- Free jazz is that jazz, then, where the musicians take their full responsibility of what is being played.
- They do not delegate whatsoever to given templates and therefore also have to negotiate (while playing) with their fellow players every single item they bring into play.
So. The operation did not start with the undated letter. The Professor had been drilling deeper and deeper through the earth’s crust until he had finally discovered a layer that pulsates like a living animal. “The throbs were not direct, but gave the impression of a gentle ripple or rhythm, which ran across the surface,” as Jones put it, “The surface was not entirely homogenous but beneath it, seen as through ground glass, there were dim whitish patches or vacuoles, which varied constantly in shape and size.” The layers, the core and the strata, throbbed, pulsated, animated. One need not go to the same lengths as Professor Challenger does, in one of the most bizarre rape-like scenes in literature, when he penetrates that jellyesque layer just to make the planet scream. We might be really talking about Empire, mightn’t we? This my own skull form, an almost invisible bright green. But machines don’t distance you from your emotions, in fact quite the opposite. I mean, I do not know I am grieving but my kidney knows. I called my stone “precious” because its dull ache ever serves as a reminder that my body wants
if you want to know where the party is follow the searchlights
and if you want to know where Leeds is
follow the search lights
wax on wax off
but hey, tread softly for you tread on my treadmill
this is a Hardhat Area
cardboard boxes – painted stains
What the host calls “states” the guests prefer to call phases. Not “States of Matter” but rather phases of matter. Their description of “energy landscapes” puts me in mind of the comparison someone made in seminar last Thursday between Foucault’s account of panopticism and the way transistors work, especially with respect to the way they conduct power. That’s when Congress decides to abrogate all treaties in the hope that they can seize Indian casino money to balance the budget. In the aftermath of this decision, private surveillance agencies and drones overrun the former reservation, casinos are transformed into casino medical centers that require the aging rez population to gamble for their hospice care, then – what, this is weird, is this a dream or something? – then the green knight strolls in
green hair, green coat, converse
all stars painted green-blue. she cuts off her own head and rolls it
at your astonished feet
Hello
says the head
i dreamed a pearl
that made me sad
about myself and the first few
friends in the tiles of a geodesic
dome such a poem is more like the lacèd belt than the cup it arrives
a question of jewelry faceted
with what strings of pearl
the pearl-maiden busts coyly
into the laboratory busts up
the dreaming and standing-apace shows the space the spirit takes in an erlenmeyer flask about the space of a screw-on earring
the pearl-maiden should be a greeter
but there is no setting only force-fields
like knives and
the dreamer of the poem has melted brains
Trnta
highl etoel winw!
For if you rend your clothes
you’ll just have to sew them again.
Which doesn’t mean you won’t have to rend your clothes. The reality is that anything that nowadays contributes to underdevelopment and poverty constitutes a flagrant violation of the Earth’s Systems. Fidel said that. He said it 25 years ago. And since then? Happy Black Friday, my peoples. They say it’s your birthday. It’s my birthday, too. Here is where my chickens began to unhatch. Every night billions of sea creatures swim thousands of metres up to the photic zone. Everything I say, I say because I can’t cry. I can’t cry because I can’t see. I can’t see because I won’t listen. I won’t listen because I’m in violent fits or something like this. I’m in violent fits or something like this because and so on, and so forth, and that. What I really wanted was to write the love poem before the first. This was all they had ever wanted, even the elephants. That’s the evidence itself, says the wizard. I also believe in the toy synthesizer approach. Dam, that leaf was beautiful. Speaking of which, I believe, seventeenthly, that falling in love is always metaphysical and metaphysics always a type of falling in love. And that applies to leafs. Then the two women bring their faces close together — so close they are almost touching, their arms resting on each other’s shoulders. They sway slightly as they begin to kataq. The younger woman starts, and the sounds she makes come from the back of her throat, low and thick, almost growling. Ham ma ham ma, ham ma, ham ma — she breathes in and out in a steady rhythm, intensely, her vocal cords bruising each other. Buzzing, panting, the older woman’s voice comes in and moves up and down as if plucking the lower rhythm, teasing it almost. The sounds and rhythms pass from body to body, echoing and playing with each other, growling, buzzing, yelping. There’s something machine-like and modern about the sounds, which are also archaic and guttural. Ham me, ham ma, ma, ham ma, ham ma, ham ma Ha ha ha, ha he he, ha he he, ha he he ha ha ha ha. Then the old lady breaks off and cackles loudly, hooting almost. The younger woman laughs too and wipes away tears. People smile, clap, and go back to what they were doing. This is not simply a matter of good historiography; what is at issue here is not the good reputation of art. The question of the origin of art is a political question. One might object that art changes nothing. But an opening occurs when a community of respondents is born with the work who each countersign the work, and are each implicated in its unfolding. But the truth is that I do not know. There was no brand on the box or on the device. I have combed the internal documentation and cannot find an answer. This is how far the Shenzhen electronics complex has evolved. The hardware maker literally does not matter. Contract manufacturers can download a reference design from the chip maker and build to suit customer orders. If I had 20,000 friends and an easy way to import these into the US, I would put my own name on it and hand them out as a business cards or Chanukah gifts. So yes, all these people, they’re in my head and they’re in my body, you know, they’re sort of animating my flesh, disrupting the body I guess I thought was mine, but – I mean, I read all these books on the history of math and history of physics and I get to the equations and I just have to skip which is really sad. I mean if I ever hit the lottery I’ll quit my job and go back to college and study math and science ... I won’t be any good at it but I just want to learn how to do the math. The plural pronoun isn’t quite right, either. So the point I’m trying to make is, I think the complex that is called Shakespeare was sent to show and to trace out the limits, okay, of interiority, the limits of a kind of singular interiority. Hamlet’s interiority breaks down. Richard II’s interiority, which is all bound up with sovereignty, breaks down, and we see it breaking down. The soliloquy turns out to be the break down of interiority, not its enunciation. It’s where that shit breaks down. But then there’s another way I would put it, just on a personal level, to make it more emphatic and more clear, maybe. To the extent that I said anything or that I have something to say, that’s because a whole bunch of people, a whole bunch of history, a whole bunch of things sent me to say it. My grandmother used to love Kojak. I’d say, “Mimi why you love Kojak so much?” She’d say, “He just sends me.” And it was the only time I ever had anybody, the only time I ever knew anybody to use the word in that way that, you know, the way Sam Cooke uses it in the song. Speaking of The Inner / Outer Sound Matrix: For any ensemble and / or a reader. Listen inwardly for your own sound. Choose when and how to play the sound - or not. Listen outwardly for a sound from the ensemble. Choose when and how to play that sound - or not. How to play means choice of attack, sustain and release dynamic levels and feeling. For a reader: Choose a text of current political, scientific or artistic interest. Listen inwardly for a word to express. Choose when and how to say this word – or not. Listen outwardly and choose a word or phrase from the selected text. Choose when and how to express that phrase – or not. How to express means what spoken style (whisper, rhetorical, natural, declamatory, theatrical shouted etc., choice of duration, dynamic levels and feeling. Make a twelve-minute trajectory by either adding more and more silence between your performed sounds and / or words or less and less silence. Stop when your twelve-minute trajectory is completed. The duration of the piece does not have to be measured. Until menopause delivers me. Will grey hair protect my pussy from being grabbed as I wither into crone? Or are my black Adidas leggings still too tight for Reno? Jumping quickly thru these lines I hear echoes of Plato’s parable of the cave, what seems to be a desire to escape the omnipresence of mediated noise, Lot’s wife / Orpheus in the underworld, both of whom made the same “mistake”, a complex neologism in “outmade”, a use of “steels” where we might expect “steals” tho steels works just fine, the oddness of elite eyes (are they elite because they belong to those who have the luxury of eating?), a tense change between the present of “steels” and the past of “began”, a camera (the Lumix is made by Panasonic) and then a sudden declaration for which the referent must be inferred in “This is what I am tired of.” So, yes and no. There is a definite “tension between parataxis and narrative” in these sonnets. And yet there’s not, I think it’s the tension that creates narrative. And as for whether these sentences are “more or less ordinary”, wellllllllll ... what do you mean by ordinary? Yes and no. It occurs to me as I write that the new sentence is a concept that is almost as much from a different time and place as is Spicer’s work. Or Wordsworth’s. So maybe these are “post new sentences.” Solastalgia. It means something like “the distress caused by environmental change.”
Rhinestone venusaur submarine autobot hellebore, to some
fixed furniture of objects; the same causes
freight idles in the blocked ports for. Night then
beguiles evening of its early lead
and wide base. Waves are each other’s
toys for drowning. Soon snipers were on the roofs
of the world. Bodies were down
and wombats in zoos. The body of
thought grew and became a world problem. Delighted
is a goofy word
having the
same hue
as ham.
To use a vivid but regrettably unflattering analogy: A very creative landscape artist might continually mess up colouring books.
Skull trash staring through wall splash.
Face skillet with sunny-side-up red eyeballs.
Black heel sprouting splayed white fingers.
We move inside the word wards of an original wetness,
measure veils stretched over bones.
“The Great Transparent Ones,” he thought
“communicate entirely through waves & odors...
The Great Transparent Ones...”
YOU ARE SAFE. CODE ORANGE.
SHOP TAX FREE. SOFT TARGET.
... and then a stranger (whose twitter feed was mainly angry rants and vengeful bible quotes) tweeted, “ABORT YOUR DOG”. And then they turned the water cannons on the freezing protestors. And then I gathered all the colored milk crates and made a stack of red, orange, blue crates from bright to dark with a bright orange crate at top. That night I say “Cheese steak spring roll, spicy ketchup?” I get “sir”ed and “ma’am”ed. I walk the mile to the subway without getting on one. Then I google “turning your skin blue” and find out that silver has been known to dye the bodies of people who consume too much of it. “What fats are you composed of?” What scents? “Old books, wooden furniture, dusty rooms, campfire smoke, barbecue sauce / all in this small bottle”. Do you know what a Klein bottle is? My spine hurts, my stomach is sore. We just arrived yesterday and have no idea what time zone we’re in. “Which is to say that the first oudh (or agarwood) that I ever smelled gave me the impression that I had walked into a new room.” A Klein bottle room. So yes. At last, Acme has conquered topological and engineering frontiers to manufacture genuine glass Klein Bottles. These are the finest closed, non-orientable, boundary-free manifolds sold anywhere in our three spatial dimensions. “For example, Au Lac (Eau d’Italie by Alberto Morillas) is meant to summon the garden on a small island in the middle of an Italian lake where a 20th century Futurist painter seduces a 15th century princess (who was also a poet and devotee of Michelangelo). Or vice versa. That tiny story alone makes me crazy with happiness”. All the stories and hints of stories – I read then as if composed by the bastard child of Jane Bowles and Ma Rainey, chiming and jarring as the rigorously aleatoric-intuitional searchbox-derived top notes heart and notes base notes do what Pauline Oliveros does. I mean did. And yet. And yet. “There is a storm everywhere”, even here. But for now, in the universal highchair of the “double vacuum” (so politely undermultiplied by Amiri Baraka way back in 1977: “No communist party, no national / leadership”), what do we do? Suck or blow? No wind in the vacuum to piss against: try that again? To be idiomatic within a vacuum is a shining thing; to be vacuous in a plenary idiom is how we are now conscripted to do this, it’s a kind of gluttonous fasting, Jeromes on a diet of roasted peanuts in manic fast-forward, all chanting desperately and honestly and hatefully against the new season’s injustice, cantors with gobs blue-tacked to the hollering brick wall. Is irony in this way essentially a kind of clausal pile-up, or only now? Box after box. More about the earth later. Perhaps the pass-concept is something to do with poetry and the body. If the body is cognitive, if our habits and flinches are metaphysical and themselves a kind of knowledge, what is it exactly that we know? Or could know, if the body’s unconscious were plumbed? (“The gall bladder has mountains; cliffs of fall / Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap / May who ne’er hung there.”) Marjorie Perloff’s gardener would presumably have wept. He said some politicians needed to be more like the characters in the show: “Elmo and his friends will tell us, it’s the way they are, they tell it straight.” “Keep it simple and it brings you back to earth. I think that is very important, we all need that.” We do, we need it. Eee gee Charles Bernstein’s 21st recommended poetry experiment, a real wrist-nimbler-upper: “Dream work: Write down your dreams as the first thing you do every morning for 30 days. Apply translation and aleatoric processes to this material. Double the length of each dream. Weave them together into one poem, adding or changing or reordering material. Negate or reverse all statements (‘I went down the hill’ to ‘I went up the hill,’ ‘I didn’t’ to ‘I did’). Borrow a friend’s dreams and apply these techniques to them.” But, honestly, what do you need to say? If we haven’t yet communicated in our most total speech, why is this? What are our reluctances? What are mine.
America, you are terrible and no one likes you,
but you don’t care.
You go about your day.
A livid stretch of death cults.
“America, you ode for reality ...”
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck.
So I was out near the sea one time, in California. I said ‘Hello, Sea, how you doing?’ The sea jumped right up on me. Just sayin’ hello. I had a lady with me then. The sea hadn’t said nothin to her. I said: now look, Sea, Ruth here’s feeling badly. You ought to say hello to her too. Well, the sea jump past me & up on her too. We both got splashed! I talk to everything, the earth, the sea, dollars, cars, refrigerators ... When I was in Egypt I’d go and sit alone on the desert. But everyone came out there to talk to me. Jackals, children, everything. Rollo, bass; Don, drum; Ronnie, trumpet; Marshall, sax; Danny, sax; Greg, dance. How to get to Zarikon. Met a man from India who knew about Zarikon (or was it Sidericom). Over the Rainbow. The fascination of syncopation is so strange. They rose on a light ray, all together they told him to keep his arms crossed (so whole body could tunnel up through the light. No arms (or anything) hanging outside (the light). Merton & I used to admire the atmosphere, the air of happiness, of contentment that used to surround & come forth from the Ellington band when they sat together on a stage, even if they weren’t (at the moment) playing (Basie’s band always looked happy too.) They took me there ... it was a vision ... they returned me to earth ... i found myself in a parking lot ... people were milling around ... don’t be afraid ... talk to them ... whales and their leader found on shore in Florida. Then Xena bound her legs to the horse with turban cloth, and as Gabrielle was bound she bowed her head to see in silence. Then they rode. The journey took eight centuries. Beetles and love and mist. Yeah. Blurgh raarrr blurgh brilliant gruuugh urgggh prrrruuuugh. Christ. Grrrrrrrugh glllurgh. Read it! If you went away I’d have to draw you with crayons. I’d have to build you with legos. Ornothopter. Blurgh grurl plurg grug gurgh yeah. Positivist. Blllllllllurgh grug grungle blug urgh brug fugfug if you can’t express what you mean clearly
with the heads switched
these dolls look angrier.
My co-workers’ faces were similarly
obscured.
“Beans taste better when you grow them on a banker’s grave”, to quote Danny Lyons. “Join us!”, as the trees say in Evil Dead. Dusty moonlight, starbeam riding its own flute. Parts for a 1999 Hyundai. It looks like the Illini or Illinois or Illiniwek people lived there before the US government forced them out to Oklahoma. From time to time Beuys rang a triangle which he carried round his neck. Sounds of a recorded turbine disturbed the atmosphere, bringing a threatening nuance into play.
Ductwork – Single Wall Round
Ductwork – Double Wall Round
Ductwork – Single Wall Oval
With the help of a Pravaz syringe he administers several injections of
Doctor Yersin’s serum
Then he opens the wound in the arm with the scalpel, effecting a
cruciform incision
He bleeds it
Then cauterizes it with some drops of hypochlorite of lime.
He blows twice into a small plastic trumpet.
On Mon, Nov 28, 2016 at 11:57 PM, Jonathan Tiplady wrote:
i dreamt i cut off van gogh’s other ear the other night
i also dreamt of deanna havas alone in the bronx
rewatching the sopranos. i said to her it would have
been better if van gogh had waited even longer
than derrida waited to publish three great books
and cut off both ears at once. she kissed me
mia goth and shia labeouf got together in 2012.
i marked my self safe from lack of mission creep
and a creative block that never comes. i inundate
the reading centres with a bearable infinity, with<
child’s strength ecstasy, with an unwild type of kind
ness. as u know the rest is history or silence
On Tue, Nov 29, 2016 at 8:34 AM, John Bloomberg-Rissman wrote:
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night
Alive as you or me
Says I, But Joe, you’re ten years dead
I never died, says he
I never died, says he
I see yr last line as parallel to Auden’s We must love one another or die. As everyone knows he hated that line and tried to fix it with an “and”. It didn’t work so he cancelled the poem. Not suggesting you cancel or rewrite anything, not at all, I love it that you
inundate
the reading centres with a bearable infinity, with
child’s strength ecstasy, with an unwild type of kind
ness.
I mean truly love it. I’m just waking up and am reading this first thing and whether or not I am “creative” I certainly don't have a “babbling block”. The rest is history. And silence. I say that because I woke up thinking that one day before too long the cockroaches will all say to each other, “Wow, they lasted 60,000 years. That’s like not even being here!” (given that cockroaches evolved 300,000,000 years ago ...). Which reminds me of Mott the Hoople’s line,
You’re not the Nazz, you’re just a buzz, some kind of temporary ...
Still. Keep on filling the reading centres ... I like my creative misreading in which it was Derrida who cut off both of his ears. “Evil,” says Agamben, “is the forgetting of the whoa-factor inherent in the very taking-place of things.” We might imagine remembering, then, as a multiplicity of processes, such as the kinds earthworms revel in while helping to make compost or otherwise being busy at work and at play: turning the soil over and over – ingesting and excreting it, tunneling through it, burrowing ... Speaking of which, could ants get any cooler? Apparently, they have been farming for something like three million years. The ant-farmed plants are all members of the Squamellaria family. They are epiphytic, meaning they grow on other plants, usually trees.cEven before the Squamellaria’s fruit is ripe, the ants begin gathering its seeds by cutting through the fruit’s wall. Next, the ants sow the seeds in holes in the tree bark and guard them until they begin to sprout. When the seedlings reach about three-quarters of an inch high, they begin to develop a soft, bulbous structure between the roots and the stem known as a domatium or “ant-house.” As soon as the domatium is big enough, the ants enter a cavity in it to shit, providing the young plant with fertilizer. So, what do the ants get in return? First and foremost, a place to live. As the Squamellaria continues to grow, its domatium grows as well, eventually measuring 8 to 16 inches across or more. Inside, it’s “an incredibly complex system of interconnected galleries, which looks like a brain.” All those folds maximize available nesting surfaces. That’s good for the ants and good for the long-term health of the plant, Chomicki said. The more ants that live in the domatium, the more ant-fertilizer the plant receives. Some species of Squamellaria sweeten the deal for the ants even more by providing sugar rewards that drip from their leaves. Which means that the scalar arrangement can be derived from the basic pentatonic cell P = {5, 8, 10, 0, 3} shown in figure 2.3 (as usual, pitch classes are encoded with c 0, c sharp 1, etc.). This cell is the union of two isomorphic three-element parts, M = {5, 8, 10} and its fifth transposition T7 M = {0, 3, 5}. The piece’s basic motif B = f – a flat – f – b flat for the lyric “A-love-su-preme” is built from P as a succession of a minor third f, a flat, and the fourth f, b flat. It is remarkable that this pairing 3 → 5 is precisely the pairing of the consonance 3 with the dissonance 5 (!) under the autocomplementarity symmetry T2 · 5. Which is to say, of course, that “even a solitary wolf howl / ferries you across.”
All this deals with feelings ...
One does not quite know that until much later ...
There is something romantic about that.
The language of actions is a Romance
Language in the same family as
The language of flowers. It has its own
Grammar and syntax, its own poetry.
It isn’t widely spoken or understood.
There is a gender bias.
Time to destination: 32 minutes
Tail wind: 82 km/h
Outside temperature: -42C
Time to destination: 2 hours 30
Head wind: 14 km/h
Outside temperature: -60C
[Note: Sources: Guerino B. Mazzola and Paul B. Cherlin, in collaboration with Mathias Rissi and Nathan Kennedy, Flow, Gesture, and Spaces in Free Jazz: Towards a Theory of Collaboration; JBR; Jussi Parikka, The Anthrobscene (quoting Arthur Conan Doyle, “When the World Screamed”); JBR; Joseph Beuys, as quoted in “Joseph Beuys im Gesprach mit Caroline Tisdall, 1974”, in Joseph Beuys, The Secret Block for a Person in Ireland; Kodwo Eshun, More Brilliant Than The Sun: Adventures In Sonic Fiction; JBR; Cherríe L Moraga, “Weapons of the Weak”, in A Xicana Codex of Changing Consciousness: Writings 2000-2010; Posie Rider, “Leeds onextra”, “City Break”, “Holy Isle”, in City Break Weekend Songs; cris cheek, “short life housing”, “canning town chronicles”, in short life housing; stustu12340S, “[What the host ...]”, at A Fiery Flying Roule, 26 Nov 016; JBR; Stina Attebery, “Speculative Constitutions: Gerald Vizenor’s ‘Treaty Shirts’”, at Los Angeles Review of Books, 26 Nov 016; JBR; David Hadbawnik, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, in Cotton Nero A.x: The works of the ‘Pearl’ poet, retranscribed, retraced, rebelieved ...; Daniel C. Remein, “Pearl”, in Cotton Nero A.x: The works of the ‘Pearl’ poet, retranscribed, retraced, rebelieved ...; Chris Piuma, “Tidy”, in Cotton Nero A.x: The works of the ‘Pearl’ poet, retranscribed, retraced, rebelieved ...; Lisa Ampleman, “Patience”, in Cotton Nero A.x: The works of the ‘Pearl’ poet, retranscribed, retraced, rebelieved ...; JBR; Fidel Castro (RIP), “Tomorrow Will Be Too Late”, in “¡COMPANERO FIDEL, PRESENTE! Fidel Castro: Fight the ecological destruction threatening the planet!”, at Climate and Capitalism, 26 Nov 016; JBR; John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “Birthday” (I write this 27 Nov 016, which is my birthday); Jonty Tiplady, “Madrock Gunned Down in Flowers”, “Sahara Ha Ha”, “Simple Phrases Zero”, “Dear World and Everyone in It”, in The School of Metaphysics, 2nd ed.; JBR; Lisa Stevenson, Life Beside Itself: Imagining Care in the Canadian Arctic; Lars Iyer, Blanchot’s Communism; Jay Goldberg, as quoted in Jussi Parikka, The Anthrobscene; JBR; Fred Moten and Adam Fitzgerald, in Fitzgerald’s “An Interview with Fred Moten, Part 1”, at Literary Hub, 5 Aug 015; JBR; Pauline Oliveros (RIP), The Inner/Outer Sound Matrix. For sfSOUND, at Deep Listening; Andrea Lambert, “Thanksgiving with the Trumpocalypse”, at Entropy, 27 Nov 016; JBR, and Ian Heames, as quoted in JBR’s “Sonnets by Anonymous”, at Galatea Resurrects 23 (Anonymous = Ian Heames); Evelyn Reilly, “Variations on a Sentence by Rosmarie Waldrop”, in War and Peace: The Future (eds. Judith Goldman and Leslie Scalapino); Rodrigo Toscano, “Pig Angels of the Americlypse”, in War and Peace: The Future (eds. Judith Goldman and Leslie Scalapino); CA Conrad, “we’re on the brink of UTTER befuddlement yellow-hankie style”, in War and Peace: The Future (eds. Judith Goldman and Leslie Scalapino); Anne Jaap Jacobson, “‘Thinking Outside a Less Intact Box’: A problem for professional philosophy?”, at Feminist Philosophers, 27 Nov 016; Clayton Eshleman, “A Half Hour with Basquiat”, “The Lavender Fathers”, “Tree Roots and Trunks”, in Jerome Rothenberg, “Clayton Eshleman: Four New Poems from ‘Penetralia’”, at Poems and Poetics, 27 Nov 016 (cancelled post); Susan Landers, “Every woman adores ousting a fascist”, in War and Peace: The Future (eds. Judith Goldman and Leslie Scalapino); Jenny Lawson, “That’s not how this works”, at The Bloggess, 27 Nov 016; JBR, but see Derek Hawkins, “DAPL News: Police fire water cannon on protesters during freezing temperatures”, at Zeitgeist Spam, 21 Nov 016 (reposted from the Washington Post); Mel Bentley, “The First Three Days”, at Elderly’s Not My Country; JBR, blurb for Anne Gorrick, The Olfactions (in press); Keston Sutherland, “Quid 9: Against Imperialism a Prolegomena, Ex Ed.”, at Quid 9; Jonathan May, “[They parade the President in a big plastic cage ...]”, at Elderly’s Not My Country; DM Jerman, “[I realized yesterday while on the train inside a long stretch of subway tunnel, I was meditating ...]”, at Elderly’s Not My Country; Chris Martin, “Civil War 2.0”, at Elderly’s Not My Country; Robert Creeley, “America”; JBR; Sun Ra, as quoted in Robert Lax, “Sun Ra Notes & Numbers”, in Omniverse Sun Ra (eds. Hartmut Geerken and Chris Trent); Francis Crot, Xena: Warrior Princess: The Seven Curses, Plus Xena’s Annotations, transcribed by Nrov Mrodbaak; Gabriel Ojeda-Sague, “Footwork”, at Elderly’s Not My Country; Eric Saenz, “Eleven Nine // Nine Eleven”, at Elderly’s Not My Country; Jason Morris, “Internet Jukebox”, at Elderly’s Not My Country; Alexander R Galloway, “The Nonhuman: Apophatic or Cataphatic?”, at Alexander R Galloway, 28 Nov 016; Allen Ginsberg, “Television Was a Baby Crawling Toward That Deathchamber”, in Planet News: 1961-1967; Kate Schapira, “First Rain Dance for Campellsville, KY”, “Third Rain Dance for White Hall, IL”, in Weather Eye Open; Caroline Tisdall, “Joseph Beuys / Coyote: I Like America and America Likes Me”, in commentary to “The Book of Events”, in Technicians of the Sacred (ed. Jerome Rothenberg); Michael Gottleib, “from The Dust”, in Against Expression: An Anthology of Conceptual Writing (eds. Craig Dworkin and Kenneth Goldsmith); Blaise Cendrars, “from Kodak (3. The Red-Crested Viper)” (tr. Craig Dworkin), in Against Expression: An Anthology of Conceptual Writing (eds. Craig Dworkin and Kenneth Goldsmith); Novice Tadić, “Toys, Dream”, in The Horse Has Six Legs: An Anthology of Serbian Poetry (ed. and tr. Charlis Simic); Jonty Tiplady and JBR, in correspondence, 28-9 Nov 016; Nicola Masciandaro, “Falling Out of Language, Animally”, at Academia.edu; Karen Barad, “Diffracting Diffraction: Cutting Together-Apart”, at Academia.edu; JBR; Deborah Netburn, “Ants have been farming plants for millions of years, long before people did”, at The Los Angeles Times, 22 Nov 016; JBR; Guerino B. Mazzola and Paul B. Cherlin, in collaboration with Mathias Rissi and Nathan Kennedy, Flow, Gesture, and Spaces in Free Jazz: Towards a Theory of Collaboration; JBR; Jonathan Stalling, “Greeting”, in Yingeleshi; Angelos Sakkis, Travelog with Homer on My Mind]