls map the Hollywood
Dreams against the hospitalized Jesus. Mythologies
Laze crazily in the foxhole garage. Grandfather
Digs in the fenced-in yard, while minijets slather congratulations
Above the minimall. The teenager scratches the popular songs
From his frontal lobe at the morning lecture. Spring
Is beginning, creatures waking
To the waking of it all. Springing. The moon rises,
Bouncing back all these satellite images and all
Is as a melting mountain. Blooming. Booming.
With the regularity of roadside flatulence,
All the roosters play the balalaika at the edge
Of the flammable elementary school. “I’m a farm”
Is what they tell each schoolboy to sing
To each schoolgirl, in the deepening slate
Of the computed page, parasailing into Sunday
Contortions. We sleep late, relaying messages
Lesser than we thought. Outside, the barnyard’s still
Catatonic with the torpid jism of summer,
Mumbling in the remains of its December despairing.
I thought we had gotten farther than this. It’s typical, you know:
Such prehensile liquid gymnastics trace poorly
The portals. Febrile lickings in the mounted morning. The artery
In its lingual capacities pulsing until pounding
The frontal walls, as with plosives at the picnic
You pass me a hot dog, but remain fully clothed.
One room strokes the moans of another, the bandolier
Jetting of the keyboard to mainframe, the circus of circuits
To fray and maim the surfboard of the Chewbacca Other.
"In the story we were Kolokotronic, surely,
But in the story THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED
(Let’s be real here) you couldn’t be more wrong.
In fact, that is not what I meant, not at all."
A glyph in the grass winks, starred and striped,
Already accounted for, and Grandfather wakes with a wet fart.
2
after finding again our forests
as we wrote them
might we find some old essential treasures at the roots?
the plurality of rivers
afford only bits
like randomly plucked harp strings;
the old story
that sailors feared the new
instruments:
"they just need a couple days...
to sometimes... process it"
charting coasts,
"we are fallen men"
in zooming water,
clatter of brown, green,
red, white
particles fallen
into stones,
this meat, thought,
plasma and bone,
ringing in the stream
with tracesof the bigger
whorl wherein
we cohered,out of which we
slipped, to leave
you to build this, O
the strong men
like rivers
can bear the mountains
knowing clouds
& ocean
(sisters and mothers)
made of the water
as this clutter becomes
a river of stone
based only on
the particles
clapped from the sea,
the wind,
"you missed the rainy part"
faces appear in the falling
of the waters
over the stones
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Big City Country
You can look at your eyes in the mirror, but you can't look at your eyes moving in the mirror because they are moving -- and so you must disappear ... We take pleasure in these waters, and make a point of it
but how can we go
swimming without being guilty?
I don't wanna have diabetes like Keith Richards
I might be obsessed with my eye color but I admit the force is at work which wakes all the owls and sparrows as the traffic rises
like rain in the rainy window
so don't I admire in me what's around me
like cushions?
not to say I'm couchant, uncaring
like I said, we're trying to drive a way through
this mess -- how to lvoe
the crystal-blue ease, and still leave room?
(This is the rough copy of a translation of a morning headache in which, reading Chinese fiction in The New Yorker; writing my Boston-Secaucus mishap; reading The Pale King's overwrought consciousness -- I still sensed a form or a force of a form -- nudging me to fill some space ...
--quote from Joyce about entering the night, his version of Il Inferno
And that’s the curious power, that you’re being protected by the voice that’s leading you, taking you on this curious trip. To make that ambivalent seems only to enter farther into the nightmare, "divided creation." --RC
Urban forms
"the networks, the circuits, the streams, the harmonies"...
multiplatform franchises
"jewelry spread across the sidewalk... the deep stream of reflection"...
fun with phones!
& from this trash and shame
I am finally clearing
some smoke from my head
learning, and learning to move on
in a single body bound
you hear that song about being lazy on the radio?
nest
where the prayers survive
bright, or singing
as the phrasebook
comes to life
maintenance systems, gliding feet
Towsley Triangle "Link"
Parking Entrance
TELEPHONIC INTERPRETER
-- a thing each brain has
echogenesis
"teleportation problems"
on the order of the African exodus
O, God on high
standing nearby
ELIOT'S MONOLOG AT THE WINDOW
Oh, our flower is dying,
these California hills teeming
with police. Thank God
we know these back alleys
to the forest.
twin impulses
flipping through the channels
As day resolves
again into itself,
night's cluttered
jungle a mumble
of Constantinople
fragmenting -- there
had to be a struggle
to reconnect a peace
to residential settling,
the hooded angel,
and moonward mind,
out past curfew.
"...everybody and their brother's going home"
John Paul Austerberry
those who talk back
working the puzzles
(not the solutions, mind you--
just that they exist)
against, however, dissolving
mystery into passivity
water alighting on water,
the sun, only sunshine
the mail must...
families are beings
hanging out with each other
for prolonged periods...
the one book everybody's in
History of Francis Wood
charged waves
microflakes
teeming organized
field
laughing in the waves
tablets containing the record of all tablets
"we knew we'd come across
these difficulties"
danger of Collins (as Billy blanket)
still trolling
around in a haze
in the bathwater
having lost the keys
to the gate --
the once magical coast-
line, of Western Europe
-- Netherlands to Spain,
the outskirts of Atlantis...
in the interior of the island
waves of the dominant theme
from the ashes of boredom
body of phonemic material
Philadelphia to Phoenix
(by way of Pusan)
SPEAK-RING
"I heard you have some questions about lodging"
situation = vibe(?)
"I don't know where the pillows are..."
what you'll be doing while in their room
Hittites
Name, Occupation, Duty
(avoid clutter)
I(v)an Wattcage
Rising
"I'm Sue, too!"
"ugh, I would NOT eat her meat"
Transmission-based Isolation Procedures
a little book of remains
"[spiritual autobiography]
unraveling into realist fiction"
invited into this field, and yet --
"mosaic of the air"
discovered his backpack missing...
but writing being writing
got it down on paper
relegated dreams
of travelling
to language
on a page --
a shoebox
children's privacy online
deep in Queens, of faraway Manhattan
dreaming
same old movement
from shipwreck to enslavement
he was old enough even to take notice of,
as if time played a trick and allowed
the old world lease for a time
in the new that had nearly forgotten it.
there reading about Adam
fallen and resting
in smooth space, grandfather's
glasses, warm, bright sounds
a negative match signal
means that you have the wrong mother
, further words
background dropping
of the corner eaves
PA1057.5671 Modern Greek
..................... Word Formation
SEE, SEED
Suspend Baby Sense
father of apples!
-- tree of fathers!
specimens of the form
"my thoughts... on such long
and intricate errands"
"...eager to read about [itself]..."
SEAMSTER
Spectrum's history
-- reweaving from fragments
of animals, a picture reweaving
our animal fragments
A BOAT
learning to live with not-so-efficient markers
"decoding of the undulation"
"there you go... right yourself"
getting somewhere
Miller Light
EXPRESSWAY
after those wasted days, hiding
playing chess with myself
or the Juan Fernandez firecrown
the time field
I was laughing while I was writing
wild animals, the woodlands, and the moon
in language, the lands
running deep
deep past the rooms
we stand in and look in
reach under waters, spiralling.
...this is a very legit, like... finance internship...
...breasts, too?
yeah, I have like, a huge..."
"signed, by my sponsor"
tryin' to be continued
furniture, bread,
boats, breeding
to get to the bottom of this well
David Tudor
Athens, Ohio
open doors for others
use names,
stop what I'm doing
in our nature
to want to know everything
dialog box has a mother field
POEM
death and danger out there
yet how evil's unreal
--the shells of the soul's
least enthalpy
shattered messages on
papers in a parking lot
wherein you tore out, salvaged
(as if from Mother Earth wreckage)
the LYRIC (South Africa)
from the winebox -- Joyce's
tragedy, plotting, building,
fallen Dedalus, lost to The Flood,
yet had to declare
-- bird, wrapped in cloud
like a Jew from the older wall
of the Chapel...
studied wonder
wading through trash
-- but a dustcloud
heralding love's dawning
the electric charging stations,
the recycling bins...
systems
that don't necessarily
talk to each other...
(talking to the visiting
resident, about women
pushing)
my daughter thanks you
do I SEEM like I work retail?
there are so many human dimensions
us, complicated microtubules
of light and trash
A head of time
"about all I remember of the voyage"
po americanski
...apparently awoken by [her] mother
according to the script itself
RANGER
temporal cieling
remote times
built by his pioneer father (and uncle)
(poet turned academic) "I wasn't strong enough to make my own so became a student of others'..."
ON EXPERIENCE MOUNTAIN
mesh [effect]
wastefull sea
sub-generically
have to forget about the sizes of the distances to get to other stars
"with chymick ray"
rise of the no-veil...
in "liquid" chains...
diving down
to the base
to bring up rare flowers*
Some things will never be
known
icons at the end of the fields
everyone in dark blue
is highlighted
in one of those moments
electric with sex
numers and letters swirling uncontrollaby
TEAM EFFORTS
Eurasia
-- Stella & Stella's two little sisters
Grace and Nita
just a carpenter by trade
like I was part of the team
organized a huge family
meeting
paying attention to special needs
all talked & argued
only yesterday
inner meaning
in the beginning
valley of fern
in the wet and dark
with occasional glimpses
of the idea
for the flashlight
or the machete
how the story gets put together
pieces
coming out
"we have people for that"
pairing the lovers,
like intellects
taking
place in all these hallways
-- meshwork of lamps
everybody wishes to be
equipped with state of the art
entertainment systems
based upon this pulsing structure
-- nerves, heart chambers, ions
ten thousand poems
going at the same time
the way you can only tell
the story resting
on the other stories
JoS.A.BANK
--YOU-A74AOAC-AL
..."brothers in the afterlight / Of forest prisms..."
"A sheaf of selected odes / Bundled on the waters"...
"the time flows round again / with things I did in it"
beyond the last earthwords, a plain, then stars
remakes his garden island
into a fortress
for a moment
electrostatic
*Chinese rest.
--Farmington Hills
------------Shangri-La
------------Hang Hua
MAGNETIC PLANNER
no beep: no bond
can we be there and just enjoy Florida?
Thanks for visiting; see you in the new hospital
foundation of our service philosophy
...so you just don't take [the thing]
out of its shell
NOVEL
..."can move to any part of the video
at anytime by sliding the playbar"
--in breeding and feeding,
persisting
put yr biggirl panties on
and come and deliver your baby
(towards an) Indo-European Poetics
[involved] in class action
do not represent
all authors
Rudolph Arnheim
this kind of a bitter or venemous
environment, you forget to take it
for what it really is: a microbrew,
a holograham cracker, adrift
in the self-identical wave....
flyingly over
hills on hills
bound beyond
I've nothing for this
this mess to arrange
but to save it all up
in as little lines
allowed -- to show -- I'm here still
interlaced
head too full
of other things
happens like that, in heaps
pages of life
"The sun on falling waters writes the text
Which is in the eye or in the thought.
It was a hard thing to undo this knot"
-------------------------------------------------Maentwrog
(GMH)
SPRING COMMENCEMENT
totally dependent
on the kindness of strangers
Zeno of Elea
"his bowl of curved space,
his dusty light"
come & make
sure things are okay
calm those nerves
waters
create a structure
ship or shipment
[JJ to Cofee]
"there's a straight line
from the maternal-natal
nipple attachment
and the vibrating differential
erotics of 'head'"
USER
PASSWORD
UNIT LOCATION
YOUR PATIENT
that looks like
something I don't want to repeat
megaminds
using these
monsoons
internode
a whole new depth of focus
full of my journey
each full with his own journey
enter the new descriptions
over the old
*histones* --- "as the writer maps his life onto the waking dream" (-JF)
(history-stones)-----Day's Night's Allears
but the path to the boat is barred
FALLS COMMITTEE
"so, like, under the city, is just,
another city?"
what a lonely moon
screens and rooms
BAMBI v. GODZILLA
Copernicus
European
Delicatessen
surrounded by weomen
looking after us
Clear Current
Temporary Location
--the music relaxes the prisoners
my beloved dead friend
...got so scared when [Tom] & [ } got lost in the cave
coming barrelling blindly into this bright room
masquerages
WASTELAND CONTINUED
"He needs to go home"
would sit in her room... and would dream about Boy George"
wok as parabolic antennae
Ganges of New York
"...and now we are so totally lost"...
these cameras
these phones
and this internet
ladies in little hats
"Anyway, why would Eliot go to the forest?"
--human-alien chromakey history...
Featherstone
the heights still in cloud
intervention of paly
before we... do something
to a child
cuddling a book
"didn't speak, uh, the language"
"you know what, I AM listening to you,
I'm just changing a diaper at the same time"
give eye contact
hey how ya doin
what are you up to this summer
visits from the
past and present
wanna go grab a burrito?
your respiratory therapist
asked me to bring you
a warm blanket
threw away one of my old poems
-- the words old words
the poem more a poem as a ball
of white
in a plastic bag
soon to be
transported elsewhere
WORK WED MORNING!
hope to be home soon
we will be home soon
PUSH ON Sweepstakes?
HOW I ESCAPE(D) SERVITUDE
--or the tale of my coming
around to transcontextual
kindsness (because of or despite
the Asian Pharaoh -- nice guy,
in his reality) -- in a warm sapce
among colleagues,
learning the nervous,
then heart, then execretory
systems....
someone to tell everything to,
why the hell not,
get it off the chest (the hell, that is)
("according to my map... we're...)
ETFT (?)
CALL DAD...
Kathy Lemenu
SONG OF THE RAYADITO
it's about migration
its ferment, lost to/on
the map
how you had nothing
and came here
hungry and, finding something
stayed here, sated
with safety
OH, ISHTAR, OH, ZEUS
the electrochemcial fornicating
eyes, bonding and bumping
atoms and protein levers let us
read! after "a withered branch
on a dead tree": "flowers
on a wet black bough" -- surviving
these doubts.... oh swift river, oh
Winter Spring! (same as last year's
poem) -- William Shakes
off Marlowe's ghost -- and while
the ocean's clinging still --
from the journey moving
in him still -- from the valley
cliff -- road of miles
to the breathing sill
Daily
News
Adrift--------->>>>>>>> on/in ((((<--cloud:: o/i:: cloud-->)))) washing up... city shore...
AGILE FAUNA
zipped myself inside
but moving around
the word "glomerulus" floats through
and I'm totally decentered
in this room yet elsewhere
Sichuan pheasants
dumb as a box o' rocks
PLEASE LEAVE THIS LIGHT SWITCH ON AT ALL TIMES
I
light --
does it shine
onto or underneath?
(the Roman ruin
down the street,
mute among young trees,
floats on a flood
of other fragments,
equally clear in this room,
where turning the tap on
allows voices
back to forest
and river symbols
to reorient thought
with its gathered materials)
some kind of calling
in spite of yet through
the nametages, ID cards,
brings you out of birth
(dread talking)
to adapt to whatever
alights, on the river
and along the river,
walking
II
dawn comes -- scratch that
(free Miller
Light) -- dawn dawns,
an action not a thing,
an orchestra or trick
of light
and earth
turning
-- gets you every time
and every time
you come strapped
with new streams,
speechpaths,
flings, dedications
-- heroic couplets,
twining like radio waves
silent save for the interior
monologs of each car
the vessels
over waters
and branches containing
the sound
coming from the outside,
the love story interiors
III
what looks so sweet
that which we buy
from work so bitter
we talk about it
while at work
motors
lubricating
the images
of pleasure
the inside light
the Nature Park
each town needs one
between
lonely highways
we send collaborative
efforts
of sound and image amid
venemous
collisions
of power states and state
power -- born of a moment
at each moment,
this verbal light,
more light
than the light
we're seeing
IV
NEVER LEAVE CHILD UNATTACHED
intermittent laughs
on the active canvas
what's important's the act
a lot to remember
(contained in each scene)
if yr afraid you forgot something
you probably did
let's not get fat
If something happens
outside of this place
multidrug resistant organisms
...hear what they're saying
Lausanne & rome
"Tatiana!"
--Carlos, Kevin
kingdom after kingdom
flooding warnings
...birds...
"as naturally as both breathed"
Diet Orange Crush
but how can we go
swimming without being guilty?
I don't wanna have diabetes like Keith Richards
I might be obsessed with my eye color but I admit the force is at work which wakes all the owls and sparrows as the traffic rises
like rain in the rainy window
so don't I admire in me what's around me
like cushions?
not to say I'm couchant, uncaring
like I said, we're trying to drive a way through
this mess -- how to lvoe
the crystal-blue ease, and still leave room?
(This is the rough copy of a translation of a morning headache in which, reading Chinese fiction in The New Yorker; writing my Boston-Secaucus mishap; reading The Pale King's overwrought consciousness -- I still sensed a form or a force of a form -- nudging me to fill some space ...
--quote from Joyce about entering the night, his version of Il Inferno
And that’s the curious power, that you’re being protected by the voice that’s leading you, taking you on this curious trip. To make that ambivalent seems only to enter farther into the nightmare, "divided creation." --RC
Urban forms
"the networks, the circuits, the streams, the harmonies"...
multiplatform franchises
"jewelry spread across the sidewalk... the deep stream of reflection"...
fun with phones!
& from this trash and shame
I am finally clearing
some smoke from my head
learning, and learning to move on
in a single body bound
you hear that song about being lazy on the radio?
nest
where the prayers survive
bright, or singing
as the phrasebook
comes to life
maintenance systems, gliding feet
Towsley Triangle "Link"
Parking Entrance
TELEPHONIC INTERPRETER
-- a thing each brain has
echogenesis
"teleportation problems"
on the order of the African exodus
O, God on high
standing nearby
ELIOT'S MONOLOG AT THE WINDOW
Oh, our flower is dying,
these California hills teeming
with police. Thank God
we know these back alleys
to the forest.
twin impulses
flipping through the channels
As day resolves
again into itself,
night's cluttered
jungle a mumble
of Constantinople
fragmenting -- there
had to be a struggle
to reconnect a peace
to residential settling,
the hooded angel,
and moonward mind,
out past curfew.
"...everybody and their brother's going home"
John Paul Austerberry
those who talk back
working the puzzles
(not the solutions, mind you--
just that they exist)
against, however, dissolving
mystery into passivity
water alighting on water,
the sun, only sunshine
the mail must...
families are beings
hanging out with each other
for prolonged periods...
the one book everybody's in
History of Francis Wood
charged waves
microflakes
teeming organized
field
laughing in the waves
tablets containing the record of all tablets
"we knew we'd come across
these difficulties"
danger of Collins (as Billy blanket)
still trolling
around in a haze
in the bathwater
having lost the keys
to the gate --
the once magical coast-
line, of Western Europe
-- Netherlands to Spain,
the outskirts of Atlantis...
in the interior of the island
waves of the dominant theme
from the ashes of boredom
body of phonemic material
Philadelphia to Phoenix
(by way of Pusan)
SPEAK-RING
"I heard you have some questions about lodging"
situation = vibe(?)
"I don't know where the pillows are..."
what you'll be doing while in their room
Hittites
Name, Occupation, Duty
(avoid clutter)
I(v)an Wattcage
Rising
"I'm Sue, too!"
"ugh, I would NOT eat her meat"
Transmission-based Isolation Procedures
a little book of remains
"[spiritual autobiography]
unraveling into realist fiction"
invited into this field, and yet --
"mosaic of the air"
discovered his backpack missing...
but writing being writing
got it down on paper
relegated dreams
of travelling
to language
on a page --
a shoebox
children's privacy online
deep in Queens, of faraway Manhattan
dreaming
same old movement
from shipwreck to enslavement
he was old enough even to take notice of,
as if time played a trick and allowed
the old world lease for a time
in the new that had nearly forgotten it.
there reading about Adam
fallen and resting
in smooth space, grandfather's
glasses, warm, bright sounds
a negative match signal
means that you have the wrong mother
, further words
background dropping
of the corner eaves
PA1057.5671 Modern Greek
..................... Word Formation
SEE, SEED
Suspend Baby Sense
father of apples!
-- tree of fathers!
specimens of the form
"my thoughts... on such long
and intricate errands"
"...eager to read about [itself]..."
SEAMSTER
Spectrum's history
-- reweaving from fragments
of animals, a picture reweaving
our animal fragments
A BOAT
learning to live with not-so-efficient markers
"decoding of the undulation"
"there you go... right yourself"
getting somewhere
Miller Light
EXPRESSWAY
after those wasted days, hiding
playing chess with myself
or the Juan Fernandez firecrown
the time field
I was laughing while I was writing
wild animals, the woodlands, and the moon
in language, the lands
running deep
deep past the rooms
we stand in and look in
reach under waters, spiralling.
...this is a very legit, like... finance internship...
...breasts, too?
yeah, I have like, a huge..."
"signed, by my sponsor"
tryin' to be continued
furniture, bread,
boats, breeding
to get to the bottom of this well
David Tudor
Athens, Ohio
open doors for others
use names,
stop what I'm doing
in our nature
to want to know everything
dialog box has a mother field
POEM
death and danger out there
yet how evil's unreal
--the shells of the soul's
least enthalpy
shattered messages on
papers in a parking lot
wherein you tore out, salvaged
(as if from Mother Earth wreckage)
the LYRIC (South Africa)
from the winebox -- Joyce's
tragedy, plotting, building,
fallen Dedalus, lost to The Flood,
yet had to declare
-- bird, wrapped in cloud
like a Jew from the older wall
of the Chapel...
studied wonder
wading through trash
-- but a dustcloud
heralding love's dawning
the electric charging stations,
the recycling bins...
systems
that don't necessarily
talk to each other...
(talking to the visiting
resident, about women
pushing)
my daughter thanks you
do I SEEM like I work retail?
there are so many human dimensions
us, complicated microtubules
of light and trash
A head of time
"about all I remember of the voyage"
po americanski
...apparently awoken by [her] mother
according to the script itself
RANGER
temporal cieling
remote times
built by his pioneer father (and uncle)
(poet turned academic) "I wasn't strong enough to make my own so became a student of others'..."
ON EXPERIENCE MOUNTAIN
mesh [effect]
wastefull sea
sub-generically
have to forget about the sizes of the distances to get to other stars
"with chymick ray"
rise of the no-veil...
in "liquid" chains...
diving down
to the base
to bring up rare flowers*
Some things will never be
known
icons at the end of the fields
everyone in dark blue
is highlighted
in one of those moments
electric with sex
numers and letters swirling uncontrollaby
TEAM EFFORTS
Eurasia
-- Stella & Stella's two little sisters
Grace and Nita
just a carpenter by trade
like I was part of the team
organized a huge family
meeting
paying attention to special needs
all talked & argued
only yesterday
inner meaning
in the beginning
valley of fern
in the wet and dark
with occasional glimpses
of the idea
for the flashlight
or the machete
how the story gets put together
pieces
coming out
"we have people for that"
pairing the lovers,
like intellects
taking
place in all these hallways
-- meshwork of lamps
everybody wishes to be
equipped with state of the art
entertainment systems
based upon this pulsing structure
-- nerves, heart chambers, ions
ten thousand poems
going at the same time
the way you can only tell
the story resting
on the other stories
JoS.A.BANK
--YOU-A74AOAC-AL
..."brothers in the afterlight / Of forest prisms..."
"A sheaf of selected odes / Bundled on the waters"...
"the time flows round again / with things I did in it"
beyond the last earthwords, a plain, then stars
remakes his garden island
into a fortress
for a moment
electrostatic
*Chinese rest.
--Farmington Hills
------------Shangri-La
------------Hang Hua
MAGNETIC PLANNER
no beep: no bond
can we be there and just enjoy Florida?
Thanks for visiting; see you in the new hospital
foundation of our service philosophy
...so you just don't take [the thing]
out of its shell
NOVEL
..."can move to any part of the video
at anytime by sliding the playbar"
--in breeding and feeding,
persisting
put yr biggirl panties on
and come and deliver your baby
(towards an) Indo-European Poetics
[involved] in class action
do not represent
all authors
Rudolph Arnheim
this kind of a bitter or venemous
environment, you forget to take it
for what it really is: a microbrew,
a holograham cracker, adrift
in the self-identical wave....
flyingly over
hills on hills
bound beyond
I've nothing for this
this mess to arrange
but to save it all up
in as little lines
allowed -- to show -- I'm here still
interlaced
head too full
of other things
happens like that, in heaps
pages of life
"The sun on falling waters writes the text
Which is in the eye or in the thought.
It was a hard thing to undo this knot"
-------------------------------------------------Maentwrog
(GMH)
SPRING COMMENCEMENT
totally dependent
on the kindness of strangers
Zeno of Elea
"his bowl of curved space,
his dusty light"
come & make
sure things are okay
calm those nerves
waters
create a structure
ship or shipment
[JJ to Cofee]
"there's a straight line
from the maternal-natal
nipple attachment
and the vibrating differential
erotics of 'head'"
USER
PASSWORD
UNIT LOCATION
YOUR PATIENT
that looks like
something I don't want to repeat
megaminds
using these
monsoons
internode
a whole new depth of focus
full of my journey
each full with his own journey
enter the new descriptions
over the old
*histones* --- "as the writer maps his life onto the waking dream" (-JF)
(history-stones)-----Day's Night's Allears
but the path to the boat is barred
FALLS COMMITTEE
"so, like, under the city, is just,
another city?"
what a lonely moon
screens and rooms
BAMBI v. GODZILLA
Copernicus
European
Delicatessen
surrounded by weomen
looking after us
Clear Current
Temporary Location
--the music relaxes the prisoners
my beloved dead friend
...got so scared when [Tom] & [ } got lost in the cave
coming barrelling blindly into this bright room
masquerages
WASTELAND CONTINUED
"He needs to go home"
would sit in her room... and would dream about Boy George"
wok as parabolic antennae
Ganges of New York
"...and now we are so totally lost"...
these cameras
these phones
and this internet
ladies in little hats
"Anyway, why would Eliot go to the forest?"
--human-alien chromakey history...
Featherstone
the heights still in cloud
intervention of paly
before we... do something
to a child
cuddling a book
"didn't speak, uh, the language"
"you know what, I AM listening to you,
I'm just changing a diaper at the same time"
give eye contact
hey how ya doin
what are you up to this summer
visits from the
past and present
wanna go grab a burrito?
your respiratory therapist
asked me to bring you
a warm blanket
threw away one of my old poems
-- the words old words
the poem more a poem as a ball
of white
in a plastic bag
soon to be
transported elsewhere
WORK WED MORNING!
hope to be home soon
we will be home soon
PUSH ON Sweepstakes?
HOW I ESCAPE(D) SERVITUDE
--or the tale of my coming
around to transcontextual
kindsness (because of or despite
the Asian Pharaoh -- nice guy,
in his reality) -- in a warm sapce
among colleagues,
learning the nervous,
then heart, then execretory
systems....
someone to tell everything to,
why the hell not,
get it off the chest (the hell, that is)
("according to my map... we're...)
ETFT (?)
CALL DAD...
Kathy Lemenu
SONG OF THE RAYADITO
it's about migration
its ferment, lost to/on
the map
how you had nothing
and came here
hungry and, finding something
stayed here, sated
with safety
OH, ISHTAR, OH, ZEUS
the electrochemcial fornicating
eyes, bonding and bumping
atoms and protein levers let us
read! after "a withered branch
on a dead tree": "flowers
on a wet black bough" -- surviving
these doubts.... oh swift river, oh
Winter Spring! (same as last year's
poem) -- William Shakes
off Marlowe's ghost -- and while
the ocean's clinging still --
from the journey moving
in him still -- from the valley
cliff -- road of miles
to the breathing sill
Daily
News
Adrift--------->>>>>>>> on/in ((((<--cloud:: o/i:: cloud-->)))) washing up... city shore...
AGILE FAUNA
zipped myself inside
but moving around
the word "glomerulus" floats through
and I'm totally decentered
in this room yet elsewhere
Sichuan pheasants
dumb as a box o' rocks
PLEASE LEAVE THIS LIGHT SWITCH ON AT ALL TIMES
I
light --
does it shine
onto or underneath?
(the Roman ruin
down the street,
mute among young trees,
floats on a flood
of other fragments,
equally clear in this room,
where turning the tap on
allows voices
back to forest
and river symbols
to reorient thought
with its gathered materials)
some kind of calling
in spite of yet through
the nametages, ID cards,
brings you out of birth
(dread talking)
to adapt to whatever
alights, on the river
and along the river,
walking
II
dawn comes -- scratch that
(free Miller
Light) -- dawn dawns,
an action not a thing,
an orchestra or trick
of light
and earth
turning
-- gets you every time
and every time
you come strapped
with new streams,
speechpaths,
flings, dedications
-- heroic couplets,
twining like radio waves
silent save for the interior
monologs of each car
the vessels
over waters
and branches containing
the sound
coming from the outside,
the love story interiors
III
what looks so sweet
that which we buy
from work so bitter
we talk about it
while at work
motors
lubricating
the images
of pleasure
the inside light
the Nature Park
each town needs one
between
lonely highways
we send collaborative
efforts
of sound and image amid
venemous
collisions
of power states and state
power -- born of a moment
at each moment,
this verbal light,
more light
than the light
we're seeing
IV
NEVER LEAVE CHILD UNATTACHED
intermittent laughs
on the active canvas
what's important's the act
a lot to remember
(contained in each scene)
if yr afraid you forgot something
you probably did
let's not get fat
If something happens
outside of this place
multidrug resistant organisms
...hear what they're saying
Lausanne & rome
"Tatiana!"
--Carlos, Kevin
kingdom after kingdom
flooding warnings
...birds...
"as naturally as both breathed"
Diet Orange Crush
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Eoster
Dangers of the Imagination and Naturalization Office ... and yet, the aesthetic simplicities of the inherited eggs... bringing candy bars to a king like you, Elvis ... Mrs. Porter in the spring... his body is the year ... Reconstructed Aurochs ... our grotesque resurrections of the beautiful (only beautiful, by this point, mourned: human language... the plastic arts, how they orbit the memorized code, the classical tradition we release to the computers, the transmission of the Real ["how dare we be bored?"]): without it, how little sense anything makes, reduced back to the animal gaze, feeding), merely out of not knowing any better... I pray for the day it is fully warm and water flows as easily inside as out...
"At the Gates, he encounters Virgil, who knows of Dante's past sins, yet agrees to guide him through the Nine Circles of Hell. Dante begins his descent at the shores of Hell where the newly damned souls are forced aboard the great ferry of Charon, whom he forces to sail Dante across. After this, Charon is destroyed when Dante tears his head off using a beast-mount"... "almost bears no relation at all to the actual work... might as well be in two different universes..." ...but what about Huck and Jim in the Islamic Republic of Iran? ...
POEM
Tonight the moon was brighter than the lamps
orbiting it, but the lamps were also orbiting
the more-solid trees, the crowds and buildings,
(or were the crowds orbiting the lamps,
and were the trees a part of the crowd?)
and the verse and the speech, ay, the very images
one took in and digested and spat back
from vibrant brain-sap later in the near-silence
on a bright screen, from within the vibrating
cell made out of being as much
an egg or an auricle of dust, somehow
channeling the light, becoming
this picture -- neither orbit nor focus,
while a player in both. Took a long
time to get here: Village Green, telephones
flowing like milk and honey, words upon
words to reuse for the present act
and the next, and the ride towards
the moon on the seashore, listening
to Abbey Road, Her Majesty glowing
over the purring silence, under our regional
endless babble, purling, falling
waters, all over, reweaving till sleep,
and waking up with the pictures
made from its echoes, in the flood
of the returning giant, erecting the forest.
"Great Britain... vast fabric of credit... she has indeed abused... and now stands on a precipice..." ..."The birthplace of the novel... the expansion of a literate bourgeoise eager to read about itself.. individual isolates... comfortable middle class... increase in leisure for reading... debtors' prison... the vertiginous point where I turned back in the rain... I was having trouble staying upright in the wind... bits of gray bone came down on the slope below me, but the dust was caught in the wind and vanished in the blue vault... my tent was disabled"...
Franzen, birds; Nabokov, mothing... the paramecium of the puddle, the gift of light... boat away.................................
"At the camp Virginia found that a neat clearing had been made upon a little tableland, a palisade built about it, and divided into three parts; the most northerly of which contained a small house for herself and her father, another for von Horn, and a common cooking and eating house over which Sing was to preside." --ERB
"At the Gates, he encounters Virgil, who knows of Dante's past sins, yet agrees to guide him through the Nine Circles of Hell. Dante begins his descent at the shores of Hell where the newly damned souls are forced aboard the great ferry of Charon, whom he forces to sail Dante across. After this, Charon is destroyed when Dante tears his head off using a beast-mount"... "almost bears no relation at all to the actual work... might as well be in two different universes..." ...but what about Huck and Jim in the Islamic Republic of Iran? ...
POEM
Tonight the moon was brighter than the lamps
orbiting it, but the lamps were also orbiting
the more-solid trees, the crowds and buildings,
(or were the crowds orbiting the lamps,
and were the trees a part of the crowd?)
and the verse and the speech, ay, the very images
one took in and digested and spat back
from vibrant brain-sap later in the near-silence
on a bright screen, from within the vibrating
cell made out of being as much
an egg or an auricle of dust, somehow
channeling the light, becoming
this picture -- neither orbit nor focus,
while a player in both. Took a long
time to get here: Village Green, telephones
flowing like milk and honey, words upon
words to reuse for the present act
and the next, and the ride towards
the moon on the seashore, listening
to Abbey Road, Her Majesty glowing
over the purring silence, under our regional
endless babble, purling, falling
waters, all over, reweaving till sleep,
and waking up with the pictures
made from its echoes, in the flood
of the returning giant, erecting the forest.
"Great Britain... vast fabric of credit... she has indeed abused... and now stands on a precipice..." ..."The birthplace of the novel... the expansion of a literate bourgeoise eager to read about itself.. individual isolates... comfortable middle class... increase in leisure for reading... debtors' prison... the vertiginous point where I turned back in the rain... I was having trouble staying upright in the wind... bits of gray bone came down on the slope below me, but the dust was caught in the wind and vanished in the blue vault... my tent was disabled"...
Franzen, birds; Nabokov, mothing... the paramecium of the puddle, the gift of light... boat away.................................
"At the camp Virginia found that a neat clearing had been made upon a little tableland, a palisade built about it, and divided into three parts; the most northerly of which contained a small house for herself and her father, another for von Horn, and a common cooking and eating house over which Sing was to preside." --ERB
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Cog Ignition
Atalantean ... Tartessian ...
At times it got so boring we started arguments at parties or (going back far enough) wars in the courts or countryside just to make something happen. Other times things seemed so quick and lithe in the mind moving it felt like everything everyone reports, in hospital and courtrooms, etc., were so far gone we were already on the fucking Stardeck. In between, the trouble was getting the stone-slow events to take place in the former case so that we could return to the star-fast horizontality we learned to love in our best moments in the latter case. Down that winter path the spring is waiting, young man, though you forget to feed your brain the sometimes difficult things that will move you along. Sometimes the best men had to get out of their fireplace armchairs and go down to the docks.
http://depts.washington.edu/silkroad/museums/mia/miaintro.html
The Aryans first settled on the Oxus (AMU DARYA in BACTRIA) around 4000 B.C. They called this river the Sarasvati and here Vedic culture developed. Around this time agriculture begins, allowing the population to move from the foothills into oases along the rivers that flow into the Central Asian desert. The new settlements include large fortified buildings. Seen in isolation, the Rigveda is undateable. However, by placing it in the context of external evidence some useful time brackets can be assigned. The reference to copper, harnessing of domesticated horse for transport and draft, and use of wheeled-vehicles show that the oral tradition of the Rigveda is from around 4000-3000 BC. The 2 rivers Sarasvati (Oxus) and Drishadvati (Jaxartes) represent Ikshvaku. Mr. Gangaram writes:” The Aryan civilisation was centered around the Sarasvati and Drishadavati rivers. We know that the goddes Sarasvati is also called Vaks (speech) and that the Sarasvati (daugher of the lake, sea) river is called Va(m)ksu in the Mahabharata. The Greek word Oxus is a corruption of Vaksu. The other river Jaxartes (Caks-sar(i)tes means eye-river) is. Drishadvati which means daugher of the eye (or stone). (Drish means: to see). The one river signifies sight while the other signifies speech. There is a relationship with Iksh-vaku (sight-speech), the well-known sage. Iksh-vaku is the great grandson of sage Kashyapa. The 2 rivers represent Iksh-vaku (see-speak), while Kashyapa is the Caspian sea, which in Vedic times was called Kasyapa Mira. Scientists have shown that the 2 rivers used to flow in the Caspian sea, before they changed their course and emptied in the Aral sea. This could be the cause of the southward movement of the Aryans. The Vedic river Raha ro Rasa is identified with the Volga river, which in old slavonic languages is called Rasa, from which Russia derives its name”.).
multi-ringed city... DoñaNA
WISHES
You say the city is a lovely lady or sundae, waiting.
But I say leave me, leave me here in my lonely valley --
I’m no help out there. Besides, there are hardly
Any connections. My bro, leave me, I said, I'm happy here,
In this room where the vine climbs over the TV set,
Or so I dream watching the wall or the sky
In the mountain traffic. A voice comes over the twilight.
“There are billions of dollars, waiting…” It’d be fun if we all disappeared…
The moon is a raw egg, slipped out of the massive chaos cracking
in the spiraling heat in the emptiness above.
The sun’s falling through! But as if all were clouds,
Nothing’s converging on us. The world slides off
Like so many photographs. Still, it feels good,
In the junglecloud afternoon, to see it -- river! and say it -- "river!"
When I told the ex-Korean linebacker of the Afro-European
Origins of the Chinese Calendar, he laughed in my face.
When I tried to discuss the implications of Friday the 13th
for the future of the Animal Kingdom, I got yelled out of the barn.
But for our worries, we are on permanent vacation,
labor itself stitched into the sweater of the family outing,
driving the whale to the fast food joint, Splash Universe,
talking in a wild wheeling through Mad Libs
at the Japanese Restaurant, eating irrigation,
neon ice-cream, watching the news, here,
in the back of the brain, working to waste,
we light the lamps yet, the city
as the valley as the room, like birds,
we honk. For good luck.
"I went back to the library.
Anyway." ...
...Meanwhile, back on land, Cloudio and Tonio...
how to type... ñ (enye or N with tilde). On Windows: ...
IN ANY CITY
or forest
the way the wires converge towards
the amber bulb, a glowing source
in the blue darkness growing
light while all around our building,
triangles and rectangles,
figures, cars and rooms,
moving, holding,
our middle ages, in Europe
or America or Asia -- speak
of a watered-down (no pun
intended) of the western reach
of the east -- sea-vale-I-say-song
fragmented by the Flood,
whence we landed in Armenia,
and had to start all over again,
the land...
- boreal (adj.)
- "northern," late 15c., from L. borealis, from boreas "north wind," from Gk. Boreas, god of the north wind, of unknown origin, perhaps related to words in Balto-Slavic for "mountain" and "forest."
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Day by Day
On Women and Languages
"Sometimes, they are all alike"
Water runs from the tap ...
Like a river, I have followed ...
Released into a field, where the sun and the grass ...
Esquisse
From the train car I saw her
Walking the path around the village
While the city it was the mountain
As the singular lamppost on the lawn
Met the great track road
Under its great rolling dirt cloud
(where we survive)
http://books.google.com/books?id=LTGFV2NOySYC&pg=PA287&lpg=PA287&dq=%2B765%2B170%2B2129&source=bl&ots=X5unbeUowM&sig=wy-wUcMb3YdrW0GtznZYogMOoU8&hl=en&ei=9gGpTan_LMjQiAKFuqHvDA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CBsQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=%2B765%2B170%2B2129&f=false
***
Letter of Alexander to Aristotle
When looking back on those days
among bright trees, talking overlooking the city,
I start hearing your voice, and what
you might say about the questions that
teem and wave inside me
as the world unfolds dimensions even you,
Great Teacher, never knew. It amazes
me how small everything once had seemed,
which is I am moved again today to write,
so many thoughts now moving through me,
to you who had first moved them in me,
back when they were the only things
that were real, among our bright talking.
In a forward movement to a source,
one feels not that one is going back in time
but that time in all its tangled paths of past
momentum continues, keeping all the parts
together. Thus what you or I call Fate or Will
is only what awakes and finds that moving
brightness still there, breathing forth again
the beginning. A pod-shaped puddle on this
street -- on which, mind you, they speak some
bastard mutation of Greek, it seems -- and
onto which I look from the caravanserai,
having arrived
here just tonight upon a tough uphill handling
of the horses -- through a pass -- the puddle
shines with the light cast back from the sun
to the moon tonight -- which itself refracts
in the water, while the water, by degrees
of connection, moves slowly on to disappear
in sky and wind, moving again in cloud,
by virtue of that sun, which incides
by suggestions of the moon by night,
by gestures of its real self, by day.
And so you may, good father, regard this
bundle of letters, this missile missive bound
to its mark, because I knew you, this bundle
of things, clattered together, borne safely
across by our sailors, our steeds -- you may
regard this present union of disparate
elements of our times in space -- a version
of the one sun which dispatches them,
dispersing, in the waters.
Thus you had taught me, old master,
in that room those days that like dawn
wavered with light, those days on the shore
in the peace and the genius of the river,
pointing as we gathered around, as the
megaliths in shadows loomed in world war
colors on the horizon beyond the cars
of cattle... but lightly, lightly like laughter
the trembling droplets of the rainfall
on the trees, like the wavelets of kindness
in my first lady's eye, and your voice
creating in me the texture of now,
and its roots, gathering up again
that light, lightly it all stirred in me
the moving pictures of this beauty,
so that I find myself yet again, sending
you this message from afar, from across
these lands of time, and of tongues,
and rolling clouds of earth and of thought.
***
Beyond that half-opened door...
"Sometimes, they are all alike"
Water runs from the tap ...
Like a river, I have followed ...
Released into a field, where the sun and the grass ...
Esquisse
From the train car I saw her
Walking the path around the village
While the city it was the mountain
As the singular lamppost on the lawn
Met the great track road
Under its great rolling dirt cloud
(where we survive)
http://books.google.com/books?id=LTGFV2NOySYC&pg=PA287&lpg=PA287&dq=%2B765%2B170%2B2129&source=bl&ots=X5unbeUowM&sig=wy-wUcMb3YdrW0GtznZYogMOoU8&hl=en&ei=9gGpTan_LMjQiAKFuqHvDA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CBsQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=%2B765%2B170%2B2129&f=false
***
Letter of Alexander to Aristotle
When looking back on those days
among bright trees, talking overlooking the city,
I start hearing your voice, and what
you might say about the questions that
teem and wave inside me
as the world unfolds dimensions even you,
Great Teacher, never knew. It amazes
me how small everything once had seemed,
which is I am moved again today to write,
so many thoughts now moving through me,
to you who had first moved them in me,
back when they were the only things
that were real, among our bright talking.
In a forward movement to a source,
one feels not that one is going back in time
but that time in all its tangled paths of past
momentum continues, keeping all the parts
together. Thus what you or I call Fate or Will
is only what awakes and finds that moving
brightness still there, breathing forth again
the beginning. A pod-shaped puddle on this
street -- on which, mind you, they speak some
bastard mutation of Greek, it seems -- and
onto which I look from the caravanserai,
having arrived
here just tonight upon a tough uphill handling
of the horses -- through a pass -- the puddle
shines with the light cast back from the sun
to the moon tonight -- which itself refracts
in the water, while the water, by degrees
of connection, moves slowly on to disappear
in sky and wind, moving again in cloud,
by virtue of that sun, which incides
by suggestions of the moon by night,
by gestures of its real self, by day.
And so you may, good father, regard this
bundle of letters, this missile missive bound
to its mark, because I knew you, this bundle
of things, clattered together, borne safely
across by our sailors, our steeds -- you may
regard this present union of disparate
elements of our times in space -- a version
of the one sun which dispatches them,
dispersing, in the waters.
Thus you had taught me, old master,
in that room those days that like dawn
wavered with light, those days on the shore
in the peace and the genius of the river,
pointing as we gathered around, as the
megaliths in shadows loomed in world war
colors on the horizon beyond the cars
of cattle... but lightly, lightly like laughter
the trembling droplets of the rainfall
on the trees, like the wavelets of kindness
in my first lady's eye, and your voice
creating in me the texture of now,
and its roots, gathering up again
that light, lightly it all stirred in me
the moving pictures of this beauty,
so that I find myself yet again, sending
you this message from afar, from across
these lands of time, and of tongues,
and rolling clouds of earth and of thought.
***
Beyond that half-opened door...
As the airplane waits with people you might know
to join the rumbling silence over this continent
to land them in a city where it is just as noisy
as your head here and now, you think of
your loved one's voice, leaving here, landing there,
where other friends wait, other roads twine,
and the city is awake to itself among land and water
as close to that reality as you are far, but as much
a part of you. The music's made that way. Chorded
quest: Wild Sylvan, Fisherman's Wharf, the Watchtower
sessions at Olympic Studios...
your loved one's voice, leaving here, landing there,
where other friends wait, other roads twine,
and the city is awake to itself among land and water
as close to that reality as you are far, but as much
a part of you. The music's made that way. Chorded
quest: Wild Sylvan, Fisherman's Wharf, the Watchtower
sessions at Olympic Studios...
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Poem & Exile
this divided body
e-creature
adrift
: ancestors
turned horse, bird, branch, arrow
to "ohr," "ear," "ah," and "ahr" -- in in-
finitely return- and combinable
drifts of our river. Part of it (facet
of its flowing mountain, a boatish cube)
was/is,
for example,
Russian/Italian futurism
meant eventual branching -- "Volga"
& "Po" -- return?: the Iliazd Eco!!
(note to text:
point to an exclamation there??)
While we talked over it all
through the heteroglossolalic
prism of the day & night shot through with waves
it was best to be on the border of all four
-- complex construction, like our biology.
"She was a printmaker."
The mind as echo-receptacle, figurer, transfigurer
we just have to learn better
narrative/rhythm
[expanse] of -- like memorizing
dialogue in the Platonic expanses
of The Godfather
or Back to the Future)
--"acrostic junk" -- days of turning
turntables -- in dark dance
halls -- alive where we once slept --
riding the body (Cixious & Irigaray --
Gauls & Persians) -- Subject: Re: Language:
the notes of the referent itself
the connotations, condensations, connoceans, mean that
a poem silts into meaning-
registers and only in "reading"
experience of e-day life
does it reassemble a mind's
active engagement -- writing --
with the imaginary of symbols:
artifice as returning
to nature.
***
Loris as man in pre-history,
silent a long time,
PREPARATIONS
In the silent space
of a delayed call
waiting for a telephone call
what is this final-seeming anxiety
returning which seems
to have swallowed
the very reassurance that is supposed to follow?
"Whatever... the case beyond the channel"
history's readings link inevitably
the unconscious cactus
of the paralyzed dreamer to an emergent
image we keep in the shadows of the stage
of the day driving and getting down
to work in old Elizabeth, New Jersey,
in the safely filed-away cube
of daily river-cruises
of calculations, allowances.
"The most common unit of value... to copy"
happens to happen across multiple spaces
of time as if time
has not budged an inch but left
us to watch the complaints
of swans or geese preening
or settling noiselessly
in the backyard pond
of the office park, worried as the dumpsters
are serene. What a wonderful world,
company tournaments, air and time,
silence, chewing an apple, clock
arms mimicking Washington's teeth
in the moist mouth of public interest, however
linked to the threat of some unnameable
power, swallowing production,
yet also immured, what isn't,
the secret sweetness
prevailing, no matter
what comes, how strange
and wonderful like cracking
knuckles underwater.
RETURNING
An early morning childhood
hospital factory
city, a life
in the dawning
dawning, sleeping to history,
the Hittite realities
before us, the cities
of the Indus Valley
horses: taxi out, out: a tree grows
between brisk walls
a window appears between
unrolled stonework
metalwork, like a passage
of Plato surviving Iron Age world
wars. But after the wars
of self and world
there'll be peace -- after the distractions
-- explosions, redactions, accusations, contractions, complications,
obstructions, abstractions, reductions, allusions, imaginary fluencies,
fluff, ligher-games, food, anxiety, computer-games, tattoos, salads.
It's simply hard to simply roll
with the tropical, arctic, deciduous
punches of your breath-stained
mirror or window you expect
me to windex with sympathy. In my valley
there will be peace. How real the things
that really happen
in the field of the senses! -- how vivid, exact, un-
mistakeably not me! The river spewing most of the time
totally monolithic. Vegetable combinations
in the net of electricity. Amalia Starbird.
The library the forest
again, in derivations
of the sun,
carded, bound - imprinted with sea
and land creatures. Abstracted...
"Soon after his day inscriptions"... we have
washed up alive, a mess but in love with it,
from the stables and the chariots
A hand to a city to a hand,
e-creature
adrift
: ancestors
turned horse, bird, branch, arrow
to "ohr," "ear," "ah," and "ahr" -- in in-
finitely return- and combinable
drifts of our river. Part of it (facet
of its flowing mountain, a boatish cube)
was/is,
for example,
Russian/Italian futurism
meant eventual branching -- "Volga"
& "Po" -- return?: the Iliazd Eco!!
(note to text:
point to an exclamation there??)
While we talked over it all
through the heteroglossolalic
prism of the day & night shot through with waves
it was best to be on the border of all four
-- complex construction, like our biology.
"She was a printmaker."
The mind as echo-receptacle, figurer, transfigurer
we just have to learn better
narrative/rhythm
[expanse] of -- like memorizing
dialogue in the Platonic expanses
of The Godfather
or Back to the Future)
--"acrostic junk" -- days of turning
turntables -- in dark dance
halls -- alive where we once slept --
riding the body (Cixious & Irigaray --
Gauls & Persians) -- Subject: Re: Language:
the notes of the referent itself
the connotations, condensations, connoceans, mean that
a poem silts into meaning-
registers and only in "reading"
experience of e-day life
does it reassemble a mind's
active engagement -- writing --
with the imaginary of symbols:
artifice as returning
to nature.
***
Loris as man in pre-history,
silent a long time,
PREPARATIONS
In the silent space
of a delayed call
waiting for a telephone call
what is this final-seeming anxiety
returning which seems
to have swallowed
the very reassurance that is supposed to follow?
"Whatever... the case beyond the channel"
history's readings link inevitably
the unconscious cactus
of the paralyzed dreamer to an emergent
image we keep in the shadows of the stage
of the day driving and getting down
to work in old Elizabeth, New Jersey,
in the safely filed-away cube
of daily river-cruises
of calculations, allowances.
"The most common unit of value... to copy"
happens to happen across multiple spaces
of time as if time
has not budged an inch but left
us to watch the complaints
of swans or geese preening
or settling noiselessly
in the backyard pond
of the office park, worried as the dumpsters
are serene. What a wonderful world,
company tournaments, air and time,
silence, chewing an apple, clock
arms mimicking Washington's teeth
in the moist mouth of public interest, however
linked to the threat of some unnameable
power, swallowing production,
yet also immured, what isn't,
the secret sweetness
prevailing, no matter
what comes, how strange
and wonderful like cracking
knuckles underwater.
RETURNING
An early morning childhood
hospital factory
city, a life
in the dawning
dawning, sleeping to history,
the Hittite realities
before us, the cities
of the Indus Valley
horses: taxi out, out: a tree grows
between brisk walls
a window appears between
unrolled stonework
metalwork, like a passage
of Plato surviving Iron Age world
wars. But after the wars
of self and world
there'll be peace -- after the distractions
-- explosions, redactions, accusations, contractions, complications,
obstructions, abstractions, reductions, allusions, imaginary fluencies,
fluff, ligher-games, food, anxiety, computer-games, tattoos, salads.
It's simply hard to simply roll
with the tropical, arctic, deciduous
punches of your breath-stained
mirror or window you expect
me to windex with sympathy. In my valley
there will be peace. How real the things
that really happen
in the field of the senses! -- how vivid, exact, un-
mistakeably not me! The river spewing most of the time
totally monolithic. Vegetable combinations
in the net of electricity. Amalia Starbird.
The library the forest
again, in derivations
of the sun,
carded, bound - imprinted with sea
and land creatures. Abstracted...
"Soon after his day inscriptions"... we have
washed up alive, a mess but in love with it,
from the stables and the chariots
to the tables and the chairs.
A hand to a city to a hand,
A child, a skyward balloon.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
M-exit
"...where all his songs were in his house on Long Island, and to go and get them."
CUSTOMER RECEIPT
What a gray mountain!
but eating this donut
is a great start
to the morning, --
getting to the filling like penetrating
the madly enfolded histories --
like realizing the Indo-Europeans
really did come from Africa.
Those parents, who hated
rock-n-roll for totally unhinging
the country generations
from control, were electrified
themselves, by Big Band, The Wasteland,
Trouble in Paradise, and still were
right on in their fears -- go figure.
Anyway, yeah man, this donut, is
fuckin' sick -- like Hendrix
in "Watchtower" -- like wandering
that green corridor again, except
all at once.
SONNET
The river-bones of trees relate the tale
With wind like eyes that move the things to life
That sing and speak and tell again the tale
A page of bones a sky relates of life.
We loved the songs our mothers knew of rivers,
And those like night our fathers had of mountains,
And night itself that covered over slivers
The waking waters breaking from the fountain
Made of time we worshiped by the shadows
The moving arms of trees made of the light
While wind became the water in our meadows
To sing of how to bear the day by night.
The birds by now were flotsam on a river
The moving stones the trees made of the river.
Sonnet
Of myself I have heard via mirrors
Of others -- things could be worse. The highway
Keeps its particular distance, Sears-
Starbucks, and like caves, lamp-lots, “thattaway,
If you need them,” they tell me, rippling
In the onset of the helicopter
Parade -- but free to keep a clean house, wing
To wing, in a skull behind windows, sure
Of a place in the shadows, chattering.
A spider over tabletops free-falls,
Ascends the chairs, makes clouds in the ceiling,
Wakes to the news, others' thumps in its walls,
Reflecting my own dimensions, a shelf
Made of listening, at the edge of the self.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Again
This is to say
making a clean
coming down
into the valley
of it, man at rest
in the shadow of
the column,
piece of the urban
predilection,
has he forgotten
jungle music?,
one wonders, walking
out of walls,
man a dreaming
in a place
river: had this been
written somewhere? In it? Well,
here it is, anyway -- big day -- lizard
stepping along the inscriptions,
the park, shattered wake,
people all over the place,
and this to say, I'm not sleeping,
to the river slop -- in a story,
or a reading of it.
It is believed that these men are the very last traditional native singers of epic verses in Europe.
...When news come that Balozi i Zi (black knight) had come from the sea and was killing people, Gjergj gets up and kills the Balozi.
***
Western cultivation began 552 C.E., when agents from Byzantium impersonating monks smuggled silkworms and mulberry leaves out of China
621 Thai words as related to Chinese. But this Sino-Thai common vo-
cabulary, too, bristles with Indo-European stems-. In my opinion
these southern tribes were once the abor4gines of Northern China,
and immigrated to the south because they were not willing to be-
come subjects of the Chinese Empire established by Indo-European
conquerors. Nevertheless, they could not escape since then the in-
fluence of Chinese languages and civilization. Thus, in many cases
it will be difficult to ascertain whether a Thai word is of Sino-Thai
common origin, or a late borrowing from Chinese.
Considering all these linguistic facts, the thesis presents
itself that Old Chinese emerged as a mixed language, though spoken
with Proto-Chinese native tongue, using mainly the Proto-Indo-
European idiom which seems to have stretched from Mongolia to
Europe during the third millennium B.C. in the northern part of .
the temperate zone.
--escaping to the Convent of Quiet Self-Improvement
--"the decorative work is often indecipherable from the architectural units"
--"each power propped up or deposed [by] a rival king"
"...economic migration south, coupled with frequent invasions from the north would create... divide in the [Chinese] psyche based along the [Yangtze] river."
THE RIVERSIDE SCENE IN ...
(((cloud))) --thought--
"they structured their cells along the same lines"
Barret explains that the Mako reactors are sucking
the life out of the planet, which is why they must be destroyed. Cloud says he
doesn't care; he's only in it for the money. Cloud follows Jessie into the
reactor and goes deeper inside. Together with Barret they fight their way to
the entrance of the reactor core. Just as they begin to lay explosive charges,
Cloud clutches his head and a mysterious voice rings in his head.
…
Deeper in the reactor core, Cloud has another spasm. He sees Tifa as
a young girl standing over the dead body of her father in a similar reactor,
she accuses Sephiroth of killing him. She picks up Sephiroth's discarded sword
and runs into the reactor core. Cloud snaps out of the flashback.
…
The President of Shinra appears. He insults them then sets his new weapon
Airbuster on them. Then he leaves. They defeat Airbuster but it explodes
taking out the walkway and Cloud plunges into the city below.
"Christianity and advanced sciences"
"Eco Photo"
Here will be built [Home] {Museum} of Orbelian dynasty
1) My Forest House
2) Peeping
3) DESIRE
rebar in the dust
(like) Augustan age in/at the inn
singing "His Mother"
canoe-coffin
forecastle
(USSR)
"those accused of hoarding food"
Tondrakians --limited divine being (of JC)
--advocated class and social equality... tried to est. by force
(earliest socialists?)
"experienced peasant uprisings"
destroying their castles and property
silkskin bride
"History of Eurasian Amerafrican Music"
Oh, Growin' Up ----- how to talk brightly all day
--Bridget, Cathy/A, Dave
stories/colors/forces <---> scales/instruments/rhythms
gloom & doom
luxury goods market
a shared staircase to our rooms
(3) works that have been lost... Aristotle's Phoenix
music giving presence to presence
pleroma
music as text because expression/continuance of presence becoming, moving forth, off --happening
gramophone satellitedish
intricately ornamented
[[Recovery]]
Chinese Scholartree
Coltrane said he felt that the musicians had been exposed to European concepts and were not exposed to others. Speaking for himself, he sought a well rounded education. [xxxvii]In keeping with the African tradition of improvising on tone quality, Coltrane produced a wide range of sound qualities; from smooth
to guttural, and from robust to shrieking. During his first period, densely organized streams of notes...
bodies/vessels
...center of circular bridge... round outside but square inside
blue water ripples softly (calmed kingdom)
-->dawn - song (is it Strauss?)
Gnosticism holds that the world is controlled by archons, among whom some versions of Gnosticism claim is the deity of the Old Testament, who held aspects of the human captive, either knowingly or accidentally. The heavenly pleroma is the totality of all that is regarded in our understanding of "divine". The pleroma is often referred to as the light existing "above" our world, occupied by spiritual beings who self-emanated from the pleroma. These beings are described as aeons (eternal beings) and sometimes as archons. Jesus is interpreted as an intermediary aeon who was sent, along with his counterpart Sophia, from the pleroma, with whose aid humanity can recover the lost knowledge of the divine origins of humanity and in so doing be brought back into unity with the Pleroma. The term is thus a central element of Gnostic religious cosmology.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Scattering Seeds in the Wake of the Snowmelt
Jacob
"...at that time, it was just the beginning of what you call ancient DNA studies."
"...a woman emerged"
Girl Making Bread
At the window as the water from the roof
Icicles dripped onto the railing icicles,
I considered the house nextdoor's array
Of pipes and the tree across the street's
System of roots. Later I saw a map
Of spontaneous flowers. As he tended
The onions, carrots, and celery on the stove,
Mixed with garlic, with Mediterranean oil,
And with the forest-green lentils of the Levant,
I lifted and pressed, pressed and lifted,
The dough in my hands, in my house,
In a country, singing a song from who knows when.
We shared wine, each with our glasses, philosophizing
The heaven of the womb, as a turning within me noted me.
Native American Graves and Repatriation Act
International Mother Language Day
transcribed from "A Traveler's Prayer Card"
+ the inside of a "Mate de Coca" teabag slip
How is it the flow of the words over space is more
than a product of tone? I dream
"tunneling registers"
as the piece of the script I see creating
a unit of verse
in the mandala scene
of the dream
between dark and the afternoon
on the other side of these mountains
other health systems
as if spontaneously from some cavern
where we do things
and the sounds seem
to come from our insistence on them
like casting again and again into the river.
What was it like for you, brother,
on the other side,
as we grew in different minds
and ages in the cottage in the woods?
Time to catch up. Unpacking
the moments of these years
like undergoing
surgery to benefit another;
but tracking these motions
from town to city,
or of tribes across canyons and mountains,
is like trying to remember
the gestures from second
to second of the hand,
or positions, in each minute,
sitting, walking, returning,
how is it possible?
when the easiest piece
of this day to remember
is the feeling of lying
about her,
in the deep glow of the lamp
reaching under the sheets,
dreaming of our movements,
as we move, talking somewhere in here, too.
Tot-Ale Recall
"Highly-branched," awake, asleep,
or awaking in the train
station, and market, and people
"valley of which you were dreaming"
--everybody's radios going
at the same time -- hard to remember
-- blabble, thoughts, talking;
buying, selling, people;
cogito ergo sum everywhere.
What's central? "Perhaps"
a well-dressed newspaper man,
his associate, Karl,
his woman, Chai;
down the street, hashing out
the day, story --
the case of the missing hat
or adventure
through the old streets
only words bustling
-- through the city, empty
to the temple
--something waking up
riverward, with their savings
--boat waiting!
brightness after sunset
alert/behind
eyes
sleeping
a story
nouns flowing
(when) verb-loved
in the valley
knowing -- purring
women, nutrients
Home Cows Everyherd
--any other nations--
awaking while sleeping
a thought train
station.
***
--morning, Tatev; (song) "Going to Yerevan! La-la"; watering horse
***
Taking Pictures
sun on green stone
keys
birds in the leaves
"shit, forgot sumpin', one sec"
whistling friend, waiting outside the gate
(floral twining of white waves)
printing English
teaching "kids"
***
foothill zones
'...the struggle between "fathers" and "sons" -- which culminated in the victory of the new generation'.... (highly branched)
"before reconstruction"
detail... design... interior... as exterior
"diaries and bespoke"
--uninterpenetratingly
The Old Jest
"soon royals and nobles from Europe and Asia commissioned Smythson..."
"seemed to be more at home in the evening"
Super Mario in the Underground Tavern, "Down is the New Up"
2010 Dream Registration Project
: "I was born in the future"
OCEANIA
Speech is an acoustic reality, writing a visual one. Performance of the former has been
perfected through a million years of natural selection in the evolutionary process. The latter is a
mck which we began to learn only yesterday (in terms of evolutionary time). To "hear" language
(and to "say" it) is programmed in our genes; to "see" it (and "read" it) is not. The job of the
written word is to trigger a memory, if possible automatic, of the sounds of the spoken word.
The Greek alphabet can do this exhaustively with lightning speed and minimum of effort, once the
atomic table has been memorized. The visual operation, which is artificial, is reduced to a
minimum, so much so that &he visual table can be taught to small children completely while they are
still extending the range of their spoken vocabulary. The two meld together, so that "reading" can
become an automatic reflex. No other system so far as I am aware has ever approached this
condition.
I looked around the world "from China to Peru" and concluded that those peoples and
cultures who had adopted the Greek invention had set the pace in the development of law,
literature, science, and philosophy, culminating in the industrial revolution -- had in fact invented
"modernism". Those using other script systems -- Arabic, Hindu, Buddhist, Chinese, Japanese --
had tagged along, employing the alphabetic script in varying degrees of "modernism". The reason
for this is perceived to be that their script systems, of varying character, all in varying degree kept
getting in the way: a barrier between the speech act as it actually sounds and its visualization on
paper. None of them could be imposed easily upon the genes of small children so successfully as
to meld into an automatic reflex at the unconscious level...
...was no duplicate
Westgiving dinner
(Irish gal)
"It is full of Kiwis, that's true... Never went to Brazil; figured it's too big; that's another trip..."
(On Colombia:) "...his relatives were so worried about his safety... wrapped him up in cotton wool..."
"valley... trail of animals..."
Indians/Asians
ROMA PETROL
vellum, veil'em
'...mute reproachful eyes that forsaken gardens and buildings acquire.' (Daniel Martin, p. 82)
BREAD
"Smaller -- that Covered Vision -- Here" -- E. Dickinson
In that picture
was the cloth -- of the white and blue weave -- placed
over a bowl of dough
or covering a head with bright secrets,
or was it the outline of a mountain, with wintry trees?
The Tales and Ways of Cosmas Indicopleustes
"...a dead warrior, stretched him out in his canoe, and so left him to be floated away to the starry archipelagos; for not only do they believe that the stars are isles, but that far beyond all visible horizons, their own mild, uncontinented seas, interflow with the blue heavens; and so form the white breakers of the milky way." (MD)
- galaxy
- late 14c., from O.Fr. galaxie, from L.L. galaxias "Milky Way," from Gk. galaxias (adj.), in galaxias kyklos, lit. "milky circle," from gala (gen. galaktos) "milk" (see lactation). The technical astronomical sense emerged 1848. Figurative sense of "brilliant assembly of persons" is from 1580s. Milky Way is a translation of L. via lactea.
See yonder, lo, the Galaxyë Which men clepeth the Milky Wey, For hit is whyt. [Chaucer, "House of Fame"]
Astronomers began to speculate by mid-19c. that some of the spiral nebulae they could see in telescopes were actually immense and immensely distant structures the size and shape of the Milky Way. But the matter was not settled until the 1920s.
Far from home (again?)
In fact they had stolen
Our alphabet -- that was
Why we were stuck there;
Slaving over pyramids
Was just an excuse, really.
Given, we had made our
Stories from their mess
Of pictures, but had kept
It secret; when they found
Out, they were troublesome
Monsters. But that just
Became part of the story.
Pazyryk_burials
The chief was elaborately decorated with an interlocking series of striking designs representing a variety of fantastic beasts. The best preserved tattoos were images of a donkey, a mountain ram, two highly stylized deer with long antlers and an imaginary carnivore on the right arm. Two monsters resembling griffins decorate the chest, and on the left arm are three partially obliterated images which seem to represent two deer and a mountain goat. On the front of the right leg a fish extends from the foot to the knee. A monster crawls over the right foot, and on the inside of the shin is a series of four running rams which touch each other to form a single design. The left leg also bears tattoos, but these designs could not be clearly distinguished. In addition, the chief's back is tattooed with a series of small circles in line with the vertebral column. This tattooing was probably done for therapeutic reasons. Contemporary Siberian tribesmen still practice tattooing of this kind to relieve back pain.
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