In the House of the Hangman 1154

The dog says, Long Live the Riot Squad, architecture of ghosts: croaking lungs of phlegm & marble. Two red motorcycles rest in the ditch, rust in the maproom, an abandoned church filled with snowglobes, I dream this despite the thought (that dominates my consciousness) of circling lights eerily, quirkily, quickly dimming the site of the bird’s resistant focus. Teacher warned me not to open the jar of flies. Sign your grief on the dotted line of the subpoena. I could have hatched the egg of the imagined Reservation and not fear the quickening of my blood or theirs pounding upright in the money vault. People do awful things to one another & then other or the same people say ‘aren't those awful things awful.’ Now, a study reveals that the distinctive black-red coloring is based on an increased accumulation of anthocyanins as a result of drastically reduced concentrations of flavones. Outside meeting having introduced the hump octopus in the emerald dark ocean without his knowing its base runner its introduction interrupts Sleeping Beauty monitor fixed Asteroidean really swimming across huge chasing the red moon meets and is ‘in the place of’ not ‘replaces’. I could fit maybe .00167% of you in my apartment. The projected spirits awaken and reveal themselves at night as though they are made of the towering trees themselves. Thus they posit a disjunction between our emotions on the one hand and our knowledge of what causes and maintains them on the other, because according to them affect and cognition are two separate systems. “You OK? Sick? Need some water?” I ask. She shrugs, rinses out her mouth and leaves. The realisation doesn’t hit me until a few moments later. Ohhhh right, bulimia + models = duh! I’m left alone with my can of Diet Coke and mini-cupcakes like some sort of fat piece of shit neanderthal. Here I am stuffing calorie-soaked treats down my throat when I should be eating no more than three almonds. I don’t care, I’m hungry and I need food and caffeine to function properly so I don’t lose my shit. Drained wetlands in Sweden account for the same amount of greenhouse gas emissions as Swedish industry. Maybe that’s why I hate my thighs and always feel fatter than other models. Maybe I should be puking before jobs. Maybe bulimia is what’s missing from my empty, soulless, shallow life. And then the rotten eggs crack on skulls. No one cries at the double rainbow. Everywhere I look, there are stars underfoot — will it still improve concentration if you wash down ginkgo biloba with lager? Cities were never new. Whether in Mesopotamia or Egypt or China, the ruler justified the construction of his city by stating that the design copied one handed down from the ancestors. In the fifth century BCE, a poem in the first Chinese anthology, the Shi Ching, the Book of Odes or Songs, sings the praises of King Wen, who had built the city of Feng, six hundred years before: “He made Feng according to the ancient plan. / He did not follow his own desires, / But worked in pious obedience to the dead.” Creation, in cyclical time, is always re-creation. The city — our model of novelty and modernity — was their model of antiquity. The city — our model of change — was their model of stasis. The city — our model of unfettered life — was ruled by the dead. In the 1930s, Thomas Wolfe wrote a short story with a matchless title: “Only the Dead Know Brooklyn.” Nina says, “It has a delirious swimming quality in places, like being drowned in dolphin tears: other places it sounds like the triumphant battle-song of ancient she-wolves! I want to be in a club that plays this on repeat while everyone I’ve ever loved appears and disappears without it meaning anything at all ...”

[Note: Sources: JBR; Mathias Svalina, “Long Live the Riot Squad”, at H_ngm_n, 19 Jul 09; Jack Collom and Lyn Hejinian, “The Abecedarian’s Dream”, in Situations, Sings; Sherwin Bitsui, “from Flood Song”, in The Arcadia Project: North American Postmodern Pastoral (eds. Joshua Corey and G C Waldrep); SPD blurb for Mathias Svalina, The Explosions; JBR; “Le Rouge Et Le Noir: Where the Black Dahlia Gets Its Color”, at Science Daily, 23 Nov 012; Leslie Scalapino, “from The Dihedrons – Gazelle Dihedrals Zoom”, in Corey and Waldrep; Heather Christle, “The number of you keeps getting bigger”, at Heather Christle, 23 Nov 012; Christopher Jobson, “Cambodian Trees: Digitally Projected Deities and Sprits [sic] on the Streets of Cambodia”, at Colossal, 23 Nov 012; Ruth Leys, “The Turn to Affect: A Critique”, at Critical Inquiry 37; Melissa Stetten, “Backstage Bulimia at the Runway Show”, at Vice, 23 Nov 012; “Drained Wetlands Give Off Same Amount of Greenhouse Gases as Industry”, at Science Daily, 23 Nov 012; Debora Kuan, “The Last Day”, at Hyperallergic, 23 Nov 012; Amy De’ath, FB post, 23 Nov 012; Eliot Weinberger, “The City (A few blocks)”, at Alligator 134; Nina Power, FB comment, 24 Nov 012]

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