both ii

both

a warning

I am only
able to give you
this piece of bread
right now, but

be warned

that I have thought
of all of the thoughts
that keep
rising from this
crater at
our right
hand.

blue dome

Anselm Kiefer, Everyone Stands Under His Own Dome of Heaven, 1970, watercolor, gouache, and graphite pencil on joined paper, 15 3/4" x 18 7/8". Collection: Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY, Denise and Andrew Saul Fund, 1995.

green moment

a victory for art

Esthetics have devolved into rare types of stupidity. Each kind of stupidity may be broken down into categories such as bovine formalism, tired painting, eccentric concentrics or numb structures. All these categories and many others all petrify into a vast banality called the art world which is no world. A nice negativism seems to be spawning. A sweet nihilism is everywhere. Immobility and inertia are what many of the most gifted artists prefer. Vacant at the center, dull at the edge, a few artists are on the true path of stultification. Muddleheaded logic is taking the place of clearheaded illogic, much to nobody's surprise.

-Robert Smithson, 

ON THE OCCASION OF THE ART AND TECHNOLOGY SHOW AT THE ARMORY

types, like blooms

cave song poem
desert, or sand, poem
fur poem
sub, hematoma poem
glottal poem
hand poem
fern spore poem
second lung poem

wind(ow)

from "sea surface full of clouds" by Wallace Stevens

   IV

In that November off Tehuantepec
The night-long slopping of the sea grew still.
A mallow morning dozed upon the deck

And made one think of musky chocolate
And frail umbrellas. A too-fluent green
Suggested malice in the dry machine

Of ocean, pondering dank stratagem.
Who then beheld the figures of the clouds
Like blooms secluded in the thick marine?

Like blooms? Like damasks that were shaken off
From the loosed girdles in the spangling must.
C’était ma foi, la nonchalance divine.

The nakedness would rise and suddenly turn
Salt masks of beard and mouths of bellowing,
Would—But more suddenly the heaven rolled

Its bluest sea-clouds in the thinking green,
And the nakedness became the broadest blooms,
Mile-mallows that a mallow sun cajoled.

two tiers

mir v

dramt gauze

script sag

dome drop

When were we? The sky arc fell; there was no sky. There were no domes sung again, or dome musics they called it -- low clouds rolled the horizon. Geometric space was geometric event was becoming-geometric bodies. “Take this board, this face, this triangle, this rough in your hand, low drone of the curve.” What is this ghost triangle below a triangle?

The bodies bent over the tools, faintly sorting. The bodies found an opening in the tarp, beginning to materialize. The bodies pushed arcs into together. There was a body made into a shaping, but it was getting darker from the blue evening .

There is no dome, but there are plans for a dome. They sat at a table, like any revolutionaries, faced with a form though, this time. No reliving the face of the past. Nomad dome for collapse sound, for this time.

fleur v

Foucault replies to questions from the audience at Berkeley's History Department in 1983

Given the fact that you don't try and refute theories, you claim not to be a structuralist nor do you believe in a totality, then why should we believe you?


 There is no reason.


  (laughter)

bloc (l1, l2)

dome drift 1

dusk pipe

pseudo name and a wig

She is too vain to stay out of the limelight for long
She actually thinks people really believe her due to the verdict
I would love to hit her in the face with a shovel
Whats she gonna do?? go blond, change her name?
She will never be truly free from guilt of her own making
She can run, but she cant hide
What they think to do about her dirty habits?
They will make a head trasplant to her? Ha!!
We can sit and wait no long, Diane!!
She has a this face of afraid rabbit. Ha!
Who don't know her, then buy her!
For her actions, the whole world gonna know
where is the psychopath!
She should alter her face to look just like OJ
Someone will find her. She can run but she can't hide
I hope she lives in fear the rest of her life!
She is too narcissistic and selfish to hide and disguise herself
She will be out everywhere in a matter of time
That's right! Seriously, she has a mental disorder, so it's a indicator of it
What about her "Bella Vita" tattoo. She better wear long sleeve shirts every day
I WOULD JUST LOVE TO WRECK THAT FACE WITH MY FISTS! GRRRRRRRRRRRR
Pseudo name and a wig won't do much for her
All you have to do is look in the club and you'll know who she is
SHE MAKES AMERICANS SICK,
EVEN A 3RD WORLD COUNTRY IS TOO GOOD FOR HER
NO MATTER HOW YOU DISGUISE HER,
HER FACE TELLS THE STORY
AND SCREAMS OUT BABY KILLER
Maybe she can go live with her make believe nanny,
or her made up boyfriend
What she needs is a brain transplant;
A monkey brain will work just fine.
Even monkeys care for their babies.





[culled from the comments on the July 12, 2011 New York Post article "Casey Anthony will don disguise"]

ray twines

"Effluviad" by Gregory Betts

Welcome to the advent of transculturation
the sky will be your racial asset
will trouble the stateliness of the
only recently immigrated
will increase in apparent contradictions

Welcome to scholarly oblivion, rationalized lynching
anti-racist anthropology, undermined population growth
all problems dissolved and by extension race
within change understanding of
necessary blood and iron, bronzing silicon memory

Welcome to the tribal origins of peripherality discussion
(what brings this together) to cultural encounters
hybridization, creolization, and diaspora
throw off still pains
when the inculcation connotations
remobilize the critical function
growing poppy and terrorizing their opponent
this is precisely what is elsewhere

Welcome to the crime of such magnitude that
innocent people indiscriminately condone the ruins
shrine-like features metal tree girders street sign
growing out of her head has become a baseball cap
lettered professional screens, canvas, wooden
hawkers of professional hawking
a diffusion of the ubiquity of advertising
testimonies to the ongoing technological encroachment
of admiration, resentment, its negative effects

Welcome to the new nineteenth-century cyborgian imagery
just as it is difficult to understand
it unhinges the parallelism clear enough
obviously a reaction I would like to argue
the no less maleficent spokesmen express incredulity
the reticence in voicing transpiring opinion
the interim has apparently ended

Welcome to the collapse of the Berlin Wall, the new post-Cold
War period, the BBC headlines, the Paris of 1968, the Islam Karimov
country, the next four decades of the 1920s set
to destabilize the collapse of communism, the green light
district, the monolithic in-depth, dispassionate analyses,
the Mossad, the stratificational contours of Protestant
denominations, the broad overall picture is not something
that happens to us

Welcome to the reception of European popular religious literature
to the more transparent Lutherans, Moravians, Mennonites
to the missing from the fare of colonial readers
to the full-page facsimile reproductions, the
musical notations, the specialized field
overarching the chronological schema

Welcome to the rotunda in John Barth fiction
Welcome to mass immigration reinventing the double of moral value
Welcome to the colonial shadow that follows the equator
and attendant savagism of various
literary interpretations of the city, of US intervention
into Cuba´s literary hypotheosis, of rootedness and restless fathers, harbingers
of the germ theory, the mythical professional
relationship policing the borders of women´s bodies

Welcome to Kredit Kard, Kanada, a neo-industrialist
post-urbanized suburb with a population driven
into panic by the circulation of in all other respects
the well-known questionable claim of the interculturally unknown,
witness the daily deicide, babies that chew jaundiced breast milk,
the gone missing evidence
the vitally read under the sign of nature

These boundaries simultaneously crossed, step
in the actual dis-
solution picks
traditions as
a parallel ethnicity
equal share in
formations
rediscovered
was Tom White
male and female
man and woman
male-dominated feminist, masochist masculinist
deep within the wake of the tofu 1970s?
This damned mob
compilation this monograph
this proto-product
now a generation
laden with linguistic esoterics
research the apt interpretations of
new insights into the inner workings
of the latter´s skeptical philosophy
as a heuristic filter – as in the
rest of Europe, population growth
increased the number of historians –
surveys to history
the future majority with
the high rate of endogamy

such a powerful presence, her
daughters sought unmarried
Swedes comprising one quarter
of Chicago wages
was a professional early
movie studio filmed serial comedy

religious women became
role models for
Irish women
the future majority
was also an attractive option
among the best paid foreign workers,
writers employed in
their attack
that realism is the little teacup
during the last third
of the nineteenth century
ultimately, so timely
rich, new irony
new readings, new debt, new local colour

naturalized writers employed
the American book market
during the rapid disappearance
of transformation, fragmentation
the conventions of effeminacy
in other words
the absence of a
theoretical framework
the trajectory of
individual careers
the present selection
of the 1991 ascendancy, the
central characters
in a book length study
of a substantial amount
of neglected literary scholarship
in many ways
written on a bad day

“For a number of years the so-called recognition of the
arbitrary nature and the problematics of the theme
requiring and collapsing the knowledge of the
the ethnic grounds to develop a form of the
amongst themselves and a
modus vivendi that could well
here the recycling effect mentioned above…"

In the TV show
the popular TV show
locked in in a
container
under constant popularity
it refers to the need for
a more meaningful dialogic -- --
and a
revolution, a playful un-historic
one
in line with the lighting
of shoes
as a crude attempt
to make the time--
less relevant

it is no simple coincidence
transmogrified products
return to confront their producers
seen as a kind of opening
expanding fields, dripped saccharine,
as a kind of confirmation
of the core tendencies
whether they are for or against
ambiguities
negotiating with the pieties

Welcome to the target of an embargo, welcome to the nuclear test site, welcome to the massive instrumentalization, to the domestic stage, and the huge majority, and
the key priorities of the continental vision

Welcome to the warlords and barmaids, welcome to the
violently sexist and the tyrant in place, welcome to the
criminals who let their backers escape, to the same
number of innocent people, to the brutal murderous
regime, to the attacking administrations, to the study
we find diverse, to the foreign policy of nationalisms,
of dictatorships, of the country we constantly invent, of the enlightenments,
of the us to believe in; welcome to the no threat of
arrest, to the crushed confirmation, to the tyrant
in place, to the leading suspects, to the destruction of houses
to the leading policeman turning away
out of earshot,
he turns to his left and to his right
looking to participate
in the loss of
someone he did not know
he is preceded and accompanied
by uniformed police officers
two-by-two
the way he saw others being treated
which never gets to hear about
that he perforce observed
What is it that so embittered him?
If it is true
allow us to comprehend
but the grim resolution
to hunt him down.

Welcome to the only civility that dictates the reticence
in voicing such opinion, to the evidence that played
a key role to contain the spread of communism, to
the drug baron exchange, to the famous by
persistence, the seven-year-long devil
transpiring from various biographies
so antagonistic
and underrated ever since

Welcome to the pattern of adjustment, to the evolving technology,
the evolving histories, and the inexorable dictates of
industrial production. Welcome to the thirty thousand dead
Turks, to the thanks misgiving, to the failed weep,
to how such a position can usher in the devastation,
to the tension mounting; to use a different methodology
than traditional historians, to drain the fields of blood and the bodies
suckled into the earth. Welcome to linguistics, statistics,
economics, historical cartography, sociology, ethnology,
topography, teleology, homines taxidermy, to the true
values of stateliness, to the 14th Century Canadians fishing in death, already,
to the
annual meeting of the local historians of the world,
to a toast to the image of a particular national
character, to modernity, urbanization, toward a modern lifestyle
toward the characteristics, to the language, the food, the clothing
songs traditions crafts settlement patterns of deviance, defiance
socializing kinship folkways memories of the chief
librarian who may yet continue to publish in the aging, effluvious way.
To the intoxication of constant metamorphosis
welcome to the welcome to
the weight, the sinews, the flaccid seraphim, the battering wind,
the welcome to the welcome to
the girth in stasis, the sun song, the tan lines of card board buildings self-
consuming
welcome to the welcome to
the beast approaching the young
and
the young who
consume the consume

from "Nets" by Jen Bervin

['nets' created using/out of the originary structure of Shakespeare's sonnets]

mauve moves

dusk, florida

trance collapse

tricks

Her speech is nothing,

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection.

They aim at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts,
Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them,

Indeed would make one think there might be thought...

dialectical materialism (one explanation)

"The Way Things Work" by Jorie Graham

The Way Things Work


is by admitting
or opening away.
This is the simplest form
of current: Blue
moving through blue;
blue through purple;
the objects of desire
opening upon themselves
without us; the objects of faith.
The way things work
is by solution,
resistance lessened or
increased and taken
advantage of.
The way things work
is that we finally believe
they are there,
common and able
to illustrate themselves.
Wheel, kinetic flow,
rising and falling water,
ingots, levers and keys,
I believe in you,
cylinder lock, pulley,
lifting tackle and
crane lift your small head--
I believe in you--
your head is the horizon to
my hand. I believe
forever in the hooks.
The way things work
is that eventually
something catches.

That Precision

Does it seem tthat I am precise in love.
Does it seem tthat I am precise in love.
Does it seem thatt I am precise in love.

"Vowels" by Christian Bok.

VOWELS




loveless vessels

we vow
solo love

we see
love solve loss

else we see
love sow woe

selves we woo
we lose

your face was in a body next to my face

traum raum

On a promotional photograph of Donald Sutherland in "Don't Start the Revolution Without Me!"

Pater familias, as he leans in easy, an easy family snapshot, wishing he were headless, wishing he weren't a revolutionary, wishing his left hand was a dagger. Donald Sutherland in lace, in a kind of triangle within a triangle, on its end, not the long but the point. That point a wish for a dagger. Donald Sutherland looks forward to his son, a revolutionary moving in the space of a day, a limit less with clear eyes than clouded, feeling only the press of the present.

historical pressures

der spiegel

latent candle

Rocks

Holding the rocks, they beat a path to his door. Oh what a door! They were speechless at it. Its fragrant darkness, I mean. There was shuffling in the moonlight, and flamethrowers dragged on the pavement. I cannot see further than it, he murmured. She answered with a low whistle, pulling the wool hat further down. Suddenly faced with a dark patch, they realized how they had stumbled.

Weapons

The mysterious skin of the weapon was new to her. She faced it with a set face, the blue sky radiating. This fabric, maybe nylon, was pressed between her forefingers, simple patterns slept against the edge of her thigh. The trigger felt strong, as expected almost. There was something elegant and missing in the trigger space. The most she could conjure up was a fable about wolves, but that seemed to rise from some blue fold deep in a vein beside her heart. She raised it to her eye, conjuring a point at the brink of a landscape. The weapon shrugged off all feeling. This was its secret: it was never new, and always ready.

"Death Fugue" by Paul Celan

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at nightfall
we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
drink it and drink it
we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there
A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete
he writes it and walks from the house the stars glitter he whistles his dogs up
he whistles his Jews out and orders a grave to be dug in the earth
he commands us strike up for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink in the mornings at noon we drink you at nightfall
drink you and drink you
A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete
Your ashen hair Shulamith we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there

He shouts stab deeper in earth you there and you others you sing and you play
he grabs at the iron in his belt and swings it and blue are his eyes
stab deeper your spades you there and you others play on for the dancing
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightfall
we drink you at noon in the mornings we drink you at nightfall
drink you and drink you
a man in the house your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith he plays with the serpents

He shouts play sweeter death's music death comes as a master from Germany
he shouts stroke darker the strings and as smoke you shall climb to the sky
then you'll have a grave in the clouds it is ample to lie there

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at noon death comes as a master from Germany
we drink you at nightfall and morning we drink you and drink you
a master from Germany death comes with eyes that are blue
with a bullet of lead he will hit in the mark he will hit you
a man in the house your golden hair Margarete
he hunts us down with his dogs in the sky he gives us a grave
he plays with the serpents and dreams death comes as a master from Germany

your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith.

fence pont

"Flower" by Paul Celan

The stone.
The stone in the air, which I followed.
Your eye, as blind as the stone.

We were
hands,
we baled the darkness empty, we found
the word that ascended summer:
flower.

Flower - a blind man's word.
Your eye and mine:
they see
to water.

Growth.
Heart wall upon heart wall
adds petals to it.

One more word like this word, and the hammers
will swing over open ground.

plast wall plast

neg specie

red specie