~ for Daria, Eleni, Fiona and Robert
It helps to fall to sleep listening to words poured out the side of your chest a paradise
it helps to listen to the sounds these words make broken down to their least elements
‘textual units’ to educate to heal the body in pain one asks ‘Are you suffering?’ you reply
‘I am always suffering’ to be alone at the place where I breaks from you consequentially
called back from our ‘blindness envy’ this must be Grace ‘if I be in a state of Grace then
may it continue’ suffering just to be HERE (Here too...) to continue being shot through
blood becoming place rides out the wine you will take that staircase discover you truly
in relation in that dark event you will descend into dark's likeness communicating voice
‘I want the body to be a voice’ a socius extricated from a content versions of the Amor
Fati all the hills had eyes in this gauzy incidence light winding away from life as they did
all that was East and West conveyed its ME DEATH in myths occluding an actual pom-
egranate a cadaver is to us as we are to this dance the supple intelligence of the dancer
for dance to be the case a couple locked in place two bodies for a field more erogenous
in not being 'modern' energy risks the body's borders interferent outlying our substance
forms the subject objectless in movement already an event what paper cups produce
center they threw their clothes into the abyss of being 'feminine' otherwise of-a-sudden
climbing from life in reverse climbing for their lives really falling while doing this so it
seemed two screens project the NO ONE we are when we move any center whatever was.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
NO ONE's Autopathography
for Eleni, Rob and Taylor
after Muriel Rukeyser's "Book of the Dead"
Power becomes you dear endangered body skin so thin with armor
amorous Isis Osiris scattered becomes us compels you this subtlety in over-
sensitivity as the hills which once were white-mottled Romantic models as
Rukeyser would make ironic alloy call a rose a rose and us by any other aim
would recognize no other power but in degrees of this world transcendent so hell
is also MY SELF on earth because we made the factories time convolute
Vertov touted the machine age Williams never sang the Passaic for labor per se
that other Eternity power always exists the problem is what to do with it
how NOT to USE is sometimes how to direct writing from a white heat O Love
O downy picturesque particulars and pastoral spotlessness pimps your poem
“glassy moons” confound the social every rose wants to be a rose merely
every nation just a nation but can not because we fall to rise every rose begs
to be both interrupted and ongoing a paradox tautological as every pane
of glass which thisness inheres that bears witness a SOUL for every violence
committed to someone in this world of force and nothing else a gun sites the said
dialectics tread on where desires go into the Open of control my sovereign
my brain-sickness my body my head prevented the tongue as well he asks HIM
SELF “am I alive?” a ghost of sorts while she pursues her actual Bardo power at
the price of exploitation hatred at the price of force so illness transformed her.
after Muriel Rukeyser's "Book of the Dead"
Power becomes you dear endangered body skin so thin with armor
amorous Isis Osiris scattered becomes us compels you this subtlety in over-
sensitivity as the hills which once were white-mottled Romantic models as
Rukeyser would make ironic alloy call a rose a rose and us by any other aim
would recognize no other power but in degrees of this world transcendent so hell
is also MY SELF on earth because we made the factories time convolute
Vertov touted the machine age Williams never sang the Passaic for labor per se
that other Eternity power always exists the problem is what to do with it
how NOT to USE is sometimes how to direct writing from a white heat O Love
O downy picturesque particulars and pastoral spotlessness pimps your poem
“glassy moons” confound the social every rose wants to be a rose merely
every nation just a nation but can not because we fall to rise every rose begs
to be both interrupted and ongoing a paradox tautological as every pane
of glass which thisness inheres that bears witness a SOUL for every violence
committed to someone in this world of force and nothing else a gun sites the said
dialectics tread on where desires go into the Open of control my sovereign
my brain-sickness my body my head prevented the tongue as well he asks HIM
SELF “am I alive?” a ghost of sorts while she pursues her actual Bardo power at
the price of exploitation hatred at the price of force so illness transformed her.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Jane Sprague's *Danger Flash || Army Flash*
The following is a poem Jane Sprague sent me, scanned. "Fuel Low / Steal more..."!!!
War and Peace on A pics & ad*
Peace On A
presents
War & Peace vol. 3 (NYC launch!)
with readings by:
Bruce Andrews
CA Conrad
Michael Cross
Thom Donovan
Brenda Iijima
Paolo Javier
Susan Landers
Evelyn Reilly
& Rodrigo Toscano
Tuesday, November 27th 2007 8PM ( gab session followed by reading at around 9 pm )
hosted by Thom Donovan at:
166 Avenue A (btwn 10th and 11th), Apartment # 2
about War & Peace vol. 3
War and Peace 3/The Future, edited by Judith Goldman & Leslie Scalapino,
Borrowing Tolstoy’s title and basing our manifestation of War and Peace on the conception that everything goes on in war and peace, the editors, Judith Goldman and Leslie Scalapino , have gathered forty poets on the theme of “The Future.” The future arises with (at the same time as) history and the present. Included in the forty are Lyn Hejinian, Fanny Howe, Lisa Jarnot , Bruce Andrews, Rodrigo Toscano, Anselm Hollo, Paolo Javier, Laynie Browne , Anne Waldman, Jen Hofer…
“the migrating cranes—whose lines of flight misalign what *will have been* with what’ll be no more …” ~ Rob Halpern
*photo credits go to Mika Johnson, who generously captured the night's proceedings.