In the House of the Hangman 1119

Except I don’t remember if it was you I made love to next to the pineapple salad of Easter Island. Because this Navy robot isn’t doing the robot – it’s dancing Gangnam-style. With binders full of women. And you know, woodcutters are going to have a chop. I mean, it’s clear. If you really want to make a chop, and those chops, that’s your chop. We traded our organs for stones / Our want for entry / Our mouths for the pleasure of the default paint. I feel so warm and cuddly about T-Swift all of a sudden and so does my whole dashboard, apparently. We were talking about the Zapatista’s restoration of the Mayan precept of mandar obedeciendo, walking down the road shaking the day before’s long drive out of our systems, experiencing that long low late light igniting the pines. I had presented the precept as a talking point, and wanted to rotate the form in relation to our praxes, the therapeutic scene, on the one hand, the pedagogical one, on the other. The question, in different ways in both cases, was who — or what — are you obeying? NECK. I want Ashland’s Neck to feel like a Vacant Nutritional Fact Sheet:: Crossed with a Personality Assessment Chart / Numberless Percent / “Personal Tacks” / “Average Size” / “Sums Per Option” / Maybe we can Merge Health words with Mentalities and adjectives. Example: Saturated Grasp %, or Pliant B %. In The middle of this there would be a Personal Cause Donation Banner as a Choker some how incorporating PayPal. Does broccoli slaw have a this-will-poison-you date? I was basically a living, walking extraction sample. I’d collect my hair and cry into vials. I still have jars full of hair in my room because I don’t want to stop collecting it. I had to sleep in an T-shirt for five nights, and go do bikram yoga in it, then put it in a sterile mason jar. Then I’d go straight to the lab and wash it in ethanol, evaporate the ethanol, and be left with the essential oil of my sweat. Then I got connected, through a friend of a friend, to one of the top perfumers in the business, Yann Vasnier, who works for a company called Givaudan. He works together with the scent director, Dawn. He’s like the chemist-alchemist who figures out the formulas and she’s like the creative director. She smelled me, and we tried to match my smells with natural elements. Basically all natural smells change over time, because all the high notes evaporate off and you’re left with the heavy, sweet stuff. So Dawn would smell my armpit and hair to try and put back some of what was lost, so it could be even more authentic. I want now to stop these abstract calisthenics not with the intention of proclaiming the irreducibility of ideology, thereby sweeping the swept into its decoratively cracked trophy cabinet, but in the hope of opening up those failures through an effort of sustained lexical concentration. Because of that concentration, it is writing often slow and frequently ugly, and it proleptically acknowledges these characteristics by taking as its epigraph a computerised translation (into German) of a tremendous mis-estimation of the capacity to understand and control a complex, non-intentional system right at its heart and not only across its skin ― influential people ‖ wanting ― it ‖ ― to happen. ‖ ―It happened because it did, ‖ palming off the foaming ― Kids ‖ who, here ― wave out the Volvo / to the pyres and a dog.

[Note: Sources: JBR; Stasja Voluti, “Easter Island”, at Every Shadow Is Her Dream, 19 Oct 012 (misread by JBR); JBR; DJ Spooky, FB post, 19 Oct 012; JBR; Mitt Romney; Susan M Schultz, “Ann Romney +7 on women's choices (The View)”, FB comment, 19 Oct 012; Melissa Buzzeo, “from The Devastation”, at Trickhouse 7; “We’re in your room it’s a typical Tuesday night …”, at The Bookbat, 19 Oct 012; “1 July 012 …”, at A Fiery Flying Roule, 19 Oct 012; Ryan Trecartin, Ryan’sWeb 1.0 / A Lossless Fall, at 319; JBR; Martynka Wawrzyniak, as quoted in Christian Storm, “Martynka Wawrzyniak Smells Like A 12-Year-Old Living On An Organic Farm”, at Vice, 19 Oct 012; Danny Hayward, and Timothy Thornton, “PESTREGIMENT”, as quoted in Hayward’s “Demanding Attention”, at Quid 20]

Comments

[Midge]

Dude, right on there borhter.

[Dewi]

Part of the problem is that stntueds are so used to sitting there and listening to lectures or doing something mind-numbingly repetetive and passive and inactive, that they percieve *anything* that does not cause immediate harm and boredom as a game. Which means, of course, that practically everything native English teachers do becomes a game. My kids once completely rebelled when I asked them to do a worksheet at the request of another teacher. "But 쌤! Your class is always game! Game! We want game!" they chanted, and a I roared back that we rarely ever played games, that my class was serious and that I had no idea what they were talking about. I demanded that they name one of these supposed games - and then they rattled off every single classroom activity we'd done for the past month. None of them were games. I had very carefully planned all my lessons, however, to get my high school boys out of their seats and moving and actively practicing the skills we were learning. Essentially, their standards for fun had been set so low, anything that wasn't sitting at their desk memorizing vocab and grammar instantly qualified as a game.

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