“The air ripped as the glowing time portal snapped open. Seconds later, waves of athletically fit and tremendously handsome designer babies poured out, all of them wearing Google Glass. The people’s new-found love of time-travel was suddenly replaced by a convulsive fear.” Hey, Bo Diddley. Bo Diddley is the face of the nothing that is so much something that it must always be called after. When you sing along to “Hey Bo Diddley” what you really sing is “Hey, come here, whatever both desperately needs and dissipates itself, what is marked by its unmarking, what tells but doesn’t speak, what is and isn’t until there is nothing and everything left.” Take, for example, the moment in history in which Bo Diddley said to himself: “What you say man? Quit mumbling and talk out loud.” At this self / nothing interrogation of “Mumblin Guitar,” Bo Diddley decided to give the most articulate speech ever delivered from the podium of Rock-n-Roll: It is in the nothing that is Utopia, however, that you will find the origin story of Bo Diddley. It’s the story of the birth, like all gods, of no one. He was born at midnight, playing a golden guitar, and just like the Baby Jesus, people came from miles around to see him. One might expect that this is the sign of someone who is something, but remember, here’s what Bo Diddley sang about his exceptional nativity: “Woo! I’m a mess.” ‘Cyclops, you asked about my famous name. / I’ll tell you. Then you can offer me a gift, / as your guest. My name is Bo Diddley. / My father and mother, all my other friends — / they call me Bo Diddley.’ / / “That’s what I said. / His pitiless heart replied: / / ‘Well, Bo Diddley, / I’ll eat all your companions before you / and have you at the end — my gift to you, / since you’re my guest.’ The Narwhal’s Tusk Is Filled With Nerves. But Why? By boy I mean world embryo or frog since it’s round and will make sound soon sometime (my faith it is to say). There are six basic spokes from my center, you have more. I like because it’s good. Its good to like. I don’t care. A wild germ feeds my rope idea. From the cabinet in the cabinet you go out. So a big tree DECIDES which and what small trees to love, to which and what offshoots to send the energy from rain and sun, and to divert energy from others, and from larger entities. The bit about dying trees transferring information to living trees before they die was new to me, though. And I like Simard’s use of evocative language throughout. “Mother trees” — absolutely, and someone / hands them a phone, “turtles” / they’re called, heads bobbing / as though they had a choice / to be party favors, deep structure / on your left, follow the clicking / to a white cube, … / nothing must penetrate this history / because nothing can be distinguished / from itself, … no wonder we reach for the red handle. “Many years later, in front of the firing squad, colonel Aureliano Buendía would remember that distant afternoon his father took him to see ice.” By this I mean attending to the repeated use of the word ‘hand’ and things closely related to hands and what hands do. Those that read Monday’s piece may have noticed that the word crops up three times in the first eight lines. It then reappears with unusual frequency throughout the rest of the sequence. I’d like to start by highlighting Enough out of one hand / to grasp another. In the good old days when we had effective strikes, workers may have closed down a number of factories. The crystalline forms spread, melting your face into an amoeboid mass in which the eyes floated, dull embossed eyes. A series of faces, high-velocity cuneiforms of misrecognition, distorted and fascinating, where the human form can no longer contain the crustacean horror that has grown inside. “New Sequence-Specific Human Ribonuclease: Purification and Properties.” It was astonishing how much space there was in an eye. We had had some other devices installed: a Galvanic skin sensor, new sets of IrDA pads and needle, upgraded ChemArray routers running Krebs-v4.6 protocols, all connected directly. “Th[e] control of a machine [or organism since these modes of organization were by analogy interchangeable terms] on the basis of its actual performance [feedback] … involves sensory members which are actuated by motor members and perform the DraI 2 918 1020 ttt/aaa function of tell-tales or monitors – that is, of elements which indicate a performance, and a basin, in which [lie] the congealed tears from last year’s stellar freeze. It was as if there were only brief and fleeting moments when the architecture became at once expressive and empty, when the body ceased to be luh+’s body, and the pod ceased to be pod #94468. 1.a. Much of the essence of love, too, is my gut, which was in the figure extended, which is parallel to the “in the midst of the pain of the tongue”, 7a. Where there is no elegant Spirit Toad: 12.b. elegant baroque (a word to the wound — an important) makes mestizos of them, the old (there are two supreme goods) seal them, and for me, that wishes pray against the fence —and if it is open, la Frontera within the face, or years to read to break your walls. The mandible is bare, however, indicating an environment of “mythic static” revolving antically between a frame that stumbles trying to get its “vision straight”. Is Sameshape a baseline by which any difference in Othershape can be manifested? It’s impossible to say. In any case, Sameshape and Othershape eventually become part of a recursive line of dominoes. For Laclau was indeed above all else a systematizer, and the system he constructed had great power. “If I could do it all over again, and relive my vision in the twenty-first century, I would be a microbial ecologist …” To you I am “dismembered,” sometimes “crooked,” and replaced by an “Owl,” with quartz crystals instead of intestines. Now eight of these Huichol artisans from the communities of Nayarit and Jalisco are showcasing their amazing beadwork on an entire car!
[Note: Sources: Bill Zeiders, FB comment, 17 Apr 014; bits from Anne Boyer, “Hey, Bo Diddley”, at Coldfront, 16 Apr 014; Homer, Odyssey, Bk 9 (tr. Ian Johnston, modified by JBR), at Johnstonia; Nadia Drake, “The Narwhal’s Tusk Is Filled With Nerves. But Why?”, at Wired, 18 Mar 014, via Jaleh Mansoor, FB post, 17 Apr 014; Ish Klein, FB comment, 17 Apr 014 (a poem for Greg Purcell); Jaleh Mansoor, FB comment, 17 Apr 014 (re the work of the forestry scientist Suzanne Simard); Dave Bonta, “Suzanne Simard talks about ‘mother trees’ and the plant-fungal network”, at Treeblogging, 10 Nov 011; Michael Davidson, “Bad Modernism”, “Bad Modernism: The White City”, “Bad Modernism: Interstices”, quoted in Jerome Rothenberg, “Michael Davidson: Four Poems from Bleed Through, plus one other”, at Jacket2, 16 Apr 014; Gabriel Garcia Marquez (RIP), One Hundred Years of Solitude (tr. Gregory Rabassa); John Armstrong, and JH Prynne, quoted in Armstrong’s “Prynne week: Hands and Biting the Air”, at Bebrowed’s Blog, 17 Apr 014; bits from Eugene Thacker, An Ideal For Living, at Gobbet, 17 Apr 014; JBR; J. Michael Martinez, “Notes on Chic@Nceptualism”, at Harriet, 17 Apr 014; bits from Elizabeth Robinson, “KALA PANI Monica Mody”, at Rain Taxi, Spring 014; John Beasley-Murray, “Ernesto Laclau”, at Posthegemony, 17 Apr 014 (RIP); EO Wilson, quoted in “Why Study Belowground Ecology”, at Belowground Ecosystem Group; “Amazing Huichol Bead Work on Wheels”, at The Beading Gem’s Journal, Apr 012, via Kathy Bloomberg-Rissman, FB post, 17 Apr 014]