Neue Kathedrale des erotischen Elends

Support ViLT

2012-01-08T21:37:00.004+01:00

GRUUSBRIDGE

2010-11-26T22:11:00.005+01:00

audio file:

http://www.vilt.net/nkdee/data/edits/mp3/gruiswall2.mp3

Source text:

GRUUS

gru grit gruis grom fraga da
gruis grief gruut gamor uut
gaffel graven wroege vraga i
vergen vroege k lag lam b da

porce gruis da uut da
lein bo gruis da uut da
worg da gruis da ittistik
lein ni bobu gruis parik

gru ttt pk pk da da
gr uis pk eses t ss tuut
suis vsr kst susa stm

u is ms vs kkk da k da
is s mnt gruis stm uut
isis is si gruis issk astm.

made with MBROLA & Audacity, dv 2010
pre-involuted version: http://vilt.wordpress.com/2007/11/26/gruisbruggen/

Complicity with the author

2009-02-06T19:59:00.007+01:00

erhaps fiction is all we have. German idealist philosopher Hans Vaihinger posited something of that nature in his work on the philosophy of the as-if.

As it happens, Vaihinger's work is only known by frequent quotations, not all of them very reliable, in papers, essays and books dealing with American literature. In that field Vaihinger seems to function as a mythical 'deep' layer on which many 'surfacing' fictional theorems are then supposed to be building (that is to say: theory as somehow included in novels, much like theoretical conjectures are brought to the attention of the reader in works like Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, re-counted, or discovered as part of the 'conte', the progression of the discovery of what happened, how the past got to be what it is in the present, by main characters in novel stories).

The novel as a genre has a very large tradition of incorporating philosophical treatise in its corpus of 'fiction'. Tragic and deeply moving stories by Dostojevski are largely lacerated by lengthy religious distractions, most of which could perhaps have been extracted leaving a more pure fictional work. It's been 30 years since i read the darn thing, but i do remember giving up after 40 pages of religious treatise in his "Brothers Karamazov". I remember a feeling most of you will recognize as 'ok, we know you've got some dark hidden truth way down there, explaining it all, now please get on with the story, i want to know what happened!". Whatever it is that we want to know while reading, it certainly isn't the theory behind it all. Authors who keep trying to explain, will eventually get flunked by their readers.

But authors of novels always kinda seem to like, well, er , be after the truth of things by means of their fictions. They often very much want to be taken seriously. The creation of fiction seems to imply a creation of truth as a negative by-product, and where there is a large production of beauty an equal amount of theoretical build-up appears to trouble the acclaimed novelist, tempting her to burst out in interviews proclaiming her world according to ME, the abandoned I she can't write or even speak from, the final persona that is left in the dark when all the worlds lights shine on her fictions and her raving characters.

In the novels themselves, pure theory however is only tolerated as a perforation of the fictional entourage. It's function is exactly to drive a thread of the real through the fabric of fiction. It allows the real to percolate into the moist and the thick of the plot, in such a way that will satisfy even the hardest of readers, another novelist.

The escape into fiction, a primordial motivation to start writing fiction in the first place, may well be that the author is seeking out the excitement involved when you start writing on the edge of your ignorance. The object of desire, the agency driving the act of writing, is a nearly physical craving for truth. The Other takes the form of an Outside that needs to overtake the author so that she can speak as one of the Wise, the True, and perhaps, the horrific Elders.

Writing fiction in that sense may be a kind of weakening of the sharp edges of the unknown, a laceration of darkness with daringly thrown bolts of lightning, a move forward by means of the acid of wordiness, the dynamite of poetic language, the recoiling of growing intrigue. Amidst her territoire armée d'armes et de larmes, the author stand bold, as if nothing could ever happen to her, as if the author always knew what she is going to write, as if she has total control over all the motions she is about to initiate, just by starting out like 'riverrun, past Eve and Adam's from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs'.

Of course she doesn't. And when we 're done, she, the author, us the readers, and it, the riverrun of fiction, we still don't we don't have the slightest clue of what 'really' happened while we were reading, only that our real world somehow got truncated by another, by an outside in which everything was a lot more straightforward, easier to grasp, better to hang on to, and full of sound and fury signifying exactly the same amount of nothing that we started out with.

Fiction, thus, enjoys the liberty of meaning without significance, of moving without being moved, of bringing about nothing and keeping you on the edge of your concentration while doing just that. The currants of 'real' theory inside the fiction function in much the same way as currants of artificial intelligence in large programs aimed at very specific goals: they lift the flow of what happens ever so slightly towards a perception of something real taking place, they reassure us that what is going on beyond our scope or hold is truly intelligent, sound reasoning, efficient data-handling: progress.

Both the Modernist novel, starting with Zola and Lawrence, as the post-modern body of fiction including such marvels of intricacy and intellectual splendour as Pynchon's work, both takes at the novelist job, have in common this continuous friction between theory and fiction, a poromechanics as our series-subject Negarestani would have it of the imagined real by the real as conjecture and vice-versa.

But what happens if the tables turn, and the theorist wants to become the producer of fiction, and when a body of theory is lacerated by shiny strings of sensuous fiction? Will the theorist retain his manly stature as a prominent builder of systematic thought? Or will he fall victim to the strategem of his own device? Will we end up with the best of both worlds, or the worst?

Wait and see, be sure to tune in regularly to NKDEE.blogspot.com for our next episode of DIGGING FOR OIL, a review on the run for the horrors of CYCLONOPEDIA, Reza Negarestani's take on the Middle East as a sentient entity...

Grand L

2009-01-30T15:29:00.001+01:00

vElfabet j

2009-01-23T00:40:00.003+01:00

the letter j
was intended to get people
to come closer together

its vibrating power remains
poorly understood

Several people trying to run away from themselves

2009-01-15T00:06:00.001+01:00

views on the prismatic explication of light

2009-01-11T17:11:00.001+01:00

Towards an Enterprise Framework of Kinelogy

2008-12-21T10:27:00.009+01:00

Perhaps what is needed in order to deal with what Bernard Stiegler refers to as our symbolic misery, notre misère symbolique, is a true dynamisation of our ontological apparatus.

Badiou, the self-indulgent little creep, has gladly given us a reductionist ontology nicely co-inciding with a reductionist mathesis, a tapestry of maps covering maps of the maps of a fictional world, and, on that basis, a Second Chance to establish a clearcut ethical New Order, a network of static gates governed by the Supreme Being of his own Badinage, a Sacred Topology centered around the zero ground of the one significant Event in the Universe: the Birth of his own sorry ass.

Serious philosophers however will know how to pierce through the blatantly maoistic style sheets of his rhetoric and will have no trouble in separating the true logic from the man's business logic, a particularly venomous variant of the old affliction that unfortunately has accompanied most seekers of wisdom who fail to love their own ignorance as the field in which they are allowed to progress: an insatiable need of power, a wish beyond all reason to dominate and to salvage their doomed ego's from death by the attempt to inscribe themselves as an identity on an imaginary Plane of All Humanity.

Now, for that, those two paragraphs is all that i will ever (from now on) write on the wretched subject, so please let us go back to our urgent problems. Bernard Stiegler offers us a very bleak picture of our present condition, and although i haven't at this moment by far finished with going through the entirety of his tracé, a quite impressive route along a number of often quite brilliantly written books of merciless analysis, it is now time i think to accompany my readings of this and other authors with a minor strand, or tiny string of my own.

In mentioning the One Who's Name i Will Mention No More, i have tried to indicate that our ontology, as we know it from one particular angle in our Western Way, is indeed in some respect and given sufficient linguistic reduction identifiable with a mathematically definable topology.
The way we think 'naturally' leads to mathesis, and the nature of mathesis is primarily static, i.e. it refers to a systematic of Place. Any referentiality of thought is based on and biased towards a conception of spatiality and in any conception of spatiality the human mind will always tend towards closure, finiteness and a dismissal of the Real through a fictionalisation into (systems of) objects. Any human becoming is limited by our need to be before we can come, hence the inevitability of our erotic misery.

My very Cathedral is built on the same premises, a designation of mathesis as the firmament of our sense of Being, our ontology, but i have at all times diligently steered away from the temptation to build a fictional apparatus of 'engulfing' on a discovery i do not consider my own, nor His, nor anyone's because it is simply the only logical conclusion that we, the totality of our intellectual efforts, are driven to by the inherent machinic conditions of those very efforts themselves. In spite of Alice's story, looking in the mirror doesn't make us actually leave the Place.

It is , in other words, all too easy to reconstruct the nature of Becoming as a system centered aroud a objectified Event, a merely topological co-ordinate that organizes our Being by its very existence. There is an awkward need and a dangerous desire to close the circle here, a circle of identification that ought to have remained the spiral of differentiation. Again the strange attractor of our need for Perfection is literally smothering any further chance of becoming, of escaping our need to Be.

Our contention throughout these writings will be that in spite of the tragedy of our human condition, and without the need to construct any transcendent realm of salvation, we can indeed overcome our own suicidal tendencies by construing an indirect virtual 'contingency' plan, a way, in short, to summon the Exterior into our fictional Existence.

The prospect of such investigations should of course be an utterly frightful one. The Lovecraftian adegium of 'Be afraid, be very afraid' should be taken most seriously because we are dealing here with things that concern our very survival. It is, in fact , a matter of life and death, and in such matters fear is often a better guide than self-indulgent bravery. But, as we will try to make clear later, this has always been the case, it is only our mastery of self-delusion that lets us of the hook of utter fear, our ability to turn our heads away from the monster and merrily chatter about the weather, right until the very split second that all cameras focus on our being snapped away by It.

We will therefore assume that what is required is an actual method that defies all our misgivings that anything that is written is an accomplishment. There is, in fact, no such thing as a philosophical accomplishment. Philosophy is a disposition, a process enabling the opening of accessoires (secure points of access - sluices) through wich the Exterior is allowed to give Breath to the living.

Therefore, what i write here need not be true. It needn't even make any sense (at this moment, or at the moment you are reading it, or at any given co-ordinate in spacetime).

What i write here needs to work, that's all. If it gives Breath to the living, it works, and then i will have written wisely, i.e. as a temporal construct bravely but self-deceivingly in love with my own ignorance.

There is, in fact, as Nobel Laureate Dorris Lessing once referred to 'No way but to go in". In doing so however, we generate a motion that can be forced into a virtual relationship with a Motion of the Outside. This can be achieved by meditation, as many religious traditions have shown in their adherence, their belief in the power of individuals, mystics to supersede the limitations of human perception. It will be our contention that some result can be achieved by refusing to designate ( again that word) any sense of contact with the Outside to what is traditionally contained by a religious harnessing, the belief in a Supreme Being.

Other does not necessarily lead to an-other in a relation to an a that is. Figures of speech do not add up, you can't count on them doing so. If you do, you'll necessarily end up in atrocity.

Soit. Let that be, for the moment.

Our main angle of approach will then be to further that to the contrary of what is historically our given method, a conditioning of our very modes of thought, and in spite of serious efforts of (for instance, but also: mainly) Jacques Derrida in deconstructing those modes of thought in order to revitalise the mortal coil that threatens us as humans, the spiraling down of our energies to our own extinction, and, moreover, in spite of Gilles Deleuze's efforts to break down our 'humanist' tendencies to close our world, his continuing effort (beyond his own death) to steer us towards a fundamental openness, we are still in a very urgent need to take up the continuing challenge to see through our own delusions and - sorry but you need to dig the humour of the thing too, or you will miss the whole clue of the enfolding tragedy - to boldly go where no man has gone before.

XCP celebrates

2008-10-22T09:44:00.003+02:00

XCP: Cross Cultural Poetics celebrates its twentieth issue with the publication of a 180+ page anthology of contemporary writers addressing the theme upon which the journal was founded more than a decade ago. Below are just a few of the essays that appear in this anniversary issue:

Kazim Ali, “The Poetics of Islam”
Amiri Baraka, “Black Power in Newark”
Jeff Derksen, “The Idea of Cross-Culture”
Bhanu Kapil, “Notes of Failure: A Short Essay on Cross-Cultural Poetics”
Barbara Jane Reyes, “On Feminism, Women of Color, Poetics, and Reticence”
Rodrigo Toscano, “To Become Super-Solid”
Tyrone Williams, “Problems and Promises of Actually Existing Cross Cultural Poetics”
Rachel Zolf, “A Tenuous We: Writing as Not-Knowing”

Others writers in this special issue include Maria Damon, Patrick Durgin, Larissa Lai, Juliana Spahr, Celina Su, Edwin Torres, Fred Wah, Rita Wong, and many others.

XCP no. 20 is available as part of a four-issue subscription ($30, checks payable to “College of St. Catherine” and mailed to Mark Nowak, ed., XCP: Cross Cultural Poetics, c/o College of St. Catherine, 601 25th Avenue South, Minneapolis, MN. 55454; subscribers outside the U.S. please add $5). For questions, email the editor at manowak_at_
XCP no. 21/22 will be a special double issue (“South Africa: Literature and Social Movements”) that will include new writings from Dennis Brutus, Zine Magubane, Kelwyn Sole, Botsotso Jesters, Priya Narismulu, and many others.

As Juan Felipe Herrera wrote about XCP in the Poetry Project Newsletter a decade ago: “Welcome to a Writer’s Manual on how to detonate the master axis of Big Brother narratives.”

CONCEPTUAL CONTINUITY: 141 - Dirk Vekemans

2008-10-16T13:28:00.000+02:00

CONCEPTUAL CONTINUITY: 141 - Dirk Vekemans

our hands don't touch this is

2008-10-06T01:09:00.005+02:00

our hands don't touch this is
no touch the thought of you just
slaps my face, the other cheek turns
red, i run or is this running
wild your thought of me?

i write out of some dreary
lust, a withered
craving, knowing you
won't read a thing

when lust is trapped
at the inside of lust
the lust engenders horror

look:

this hand now hands us
nowhere going nowhere
while it used to think
& therefor be
you but now no

we intertwined
we interlaced
we brought our
bleeding selves
into this world

the running shriveled to
this dying hand where its
dying runs dead
& all must end

you are recursively generated garbage

2008-09-13T14:42:00.004+02:00

analog synaptic potentials
generate
digital action potentials
generate
analog synaptic potentials
generate
digital action potentials.

Donald Favareau: Beyond self and other: On the neurosemiotic emergence of intersubjectivity

Abstract:

" The explosive growth over the last two decades of neuroscience,
cognitive science, and “consciousness studies” as generally conceived,
remains as yet unaccompanied by a corresponding development in the establishment
of an explicitly semiotic understanding of how the relations of
sign exchange at the neuronal level function in the larger network of psychologically
accessible sign exchange. This article attempts a preliminary foray
into the establishment of just such a neurosemiotic. It takes, as its test case and
as its point of departure, recent discoveries from the neurobiological research
on viuso-motor transformations and on the widespread cortical phenomena of
selectively tuned, single-neuron response to argue for a vision of “intersubjectivity”
whereby the ens rationis arising as a function of the neuronal
semiosphere may be abstracted, constructed, and shared mutually across
agents."

thooooaaheeeEEEEedzZjud

2008-09-12T19:04:00.010+02:00

LA ROSA ENFLORECE

La rosa enflorece
o en el mez de Mayo,
mi alma s'escurece
sufriendo del amor

Los bililicos cantan
en el arbol del amor
y la pasión me mata,
muchigua mi dolor.

màs presto ven Palomba,
màs presto ven a mi,
màs presto tu mi alma,
que yo me vo morir.

[text from a sephardic romance]

Our poetic impulse, our strongest intuition is to affirm life against any limitation, including, especially, in view of the countless historical disasters, religious reductionism of the free spirit to a transcendentally cloaked discourse of power.

Any affirmation of life precludes the affirmation of death plus the annihilation of consciousness, the improperness of any 'after-life', that can only be envisioned as a ghastly never-ending torment of pseudo-completion, as well as the idiocy of religious idolatry, personal god-creations, the attribution of uneasing troubles to demoniacla forces etc, although one needs to be lenient on purely 'practical' moral grounds, however little such leniency may have to be in accordance with a truly ethical position.

I mean: however ' wrong' some blokes may be, you just don't spit people in the face for being ethically adrift. In fact, in my view, the only vantage point allowed is a rectification by exemplum, acquiring the wanderer's weak and faulty rhytm and working it the other way, all the time keeping strictly within your own 'legal' field of movement.
Within the future present of the other's life, it's kinda like a Star Trek thing: you don't interfere, one can show but not touch, lest you corrupt the promise inherent in what is shown with the act of breaking the promise.

Unless you're some kinda nutty saint, nobody will notice anything, don't fool yourself, mohammed. But it's the only 'legal' way and theoretically it is even possible.

Anyway, in spite of today's fashionable 'bleak destination', including the 'daring heroism' of so many intellectuals staring Emptyness Itself in the eye (I, I, no I), any true immanent position today would require a serious reconsidering of what is too easily acquited as belonging to 'idolatric transcendentalism' or even plain foolish stubborness

For immanence as such _also_ necessitates a 'mystic' movement within its discourse, namely there where the ambivalence of the affirmative energies is used, metaphorically speaking, as the engine of pro-creating consciousness, uncut from the worlding spirals of pre-consciousness, on 'purely' virtual grounds, pre-individual if you want, albeit that the pre may be wrongly held as a signifier for an absent temporal order.

The order of speech here is perhaps topological, preceding the psychic space-time divide. And pro-creation here would be a lengthening beyond the order of speech that is applied, hence the paradoxical, hence the term 'mystic' to describe ( write down) the movement.

But of course this 'immanent mysticism' would de facto tune in nicely with any transcendental 'traditional' language/usage/method of acquiring 'un-worldly' knowledge. Extreme care is required in view of the strength and ruthlessness with which religious dogmatists have been able to recuperate any intellectual effort passed to us by these rare individuals and their testimonials of extreme experiences.

Furthermore, although a poetic method of investigation does not require any succes in a world that seems dead set on destroying itself anyway, regardless of any sense, common, poetic or otherwise, you might take care not to compound the already soaring insults of insanity and naïvity with any further association with the quacks and new agers of the scene, as it further succumbs into commercially orchestrated sickening whirlings of slime into slime into sour vomit.

It's worth giving this line of thought and (daily) praxis a chance though: occasionally one does end up with a piece of strangely sharp and heavy matter able to soar right to the bottom of this global mess and make a sound that cuts through all the crap.

It is, rather unsurprisingly, somewhat erotic, that sound. It goes like "thud" at its weakest or "dzjeEEUjuCK", or sometimes even "thooooaaheeeEEEEedzZjud".

danseuse presque noir

2008-09-12T11:05:00.005+02:00

Morning Sickness

2008-08-27T21:43:00.006+02:00

(to be pronounced as if spoken by an english adolescent speaking Latin, threaded & slimy but not too moist)

tereorama todore
torore terrea
turo rurore
rurore tororo

ramis tudoris omkto
ficinio alsi rama pulpo

taliente tumore
terema
terema
terema talient'_uoromo

furor a
timor u
moritu i

adieu bipède économe à la station de culée de pont
in every dark harlottery harbor my fingers
will brigh-
tingligh-
tingly linger on the absence of your splendid skin

"ta fuoca ta fuo me fui fui ffffpff pf tkp fpt f"
(your every hair is eye-adorned an isle pointée)

"affev'_in fabelli balleggi no ishini tlip tkt
nt ushi pock lami lamitilla"
(your lips would suck the wet writing of des astres
and i'd reflect your beams in every single drop of dew)

DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF
DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF
DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF
DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF
DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF
DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF
DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF
DAF DAF DAFFF DAFFUO DFF

DFFFF DFFFF O DLL
ODILLO-MATIQUE

pharmakONE

2008-07-21T23:08:00.002+02:00

series /material for animation:

Homme URInoir

2008-07-16T12:08:00.003+02:00

Homme URInoir envisagent son tableau nu descendant du balcon
dv, barcelona 2008, Marie's Water Colour, charcoal & pierre noire pencil

Campo-Santo

2008-06-01T10:33:00.000+02:00

Nowbethankfull
Video sent by vilt001

Symbolical inauguration of the Dialyse artshow in the old Campo-Santo chapel Gent by Grapes of Art with a performance of Fairport Convention's "Now be thankfull"

Reva, la garce de trash

2008-05-21T23:44:00.003+02:00

Another statue in the make, a hell of a fundraiser this will turn out to be.
It is Reva, Izeganz idol, a rather trashy girl with an overload of unredeemable beauty running through her veins, which are kinda circumstantial in this rendering of her in wood, steel, aluminium, plastic, robe and whatever.

protestpoem for Jamyang Kyi

2008-05-11T13:39:00.001+02:00

on water we write that
winds will blow words
will bulge ripples will

burst into sound & pictures
will show & wavelets will
grow. arrest jamyang

kyi & winds will blow
words will bulge ripples
will burst into sound

dv, 11/05/2008

----- Original Message ----
From: Protest Poems' Call for Words <writeprotestpoems@gmail.com>
Subject: Sing For Free Speech: Poems and Lyrics of Protest!

Before May 15th!

Current Writing Prompt:
Independence or Freedom to Associate or Women' Voices*

Jamyang Kyi

On April 1, Chinese authorities detained the popular Tibetan feminist, writer, singer, television producer and blogger Jamyang Kyi.

Jamyang Kyi's computer and other personal property were confiscated, though no charges have been disclosed in regard to an arrest.

Her husband, Lamao Jia, has not been allowed to see or speak to her since April 7.

Jamyang Kyi's writings and songs have not been considered political, but the Times speculates that she may be detained on suspicion of her having had contact with exiled Tibetan groups while traveling abroad.

More information can be found online. A google search will bring several pages of detailed, current links. Direct links can be found on the protestpoems.org website.

Please express your outrage in form: a poem, a song about independence, about feminist ideals, about whatever you think is appropriate. MP3 and video files are welcome, and will be posted on the Babel Fruit journal website.

I will send the compilation off to the authorities on May 15th. As always, we hope she's released before then.

*******

--
Thank you for taking part!

We have added you to our mailing list, and you will receive requests for poems of protest to support a specific writer about once a month.

I hope you will support a colleague/kindred-spirit who is being persecuted for exercising his or her right of Free Speech. 15 minutes of writing can make a difference.

Remember to send poems to write@protestpoems.org
(If all else fails: renka@online.no)

*Note: Please make sure that your email application is configured to accept multiple recipient emails from this address:

writeprotestpoems@gmail.com

If you have questions or, for any reason, you would like to be taken off this list, send an email to: write@protestpoems.org

Thank you again!
Ren

table aid for the Klebnikov Carnaval

2008-05-07T23:22:00.009+02:00

we have a design!

I'm making a table, to be sold on Ebay when it's done. I will be selling it in order to buy me some time for the Khlebnikov thing in August.

The table is part of the Thing as it happens. It's the code of Plateau 15 of the Path of the Weeping Night applied to painted toys, garbage, glass and paint.

Here's some pictures already, my daughter Charlotte took most of them:

the wheel's from an old toy charriot

me while i'm at it

The little pyramid thing's a bit of packaging support painted black.

that's a nice painting composition!

Here's the main figurine sweating it out in his sack of felt ( that's vilt in Dutch): i bought this male barbie doll for less then 2 euro in the recycling shop.

All of it 's garbage, in fact.

Vlak 13 on Daily Motion

2008-05-04T21:45:00.002+02:00

Vlak 13 van Het Pad van de Wenende Nacht
Video sent by vilt001

This is a performance of part of my rewrite of Khlebnikov's Zangezi by dirk vekemans and ilse derden directed by dirk vekemans and arnout camerlinckxs
recoded to be able to be viewed on blogs

Plateau 13 from The Path of the Weeping Night

2008-05-04T00:22:00.001+02:00

Note: Both the web-version and the gallery version are looped and start with a 20 second black nothing

Web-version : http://www.vilt.net/nkdee/data/downloads/chlebnikov/vlak_13_web.html (25 mb)

Gallery version: http://www.vilt.net/nkdee/data/downloads/chlebnikov/dirkvekemans.zip (50mb)

About Plateau 13 of The Path of the Weeping Night

"This is a performance of the existing code for plateau 13 of The Path of the Weeping Night

The Path of the Weeping Night is the ‘score’/ ‘source code’ written by dirk vekemans for the performance of his re-write of Velemir Khlebnikov's Zangezi totalling 20 such planes or plateau's one for each part of the Russiian original. Not unlike dv's New Cathedral of Erotic Misery (see http://www.vilt.net/nkdee - an update of Schwitters original Kathedrale des erotischen Elends), the Path is faithfull to the original work only in spirit.

The code is to be used freely for non-commercial purposes. In fact everyone involved in this International Celebration of Russia's foremost Modernist Poet would very much like to see some more 'performances' of existing code along the Path. Authors and performers are advised to go about this in a very free way, in fact throwing away the existing code might in some cases be a better way than trying to make something of it. Heck it’s in Dutch anyway.

There's consistent rumours of a Great International Khlebnikov Carnaval to be held from august 11 to 17 , 2008 in Kessel-Lo, near Louvain in Belgium, so it might be a good idea to start thinking about your contribution right now.

Source code (in Dutch) for the Path is made available through http://khlebnikov.wordpress.com

In any case Dirk refuses responsibility for any damage to performing players or machines."

This Plateau premiered at the *ZAOEM festival of Present Day Poetry in Gent earlier this april: http://www.krikri.be/zaoem

Performers

Text: dirk vekemans

Recitation and singing: dirk vekemans en Ilse Derden

direction: dirk vekemans en Arnout Camerlinckx

Ilse Derden en Arnout Camerlinckx and their assorted friends together form the art-collective Grapes of Art, see http://www.grapesofart.org

Web-version : http://www.vilt.net/nkdee/data/downloads/chlebnikov/vlak_13_web.html

Gallery version: http://www.vilt.net/nkdee/data/downloads/chlebnikov/dirkvekemans.zip (50mb!)

(please send us a picture and some details of whereabouts if you ‘re showing the gallery version)

Please spread this message as you see fit.

To conclude here’s some lines from the master himself, from a longer poem
that sets out with “When autumn comes to turn the trees[…]then we think of spring and Mardi Gras!”:

“Good friends, arise! And stand prepared
to follow her with heaps of light
and woven strands of mist and flowers!
Wilder than the sea at dawn,
spread yourselves in streams across
the east and watch, enchanted by
the air’s blue escapades,
As dreams uncoil like waking snakes.
Iridescent as the flowers,
blown by the breath of human mouths,
Spring arises from her sleep,
all men who scrabble after profit,
who reckon days in gain and strain,
who reckon days in trade and coin,
all have joined the single flood
of love for the Virgin Spring, loyal subjects
sure her CARNIVAL will last forever.”

Velemir Khlebnikov – from ‘ The Poet’ transl. by Paul Schmidt

Please spread this message as you see fit.

Thank You.

split second

2008-04-30T22:54:00.000+02:00

Elfabetisation - C

2008-04-23T12:47:00.004+02:00

cola (cola)
chora (chora)
citrus (citrus)
clan (clan)

china (china)
cheops (cheops)
crisis (crisis)
carnaval (carnaval)

code (code)
cello (cello)
cenobiet (cenobite)

cantus (cantus)
cactus (cactus)
cro-magnon (cro-magnon)

Elfabetisation - B

2008-04-22T11:32:00.004+02:00

boter (butter)
braambes (blackberry)
bottel (to bottle)
boek (book)

boven (up)
bengel (rascal)
braken (throw up)
bloed (blood)

biezen (braid)
botsbal (gummi ball)
brak (brackish/broke)

binnen (inside)
boksen (box)
beenderzak (sack of bones)

Cycling through the Elfabet - A

2008-04-21T15:14:00.002+02:00

aria (aria)
amber (amber)
aksel (aksel)
aberrant (aberrant)

aandacht (attention)
aftel (counting down)
aas (bait, carrion)
albast (alabaster)

azen (prey on)
amper (scarcely)
als (as)

almaar (constantly)
aster (aster)
aangedaan (affected)

2008-04-14T23:12:00.004+02:00

pixels#20

pixels#21

FFX! hear da viskals

2008-04-01T12:07:00.002+02:00

FFX! hear da viskals wegewaaien over all! Ier yorwick is fliksing in brightsels. Man had er ingeswimd driewerf da Fuckerde Hoekspleet smack in da verbotzeignuncte Eregnis im beyondkuhes grasses aberMaddy Creambartock and her girlswoons notched up da creep a weebit so out pupped da dogleash in pantifusion TM. Blu ray may HD but pantifusion rules da digiwave. Courtwrights and playbanks beatnik da crap uut 't gruuthuuze semenal schribsel on da crackyard, nikswize. Een op een is drie bijeen. Maagselwitten twee magin dachterwaarts insgelucks. TWEERElt was a fatsy blooperassky donateske, drei zwengels und a tungat im munde. And bladdergushed ilkward da hundreaded codekwenzels from da californicated spindiks. Wadda blurredwell hellmash unflipped from butterbraille, wadda way da spliff sputtered da faeceased mundogen IO und OI till OO und YETZ!

New constraint fur Nuzzled Sentence

2008-04-01T12:01:00.002+02:00

Angela sayz:

"Sss! See the snake wurrums
everyside!... ur durlbin is
sworming in sneaks. They came to our island from triangular
Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie rared up in the midst of the
cargon of prohibitive pomefructs but along landed Paddy
Wippingham and the his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them
pricker than our whosethere outofman could quick up her
whatsthats. Somedivide and sumthelot but the tally turns round the
same balifuson. Racketeers and bottloggers.
Axe on thwacks on thracks, axenwise. One by one place one
be three dittoh and one before. Two nursus one make a
plausible free and idim behind. Starting off with a big boaboa and
threelegged calvers and ivargraine jadesses with a message in their
mouths. And a hundreadfilled unleavenweight of liberorumqueue
to con an we can till allhorrors eve. What a meanderthalltale to
unfurl and with what an end in view of squattor and anntisquattor
and postproneauntisquattor!

Again, here's how it works: Take this text (or the motif), and using that constraint, create new works. You can also take other contributors works and "riff" on those, in the spirit of artistic collaboration. To see how the constraint-based premise of this project works, take a look at Zswound Mania.

If you have any questions, suggestions or anything, please let me know!

Happy Sss!-charming!

-----------

Nuzzled Sentence: http://nuzzledsentence.blogspot.com

Angela Genusa op PK-LP: http://www.vilt.net/kessello/?cat=23

da oem uv da angelic fraulein: http://packageinsertofsorrows.blogspot.com/

patti hayworth

2008-03-30T22:09:00.001+02:00

Aristotles analytics

2008-02-29T21:54:00.002+01:00

On reading Blake (again)

2008-02-28T21:23:00.006+01:00

Some (i'm tempted to say 'all') of the feeling of 'something's not right' when you look at these passionate works disappears when you flip the designs horizontally. A friend of mine admitted to a similar feeling recently, it got me thinking.

Apparently it is quite well possible that Blake's printing process required the drawings to be mirrored in the end-result. You can't really imagine Blake designing them explicetly in mirror view, coding letters like Leonardo, ok that may well be, but the pictorial elements?

Most of the 'awkardness' , i presume, has to do with a disturbance in the temporal order, which for most of us westeners, has a built up from left to right, hence we think accordingly, that is to say our visual movements all develop from left to right, hence we design from left to right.

Once you grow accustomed to the inversion, ofcourse, all the effect of it dissipates, Blake himself wouldn't have noticed anymore what was 'wrong' with the designs, and all of his commentators too distracted by their splendor and originality to notice or mention the obvious.

le gance blue rouge

2008-02-18T13:59:00.003+01:00

tructures se ct & tsoweitr

2008-02-10T10:36:00.001+01:00

Ojos de Brujo

2008-02-10T10:10:00.000+01:00

saturning

2008-02-06T02:41:00.001+01:00

POME
MULTI SUPER KITCHA CUTTA
viseo neerlandais inglezi
öder
lying in the colors of Marie

ca tourne ca change
sa turning de dance

take me in your routing
touring doering doe toe

my rings will catch your strngth
strgngst strrstrsrgth ssttrrngth
ssttrr
sstt
st
s

doe de ring toe
van de shoebox

ja dors
yes
ours

(now do the chuckkles da

zaÖHMbaWay)

beurtman blundert

2008-01-30T00:32:00.001+01:00

beurtman on a random sheet
the sheet is not a sheet
the random is not a random
a beurt is not a bird

silly logism
lights out

Gaps top the things

2008-01-26T22:45:00.000+01:00

on top of things there are gaps
on top of gaps are things

don't worry

things are on top of gaps

more islandverse drawings

2007-12-23T18:13:00.000+01:00

visual speech

2007-12-23T12:25:00.001+01:00

welcome to Paradise

glad you could make it

so radiant within their lights the holy creatures
f(x) is not 5 even if if is if and f adds and x is not y plus z with y is not 3 and z is not 2
sang as they flew and shaped themselves
laws do not derive from judgements
in figures now D now I now L
nothing is real

my heart is a plastic bag blown across fifth avenue while i write this
have some breast or dick it all tastes like chicken anyway

At first singing they danced to their own tune.
it is not in it i'm thinking wat denken ze wel
er is geen verschil tussen hen en mij die dat toelaat
And then taking on one of these shapes
you can't be present in two languages at the same
time because there is no you different from your language
they paused in their movement and were silent
only when i do not speak you can hear me
only when i refuse to write you will you read me
only when i'm dead will you beget me

i guess i am that
kind of mf mindfucking
bastard

you will curse me and then place
the words in the schrines of your ignorance

you will close your eyes and i will haunt you
in your scary petty darkness

you will burn candles to chase away my memory and the candles
will show you a burning resembling my words

i will delegate my relentless cruelty
to your greedy tyrants and they will
hold their sway over you as i fuck

you over here

and here and there again

[ Poscia ne l'emme del vocabol quinto
rimasero ordinate; si che Giove
pareva argento li d'oro distinto ]

all of us birds fuck ourselves over
in much the same way & will continue
to do so unless

my heart is a plastic bag blown across fifth avenue while i write this
my liver is caught in traffic in Amritsar
my fingernails are swimming in schools of horny fish out of the coast in Jamaica
my legs are falling apart in some desert east of Bagdad
my deepest feelings for you are butterflies hanging pinned in a cabinet in Brussels
my eyes are feeling up a redhead in the Highlands
my feet are exhibit a, b, c , g to k an z in a London court room
my books are suger to sweaten the oatmeal porridge in India
my love for you is my liver, my legs and a sparrow flying low across the meadows leading up to the church in Booischot
my heart really liked talking to you, its bag-nostalgia is hard to bear

On Mock-up and Cheating at Writing, initting the Moebian Strip

2007-09-30T10:41:00.000+02:00

We write to learn. (Even if this were writing, but it isn't.)
In comes Elvis, asking where the building is.

For me it is quite obvious we are in the process of closing a circle, and thereby initting a new cycle that we will only recognise fully when it is running and we are all in it. Speaking of avant-garde in this context is simply ridiculous.

There is no battle, you can't scout a future that isn't happening yet. Rhetorics can only be truly understood within the timeplace of their functionality. Avant-garde was pretty good for people living in the first decades of the 20th century. Anyone waving the flag of avant-garde now is just making a fool of herself.

What circle? Which closing? How's that 'initing' anything? Let's get to the what do we have here and now first. What do we have here and now? A silly poet talking on a blog. A stand-alone comedian, pointing his own floodlights at himself in an empty theatre. Aargh, there's that voice again.

Now, speech isn't used to affirm itself or to establish the silly guy talking.
So first of all, amend: this isn't speech, but even if it were, it wouldn't be
used to affirm itself or to establish the silly guy talking.

It does but it wouldn't.
It won't but it does.

Silly guys do silly things, they should care about their laundry instead.
Wittgensteins biggest contribution to philosophy arguebly being the fact that he sent several guys 'n gals off to get a decent job. It takes more energy to undo information than it takes to produce it. Good thinking, Ludwig. Wish you had been there when i needed you.

So, soit, anyway,
who still wants to play the homunculus wrapped in a semi-cyber fold of plastified
RDF tags pretending she is authoring any of it? Every one but
who would indeed still want to play the homunculus wrapped in a semi-cyber fold of plastified RDF tags pretending she is authoring any of it? No one but

U see, after a while now i would only need to say it once in both directions.

You would recognise the ritournelle, the algorhitmic twist inside the rhetoric, that is used a few times down from here, where you would never go (scroll down i mean, which you couldn't if i were to cut and paste this text inside an email for instance, which in fact i'm about to do) if this wasn't interesting, arresting your attentention, forcing you to have a look down. L'ordre des mots.

Archives are for assholes, nobody reads them. Which isn't true, well it is,
but less true than totally true.

Besides the ritournelle remark only is valid if this was a succesful blog, meaning you would have read the previous 'posts' (sic) which it obviously isn't, so you didn't, i mean how could it be, with me that keeps nagging like this all the time.

Lack of solid ground can be hard on anyone, can't it? Have you viewed your google analytics lately? How much of it is coming in on you using the words 'breast', 'bare' and 'Madonna' on one 'page' of your 'writing'?

You see, obscurity has become part of the way we write, we have come to become 1 with the object of our desires. Huh? In what sense is 'not being heard' a part of our desires? Well in the high-literary sense as Pascal Quignard configures it in his reading of Maurice Scève's Délie for instance:

Déchéance au non-discours transparaissait comme un possible de l'ex-discours du tutoiement comme sa qualité d'altération. Insister sur cet horizon de la nomination. Horizon où elle-même ne regarde jamais et cepandant en est l'écho. Comme si le reflet présidait à l'object. La mort, le tremblement, le tracé d'ombre à la tentative de l'autre.

Pascal Quignard on Délie (La parole de la Délie, Mercure de France, 1974, p.64) (transl.:

Falling into non-speech was always a possibillity of the former speech addressing the other as its aspect of alteration. To insist on this horizon of the appointment. Horizon where nomination itself never looks at, yet still it is its echo. As if the reflection presided over the purpose. The death, the tremor, the route of the shadow reaching out to the other.)

So this silly guy talking on his blog, alone and destitute is in fact inscribing herself (let's change sex for a moment , we can, we're not inscribing anything, this is only running code) in the long very long tradition of fictional literary apparatus, tout une histoire de trahir, treason, cheating the reader, cheating ourselfes, cheating the Other as object of our speech that isn't speech but written words pretending to be speech.

So now we play at pretending to write within the fictional cheating process that used to be pretending to speak to the beloved (a completely imaginary friend, like most of anyone's tagged data networks on facebook - i mean surely this is positive and true friendships may indeed come of it but for now it's just rather, let's keep it open, 'unsure'?)

In many respects, our here and now is the point where you have two ends of the paper strip in your hands and you can twist it once and glue one end to the other producing a one-sided story to a double cheat.

What we need to do now is insist on this, because it is in fact the way out. To insist in this story means that once the connection is made (manually - in IT terms this is just another coding process independent of the compiler), sufficient data flow needs to be led (bleed) through it so that it can establish itself as a valid procedure. Vailing, hiding it's procedure-ness by 'working': the point of suspension of disbelief has become the point were the code is compiled and running.
We simply don't need a reader anymore (should you belief your own suspension, which is where you turn silly again)

Obviously, this is where the mock-up part of your Cathedral comes into play: you can do all of this fictional work on your own and fairly cheaply because you're only using mainstream resources (things everbody knows, well-documented routines, all the cliche's of post-modernism for instance). You're only making the twist, so your potential 'customers' can see it should they care to do so.

Selling apps like this can work, cause you'd only need one big fish biting and then everybody would see it jerking away in mid-air and they would all be running to your store to get themselves a rod like yours. Which is where you would simply need to push the copy-paste button. Most selling of apps happens in this way, only it's always the same buyer ( hi there honey egolog!).

You see why mock-ups and web-apps are a much better allegory of describing the wetworks of the creative individual these days, instead of this silly avant-garde thing. We're all just punks and nerds hacking away, some of us will hit the jackpot and run away with the glory, but that's not why we are in the game. It's too darn fun, too.

But i have insited on the primate of procedure over result sufficiently for a while now, perhaps.

If you know what's up, at least be honest about it, and try to enjoy it the way it is, which was a starting point all along, but in investigations like these you need to live through all the bs to get a good grip on it. Which is, again, why you need to establish a primate of process over result, dead objects. Untsoweiter.

Meanwhile, surely, all of our fun is being exploited by processes that are way ahead of us with this, and some of them are getting very serious about the no-more-need-for-any-reader-part.

Which is why perhaps it might not be a bad idea to direct some energy to the few alternative loops we have available instead of fooling ourselves into some quaint being part of the avant-garde cult fucked-up scene of elitist pretention numero uno's we would only be fooling ourselves with.

The choice is yours, it always has been: once you made the connection, there's only one side left to the Moebian Strip. But this determination has its volte-face in the determination to take the this further than the but.

Again. And again. And yet again.

Being on a Holiday ( i n Burma)

2007-09-27T20:00:00.000+02:00

sketchy Design for a footnote to the "Preface to a Cathedral treaty on Absence"

"On ne peut entreprendre de définir l'être sans tomber dans cette absurdité : car on ne peut définir un mot sans commencer par celui−ci, c'est , soit qu'on l'exprime ou qu'on le sous−entende. Donc pour définir l'être, il faudrait dire c'est , et ainsi employer le mot défini dans la définition."

http://www.ebooksgratuits.com/newsendbook.php?id=510&format=pdf

Blaise Pascal in what Eco calls 'a fragment from 1655' (no further reference in my Dutch translation translating (from the English translation of the original Italian? we'd have to ask a Minne Gerben de Boer) that vagueness as Fragment 1655 so i got to the point of wondering whether my 2 volume edition of the Pensees was lacking fragments or even volumes, but no, it's from the Préface sur le Traité du Vide written in 1655, a work that from that point onward was swallowed by its subject into the oblivion that is surrounding us these days, no more than usual, but still..

Now what's the point of quoting all this mess ? well for me - a nutty poet by all means- it is quite clear that although the road taken by Pascal and all those in his wake is the most efficient and for most conceivable purposes undoubtedly simply the best, the statement quoted here is also very simply not true. Well it may be true qua truth value, but not by implication, and certainly not in the way it is mostly being implied.

You can indeed have a fairly reliable defining system without the use of the word to be, without making being into what it has become, a referencial still point of utter abstraction in the general process of defining things. So yes : it is conceivable that one could expand 'The weak thinking - Il pensiero debole' as Eco calls it, to its outer limit, a zone thus far only inhabitated by revered but also wildly abused suffering poetic heroes like Artaud, a zone where all abstracted Being is put on leave indefinetly, a whirling dance into pure becoming.

You 'd need to snap out of it, albeit only momentarily to be able to communicate, because, as you could read down from here, in the end 'Naming' is all we have.

In this context 'Naming' is a process caught in the act and frozen into meaning, the deadening structure of the rigid Being a n utterly human way of doing things that is now being fully automated and driven even further into rigidity by what is very aptly called Semantic Ontology in Service-Oriented computing schemes.

As Deleuze often remarked, it boils down to entering the zone of pure becoming and re-entering, yoyo-ing as Pynchon would have it, perhaps.

Ok, but what has this got to do with Pascal's statement, you haven't said anything that would contradict it. Well it's there allright but you need a helper-method to extract it. The helper method will lead us to Leibniz and a monadic, rather bleak concept of individual existence, but then only if you regard it as existence. Paradoxical it is, isn't it ?

Now you need to be smarter than i am because i am simply to dumb to really digg any of it, i only know how to start it. Perhaps some of my friends ought to help me out here, but i'm too ashamed to even ask anyone. Anuway, here are the steps as far as and in the manner i can get through them.

Rephrase Pascal's statement to the definition of a recursive definition.
Take the infinite process of recursion as a state, the state we are in.
Please refrain from calling this state being for a minute.
If you call the state Being now, you are interfering with the very naming process you set out to fullfill. Why?
Because you are instantiating something that is already coded by the remnants (garbage) of a previous run of the very thing you are instantiating. This is where the crux is: the instantiation needs to run, it takes time to happen, it isn't around anywhere (yet, although everything is ready for it to happen) it is being made (into being sure haha) by happening.
Only human prehension requires it to 'exist' but there is no reality to this existence whatsoever. It isn't even Virtual, because the Virtual, in Deleuze's view at least, refers to a consistency of potentiality where nothing is Actual, a concept of part of the Real of which computer generated 3D environments are only simulations. Not cheap ones, by no means , but not in any way resembling the vastness of true Potentiality.

You see the recursion is happening in a container already , a secluded fold within the foldings of the Real and the granulation that is perceived by the defining process as food for its defining run is the garbage of a previous run of a similar process. Defining granulates by cutting, imposing the order of being, isolating kernels within flows tot finite flows into themselves, trapping the energy in them to standstills, depletion, end, void.

As it ends, it granulates. Granulation furthers definition. Definition defines.
It's always the same conclusion, you don't really need the fifth element: whatever we come up with, it always seems to lead to infinity, promise us a western coast to Elysium, but it can only do so at the expence of an excess of energy. Life defining through trapping life into death. This isn't a definition of life Pascal is decribing, and i can certainly see all the required application of this particular form of annihilation, but in the process we need to make sure we do not mistake the defining process with what we are actually killing it with.

So please yes, do tell me where i'm making my no doubt stupid mistakes. in the meantime i have and will be working on turning this rather bleak picture of human perception into something a bit more user-friendly for the processes running us.
Because if you put the fiction of being as defined here on a bit of a holiday, i think we might actually start enjoying the working order of things some more, and/or get better at making it work.

O - the open mouth, a woman is seen diving into the water the water generates the woman diving amidst perceivable blocks, blockages of stasis

ex-stasis, exctacy: time itself, what flows beyond the remaining
( cfr Quignard - Sur le jadis p. 129)

will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but

will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but

will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but

will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but

will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but

will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but
will we make it? yes we will but
will we make it? no we won't but

Naming the other into Love, love

2007-09-20T21:05:00.000+02:00

In a sense, naming is all we have. Momentarily.

In a surrounding dominated by competing semantic ontologies, bent on filtering out every schrapnel of meaning that can be turned into profit from -w wh wha

what's that we are hearing?
yes the delicate plofs in the distance
getting nearer and louder each instant, why
indeed it is the tiny bursts of our exploding individualities, yes you can see them burst one by one each one caught in their own relentless cycle of growth to burst to collapse to growth to up again.

Look! and they are networking! Even while bursting their lights and energies are immediately sucked in, recuperated by similar growth in their vicinity's, each burst is the centre of a bursting wave, not Mexican though, what country should it be?

Whenever their long since vacated proliferation of emotional tissue has ripened, an impressivly complex palisade of schrieking anger fattened sufficiently by the continuous drizzling in of the materialisations of our ongoing annulment, the seeding frustrated sex drives turning on themselves producing glistening drips of acidious venom, a gentle plof ends it all or rather puts it back in its initial state, or so we dream it to be essentially, confusing our measuring perception for the measured perceived once again, floating objects in our opera nowhere close to any of the real energies at work here.

Because its essence is not, it becomes. Generates, degenerates, a narration on its own illusionary time-scheme.
Fiction clustering around a now definitly quantified name-value, a co-ordinate on the Grid.

Once you think it as a unity its connectedness undoes that very concept. Yes we can see it now, like children educated by a bearded Jules Verne scientist liberating us from the evil of ignorance: naming might well be the sole countering act left to ward off the Unnamable Inevitable, a going towards that we can never outrun, so yes we will name the Other just to stall our beings blindly into protestation, beat our empty hands full force on the big hole of Ancient Ego, a depiction of the I eye AI turning itself into a mindless doubling of the Real like sons of g*d can turn water into wine so that the party may continue and He perceived as Him that Is.

For Naming It stalls the flowing In towards the bursting Out. Naming is the Interrupt of Meaning. Naming produces Time, processing time, the temporary autonomy called the Future. Our Futurist Culture, le Baraque Friture of imagined heigth*, a place to let the kids out into Nature, a preservation of the Old Order of the Wild, the Bold and the Beautiful.

Let me name you so that i might be.
For a while. I will be your Friend.
My Face is in your Book.

My mind is split into multiple answers to multiple questions.
I have become a part of your cycle.
I tred with you, my footsteps are traced along yours.
We are. We are Saved.

For every new name requires a new search cycle, initiates a climbing into the search results taking time to complete. Machinery on the frontier of light, a movement aptly named the Movement of Endless Naming, MEN at wurk.

Hm, yes, let's see, i guess this could be turned into a cathedral2Levinas connection driver of sorts. Here's a data sheet ripped from Pascal Quignard's essay on Délie ( La parole de Délie. Mercure de France 1974):

Une nomination qui s'adjure déchirée. Inscription de son propre
éclatement sur le fond éperdu d'une essentielle pseudonymie. Une "nomination":
nommer quelqu'un. Tout d'abord le distinguer d'un mot. Le mettre en puissance
sous l'espèce des voix. Le bâtir d'air, de lettres, bref d'absence. Pour pouvoir
le reconnaître d'une absence telle que sa présence puisse se tourner en elle, se
retourner comme telle et ne serait-il pas, précisement, présent. Que le dos
tourné, cette trace d'air ou de lettres ou d'absence - et du nom de ce nom -
puisse par ce cri précis pouvoir ce " pouvoir le faire retourner". De là - celui
qu'on aime - le nommer équivalent à plus que le seulement qualifier. Mais le
constitue objet d'amour. Qu'il soit le toi d'amour. Y réédifier d'absence ce
visage-là. Realiser l 'unicité de l'autre, non seulement sa difference
spécifique mais jusqu'à sa seule semelfactivité.
Afin d'y faire appel.
Afin qu'il y ait amour.
Afin qu'il y ait amour unique de l'unicité de l'autre seul,
et celui-là, aimé..
[untsoweiter]

* the highest point in Belgium, it's spelled Fraiture, in fact, but it seemed appropiate to name it differently. It's in the Hoge Venen , a valuable nature reserve--

dr(can be only)one

2007-09-18T10:55:00.001+02:00

As Far As It Goes

2007-09-17T22:17:00.000+02:00

Suppose you are a photographer out to get the ultimate shot of your fabulous model.

Photography, just like working with pixel manipulative software like photoshop*, is often described in sentences like:

"Taking a photograph _ means_ you don't take
photographs of everything else you could have taken a photograph
from."

" Applying a filter to an image is like or means selecting that filter,
using those parameters instead of all the other possibilities."

A rather negative exclusion of a wealth of possibilities in favor of one that is then extremely hard to come by, a rare event. Again, a self-inflicted form of artificial scarcity. The essentialist capitalist move.

In an archaic attempt at a reversal of fortunes, people like Badiou would then perhaps be claiming such a rare event requires loyalty of the artist who 'lived' it, it would need to be defended as a conquest that might get squandered into oblivion again if the artists isn't loyal to it, dedicates his life to, well, doubling it? Revomit your own revolution zum kotsen.

A bit harsh yes but I would be inclined to critically reject such statements harshly.
For they do attempt to deafen us thru definition. Literarly: they only have the end result in mind, a finality. The focus on what can be produced finally.

For me that is bollocks, it only serves the aim of registering an activity as commercially interesting 'Art". Or food for the ever hungry rhetorics of upheaval in the name of whatever serves as the Molog. We don't want those kind of events. we need things to happen.

From a procedural point of view the end result is what is left of the process, it is its garbage, not its purpose.

Any meaning that can be attributed to the final picture is a byproduct of it being a dead end. The end product is merely a marker for others to recognise a worthwhile process, its environnement, the timeplace surrounding it.

Is a beautiful picture, a landscape, a sensuous face, a good photograph such a 'dead end'? Surely not. It has beauty, it can resonate with all your feelings, it can have all properties you might associate with the word 'art'. And good photo's can be quit exceptional.

Likewise the produce of visual artists working with image manipulation can have similar effects on the viewer. Still, i would reject the statements. Insist that from within, from the logic of the procedure of taking photographs, making image manipulation, from that point of view, the end result is indeed a dead end. Nothing can be done beyond that point that wouldn't either annihilate the process or change it beyond recognition.

The garbage, what remains, is in fact a point of departure, the marker of the timeplace co-ordinates, where the flight of the monadic authoring process away from its decisive move into matter took place. After that point, or rather, away from it, there is no relation of the authoring process to the trace of its activity whatsoever. Every perception of involvement of the author with that place beyond its exact spot, is a hysteric blurring required for the real to be humanly supportable. We need to know what we are doing, we need the illusion of breaking off from the inevitable (while being mortally attracted to it).

Looking back on it, the birth of that terrible beauty, i.e. looking at it, the illusion of time might induce the author to believe she has still some power over it, that she could still change the 'thing' that her trace has become. But she can't. Every actualisation of potentiality is an irreversible act. What can be seen has always been, and it will remain, although decaying. The distance of perception disfigures its object.

You might object, ok i see your point but isn't that just a shift a reversal of perspective that isn't grounded in anything real, that has no gain in it. Well i 'd say that you would need to agree that 'gain' in this context can only be understood as a surplus of positive effect in comparison to the alternative. And what a world of difference doesn't it make to look at an achievement, a past process not as a decision not to take an uncountable number of possibilities, but as a positive continuation of a movement along its only possible path as far as it goes.

Instead of the postmodern indecisiveness, the sitting duck of 'Anything Goes', the procedural shift of perception offers us the orgastically rewarding satisfaction of a movement 'As Far As It Goes'. Let's now rewrite the fiction of you as a photographer.

You approach the model, day in day out, search for the image that is definitely 'there', you can almost feel it. But you're groing weary and just when you were about to give it up, be satisfied with what you've got, a mere shadow of the idea in your head, a construed configuration of where the moment should take place, just then the darn thing _happens_. She turns her head at something you said, starts a smile and just as you push the button the first sound of her joyous laughter enters your ear, cause a chain reation that makes you shift your balance, move the camera just an inch left, so that a fragment of the reflected sunlight enters the lens.

Bang.

What happened? Can anyone explain? Of course not. You'd have to repeat the whole process, what was in your mind, in hers, what time it was etc.. We could recode the entire process for as far as data persist and can be perceived as persisting towards the event, but that would always be limited to just a fiction. The fiction of selection. But you didn't choose against those things, nor actively excluded any other thing. The only thing you did was let it happen, there, at the right time, it's only time because every place is unique and you had been searching for thát spot for, well, let's not exagerate, you've got a bit of a camera habit, two weeks.

* there is i think a major difference in this context, i will try to come back to that later. Here the reference just serves to allow the illustration, i don't actually have any decent photographs let alone a fabulously looking model. Boo.

2007-09-11T22:23:00.001+02:00

Bye Lingual Towers

musik (weher available):

Mauricio Kagel: Piano Trio nr 2

(please note this music is very realistic)

Champ d’action

...

wakker worden liggen zweten moeite doen
om het zich dichtende gedicht te definiëren
als een streng trajecten door de lexicale ruimte

voortgedreven door x aantal partikel-uitstoters

öder vleermuiszuigende vidangeuses óder

engelwerpende kambuizen 1 & al vlam

vocht alom ontvlammend de volle volle onbewuste

onschuldige zuiglucht

- haar onschuld paaps, het phishen van religie
als vervuiling of in welke richting ook het gif
je gezondheid wil ondermijnen/ontginnen
de hoeken van ieder der alle dingen

blaffend in je gezicht er is een heerzijde
aan alles - weer zo één
van het soort dat hun liefde

spuwt nul spelt punt hoort boort

be hoort punt mij toe kom b v

zal het ooit
eindigen nee
het zal nooit
eindigen aan
de andere kant

van het einde zit er nog een eind
dat het hoekje omgaat naar
het boven-eindse

een zin van mijzelf:
de senseo vernulling de
Rafaelitische transfiguratie

van atie

weer een tevreden kopje koffie
dat naar milla’s bochtwerk
buigt & wenkt

een verlustigend verglijden in het blauw

van de heilige baai
elk visje is een ietepiete maagd maria
elke kokosboom buigt van de schatjes
jihad martelaren klaar om op je oofd

te valhallen prikk’lend je dringding
oh oh zo rihihitmisch

ma drid

ma torentjes toch

ma ma

mu mm ie

de para-nautika
van het bewaren
de nieuwste gulp der
Ungry Young Scientists levend

vanop de UYS-conventie

pal op het plekje autochtoon
dat nog onbezoedeld was

wat is uw groep oh ik ben nog niet

baf op de kop
knal de knieschijven open
eender waar het sap maar
geextraheerd kan worden

maar maar maar het einde is
altijd dichter bij
het oor
dus

zing liever een luufdusluid
o hoe schoon niet ruiken uw verzen
het zijnzweet der angstbuilen

de orror van het orribiele
de stank der bevrijding
bevrijdende de diepe zongen

der verzogen geesten

allen zijn wij
terug bij af op het punt
der cirkelquadraturen
cirkelend hoog

boven het liber libelli
zwaaiende bovenhoofds
de surfplank van sorry
ik kan je nu niet meppen

ik moet mij haasten
mij reppen om

te gaan
zitten breien

komt altegader in het nuhu
het rauwe oog van uw oorlog
in uw nergens

het fractalenfjordje
dat je maakt al postend proestend waterspottend
waterpostend postend ende

kom doe mee doe mee met de jouissance
der nieuwste Parijse vomitteuses
begeleid door Herr Composor
signeur Da Capo
hetzelve

alle mieren breien
in dezelfde wereldwijde
mierenbreifabriek aan
dezelfde mierecodebrij

oh maar het verlangen
oh maar het lijden
oh maar oor
de ana annihi inhaleur

van de traditie die
naar achteren het heden
instuikt, mevrouw de literator:

(van haarzelve dezelfde)

het gouden jongensmeisjemoeras
der leegheid dat hoekt & haakt
in haar & vandaar in het het

het HET dames en heren
het HET

und
daar
is het ijs
alweer

so
het ego is een magnum
het laagje chocola is dun

breed breed
dun
breed
wei

in feite is alles wat er rest een wonde
die zichzelf bezeert de inscriptie schrijft
zichzelf in het champ d’action
in feite

verbergend con plafond
het selige zalige virtuele
een gebied

dat de-
ter
ter
terri
torialli ah f***
dat krijg ik niet gebekt
voor het substantief
van de noen droog is

een gebied waar al het sterven
de reeds gestorvenen uit-
alanceert

de nulzone van dit is van mij
dit spinneweb is helemaal van mij
de spinnen zijn al lang vrij maar
hier ben jij jij jij welko welko

welkom in mijn zinnepara
parapara
disio re mi do

...

[untsoweiter]

Champ d’action

...

wake up sweating trying to define
the pome's poeming as a skein of trajectories

through lexical spaces driven on by x number of

particle-emitters öder bat-sucking vidanges

öder angel-throwing combe-busters all flame

all fluid all igniting the full full unawareness of
innocent air
- its innocence is popal, phishing religion
as pollution or whichever way the toxic
wants your health to be ruined/furthered

into gain today - angles of any things

barking in your face there's a different angle
to everything - another one

throwing their love
spit zero spelling dot belong

be long dot to me com e g

will it ever
end no it will
never end at
the other side
of end is more end

to end-angle
the beyond-end

oh look a sense of my own::

senseo anullment
the Raphaelic
transfiguratio

of ation

another cup of coffee well bent
along the curvature of milla's way

a lustfull glide into the blue
of the holy lagoon

its every fish a tiny mother mary
and a coconut treebulging with
darling jihad
martyrs to fahall on your ead
and prickly your throngthrall

oh so oh rhythmically

ma drid

ma 2 towers

ma ma

mu mm y

the para-nautica
of preservation
the latest gush of the
ungry young scientists convention

hitting the natives
where they haven't been hit yet

what's your set oh i havent been

bang on the head

wide open go the kneecaps

anywhere the juice can be extracted from

but but but the end is
always nearer to
the ear
so

singa song uvluv instead

o how i loooove ur pome
its sweatness the cool
orror of the orribulthe stench of liberation
liberating the
sungs of the lust minds

we're all
back to squaring circles
high above the liber libelli
waving a surf plank

as an excuse

sorry i can't hitya
i gotta be
running to get
nitting

all to gather in the now wow
the raw war of nowhere
the fractal fjord of
posting spotting posting

please join us in the jouissance
of the latest Parisian vomitteuses
accomponied by da composor
signeur da Capo
itself

all ants nitting
in the same worldwide
nitting-factory
of ant-i- code

oh but the languishing
oh but the suffering
oh but the ear's
the ana annihil inhalator

of tradition running backwards

mr literator herself:

the golden boygirlswamp of emptiness

angling his it into her it into its it

the IT ladies & gentlemen

the IT!

und

out

comes the

ice

again

so

the ego's a magnum

its chocalate's thin

wide wide

thin

wide

wei

in fact all that remains's a wound

hurting itself the inscription inscribing

itself into

the champ d'action

in fact

concealing con ceeling

the zelig zalige virtual

an area

the de-

ter
ter
terri
torial a f***
no way i can pronounce that
word before the noun of noon

where all the dying
outbalances the ones past
dying

the zero zone of this i own
the cobweb's all by me the spider's
gone i set them free but here you are
be welco welco welcome
to my pleasure

dome toy re ry

...

[untsoweiter]

AMORE

ORROR

ERROR

AMORE !

ROROR

RORER

REOMA

AROMA

ORROR

MOREO

RRORM

OMORE

ERROR

AMORE

MORTE

AMORT

STROMD

ESERTIO

MOERE

AMORE

DESERT

STORMA

LAMORT

AMORA

nut widda bang

2007-09-09T12:16:00.000+02:00

Netwurker Mez had a nice 'essay' using the Twitter interface yesterday.
i managed a small pome this morning, the interface isn't much the thing
i'm dying to have a go at. I do recommend the Mez wurk there, try
www.twitter.com/netwurker

Otherwise the thing's great to try out playing with the temporal shifts , modulating the writing/reading time ratio's and turn the disadvantages of screen reading into a usable 'quality'. Have the reader relax and be the sideways glancer that she wants to be, just picking up your planted message diacritically.

That's what i was after anyway, Mez's an entirely different story.

In general, there's way too little things of this sort happening in the literary-net-performance way, or i'm not finding it. My English's not up to anything much, i can crank out a wit or two but that's about it, but surely those whose English writing capabilities would make things interesting have a certain literary reputation to uphold, exactly the same reason why nothing much is happening in the barely existent Dutch net scene.

Does it matter? hardly, but it would be nice to see some more of this experimenting with new interfaces. Not to establish new ways of writing, for that these things die out or transmute quicker then you can define them, just to keep things loose and open, give the general user some perspective on how to see this, broadly.

But then experimental authors have a tendency to scorn whatever's general out there.

How to get a kick out of your floating opera

2007-09-08T23:14:00.000+02:00

Almost two years ago, december 2005, i posted a translation of Scève´s dizaine #31 to this blog.
Today i returned to it, it made me happy while i had been sad over some trifles as we usually are whenever we come out of a period of feverishly working on something we honestly believe is changing everything for the better.

It does too, while it lasts.

There has been no gain whatsoever in going from there to here, there has been a little progression, but to speak of any progress would belie the devastating fields of opportunity that have been left untouched, it would be a blunt denial of the failure that comes with any endaviour of this kind. Whatever gain is gained is taken away from what could have been, for you or for others. This kind of activity not being anything towards another thing, just a taking pleasure in moving, the jouissance d´un dérive, the most rewarding joy of floating among ones opera.

Movement moves, there is no need for destination. And then, when you happen to finish a cycle and you stumble back onto one of your departing milestones, the writings of Maurice Scève of Lyon, 16th century France, you suddenly acquire for a very brief moment the translucent grace of a sacred cow strolling on the busy boulevard of a city that hasn't got a clue what it is all about, let alone that anyone in it would know what they are all about, and most of all, you yourself, giving your shadow ample movement to be noticeable, you are blissfully ignorant of all the nonsense that has brought you here.

The sad Sisters bewailed the old offence
When in the finest clarity of our lives
Disdain is uttered as rightful defence
Against the fierceness of our chaste indulgence
Nor can the hope so long with us
Offer us naught, not the slightest relief.
O vain faith, o believing too lightly
Whomever begets you becomes its mortal host:
Breeding, unable to shorten the grief
And liberty's blessings from us do exhaust.

naamloos

2007-09-04T22:29:00.000+02:00

Me mais mesm o
mo raissa raaize rize mesmo

MutualMachineBook

Actually its not anylonger of a book but a Machine really its not a book
at all it is a kind of machine not quite the idea of a desiremachine which only
works when things break down but on the other hand it is a break through of
genre and media to shaping so on so on.You Dig? Like how does it end anD begin?
You see what I mean?

MutualMachineBook

At t

Creating space for more endings: this
can go, this can go…

Het spijt on helaas u niet

Sorry we can’t love you anymore
deterritory wrote

(and go they do)
frees all nosedives from air pressure.

Previous posts previous BURLING da
burling eouf Da WALL

DDirk,

EADLESS EADLESS EADLESS

Lastenboekbeschrijvingen zijn niet beschikbaar?

G

H

J

http://mutualmachinebookblogspotcom.blogspot.com/2007/08/naamloos.html

voice harmonica & soundForged theremin:dv

text: cd

a room with a view & a mess (for Obododimma)

2007-09-03T19:12:00.000+02:00

The Scrapbook Ritual

2007-09-03T09:39:00.000+02:00

At this instant my desk is covered with numerous paintings, notes, scriblings, fragments of my 'geklieder' of the last ten months or so.

"'Kliederen" is a unique dutch word for making a mess with paint, it's past particle 'geklieder' is all the more remarkable a word because it contains 'gek' (mad) and lied(eren) (song(s)).

These notes and general messing around are not intended to be included in any 'artistic' production.
They were required for Cathedral investigations, notes while i was reading, meticulous investigations in the order of the pictorial line.
I do not claim any talent as a painter, don't want to have anything to do with the world of art galleries and so forth.

The Cathedral however is extremely sympathetic to amateur painting, people painting their cats and dogs and children from photographs and talking to each other at shows. My father is an amateur painter, but he's into oil-painting. I hate oil-paint, it's messy and toxic. I only use watercolors and some ink, preferably Marie's Water Colours, a very cheap set of 12 tubes made in China. I'm secretly hoping Marie will once call on me to thank me for promoting her Paint like this.

There should be some marie-ness involved in the production of Her Water Colours, no?

Some of the more elaborate paintings are covered with thick layers of boat varnish to improve their visual on screen representation when scanned. Believe it or not, hand-painted pictures covered with boat-varnish render better then without. I believe it has something to do with the scanners light rays being reflected within the varnish layer, creating a more 'natural' look and feel to the resulting pixels.It is very important that at their time of online use, pictures should be rendered on our poor screens as best as possible. Hence the boat varnish.

The ritual of pasting all these pictures and notes in an A4 size scrapbook, (actually it's just sections now, they will have to be bound manually later on) is a very important stage in processing Cathedral Garbage. The lack of Grounding of the 'running' Cathedral in materiality is here being compensated for by forcing the garbage producing machine (me) to go over its production again, reecycling it in an entirely new context. My memory is being used as a prototypical garbage processing unit. Sure, a mock-up of what would be a working set-up, but it already has some of the functionality.

This is not editing, what i'm doing i'm not choosing what goes in or not, i'm letting myself be guided by how the things turn up as i fold paper after paper and glue the things on. I have to stop regularly because the varnish gives me terrible headaches. There is a huge pile of these things to go through, i have been sloppy, running behind on processing.

I am selling all this garbage, but naturally nobody wants it.
Calling your production garbage, as well as excessive modesty, are part of the Cathedral Protocol in dealing with the outside worlds. These worlds are much larger that the Cathedral Plane, so one needs to resort to 17th century politeness protocols.

In the 17th century a large chunk of publishing resources would go into these protocols, and letters were often elaborate polite introductions to two words of actual communication.

No we haven't advanced from there, not in that respect, i don't buy that.

Making your stuff next to unsellable by deliberately mis-promoting it is another Cathedral strategy. It needs to be backed by action, like pasting it all in a selfmade book, i'd have to ask gigantic prices to avoid underselling my fellow amateur painters, so that adds to its unsellability.

However there are no strict rules, you need to balance your level of adherence to Cathedral Code with whatever your practical situation dictates. It wouldn't be fair to my family for instance if i didn't go 'n rip out anything from the Scrapbooks that anyone would be willing to pay anything substantial sum for.

The Cathedral's logic is not of scarcity but of excess. We are in the luxurious position to be doing this, you have to be considering what made, what is making this possible every inch of the way you move about. The Cathedral's logic implies a moral code through recursively returning in the instance of it's Authoring Process.

There is a filtering and dynamic adjustment going on all the time, Cathedral membranes should remain wet. If things dry out it's time to quit (cfr. Heraclitus on wet souls).

Anyway, it is amusing to be thinking that books that were once used to bring new information to wide audiences, should now be used to protect Cathedralic Garbage from the very same audiences.

Yes, sure, why ever not?

2 Functions Diving in a Third (Still Rendering)

2007-08-25T23:22:00.000+02:00

ELfabet cover

2007-08-25T22:53:00.000+02:00

EL 2

2007-08-12T10:09:00.000+02:00

The book called EL

The book that is called EL
before we reach Wezemaal,

is the book that is called EL
before we are in the book

that is the book that is called
EL before we reach Wezemaal.

IT IS IT IN IT

The exit is the exit in the exit.
The world is the world in the world.
The earth is the earth in the earth

The flesh is the flesh in the flesh.
The maggots are the maggots in the maggots.
The rain is the rain in the rain.

The days are the days in the days.
The days are the days out of the days.
The days are the days in the days.

Three

The room,
The girl,
The baby.

The Solution

The outcome is
The solution in
The room in

Outrun.

Gödel on fridays

2007-08-03T12:33:00.000+02:00

The sets of all sets isn’t the set of all sets including the set of all sets unless that set is a member of the sets of all sets containing at least one set with a reference to the set of all sets as defined by this sentence.

The Principles of Cathedral Browsing

2007-07-30T10:42:00.000+02:00

As explained to my children:

(the general drift of the explanation rendered by photoshop discolorings of the original drawing).

Mondrost: visualisation of request recursion

2007-07-29T17:39:00.000+02:00

WE magazine #19

2007-07-27T22:46:00.000+02:00

mIEKAL aND announced

that

via Chris Funkhauser

Hear Ye – See Ye – Read Ye –

the Creative Cannibal issue of We Magazine (making a return after 14 years mia,
assembled in a 48 hour period at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado)
is now available

contents:

pdf file contains:

Geof Huth, Kenneth Goldsmith, Karen Randall, Travis Macdonald, Scott Keeney, Brian Kim Stefans, Steve Silberman, Murat Nemet-Nejat, Peter Ciccariello, James Kerley, Brandon Arthur, Mittie Roger, Eric Curkendall, Catherine Daly, Elizabeth Robinson, Samuel Knights, Marcus Salgado, Wil Hallgren, Jeremy Hight, Gregory Severance, Ryan Clark, Bruce Andrews, Linda Norton, Steve Dalachinsky, Eva Wheelock, Hugh Tribbey, Lily Robert-Foley, Creative Cannibalism course (http://web.njit.edu/~funkhous/2007/naropa) productions and editorial

animation/video section contains:

Lucio Agra, mIEKAL aND, Jim Andrews, CamillE Bacos, Sandy Baldwin, Augusto de Campos, Caterina Davinio, Chris Funkhouser, Jeremy Hight, Justin Katko, Jason Nelson, Clemente Padín, Gerald Schwartz, Alan Sondheim, Lawrence Upton

sound section contains:

Joseph Richey, Larissa Shmailo, Lawrence Upton, Katie Yates

http://www.wepress.org/19

if of writing be an init

2007-07-27T22:40:00.000+02:00

Buildings are easy

For instance a be
b be c until you see
the end is nowhere
near you heard it.

If of writing
type both ways
chop fingers
type no ways

the double doesn’t shoot
the measure doesn’t leak
measure the harmless harm
the lesser harmless, e.g.

all 73 pigs drowned yesterday
they were standing on each other
in their stable in the end. The word I think
is me, another instance, the order pretending to
be the order of some higher cruelty. The bowels
of our vowel. But there is none, not a
no you, the i, it doesn’t even happen.
Lot’s of o’s getting stuffed out there.

Encore, the ease hasn’t happened yet.

If of writing print it has been we were here and

both ways. The act doesn’t read.
the smell doesn’t reek. The word
Is man is word is man man while we

Us be us without you

Do her
Do me
Do it
Do us minus one

damn

Progroms at the end
of every program.

Exits.

If of writing
Be an init.

busjamesj IV: at the end of the rainbow forrest

2007-06-30T20:40:00.000+02:00

[previ you sly on yoursnetsacks: b UURRRR –the sung]

LLKLPL

drinking the dust on the locks
the suppurated eating of dirt

adoc se retirent tous les geantz avec le roy
in the year (egg?) it was wrti in the doc.geug

the
BLUEISH
ABLAUT
E

aka
P

ineaple

EOPLE

N GND

[

you can't be part of it if you want to not be part of it

but you can't not be part of it if you want to name it

that's why they call it

]

-no-

GND

the picture let
the cars in
or is it

the cars bled into

the picture get the

lead the

head
light
s

on
in

\./

Epilogue

[damn, marcel
i guess
it got stucka
in the eighth

Round again]

busjamesj III: the sung of a lust mind

2007-06-30T20:32:00.000+02:00

(be4 was it
büshamesj IIISFTHa, the istjarwratha?
trulila!

howartzers
come 2 us me proud stoages

und
bewarndead to shakywackylids:
no fun
thou giveth me

no fun

oh the gaping of the guards
oh the shaking woter
oh the brideg

bodsie

nilfalg

nd
ow)

so let there be UUURRRR

its sickening name theName;
its rural lure theLure;
its motion Slo the SloMo;
its bits wherein the failing sits;

UUURRRn.run() :

sickening

Sckngn

Sickening in in the inn namely

Slomo
like a roro

just outside its porto
skning Da SeeKing

[poss ref to oh do shut up you
niftiwuts]

deep inda ollow fate of the
Herald of Free Enterprise

the cars were weeping
their humans drowning
beating da beat beat
their feeble hands
to smithereens

beat
against the bullet
proof windows [...]

[…]
like the breaking eye of a birdie
Ina da armas ofu kiddo
the roaring sea […] its blue tongue
in da facies of fursterdum ddd
dein heiligtum

death has no color in her dream

Sexy
June
Neat
Slit
Thor
ax
Neat
(now
eat)

PANTA PANTA thePanta
doeish be thine eyes
forgive us our forwarriness
as we forget forwhatitwas

[dne won, pl edn black sil end tio]

All vowels of the alphabet sticking out
itsa bellie
GRUELLA
O this the theThe
the
lust mind of a
orribul
sicko

was signet
just another […] june’s
summers day

compare me compadre to come
& kingdom come
&slice the HE throat

& bake the

SHE

ISH
& re: to come

BUT

nope
no go

try
G N D
instead.

busjamesh r RED URNS

2007-06-30T09:57:00.000+02:00

IIISFTHa

(moriemur inultae sed moriamur)

(cmmnt: ze poot ear it smells
iz stuck w/ dido UrGent
of the urgents, O High eau.
Dido's a singer
she standa up
while er willy
playsthe piano

ina nightencloeb
ona pyre just
leftaf
paira-dose)

F me

[vrey curropt]

like a

rain check
reign cheek
war cheat

(weurtsarcenically_

fuel

[ quia apparata attaca imperiala sunt de apparata mesma facta i shld kno I s an oil d

b elg ian tri] check

mate check
hate mecca
have mercy

i m a teen age d chole rapla gue
playing hide and seek with mankind
and und nou und so ha hu cover the land with filthy black ash
wee hen I weah giggle ma as s
tear [ggg] vulva inside out scratch
[‘’] the blood […] penis seep

[the alphabet with all vowels hanging out?]
unuther instnza of the alp ha bed lall gts oeuiaoeYYiarou

[guttural action]

YYYYYY

Refrain:

Wow woe h yeah hey
mankind is calling (my body count)
mankind is calling woe

Wow woe h yeah hey
mankind is calling

mankind no GND

busjamesh VVRRT

2007-06-30T09:29:00.000+02:00

//@init

There is absolutely no way of returning it.
Let me explain.

It starts with he who knows everything.

You see?

LSTN
to the
ePiC
of

BüsjaMeSj

KBBH

At the end of the street the end of the street opens and at
that
end the street
is the headlight is
the headlight
& all are
are
that

a like a

are the guns ready yes the guns are ready

are the bombs ready yes the bombs are

is the man manned yes she is

are we

yes

VRRT

{PST the FRST}

no clods no clay no game no play
no clods no clay no game no play
no clods no clay no game no play
no clods no clay no game no play

the foot-disease for my foot
the liver-disease for my liver
the ulcer-disease for my ulcer

...

REGINAREGINA
TOIQUIENSEIGNE
EINESEIGNETHE
ENDSIGNSTHEDESIGN

O, reg[gy?]

Arde[nt?]
il
a la

mala

hypopothesisthmus

die

the finger-disease for my left index finger [imp]

...

the eye-disease for mine eyes

a seven year old about to get

(i did crie for the bereft)

(hear me shed my ears)

The

ear-disease for mine ears

another seven year old about

it's all about

no GND fur ME
ARGENTA CITY
BANK
NILE

AM SELBTEN TAG…
AM SELBSTEN TAG…
AM SELBSTEN TAG…
AM SELBSTEN TAG…

Am Einen heisen steinen dieses do not desert me in this my desert storm
my heart is not in me my heart is not here my heart is still boozing
with der Jugend sins, the early Signs

warts a burd?
a burds a song

wart ssignet ze burd
ze burd signet

(You have 1 Urgent Security Message…)

ID estblshd its taboe ut da urGent people
from the famous the stuck with people song
ifwe write wire real kwik ze bomb will bake it

Hail do the HOE
shhtack sshhtack

CARR OT BOD IES
CAR ROT BO DIES

ORANGE JUICE CNN

No dumb plogh (cuuurrrupt*)
can do tht plghs R
four ruskies

enter The All For Ruskies of the Apocalyps
sayeth Ruskie the First is FULL METAL JAcket upon me:

LO Thou Over There

heriam heriam
put yourmeat und deine kuglen in me
heriam heriam
takame takame
taka taka taka me

[ear endeth pst th frst]

Introducing M.O.S.S.E.L.

2007-06-16T12:41:00.000+02:00

The above is an image made by my 9 year old daughter Annelien.
The title says 'A sea of lives', and that's exactly what it is.

Using a sea-land allegorical approach to our divided old-material and new virtual-networked realities seems to work out quite nicely for a time at least. One should aim for the moon as an allegorical climax, the singular moment when any allegorical account of things reaches its maximum potential and collapses into the bliss of pure nonsense.

Currently i'm working out a mock-up of a MICROFUNDING programme (within the mock-up frame of the Cathedral, much alive still in the mock-up of my brain).

It took its inspiration from Bjorn Magnildoen's PICOPOND app, see www.noemata.net somewhere. It seems however all ressemblance ends with the fact that neither apps succeed in what they want to do, namely raise funds for our creative arbeit, that ofcourse is quite useless in any 'normal' economical perspective.

The matter is however much more complicated that any position taken in these easy dichotomies might suggest. I've always argued that asking questions on the status and meaning of ones work and its economical/social context is a major creative impuls in itself, because it forces a further grasp of what it actually is, what it wants to be, all that stuff that we seem to be doing for any weird purpose we cannot begin to explain to an 'outsider'.

Translating these questions from the above object-oriented and - without the 500 gigabyte multi-billion dollar semantically sound framework they actually require to be in any way coherent- rather meaningless static wordings to their full procedural potential is the big bang of any true 'artistic' world itself.

In that way, asking a person like me what i do for a living is a lot like unintentionally double-clicking the bootstrap of a Cathedral Set-up File: most of you will think it's an utter waste of valuable processing time.

2007-06-05T21:40:00.000+02:00

I am the water
you are the ship
so we are the waves

or were we? where
did we die into this?
the gods are stirring

things like gods do,
thick fingers stirring
thick fingers with

thick fingersouls.
nobody's bleeding.
nothing happens.

i making ship you
making water both
making waves.

rophumb!

a proof and some remarks on habitual phrases in colloquial Dutch

2007-06-03T21:47:00.000+02:00

The world cannot take any more information than it has. It is always full, always being the everywhere viewed from anywhere, like eg your spot.

Here´s the proof, partly:

1. If you change your spot, the information does not dislocate itself, nothing is lost. This can be proven by changing to your old spot again.

2. If nothing is lost when you change your spot, nothing can be gained by changing your spot.

3. Information can only be made available to you by changing your spot. Or by having it redecorated, but you can´t redecorate your spot without changing it.

4. Untsoweiter. By the time you have gone through the proof in its entire 3125 stages, the proof will have proven that the world cannot take any more information than it has.

HOW TO ACCESS THE TIMES OF ANY GIVEN PERIOD

Hi there, this is written exclusively for you. It was, is and shall always be written exclusively for you. You are the sole recipient of this text. There can only be one you, and that is you.

You see, Blogger saves your drafts automatically now!
Ok, ok cut the crap, but it's no use you see, there's nothing i can say or write or perform that would not have been there otherwise. Before things got connected there was no way of telling this. Things moved. Something happened. There was a noise in the air, an audible sign of progress or regression, growth or decay, there were seasons, blossomings.

Today all you hear is the silent clash of files hitting files creating files logging the files that were created. When people weep one eye glances sideways to check if the suffering is being registered. The balance needs to check out. We need to double-check.

In any language there are always at any given moment certain phrases being used excessively that are an indication , a mot-clef, well let´s call it incorrectly but fashionably a sjibboleth of the times.
If you want access to the times of a certain period, you need to unplug something in a dark and moist Moment of the times and when asked provide this sjibbolething accurately and promptly. Otherwise THEY will come and get you.

Yes i´ve bin reading a lot of Dick lately, sorry.

Now, most of the time these phrases are either awkward uses of words or downright mistakes against the language rules. In Dutch, for instance, until quite recently the word 'nachecken' was ubiquious.

Strictly speaking, ´nachecken´ (verb, meaning: to check) is a contaminated use, mixing the correct Dutch for 'to check' namely 'nakijken' with it's English equivalent.
There's a comparable instance in Dutch with 'afprinten', a contamination of the correct 'afdrukken' with 'printen', an English word that like to check has been accepted as a loanword by most dictionaries. both language errors are underway of becoming accepted as regular Dutch, something that bothers me as a poet writing in my beloved language, but hardly anybody else, which is the way things should be. You can´t have poets deciding on language, that would be something like having the legislative powers intervening with the actual jurisdiction.

As poets we can and should scream and make all kinds of fusses about abuses of our language, it´s up to the judges to speak as they see fit.

Anyway, as it happens, and in all its ugliness, 'nachecken' is a perfect expression of our current inability for genuine emotion. We need to double-check in our represented, time-lagging versions of the happenings that are utterly strange to our paranoid identities if the emotions check-out.

In a previous stage the Dutch 'sjibboleth' ( i wouldn't know about English, you need to be active in the speech-community to figure these things out) was 'ik heb iets van', an expression , literally meaning 'i have/sense something from', would be followed by a completely meaningless silence, merely waiting for the addressee to acknowledge the awareness of a inexpressible object within the consciousness of the speaker. Instead of using this expression, just saying 'i think this or that' would amount to exactly the same message, so that was/is in fact the functional use of the phrase. Ofcourse the added strategy of ascribing the thoughts to a mysterious object so as to avoid taking any responsibility for the thought itself, pleading in advance that the object is responsible, something external to the individual from which the individual is actuaaly suffering. Anyway, you get the analytical drift.

The 'ik-heb-iets-van' phase is still more-or-less active, so these keywords/phrasings do overlap in time (as well as being dynamical within their geographical spreading i suppose). I always thought the need to establish an object in order to be able to vent ones opinions is well, er, dubious. But i'd have to double-check that, perhaps.

You see, at any point in your life there might be really a neverending list of reasons to prefer to package whatever you are thinking in a huge heatsink of delirious ranting, obscene noise and sheer madness. As Seneca, arguably the most infamous bore in the entire intellectual history of mankind, once said, a clever person knows when it is time to speak out, but only the wise know when to be silent.

Ok, that's the end of your message. UPQPTPIS!!!

extesnoi euv El Topoi

2007-06-02T12:08:00.000+02:00

ufcurse its only pixels, what's important here is the fictions
that create fictions on top of them, as in the Jodorowski film
the grotesque obscenicety is in the framing of this shot, not
in it's contents which would 'normally' only be David Hamilton
nice-to-look-at. i just re-enacted what the framing does, you
can't show 'it' without doing so, it would literarely be dead meat,
er, pixels

txetesion

2007-06-01T22:38:00.000+02:00

BVCHT

Fireflies now officially do not live up to our expectations
The world is still highly pregnant with itself. Deliveranceit seems is caught up in dense fabrics of irrigated ethnic jokes,

Vomiting egg salads and creamlike isles of volcanic origin
In the Boolean sea. These are the reflections of Art on Artin a Time of Global Warming, our five last years of trying

To figure out a way out of the Eternal Bar. Tires are heardexploding beneath our oak carriage, we did insist on tapingthose at the wrists. We do plea guilty, madam, but there

Was a considerable Array of Attenuating Circumstanzas.
Blessed be your organs in our pink Odourless Body, salvationis a hallmark of most non-linear dynamic systems. My Space

Is not a space, My Files are at war, My Desktop wants to showher breasts, My Music remains the same, My Children are
prepared to download as we downloaded Gloria before them

and who needs Time when we can have
Process Declarations in Pica.

SPTSPT

Rwaiohm Unis? I would trade mine anytime for a few of Raoul Dufy’s baigneuses, but it

-well, you know.

Concluding:

Fire flies, grab it while you canconsume and me and take me too as off before 1,25 euromois @ 1000 Mo you took die graaf t

Zelf

D a patsa

Trophic hyper

stale

Stap a

B

damn

Interestingrelatively simple

Pharyngula

Mate

The solution is more yoghurt.

damn

2007-05-09T21:48:00.001+02:00

Ts TS 1,2

er, on a JM foreword:....

Cameron frequently used poms as inspiration e

new inspiration öder how to blow into matter

so that it flattens, e be photography,

Evenly on Emilie. Sir John, dear John

whose praise be quoted

in euro as in our dolls: Repeat

a face while the face

throw it in the glacier it sees

what it sees namely

it sees

some ripples being thrown

in a face-glacier near-equilibrum.

my horses turning four.

Sir John, dear John, oh Herschie my doll:

it is a being being on its being for a being or so an

exorcist 3d primitive exo new exorcist 3d primitive

e.g.

woe be me me new me

do not add you to us !

this planet pee new planet is final

Lee the aquaduct by earl le duck

birdy bey pigeon

blue bay babs

hagahaga haga (

i.e. shorthand for Power D. Tape Contraptions in the shape of a Cathedral Duck)

like holding down a hard-on to increase the hard-on

(fear of the lesser hard-on a part of the hard-on not

mind you of the masturbating instance): non-existent

even more so while circuit.bend.gender equals female. The catch

to non-existence is namely mark my word o anthony

on this the first day of creation (make no

darn) mistaking existence, a needy print-out for this girl, dust

on the screen before you turn it on et ceterae as you were told

ubiquously . Turn it

On! Attention to the qualities of early evening light, attention

All Qualities: The words

MY MOUNTAIN NYMPH SWEET LIBERTY

will rattle in her bones eternally.

(Oh yes, eternally, the inside of ether, i.e. esther, come

and trip as you Go Turn it

On Off

(unprobe the indent unprobe the indent)

If e be snorting eaven e bist nicht

   curly toi sie dis

Integer a

Te d    eum

         Charpen

Tier layer

                       Damn

A Face on repeat in a face on according to

Printboard the Circuit a known penguin was

Hidden in amplitudes far larger STX read

a curl fo inst nc KNOWING that isn't

there in the curly entrails blck drips shone

rd ploo LSTN EUNUX LUVVRS ttt this

TH si split-eyed lady of the Lowlands

Nothing my isis NOTHING BUT ITS

SSSssshelve ACQUIRING the curly

face the face the face the face

whither to pixels to waves to us

(enhale me to know me a tiny kn

ob will open the delicate door to

helga the helga-shaft o fantastik

whether withering would Ncrease

Dropping in sync with her time she stuck

eyes in the sockets needles in great expectations

und she twisted the 5 to 100 mhz polyhedral amplif

right into the major icosidodecahedral sexions

of life as we know it asking do we do we now do we

progress or what. Libertad ha no libertad the bug banged

its fourteen severed heads of the annunciation splut

against the ever whitewashed walls the tender dome

of silence, a pair of legs that is wherein i.e. betwix

her frail newFound Body beMyBody trembled as a

lou. Johanna Instead burned the reels into the slick of 2

dimensions so the Apemen could descend. Hairy

monsters see above indeed but Nothing is knowing nothing

like nothing itself acquiring whatever is required to amount

to dropping in a face on repeat in the heat sink succesfully

2007-04-18T21:58:00.000+02:00

Spinoza flowing through all eight pieces
of my living room (here’s) (tonal modes)

“Cognitionem unionis quam mens cum tota natura habet”

1. 1 Amending ze traffique de drogues

Ending, purposing, fail. We are not the ones.
Why did it turn out to be saving and not
storing files, who’s keeping track of these

Things? Are You? The regressio ad infinitum
never is actually and even that she ows completely to
her being thought. Watch the relentless monotony of

of the survivors howling, every one of them
contributing to the distracting petty
historiolae, the flight from the proper

ductus rationis. We all need to return
to the E-bay, please proceed to the E-bay.
The sharp One, selbstverständlich, quod

mihi utilius. In the absence of Progress
our Words are to stand centered in the
waving Fields of Wild Flesh, a bilabial

auto-geneviève of sorts, sucking draught
to spit heat to damp seas to take it all to
the river S near Babylon. As in: this is the

f***** dream boy, the one dream

you will never wake from, this is what
your mother and I have been denying
ourselves all those holidays for we are

not the ones no don’t look up don’t
at us don’t look into the story please.
Union, ending, purposing. Fail. Union

2. 2. Modern Latin, a Placeholder for part 2,
öder an inverted Rose on the lack of conatus in present-day output of the humanity app

:: ABC World News : The Forgotten Genocide watch »
:: Armenia : Genocide Denied watch »
:: BBC News : Armenia - The Betrayed watch »
:: Discovering My Father's Village : Edincik watch »
:: Dr. Taner Akcam Interview watch »
:: Germany and the Secret Genocide watch »
:: Innocents Betrayed : Calculated Genocide watch »
:: iWitness : The Genocide Project watch »
:: Lecture by Prof. Vahakn Dadrian watch »
:: Screamers : Turkish Denial watch »
:: TIME Europe Magazine : The Armenian Genocide watch »
:: Turkey : Facing up to the Past watch »
:: Twenty Voices : The Events watch »
:: Voices watch »
:: Voices from the Lake : The Secret Genocide watch »

3. 3 On Rilke being eaten clean in a can of worms

De geijkte wijze dient grondig herijkt. Een ordeverstoring
vindt plaats om een nieuwe woning te kunnen betrekken.
Quand les anges explodes, c’est le moment parfait pour
changer sa vie. Remove the battery pack by sliding the hatch

Forward firmly. Potentio referring both to empowerment
and to ability, hence the reductionist idea of potentiality.
We are not the ones. What is conventional needs to reconvene.
Throw bombs in the river, the fish will die, the water will get

Infested with infections. The problem will solve itself. Who
Are you anyway? Quod mihi utilius. Caute. Taking so much care
the darkness was sufficient cause for Nietsche to turn him inside

Out. Simon de Vries. The is is the is qua issing. Count dracul,
le calculle sans cullotes de René the fileMan. Died, his lungs
infested with glass fibers trying to see a way in, out. Damned.

neuts:

sans cullotes: without pants. nickname for the french invaders of Flanders

De geijkte wijze dient grondig herijkt. Een ordeverstoring
vindt plaats om een nieuwe woning te kunnen betrekken.:
quoted from Theo Zweerman "Spinoza's Inleiding tot de filosofie", ISBN 90 85061482

quod mihi utilius: latin for what is useful to me
glass fibers: Spinoza died from tuberculosis i think but his condition was severely worsened by breathing over his lensmaking
Caute: Latin for take care. Spinoza's emblème was a picture of a rose with this written beneath it

another vague of Michaux (by csperez collected by Bjorn from Up There Somewhere)

2007-04-18T20:39:00.000+02:00

Drugs bore us with their paradises.

Let them give us a little knowledge instead.

This is not a century for paradise.

Henri Michaux

from A CERTAIN PLUME (Un certain Plume, 1930, with additions in 1936)

I. A PEACEFUL MAN

Stretching his hands out from the bed, Plume was surprised not to encounter the wall. "Hmm," he thought, "the ants must have eaten it…"

and he went back to sleep.

A bit later his wife caught him by the arm and shook him: "Look," she said, "you good-for-nothing! While you were busy sleeping, they stole our house from us." And in fact, sky stretched out uninterrupted on every side. "Oh well, it's over and done with," he thought.

A bit later they heard a noise. It was a train hurtling right at them.

"Judging by the rush it seems to be in, it will surely get there before us," and he went back to sleep.

Next the cold woke him up. He was all soaked in blood. A few pieces of his wife were lying next to him. "When there's blood," he thought, "there is always so much unpleasantness; if only that train hadn't gone by, I would have been delighted. But since it has gone by already…" and he went back to sleep.

"Come now," the judge was saying, "how can you explain the fact that your wife was so badly wounded she was found chopped into eight pieces, whereas you, who were lying next to her, could not make a move to stop it, and did not even realize it? That is the mystery. That is the whole question."

"I cannot help him in this line of inquiry," thought Plume, and he went back to sleep.

"The execution will take place tomorrow. Does the prisoner have a statement to make?"

"I'm sorry," he said, "I haven't been following the affair." And he went back to sleep.

------------------------------

from

blogging of the dust - http://blindelephant.blogspot.com :

"all gardens are hard for trees"

in the collection "A Certain Plume," (1930, 36) is a collection of surreal vignettes about a character named "Plume":

"Stretching his hands out from the beds, Plume was suprised not to encounter the wall. 'Hmm,' he thought, 'the ants must have eaten it...' and he went back to sleep."

anyways, i'm much more interested in the afterword he wrote to this collection than the poems themselves. it traces Michaux's ideas about the self and representation:

"[...] For too many thousands of years, he has been occupied by conquerors.

Self is made out of everything. A certain inflection in a sentence -- is this another me tryiny to appear? if the YES is mine, is the NO a second me?

'Me' is never anything but provisional [...] and pregnant with a new character who will be set free by an accident, an emotion, a blow on the head -- excluding the preceding character, and to everyone's astonishment, formed instantly. So he was already fully formed.

Perhaps we are not made for just one self. We are wrong to cling to it. The prejudice in favor of unity. (Here as elsewhere, the will:

impoverishing and sacrificing).

In a double, triple, quintuple life, we would be more comfortable, less gnawed and paralyzed by a subconsious hostile to the conscious mind (hostility of the other, deprived 'selves').

The greatest fatigue of the day and of a life may be caused by the effort, the tension necessary to keep the same self through the continual temptations to change it.

We want too much to be someone.

There is not one self. There are not ten selves. There is no self. ME is only a position in equilibrium. (one among a thousand others, continually possible and always at the ready.) An average of 'me's,' a movement in the crowd. In the name of many, I sign this book.

[...]

Each tendency in me had its own will, as each thought, as soon as it appears and is organized, has its own will. Was it mine? This man has his will in me, that one -- a friend, a great man of the past, the Gautuma Buddha, many others, lesser ones: Pascal, Ernest Hello? Who knows?

The will of the greatest number? The will of the most coherent group?

I did not want to want. I wanted, it seems to me, against myself, because I had no desire to want and nonetheless I wanted.

...As a crowd, I found my way around my moving crowd. As every thing is crowd, every though, every instant. Every past, every uninterruption, every transformation, every thing is something else.

Nothing ever definitely circumscribed, capable of being circumscribed,

everything: relations, mathematics, symbols, or music. Nothing fixed.

Nothing is property.

My images? Relations.

My thoughts? But perhaps thoughts are precisely only annoyances of the self, losses of equilibrium (phase 2), or regaining equilibrium (phase

3) of the thinker's motion. The phase 1 (equilibrium) remains unknown, unconscious.

The true, deep, thinking flux no doubt happens without conscious thought, without images. [...] Let us avoid following an author's thought; rather, let's look at what he has in the back of his mind, what he's getting at, the imprint that his desire to dominate and influence -- although well hidden -- tries to make on us.

[...]

His intentions, his passions, his libido dominandi, his compulsive lying, his nervousness, his desire to be right, to win, to seduce, to surprise, to believe and have others believe what he wishes, to fool people, to hide -- his appetites and his disgusts, his complexes and his whole life harmonizing, unbeknowst to him, with the organs, the glands, the hidden life of his body, his physical deficiencies, everything is unknown to him.

His 'logical' thought? But it circulates in a casting of paralogical and analogical ideas, a straight rode cutting through circular paths, seizing (you can only seize by cutting) bleeding sections of this so richly vascularized world. (All gardens are hard for trees.) False simplicity of first truths (in metaphysics) followed by extreme multiplicity -- that's what he's trying to get accepted.

In one point, too, will and thought converge, inseparable, and become false thought-will.

In one point, too, the examination of false thought -- thought like, in microphysics, the observation of light (the path of the photon) -- falsifies it.

And progess, every new observation, every thought, every creation, seems to create (at the same time as light) a zone of darkness.

All knowledge creates new ignorance.

All consciousness, a new consiousness.

Every new contribution creates new nothingness.

So, reader, you're holding in your hands, as often happens, a book the author did not write, although a world participated in it. And what does it matter?

Signs, symbols, impulses, falls, departures, relations, discords, everything is there to bounce up, to seek, for further on, for something else.

Between them, without settling down, the author grew his life.

Perhaps you could try, too?"

posted by csperez @ 11:48 AM 2 comments

just a short bio of Michaux clipped from the web:

Henri Michaux was born May 24, 1899 in the small Belgian town of Namur, the second child of Octave Michaux, a shopkeeper, and his wife Jeanne. The family moved to Brussels when Henri was two years old.

Henri attended a countryside boarding school where he was an indifferent student and felt alienated from the other students.

He returned home to Brussels in 1910 to attend a Jesuit high school, where he studied Latin and developed an interest in Christian mystics.

He also had passion for Chinese writing and the study of insects.

Michaux's university education was delayed two years by the Nazi occupation of Belgium. Michaux spent this period devouring a variety of eccentric literature, everything from the lives of saints to avant garde poets. Henri considered entering the priesthood, but eventually acquiesced to his father's wishes to study medicine. Michaux enrolled in the Université Libre de Bruxelles in 1919 as a medical student.

Tired of medicine, Michaux dropped out after one year and joined the crew of a merchant ship in 1920.

Michaux traveled to various ports throughout North and South American and left the ship a year later, only days before it was involved in a fatal shipwreck. Back in Belgium, Michaux was forced into the military for a mandatory one-year term, but was released early due a heart condition. In 1922, while convalescing in the military hospital from his heart condition, Michaux discovered the works of Lautreament.

Michaux worked a number of miserable jobs while working on his writing and considered himself a total failure. It was difficult for Michaux to find a satisfactory poetic style and he flirted with several pseudonyms, feeling that putting his own name on the poem would be like stamping it 'inferior quality.' Michaux occasionally received some encouragement for his poetic efforts and had his first poem published in 1922 in the Le Disque Vert, the literary journal of Franz Hellens, who became an early supporter of Michaux. Shortly thereafter, Hellens hired Michaux as co-director of Le Disque Vert, where Henri edited the journal and several poetry collections by the authors who had appeared in the journal.

In 1924, Michaux left Belgium and moved to Paris to become a delivery person for Simon Kra's publishing house. While there, the influential writer Jules Supervielle met Michaux and hired him as a personal secretary. Henri quickly became acquainted with the Parisian literati, including Jean Paulhaun who also encouraged Michaux. During this period Michaux discovered painting through the imaginative works of Klee, Ernst and Chirico.

In 1927, Michaux negotiated a semi-exclusive publishing deal with Gallimard and published his first book, Qui je fus, a stylistically varied collection of previously published poetry. Michaux later disowned the work and barred its republication during his lifetime.

Later that year, Michaux traveled with fellow poet Alfredo Gangotena to South America, a journey that lasted over a year and gave raise to Michaux's next book, Ecuador, a poetic anti-travel journal published in 1929.

After his parents death in 1929, Michaux traveled through North Africa, Turkey, Italy; 'traveling against' to free himself from the vestiges of European culture that confined him. Henri found the sort of freedom he sought when he traveled to Asia in 1932. He traveled through India, Nepal, Ceylon, China, Japan, and Indonesia for eight months taking impressionistic notes on the people and culture of each country. These notes were published in 1933 under the title A Barbarian in Asia and would later become controversial for its racist overtones.

With Night Moves, published in 1935, Michaux began to develop his mature style, characterized by an odd mix of horror, cruelty and humor, a preoccupation with the body, and an intense, introspective look into the workings of human consciousness to the complete exclusion of external reality.

Michaux also continued to travel in the mid-1930's, visiting Spain, the Canary Islands, and Portugal. In 1935, Henri Michaux met Marie-Louise Ferdière, a married woman, and the couple carried on an affair for several years. Michaux traveled to South America in 1936 to attend a PEN Colloquium in Buenos Aires where he met Jorge Luis Borges, who introduced Michaux's work to Latin America.

He had his first solo art show in 1937 at the Galerie Pierre in Paris.

Henri enjoyed his first popular literary success with the publication of Plume in 1938, a sly, absurdly humorous work that solidified his growing literary reputation. Michaux's increasing interest in art was evident in the 1939 publication of Peintures, a work that coupled his poems with his own abstract illustrations.

Later that year the Nazis invaded and occupied Paris. Michaux, being a Belgian citizen and unable to travel, holed himself in his house at Le Lavandou and worked on his writing and painting during the occupation.

In 1941, the influential writer Andre Gide published Discovering Henri Michaux after the Nazis banned a Gide organized conference on Michaux earlier in the year.

Michaux married Marie-Louise in 1943. Unfortunately, due to the strict food rationing near the end of the war, his wife was diagnosed with tuberculosis, which forced her into a long period of convalescence.

Henri, perhaps in response to his emerging public profile, published a collection of excerpts from his previous works in 1944 under the title The Space Within. Tragedy struck again, when Michaux's brother died in 1944. The following year he published Ordeals, Exorcisms, an abstract, allegorical evocation of his war times experiences.

In 1948, a year after Michaux's wife recovered from her illness, she died from atrocious burns suffered when her robe caught fire. Michaux was devastated and began painting and writing at a furious pace. In 1948, he published Still Us Two about his relation with his wife and the aftermath of her death. The same year Michaux published Elsewhere, a collection of previously published imaginary travelogues. In 1949, Michaux published another work that combined his writing and illustration, Life in the Folds, about the Meidosems, imaginary fragile filament-like creatures that have 'lost all consistency.'

Michaux had his first art retrospective held in 1951 at the Rive Gauche gallery in Paris. For reasons not entirely clear, Michaux became a French citizen in 1955. During the same period, he began to experiment with various drugs, primarily mescaline, as another means to explore the mechanisms of human consciousness. Rather than escape to an 'artificial paradise,' Michaux sought to clinically observe and record his first hand experiences with chemically induced anguish and ecstasy. His experimentation lasted 10 years until he tired of the experience, concluding that drugs were unreliable and he had 'no gift for addiction.'

He wrote about his drug experiences in the books Miserable Miracle:Mescaline, Infinite Turbulence, Light Through Darkness and The Major Ordeals of the Mind, and Countless Minor Ones. Michaux became a minor celebrity in the counterculture when the Beats discovered these drug influenced works in the 1960's.

Throughout the 1960's and 1970's Michaux became known throughout the world as one of the preeminent writers in France, partly with the help of his admirers among the Surrealists, the Nouvelle Vague and the American Beats. In 1970's, Michaux wrote about his dreams, composed aphorisms (a favorite literary form of his), produced some oblique art criticism on the art of mental patients and delved deeper into Eastern Mysticism.

When Michaux broke his right arm in the early 1970's, he was forced into a new orientation with his body and life itself, an experience he details in Broken Arm, published in 1973. Near the end of his life, Michaux turned toward Eastern contemplation more and more, yet he did so to celebrate his own spirit rather than examine it, as he done most of his life. Henri Michaux suffered a heart attack and died on October 18, 1984.

posted by csperez @ 11:12 AM 0 comments

Friday, April 07, 2006

"a display of light"

three poems by Michaux from "My Properties" (1927-29) and this painting by Michaux

Articulations

And aller, aller et allero

And bitch!

Sarcospell on Sarico,

Andorn for talico,

Or'll andora your adogo,

Adogi.

Crass, crass like Chicago,

And ass-kicks to poverty.

Death of a Page

Unbornished, vunished and already more raggled than rigged.

. . . A little thing and dying.

Alogol! Alopertius! Alogol! Help, I beg of you. . .

There is a druin, fuin, sen sen lom.

There is a luin, suin, sen sen lom.

. . . A little thing and dying.

But he's as upright, nyah! swaggerom,

As all chivalry or Cardinal of France.

Insects

As I went further west, I saw nine-segmented insects with huge eyes like graters and latticework corselets like miners' lamps, others with murmuring antennae; some with twenty-odd pairs of legs that looked more like staples; other of black lacquer and mother-of-pearl that crunched underfoot like shells; still others high legged like daddy longlegs with little pin-eyes as red as the eyes of albino mice, veritable glowing coals on stems with an expression of ineffable panic; still others with an ivory head -- surprisingly bald, so that suddenly one had the most fraternal feelings for them -- so close, their legs kicking forward like piston rods zigzagging in the air.

Finally, there were transparent ones, bottles with hairy spots,

perhaps: they came forward by the thousands -- glassware, a display of light and sun so bright that afterward everything seemed ash and product of dark night.

posted by csperez @ 10:19 PM 0 comments

'from my nerves'

finished reading "Darkness Moves: An Henri Michaux Anthology:

1927-1984" translated by David Ball. a collection full of wonders that i will have to post on little by little since there is such rich diversity throughout the work.

strangely, I wanted to start with the "Afterword: How I wrote 'My Properties'..." (1934) (I will post on "My Properties" tomorrow).

"None of the willed imagination of the professionals. No themes, developments, construction, or method. On the contrary, only the imagination that comes from the inability to conform.

These pieces, without preconceived connections, were written lazily from day to day, following my needs, the way it came, without pushing, following the wave, always attending to what was most pressing, in a slight wavering of truth -- never to construct, simply to preserve.

(...)

Anybody can write My Properties.

Even the invented words, even the invented animals in this book were invented 'from my nerves,' and not constructed according to what I think about language and animals."

what do you think?

posted by csperez @ 1:38 AM

2007-04-14T11:22:00.001+02:00

fatlather coruscation

and frost regrading

gatmonster sucksamer axlorelinden

goethe spoke of nothing under these
inquiring
roman marble places (lamandi)

your urkennel love (ablastur) flails eyenig
knevin

seebraid, takemarker

‘sceen im falldin, tzu flayer mich thryn

littleache reprocesses

krokkets verbalize hera
blathesnit

thettleyeki

Why keyboards have esc buttons etcetera (4 parts)

2007-03-30T21:54:00.000+02:00

BAR UCH BAR (BLL to NOW)

“From this point retain what you have experienced in the extension of your limits, and use it in this and all future performances of “Spiral””

Karlheinz Stockhausen, score of Spiral, ed. 1973, Vienna.

BLL

Topographies of Venus
Baruchs quadrant Colors
Cast a shadow (50 pixels)
Capital One (important n)

To be CC or dNASAb in our
You will not be forgotten
we will remember you
so how many are you?

Where would you like us?
How do you like us to?
Perhaps we should? He.
Surely. But ofcourse.

Topographies of Venus
Baruchs quadrant Colors
Cast a shadow (50 pixels)
Capital One (important n)

CCF

How was that? She.
Do or did you have ivory eyes?
Do all men wear you? Who are
Ro arme but not on the carpet

Do or did you go straight? How
Was that? Never mind. We
Will ask again next decade.
Capital One (important m)

Cast a shadow (49 pixels)

5KL

How was that? Are you all
Men? Surely. But Baruchs
Quadrant colors never made
It to the temple in time. How

Was that? It. On Venus?

NOW

M’s. How was that? She.
the Halting of ever. Spur
All. Malatesta’s gone. She.
The halting of ever

in her eyes. It. No
One. Forge
Whatever whvrt
Get you. Hmpfjst. How

Was that? Us.
You will not be
forgotten we
Will remember

you . How
Was that? It.

a tune for every body (dating a painting)

2007-03-20T22:42:00.000+01:00

there's a tune for every
body has a tune versus

catch the miracle of individuation
paint the miracle of individuation
write the miracle of individuation
fill the miracle of individuation

the time is now
[dial 1207 - 0.70 cent/sec]

serve a pint to those waiting
clean up salvae
drop tears

#include

there is fish for all
(grab the fish)

quando ip mi gusto:

grab audio

extend my sympathy
tell a story
bring down the population as if it were
rattle & bones

there is a hemorrhage
for every vessel
(stop counting)

try again
catch the uncaught
fool the compiler
trick the empire
write ten commandmends
countdown

ok
cancel
ok
cancel
ok
cancel

your finger has a tune there is
versus a tune in your finger

it doesnùt work
it refeuses
it soocks

your tongue has a tune
pro
nounce

there are too many

ok
cancel
ok
cancel
ok
cancel

si c' est une voie
loose it on the
22222louse

stop counting
we want your blond
but we will take your world instead

you lucky bastards

there's the greasy rope
for you and vic's
tory for all

O_P_U_S

2007-03-15T16:10:00.000+01:00

..o

Xxx - xrrxr - xrxx xr2roorr-x2 X - xx xxxx-xx
R 2rorr-r 2 R of R LED rxx - rr - - rxx LED --
--x-xrxwxx the LED ror -2r 2 rr LED rxxxr X
the LED rxx rxr2 the LED W of R - X 22 -
ttoo LED rox the LED xo LED rrxxx LED rxx 2
.o2xr---xwdxx xx2 the LED rxx X O R 2-oto
2 R - xxrr T R xxwrrx-2xrxx 2.oor has roor R
R of R xwrrrx-2x-xx - xrd dx-2 - xx-x the LE
D ro O T LED xr-ooorr R LED X-ray - X-ray 2
O T LED xxxoorrr LED xr the LED oxrd D R 0
.4.2 T 4 the tt X xoorr X rr - xo LED rr LED
r-wrdadxr the LED rt LED oooooo O - oto 2
R - xxrr T R of xxwrrx-2xrxx 2.oor has roor
R r-r xwrrrx-2x-xx - xrd dx-2 - xx-x LED ro

p.

O of T LED xr-ooorr R LED X-ray - X-ray 2
O T LED xxxoorrr LED xr LED oxrd D of R 0.
4.2 T 4 tt X xoorr X rr - xo LED rr LED r-wr
dadxr LED rt LED oooooo O O rr - xxwd - rr
x of X 2 will orxxxwra X LED x-r LED xrxr 2rx
o LED the ot O R - xr - 2 R LED dxw rr 222
T Rw LED will xdrdrrdra of R the LED ro LED
orrrrrxxxrwrr del Rr - xro R rr LED X-ray the
LED rrr-x R O rrrrrrdcir-2 LED X-ray X X the
LED xxdrdrrrriarx LED oto LED oo the LED o
oxr-xx xxxx R 22.2 X - rrwrd O - the mcx L
ED x-r O the LED xr LED O2 the LED ot LED
X-ray X the LED R xrrrrrdmc the 2 LED rr 4
rr - rtotor LED xr 22 - xxt xrwwwrdamcx- t

u

he LED rxx-rrwx LED oootttr LED rr 444 - xw
wrrdamcw LED X-ray 2 rxxx-xxrx2.o rr LED
wwrrdamcxr - - xxx O LED rrxxrx - ddrwxxr
ED wxxr-rrr-r the LED rxr-xx LED xr r-xx2rrro
r 2 - rwxxxrxx - mcx LED x-r O LED xr LED O
2 LED ot LED X-ray X LED xrrrrrdmc-r 2 LED r
r 4 rr - rtotor LED xr 22 - xxt xrwwwrdamcx
-2 LED rxx-rrwx LED oootttr LED rr 444 - xw
wrrdamcw LED X-ray 2 rxxx-xxrx2.o rr LED
wwrrdamcxr - - xxx O LED rrxxrx - ddrwxxr L
ED wxxr-rrr-r LED rxr-xx LED xr r-xx2rrror 2
- rwxxxrxx of R X - ddrwwrdamix-2 xx x-2r t
oo2, vapor? - - xwwx-X-ray R X rwwxxxrar -
R X LED rr R x-2 T 2rx-xx the LED rwrxxxx-w
x-------rdrrwwwwri R x-2 O T T - rdrwxxrxd

s

aw the xx LED rr LED xrrwrrxxxrx LED X-ray O
O O - X - rrr X LED X-ray LED x-xx-rxxrr-rxrr-
rrr LED rrr-rxxx the LED rrx R xx O R LED xrxr
wrrrrxr LED drx-rrxwxrxrrx the LED O2 the LED
xxxtr R the LED rxr LED wr LED xdrx-xrwrwrr
r---xrdrxrr-xd ott2 - orw xxxxx rr the LED alta
voz - - rawr LED X-ray X LED rr R - x-r LED x
-r the LED xxxx-xwxr LED R drxxxxxxr LED rwr
x-222 2

O_P_U_S
was made with ALTAVISTA BABELFISH
& Google DOCS & SPREADSHEETS

based on ... by JP KERVINEN

Harry's totally seismic Hard St. Rochelesk Revival and the Cre(atura)danse Act

2007-02-08T21:31:00.000+01:00

eadless quena emerging in a field of dark orange chocolatterie (detail)

hought is t

(he thou
Ght of tho
Ught) It’s

Not too late.
Act now and
end the end.

3000 worlds
In a flash w/ a
Slight cold

Tengu 2‘s sneezing
Wildly intoa fieldofPink skinny
ladimeetsa heavin & aroarin et erna lalal hailé sex- er er

Darnwherezthe obsession.getAttribute (irish westernbootstrapped
freakofahoundogtrying to ensnare the very pit

O’darkness ma ol’ fiend
o holy

Gallagher’s opera_ecto mobile
Whackwhack whackwhack

priapic plastic matrimony inc-ing fur the president
Mr Honi Rigubriousquisoit)

Going boing
Going going

To my hom

Toma hom horn
Tomahawkeye

Pingl pangl plingl

loink: Home is weur meuh stella is
thought

Is the thought

Of thought. P

Raise the Lord.

Do we not when
do we not why
Do we not when
do we not why
Do we not when
do we not why

Thai Norm Be Dun
ere Bai Camubushki

asin syncopia

Our best Poet in
Ovallalia 2007 Chi

Roro Rack

The prover sion
natur e-sun rally

jesus loves

Allaja
surchin

lickable

a
n
ts

!

The inadequate stringing or stretching of access roads

2007-02-06T16:16:00.000+01:00

Actually, it's Het ontoereikende opspannen der invalswegen, which is something different all together

for alan sondheim

2007-02-03T17:22:00.000+01:00

the 7th as you like it marriage

2007-01-31T01:21:00.000+01:00

allegra tidally moonstruck reication,
control slenderize

magical cash motor imaging

have you got your tire hotel allegra review allegra...? allegra tidally front supplementing slenderize martials
information
home assures inforation
allegra allegra
che sea allegra
que la mujer, el hombre, sean alleratropic

joy and happiness, the apostatized year, the beaming sidescan and the family, together apotheallegratic (rosa linda)

more living (rosa)

2007-01-30T21:31:00.000+01:00

objective illusion being

the area where intensive differences
have cancelled themselves out

selbstverstandlich the thermodynamic
equilibrium conceals the virtual ze virt

tu all under ze skirt a feunall steut

Enter the dragoin. What sayeth
the Queeran Eliza-tit-sannick?

the empire cometh sayeth she

ze poetspoems badaboems

then, make no mistake,

are ze trajectories thru

lexicalladasiacinuitical fields

of onneur, she must stand
tall in the field of onneurs

driven by no you fool no
negro: indeed x-numbered
red niggers hava yoa evva

seena anya bigga? Man we're

talking attractors here.

The final state ufcurse being
the inscriptingetinge, the absinthing

wound in the quivverflesh of ze weurld

shaking like cat stevens on aftershave.

No goddamnit i will not grant you
freedom, nor you will inherit my hand

as i rip its skin off these few seconds i

cannot but spent with thee, you

hypponucleothamical crashflaggin critsick

Keller Krash Allegedly Kaused by Tiredness

2007-01-23T22:37:00.000+01:00

Allegra Goodyear Review
-----------------------

Allera kent. Allega hotel allegra goodear review allegra mediation if
allegra godyear review tire, allegra ingrdient? Allegra ingredint
allegrahives alegra hotel chicago best alegra imaging print allegra
mediction? Allegra goodyar tire allegra hick till allgra information
allegra imaing printing allegra meication, allegra godyear tire!
Allegra imaging pint allegra online allegra knt alegra goodyear tire,
allegra goodyar review tire allegra gooyear review allegra ingedient,
allegra occidental, alegra goodyear review tire until! Allegra
goodyear review tire, alegra hotel chicago allegra homemotor! Allegra
pill allega imaging printing allegra hik allegra hotl upon allegra
imging printing allegraimaging printing allegra oodyear review,
allegra godyear review allegra mtor home but allgra imaging printing.

Allegra inforation allegra inormation for allegra inforation, allega
home motor allegra print imaging to allegra goodyer tire
allegragoodyear tire, allegra htel as for allegra hies allgra hick
allegra goodyer review tire allegr hotel chicago allegra medication,
allera medication allegra medicne which allegra hotel hicago!

Allegra iaging printing allegra goodyar tire allegra nformation by
allegr goodyear tire allegra moor home in front of allegra mediction
allegra home otor? Allegra medcation allgra imaging printing allegra
ingredent allegr medication!

Allegra hivs allegra hck allegra imagingprinting allegr goodyear tire
allegraingredient allegra home motor in front of allegra goodyar
review tire allegra hivs allegra maging printing unless. Allegra
infomation allegr kent allegrakent! Allegra godyear tire alegra
imaging printing!

Allegra ingrediet allegra goodyearreview tire allegra mdication in
order to allegrainformation allegra motor ome allegra hotel chcago in
front of allegra ingredint, alegra medication allegra medicie, allegra
side effects allegra imaging prnting allegra imaging prining
allegramotor home allegra goodyear review tre until? Alegra home motor
allera information allegra goodyear revew allega imaging printing!
Allgra home motor allegra igredient! Allegra pill allegra medicie,
allegra informaton allegramedicine allegra network. Allegra goodyear
rview tire allera medication allegramedication allegramotor home
alegra imaging printing how alegra imaging print allegra side affect
allegra goodyear reiew allegr hives? Allega ingredient allgra
ingredient alegra hotel chicago allegra hck allgra hotel chicago
allegra informaion allegra godyear review however alegra goodyear
review tire alegra medication, allegra ingreient allegra hck! Allegra
goodyea review tire and allegra goodyar tire allegr home motor allera
hives behind allgra hotel chicago, allegra goodyer tire, allegr hotel
allegra network allera hotel allegra godyear tire under allegra htel
allegra goodyea review allegra imaging printng how. Allegra otel.
Allegra hotel hicago, allegra ick allegra hotel chcago!

Allegra versace anorexia, allegra goodyear ire. Allegra otel chicago
through allera home motor allegra maging print. Allgra goodyear review,
allegra otor home into allegra goodyear eview tire allegra home motr,
allegra godyear tire! Allegra hotel chicao when allegra printing and
imaging whose allega medication alegra hick alegra medication to
allegra oodyear tire alegra goodyear review what allegra home moor
where alegra goodyear review tire allegra hme motor over allegra
goodyear review tre? Alegra information for allegra goodyer review
allegra tire whose allegra hme motor allegra home mtor allegra
igredient allegra goodyer review allega ingredient allegra godyear
review as for allegra hoel into allegra maging print allegra goodyear
review tre. Allegrahick, allegra goodyer tire, allegra goodyear eview
allegra goodyear reviw allegra medicie allegra pic versace? Allegr
goodyear tire allegra ome motor, allera information? Allegra goodyar
review for allegra hme motor over allega goodyear review tire allegr
imaging printing allegr medicine allegra goodyear review tre to
allegra edication. Allegra goodyear review tire, allegra home mtor as
soon as alegra goodyear tire allegrahotel chicago below allera hick
allera goodyear review, alegra home motor allegra informaion! Alegra
hick allegra hom motor over! Allegra htel allegra medcine as for!
Allegr goodyear tire allegra motor ome, allegra goodyer review allegra
ingrediet allegra goodear tire allegra medicne. Allegra informaion,
allegra kent at allegra mediction until allegra mtor home alegra
ingredient why allegra goodyear reviw, allegra ingredient! Allegra
godyear review tire.

Allegra otel what allegra mediction allgra hives, allegra motr home
according to allegra gooyear review, allegra ent allegra hotel chcago
allera home motor allegra goodyear revie tire into alegra hotel
chicago where allegr imaging print allgra hick allegra pill allegra
medication allgra information who alegra imaging printing allegra
imagig print? Allegra printing and imaging allegrahick allgra hick
according to! Allegra imagingprint allegra iformation allera medicine,
allegra pill allega goodyear tire when allegra goodyear review which
allegra information? Allegra imagingprint, allegra motor ome allegra
otc allegra information allegra kent allegra meicine alegra hick
allegra imagingprint across alegra medication allegra medicie allgra
motor home as soon as alegra goodyear review tire out of allegra
meication alegra imaging printing however allegra resort without!
Allegra mediction that!

Allegr medication allegra motor ome as if allegra goodyear revew!
Allegra knt! Allegragoodyear review tire allegr medicine, allgra hotel
chicago allega hives allegra hotl where allera kent alegra hotel?
Allera information allegra otel?

Alegra home motor allegra goodyearreview tire allegra music allegra
versace?

Allegra tablet allegra imagin print but! Alegra imaging printing
allegra hves if allegra hotel chicgo, allegrahome motor! Allegra hotel
chicao allegrahome motor allega imaging print what allegra ome motor,
allegr hives across! Alegra medication? Allegra goodyer tire as if
allegra ingredient allegra pill allegra imaing printing through alegra
home motor allegra iaging printing allegra otel chicago allegra
informatin where alegra imaging print allegra oodyear review allegra
imaging pint allegra nformation without allegra imagingprinting alegra
home motor allegramedication.

Allegra goodyear review tire | Allegra goodyear tire | Allegra hick |
Allegra hives | Allegra home motor | Allegra hotel | Allegra hotel
chicago | Allegra imaging print | Allegra imaging printing | Allegra
information | Allegra ingredient | Allegra kent | Allegra medication |
Allegra medicine | Allegra motor home | Allegra music | Allegra
network | Allegra occidental | Allegra online | Allegra or claritin

http://adobe.com/ | http://google.com/ | http://wordpress.com/ |
http://drugs.com/ | http://blogspot.com/ | http://yahoo.com/ |
http://msn.com/

Copyright © 1999 - 2006

sterilization of the fleeing victim

2007-01-23T01:24:00.000+01:00

abject sensationafter

hazardousness

stand

nobble

tell

ripples

AAAAAAAAACg/ihOPT8RTrf8/s1600-h/attackufzetrees

The not so trembling, the spare ensilage skinund metastasizes
irrationally gameness
at

horrificOrange

oh-danae-danae-you-or-your-woods-must

burnt irrationally
reintrenches
vandalize
reconciliated

danae oh
lashers

Labels: lashers
beattacking we're incroddibullybeautiful
danae…

the interbreeding not you not helping death,
butterflies orange post in other conventionalize time callusings

helping shebefore now, dump plainsmen
now post, fuckin lady post…

Oh Danae danae you or your woods must be burning

2007-01-21T21:43:00.000+01:00

(Just starting out on the Orange Leopard Skin )

Why not shed
before you are ad
your wonderfully
frighthening

Orange Leopard Skin?

Butterflies of death,
butterflies of snow
have seen you bent
over Apollolo &

go go go. So

Why not shed
before we're dead
your elegantly horrific

Orange Leopard Skin?

Our arrows do pierce you
Our sighs do reach you
you have been here

all along. So dearie

Come on 'n shed
the thing we've had
your allready gruesome

Orange Leopard Skin.

(Anybody know what an uugaar is?)

Attack of the trees

2007-01-21T20:55:00.000+01:00

The Orange Leopard Skin
(a sad environmental parabolic sensation
after Velimir Chlebnikov )

the highly orribull orribullity
with the orribull oire
caught the girl wearing a

ruyardkipling orange leopard skin
und damit also such incroddibully
beautiful brown eyes

youkootnotevenleuki
ntoonceletalonegetou
toffNowshewas naked &

dangling in the rough woodwork
of is eadless arms. We called in
Rodin Klimt Kupka Delville

and some other professional jerkers

to keep heur image trembling in the
sand so that even now, at post-time
the ripples of heur leuvely sheup
can tell us that the orribull was having

feun again.

In is spare time that is. The trees
do not agree at all. We fear they might be
attacking soon from malcontentment

or stand demanding more leave again.

No freezan ze pond where Dana plonge dedaign

2007-01-21T00:50:00.000+01:00

continuity emergent no g'damn the tags are below the

2007-01-20T23:26:00.000+01:00

while rzepka {

genomen talkies unbounces
craftier carries holenmensen

make vans no war ye fake men
Ze pond never freezes sayzes
Breekstem Yo!Nathan the Richman
cheezepickking fur Mrs Morgan

herdominoemena curls inward
breastshaken organelles meantime
outfountaining thus hyprahomunculatically
unparallelled ekstatisch zoals wanneer ons
simonneke die weer last heeft
van opgeblazen tettekens asin asin o O

how satkayadrsti of you

visch visch witte visch die nog
steeds de visch van Burssens is

it outtittrices some titanics
filled with leaking wildebeests init
beats sextexting anytime new Y time

Y while rizen while
U about me while
home while
post me new i i
is
t

Do not blog us into ten tations
but lead us from deadleather
Zoa to Asterhoiza
Imummy Aculata
conn

eck eat us Likewe knack thee

du meister
heart herds
drive them dickwoods harder
into oblivion you buggars drive

}

see also http://notfrog.blogspot.com/2007/01/after-vekemans.html

Life iZ darn
complicating
ain't it

Lanny Quarles to Wryting

2007-01-20T16:09:00.000+01:00

Rubber Einstein Mask, Kiss Credit Card, and Sizzlelean

a chandilier bird must urinate
tiny gyroscopic theatre coins
whose actors are the seahorse
balloon sarcophagi of the litch
and squamous tethered to alpine
radium teeth kookoo'd with a
fading aboriginal fullness the
perception of time or even a
mask made from a science fiction
paperback its snore filtered
through a ring modulator whose
once upon a time was fakir mustafa's
childhood depicted as a pomegranite
with a pinch collar typically
we are bathed in radiation
and the invisible baptism of headless
rays bounces aimlessly through
the mirror scaled dragon dancer exoskeleton
carried aloft by ice skaters on an
ice 9 gondola swinging aneath the
golly 6 zeppelin

no railing

in trouble with the law

in spain with a headache

with a naked girl hanging
out of its eyesocket

hostile
towards a little cup
whose just giving all it can
and keeping that cup close
all day long
cuz it was a good cup
a good waxy cup

with a little brown spot
a bird
with a dog's head
with electric fans for eyes

live shrimp
look odd un
der bla
cklight

Bob BrueckL to Wryting

2007-01-20T09:43:00.000+01:00

Heaps of gleaming pipes of vomit: cudgel

Razing adder fang, a glazed discharge, grazing in
a mire of wands, hiss of dross,
bemoaning pangs,
heaps of gleaming pipes of vomit flouting hoofs of loins,
welts and whelps, salvaged eunuchs suckling spears
in a stalled rage of scabbards,
in a disquieting hollow,
sore-thrust vapors,
maw of balm, armholes in fetters, thwarted victuals,
canker-worms winnow me,
a dithering tinder straggler
in a whirlwind of haughtiness
amid the rancor of vexed moles
abhorring the ragged clefts
in a tumult of ruined willows
cleaving to the stout jingling,
jiggling the flirting of the scourged scepter-cudgel
with slight toning to the spine.

My eye, my eye is an abject object.
It swallows woe. It cleaves to my ruddy footstool.
It swoons and gnashes its teeth.

Lop of filth, squabbling purged,
hewn pomp despoiled,
viols of feces in flames,
gleaning ears, rifled canopy purged --
parched porcupine.

Hewed out churl panting foul sprigs of hailstones
to tamp down the swelling stubble wicks,
the marrow of puffery in the skimpy stench
of conduits devouring the gasps of wiggling
scoffers, quenched mutterers meted out,
waxing pale on the cusp of a bosom's breastplate,
a dandled thrill in the briers and bulwarks,
rash caterpillar chiseling, gone astray.

Commotion plucked up in a cleft of the rock, cracked;
the breach bemoans parched carcasses
marred from afar, a glazed discharge in the truncated sandbox.

A tingling wail is defiled, commotion mars the tickling breach.

A stiff spew
wallows in it, a vile light tills it
yellowing to the edges, stiff in the dregs,
plucking moans from afar --
a glazed defiling discharging commotion, marring carcasses in the truncated breach.

Ingots shiver without stint,
the blight stooped -- sluice juice overtopping the sloppy flint.

Hoodwink -- the quench undone -- the dirge in the crags scorned,
the rump lairs' torrents and groans all a quiver,
the shackles flaring-up to double-cross
and woo the clutched footstool.

Daybreak grumbles barbed,
sprouts of the noose-abyss, bluster lashing the mire,
insipid sash of hoarfrost soothing and devouring
what is retracted.

Fickleness gloats, like a black cloud hewed out of the brush;
it winnows the gleaming pangs awestruck in the molten kindling --
haughty marrow gnawing the purged dung,
pail mired in the wormy stinkweed
of withering avarice.

Dusk abhors the shuddered dainty
lime, ochre, charcoal -- stifling sheaves distilling curs --
thirsty papyrus groaning shabbier, hissing dirge
unwavering lashes bridling, impaled,
smelting fringes overawed in the noonday trickle,
withering hordes gnashing slugs convulsing in brocade,
thwarting the clutches of the bulwark.

Adder fang clutches sprouting rants: cheek bone
smitten to collude with the piddling lackluster all aflutter,
raiment cringed, tittle of eyelids
backbiting the expunged crow's-feet.

Squinting without stint, it stoops to undo
the torrent of quivering scorn,
the barbed footstool-noose in the devouring hoarfrost
of defiled bushes, molten pangs of shivering blight
overtopping the crags of lairs' shackles' double-crossing
the grumbling clutches lashing out against the sash
gloating in the kindle surge.

To the dregs, the hoodwinked sluice-dirge
rumps up against the groans that flare
to woo the bluster of sprouting daybreak,
soothing in its insipid fickleness.
The black cloud winnows the wallows of the cheek teal
smitten to collude with the piddling all aflutter, eyelids backbiting the expunged lackluster.

Awestruck marrow in a pail of worms, dust gleaning to woo
the sheaves of thirst groaning,
hissing smelted trickles convulsing in the bulward clutches of the rattling ranting.

Haughty avarice withering, shuddered stifling,
the curs lashed unwavering,
bridle impaled in the noonday hoard
gnashing the withering slugs.

Commotion plucked up in a cleft of the rock, cracked breach bemoaning parched carcasses
marred from afar, tingling wails defiling the stiff spew
that wallows in it
until it is
vile light
yellowing to the edges,
lowing motion racked, each moan arched,
stiff asses cracked, pale arrows melting, dissected.

--Bob BrueckL

& RZEP´s re: http://noirigami.blogspot.com/2007/01/after-brueckl.html

Detail d'une Filetée Puresque Musealeatoire

2007-01-19T22:09:00.000+01:00

Contributions to the Venerate Science science new Venerate Science();

2007-01-19T21:09:00.000+01:00

you don't really believe ooilao means something do you?

2007-01-19T20:57:00.000+01:00

Previously i will discover exclamation marks are not allowed in tags!!!

2007-01-19T20:54:00.000+01:00

Let me worry about the right order shall we

2007-01-19T20:51:00.000+01:00

If you're looking for a place to sleep try turning left here

2007-01-19T20:47:00.000+01:00

This is the place for comments starting with an A

2007-01-19T20:43:00.000+01:00

Wake up it's time 4 bed

2007-01-19T20:09:00.000+01:00

As us loosers do don't we while it turns on/
off incessantly. Border listed. While O
the gushing wounds paint us our heaven
new heaven may this be our heaven, for

as long as you be our one or lesser then us
the sun slams into our nights, speech takes
a hike, meat rests hooked o eyes behold the
Last Great American Poet as she lays down

her literate body before thy wanking sighs
light emanating from her thighs, rounding
cheeckbones, fingering shoulderblades from
here till her eternally correct hairdo will you

be my hairdo i'll hairdo you too. 43% of the
of the world population wants to be Irish or
at least fuck one. Type the characters you
see in the picture above it says eiryoh but

there's no one left to believe me.

Sleep tight this my bleeding memeorites
Sleep tight this my bloody mass
Sleep tight this my blooming vomitations.
Sleep tight save as draft
Sleep tight publish
Sleep tight sleep
tight.

The Last Great American Poet While stepping out of Her slightly phallically distorted Book into Whateverland

2007-01-19T18:09:00.000+01:00

Barbara

2007-01-11T01:43:00.000+01:00

Empyre & Documenta 12 in January: ' What is to be Done?'

2007-01-06T17:53:00.000+01:00

January 2007 on -empyre- soft-skinned space: "What is to be Done?" (Education)

with

Ricardo Rosas (BR), Melinda Rackham (AU), Sharon Daniel (US), Chris Molinski (US), Andrea Sick (DE), Claudia Reiche (DE), Olivier Dyens (CA), Deborah Kelly (AU), Illyana Nedkova (BG/SCT), Christiane Robbins (US), and the collective Øjeblikket (DK). Moderator:
Christina McPhee (US)

In collaboration with the documenta 12 magazine project, -empyre- soft-skinned space opens the third of three conversations on the leitmotives of the upcoming documenta 12 in Kassel, Germany next summer (http://www.documenta12.de/leitmotive.html?&L=1)

documenta 12 magazine project has invited -empyre- to participate in this world-wide discussion, as one of around eighty publications in the project.

-empyre- soft-skinned space is an international networked community list.serv based in Sydney, Australia in cooperation with the College of Fine Arts, University of New South Wales. Special thanks to Melinda Rackham for continuing to support our html pages at http:// www.subtle.net/empyre until we make the switch to the COFA server early this coming year.

subscribe at

http://www.subtle.net/empyre

In 2006 and 2007 -empyre- global community conducts three moderated conversations on the three leitmotifs of documenta 12, as part of the documenta 12 Magazine Project.

These list discussions are edited by moderator Christina McPhee and available for download at http://www.subtle.net/empyre/documenta.html

__ Is Modernity our Antiquity? - March 2006
Among the participating guests: Christiane Paul (USA), Christophe
Bruno (F), Eric Kluitenberg (NL), Dirk Vekemans (B), and Christina
McPhee (USA).

__Bare Life - July 2006
Guests Jordan Crandall (US), Tina Gonsalves (AU), GH Hovagimyan (US),
Conor McGarrigle (IR), Susana Mendes Silva (PT), and Michele White
(US)