That is, my right hemisphere’s sixteen (blue) and my left one’s seventy-eight and it’s not a question of averaging the two like a skeleton key in Hearst Castle. What you see is what you see, remember? By having glued on barcodes. Like Bob Cobbing, who’d would oh wow it on in coffee cup rings, tree bark and mud puddles. Why would (or wouldn’t) one produce … the sound of a mountain? (Weren’t we just talking about mountains?) Is it choice or chance? (God [sic], what a funny question!) In what he called “the happiest day of my life,” NRA CEO Wayne LaPierre marked Valentine’s Day by marrying his longtime AK-47. Ancient scripture says that the next Pope will be the last, but maybe not, the horses of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse have just been found in a Tesco lasagna. And warm days are hanging over San Diego. The times are never right. A conjunto classic, “Mi Tesoro,” will be playing in the background, and candles burning, and yet – you’ll have your doubts when she slips the Virgen de Guadalupe around your neck, the gold medallion cold and heavy against your heart. OK. I could pick up with “back in the mines, the dwarves”, or “I revolt / project”, or “Swarms! we will bang into the sun / blinded”, or “the fist against deaf walls”. What the spasm’d-in pit is is unclear; and the little feral fragments, the cut-off dog-yelps; “little zombie spines yapping silly”; &c. “We inserted a history and now it won’t stop.” I left without saying 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1. “I was browsing the Hubble Ultra Deep Field images / last night, berserk at how easily / the sky was blue for what felt like a lifetime” / / “I am leaving your windows open” / / “I need you to go back on” / / “I would like to read your thoughts / on this again” / / “I would like to be the air between them.” By erasing the words and leaving the punctuation marks, Goldsmith foregrounds the presence of constellations in Stein’s work. “Stars stuck all over …” as Sylvia Plath said. “The stars he unhooked from the night …” as Apollinaire said. Little markings, little landmines, Morse code. My classroom’s been hijacked by a wedding banquet. In the breezeway outside, I write on the walls with Dry Erase Marker. I draw a stick figure penis. A stick figure vagina. “Freud is only a jumping-off point,” I say. “The representation vs. the real,” I say. After class, I walk with one of the students past my old high school. We wear backpacks. We go inside the high school, now an apartment building, where we walk up exactly 17 flights of stairs. The next class waits for me at the top, sitting on the stairs, passing around a baby, unsure of what to do. “Oh good, she’s here,” they say, and hand the baby off to me. “Surprise Baby Dream is often an Anxiety Barometer.” “I had a teacher in high school once who dreamt she gave birth to her baby in parts -- not gory but more like a doll -- and then she had to put them together and she couldn’t figure out how.” This is no arrondissement of [blank] scree, it expects and waits for and follows [blank] with [blank], only in the counter-offer of invited intuitive integrity does it copulate unbound in foam and [blank] of chromatic intricacy, downwashed into a [blank]. [Blank] is a fungible marker of false consciousness and the [blank] are in situ and in vivo [blank]. [Blank] “buttonholed by strategic drunkenness / that [blank]”, but the [blank] the input of tropic stargazing, as a [blank] Burroughs / Minogue ﬂames the [blank]. [Blank] of love clock ephemera in [blank], humping with a storm of reverse post-amphetaminic grace, glued into the [blank], and that’s only a [blank]. [Blank] and the musical chairs are [blank]. Out on the frontier of [blank], Beauty touches [blank], attendant to the viscosity of Nature, after [blank]. [Blank] steeps the mug in the factual T. Anyway or how, I’ve [blank], got “the hungery gumption in [my] egg-bag”, where [blank] make the diurnal revelate.
[Note: Sources: JBR; Sandra Simonds, “Young Woman, Prehistoric Mammals Are Not Dinosaurs”, “Lines Written in the Back of a Police Car, in Chicago, Illinois”, at Lemon Hound, 15 Feb 013; Frank Stella, but see beaulieu, below; JBR; derek beaulieu, and Cecilie Bjørgås Jordheim, “How does it sound?”, as quoted in beaulieu’s “Abstract/Concrete #2 — Cecilie Bjørgås Jordheim”, at Lemon Hound, 15 Feb 013; JBR; Andy Borowitz, “CHOKING BACK TEARS, N.R.A. LEADER MARRIES GUN”, at The New Yorker, 14 Feb 013; Wipe Out Homophobia, FB post, 15 Feb 013; Jerome Rothenberg, “The Times Are Never Right”, as quoted in Maryam Monalisa Gharavi, “Five Questions With Jerome Rothenberg”, at The New Inquiry, 15 Feb 013; Alejandro Murguía, “This War Called Love”, as quoted in “This War Called Love by Alejandro Murguía”, at City Lights Books, 15 Feb 013;
Down You Go, or Négation de Brut, and David Grundy, as quoted in Grundy’s “Down You Go, or Négation de Brut (Frances Kruk)”, at Streams of Expression, 10 Feb 013; Daniel Zomparelli, “01101100011011110111011001100101”, at 812 Days, 17 Dec 012 (01101100011011110111011001100101 = love); Ian Heames, “Array One”, as quoted in Grundy’s “Jefferson Toal & Ian Heames // Cambridge // 27.10.12”, at Streams of Expression, 2 Nov 012; Christopher Higgs, “How To Be A Critic (pt. 2)”, at HTMLGIANT, 15 Feb 013; Lee Ann Roripaugh, FB post and comment, and Chance Carmichael, additional comment, 16 Feb 013; RD, “On Peter Manson”, in JEFFERSON TOAL / PETER MANSON / FRIDAY 5 MARCH 2010 / JUDITH E. WILSON DRAMA STUDIO / FACULTY OF ENGLISH / UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, at Plantarchy (more or less as prepared by JBR for Anne Gorrick)]