Or is everything made of atomless ‘gunk’? Anaxagoras is the first gunk lover in the history of metaphysics. What is distinctive about Anaxagoras’s gunk is that it’s qualitative gunk, rather than material gunk. As Jeffrey T Russell explains, in gunk space, every region contains still smaller regions — there are no points, no ‘spatial atoms.’ Every region is ‘thick’ — every region is extended. What does this mean? It means that they came for the Muslims ... and we said, not this time, motherfuckers. The researchers believe that strong recurved claws on the back limbs may have allowed Ovatiovermis and other related lobopodian species to anchor themselves on hard surfaces and stand more or less upright. Two long pairs of spinulose (hairy or spiky) limbs towards the front of the body would then have been used to filter or collect food from water and bring it closer to the animal’s mouth. After each response the ‘victim’ (an unsuspecting user of such a mobile phone) might give, a transcript of the conversation (between Stealth Cell Tower and victim) is printed by that very SCT GSM base station, disguised as a printer, & in this instance functioning as one. Finally, the SCT, at random moments, will decide to call a passerby and play “I Just Called to Say I Love You” (the 1984 hit by Stevie Wonder). So yes, the very same prime minister whose office invited me to speak about Turkey’s historical significance in Europe is currently demolishing huge areas of Istanbul — beginning with Tarlabaşı — and is planning to level even more, including some of the oldest parts of Beyoğlu. To make way for what? A series of boutique, luxury hotels among other things, it would seem — to be built by a construction company connected to the prime minister’s son-in-law, Berat Albayrak. You know what I mean, those silent golden landscapes, those gardens and cancers and hollyhocks. It’s sickening. Our shadows live there, would slaughter us if they could. But for some ungodly reason they are trying to speak to us instead. Like, for instance, there is a sky inside the earth. There is no light there and it stinks of heaven. No-one can visit, and no-one can leave. But those who are held there, they are manufacturing the noises. What noises? Think them, then make nothing else. According to the scientists, it ate & shat through the same hole. Error trying to establish a database connection. So the #1 misconception has GOT to be that Achilles topped, which would matter a lot less if this weren’t the ancient world where penetration and social standing have a lot to do with each other. I mean, I hate to go all, “Plato says ...”, but like, there is some SERIOUS BUSINESS exegesis in the Symposium where Phaedrus gets really real about how to read Homer like a proper fifth-century BC Athenian man (180a). To wit, Homer conveys that: 1) Achilles is maybe the hottest of the Greek forces, 2) Achilles did not have a beard, which is a clear signifier that he was an adolescent, and 3) Patroklos was canonically older than Achilles (see Il. 11.785) Patroklos is also enjoined by his dad to take care of Achilles, even though Achilles is basically stronger and more important and fancier than Patroklos is. Patroklos is supposed to serve as a counselor for him and give him advice. (We know this bc Nestor tells us, and Nestor is the sort of narrator you can rely on.) It’s important for me as a gentleman and scholar to acknowledge that Homer probably didn’t ship it, but that’s not gonna stop us, just like it didn’t stop centuries of Greeks before us. But the way Homer sets up their relationship, it’s very clear to ANYone who can read Greek (not you, Aeschylus, sit down) that Patroklos would have to be the erastes (the older partner, traditionally of age, etc.) and Achilles, the eromenos (younger partner, late teens, typically an ephebe iirc). BUT!!! this is especially important to our understanding of their relationship because we also see in Homer that Achilles is super dedicated to his bf(f) Patroklos and, you know, goes on a murder rampage after Patroklos is slain in battle while yada yada yada. in c5 Athens, it was expected for the erastes to be super into the eromenos, but not vice versa because he was just supposed to get, like, a knowledge boner out of it and not be sexually attracted to his sugar daddy. Stick with me here. On Sunday Musk elucidated on the concept of “going 3D down”: You have tall buildings, they’re all 3D, and then everyone wants to go into the building and leave the building at a same time. On a 2D road network, that obviously doesn’t work, so you have to go 3D either up or down. And I think probably down. But perhaps I got it wrong. I mean, I’ve been ill for quite a while now, and if I feel solidarity with anything at all, it’s simply with the forces of namelessness and invisibility, as if my body were less an ordered system of molecules and more a negative community of shattered, cannibalistic and stupid sub-atomic particles, and some of those particles are mine and some of them are not, as if my body had become an anti-linear intersection point where hail and domestic locusts had somehow mingled with the original recitation of Thomas Müntzer’s “Protest About the Condition of the Bohemians” — that would be 1521, something like that — that’s right, a slab. A slab composed of tungsten and dense micro-shrapnel, which explodes in deep, fabular silence somewhere on the other side of the planet, a dense micro-nebula, it’s like a vacuum, a microscopic black hole, an occupied territory, a supermarket, a hospital crackling and burning in the heat of the ... I forgot where I was going with this <mic drop>. But this is not the first time that the US has banned immigrants from its shores. Over the past 200 years, successive American presidents have placed restrictions on the immigration of certain groups. Here are a few of them: Exclusion of the Chinese. President Chester A. Arthur. Signed on May 6, 1882. The Chinese Exclusion Act, which banned "skilled and unskilled labourers and Chinese employed in mining" from entering the US for 10 years, was the first significant law restricting immigration to the country. It came at a time when the US was struggling with high unemployment and, although Chinese made up a very small segment of the country’s workforce, they were nevertheless scapegoated for its social and economic woes. The law also placed restrictions on Chinese who were already in the US, and among other things, banned them from securing citizenship. The act expired in 1892 but was extended for a further 10 years in the form of another — the Geary Act. This placed additional restrictions on Chinese residents of the country, forcing them to register, etc. Exclusion of Jewish refugees during World War II. President Franklin D. Roosevelt. As millions of people became refugees during World War II, Roosevelt argued that refugees posed a serious threat to the country’s national security. Drawing on fears that Nazi spies could be hiding among them, the country limited the number of German Jews who could be admitted to 26,000 annually. And it is estimated that for most of the Hitler era, less than 25 percent of that quota was actually filled. In one of the most notorious cases, the US turned away the St Louis ocean liner, which was carrying 937 passengers, almost all of whom are thought to have been Jewish, in June 1939. The ship was forced to return to Europe, where more than a quarter of its passengers are thought to have been killed in the Holocaust. Communists banned. Passed by Congress on August 23, 1950, despite being vetoed by President Harry Truman. The Internal Security Act of 1950 — also known as the Subversive Activities Control Act of 1950 or the McCarran Act — made it possible to deport any immigrants believed to be members of the Communist Party. Members of communist organisations, which were required to register, were also not allowed to become citizens. Sections of the act were ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in 1993. But some parts of the act still stand. Which is to say that, I, Donald John Trump, regret that I didn’t sue Gaga for stealing my meat dress. Do you remember my meat dress? Choice cuts, only the best. They remind me of Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth, for which she broke a hairline crack into the floor of the Turbine Hall which broadened out to a crevasse. You walked alongside and gaped in. The ‘not-blessed eye balls’ which follow are also
Foamed, steamed, speechless
Five couplets follow, which I have called ghazals. Mais où sont les neiges d’antan? “Speed on the liquid corn, heavily sedated warfare, secret pingbacks between the Gloss and its Carriers. Goodbye immunity.” Now there are lilac blue stones beneath the skin,
Do you know I’m going somewhere, I’m going.
Do you know we’re going somewhere, we’re going.
Held in the gut now.
Cold obscene light draining us out of our skin.
Deprecated vessels of waste, lined in viscous tar.
Watching a rare Canadian movie in which you bought the Mona Lisa.
First I’d show you and tell you in rapid telepathic style.
Husserl is just like Justine in Melancholia.
So Google just translated Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’entrate
As let every hope ye who enter here.
I just got an email from the Union of Concerned Scientists.
I am working with Eileen on this thing in which ________________.
OK, OK, so I counted wrong. “Such a phenomenon in the history of the world will never be forgotten, because it has revealed at the base of human nature a possibility for moral progress which no political figure had previously expected. Even if we must return to the Old Régime, these first hours of freedom will never be forgotten.” So let’s give a shout-out to Kant, whom Heine paired with Robespierre. I really ought to reread “Kant avec Sade.” Why? Cuz “I wanna get on the good foot / Ho, good foot, I got to get on the good foot ah”,
Push up a groove, get on up
Tarmac envy to bone, get on up
Key prang to pop yolo bong.
Which is simply meant to remind us both that “When the Emperor Otho III. visited the tomb in which had reposed for many years the mortal remains of Charlemagne, he entered the vault accompanied by two bishops and by the Count de Laumel [...] The body was not lying stretched out like the other dead, but was seated erect on a bench like a living person. There was a crown of gold on the head and a sceptre was held between the hands, which were gloved; but the nails having grown, had pierced through the leather of the gloves. The vault had been solidly walled round with marble and limestone. In order to obtain access, it was necessary to make a breach in the wall. A very strong odour was perceptible at the moment of entering the tomb. Every one quickly bent the knee and testified his respect for the dead. Otho invested the body of the emperor with a white robe, cut the nails, and repaired whatever had become dilapidated. No portion of the body had suffered decomposition, with the exception of the nose, the point of which was broken off. Otho replaced it with a golden point: he then took from the mouth of the illustrious dead a tooth, caused the wall of the vault to be built up again, and departed.” And then to ask: how did he know to bring a gold nose point with him? How did he know the point he brought would fit? Ooo-eee-ooo, right? Come to visit, we talk a little, we hug — nobody ties me up and fists me till they’ve hugged me at least once. That’s a rule. So here’s my current vinyl wishlist:
-Allucinante “Mundo Del Soul” Souvenir, SLP-1347, 1970, Venezuela pressing, in shrink wrap only.
-Age of Reason “Self-titled”, Georgetowne TRS-1002, 1969, USA pressing, ex-/ex condition only.
-Boa “Wrong Road”, Snakefield SN-1, 1971, USA pressing, in vg+/ex- condition only.
-The Cat, “The Jerker”, Coliseum CMR-9001, 1966, Thailand pressing, vg+/ex- condition only.
-The Kinks “Kinky Music” (Larry Page Orchestra), Decca LK 4692, 1965, UK pressing, laminated sleeve & ;mono version only.
-Psicotomimetica “Viva Una Experienca”, Souvenir SLP-1341, 1969, Venezuela pressing, ex/ex- condition only.
-The Satans “Raisin Hell”, Private LP A-3262, 1964, USA pressing, with lyric sheet insert & ex/vg+ condition only.
-Virgil Caine “Self-titled”, Fulcrum LP 943, 1971, USA pressing, sealed in mint/m- condition only.
-The Zombies “Odessey And Oracle”, Date TES 4013, 1968, USA pressing, rare gatefold cover with poster, ex/ex- condition only.
I like running naked and hunting naked. I can lock onto my target in less than 5 seconds. But pleese bear with me while ivorganize my thoughts.
5 ONE BEDROOM UNITS AVAILABLE
I love blood. I’m a YouTube Gamer and if I live long enough plan on making it a career. DAMNIT WEST TEXAS! I would recommend asking your doctor to take a look at that chest mole. Granted I work in marketing for a living but I have two theories that might help. First, you mean fetish not fetus. Hey. Steevee, Hi. Thank you for that. Hi, bud. It’s reducing. Walk carefully if you go on an ice sculpture hunt. Good God. Hi. Okay. Do you remember the mixing bowl? Do you remember Spin and Marty? Do you remember the Chums of Chance? They seemed to be in the midst of some great storm in whose low illumination, presently, they could make out, in unremitting sweep across the field of vision, inclined at the same angle as the rain, if rain it was — some material descent, gray and wind-stressed — undoubted human identities, masses of souls, mounted, pillioned, on foot, ranging along together by the millions over the landscape accompanied by a comparably unmeasurable herd of horses. The multitude extended farther than they could see — a spectral cavalry, faces disquietingly wanting in detail, eyes little more than blurred sockets, the draping of garments constantly changing in an invisible flow which perhaps was only wind. Bright arrays of metallic points hung and drifted in three dimensions and perhaps more, like stars blown through by the shock waves of the Creation. Were those voices out there crying in pain? sometimes it almost sounded like singing. Sometimes a word or two, in a language almost recognizable, came through. Thus, galloping in unceasing flow ever ahead, denied any further control over their fate, the disconsolate company were borne terribly over the edge of the visible world ... The chamber shook, as in a hurricane. Ozone permeated its interior like the musk attending some mating dance of automata, and the boys found themselves more and more disoriented. Soon even the cylindrical confines they had entered seemed to have fallen away, leaving them in a space unbounded in all directions. There became audible a continuous roar as of the ocean — but it was not the ocean — and soon cries as of beasts in open country, ferally purring stridencies passing overhead, sometimes too close for the lads to be altogether comfortable with — but they were not beasts. Everywhere rose the smell of excrement and dead tissue. Each lad was looking intently through the darkness at the other, as if about to inquire when it would be considered proper to start screaming for help. “If this is our host’s idea of the future —” Chick began, but he was abruptly checked by the emergence, from the ominous sweep of shadow surrounding them, of a long pole with a great metal hook on the end, of the sort commonly used to remove objectionable performers from the variety stage, which, being latched firmly about Chick’s neck, had in the next instant pulled him off into regions indecipherable. Before Darby had time to shout after, the Hook reappeared to perform a similar extraction on him, and quick as that, both youngsters found themselves back in the laboratory of Dr. Zoot. The fiendish “time machine,” still in one piece, quivered in its accustomed place, as if with merriment. This is how forests think. Yeah. Not how the Runa think about forests, or with them, or what have you. Tapirs, jaguars, anacondas, dogs, trees. Kohn takes us into this other world slowly; the book begins in Standard Average European but code switches with increasingly regularity into something Runa, or to be honest I don’t know what. Mind you, I’m only quibbling about a good thing because of wanting more of it. I think my favorite, though, may be Cunt Stevens. The “fiery poles” and “fragrant portals” of Key West have never before been quite this fiery, quite this fragrant. Meanwhile Lars’s flat succumbs to an elemental and apocalyptic dampness. So where is the Logic taking us? The end, Hegel insists, is the beginning, although you understand that beginning only when you approach the end. I think here of the doomsday clock, set forward just a few weeks ago to two and a half minutes to total catastrophe, the closest it’s been since the height of the cold war. I think of September 2016, when we passed the 400ppm CO2 threshold in a for-all-intents-and-purposes permanent way. But who knows? We may find insights about these rhythms in the words of Rachel Carson, concerning a small, green worm known to marine biologists as Convoluta roscoffensis who lives in the sea sand, rising when the tide has ebbed and sinking into the sand when the tide returns. Sometimes scientists transfer a whole colony of these worms into an aquarium where there are no tides. “But twice each day Convoluta rises out of the sand on the bottom of the aquarium, into the light of the sun. And twice each day she sinks again into the sand. Without a brain or what we would call a memory or even any very clear perception, Convoluta continues to live out her life in this alien place, remembering in every fibre of her small, green body the tidal rhythm of the distant sea.” Of course, “ground” in Fontana’s work cannot be described or specified as it had been in modernist painting as either a degree zero or ideated space. Where Rodchenko’s Pure Red, Pure Yellow, Pure Blue conveyed a productivist ethos by unmasking the (mechanically understood) constituent components in painting, evidenced in its rationalist reduction of sensuous content — color is rationally reduced to the basic primary colors available universally thanks to industry and standardization — Fontana reinvests the monochrome with secondary and tertiary layers of myth. So Gazob comes taking giant steps down from the mountain and he has a guitar with him. It’s his first guitar and he plays it badly. Stars and gardens he-ho alive aliveo you will hear him play. This is in the time before Helliadorus, just before the loop and the shake. But who is Gazob exactly? And who his mother? Gazob is a kid who looks like his own shadow, like it’s his house and he a snail inside. Sometime the devil has him and he is blue Gazob. It’s been a long morning. There is heavenly manna on the guitar and he shakes it like you might a heart if you could to get the glitter out. Like in real life Gazob can hardly play the guitar but also he plays the old tune the sun has got its hat on and by noon it’s lé-é-é-és and it’s ké-é-é-és and the strings bend and break but it’s still a lovely larking tirra-lirra, a re-ra-re, a fe-fi-fo, and then by afternoon it’s a coughing and a barking, a rain rain go away, rain rain go away. In this dream the feeling is of Gazob as how it was he came to love and was ready to love Helliadorus when she came along all comes from books and prison. In his spell inside on the other side of the mountain there was little to do except. Page 37 refers to it as love of love. Who can it be who left it lying there?
Don’t paint me yellow! she cried
Don’t cry yellow
She was thoroughly bleached her neck her face
And then they came, small animals
Small small small small animals
We do love bleach too
Glowing / birds humping our lips repeatedly
The way whales would our atoms glowing
The names we call the cosmos are given in the wrong time. But as the word points back towards the babbling speakers they fail also to notice that even the name has become corrupt in the wrongness of its time. This cosmos whose name was still so young, was itself aged. And those excluded would turn out to be the majority. No-one would even think of them with names of a cosmos. People, after all, have been seafaring for at least 130,000 years. For every lost village or forgotten house, rediscovered beneath a quiet meadow, then, there are a thousand ancient shipwrecks we don’t even know we should be looking for. For example, until last month I hadn’t known there was such a thing as smart cremation. For another, the US Department of Defense Wants Biodegradable Bullets Made of Seeds. There was, though, one thing she would go into, one such particular, something, she went on to say, related and in some ways catalytic to the sense of alternative her piece would be an exponent of. This was the poem’s preference for sentence fragments over grammatically complete sentences, a tendency she called its “phrasal bent,” sometimes its “clausal bent,” a predilection so pronounced she resorted to counting. While at the teahouse, that is, she went thru the poem and counted the number of sentence fragments ending with periods and the number of grammatically complete sentences, finding around eighty of the former and around thirty of the latter, a ratio tending toward three to one. Consistent with and probably an effect of the jostle and the impingement present in the poem, as though events and apprehensions crowded it, came in too fast to be noted other than telegraphically, sketchily, breathlessly almost, too fast and too abundant for grammatical completeness, this feature, Drennette noted, is conducive to and conveys a certain wariness of predication, maintaining a trepidatious tone. Which is why I did this duration my way. I decided that the first chakra is “sex,” when other theologies see the first chakra as “security.” Somehow I couldn’t wait and wanted sex to be the first experience and figured that the glands for the first chakra are the ovaries slash testes, so it is only logical that sex slash intimacy should be first? Getting one’s feet on the ground and fears and insecurities settled AT THE BEGINNING is the correct procedure, but I followed my own path, making “sex” first. Please don’t follow my example. Research the correct way.
[Note: Sources: Anna Marmodoro, “Anaxagoras’s Qualitative Gunk”, at philpapers (abstract only); JBR; Jeffrey T Russell, “The Structure of Gunk: Adventures in the Ontology of Space”, at Marc Sanders Foundation; JBR (“they came ... motherfuckers” is the text of a sign seen at a number of recent demos); “500-million year-old species offers insights into the lives of ancient legged worms”, at Science Daily, 30 Jan 017; Jeroen Nieuwland, “From the Tower of Stealth Cell: a new work by Critical Engineer Julian Oliver emerges as a radical appropriation and critique of State technologies & strategies of covert surveillance”, at a poetics of confusions, 29 Jan 017; JBR; Ian Almond, “The Destruction of Historic Istanbul”, at Academia.edu; Sean Bonney, “Our Death 26 / ‘Let’s Not Chat About Despair’”, at Abandoned Buildings, 30 Jan 017; “[News of some zoological discovery - ...]”, at belgianwaffle, 30 Jan 017; result of attempting to find an article about Kenzo Kuma at a site called Architecture for Dogs; “some (politically irrelevant) thoughts on Achilles/Patroklos”, at nOPE; Eve Peyser, “Elon Musk on Digging Big-Ass Tunnel: ‘We Have No Idea What We’re Doing’”, at Gizmodo, 29 Jan 017; JBR; Sean Bonney, “Letter Against the Firmament”, at Abandoned Buildings, 8 Sept 014; JBR; “Six other times the US has banned immigrants”, at Al Jazeera, 29 Jan 017; JBR; Paul Magee and Elif Sezen, “Elif Sezen’s ‘Dear Immigrants’ and ‘The Turkish Bath’”, at Cordite 57; Francois Villon, “Ballade des dames du temps jadis”; Ian Heames, and Luke Roberts, blurb for Heames’ Gloss to Carriers, at Plantarchy; JBR; Vicky Sparrow, “Big C little c”, at “Wintercapillary”, Oct 016; Naomi Weber, “[Do you know I’m going somewhere, I’m going ...]”, at June 2016; Kev Nickells, “[Disaffected & exhausted]”, at June 2016; Nat Raha, “[transmissions daily, microwaves, radio, liquid crystal, ...]”, at June 2016; Jonty Tiplady, “Temps Perdu Pixel”, “Lesson”, “Shelly’, in Haribo Ozymandias 4; JBR; Immanuel Kant, quoted in Peter McPhee, Liberty or Death: The French Revolution; JBR; James Brown, “Good foot”; Jonty Tiplady, “Little Viola”, in Haribo Ozymandias 4 (with a little James Brown, “Get on Up”, thrown in); JBR; Heinrich Heine, Religion and Philosophy in Germany: A Fragment (tr. John Snodgrass); JBR; various slaves, and Dennis Cooper, quoted in Cooper’s “Meet PinkMatterhorn, OWL, TheStandell, BASEBALLBOY, and DC’s other select international male slaves for the month of January 1017”, at DC’s, 31 Jan 017; JBR; Thomas Pynchon, Against the Day; JBR; Matthew Engelke, quoted in “On Our Nightstands: January 2017”, at Public Books, 31 Jan 017 (re Eduardo Kohn, How Forests Think: Toward an Anthropology Beyond the Human); Barry Schwabsky, “Reader’s Diary: The Porn of Poetry”, at Hyperallergic, 28 (?) Jan 017; Nicholas Dames, quoted in“On Our Nightstands: January 2017”, at Public Books, 31 Jan 017 (re Lars Iyer, Spurious); JBR; CLR James, Notes on Dialectics; JBR; Mary Daly, “Wanderlust/Wonderlust: Re: membering the Elemental Powers of Women”, at Dalhousie Review vol.64 no.4; JBR; Jaleh Mansoor, Marshall Plan Modernism: Italian Postwar Abstraction and the Beginnings of Autonomia; JBR; Jonathan Tiplady and Sarah Wood, “The Blue Guitar”, at Academia.edu; Purdey Lord Kreiden, quoted in John Armstrong, “Purdey Lord Kreiden and her Poems”, at Arduity;
Brexit: Borders Kill; Geoff Manaugh, “Fewer Gardens, More Shipwrecks”, at BLDGBLOG, 1 Feb 017; Nancy Friedman, “Not So Smart”, at Fritinancy, 1 Feb 017; JBR; Allison Meier, “US Department of Defense Wants Biodegradable Bullets Made of Seeds”, at Hyperallergic, 1 Feb 017; Nathaniel Mackey, From a Broken Bottle Traces of Perfume Still Emanate, at Jacket2, 17 Dec 014; JBR; Linda Mary Montano, “Journal Entries from 14 Years of Living Art Book”, at Linda Mary Montano, 1 Feb 017]