In the House of the Hangman 1102

So I mend a snowstorm and it loses an orchestra like a pyramid you climb backwards — where are you going? — well, I think we’re all going to heaven — where money never weeps and tiny explosions devour the control panel. The Queen of the Vampires mounts her skeleton horse. She has assembled an army of zombie shamans. They made Chariots with four horses which a flie might cover; They writ an Elegiack Distich in golden letters in a Sesamum: The art of weaving and the gifts of the goddess Ergane, Spiders neither know nor require: for what should such a Creature doe with woven garments? Oh. I am like a wan, ragged pet shop owner from Ruislip, impersonating (or being impersonated by) the caged guinea pig in the back. OK. Right. “Urban agriculture is part of the solution but a damn small one.” Someone sent me a box of dead hamster in the mail and I don’t even know what that means. Is it some sort of code? Is it a threat? I’m not even sure it’s a hamster. Or why it has wings. And why is it crunchy? It’s like it’s filled with cellophane. Or corn flakes. Ahead the sky is winnowed to its smallest feature. What was promised, what was revealed. A long staircase of wounds. Behind: unseen error. Or accident. Harm winking on, a neon sign that says closed. Don’t give up, Sam Pink. “You find yourself already happening. Unfocused. Every person you pass is a person unknown. And you’re one of the unknown people they’re passing, eating taffy and staring. This is happening.” So is the THING WITH ACTION EXPRESSED IN PARENTHESES. I mean, (RE-CREATED AN ENTIRE EPISODE OF NINJA TURTLES IN MY HEAD) I mean, (PUT ERECT PENIS INTO THE GROUND AND CAME INTO THE CORE OF THE EARTH SETTING OFF THE EFFLORESCENCE OF BILLIONS OF FLOWERS, DIVIDING EARTH INTO INDEPENDENTLY FLOATING PIECES FOREVER). In the world as such / DNA dumplings / (with thin skin wrapped around them) / spatter / recklessly (unwittingly? uncannily?) / because of randomized events / in a politics of explosion. / How then? / Shaking with the instability / of calculations, / more in anger than in fear / one “shows one’s work.” / This is written entirely on off-cuts. / an internal translation of itself / marking shards with mackle. / It’s true the work must be redone. / This time scribbling mirror-wise, / an addition problem / with uncountable vectors. An Israeli colonel testified there are no civilians in war. I like your weird ass spirit stick that you carry around, O Israeli colonel, I like when you rub sage on my door. I like the lamb’s blood you throw on my face. I like heaping sugar in a jar and saying a prayer and then having it work. I like soaking your baby tooth in oil, lighting it on fire with a tiny plastic horse. Below, in the umbratile interval between one step and another, a tetrapod resembling a large newt freezes and blinks into the sound of the world, the chirp and whirr of insects and the high frequency mutter of its own species. Fronds brush fronds in a light breeze. The animal blinks again, its hydraulic limbs holding it above smudged tracks that mark where others of its kind mated, their mouths popping, cheek muscles bulging. Five tumescent digits on each foot channel ground vibrations into neural impulses. It takes stock and goes on. And if there is no desire to go back except as a cheap Hollywood holiday in other People’s misery – if, as Lyotard argues, there are no primitive societies, (yes, the Terminator was there from the start, distributing microchips to accelerate its advent); isn’t, then, the only direction forward? Through the shit of capital, metal bars, its polystyrene, its books, its sausage pâtés, its cyberspace matrix? Both Iain Grant and Ben Noys follow Lyotard himself in describing Libidinal Economy as a work of affirmation, but, rather like Nietzsche’s texts, Libidinal E habitually defers its affirmation, engaging for much of the text in a series of (ostensibly parenthetical) hatreds.

[Note: Sources: Chris Toll, “God on God: Chris Toll”, at BOMBLOG, 13 Dec 011; Chris Toll, “Money Never Weeps by Edgar Allan Poe (translated by Chris Toll)”, in “Chris Toll”, at Everyday Genius, 12 Oct 010; Aelian (tr. Thomas Stanley), as quoted by Giles Goodland and Joseph Lindsey Churches Walton, FB post and comment, 2 Oct 012; Bhanu Kapil, “Tiny Summary after watching Football with Three Male Cousins”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 2 Oct 012; JBR; Mary Seton Corboy, as quoted in Sarah Rich’s Urban Farms, as quoted in Nicola Twilley, “Urban Farming for Cynics”, at Edible Geography, 2 Oct 012; Jenny Lawson and Victor, as quoted in Lawson’s “Hello. Did you send me a box of dead hamster?”, at The Bloggess, 2 Oct 012; Hillary Gravendyk, “Harm”, as quoted in Angela Hume, “Harm by Hillary Gravendyk. Omnidawn Publishing, 2011”, at The Volta, 28 Sept 012; JBR, but see Matthew Timmons, “All of you: go tell Sam Pink not to give up”, at HTMLGIANT, 2 Oct 012; Sam Pink, as quoted in Chris Dankland, comment appended to the preceding; Sam Pink, “THING WITH ACTION EXPRESSED IN PARENTHESES”, at Dogmatika; Rachel Blau DuPlessis, “from ‘Draft 111: Arte Povera’”, as quoted in “oct. 4, ksw: rachel blau duplessis”, at International Exchange for Poetic Invention, 2 Oct 012; Cindy Corrie, “Op-ed: The deeply disturbing Israel court ruling on Rachel Corrie”, at Seattle Times, 29 Oct 012 (the testimony was part of the Israeli whitewash of Rachel Corrie’s murderers; but worse than that: since when were there no civilians in war?); Dorothea Lasky, “I like weird-ass hippies”, as quoted in Blake Butler, “DOROTHEA LASKY’S WILD-ASS SHOUT-BRAIN”, at Vice, 2 Oct 012; JBR; Forrest Gander, “The Carboniferous and Ecopoetics”, as quoted in John Latta, “Notebook (Antler, Redstart: An Ecological Poetics, &c.)”, at Isola di Rifiuti, 2 Oct 012; Mark Fisher, “Terminator vs. Avatar: Notes on Accelerationism”, at Mark Fisher ReBlog, 30 Sept 012]

Comments

[Ed Baker]

"I think we’re all going to heaven"

heaven? hell?

this is it.... this is all we get or got
no
white-white cloud up in the blue-blue sky
and a pair of wings and a harp
&
no fiery pit down "there" with this guy with pointy ears
and a pitch-fork to goose us in the ass

all of that "stuff" invented by Religion
to sell plastic jesuses and other choch-kee.

[john]

Hi, Ed. It's not that kind of heaven, it's one "where money never weeps and tiny explosions devour the control panel." So it is indeed a lot to put it mildly like here.

As for all that other stuff, totally agree. Except where would we be without the tchotchkes? Life in late consumer culture would be so boring and empty without them! All those consumers and nothing to waste their $$ on!

[Ed Baker]

well
those consumers
with there vast amounts
could "spring" for a copy of Stone Girl
(and my other 'run-away-worst-sellers')

and maybe pay more attention to what is written
than do I ?

[john]

Yea, Stone Girl will take them further than Plastic Jesus.

[lunettes dior]

Bona fide solidarity foresees the needs of alternative as compared with proclaim its buy. [url=http://lunettesoakleyfrr.com/]lunettes dior[/url] lunettes dior