"I read a white..." (Nonsite)*

~ to Nick Piombino & Taylor Brady

"I read a white" site
Thru lyric to review
All things unquiet
& burnt for thinking

That time external to "us"
Internal to its powers
Of becoming-analysis
I drift before a throne

Of sovereign psychologies
Your "hovering attentions"
Mean *me* no harm
Out-moding *our*-selves

As such before impervious
Wills dictates predicate
A time-base for our balms
"Thought-stuff" captures

Attention but is no boob job
For captive audiences
The time-senses you prefer
Of music fragments weave

Note-taking of tendency
Aphorisms play
Tend eyes taking-note
Each of us at *this* war

Making for "second reflection"
In the world a *contradicto*
We have loved but a world
Can't always love us back

Not with our failed hands and all
An unworking into existence
Of *poesis* still exigent
It is perhaps like Stein says

That God (or any empire)
Can not (finally) make a hundred
Year-old mule in a minute
And yet disaster tells us

Otherwise that archetypes also
Abound in our powers
And activate events I want
To love *this* world but I can't

Always so we make another
More powerful so vigilance
Breaks at dawn a complicit state
Where cannons once were

I want to change the world
But its parameters can't be found
Out at any outpost of Theory
Or in apparent lack

I want to synthesize us
But we can't be simply gathered
In facts it should be accreted
To what measure will be

Hold me in your lyric here
Cathect me to convey
That vertical *over*-seeing
A "beyond-in" "in this world"

I like the sense of gravity
Your poetry proposes
Where chips of time remain
A-maying in bared attendance.


*the above (top-most) collage is by Nick Piombino, and called "Chris Dangerous"

Sappho Variation

My Lord Sith (Nonsite)*

~ for JG

The dreams began in which I could fix
The mechanisms of life
As easily as I could machines
Through time forever to play
A song to the arrangement
Of real things

It was obvious when one could read
Between the lines a sword
Of fire I *must* obey
My master less a day
I was born
As billions are I did

Not immediately imagine
When we were between
Casting him about the shop
Like a sack of meal
I go now to meet my destiny
I think about being ordered to sit on my hands

*all source text from: http://darthside.blogspot.com/

Shop Floor ("Non-Site" Collective)

~ for Taylor Brady, Michael Cross, Judith Goldman, Rob Halpern, Joel Kuszai, Bill Marsh & Yedda Morrison

Because we are always working
& because we must unwork
The world because there is blood
Actual blood on the shop floor

Blood of Wildcats other bombers
Of fame in the flames of our
Future wrecks we shoot into this night
Of labor which sites

Of disaster production all consuming
Because we are sited & short-cited
And over-sighting because we believe
In an actual world this world of hands

& voice will be believe-able
We will hold and be held grasped as it were
To that finer edge of removal
Your dispatches finally from the floor

Because you are always working and we
Are always working I want to dig
Print feel something again
Our making of thinking's edges (*poesis* so called)

Boundaries and borders of a material removed
The necessary abstractions "with" and "to"
Prepositions for lapidary scrap cut to this idea
Of longing Remnant succeed a *Das Ding*

A dent in becoming the net & the mesh
The un-mending Pullman glass the Glass Wall's reflection
Limits nothing in the nexus put our hands
To this sense but let's speak mediately

Square the problem make the set "us"
In a subtracted dawn site the case for something
Came back from the dead resurrected *in* life
Sequent to event named where site is.

Dhikr

All this happens in the instant [...] a unit of time that is indivisible in *concerto* (though divisible in thought) the atom of temporarlity which we designate as the "present" [...] the ideal limit between the past and the future [...] though the senses perceive no interval.
~ Henry Corbin