Nonsite Collective summer events calendar

Elliot Anderson will present his project, The Monuments of Silicon Valley, David Wolach about Commoning and the Body, and I will present about Commoning and Aesthetic Practice.

http://www.nonsitecollective.org/

Thanks to Michael Cross and Taylor Brady for calendar design.

Who are called upon to leak
All barriers of the same
And what we are and when
We are not reconciled

The way the ground rose up
Spills our guts makes us, um,
Come clean—spreads the
Shittiness around at least

Endless streams of stars
Crossed by song unweaved
Recall what won’t be sung
Because no one is dreaming

It seems I can almost touch
The plume they cannot plug
Me up with currency and currents
Touch everything we’ll never be

Copulas of cant
Evacuate what’s left of place
Signify while real eyes watch
A wreck of belief.

Project for an Archive of the Future Anterior video now at Apexart

For those who missed the Project for an Archive of the Future Anterior at Apexart here is a link to a video download of interviews between myself and Matthew Buckingham, Sreshta Rit Premnath and Svetlana Boym:

http://apexart.org/events/bas_museo.htm

For Leslie Scalapino

Not even time to mourn it seems
The loss of me as you
The event and the time this event
Takes place within without name
Because you were moving with it
Interrupted by the social
Interrupted by how language
Mediates the social
There is still a horizon here
A rose rim for the real.

After Matushin

Some tankers and stars lapse
Some shade of resource
Always out-sourcing our lips leak
Silence laying sense to waste
Intuiting what other organs were here
Accomplice to apocalypse both art and its consequences
Are shapes you make in the dark
Non-images are for thinking
Feeling won't break the back or the bank
Sound waves lap like the mind is heard
A total proprioception as it turned.

composed 3/2007, revised 5/2010

We Are Leaves

I read this poem at the wedding of my friends Brandon and Jane nearly three years ago and have finally gotten around to transcribing it. I still think it is a perfect poem for a wedding...

We Are Leaves
By James Schuyler

There are leaves
there are trees
there is a tuba vine
“she”—a voice
she sings in other
words than what
disc grooves carry:
your name your face
our privacy in
hotel rooms with
cheap vodka cheap
quinine water our
nights are days
the morning comes
and goes and we
are pleased or
“who cares?” We
saw that view
of shimmering tall
offices. Today.
Today is muggy
gray—I don’t
mind: why care?
Today you see
another view
desk and win-
dow ledge, while
mine—my view
that is—is
window ledge
and desk. Do
I miss you?
You know, yes
and I know,
no, you are
so with me
when apart, I
think I under-
stand you and
you me: I’m
happy as a rained
on leaf or
lettuce in a
crisper. You
love me and I
reciprocate.
The leaves—
it’s almost
fall—look
to last for
ever—they will
come tumbling
down. I’m glad
we are not
leaves, or even
trees whose twigs
mesh. We are—
you are you,
I am I, and
we mesh. And
to ourselves
we speak our
thoughts and
touch and that
is love, isn’t
it? What Doc
called, Gen-
ital contact.
And lighter
than a zeppelin
the sense of
touched brushed
lightly one
against the other
we two, together
here among the leaves