Zeitgeist Spam

In the House of the Hangman 1340

You are in search of some simple way to reach your home
     but the old gods reach out with their stories and resentments
          and so your journey will be troublesome
               and frankly, endless
                    for you will go on to meet people
                         who have never heard of you

And when I hid my hands behind my back
they looked like white flowers
lying on a blue cloak

And in a comment on his post about dim, dark, bright and rogue objects, Levi used Mrs. Plotsky on the luggage cart as an example of a rogue object

x. om usis peake oi a vis theno anlesherezzz nou  oveo uda sihers

She is the woman hanging from the 13^th floor
window

What do you like for period food? I like Kit Kats, Doritos and Subway.
I want a goddamn pizza and some breadsticks or something greasy and gross

Pebbly rocks testify to old streambed on Mars

*

Blood test results: mostly normal

Heart attack risk factor: 10% over next 10 years.

*

Birds and Birds and Birds

A little later — bright weather. — AN UNUSUAL melodiousness, these days, … from the blackbirds; indeed all sorts of birds, darting, whistling, hopping or perch’d on trees. Never before have I seen, heard, or been in the midst of, and got so flooded and saturated with them and their performances, as this current month. Such oceans, such successions of them. Let me make a list of those I find here:

Black birds (plenty,)
Meadow-larks (plenty,)
Ring doves,
Cat-birds (plenty,)
Owls,
Cuckoos,
Woodpeckers,
Pond snipes (plenty,)
King-birds,
Cheewinks,
Crows (plenty,)
Quawks,
Wrens,
Ground robins,
Kingfishers,
Ravens,
Quails,
Gray snipes,
Turkey-buzzards,
Eagles,
Hen-hawks,
High-holes,
Yellow birds,
Herons,
Thrushes,
Tits,
Reed birds,
Woodpigeons.

Early came the
Blue birds,
Meadow lark,
Killdeer,
White-bellied swallow,
Plover,
Sandpiper,
Robin,
Wilson’s thrush.
Woodcock,
Flicker.

[Note: Sources: Joanne Kyger, “Wild Currant is blooming Pink / The Odyssey by Random Chance”, in 2012; Gennady Aygi, “Tale of the Aging Harlequin”, in Into the Snow (tr. Sarah Valentine); JBR; Frances Madeson, FB comment, 30 May 013 (Levi = Levi R Bryant); Billy Bob Beamer, “4 pomes || Billy Bob Beamer”, at experiential-experimental-literature, 30 May 013; Joy Harjo, “The Woman Hanging from the Thirteenth Floor Window”, in Native North American Literary Companion (eds. Joseph Bruchac, Janet Witalec); babiesinatrenchcoat, “What do you live for period food?”, at anarcho-mom, 30 May 013; “Pebbly Rocks Testify to Old Streambed On Mars”, at Science Daily, 30 May 013; JBR; Walt Whitman, Specimen Days (31 May is WW’s birthday)]

In the House of the Hangman 1339

Speaking of weeds, NASA admits they are working to travel faster than the speed of light. There are planets out there to weaponize and / or commodify. But what is the Alcubierre Drive? Based on Einstein’s field equations, it suggests that a spacecraft could leap long distances by contracting space in front of it and expanding space behind it, which would allow us to, well, keywords: warp, boost, York Time, bulk, and brane. “The pattern reminds you of a window, but the surface is closed. It suggests the heavy, white-jade blankness of a snow sky ... Because the horizontally brushed grayish wash on the surface stops near but not against the lines, they seem to have halos around them. These halos actually swallow the lines at middle distance, leaving only their white ghosts. Even the ghosts disappear eventually.” The bear symbolizes a prehistoric future ... Is there not then at least some potential for another irony here, of a profoundly structural kind, that Gilgamesh is in his last individual action cheated of the ‘Old Man Grown Young’ plant, which might have restored to him his youthfully fearless powers for the challenge of heroic deeds, by some mere passing reptile (XI.293-305 and esp. 299)? I am tempted to read XI.314-7 not as deep insight and resignation in the face of his own ‘mortal inadequacy’ (p. xlvi) but, at least as much if not more, as ironical chagrin and vexation at being blocked one more time.

grey whiteness

green ridge, motion of grasses in field

in foreground, wave sounding in channel

install gut
install pins
install teeth
install egg
install tongue
install night
install beat

I take a picture of the “sleeping” bird. I start to post the picture to the internet, but feel that this may offend some of my friends, even though the bird does look like it is sleeping. I press delete. I walk another block and imagine dropping dead like the tiny birds. Cars would flatten my skull like shoes flattened theirs. You would hear my scream. You would see me dead in the middle of the street. Your hands would run through your hair in disbelief, and you might gag at the sight of me. Then you would take a picture of my body and upload it to the internet. You would take a few more pictures with my body, stepping in front of the camera to pose with me. Smiling, thumbs up, peace sign.

Now to clarify the broth skim off the oil & swallow it is your oil.

[Note: Sources: JBR; <“NASA Admits They Are Working To Travel Faster Than The Speed Of Light”, at Minds, 28 May 013, via Anny Ballardini, FB post, 29 May 013; JBR; Harold “Sonny” White, “Warp Field Mechanics 101”, at NASA; Kasha Linville describing Agnes Martin’s painting “Tundra”, as quoted in Hazel Sullivan, FB post, 29 May 013; Annie Epelboin, “Metaphorical Animals and the Proletariat”, as quoted in Benjamin Noys, “Ursine Accelerationism”, at No Useless Leniency, 28 May 013; J H Prynne, “Letter to Dr Andrew George, c/o Penguin Books”, at Quid 5; Stephen Ratcliffe, “5.29”, at Temporality, 29 May 013; Chris Emery, “Zero Start Scenario”, at Quid 5; Sarah Jean Alexander, I imagine you in your house, cleaning your chest, at Eyebulbs, Jun 012; Catherine Wagner, “Exercise 8 (12/4/00 AM)”, at Poetry Foundation]

John Bloomberg-Rissman and Conrad DiDiodato discuss 'conceptual poetry'

Reblogged from Word-Dreamer:

I'd like to thank John Bloomberg-Rissman for agreeing to talk to me about 'conceptual poetry' via Google+ 'hangout'. Below is the YouTube video of our discussion. I would like to post 'hangout' discussions from time to time. If the "medium is the message" there can be no doubt that Net technology conditions the very terms (and tone) of poetry discussion. It's quite remarkable to me that this two-person symposium could never have happened in the "paper" regime where space, means of production and meaning itself are governed by the powerful few.

In the House of the Hangman 1338

It’s so fuckin dark today. My camera hates dark. Oh well, I have an appointment tomorrow and it’s a bit of a drive and I'm picturing it looking like Eakins’ Gross Clinic. I’ve had this appointment for like four months so I can't miss it. I’m still sick but I think getting over this cold which came after the almost certain food poisoning which came after something else weird. My tongue is a particular pet peeve. I have always felt if you really studied your tongue for any great length of time, you'd probably go insane, like monoxide tents, brightly in wait for the astral knockout. Your sacrum to the left of bright Pollux gleaming, gladiolus in 12pt solid through a low blaze and each lambent finger spread flowing beneath the reversal of an errant speech-act flies open mounted at the crown of Venus in a pattern of stresses no / or / obliquely through the supernal forge. If you’re a runner, you could soon be running around with your Nike air tank system filled with Gatorade scented hyper oxygenator technology that will help you maximize your workout. Since you don’t have to work out, you are wasting precious air, which means you should pay. The widespread disappearance of stromatolites, the earliest visible manifestation of life on Earth, may have been driven by single-celled organisms called foraminifera, some ancient mindless equivalent of THE USURPITABLE the loverable the nozzlerable the malble the ganlandiose the flatfulus the fetterminal the carsidal the fornippable the astinging the eyeratulous the martrocious the deginertent the inspectre the pastiferous the sturmfooking the tenstacular the slipperous the falstifying the feeming the supermonket the vendrabid the superacking the suprashital the polsterable the acompsted the invialatust the toomurmurked T Boone Pickens and CEO of Nestlé. Which isn’t fair to the foraminifera, really. Open a can of Nyquil, pour into pan, drop in egg. I mean, this essay undertakes an analysis of the logical and phenomenal relation between sweetness and law in order to argue for the universal ontological illegality of worry. Through a close reading and exegesis of the bitter waters of Marah (Exodus 15: 25) in light of medieval mystical ideas about the immanence of paradise, it demonstrates the essentially inversive and secretly intimate link between these terms. At the still point or moment of identity that forms the crux of the law / sweetness relation, one finds the highest anagogical sense of … Psych! Is there a larger pattern to these invasions? What do fire ants, zebra mussels, Asian gypsy moths, tamarisk trees, maleleuca trees, kudzu, Mediterranean fruit flies, boll weevils and water hyacinths have in common with crab-eating macaques or Nile perch? Answer: They’re weedy species. My spirit-animal is a weed.

[Note: Sources: William Keckler, “Donner Party Diary”, at Joe Brainard’s Pyjamas (The Sequel), 28 May 013; Stuart Calton, “VERSUS ALL OVER BODY-GHOST”, at Plantarchy 2; Gabriel Roberts, “‘Spaceballs’ Is Now: Air, Water And The Monetization of Human Life”, at Disinformation, 28 May 013; “Disappearance of Stromatolites, Earliest Visible Manifestation of Life: Ancient Enigma Solved?”, at Science Daily, 28 May 013; JBR, but see Roberts, above; Mark Mendoza, “variation (after Haroldo de Campos after Edwin Morgan)”, at Plantarchy 2; Jean Vengua, “Tuesday, 5/28/2013”, at Okir, 28 May 13; JBR; Nicola Masciandaro, FB post, 28 May 013; JBR; Ran Prieur, and Ted Heistman, as quoted in Heistman’s “Totem Animals for the Anthropocene”, at Disinformation, 28 May 13]

In the House of the Hangman 1337

We gladly feast on those who would subdue us | sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc. SITE UNDER MAINTENANCE. “Thus do we growl that (our) foot-thumbs have, at this moment, been thrown up from down there.” No point in noting antelopes are herbivores, I guess, since there are many ways an antelope has of doing imaginary friends to death. The sea is walking in the streets. The sea is dangling from windows and the branches of shriveled trees. The sea drops from the sky and comes into the room. Blue, white, foam, waves. I don’t know who let there be light again. The world began to crouch once more in its shabby pelts: the yellow one of Sunday, the ashen one of Monday, the humid one of Tuesday, the judicious one of Wednesday, sharkskin for Thursday, a sad one for Friday, a tattered one for Saturday. Thus the world reappeared, quiet, sleeping, or pretending to sleep. A hair-raising spider, with three broken legs, emerged from Saturday’s sleeve. In my dream the baby elephant is gamboling noisily and joyously in my upstairs room. I’m not sure how it got inside, but I’m so happy it’s there. It pauses in front of me, swings its trunk in a wrinkly arabesque. I don’t want to forget this. I don’t want to forget. And so I take a picture with my iPhone -- a closeup of eyelashes and nose leather -- so I don’t forget. By this means I came to know about Cartesian doubt, both problems of induction, Cantor’s diagonal proof, and other such goodies before I was ten. When anyone in my family spotted an infinite regress, we would shout out a little bell sound we’d made up. “And things would go on this way when the new war was replaced by another war.” You told me your last will is in this book. “I remember reading a line in a poem that said something about cleaning yesterday’s mistake from the stove & underlining it — that seemed like news, the kind of news you can free yourself from.” What year was that. At the event about / death, when seven tiny pep’o’ / mint life savers fell from my / jacket pocket onto the short- / cropped carpet. / … / Unfortunate- / ly, I’m just not into it / because I know all too / well that Italy exists. “Shrewd,” says Doozy, bunching the Arts Page. “Say that like Johnny Cash Robot.” “Fiscally drunken derivatives traders,” says Jed in the voice of the Johnny Cash Robot. It was all pretend: Religious pretend, like bouquets of flowers from every planet. In this sequel to Sharktopus, two Piranhacondas hunt down their stolen egg. The scientist who stole the egg hitchhikes the island and meets up with a movie crew. The star, the scientist, and some crew-members get kidnapped by some money-craving people who put them on ransom for some dough. Meanwhile, one Piranhaconda eats an island-goer and some scientists searching for a rare flower. It comes to the kidnappers’ hideout and attacks. The crew and the scientist escape. The Piranhaconda follows the crew, who are in a truck, but is wounded by a grenade. The second Piranhaconda arrives and, sensing blood, attacks its wounded mate. It then decides to track down the crew. The scientist reveals that he had the egg, so they try to escape via boat. But the Piranhaconda stalls their plans. The scientist pretends to get rid of the egg, but doesn’t, causing the creature to follow them. The crew becomes trapped by the kidnappers, but the Piranhaconda crashes the party. The scientist and the two remaining crew members get back to the boat, but the man stays on shore to destroy the snake. In the water, the girl realizes that the scientist had the egg all along. She throws it in the river and shoves him overboard. He is then killed by the Piranhaconda. The girl goes back to shore and finds the boy. They lure the Piranhaconda to a waterfall using the egg. Jack slips a bomb into the case and threw it at the beast, then he and the girl jumped into the river below. The bomb went off and decapitated the snake. The two then decide to go on a date. They kiss as a third Piranhaconda devours them both. The camera switches to a shot of the waterfall, and the growl of the Piranhaconda is heard.

[Note: Sources: a MUTE landing page, 27 May 013 approx. 7:55 AM PDT (this is the Addams Family motto); Dennis, “Bad Movie Latin!”, at The Campvs, 38 Mar 09 (I have substituted foot-thumbs for big toes, as sanctioned in the text, and down there for below, with no sanction but the sound); JBR, FB comment, 27 May 013; Mahmoud Darwish, “from Memory for Forgetfulness”, in Poems for the Millennium Volume Two (eds. Jerome Rothenberg and Pierre Joris); César Vallejo, “The Footfalls of a Great Criminal”, in The Complete Poetry of César Vallejo (tr. Clayton Eshleman); Lee Ann Roripaugh, FB post, 27 May 013; Rebecca Kukla, as quoted in Richard Marshall, “the relentless naturalist: Rebecca Kukla interviewed by Richard Marshall”, at 3:AM Magazine, 27 May 013; Megan Burns, and Gina Myers, as quoted in Burns’ “Megan Burns to Gina Myers”, at Horse Less Press, May 013; Lyn Hejinian, and Del Ray Cross, as quoted in Cross’s “mcmxxi”, at Anachronizms, 25 May 013; Julian Poirier, WAY TOO WEST 3, at scribd; “Piranhaconda”, at Wikipedia, via Susan M Schultz, FB post, 27 May 013]

In the House of the Hangman 1336

“Sweet corn, which now out-sells other all other kinds of corn, was born in a cloud of radiation.” The Commons showed how the abolition of the commons turned the dead into zombies. ‘For this consciousness has been fearful, not of this or that particular thing or just at odd moments, but its whole being has been seized with dread …’ Their law is not adequate to the situation they face, therefore they're changing it to archaic eschatology. Vallejo says today Death is welding / each limit every limit every frontier to each strand of every strand of lost hair, from / the little tub the cask the bucket of a frontal the dish of a forehead a frontal bone, where there’s / algae seaweed, herbal balms lemon balm which sing divine singing that sings divine guardian divine seed-bed seedbeds sacred mastic / trees on guard on the alert, / and antiseptic lordless verses poems without / an owner, without a master. ‘Welding’ takes us to the factory, so this is something like the dead labour which forms the time of capitalist production. But more precisely, death is welding ‘every frontier’, i.e. every limit, i.e. where things become other than what they are and pass through the negative. The aim of CADA was entirely to de-specialise art: They painted the slogan NO + on walls (recuerda?), Zurita burned his cheek. In that little harbour bar, the hashish began to exert its canonical magic […]. The traces of illness give them away: their skin seems covered by a rash printed in regular patterns, like a camouflage of the inorganic. [To discuss: what is “the present moment”? How long is it? What is the role of “urgency”?] It should be autotelic, you might say. Or more simply, it should be fun. Adorno famously suggested that fun was a medicinal bath, which is great, because medicinal baths are really fun! POEM 1: The Peach Of / The Vogue Reach. Personal advice: he’s not making you happy. POEM 2: Do not / him you / myhapping / guarase. Another recurrent item is the wavy willow. This estate of stillness is what makes this item the best option when it comes to neutral decoration and unbiased interior design. Butterfly is classy! Bared snake breasts of no nation of the world on a plane … I mean, the neighbor’s goat is walking around with a big bucket over his head. On purpose. He put it down. Now’s walking around with it over his head again. I think he's showing off. The other goats are crowding around, like “me next!” Along the lines of Winnicott’s observation that the only thing that could have rescued Hamlet would have been reading Hamlet, the boy needed a copy of “The Dim Lake That Looked Less Shallow in the Gloaming.” Something analogous could be said of the Eel Pie and the Shad Bake. All gluttons from certain vantages are gluttons for punishment, and ditto the girl in “The Grain & the Grape.” You can buy fifty clothespins for less than two dollars, but you can’t buy the potsherd depicting the Eleusinian mystery as Lucy scarfing chocolates from an assembly line. Imagine the still without Ethel, without the supervisor, without the chocolates. Roland Barthes meets Lucy meets Persephone: every ruin tells the story of its own sanctifying. The torn earth, the skeletal trees, and Paul himself had all been abundantly spattered by the slow-falling mist that follows hundreds of pounds of red-hot metal exploding in a crowd of human beings. But that’s ok. Total your car and we give you the money to buy one a year newer. Liberty Mutual. What’s your policy? I am settled upon a religious pineapple. McFly, speaking to his future wife Lorraine, proclaims: “I am your density.” Jung once dreamt that he and a dwarf killed a beautiful blond youth, whom he called Siegfried. This spirit, it turns out, specializes in organizing trips to ‘the island of Levania’, which lies ‘fifty thousand German miles up in the ether’, mais il n’y a rien la! meaning ‘no Michelin stars’. Poem 3: Pposite / Thkin / THEO. At this point in our social evolution, however, we don’t need dramatic movements and loud unexpected sounds to compel our eyes to follow others’ glances — we just do it. Its outer body has a coppery sheen.

[Note: Sources: Anastasia Hager, FB post, 26 May 013; William Rowe, GWF Hegel, César Vallejo, as quoted in Rowe’s, “The Danger We Face: William Rowe”, at Militant Poetics, 25 May 013 (I’ve interspersed into the Vallejo found in Rowe (Trilce LV) phrases from the translations found in Jean Franco, César Vallejo: The Dialectics of Poetry and Silence, via Google Books, and The Complete Poetry of César Vallejo (tr. Clayton Eshleman)); JBR (because the “No +” also appears earlier in this thing); Jacob Bard-Rosenberg, Walter Benjamin, Theodor Adorno, as quoted in Bard-Rosenberg’s “On Militant Poetics and the Physignomy of Judges: Jacob Bard-Rosenberg”, at Militant Poetics, 25 May 013; Jow Lindsay, “Poets as Activists: Jow Lindsay”, at Militant Poetics, 25 May 013; Amalia Ulmin, “Buyer, waker, rover”, at Amalia Ulman; JBR (alluding to FEMEN, and Fela Kuti, and Snakes on a Plane); JBR; Jean Vengua, FB post, 26 May 013; Michael D Snediker, “Appliqué”, in The Apartment of Tragic Appliances, at punctum books; Tad Williams, Otherland Volume One: City of Golden Shadow; tv commercial heard on TNTHD, toward the end of Blade: Trinity, 26 May approx. 4:35 PM PDT; Del Ray Cross, “mcmxxii”, at Anachronizms, 26 May 013; Justin Katko, “Blame Solidarity Etc.: Justin Katko”, at Militant Poetics, 25 May 013; Derrick Tyson, “This Nowhere Where, or; the Fatigue of Wondering & Wanderingness”, at Derrickonia Pineconeus, 26 Mar 013; Justin E H Smith, and Johannes Kepler, as quoted in Smith’s “Why Is Iceland a Portal to the Moon?”, at berfrois, 22 May 013; Scott Eric Kaufman, “I see that you’ve seen that I saw you: miscommunication in ‘Second Sons’ (Game of Thrones)”, at Lawyers, Guns & Money, 25 May 013; John Olson, “What Really Matters”, at Tillalala Chronicles, 26 May 013]

In the House of the Hangman 1335

Actually ... FUCK, I did this last week during my meeting with the local German Expressionists Cinema Stylists, and we went and got into a fight with the documentarians. And I did this once before, too. I remember when I was a Buddhist. And we Buddhists used to get into a lot of fights with the Zen Buddhists. And after a lot of fighting we finally got together and talked, and discovered that we regular Buddhists and the Zen Buddhists had a lot in common … so why were even fighting? It was insane. So we finally got together as brothers and sisters … and went over and kicked the shit out of the Scientologists. And that’s what getting rid of labels can do. It allows you to more freely kick the shit out of the Scientologists, and in greater numbers. So: NO MORE LABELS! And let’s live together as brothers and sisters, and keep kicking the shit out of the Postmodernists. Amen. Long live the Village People. The bees could have been destroyed, or they could have been turned over to Monsanto to ascertain why some are resistant to Roundup. Without them as evidence, Ingram simply cannot defend against the phony charges of foulbrood. And if our wishes were more nimble would you wish for the pockets of dollars from the wealthier to dissolve into ours (grass into distance) or to fade more brightly into the light of a memorable future in which the lost animals’ names are written in a satin erasing oil spills (diluted bitumen)? a filled machine skims the breathing room  .   cha ching  .  and soon the inner part of the lungs in a child becomes a miniature portrait in air of a shared world  .  rather I wish it were more shared  .  or the taller man with greasy hair told me to leave the poetry reading to go take care of my child  .  who is screaming   .   which is also a miniature of the shared world  .  and the fact that there are never enough arms for capital as it keeps asking for us to abandon the blowing rooms   .  “An intriguing question that arose was: How does the tetrachromat cDa29 see the world?” Like Freud’s unconscious, this salami knows no contradictions – in addition to the animal trimmings, this concoction contains various inedibles (“worn iron of trotter”; “slate of Zaragoza”; “cock claws”), plant matter (“mountain thyme, basil, / paprika, and knobs of garlic”), and even the blood of its maker. The whole head might be herpetoid but only as a sort of faux anamorphic version of an orchid, an orchid imagined as a blue flaming spirit slightly muppified itself emanating from an unreadable word seemingly close to biofilm or biolith, there is also the fact that there exists a spidery black circuit which can only be seen after the previous modulations have occurred, and died. So here we are, on the set of our rock-n-roll video shoot, with three roosters, two turtles, two birds, several fish, a stray dog, and a cat. We’re in Bali, Indonesia, drenched in sweat and running power cables through sketchy outlets on the fourth floor of a rickety old building. A bunch of bad ideas all stacked on top of each other, soaked in booze and hogtied to a homemade motorcycle. Out of our way. We’re shooting this thing like a bobsled team. Aside from our resident rockstar, the only animal I’m really worried about is the cat. Our original feline cast member showed up, took one look at our discombobulated set, and went back home to nap. The second nearly had a panic attack and instantly shed all its fur. Now we’re spitballing ideas for cat #3, like kidnapping a feral street cat (“cat-napping?” that can’t be right), or creating a CGI green-screen digital cat who will hopefully be more cooperative. We’re losing light. We should really just forget the cat and start shooting. But no, we need the cat — the cat is the punchline. My actual notes from that time indicate an engagement with the work of Thomas Vaughan (brother of poet Henry) and also with pseudo-Dionysius. The genius of the place is the Hebrew letter ‘Bet.’ First letter of the Torah. Number 2 in gematria. “The Giant Asian Hornet arrived in France, / hidden inside a delivery / of Chinese pottery.” “Constant sound of drones over Gaza,” along with dream imagery (is it a dream?) ... I was bored so I read A Singular Modernity by Fredric Jameson ... then I was really bored so I decided to count the number of men vs. women referenced in the book (the book has an index) ... not even kidding: 4 women, 198 men ...

[Note: Sources: FB conversation between J-Something R-Something Sherman, Jeremy Hight, and JBR, 24 May 013; “Illinois illegally seizes bees resistant to Monsanto’s Roundup; Kills remaining Queens”, at Global Research, via Jared Schickling, FB post, 24 May 013; Ash Smith, “axon snagged …”, at opened by customs, 1 Apr 013; John Thomas Didymus, “Scientists find woman who sees 99 million more colors than others”, at Digital Journal, 19 Jun 012, via Sandra Simonds, FB post, 24 May 013 (we are “trichromats” (3 types of eye cones); she is a “tetrachromat” (5 types of eye cones)); Jordan Brower, “On Philip Levine’s ‘Salami’”, at American Literature in the World, 24 May 013; Lanny Quarles, “Ekphrasis, Phrases, Etc.”, at Jellybean Weirdo With Electric Snake Fang, 24 May 013; Nathan Myers, “On the Set of a Music Video in Bali”, at Matador Network, 24 May 013; Aaron McCollough, as quoted in Jerome Rothenberg, “NOTE”, in Rothenberg’s “Aaron McCollough: ‘Four Preliminary Notes’ & ‘A Stray Note’ from Underlight”, at Jacket2, 16 May 013; Joanne Kyger, 2012, and Patrick James Dunagan, as quoted in Dunagan’s “2012 by Joanne Kyger”, at HTMLGIANT, 24 May 013; Sandra Simonds, FB post, 24 May 013]

In the House of the Hangman 1334

“In the beginning”
In the end,
these are –      
                        there are –
only suggestions:

“Clockwise” or “counter” –
though there are no clocks.
“Horizontal” or vertical” – ‘The place was always – a thing / to wonder and / always it seemed like / it had propensity / to outright.’ I thought basilisks were on the endangered species list. Contrast dye injections do indeed make one feel verrrryyyy waaaavvvvyyy. The cat up on all the buildings, whistling in the gap the rain leaves. Since the first discovery of a luminescent cockroach, peace being frying pans, the more writing / to be done the less time to do the / necessary fucking for poetry.

America, you ode for reality!
Give back the people you took.

We were walking somewhere new, around granite that had been quarried years ago. 100? 50? It was unclear. Lichen draped over branches, moss covered the forest floor. Below the hill, the woods were black and charred. We walked around like detectives. Nature scene, crime scene, confusion. Next to it, the infamous Oronoka restaurant, once lauded for its signature steaks, free birthday cakes, glass boots full of beer, remembered for the three hours it took to eat a meal there. The restaurant closed in 2003 but locals say the tables inside are still set. And last night I ironed the moon and lifted the daffodil back on top of the daisy and folded the daffodil back on top of the moon, I mean, the vessel for desire rues its arbitrary ad hoc status, even while it anticipates a holistic dream-culmination and races to secure the eating of its own half-debited lobe; even as it dissolves and shows its synthetic muscle at the edges, the deprived settle on the effigy as visionary spirit, and the search for an essence of attraction becomes a hematoma to trace the return of the bundled gift orifice, makes the whistle choke, the choking smooth, the smooth sincere, the sincere counterfeit, the counterfeit authentic, the neither both.

[Note: Sources: Rae Armantrout, “Suggestion”, in Just Saying; Henry Grimes, “the place”, as quoted in David Grundy, “Henry Grimes – Signs Along the Road: Poems”, at buddy’s knife; JBR, FB comment, 22 May 013; Maureen Thorson, FB comment, 22 May 013; Clark Coolidge, A Book Beginning What And ending Away; “Top 10 New Species of 2012”, at Science Daily, 22 May 013; Alfred Starr Hamilton, “Peace Being”, “Sheets”, in A Dark Dreambox of Another Kind; Sophie Robinson, “necessary fucking”, in The Institute of Our Love in Disrepair, as quoted in “The Institute Of Our Love In Disrepair By Sophie Robinson”, at For Books’ Sake, 8 Apr 013; Robert Creeley, “America”, as quoted in Trane DeVore, “my grandfather, Robert Creeley”, at Troutfactory Notebook, 24 May 05 (which showed up in my Google reader for some reason today 22 May 013); Michele Christle, “the dog lost his bone …”, at michele christle, 22 May 013; JBR; RD, “On Keston Sutherland”, in Cut Welfare! Save the Warfare State! CRS IX 26.11.10 Tom Leonard Keston Sutherland, at Cambridge Poetry Readings]

"No reason to get excited", the thief he kindly spoke / "There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke / But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate / So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late".

For Rose.

In the House of the Hangman 1333a

OK. Dr Alimantado had been following the greenperson for three days now. Beckoned by a finger made from articulated runner beans, he had sailed over the desert of red grit, the desert or red sand, the desert of red stone. There was a razorstorm coming in. It was the deep dark, unexplored except for robotic visitors. All you know I know and all I know you know: careening astronauts and bank clerks … “You have confused the true and the real.” This is the freezer door obviously expertly concealed. But there’s my own form / It’s today / Normal door, bucket design: / Larger wavering mode seems possible. No. But “Jottings and memos having to do with what anything in the world consists of should be made large, even enterable.” The workers we’ve spoken to, including police guarding the scene, uniformly say that Exxon’s told them that they’re cleaning up “crude oil” (they’re aren’t, or weren’t; they are/were cleaning up highly toxic tar sands bitumen and being lied to). I don’t think this is what Negarestani meant when he wrote, “Be a hydro-leak engineer; make things leak out.” Be that as it may, in his preface Rolland notes that Istrati’s storytelling prowess proved so irrepressible he’d interrupted the narrative of his own suicide note to weave in a few choice tales. Love this book: it’s 70s astral projection / occult action all the way, and yes, that cover scene (teddy bear chopping off own head then going on to axe an armadillo-rat) actually happens. I smell something, and taste it, and wish I had more of that. I hear you, I’m listening in, this is impossible. There are scraps of two thousand, soon we can’t remember it. I feel something besides scraps of tin men. God damn these voices are telling us what we need to know. Alalalala alaluivalve. Alalalala alaluivalve. Alalabalamat. Phone rings, it’s Rose in tears, time out. The news is terrible. But each place is well and each well a hole. --- / ... -..- --.. / --.- -..- ..- / .--. --- -... ..- -.-. ..- / .... ..- -... / -..- -- --- / --- -... -- --- / ..- / - ..- ..-. . -.. . .-.. . ...- --- -- ..- -.. .-.. ..- / --- / -.-. -... . ... -. --- I only know what people said and sometimes wrote and sometimes didn’t say and sometimes didn’t write and only now,. ..- -.- -..- / -- ..- -- -.-. -..- --- .-.. / -.- ..- .--. --- - --- / .... -..- --- -... --- / -.- ..- .-.. . -.- --- / ... --- -- --- / -.- ..- -- -..- - . --- -.. / --- -.- -..- / -- ..- -.. - ..- -.. --. --- -... / --- .--. --- / -.-- --- -.. --. / -.-. --- -.-. ..- / -- ..- -.. --- -.. --. . .... / - . -.- ..- -.. - --- ... . -.- --- -.. / - ..- -.. --. --- -.. / .-- --- -.-. --- -.. --- / . -.. . .-.-.- / [Exeunt omnes.] -- --- .... / .... ..- / .... ..- -... / .... --- -.-. --- / - ..- / -... --- -- --- / ..- --.- -..- . .-.. --- .-.. . ...- --- .... / ..- / .-.. --- -- --- -... / -.. --- .... .... --- .... / -. --- -- ..- -.. .... / -.-. --- -.. .... / ..- -.. ...- ..- ... -. ..- -.-. . - --- .... / .--. ..- ... --- / -.-. --- -... -.-. --- .... / - --- -.. - --- / --- --- .... / -.. --- .... .... --- .... / .... --- -.. .-.. --- .... / ...- . -... --. ..- -.. .... / .--. --- -... --- / --- / -- --- -.. -.-. -. --- / - --- / . -.. .... --- ... ..- -.. .-.. ..- / -.-. -... -..- .-.. --- ... / --. -..- ..- -... -... --- / -- --- - / .-. ..- -... ..- -.-. -... --- / ..- -.. .-.. --- --- / --.- -..- ..- / ..- ... ..- / .-. --- -.. -. ..- .-. ..- / ..- / - . --. --- / ... -. ..- / ..- --- .... .-.. ... --- -.. - / ..-. --- ... --- / ..- -- / .--. . ..- - --- - ..- / - --- / -.. --- .... .... --- / . - --- .... --- .... / ..- / -.. --- .... .... --- .... / .--- --- ...- ..- -.. .... / -.. --- --- / .--. --- .... .... --- / ..- .... .-. --- ... -. ..- -... / -- --- .... / - . --.. ..- -... / ... -. ..- / --.- -..- ..- / -.. --- --- / -- ..- / . -- .--. --- -... .-.. --- / ..- / .-.. --- -- ..- / --- / -.. --- / .--. . --- -... / - --- .... / -. . .--. --- .-.. ..- .... ..- .... / .--. --- - ... --.- -..- ..- / .... -..- --- .... / ..-. --- .-. --- .... / -.. --- --- / ... . --. --- / ..- -.. --.- -..- --- -.. .-.. --- / ...- --- .-. ..- / .-.. ..- -- / --. --- -... --. --- -.. .-.. --- .... / .--. --- -... --- / -... ..- .... .--. --- -.. - ..- -... / .--. --- -... --- / -- . -- / -.. --- --- we referred to it as enargeia because it’s destined from the sun who thunders with his spear plucking feathers off a flower.          A little yellow bird. Or when we do facts explode. .-. --- ... -- / .-.. . -.. ..- / .... . / .... --- / .... -..- .--. --- -... .-.. ..- / --. -... ..- .... ..- ... . ... ..- / - ..- / ...- --- -... .... .-.. --- / - ..- / -... --- -.-- .-.. -. ..- --- -.. / ..- ..-. ..- .-. .-.. ..- / - ..- / - -..- -... ..- -... ..- / .--. ..- -.. .-.. -... -..- / ..-. . . . / ... -..- . / ...- . .-.. ..- --- --.. / .-. -..- . Knocking without. - --- .... / --- / ... ..- -- .--. -... ..- .... --- / .-. -- - - --- / -. --- -- ..- / --- / .--. --- -... .-.. / .-.. --- .-.. ..- .... / -..- -.. . -....- .-. --- / . / .... --- ... --- / -.. --- / --- -.-. .... .-.. --- -.. .-.. / --- . ..- --- .-.-.- / Flourish. -..- -.. / --- -... ..- . - ..- / - ..- / - --- -....- ... ..- -.. .-.. / ... . / ..-. --- / .-. --- -- .--. --- -.. -.-- . --- .-.-.- / [Knocking within.] .... . / .-.. -..- / ..- .-.. .... / ..- ... / --.- -..- ..- / - --- .... / ...- . -....- ... - -- -.. .... / ...- . -.. ..- / -.. --- / .--. -... --- .--. / ..- ... ... .-.-.- / We wear iron masks. .... --- ...- --- .... ... --- -... - --- / .-.. ..- -. ... . -.- ..- ... . /-.----....-.----..----../--.-..-...-..--....../-..--.---..---..-/..--..--...-.-..--.. / [... (...) Enter Ghost.] - . ..- / .... --- -.. -.. ..- / . .... .-.. / ..- . -.. / - . ..- -.-. .-.-.- / -..- -.. - / -- . .-.. / .... ..- 

[Note: Sources: JBR; Ian McDonald, Desolation Road; Alastair Reynolds, Revelation Space; C J Cherryh, Foreigner; Samuel R Delany, Dhalgren, and George Stanley, epigraph to same; JBR; Keston Sutherland, Ode to TL61P; CJ Martin, “Untitled #1, 1/16/12”, “‘Unused Cover, 1983’ (from Rhyme Eats the Words: Work, Kids)”, “Untitled (from Rhyme Eats the Words: Civilization!)”, at Elective Affinities (Michael Cross writes in an email, “My very good friend and comrade, CJ Martin, who is also one of my favorite poets in the world, just experienced an incomprehensibly tragic loss. His father Tommy and grandmother Ann were victims of a tornado in Texas on May 15th, and his mother, Betsy Davis, was just released from ICU.” If you want to help, see Michael’s post, at The Disinhibitor, 23 May 013); JBR; Madeline Gins, FB post, 23 May 013; “Dispatches From Exxon’s Spill Zone, April 11”, at Tar Sands Blockade, 11 Apr 013; JBR; Reza Negarestani, as quoted in punctum books FB post, 23 May 013 (re: Andreas Burckhardt, A Sanctuary of Sounds); JBR; Scott Walters, “Panaït Istrati's Kyra Kyralina”, at Seraillon, 14 May 012; Darren Bauler, “Keeper of the Children – William H. Hallahan”, at Theater of Diminished Faculties, 23 May 013; Name, A Novel, at UbuWeb; JBR (gist of call: A has cervical cancer; her friend across the street with whom she knits, the one with the 3 yr old, has stage 4 cancer (don’t know what kind; Rose just found out an hour ago); her co worker’s son’s disease has no treatment, he’ll be in a wheelchair by the time he’s 6, and dead by 20 if good luck holds; they signed T’s dad’s final directive … ); Sam Truitt, “from Dick”, as quoted in “PEN Poetry Series: Sam Truitt”, email rec’d 24 May 013 approx 5:59 AM PDT (Thank you, email, just what I needed after Rose’s call)]