Thus human behavior has three poles: natural ends are natural ends which are being transformed, but natural ends subsist in themselves, outside the ceremony. This is how the human being realizes them. But if the human being does not realize natural ends, this does mean that they do not exist. They do not lend themselves to realization, because the transformation of natural ends into cultural ends renders them infinite. This must be taken literally. The dead whom we love are an inexhaustible task for us. It matters little if we distance ourselves from that. It remains no less infinite. Saying ‘I love you’ instead of saying ‘I desire you’ is to propose an infinite task. Thus this does not present itself as something to realize. But what is it for? People will say these tasks are only thought or felt. If, then, mythology is the imaginary, it is because infinite tasks are not to be realized. Mythology presents us this state of infinite tasks which ask us for something else than their realization. The gods spend their time drinking a drink reserved exclusively for them. We find the sense [of this] in trying to live a symbol. The immortal gods spend their time drinking. There are initially two groups of superhumans who struggle to become gods. At stake in the struggle is the drink which renders immortal. So the gods are immortal because they drink. It is the transformation of the natural end, drinking, into an infinite task. If the gods would stop drinking, they would no longer be immortal. The purpose which infinite tasks serve is that only they allow the human being to realize natural ends in a way that will no longer simply be direct. This is why cynicism is anti-philosophical. The cynic must be taken at his word. What allows for the trap? But is it third because it arrives third? Certainly not. It is even the first. But it is third because it works in the shadow, in the unconscious. It is primary. What there is at the beginning, well that would be the third. So to glistening on the skyline, of course! a miniscule, happy part, let us shore up those crushing galaxies, tent-pegged to the bare bone. The man who tends our garden is an honest man, rising straight into the cloak, he impends awesome on the neck-line, “like something out of a movie.” Meanwhile, popping! the tics all landing in the mousse, running rings, buttering the hook, O What We Are Doing Is Writing Stories. This Is What I Was Doing When It Happened: This Is What I Felt: This Is What I Heard Oo This Is What I Was Doing When It Happened: This Is What I Felt: This Is What I Heard Ooo The Stories Begin, Develop, End: The Stories Follow The Traditional Logic Of Time Extrapolated From Human Behavior: From The Human Construct Of The World Until: One's Death Oooo [...] This Is The Event I Am Making Up: This Is The Plot Of My Story: This Is A Good, A Wonderful Plot: This Is Quite Original Oo.O You Write As If You Were There, As If You Were Part Of It: As If You Were Part Of Something O What We Are Doing Is Telling Truths: These Events Almost Seem Real: You Write So Well, Almost As If These Things Happened: You Turn Fiction Into Ooo-Eee-Ooo. The Heated Snore. But just then some men, plumbers of some kind, are working on a house nearby & they seal off the path that I just came along. No way to go but ahead. I walk thru abandoned houses, a large stone gallery. Some people on the other side of wooden doors sometimes, an old bald man, but I don’t open the door. Near the school a raccoon runs out & towards me. Bruno Schulz died near here — Standing on the top of a large metal cross, with my arms looped around two of the bars, as a giant protest is going on. I’m terrified I’m going to fall or be pulled off the cross I’m on, which is about fifteen or twenty feet above the floor in this church. There’s an enormous group of people gathered in this church, every pew is filled like a movie theatre, & there’s clearly many others outside. Later I see a newspaper clipping stating that the government has spent $10 million of taxpayer money policing this one day of protest alone. Ben has sent me this clipping with a note saying “Good job on a healthy protest,” & saying that he & Esther are doing an interview for a Chinese newspaper, & he collectively refers to the media as ‘the enemy’. I don’t know how this’ll end up — do I trust these people? Dream experiments with a doctor & André Breton. Breton dreams of a polar bear & two nearby people having sex in a sparsely furnished room, perhaps a hotel room. Elsewhere, Amy De’Ath & Fred Wah are doing a talk somewhere. I have to introduce them at one point, & my Brooklynese pronunciation of ‘Wah’ gets a chuckle from the stage. Did that just offend them? Shit I hope not. There’s a valley full of beds with a woman in each, & a few beds with young men in ‘em too — Mom assumes this is some kind of fertility ritual, but it’s being done in memory of some local actress who’s just died. This is mentioned in a Mark Twain book, & elsewhere in the same book — probably Huckleberry Finn — he mentions an early American wrestler grabbing an Arab sheik wrestler by the genitals as something that’s become legendary among these same locals. I drive Mom & Joe from the back seat of Mom’s car, then pull over to change to sit in the front where the keys are in a plate of gravy & foodstuffs. I’m almost done when this preview comes on. The movie is supposed to be some kind of comedy? The main character is horseshoe bald, older. Gamma is alive but he can’t really help me (the bed at the Martian Embassy is still broken). Karen, after I follow her along for seven storeys, shows me Derek Bailey’s remaining documents & things. There’s a strange hardcover book of Simon H Fell’s sexual dreams, which he ‘accidentally’ left behind, & some Derek Bailey dream journals. She says she’s only allowed two or three dreams from his twenties to be published so far — “If a violinist or anybody else ever says ‘Heil Hitler’ or anything like that, I will tell them, ‘Earth. Earth, the recording of sound.’” That’s a Sri Chinmoy lookalike guru man in a video of virtual world, praying beside a guru woman before a digital house on a digital porch. They are part of a spiritual video, included after or alongside some documentary about Radiohead setting up atmospheric underwater music. The music is, it seems, improvised, but the atmospherics are all in the mixing, which is done with great care. He says “Oh, we can put it on you alrite — if you just take out a woman’s fingernails from your purse … Because you dressed up as a black woman to rob the store!” The babies are given very tiny bugs to eat, alongside tiny grains. I see a sizeable black bug in the process of stinging one of the babies. The lead scientist’s nonchalance is worrisome. Some show is featuring his animation of clocks & home knickknacks. It’s pretty good. We come across a woman with a blue-coloured face. I say, “I’ve always wanted to meet a blue woman.” He forced me & my other two companions around a table, on low sofas, & takes out a deck of cards. “Let’s play,” he says flatly. He draws three upside down cards then turns them rightside up. There’s a two, a six, a two. “Oh, this is not your game.” He shoots the man right in the head, kills him in one shot. He then starts with me. I tell my other friend, “He’s going to kill us all anyway.” The guy looks at me, says “Smart man.” I tell him to just get it over with & he shoots me dead before I’ve even finished speaking. He then says to the main one of us, the one he came for, that he has a question to ask him. “You wrote in your journal a few days ago a poem that mentioned that I take anti-depressants …” I laugh & applaud despite being dead. “Yes! Yes you scared little man, yes! As tho you’re the first person on a medication that you don’t have! The dead applaud you!” What may burrow deeper into caves and by the blue ball it is said … [Pause.] [louder] It is said … [wearily] What I recently received: (1) one jelly, (2) one Afghanistan, (3) one amoeba expensing local fist. Thanks. [Pause.] Yip. To quote the President, “Ameba expensing local fist, kids. Yip. Uh-huh.” I don’t want to disrupt the crocodile thinking it will eat him. Look, those who profane a battle are taking that which will result from fear today we go. Your 87,133 innocent people are united by lameness in our foe. Soak we hasty, I hereby cancel my boat. The angels with dirty faces, the daemon hippos, the TV networks, snails with beards. Kin scuds. Landless blue. I hereby cancel my farm, my full confidence, and one duck. Gasket seals. A sylph-like isotherm dividend from umbra to testicle. I mean, you know, I mean, you know, I mean, you know, I mean, you know, I mean, you know, I mean, you know, I mean, you know. [Forget] it. Whatever. Ruben Vargas was born May 17, 1932, in Orange City, CA. Managed by Bert Brodose (and later co-managed by Frank Sinatra), he was the most prominent Mexican-American Heavyweight in the mid to late 1950s. Vargas was a courageous, durable and aggressive fighter who moved constantly forward from a crouch and possessed knockout power in either hand. Fred Eisenstadt, a writer for “The Ring” magazine, described him as an intellectual engaging in fisti-cuffs [sic] for a livelihood because of his love of philosophy. This answer by Hume was coherent, but it was hardly informative and it remained worrisome coming from an author who attacks the idea of God. So what will be Kant’s thesis? For him there is no choice. It is necessary that the given by itself (Nature) is thenceforth submitted to principles of the same kind as those to which human nature is submitted, and not the inverse. It must be that the sun insofar as it is given is submitted to principles of the same kind as those on which my consciousness of the sun depends when I say that the sun will rise tomorrow. The ground can therefore not be psychological. Now going back to “Nuestra America” as a title, the whole thing reminded me of Alfredo Jaar's art piece in Times Square “This is not America”, are you familiar with it? And I was thinking that maybe another way to figure what “Nuestra” means is through the opposite, that is, not through belonging but through dissidence, because if my subject is too big, I will grow. So does cutting it out. Isolating love is like making bubbles. Without gravity we end up hovering. After inventing her company System Azure Security Ornamentation, Jill Magid convinced the Amsterdam Police Department to hire her to decorate its CCTV cameras at Police Headquarters. Although the ornamenting policy was reversed by the police, the cameras remain in place. Please see the System Azure Website for the Rhinestoning Headquarters timeline. The System Azure Manifesto: While an old saying claims “When the wise man points to the moon the idiot looks at the finger”, System Azure upholds the reverse: The wise consider the finger. Why? Looking at the finger is more interesting. With these questions in mind one can choose to see as the finger sees, to look at the moon in another way, or to look at something else entirely. What ring are you wearing? Everyone dies at the end of some counting, long or short, quivering along various radii, raarrr blurgh brilliant gruuuurgh urgggh prrrruuuugh grrrrrrrrugh flllurgh. The skill with music left the god and went into Xena. When Xena heard, “My cigarette was snuffling in a hare’s ass,” Gabrielle … then we’re both laughing. All the tension is gone. I believe I am many wari-wilka (cameloid) types – also most fabulous along these lines, the twin dinosaurs, goddammit, joined together – many phalli, stylized and representational – a type of trepanning: cutting and rasping – the complete set of surgical tools, of minute gradation, for trepanning – also the female mummy, showing a caesarean – and the blood; where did the blood on its mouth and shoulders come from? She said, “Ondine, don’t fuck with me,” she said. Writing is always the writing of history. That is how our central nervous system works. But language is also an eye. Joel Jäävi, on the other hand, stopped eating purely through the sensitivity of his conscience, after reading an article on the feelings and suffering of plants. But the leadup to summer is hell, a wet donut, what I call the ‘courtyard’ is really a ‘shaft.’ What I’m telling you is this: all things, even big things, are like a cross between the nihilists and Spencer’s Gifts, like getting a gift on your sibling’s birthday, and tho you once had me chant anthems at your reading and I thought “I don’t understand the genius hidden within this” the genius was you making me think that, which is like picturing the president pinching his fat. Look, the bouquets we find sprouting from waste have been stuck there, a flag in a fecal moon, secondary and anthemic, you live in LA, right? So are you here or what? And really, what could be read in the novelty of a gesture so fresh that the arché-reference is the original event. doubt the unsinkable drag as ghosts shudder into tears of rust and drop amped to the earth. And they brought of film and at last, it took the whispers it has taken to get here. It took the owner of these shoes, the case, the book, the porcelain oddness, your facial recognition — SPLAT — the gunk. I have technology that’d make your mind bleed. I can make you feel like yourself again. But isn’t everything the minute it’s born, these days? We’re speed dating ... with data ... a quick glance and we decide – Yes? No? Maybe? Move on. Yet, that knocking ... and the undercurrent ... the pause before the disturbing rumbles ... there are bird calls, footsteps, yet even such common tropes don’t prevent me from liking this album. That’s why you chucked rocks at big rats. I miss the micro climate, the ancient copy of Thomas Mann getting damp in the hammock, I believe in mites, in the way in which mites stick to our scum. So the War Boys spray their lips and front teeth with chrome paint in gleeful anticipation of post-mortem Valhalla. O blame not the heavens, sweet Pyrocles, said Musidorus; as their course never alters, so is there nothing done by the unreachable ruler of them. Wee have lived, and lived to be good to ourselves and others: our soules which are put into the stirring earth of our bodies, have atchieved the causes of their thither coming: or as Ms Tuve summarized this development, “That the unbuilt surpasses the built is a remarkable assertion. It reveals an unexamined presumption of much architectural history: that what is authentic in architecture is not the built thing and its vicissitudes but the expressed idea in its coherent purity, uninhabited by use, unchanged by time or contingency. Unbuilt is uncorrupted.” People are so fucking weird. But now that we know that every atom of the world is outfitted with a tiny extradimensional camera we know that the thing about things is no matter how many times you crank them backward thru the paces of the rough side of a Neolithic sundial nothing was on fire, as predicted, and all this talk of zones of ambience is possible because you live in a quarter that is the Jewish quarter in a neighborhood that is the queer neighborhood on a street that is mentioned by name in “Zone” 98 years ago AGAINST THE DAY DEMON ONE WONDER FACTORY ORIGINAL. Dear lord. One down one up. I felt like one of those bad clowns, the kind that hides in sewers. Two metaphors do not make my mother a statue, the Himalayas a section of black foam. Mt. Everest just shrank an inch. “We cannot stay here, but where is there to go?” It is by no means the least of the traps history and its many determinations set for us. Don’t let the pigeon drive the eyeball. “White diamond. White diamond? Is that?”
[Note: Sources: Gilles Deleuze, WHAT IS GROUNDING? From transcripted notes taken by Pierre Lefebvre (tr. Arjen Kleinherenbrink, eds. Tony Yanick, Jason Adams & Mohammad Salemy), at &&& (download); Stuart Calton, “Dine ‘though not over on that campy Tudor lodging …”, at Quid 9; Alan Sondheim, quoted in Andrea Brady, “Grief Work In A War Economy”, at Quid 9 (accidentally shifted into title case); Ed Sanders, The Family (memory quote); Michael Tencer, “The Heated Snore”, at Association of Musical Marxists, 25 May 015; Chris Goode, “For Immediate Release …”, at Quid 9; Carlos Soto Román, email rec’d 25 May 015 approx 1:12 PM PDT; Jill Magid, “Statements”, “System Azure Security Ornamentation”, at Jill Magid; Yehuda Amichai, “My Mother’s Death and the Lost Battles for the Future of Her Children”, in Yehuda Amichai: A Life of Poetry 1948-1994 (trs. Benjamin and Barbara Harshav); Eric Hoffman, “6”, in The Vast Practical Engine; Francis Crot, Xena: Warrior Princess. The Seven Curses; Paul Metcalf, Patagoni, in Collected Works / Volume One / 1956-1976; Lou Rowan, Alphabet of Love Serial; Andy Warhol, a: A Novel; Leena Krohn, “When the Viewer Vanishes”, at Books from Finland, 26 May 015; Wendy Lotterman, “to vanessa”, “like doing angel dust in the kale section at the start of the world”, at Coconut 19; Jon Henson, “Final Minutes”, at Enclave, 26 May 015; Tim Jones-Yelvington, “Terminal Ballerina”, at Enclave, 26 May 015; Rebecca Beauchamp, Necessity of Foreplay, at GAUSS PDF; Robin Tomens, “A Year In The Country - In Every Mind”, at Include Me Out, 26 May 015; Luna Miguel, “My Father Eats Lamb”, “Rotting of the Heart, or Black Heart”, at The Quietus, 2 Mar 014; Bill Benzon, “War Boys in Tomorrowland, or: Mad Max Meets Disney”, at New Savanna, 26 May 015; Sir Philip Sidney, old Arcadia, and JH Prynne, quoted in Prynne’s Graft and Corruption: Shakespeare’s Sonnet 15; Daniel M. Abramson, “Stakes of the Unbuilt”, at The Aggregate, 26 May 015; JBR; Jasper Bernes, We Are Nothing and So Can You; Joshua Clover, Red Epic; JBR; Michael Earl Craig, “The Bad Clown”, at The House of Zabka, 26 May 015; Susan M Schultz, “83”, at Tinfish Editor’s Blog, 26 May 015; Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (tr. Richard Philcox), text image embedded in Evan Calder Williams, “Memorial Day”, at The New Inquiry, 26 May 015; one of the triplets (there’s a kid’s book called Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, and they are 4 now and just learning to tell jokes by riffing off what they know); Jeroenn, “multiple failure: halberstam / white diamond: herzog / weak resistance: everyday struggle / con-fusion: tears of god”, at Transversal Inflections, 26 May 015]
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