I
feel the
whirling in these
tight
emergencies striving
for the delightfully
/sim/
/com/ plex,
thanks to the
way
the whirling
fevers a virus
in
one’s memory
banks, forcing dubious
re-
categorizations and
classifications, etc., due
to
the modification
of … it’s all
fucking
babble, and
if we’re loving
it
we’re monstrous …
… maybe. I’m monstrous,
no
shit. Somewhere
among the manifestos
of
the century
just past, there’s
a
line which
reads there’s nothing
more
marvelous than
a plate on
a
table, and
on that plate
a
loaf of
bread. Earth air
fire
and water,
made and remade
and
made again,
by and not
by
human hands.
Is it true?
Will
“[t]his town / …
simply become somewhere
[we]
used to
live”? Don’t believe
that
simply for
a moment. The
“heartbeat
is a
bell / that chimes
on
the hour.”
We “shiver in
the
imaginary wind.”
Imaginary? “… fluid dynamics /
and
computer hum,
… … …
the
CD skips
in … …
the
jukebox to
make / the best
dance
loop [we]
ever heard.” The
“I”
is a
“we”, as well
as
an “I”,
if you hadn’t
noticed.
You can
eat the bread.
You
don’t even
have to put
butter
on it.
Of course, “Linda
knew
the interrogation
would clear things
up,”
begins begins,
“All they needed,
they
said, was
proof she was
a
good citizen.”
But who can
accommodate
an insatiable
Agency’s chameleon infections—
“knowledge”
like words
here like inconsistent
hCG
test (aisle
two) seam a
dumb
quilt as
they seek to
acquire
the disconcerted
something missing the
mark,
pissing on
your hand. No
information
will do—
at their disposal,
chakra
probes and
and and and.
Did you expect to see your blog here? See: ‘I can’t find my blog on the Web, where is it?’
… say things like “Oh, I didn’t know the masks in the hallway are colored!” to “Look at how those trees have silver leaves!” to “I can read the signs now!” … all portend …
’m sorry for the ugly phrase “unity in utility under capitalism”
ill-favored adjectives balk
minatory indifference curve of goods where there is no preference for one over the other
like). ??. Awe.]
if 1. [ ]formed consumer was equally satisfied with 10 peaches and 2 avocados, 2 kiwi and 12 peaches, or 1/5th an apple and 1/4th a banana, these combinations would all form a line on:
Let me explain, or at least hint at an explanation, by quoting my buddy William James:
“With, near, next, like, from, towards, against, because, for, through, my--these words designate types of conjunctive relations arranged in a roughly ascending order of intimacy and inclusiveness.”
Conjunctive relations.
I am a fucking allegory of virtual intent and a walker through messes, too. I am scathed.
E writes: “… throw your body at the mark when your arrows are spent.”
The
green spray
tags and the
cuts
and the
hacks and the
eyes
and the
mouth and the
spit
and the
puke are exemplars
exemplars
exemplars
of
what specialists
call A lot of impossible mutation around here late-
ly, smoke blood, always after the scream, the beautiful
futility at the limits of the limits
of ever establishing anything so solid and durable as a common world, yet I’ve fallen in love with every
last lusus naturae in the Odditorium, di-
dactic iridescences that can-
not keep themselves from constantly
going astray, like alphabets that forget to
be afraid (tho they’ve spawned the Good, the Beautiful and the True), at once nomadic and immobile,
Havial! Davial! (CHEER UP, ‘cause you know, you know, – Rub your eyes with a wave! Such a thing might still take place …) ra-
diant coils twisted three times around a wooded hill, which undulates in waves that follow a score where all harmonies are tuned to, and reverberate with, those of the unheimlich in bloom, in
principle in situ preposterous …
… … … … … … … … … … …
… When Lacan asked: Why don’t the planets speak? an eminent philosopher replied: Because they don’t have mouths …
(Lacan’s response: “At first blush, I was a bit disappointed. When one is disappointed, one is always wrong. You should never be disappointed with the answers you receive, because if you are, that’s wonderful, it proves that is was a real answer, that is to say exactly what you weren’t expecting.”)
!!!!!!!!!!!!! mingling with “ha”, with “ha-ha-ha-ha-ha”, shif-ting and contingent relations, another We have been washed by the primary (non)substance / It has fallen onto our war, and Walking the walk
that comes undone just where it resolves,
slightly how things are (or aren’t) and the vanishing point, a tiny round dot, rolls crazily through the street, like skin not a part but a condition external to matter (love) whose ends make awesome the sky, the
vulnerable wind still chasing dust, silent as a cricket confronting a television, mar-
ching in epistemological clouds, embarking upon some great
spectral sentence, which, it turns out, is just this.
“Incantescence”, ain’t it? Can I love you / even as a / cataclysm? Whose “emptiness” had come
loose? Indeed they were neither, creating
a “What happens if one pulls this lever? … If it isn’t sex why are we thinking about it?” of their own. What are ques-
tions now? Shredded druthers. “O I feel the needle go in / and the numbness spread / but the numbness / is never complete
o happiness.” “O merely lifting a finger o tak-
ing a knife and cutting that finger off.” Ask away. Simple imitation is never enough. Does “I think I said that last part out loud because something has swung and bounced off my face, and now I am on the floor … on my back, looking at the ceiling, which is covered in wires and mirrors and loaves of bread” realize Faust: they perished in
a
smile?
Right … Not enough room on my forehead for M … “Why not let each thought go, as if it were nothing?” … “I’ll be there soon, just after [that which is useful for what is there / by not being there], so …”
[Note: For Chuck Richardson.Sources: Chuck Richardson, “At times even monsters must have their fun”, at Chuck Richardson, 28 Feb 09; JBR, a blurb-offering for Ruper Loydell’s soon-to-be-published Boombox (the bits in quotes are from poems included therein); Jared Schickling, blurb for Chuck Richardson’s new novel Smoke. From here on, I click thru my daily, lifting bits. Where I land when I look for Angela Genusa. Where have you gone, my friend?; Eileen Tabios, “THE LAST THING ON MOI TO-DO LIST”, at The Blind Chatelaine’s Keys, 28 Feb 08; Tina Darragh, “Rule of Dumbs”, at Action Yes, 9 as found via a link at Ron Silliman’s blog, 26 Feb 09; Tom Beckett, “The Virtual and the Real”, and untitled (quoting Emerson), at Slim Windows, 28 Feb 09 (in my mind, at least, Chuck’s and Tom’s posts are having a conversation …); “description” of photo “497”, part of a series called Surface Information, by Tom Raworth, posted 27 Feb 09; JBR, “Autopoiesis CLXXXIV”, “Autopoiesis CLXXXV”]
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