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08 Feb 2010 15:58
The Bewitched Mill1913Franz Marc b.Feb. 8, 1880
February 08, 2010
Sestina Elizabeth Bishop September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the kitchen with the child beside the Little Marvel Stove, reading the jokes from the almanac, laughing and talking to hide her tears.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house and a winding pathway. Then the child puts in a man with buttons like tears and shows it proudly to the grandmother. But secretly, while the grandmother busies herself about the stove, the little moons fall down like tears from between the pages of the almanac into the flower bed the child has carefully placed in the front of the house. Time to plant tears, says the almanac. The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove and the child draws another inscrutable house.
Elizabeth Bishop (8 February 1911 – 6 October 1979)photo by Joseph Breitenbach
Rough Gems David Orr reviews Elizabeth Bishop's Edgar Allan Poe & The Juke-Box: Uncollected Poems, Drafts, and Fragments
You are living in a world created by Elizabeth Bishop. Granted, our culture owes its shape to plenty of other forces — Hollywood, Microsoft, Rachael Ray — but nothing matches the impact of a great artist, and in the second half of the 20th century, no American artist in any medium was greater than Bishop (1911-79). That she worked in one of our country's least popular fields, poetry, doesn't matter. That she was a woman doesn't matter. That she was gay doesn't matter. That she was an alcoholic, an expatriate and essentially an orphan — none of this matters. What matters is that she left behind a body of work that teaches us, as Italo Calvino once said of literature generally, "a method subtle and flexible enough to be the same thing as an absence of any method whatever." The publication of "Edgar Allan Poe & the Juke-Box," which gathers for the first time Bishop's unpublished material, isn't just a significant event in our poetry; it's part of a continuing alteration in the scale of American life.
A Formal, Melancholy Soul: Elizabeth BishopCasey N. Cep
DancingFrom the series 'Forest'Jitka Hanzlová
Into the woods John Berger on Jitka Hanzlovágoogle cache
A forest is what exists between its trees, between its dense undergrowth and its clearings, between all its life cycles and their different timescales, ranging from solar energy to insects that live for a day. A forest is also a meeting place between those who enter it and something unnameable and attendant, waiting behind a tree or in the undergrowth. Something intangible and within touching distance. Neither silent nor audible. It is not only visitors who feel this attendant something; hunters and foresters who can read unwritten signs are even more keenly aware of it. “I went to the forest-hills early in the morning when the forest awakes. Standing there I breathed in the wind, the unruffled voices of the birds and the silence which I love. And then when I was concentrating on a picture, I stopped hearing the silence around me. “It was as if I was somewhere else, like in a film. The forest started to move and, as I looked through the camera, I experienced fear. Maybe it was just the framing and the stillness of the evening. As if the birds and the crickets had stopped their singing, as if the wind had come to a stop in the valley. Nothing but nothing to hear. No birds, no wind, no people, no crickets. “The darkness of the light and this other silence made my hair stand on end . . . I could not exactly place the fear, but it was coming from the inside. It was the first time I felt this so intensely, but not the last. I escaped! What’s the basis of this fear of mine? Why? I’m not afraid of animals or of the forest. The place is safe.”
Forest #II Pavel Banka
The Anatomy of Melancholy Robert Burtonb. Feb. 8, 1577
That men are so misaffected, melancholy, mad, giddy-headed, hear the testimony of Solomon, Eccl. ii. 12. "And I turned to behold wisdom, madness and folly," &c. And ver. 23: "All his days are sorrow, his travel grief, and his heart taketh no rest in the night." So that take melancholy in what sense you will, properly or improperly, in disposition or habit, for pleasure or for pain, dotage, discontent, fear, sorrow, madness, for part, or all, truly, or metaphorically, 'tis all one. Laughter itself is madness ....
Visits to St. Elizabeths Elizabeth Bishop
These are the years and the walls of the ward, the winds and clouds of the sea of board sailed by the sailor wearing the watch that tells the time of the cranky man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a Jew in a newspaper hat that dances weeping down the ward over the creaking sea of board beyond the sailor winding his watch that tells the time of the cruel man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a world of books gone flat. This is a Jew in a newspaper hat that dances weeping down the ward over the creaking sea of board of the batty sailor that winds his watch that tells the time of the busy man that lies in the house of Bedlam.
Lucas Foglia
Hallucinations of Invisibility From Silence to Delirium Ted Hiebertctheory
A delirious silence -- the sound of negative space. Inverting presence along with its reflections. Also, and more importantly, inverting absence. And its reflections too. The limits of a reasonable thinking are those that break down when confronted with reflected absence. A confounding assertion in that it refers no longer to the impossibility of presence, but also the impossibility of absence itself. An unavoidable and inexhaustible presence of nothingness. The delirious image -- no longer the image of reflected worlds, but the impossible image of inverted reflection. Between selfless self-portraits and portraits of selflessness, not a void but the paradoxical variations of reflected play. Figures of inversion, absurd and delirious. A silent cacophony of tongue-less twisters. At the limits of a reason of this sort lies, not only silence but also the irrational and its various formulations. And to rise to this challenge, three theses. The thesis of the absurd, Camus' silent universe and Regine Robin's Vampire Narcissus. The thesis of paradox, Virilio's world of sightless vision and the myth of the nymph Echo. And the thesis of delirium, Baudrillard's world of holographic thinking and Echo turned vampire. Consequently, a theorizing of the signs of inversion and impossibility -- reformulating a world that is no longer reasonable; a world that is transformed, from silence to delirium. (...) We are no longer in the process of disappearing. Rather, we have already disappeared. Everywhere we look for signs, not that we are still here, but that our disappearance was not inevitable -- that it 'could have been' different -- as though if we had somewhere made a mistake we could live with the consequences. Yet if such could ever have been the case there is no trace of it left. What we encounter is not an acceleration towards disappearance but only the realization that we never were. It is not our disappearance that was evitable -- but only our appearance in the first place. We encounter ourselves now -- indivisible from the world. We have become bicameral but not in the sense used by Jaynes -- rather precisely the inverse. It is not that we have once more begun to hear voices -- but rather that we are merely the voices themselves. An invisible race in a delirious world. Not merely cut off from the world, but for the first time indistinguishable from it. Perhaps for the first time truly alive. From here it is useless to try to remember the life we knew before. With a delirious mind now we must proceed only to forget. And so we come full circle from where we began. It is no longer us asking the universe for the meaning of life, but the universe who quietly asks us. With a smile, but without irony, we reply simply that we have forgotten.
Armed Joy Alfredo M. Bonanno Translated by Jean Weir
Let's be done with waiting, doubts, dreams of social peace, little compromises and naivety. All metaphorical rubbish supplied to us in the shops of capitalism. Let's put aside the great analyses that explain everything down to the most minute detail. Huge volumes filled with common sense and fear. Let's put aside democratic and bourgeois illusions of discussion and dialogue, debate and assembly and the enlightened capabilities of the Mafiosi bosses. Let's put aside the wisdom that the bourgeois work ethic has dug into our hearts. Let's put aside the centuries of Christianity that have educated us to sacrifice and obedience. Let's put aside priests, bosses, revolutionary leaders, less revolutionary ones and those who aren't revolutionary at all. Let's put aside numbers, illusions of quantity, the laws of the market. Let us sit for a moment on the ruins of the history of the persecuted, and reflect.The world does not belong to us. If it has a master who is stupid enough to want it the way it is, let him have it. Let him count the ruins in the place of buildings, the graveyards in the place of cities, the mud in the place of rivers and the putrid sludge in the place of seas. The greatest conjuring spectacle in the world no longer enchants us.We are certain that communities of joy will emerge from our struggle here and now. And for the first time life will triumph over death.
Alfredo M. Bonanno in the Anarchist Library
Mullion BayPeter Lanyon b. Feb. 1918
The MapElizabeth Bishop
Mapped waters are more quiet than the land is, lending the land their waves' own conformation: and Norway's hare runs south in agitation, profiles investigate the sea, where land is. Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors? -What suits the character or the native waters best. Topography displays no favorites; North's as near as West. More delicate than the historians' are the map-makers' colors.
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05 Feb 2010 14:24
Anton Mauve
d. Feb. 5 1888February 05, 2010
La Lecture du bréviaire
1845
Carl Spitzweg
b. Feb. 5, 1808_______________________ 'Why are you weeping?' said Bembel Rudzuk.
'I am suffering from an attack of history,' I said.
'It will pass,' said Bembel Rudzuk.
- Pilgermann, Russell Hoban, b. Feb 4 1925_______________________
The Lens of Images
David CoxDesire, Commodities, Media and Hacking
Images are themselves a lens on the culture which makes them. Walter Benjamin was both right and wrong about art in the age of mechanical reproduction. Right in that as images proliferate from spectacle, their overall value depreciates. Wrong in that manufactured images are worth less than their real world referent. As manufactured goods accelerate away from the decade in which they were made, they themselves gain a kind of new cultural value. Some commodities seem to accrue more cultural gravitas than others. The dodgiest of global trade in junk, the antique market bears testimony to the ways in which even the most trivial of manufactured items can become obscure objects of desire once made to enter the domain commodity relations.
(....)The Worm Hole Theory of Collage
William Burroughs insisted that his cut-up works of writing had properties of prediction about them. Implicit within this idea is that collage is a kind of dimensional travel, where intended meanings become disrupted so radically that the act of reworking words in a newspaper article or shots in a film actually disrupts the time/space continuum. Try showing a collage work to anyone not up with radical postmodernism and just sit back and wait for the questions about authorship, ownership, copyright and other methods of psychological police torture in the service of the State and Capital....(more)_______________________
William S. Burroughs Films and sound filesubuwebQuick Fix
William S. Burroughs
b. february 5, 1914
(....)We are all not that much better than new earth aches.
There is no place else to go
The theater is closed
There is no place else to go
The theater is closed
Cut word lines
Cut music lines
Smash the control images
Smash the control machine.
...(more)_______________________ 
Winterlude
Ottawa
February 5-21, 2010
photo - mw_______________________
17 Reasons Why . . . . . . I Love the Work of Michael McClure!
Steven Fama
the glade of theoric ornithic hermetica12.
The Steinian repetition in “Stanzas From Maui”
(1991)
Of course, repetition, especially when used (forgive me) repeatedly, also hearkens back to Gertrude Stein, she of the tripled rose, and character studies in which repetition, and repetition with variation, are key principles. In The Making of Americans, a masterwork of repetition, Stein (via her narrator) insists that repetition is both ubiquitous, important for a full understanding, and way of expression that is loved by most. Of course, these points are made in part via . . . repetition! Take a minute and groove with Gertrude:As I was saying every one always is repeating the whole of them. As I was saying sometimes it takes many years of listening, seeing, living, feeling, loving the repeating that is in some before one comes to a completed understanding in them, the repeating coming out of them. This is now a description, of a way of hearing, seeing, living, feeling, loving repetition.
Stein in The Making of Americans goes on as in this quotation, regarding repeating, for paragraph after paragraph, page after page. The bit set out above is actually just a taste: it comes from around the middle of an approximately 20 page passage that repeatedly repeats regarding repetition!Mostly every one loves some one’s repeating. Mostly every one then, comes to know then the being of some one by loving the repeating in them, the repeating coming out of them. This is now a history of getting completed understanding by loving repeating in every one the repeating that is always coming out of them . . . .
McClure’s use of repetition in “Stanzas From Maui” is not nearly as intense as the example from Stein (what could be?), but it is intense. Here’s a sequence, from near the end of the poem, in which the repetition, and much else, is especially vibrant:THIS IS SPONTANEOUS AND PLANNED
SPONTANEOUS AND PLANNED
as the wave ruffle, wave ruffle, wave ruffle, ripple
ripple, payload, payload, payload
of tiny shells, tiny tiny shells in the surf lap
tiny tiny shells in the blue warm surf lap
when you pick up a handful
when you bend, plunge hands into the surf,
and pick up a handful
of tiny shells in the surf lap
pick up a handful of tiny shells and hold them to the sun
–all tiny shapes and colors–pink, mauve, brown and foamy
–pink mauve white brown, blue flash, silver foaming, and hold them to the sun
hold them to the sun
hold them to the sun
hold them to the sun
hold them to the sun
hold these shells upward to the sun
hold these shells upward to the sun
shells upward to the sun
shells upward to the sun
shells upward to the sun
hold these shells upward to the sun
outward in your hand
OUTWARD IN YOUR HAND
UPWARD IN YOUR HAND AND PALM
UPWARD IN YOUR HAND AND PALM
This has most Steinian feel to it, I think, and I also think it works extremely well. Here’s a poet falling in love, or re-living in language the moment when love exploded in blossom, the building of thought and emotion. These lines read almost as a slo-mo film, with many frames repeated, would look. Gertrude, I believe, would love it madly, and I hope you do too! ...(more)_______________________ 
_______________________ More and more I find that life is a series of disappearances followed usually but not always by reappearances; you disappear from your morning self and reappear as your afternoon self; you disappear from feeling good and reappear feeling bad. And people, even face to face and clasped in each other's arms, disappear from each other.
- Russell Hoban, Fremder_______________________ Wittgenstein's Ladder
David Lehman“My propositions serve as elucidations in the following way: anyone who understands them eventually recognizes them as nonsensical, when he has used them––as steps––to climb up beyond them. (He must, so to speak, throw away the ladder after he has climbed up it.)”
1.
- Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus
The first time I met Wittgenstein, I was
late. “The traffic was murder,” I explained.
He spent the next forty-five minutes
analyzing this sentence. Then he was silent.
I wondered why he had chosen a water tower
for our meeting. I also wondered how
I would leave, since the ladder I had used
To climb up here ha fallen to the ground.
(....)4.
On leave in Vienna in August 1918
he assembled his notebook entries
into the Tractatus. Realizing it provided
the definitive solution to all the problems
of philosophy, he decided to broaden
his interests. He became a schoolteacher,
then a gardener’s assistant at a monastery
near Vienna. He took up architecture.
...(more)_______________________
Adam’s Family Jewels
Tibor Krausz
Killing the BuddhaIt’s time to face up to it: Just as the unadulterated originals of popular folk tales collected by the Brothers Grimm were often sadistic, scatological and pornographic (no, Prince Charming didn’t wake up Sleeping Beauty with just a kiss), so too the Bible is no innocent bedtime story. It isn’t a fount of moral clarity, either.
_______________________ 
photo - mw
February 04, 2010
Kelmscott Manor: Attics
1896
Frederick H. Evans
1853-1943
12A Record of Emotion: The Photographs of Frederick H. Evans
the Getty Center.
via_______________________
mad cartographer (PoemTalk #28) Julia Bloch, CA Conrad, Rachel Blau DuPlessis and Al Filreis on Spicer's Psychoanalysis: An ElegyPsychoanalysis: An Elegy
Jack Spicer
(....)What are you thinking?
I am thinking of how many times this poem
Will be repeated. How many summers
Will torture California
Until the damned maps burn
Until the mad cartographer
Falls to the ground and possesses
The sweet thick earth from which he has been hiding.
What are you thinking now?
I am thinking that a poem could go on forever.
...(more)_______________________ 
Sea and Sky and Sand
1899
Frederick H. Evans_______________________
Of the Smashing of Ripe Quinces: Notes on Stefan GeorgeSpeak not always
Of the leaves ·
Violent breeze ·
Of the smashing
Of ripe quinces ·
Of the coming
Of destroyers
At year's end.
Of the quiver
Of the darters
In bad weather
And the lights
With the flicker
Transient.
Stefan George
translated by Justin E. H. Smith
Justin E. H. SmithIf I confess a sympathy for what Stefan George called 'pure aestheticism' in poetry, this is not because I believe myself to be above politics, but because I believe that poetry is above current events, and by 'current' I mean whatever social world human beings have managed to throw together for themselves, for now, until it comes apart. Leave engagement with that to prose, which is to say to the vastly greater part of what language does in this, what Walter Benjamin rightly called our 'prosaic age'....(more)
_______________________ 
Wells Cathedral: A Sea of Steps
Frederick H. Evans 1903_______________________
Geneses, Genealogies, Genres, and Genius:
The Secrets of the Archive
Jacques Derrida
Translated by Beverley Bie Brahic
aaaarg - free reg. req.That this Omnipotence-other deprives us, in the name of literature, of the right or the power to choose between literature and non-literature, between fiction and documentary, is a new state of affairs in the world and in the history of humanity. The consequences and implications are mind-boggling. Not just in the realm of law (for even the genesis of the law is at stake here). The situation's givens are unfathomable and fascinating for a great national Library to which are entrusted, like so many challenges, archives whose status as literature we are hard put to decide upon, whether that which is legitimately classified, and legally copyr ighted in the category of 'literature', does or does not shelter reliable references to what occurred 'in reality ', an object therefore for historians or biographers; or whether it even tallies, thanks to a homonymy ever ready to trick us, with realities indexed as such in documents of a testimonial or testamentary nature. The librarian will always find it difficult to decide if the referent of such and such a text and document is real or fictional, or in the case of the texts of dreams, even more undecided between reality and fiction, unemployed materials, if I may say, or materials not yet literary with an eye to literature, available for literature explicitly or implicitly destined to be put to literar; work, therefore already literary though not yet literary etc. Those who, here in this room or among her friends, readers or admirers, are already familiar with the Cixous archive know to what degree in her case especially, more than elsewhere, such problems are and will become increasingly crucial, forever insoluble perhaps, thus at the heart of indecidability, cooperating in a decisive manner with the problematisation, elaboration, transformation and renewal of all these questions. These are practical questions, certes, practical first of all in the technical sense of the term (classification, dating, categorising, cataloguing, delimiting the internal boundaries of the corpus) , but also practical questions in the ethical or deontological sense of the term (what has one the right to classify as literary fiction or as non-literary document? Who authorises whom to unveil what of the secret or of the non-secret in a public work of literature? Who authorises whom and authorises himself what in order to permit the divulging of such and such identifiable filiations or relationships in the genesis of the work employing private non-literary documents (dreams and letters, for instance) it has been legally decided will never or not for decades enter the public domain, etc.?).
_______________________
Only Poems Can Translate Poems:
On the Impossibility and Necessity of Translation
Ellen Welcker
The Quarterly Conversation_______________________
The Work of Inner Speech
A Word is the Search for It, part 2
an essay by Mark Willis (1998-2001)
a blind flaneurInner speech is not the antecedent of external speech, nor is it merely the reproduction of external speech in memory. In differentiating them, Vygotsky insisted that inner and external speech operate in conjunction. As external speech is the materialization of thought into words, inner speech is the sublimation of words into thought. “In external speech thought is embodied in words; in inner speech words die as they bring forth thought,” Vygotsky wrote. Evoking the image of Mandelstam’s blind swallow, he described inner speech as “a dynamic, shifting, unstable thing, fluttering between word and thought”.
A Word is the Search for It part 1234
A chance encounter with Osip Mandelstam on the streets of Voronezh, the provincial city where he was exiled in 1934-36, would have revealed some of the behaviors Vygotsky observed in his experiments. Mandelstam composed verse in the workshop of inner speech. The best indication that he actually was writing was the silent movement of his lips as he walked about. Even with his longer prose works, he seldom wrote directly on paper. Mandelstam evinced a blithe indifference to written texts not uncommon among Russians in the Stalin era.
Nadezhda Yakovlevna would write down his daily output of words at the end of the walk. He trusted her, Akhmatova, and the secret police to keep track of his manuscripts. Nadezhda Yakovlevna knew Mandelstam’s work intimately, and her memoirs are filled with insight about his writing process. She evidently read Vygotsky’s book in the 1960s, for she mentions it (mistakenly reversing the title as Language and Thought) in her sole reference to the psychologist. In Hope Against Hope she quotes “The Swallow” and describes Mandelstam’s composition process in terms that parallel Vygotsky’s concept of inner speech:The process of composing verse also involves the recollection of something that has never before been said, and the search for lost words is an attempt to remember what is still to be brought into being (”I have forgotten the word I wished to say, like a blind swallow it will return to the abode of shadows.” ) This requires great concentration, till whatever has been forgotten suddenly flashes into the mind. In the first stage the lips move soundlessly, then they begin to whisper and at last the inner music resolves itself into units of meaning: the recollection is developed like the image on a photographic plate.
...(more)_______________________
Salinger links
assembled by Ron Silliman_______________________
It Feels So Good To Help
Michael Shaw
bagnews
"What happens to poor countries when they embrace free trade? In Haiti in 1986 we imported just 7000 tons of rice, the main staple food of the country. The vast majority was grown in Haiti. In the late 1980s Haiti complied with free trade policies advocated by the international lending agencies and lifted tariffs on rice imports. Cheaper rice immediately flooded in from the United States where the rice industry is subsidized.
In fact the liberalization of Haiti's market coincided with the 1985 Farm Bill in the United States which increased subsidies to the rice industry so that 40% of U.S. rice growers' profits came from the government by 1987. Haiti's peasant farmers could not possibly compete. By 1996 Haiti was importing 196,000 tons of foreign rice at the cost of $100 million a year. Haitian rice production became negligible. Once the dependence on foreign rice was complete, import prices began to rise, leaving Haiti's population, particularly the urban poor, completely at the whim of rising world grain prices. And the prices continue to rise."
- from: Eyes of the Heart: Seeking a Path for the Poor in the Age of Globalization by Jean-Bertrand Aristide. March, 2000.
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02 Feb 2010 19:10
"the only known photograph of God"Thomas Merton
February 02, 2010
The Memories of Angels
Luc Bourdon's tribute to Montreal in the 50's and 60's
NFB
80 min 23 s_______________________ Passage
Rae Armantrout
1
I held the framework
of my life in mind
with some precision.
I knew when I was
where — or where I was
when — but not many
incidents of my past had
actually been preserved.
Instead the frame served
as a cargo cult runway,
forever inviting
the future to appear.
I existed finally
as the idea
of temporal extension.
...(more)..................................................... Interview with Rae Armantrout
Chicago Weekly BlogMuch of the found language in your poems is familiar to the reader, or evokes familiar contexts. Since your poems display “the interventions of capitalism into consciousness” (to quote your interview with Lyn Hejinian), they seem to alter those contexts for your readers: illuminating, problematizing, re-enchanting, questioning. Do you see your use of familiar language as aiding or instructing readers to see those words and contexts differently?
Rae Armantrout at The Poetry Foundation and PennSound
Yes, in a way. I don’t want to be pedantic. I’m just trying to recreate for the reader the experience I had. If something made me do a double take, I want to make the reader look twice too. I guess one example might be these lines from my poem “Integer” (in Versed).These temporary credits
Those words were lifted directly from my phone bill. I was in a state of mind which allowed me to hear their somewhat ominous tone. Is this our modern version of “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may?” I guess I wanted to reader to hear that too. In the larger poem that section occurs in relation to a consideration of reflection in general....(more)
will no longer be reflected
in your next billing period._______________________ 
_______________________
Head Weight
David Albahari
Translated from SerbianSerbian by Ellen Elias-Bursac
words without bordersIn all honesty, Ruben was at a loss to explain what was happening to him. He told his friends and family a story about feeling tired and drained, while he in himself saw a different sort of picture: somebody, who knows who, some huge and powerful being was squeezing him the way the last squirts of toothpaste are squeezed from a toothpaste tube. The crush of those huge fingers, the blunt thumb and the slightly angular index finger, produced so much pain at times in Ruben that, lying in bed, or mid-stride, he could barely hold back his screams. His life, he realized one morning, had become, over time, anticipation of pain, as if nothing else mattered and as if the pain had become a measure for all that shaped his life. His visits to doctors produced no tangible results, all his test results were fine, or, at the very worst, on the border, but never beyond it, over onto the other side.
"From a physiological perspective," a doctor told him, "your health may not be the best it has ever been, but close to it, at least as far as your body is concerned." He added, "You have nothing to worry about."
"What should I do, then," asked Ruben, "which direction should I take?"...(more)_______________________
Otoliths - sixteenLa Libertad
Guillermo Castro Two Poems
Guillermo Castro
“Soiled as the grass” warbled Ana Belén in my dream
And who am I to argue with my subconscious?
Though I did not actually wake up soiled
Thank you Marlboro Lights
For masking my own musky smell
Let smoke rings twist and disappear freely
In front of my stern black shades
While the little boy in a tie-dye top
Stumbles toward the breakers
With his two gray-haired mommies in tow
A cloud moves the light changes two prepubescent cliques
Go by and I’m back at my deeply scarred
Desk in the third grade enraptured by the tale
Of the flamingos who showed up late to the dance
Wearing snake skin stockings
That did not fly with the hosts
Coral snakes as it turned out
So careful where you go dancing
And check with your hosts about proper attire
Lest they bite you on the legs until they bleed and burn
But not me I love legs
Especially those attached to Pilobolus dancers
Gliding across the stage on their bellies
By way of the oldest trick in childhood
The sheet of plastic doused with a garden hose
I’m reminded of that Ashbery line
About what keeps the ocean from sliding off the planet
And that nincompoop at work who thinks global warming is “crock”
...(more)_______________________ 
A long slow look…
text and photos by Marla Leigh Caplan
Camera ObscuraIn my recent work, I have been engaged in an obsessive investigation into notions of artifice and the construction of beauty. The photographs in the Vanitas series are sets in which elaborate and eventually rotting botanical arrangements are installed in front of various photographic backdrops, mirrors, and windows. The images simultaneously look inside and out, with elements of reflection confusing the distinction between interior and exterior spaces and presenting multiple points of view. I am interested in a certain ambiguity in pictures where the collapse of foreground and background onto one plane suggests our perceptions of the world can be layered in one moment. Testing assumptions of belief and photographic truth, the images continue to give evidence of scenarios that never actually existed. They are absolutely literal, and yet continue to resist a precise meaning.
_______________________
ARCP 7: Lacan and Critical Psychology
Annual Review of Critical PsychologyPart 1 consists of articles that are addressed directly to questions of the applicability of a specifically Lacanian psychoanalysis to critical disciplines. Authors of these articles present concerned analyses and considerations of the effects upon the discipline(s) of an engagement with Lacanian psychoanalysis. Part 2 consists of articles that take a particular concept of Lacan’s and interrogate it for its utility, effects, and consequences for critical research. Part 3 consists of articles that present critical research and/or practice that incorporates a wholly or partially Lacanian informed methodology. Part 4 consists of two review essays that - far from presenting any merely straightforward ‘book review’ - crucially engage with the problematic involvement of Lacan with critical psychology. Finally, Part 5 of this volume consists of two interviews: one with Slavoj Žižek conducted by Ian Parker, and the other with Karolos Kambelopoulos conducted by Ian Parker, Erica Burman and Stavros Psaroudakis.
_______________________
Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
Ludwig Wittgenstein
Translated by D. F. Pears and B. F. McGuinness
aaaarg - reg. req.from Wittgenstein's introduction
The book deals with the problems of philosophy, and shows, I believe, that the reason why these problems are posed is that the logic of our language is misunderstood. The whole sense of the book might be summed up in the following words: what can be said at all can be said clearly, and what we cannot talk about we must pass over in silence.
Thus the aim of the book is to draw a limit to thought, or rather—not to thought, but to the expression of thoughts: for in order to be able to draw a limit to thought, we should have to find both sides of the limit thinkable (i.e. we should have to be able to think what cannot be thought).
It will therefore only be in language that the limit can be drawn, and what lies on the other side of the limit will simply be nonsense._______________________ 
Still Waters: The Poetry of P.K. Page
Donald Winkler
1990
NFB
38 min 2 s_______________________
Howard Zinn remembered in The Progressive..................................................... Saying goodbye to my friend Howard Zinn
Alice WalkerI was Howard’s student for only a semester, but in fact, I have learned from him all my life. His way with resistance: steady, persistent, impersonal, often with humor, is a teaching I cherish. Whenever I’ve been arrested, I’ve thought of him. I see policemen as victims of the very system they’re hired to defend, as I know he did. I see soldiers in the same way. (....)
The question remains: Where do our friends and loved ones go when they die?
They can’t all go back to Boston, or wherever they’ve lived their most intense life.
I fell asleep, after leaking tears for Howie most of the day: my sweetheart’s shirt was luckily absorbent and available to me, and after tossing and turning almost all night, I had the following dream: We (Someone and I) were looking for the place we go to when we die. After quite a long walk, we encountered it. What we saw was this astonishingly gigantic collection of people and creatures: birds and foxes, butterflies and dogs, cats and beings I’ve never seen awake, and they were moving toward us in total joy at our coming. We were happy too. But there was nothing to support any of us, no land, no water, nothing. We ourselves were all of it: our own earth. And I woke up knowing that this is where we go when we die. We go back to where we came from: inside all of us....(more)
via languagehat_______________________
A Tale of Two Cities
The Vancouver you see, and the one you don’t
Gary Stephen Ross
Photographs by Grant HarderAny city of consequence is, from the outside, a lamination of clichés; Vancouver, even more than most places, lends itself to spoof. The melodramatic views, the dependable wackiness of local (and provincial) politics, the green roofs and sustainably harvested spot prawns and Critical Mass cycling rallies, and, especially, the alternating smugness and insecurity of the citizenry: what’s not to parody? Everything’s in 3-D. You want drug addiction and wrenching, in-your-face psychosis the likes of which you’ll find nowhere else? Stroll through the Downtown Eastside, a twenty-square-block human zoo. Want to visit an Asian enclave that’s a cyberlike parallel universe? Check out the Aberdeen mall in Richmond, south of the city proper: two solitudes, Pacific variety. Think you’ve got a cool urban recreational space where you live? Try the spectacular, 400-hectare promontory called Stanley Park, with its bald eagles, heron rookery, and ever-shifting vistas of ocean, mountains, and container ships at anchor, awaiting their turn at the gateway to the Pacific Rim.
The trouble with clichés, of course, is that they heighten reality while bleeding it of subtlety. And so it’s possible to be startled by Vancouver, right there in front of you, but not quite take it in, as you do a killer whale that breaches suddenly, once, before disappearing; or to admire the city without seeing beyond its fetching outline, as you might a server at Cactus Club, a “casual fine dining” chain staffed by lush young women in low-cut black dresses, some of whom are no doubt putting themselves through medical school....(more)_______________________ ...as the world’s attention shifts from financial rescue to financial reform, the quiet success stories deserve at least as much attention as the spectacular failures. We need to learn from those countries that evidently did it right. And leading that list is our neighbor to the north. Right now, Canada is a very important role model.(....)
...when things fell apart, the consequences were very different here and there. In the United States, mortgage defaults soared, some major financial institutions collapsed, and others survived only thanks to huge government bailouts. In Canada, none of that happened. What did the Canadians do differently?
- Paul Krugman_______________________ 
Madame Tutli-Putli
confronts her demons
Chris Lavis & Maciek Szczerbowski
2007
national film board
17 min 15 s_______________________
Words Without Borders
February 2010: (Worth) Ten Thousand Words, Part IV: International Graphic Novels
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01 Feb 2010 09:04
photo - mw
February 01, 2010
photo - mw_______________________ "To rule forever," continues the Chinaman, later, "it is necessary only to create, among the people one would rule, what we call...Bad History. Nothing will produce Bad History more directly nor brutally, than drawing a Line, in particular a Right Line, the very Shape of Contempt, through the midst of a People,-- to create thus a Distinction betwixt 'em,-- 'tis the first stroke.-- All else will follow as if predestin'd, unto War and Devastation."
- Pynchon, Mason & Dixon_______________________ Taking Shade with Buddha
deaddrunkdublin
Mark Murphyaffinity We are the public statues, stirring, stirring in the town squares at night. We are private beings, moving, moving through this public space. We are strangers in the head, clutching, clutching at our ribboned hats. We are Ithaka’s wings, moving, moving in the scattered breeze. We are the Bronte sisters, dreaming, dreaming of dying, always dying. We are Anne, Emily and Charlotte, moving, moving through the graveyard of our father’s ministry. We are the bronchial children, playing, playing in the grounds of the Parsonage. We are the breathing ghosts, moving, moving, breathing and moving in the dark. We are the human creature, crying, crying, treading the boards thin. We are Balzac’s cloak, moving, moving unceasingly in the night wind.
_______________________
Sonnets
Camille MartinMore than fourteen lines
James Mc Laughlin reviews Camille Martin's Sonnets
Stride MagazineWhen I first read the title Sonnets my experimentalist conditionings began to freeze frame as if hit by a medieval Petrarchan truck driven by a deranged and groping John Donne. 'Oh no, holy sonnets,' I'm thinking, recalling a rather dry lecture on the vagaries and wonders of the Italian job as opposed to the Spenserian job. I'm remembering counting iambs and pentameters and recalling the rules: first eight lines of octave abbaabba - followed by six lines or 'sestet'. I'm shouting to the mirror 'Milton thou thoudest be living at this hour!'; I'm calling to the God of Shakespeare 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day!'; I'm saying 'look Stella we can't go into this right now'. I calm down and have a few Saint John's and a Cap Colombie. Then I'm thinking no! It's an experimentalist ruse, subterfuge, scam, deception, ploy, stunt - as the thesaurus offers: that it won't be real sonnets but just fourteen lines of true experimentalist experimentation to experiment with. Aaaaand no it's not this either - but something quite unique.
If you are familiar with Camille Martin's work: the collages, the poems, the essays, the interests, the troubled experiences, then you will know that you don't need to count to fourteen over and over or do the ab's ab's till the six pack glistens. And that its Sonnets Jim but not as we know it....(more)_______________________ 
_______________________ Let America be America Again
Langston Hughes
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
(....)O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!
Langston Hughes
February 1, 1902 – May 22, 1967
photo by Gordon Parks, Chicago 1941_______________________
Otoliths Sixteen
southern summer, 2010Three Poems
An interview with William Allegrezza
William Allegrezzatwenty 5
my words, the bells on the beach,
the damp suffering ivy clinging to brick,
sometimes grow smooth, sometimes
catch as they fall, and though i
want them to speak past the anguish
into your ear, they are sad, peopled with
wind turned into dream hurricanes
that drown. from my voice, the
lament rises, but memory knocks
when i would call and leads me the
long way round when i would stretch
out my hand. and now i wonder
whose words these are that fill
the lines, that fill everything of mind.
Tom Beckett_______________________
Against Method
Paul Feyerabend
aaaarg - free reg. req.Now it is, of course, possible to simplify the medium in which a scientist works by simplifying its main actors. The history of science, after all, does not just consist of facts and conclusions drawn from facts. It also contains ideas, interpretations off facts, problems created by conflicting interpretations, mistakes, and so on. On closer analysis we even find that science knows no 'bare facts' at all but that the 'facts' that enter our knowledge are already viewed in a certain way and are, therefore, essentially ideational. This being the case, the history of science will be as complex, chaotic, full of mistakes, and entertaining as the ideas it contains, and these ideas in turn will be as complex, chaotic, full of mistakes, and entertaining as are the minds of those who invented them. Conversely, a little brainwashing will go a longway in making the history of science duller, simpler, more uniform, more 'objective' and more easily accessible to treatment by strict and unchangeable rules.
_______________________
Hegel, Haiti and Universal History
Susan Buck-Morss
aaaarg - free reg. req._______________________ 
Siberia
Emile Hyperion Dubuisson_______________________ The Dream Keeper Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamer, Bring me all your Heart melodies That I may wrap them In a blue cloud-cloth Away from the too-rough fingers Of the world. Langston Hughes
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31 Jan 2010 09:11
January 31, 2010
..................................................... I am aware of the need for constant self-revision and growth, leaving behind the renunciations of yesterday and yet in continuity with all my yesterdays. For to cling to the past is to lose one's continuity with the past, since this means clinging to what is no longer there. My ideas are always changing, always moving around one center, and I am always seeing that center, and I am always seeing that center from somewhere else. Hence, I will always be accused of inconsistency. But I will no longer be there to hear the accusation.
- Thomas Merton
Thomas Merton
January 31, 1915 - December 10, 1968I have nothing left to translate
Into the figures of night
Or the pale geometry
Of the fire-birds.
If I once had a wagon of lights to ride in
The axle is broken
The horses are shot.
- Thomas Merton_______________________ 
_______________________
The Library is on Fire
Wood as Cultural Signifier
M.W. BlackburnThe tasks of wood seem endless, and as the substance takes form after form, its cumulative force engenders a collective hallucination: it begins to seem that we, as a species, are the embodiment of industriousness, a people of action who make and make and make, rather than a sentient life force that values stillness and solitude (which is what the library requires and what the woods permit). "A dictionary begins when it no longer gives the meaning of words, but their tasks," states Georges Bataille in his one paragraph essay/entry "Formless" from Visions of Excess.(....)
But what do we do with this information-- that the nature of objects can be as abstract and liquid as words? When the primacy of objects -- the authority of things -- is destabilized, what changes in our daily reality? Is there a renewed sense of agency -- that we triumph despite a constant flux -- or is there a deeper dread, that survival is contingent on an ever-shifting utilization of material accident? Seventy odd years ago, when the code became prophetic and the forest burned, was it fear of the body terrorized that made Char want to claim the primacy of words, alone? I imagine that objects -- shrapnel, corpses, shelters, and bodies -- are so psychologically freighted in battle -- that it feels necessary to sublimate one's attachment to these soft vulnerable carapaces -- to deny all objects and laud the word. This way in which Char -- in a kind of projected grief -- created a beautiful and false pillar of abstraction to cling to reminds me of the obverse -- twin and twisting tree houses built of driftwood on the coast of California. A father built the tree houses when his son died at sea. They towered up fragile -- a careening and rickety wood helix -- but they did not protect and could not preserve anything that had been lost, flesh or word. The world still existed beyond the tree house and the coast -- furious and charged, shaking....(more)
_______________________ 
_______________________
On Transience
Sigmund Freud
Translation by James StracheyMourning over the loss of something that we have loved or admired seems so natural to the layman that he regards it as self-evident. But to psychologists mourning is a great riddle, one of those phenomena which cannot themselves be explained but to which other obscurities can be traced back. We possess, as it seems, a certain amount of capacity for love—what we call libido—which in the earliest stages of development is directed towards our own ego. Later, though still at a very early time, this libido is diverted from the ego on to objects, which are thus in a sense taken into our ego. If the objects are destroyed or if they are lost to us, our capacity for love (our libido) is once more liberated; and it can then either take other objects instead or can temporarily return to the ego. But why it is that this detachment of libido from its objects should be such a painful process is a mystery to us and we have not hitherto been able to frame any hypothesis to account for it. We only see that libido clings to its objects and will not renounce those that are lost even when a substitute lies ready to hand. Such then is mourning.
My conversation with the poet took place in the summer before the war. A year later the war broke out and robbed the world of its beauties. It destroyed not only the beauty of the countrysides through which it passed and the works of art which it met with on its path but it also shattered our pride in the achievements of our civilization, our admiration for many philosophers and artists and our hopes of a final triumph over the differences between nations and races. It tarnished the lofty impartiality of our science, it revealed our instincts in all their nakedness and let loose the evil spirits within us which we thought had been tamed for ever by centuries of continuous education by the noblest minds. It made our country small again and made the rest of the world far remote. It robbed us of very much that we had loved, and showed us how ephemeral were many things that we had regarded as changeless.
We cannot be surprised that our libido, thus bereft of so many of its objects, has clung with all the greater intensity to what is left to us....(more)
January 30, 2010
Richard Brautigan
(January 30, 1935 – ca. September 14, 1984)
photo by Erik Weber
1967All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace Richard Brautigan I like to think (and the sooner the better!) of a cybernetic meadow where mammels and computers live together in mutually programming harmony like pure water touching clear sky. I like to think (right now, please!) of a cybernetic forest filled with pines and electronics where deer stroll peacefully past computers as if they were flowers with spinning blossoms. I like to think (it has to be!) of a cybernetic ecology where we are free of our labors and joined back to nature, returned to our mammal brothers and sisters, and all watched over by machines of loving grace.
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30 Jan 2010 07:14
wind chill -26°CJanuary 29, 2010
Trois Marassas/Three Graces George ValrisThe Haitian SpiritIndigo Arts Gallery
This is not a natural disaster storyInformant38
... it's really about getting rid of poverty while keeping the system that creates it, that depends on the mechanisms that create poverty, keeping what's really wrong because it's thrilling when you're on top, it's too powerful to let go of, so we just have to find a way to keep the swine in power and the system churning toward apotheosis. It's like being a cocaine addict, wanting to be one and remaining one, because the exhilaration is impossible to turn down, but eating better and getting enough rest. You know, health and stuff. Poverty's a symptom says Mr. Brooks, and then won't say but implies it's a disease of ignorance and small selfish minds unable to make the change toward participation in Brooks and Co's bravest of the brave newest of the new, worlds. The actual disease isn't as readily described, unfortunately. That Mr. Brooks can't find it in himself to once mention Toussaint L'Ouverture is most telling, or should be. Because that's what's wrong in Haiti. What happened to Toussaint L'Ouverture is what's wrong in Haiti, and here, and everywhere in the capitalist world where poverty's endemic. But seeing that accurately and describing that accurately and demanding it be addressed in substance and at its roots is...is....well it's a demand for socialism is what it is and no way we're getting Mr. David Brooks to talk about socialism with anything but a sneer of disdain. Because it doesn't work and you get loudmouth tinpot dictators like that creep down there whats-his-name uh Chavez. Plus you could talk about the international drug trade, in Haiti, using Haiti like they use Ghana, which trade most of the uninformed still think of as run by swarthy Italians and equally swarthy sort of Colombian/Mexicans. Which impression while understandable is now nothing but purest fiction.
Wilson Bigaud b. 29 January 1931Port-au-Prince
Hegel and Haiti [pdf] Susan Buck-MorssCritical Inquiry, Vol. 26, No. 4. (Summer, 2000)
By the eighteenth century, slavery had become the root metaphor of Western political philosophy, connoting everything that was evil about power re1ations.l Freedom, its conceptual antithesis, was considered by Enlightenment thinkers as the highest and universal political value. Yet this political metaphor began to take root at precisely the time that the economic practice of slavery-the systematic, highly sophisticated capitalist enslavement of non-Europeans as a labor force in the colonies-was increasing quantitatively and intensifying qualitatively to the point that by the mid-eighteenth century it came to underwrite the entire economic system of the West, paradoxically facilitating the global spread of the very Enlightenment ideals that were in such fundamental contradiction to it. This glaring discrepancy between thought and practice marked the period of the transformation of global capitalism from its mercantile to its protoindustrial form. One would think that, surely, no rational, "enlightened" thinker could have failed to notice. But such was not the case. The exploitation of millions of colonial slave laborers was accepted as part of the given world by the very thinkers who proclaimed freedom to be man's natural state and inalienable right. Even when theoretical claims of freedom were transformed into revolutionary action on the political stage, it was possible for the slave-driven colonial economy that functioned behind the scenes to be kept in darkness. If this paradox did not seem to trouble the logical consciousness of contemporaries, it is perhaps more surprising that present-day writers, while fully cognizant of the facts, are still capable of constructing Western histories as coherent narratives of human freedom. The reasons do not need to be intentional. When national histories are conceived as selfcontained, or when the separate aspects of history are treated in disciplinary isolation, counterevidence is pushed to the margins as irrelevant. The greater the specialization of knowledge, the more advanced the level of research, the longer and more venerable the scholarly tradition, the easier it is to ignore discordant facts. It should be noted that specialization and isolation are also a danger for those new disciplines such as African American studies, or new fields such as diaspora studies, that were established precisely to remedy the situation. Disciplinary boundaries allow counterevidence to belong to someone else's story. After all, a scholar cannot be an expert in everything. Reasonable enough. But such arguments are a way of avoiding the awkward truth that if certain constellations of facts are able to enter scholarly consciousness deeply enough, they threaten not only the venerable narratives, but also the entrenched academic disciplines that (re)produce them. For example, there is no place in the university in which the particular research constellation "Hegel and Haiti" would have a home. That is the topic which concerns me here, and I am going to take a circuitous route to reach it. My apologies, but this apparent detour is the argument itself.
Box 3, Spool 5
The Fall of the Rebel AngelsPieter Bruegel
Bruegel’s PresenceLebbeus Woods
Umberto Eco, the theorist, novelist, and Medievalist, has claimed that globalization and the sometimes abrasive melding of peoples and cultures in our time have not yielded a new Classical age in the Enlightenment mode, but rather a new Medieval age, negotiating between chaos and order, seeking a complex, ever-changing balance of competing forces. The emergence of the internet, with its anti-hierarchical form, certainly bears out this point of view. Pieter Bruegel's paintings are more alive today than at any time since he made them. In many ways, he was one of us.
Transmigration of the foolRoger GathmanLimited, Inc.
The Money. The narcissism. The Artificial human. All these themes, and so little time to go through the woods.
Open Veins Of Latin America: Five Centuries Of The Pillage 0f A Continent Eduardo Galeano Translated by Cedric Belfrage
Howard Zinn Aug. 24, 1922 – Jan. 27, 2010
Returning to the Closet (on Raymond Federman) Douglas Messerli Sibila
Now, finally, Ray has been removed from that closet, that coffin-like precursor of death, forever. He has joined the dead by giving up his voice. For us still here, still trapped in each of our personal closets, so to speak, we can only, like "the old man," become lonely and forlorn. We miss that larger than life wise fool so very desperately. And, gathering today, we need to speak of our great emptiness, to share it with others. As Ray himself wrote some time before his death, however, in the humorous and profound short essay, "Reflections on Ways to Improve Death":
The fact that Federman cannot say I am dead. The fact of being unable to speak one's death is the supreme category which abolishes all the others. It is the ultimate category, the category of the unspeakability of death. Whether one dies in bed, dies in one's books, dies with one's boots on, dies on the vine, dies in harness, dies prematurely or in one's sleep, dies in a gas chamber, dies while making love to one's lover, when all is done and said, that is the category of death that has reached total improvement because it can no longer be spoken. Language vanishes into death, and death vanishes into silence. Or is it, vanishes into language, and language into silence?
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27 Jan 2010 02:14
January 26, 2010
Jobless
1928
August Sander
1876 - 1964_______________________
August Sander - A Profile of the People
Hans-Michael KoetzleIn 1910, August Sander began a systematic attempt to portray and typologize his fellow countrymen. The project, undertaken wholly at his own initiative and expense, found support only among his painter friends in the Rhineland area of Germany. His book Antlitz der Zeit was outlawed and partially destroyed by the Nazis in 1936, but Sander's ambitious undertaking today ranks among the most outstanding contributions to the New Objectivity in photography....(more)
Sander's Studio
Cologne
drying corner and enlarger
1930 - 1942_______________________
Threadbare
Eirik Gumeny
Bananafish(....)
Bananafish - Inaugural IssueIchabod cannot see the dragons circling overhead, with scales and fangs and eyes burning crimson. Breathing a fire that could scorch the sun. Ichabod does not see the eagles die.
"This great nation is looking to you for stability, looking to you for hope. You are the ones to return us to our former glory, free from doubt and internal conflict. The ones who will run for public office, take history-making strides in the private sector, the ones who will inherit our country."
Ichabod pollutes the air with optimism and nostalgia and a complete misunderstanding of this life.
"You are the ones to make whole the shattered pieces of our American society. You are the ones to pick up where we left off, to take the steps we cannot."
We are choking on the dried up, burnt out memories of something else, something better.
"You are our pride. Our future."
The liar, the rock star, and the siren. We are Maggie's garden, with heads bowed low.
"I can think of no class, no students, holding more promise than you."
There is a thunderclap of applause, the ground shivering from the sound. We are knee-deep in twitching dust, an endless sky of black clouds trembles before us.
...(more)
via NewPages_______________________ 
Gypsy
August Sander
c. 1930_______________________
The humanitarian myth
Richard SeymourIn effect, the U.S. has staged an invasion of Haiti, under the pretext of providing security for humanitarian aid, and in doing so has prevented the delivery of humanitarian aid. With Haitians in a desperate condition, and the UN-supervised government in dire straits, Washington has sent the International Monetary Fund to offer a $100 million loan, on the proviso that public wages be frozen.
The "security" operation, meanwhile, proceeds apace. As well as U.S. troops, thousands more UN police have been sent to Haiti. Already, UN troops, alongside the Haitian police, have been responsible for several killings, as they have opened fire on starving earthquake survivors who dared to try to retrieve the means of survival from shops and other locations. The US has also insisted that the Haitian government pass an emergency decree authorizing curfews and martial law. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton said that the decree "would give the government an enormous amount of authority, which in practice they would delegate to us."
This process has been facilitated by a flood of alarmist and often racist reporting about "mobs," "looters" and "gangs" causing a "security crisis." A "security crisis" validates a repressive response....(more)_______________________
Haiti in Ink and Tears: A Literary SamplerHold on, it can't be yesterday. Yesterday we weren't open because the mother of one of the girls died. Days and years get scrambled in my mind. I remember everything all at the same time. Us old folks, can we ever mix up places and happenings and memories! We live in a long night with no need to see things in detail since words and actions are constantly melting into elusive colors and sounds. Our night stretches out, unfolding in vagueness, a vast and melancholy mockery of a place outside all chronological constraint, where each fact is a particle on the move. Old people have a special way of celebrating how matter goes on forever, through the baroque art of do-it-yourself, every wound closing and opening again and again. The pathos of capital punishments and last-minute reprieves having lost both charm and glory, the honesty of old age turns out to be the lucid confession of relative values. So, monsieur, perhaps she didn't arrive at that precise moment, but years earlier, during the reign of the great dictator Deceased Forever-Immortal, during the youth of the Prophet, or on that eventful day itself, but a bit earlier or later, when the street already smelled of charred flesh, when the bodies, metals, mud, fire, plastic, and death mingled in a harsh, moist odor of filth, amalgam, and heartbreak.
- Lyonel Trouillot , "Street of Lost Footsteps" (University of Nebraska Press, 2003)._______________________ A City's Death by Fire
After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,
I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar;
Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why
Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?
In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths;
To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath
Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails,
Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.
- - Derek Walcott_______________________ 
Circus Caravan
August Sander
1929_______________________
The Library Of Babel
Lourdes Vázquez
sibilaThe production of artist’s books in the twentieth century is directly related to the political and avant-garde movements. Latin American writers who were part of these movements returned to the exotic beauty of the indigenous codices, the simple forms of medieval literatura de cordel--chapbooks and explore the non-conformist typography of concrete poetry, giving a new vision to book design. Like their counterparts in Europe and the United States, artists and graphic designers experimented with typography, page design and binding. They immersed themselves in mastering techniques such as engraving, woodcut, photography, collage, frottage, photomontage and digital design.
Such collaborations between artists, writers and presses are reflected in Jorge Luis Borges's “The Library of Babel.” Aside from his fame as a writer, Borges viewed himself as a librarian. In his story, Borges contemplates a new definition of the library:“The universe (which others called The Library), is composed of an indefinite, perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries. In the center of each gallery is a ventilation shaft, bounded by a low railing. From any hexagon one can see the floors above and below--one after another, endlessly. The arrangement of the galleries is always the same: Twenty bookshelves, five to each side, line four of the hexagon's six sides; the height of the bookshelves, floor to ceiling, is hardly greater than the height of a normal librarian."
In Borges library there is a mirror, one single mirror, "which faithfully duplicates appearances." One could view this universe with a certain light--"certain spherical fruits" called bulbs, which bathes the books. The universe of the independent presses is composed of indefinite hexagonal galleries that one could walk, such as the history of the publishing and printing, the history of the book, and the history of calligraphy and paper. The history of poetry, art, music, theater, performance and happening are ventilation shafts giving oxygen to these galleries, keeping a perpetual balance between symbol and image. The mirror and light are the many forms that these books assume in the mind and eye of the reader. Breaking free of a restrictive definition, the book become surprise boxes or in the language of Borges "enigmatic books" in the form of a stack of loose-leaf pages, printed, bound, stitched, with mobile artifacts inserted. They can be a portfolio, a codice, or a cylinder, an envelope tied with ribbons or cord, collected perhaps in a box of wood or metal....(more)_______________________ 
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25 Jan 2010 04:00
photo - mw
January 25, 2010
Lounge Painting # 2,
Gila Bend, Arizona
Pictures from the Surface of the Earth
The Photography of Wim Wenders_______________________ Impossible Stories
Wim Wenders
translated by Michael Hofmann
free reg. req.
from The Logic of Images: Essays and ConversationsFor myself - and hence my problems with story - I incline to believe in chaos, in the inexplicable complexity of the events around me. Basically, I think that individual situations are unrelated to each other, and my experience seems to consist entirely of individual situations; I've never yet been involved in a story with a beginning, middle and end. For someone who tells stories this is positively sinful, but I must confess that I have yet to experience a story. I think stories are actually lies. But they are incredibly important to our survival. ... By producing coherence, stories make life bearable and combat fears.
_______________________
Montreal poet Brian Campbell blogs at Out of the WoodworkCONTE
Sky of Ink
Brian Campbell
"Once upon a time," he said.
"Once," he said.
"Upon," he said.
"A time," he said.
"Once."
Why once? Why just once, among at least two hundred billion humans living or dead, sixty-five hundred quadrillion organisms, one thousand decillion octogintillion septenseptuagintillion to the power of googolplexplexplexplexplexplexplex of stars, gas giants, comets, meteors and whirling cold clumps of earth? Why once?
"Upon."
This upon. Upon a time. How upon? A time, especially a time? How can anyone be upon a time?
Why not within? Without? Inside? Out? Under, over, in front of, back of, beside, above, beyond?
"Twice beneath a time."
"Thrice beyond a time."
"One hundred thousand three hundred and forty-six nonagintillion duocentillion sextendecillion times without…"
…a time? Why not space? Space-time time-space space-time times time-space?
Why a? Why not the? Why not beyond above beneath in back of in front of a or the? Why not between a and the?
"Thrice throughout the spaces, two dwarfs and a bear…"
"Forty-nine times within outside a space-time discontinuum, this raven-eyed witch…"
...(more)There is an interview with him at Poetry Quebec.
_______________________ 
Virginia Woolf
January 25, 1882 - March 28, 1941
photo - Gisèle Freund, 1939Virginia Woolf in the Pay of Booksellers
commerce, privacy, professionalism, Orlando.
Patrick Collier
Twentieth Century Literature, Winter, 2002Virginia Woolf's Orlando (1928) stages one of the central conflicts of modernism. It puts into play the opposing impulses of the longing for cultural centrality--"as large and miscellaneous an audience as possible" --and the desire to write a radical language that stretches or subverts the boundaries of signification and whose inaccessibility to most readers can be claimed as a mark of its authenticity. Orlando raises the tension between the urge to decry the institutions of the literary marketplace and the need to master and manipulate those institutions, for prestige and cultural capital if not for popularity per se--between the writer's wish to be heard and her desire to remain true to her artistic ambition, expressed in Orlando as the wish to refine language into an instrument so efficient, capable of conveying such a dense load of meaning, that it can be understood only by the writer herself and a few select others. This tension is complicated by the contours of the literary marketplace, in which the press and the publishing industry mediate between reader and writer, threatening both the writer's freedom to hew to her own aims and her ability to reach her audience (should she decide that doing so is worthwhile)....(more)
_______________________ Song of the Andoumboulou: 50
Nathaniel Mackey(....) We had Come thru there before we were told. Others claiming to be us had come thru... The ubiquitous two lay bound in cloth come down from on high, hoping it so, twist of their raiment steep integument, emollient feel for what might not have been there. Head in the clouds he'd have said of himself, she'd have said elsewhere, his to be above and below, not know or say, hers to be alibi, elegy otherwise known... have said elsernrheren Above and below, limbo what fabric intervened. Limbo the bending they moved in between. Limbo the book of the bent knee... Antiphonal thread attended by thread. Keening string by thrum, inwardness, netherness... Violin strings tied their hair high, limbo the headrags they wore... The admission of cloth that it was cover, what was imminent out of reach, given what went for real, unreal, ...(more)_______________________ 
Song of the Andoumboulou: 23
The "Mired Sublime" of Nathaniel Mackey's Song of the Andoumboulou Paul NaylorPostmodern Culture
Nathaniel Mackey
Postmodern Culture v.5 n.3 (May, 1995)(....) gone, hovered, book, if it was a book, thought wicked with wing-stir, imminent sting... It was the book of having once been there we thumbed, all wish to go back let go, the what-sayer, farther north, insisting a story lay behind the story he complained he couldn't begin to infer... What made him think there was one we wondered, albeit our what almost immediatelv dissolved as we came to a tunnel, the train we took ourselves to be on gone up in smoke, people ever about to get ready, unready, run between what, not-what. And were there one its name was Ever After, a story not behind but in front of where this was, obstinate "were," were obstinate so susceptible, thin etic itch, inextricable demur Beginningless book thought to've unrolled endlessly, more scroll than book, talismanic strum. As if all want were in his holding a note only a half-beat longer, another he was now calling love a big rope, sing less what he did than sing, anagrammic sigh ...(more)The ontogeny and phylogeny of Mackey's song of the Andoumboulou
Matthew A. Lavery
African American Review, Winter, 2004_______________________ 
Ulysses
1947
Robert Motherwell
January 24, 1915 – July 16, 1991_______________________
Pascalian Meditations
Pierre Bourdieu
Translated by Richard Nice
aaaarg - free reg. req.Critique of Scholastic Reason
Postscript I
Impersonal Confessions
(....)I shall speak very little about myself, the singular self, in any case, that Pascal calls 'hateful'. And if I nonetheless never cease to speak about myself, it will be the impersonal self that the most personal confessions pass over in silence, or refuse, on account of its very impersonality. Paradoxically, perhaps nothing nowadays appears more hateful than this interchangeable self that is revealed by the sociologist and socio-analysis (and also, though it is less apparent, and so better tolerated, psychoanalysis). Whereas everything prepares us to enter the regulated exchange of narcissisms, of which a certain literary tradition has established the code, the effort to objectify the 'subject' which we are led to think universal because we have it in common with all those who are the product of the same social conditions encounters violent resistance. Anyone who takes the trouble to break with the self-indulgence of nostalgic evocations in order to make explicit the collective privacy of common experiences, beliefs and schemes of thought, in other words some of the unthought which is almost inevitably absent from the sincerest autobiographies because, being self-evident, it passes unnoticed and, when it surfaces in consciousness, is repressed as unworthy of publication, is liable to offend the narcissism of the reader who feels objectified, despite himself,by proxy and, paradoxically, all the more cruelly the closer he is to the author of the work of objectification - unless the catharsis induced by the awakening of consciousness is expressed, as sometimes happens, in liberated and liberating laughter.
_______________________
Roger Gathman offers some translations from Balawou (Haitti)
news from the zonaThere is a fantastic site, Balawou, that has been publishing reportage and comment since the beginning. Sometimes I get the feeling that for the Americans and the English, the earthquake in Haiti was the equivalent of one hundred thousand house flies being crushed – not the kind of news that should interrupt one’s day, or be allowed to cross one’s blog, especially if you have made an important Deleuzian analysis of Lady Gaga. I however am such an old fashioned humanist that I feel all pinched in my human parts at the hundred thousand crushed houseflies. I'm even questioning the “leftist” credentials of the important Deleuzian analysis of Lady Gaga. I must be going senile....(more)
_______________________ 
Pouring a few drinks
in a room with flowered wallpaper
1908-1912
Erwin E. Smith
(1886-1947)
Cowboy Photographer
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23 Jan 2010 12:57
January 23, 2010
L.A.sacred and secularDavid BurdenyTim Atherton
When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer Walt Whitman When I heard the learn'd astronomer, When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.
..................................................... Writing into WhitmanRobert KellyWhen I wanted to learn when poetry happens and what good it does in cities, Death’s own greenhouses, or in the army’s killing fields, I heard a voice left over from my childhood when I still believed the things I learn’d were true and I wanted to be an astronomer, an alchemist, to summon friends out of the sky who would come to me,when I hungered for the proofs of love revealed in how the figures of desire behaved who were ranged in columns of women and men before me,when I was shown the beautiful entanglements of the ordinary, words you could trip over, how you could drown in maps and sea charts and climb up the diagrams of geometry to add, divide and actually make love with angels I could try to measure while I tried to make them aid me,when I saw them sitting there above the world and heard the astronomer where he busily lectured in my heart with much confidence about the eternal animals aloft that feed on all our dying, our death rattles sound like applause to them, while we in the lecture room of cathedrals praise them –
rk-ologyRobert Kelly's new website
Times Up1997Leon Golub (January 23, 1922 - August 8, 2004)
The Trouble with Corporate Personhood Freedom of Speech for a Fiction Christopher Ketcham
.....................................................
U.S. Government For SaleKeith OlbermannBe prepared for those poor dumb manipulated bastards, the Tea Partiers, to have a glorious few years as the front men as the corporations that bankroll them slowly unroll their total control of our political system. And then be prepared to watch them be banished, maybe outlawed, when a few of the brighter ones suddenly realize that the corporations have made them the Judas Goats of American Freedom.
Be prepared, then, for the reduction of taxes for the wealth, and for the corporations, and the elimination of the social safety nets for everybody else, because money spent on the poor means less money left for the corporations. Be prepared, then, for wars sold as the "new products" which Andy Card once described them as, year-after-year, as if they were new Fox Reality Shows, because Military Industrial Complex Corporations are still corporations. Be prepared, then, for the ban on same-sex marriage, on abortion, on evolution, on separation of church and state. The most politically agitated group of citizens left are the evangelicals, throw them some red meat to feed their holier-than-thou rationalizations, and they won't care what else you do to this corporate nation.(....)
Maybe it won't be this bad. Maybe the corporations legally defined as human beings, but without the pesky occasional human attributes of conscience and compassion maybe when handed the only keys to the electoral machine, they will simply not re-design America in their own corporate image. But let me leave you with this final question: After today who's going to stop them?
..................................................... Money is freedom. Money is free speech. The more money you have the more freedom and free speech and political power, and the more justice you can buy. So we the people live Wealth Bondage and wave our flags with delight as our children, mostly the poor, go off to war to advance Freedom. There is good reason that the phrase social justice is now taboo. It reminds us of an era when ordinary people stood up for their rights as citizens, each of us the equal of any corporation under law. We don't, can't, won't assert our rights in mounting protests, and now we pay the price that disorganized patsies always play when concentrated power takes their measure.gift hub
Why Did We Focus on Securing Haiti Rather Than Helping Haitians?Here are two possibilities, neither of them flattering. Ben Ehrenreich
Securing disaster:The US repeats past mistakes in HaitiPeter Hallward
Haiti is the only country where slaves won their own independence, in a war that left a third of the population dead and the economy in ruins. Today it is not only one of the poorest countries in the world, it is also one of the most polarised and unequal – in terms of wealth as well as access to political power. A small clique of rich and well-connected families continues to dominate the country and its economy, while the vast majority of the population live on less than $2 a day.(....)
the strategy of the Haiti’s little ruling class has been to redefine political questions in terms of “stability” and “security”, and in particular the security of property and investments. Mere numbers may well win an election, but as everyone knows, only an army is equipped to deal with insecurity. The well-armed “friend of Haiti” that is the United States knows this better than anyone else.(....)
in the wake of disaster, the imperatives of stability again won out. Military flights have taken priority over humanitarian shipments, while US commanders have trumpeted fears of popular unrest as their chief concern, despite widespread reports of patience and solidarity on the streets.(....)
This is the fourth time that US troops have landed in Haiti since 1915. Although each invasion has taken a different form and responded to a different pretext, all four have been expressly designed to restore ‘stability’ and ‘security’ to the island. Earthquake-prone Haiti must now be the most thoroughly stabilised country in the world. Thousands of additional foreign security personnel are already on their way, to guard the teams of foreign reconstruction and privatisation consultants who in the coming months are likely to usurp what remains of Haitian sovereignty. Perhaps some of these guards and consultants will help their elite clients achieve another long-cherished dream: the restoration of Haiti’s own little army. And perhaps then, for a short while at least, the inexhaustible source of ‘instability’ in Haiti – the ever-nagging threat of popular political participation and empowerment – may be securely buried in the rubble of its history.
Dumping Ground of the Caribbean Haiti and Toxic Waste Mitchel Cohen
Hazardous Waste Containment Site Dow Chemical Corporation (1998) Richard Misrach123
Chronologies: An Interview with Richard MisrachSeesaw Magazine
COLLeGIUM Volume 5 Writing in Context: French Literature, Theory and the Avant Gardes
..................................................... Dada in Context [pdf] Henri BéharTranslation: Annette Tomarken
abstract The superb Dada exhibition held at the Pompidou Centre in 2005 (and after in Washington) inspired a large number of publications that I would like to go over and discuss here. In the preface to his recent illustrated guide, Gérard Durozoi states that ”Rebellious avant-garde movements challenge the notion of progress, concerning themselves more with meaning than with form. They consider that their potential for subversion cannot be reduced to a narrowly political engagement, which may indeed involve certain individuals, but not the movement as a whole, and that from this point of view the misfortunes of surrealism should provide a clear warning”.1 Following the example of Isidore Ducasse, we could reverse each of these propositions and find them equally apt. If we consider merely the overall thrust of the assertion, we find that this critic contrasts an apolitical Dadaist movement with the tendency of early Surrealism (after Futurism) to engage firmly in politics during its “période raisonnante”. This view would give us, on the one hand, a pure white dove (or almost pure, subject to the removal of a few elements, contaminated by politics in individual cases, free from any form of engagement), and, on the other hand, an impure group, permanently compromised by a youthful error, its involvement with the Communist Party.
COLLeGIUM Studies across Disciplines in the Humanities and Social SciencesHelsinki: Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies"... everything shows that most Dadaists were immersed in the culture of anarchism, from Hugo Ball translating Bakunin to Max Ernst, Theodor Baargeld, Julius Evola, Marcel Duchamp and Picabia reading Stirner; from Julius Heuberger, printer of the “Dada” review in Zurich, to Man Ray, the brilliant American Jack-ofall trades; from the painter Hans Richter’s links to the Zurich anarchist group to the anarchist tendencies of Berlin Dadaism (Hausmann, Baader, Huelsenbeck). Thirty years after the Zurich demonstrations, Tristan Tzara, who had himself learned of the anarchist movement in Bucharest, believed in this idea: ”It is obvious that the anarchistic nature of Dadaism, together with the idea of a moral absolute that the movement placed beyond any practical contingency, was bound to keep the Dadaists away from political struggles”.And even beyond this original influence, which derived chiefly from the great thinkers of Anarchy (Stirner, Bakunin), the fundamental attitude of the Dadaists derives from this doctrine. A contemporary drew the following portrait of Hugo Ball: ”What good were logic, philosophy and ethics in the slaughterhouse that Europe had now become? Intelligence was bankrupt. Every day provided new examples: with the help of language, it was so easy to justify this carnage. But to try to fight it with words and sentences seemed at first sight naïve and impossible. Dadaism was therefore an attempt to destroy the tools that materialism had seized to defend its universe”."
Bush in Drag: Sarah Palin and Endless War Kathy Fergusonborderlands
Rethinking PoliticsBorderlands Volume 8 Number 3, 2009
The Posthuman Dada Guide: Tzara and Lenin Play ChessAndrei Codrescu Reviewed by Grant Mandarino
Known for his whimsical prose and probing wit, Codrescu brings to the subject of Dada a voice that nearly replicates the movement's own brand of sardonic hilarity. He shares the Dadaists' love for puns, rowdy behavior, and irrational thought. Indeed, Codrescu suggests that we are in need of a Dada renaissance. As he claims near the beginning: "It is the thesis of this book that posthumans lining the road to the future ... need the solace offered by the primal raw energy of Dada and its inhuman sources". "Posthuman" is defined as "a human who has put nature ... between parentheses". This "raw energy of Dada", Codrescu argues, provides a welcome antidote to the increasing "virtuality" of today's world, which more and more reprograms nature and humanity according to an insidious logic. Codrescu refers to the book as a "guide," with sections divided according to subject heading (alphabetized, no less) rather than stand-alone chapters. Thus, in place of a conventional narrative Codrescu presents a series of thematic expositions, woven from choice anecdotes and amusing personal reflections, that function more like a mode d'emploi than a standard historical account. Codrescu draws heavily from the latest academic studies of Dada, particularly Thomas Sandqvist's research on the Romanian members of the group and the spate of recent books exploring the female figures of Dada, women such as the Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven, Mina Loy, and Emmy Hennings (Hannah Höch, equally represented in this new literature, is largely absent from Codrescu's book).
Yosemite (burnt forest & half dome) Richard Misrach 1988
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21 Jan 2010 22:34
Plume #1Brooks Shane Salzwedel2009
January 22, 2010
Mark Young is editor of Otolithsfrom Genji MonogatariMark Young X. The Sacred Tree Affirmation blankets, New World flags, talismen, Native American flutes, dowsing rods, statues for the musically inclined among you. & for jam band fans who are there more for the event than the music an automated teller machine waits to eat the nine nuts of poetic wisdom dropped into the sacred pool from the hazel tree growing beside it. The Russian guy sips his coffee from a poly- styrene cup, mentally mistranslating that Phish song which reveals Colonel Forbin's deep feelings for Tela. She doesn't let go of his hand. He can't let go of his terminal cancer, beautifully embroidered on 100% linen. The pond is frozen over. There is nothing outside the text. Genji's visits, never frequent, have stopped altogether.
moira - volume 11, issues 3 & 4
tree skinDaniel Freytagvia rileydog
Lecture on Haiti Frederick Douglass Chicago, Jan. 2d, 1893 via DeniseNew Pages
Haiti - a history of intervention, occupation and resistanceAndrew N Flood
Covering Haiti: When the Media Is the DisasterThe Militarization Of Emergency Aid To HaitiMichael Chossudovsky global research
The Dead Can Still DanceYun-Fei Ji 2006James Cohan Gallery
Canada's Haiti: The Dirty Past And The Dirty Future Robin Mathews
As I write “countries with a key interest in Haiti [Globe and Mail, Jan 19 10 A12] will meet in Montreal next week to discuss “rebuilding the devastated island nation”. Countries with a “key interest” are the countries which have oppressed the Haitian people and intend to continue doing so – especially Canada, the U.S., and France. This will be the second meeting in Canada – about Haiti.
Aid will go to Haiti, and the people will be helped back to their status as exploited slave labour for the profit of foreign corporations - and U.S. policy for the region.(....)
Aid is rushing to Haiti. Aid? What kind of Aid? Troops, troops, and more troops. For “security” we are told (even as reporters tell us there is almost no security problem). The troops are, though, genuinely being sent for security reasons – to assure the security of the power of foreign countries over Haiti.
doorBeth Dow
Camille Martin in moriaAdam FieledStoning the Devil
What I at first dimly suspected has now been affirmed; there is as much vitality, craft, and genuine art being transmitted via the Web as there is being released via print journals. Martin's sonnets deserve a closer look.
Camille Martin 1comatose in paradise, but happy, happy feet! is this where i want to go? thrust into an age unfavorable to being a guest in one's own home? the guest so evolved its dying smile causes offspring to birth on the spot? progeny doomed to fail superbly, like houdini's fetters? is this what i want? am i lucky to think i am? these twittering birds have nothing on the silence of magicians from the grave. someday paradise will be thought savage. did rain fall because i wanted to write a poem about love, causing significant damage to blameless power? here comes the bus, fool. is that it?
(....)Martin's edge has more to do with the conventions of post-modernity; of irony that trumps earnestness, cynicism that trumps avowal, and humor that trumps pathos.
(....)
It seems that Martin is creating a double parody: of the Romantic conventions of the sonnet form, and of herself using the conventions even as she trashes them. These "twittering birds" are not meant to be pretty; "doomed progeny" tells you what you need to know about the poem's subversive intentions, and mordant wit. With poems of this depth and quality being published on the Net, I feel that it is time for Net publishers to get up, stand up in the best Marley-ian fashion, and declare their parity with any print counterparts. It seems to me that no enlightened poet could fail to miss the implications of a post like this, or the previous posts on Aaron Belz and everyone else. Print hegemony is a thing of the past; we now boast both quality and quantity. The idea that the Net is for amateurs is reductive and, frankly, rather fatuous.
dialogueWilli Baumeister(January 22, 1889 - August 31, 1955)
fromLetters of ResignationClayton Couch
A Sonnet for the Mathematically Challenged Write to the null set. They jiggle in indeterminate postures, arrow pursuit and fortune. Preset on sphere of lightning, comedies about gun-totting anger management refugees whistle robots’ feeding time. A few behavioral modifications; desertion of techno-progress Protestant project: what is not a mere sliver of afterlife generates an attack of indigestion. If the wilderness weren't doubled over, we'd claim cavity. The cute jabber holy drama; these cares only matter to fools. There sleeps an exhausted poseur for the old tribal evidence, a curious all-you-can-eat spiritual buffet, one that does little to solve the perpetual problems of appetite and desire. Rather, confront the trick of mystery. Stay loose in certitude, raw wound. Weather plays a part in the encircling suspicion.
moira e-booksmoira poetry journaledited by William Allegrezza
RutsBeth Dow
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