Tuesday, August 03, 2004
GO!
Emerge into the abyss, the heart of this eternal
City as it rises on the slopes of its inhabitants'
Mediaeval imagination, horned and rusty and
Drunk with stupor, unwittingly causing its own
Demise, returning
Step out of this cleavage, take the steam
Train across the ocean, land somewhere in the
Carribean, on a cricket pitch or at some stage of
The never-ending revolutions of Jamaica.
The sun descends slowly on this blue-green ball as
It revolves around itself and around the big ball of fire
Fuelling the machine connecting fingertips to
Eyeballs
Leave your locality -- only to return, an endless
Coming-back to the site of your
Emergence
from lit-id (http://www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html)
On 1 Aug 2004 at 18:57, Mike Geary wrote:
> WOE!
>
> by Czeslaw Milosz
>
>
> It is true, our tribe is similar to the bees.
> It gathers honey of wisdom, carries it, stores it in honeycombs.
> I am able to roam for hours
> Through the labyrinth of the main library, floor to floor.
> But yesterday, looking for the words of masters and prophets
> I wandered into high regions
> That are visited by practically no one.
> I would open a book and could decipher nothing
> For letters faded and disappeared from the pages.
> Woe! I exclaimed -- so it comes to this?
> Where are you, venerable ones, with your beards and wigs,
> Your nights spent by a candle, griefs of your wives?
> So a message saving the world is silenced forever?
>
> At your home it was the day of making preserves.
> And your dog, sleeping by the fire, would wake up,
> Yawn and look at you -- as if knowing.
>
> * * * * * *
>
>
> GAUDE!
>
> by Mike Geary
>
> I don't know how wasps find their nests.
> and I can't even imagine the nose maps of dogs,
> or how willow roots know in dark dirt where water is.
> There's an explanation for these things I know,
> for nothing happens but Law allows it.
>
> A missile rises out of the sea and sails
> a thousand miles to it's target,
> a sudden end to everything therein.
> No mystery here. We've a calculus for this.
> All the world should be as advanced as us.
>
> I don't know what 'knowing 'means.
> Quite unexpectedly my heart races,
> my breath deepens, I feel confused --
> all at the sight of you. I don't know why,
> but my body must. Mind is body shouting: "Gaude!"
Saturday, July 17, 2004
Book review by Diderik Humble jr.
Author and poet Diderik Humble jr. submitted the following as per boook review of Milan Kundera's Igorance. It takes an ignorant...
It is up for consideration by the Utopos Book Review Council, 15 Parlsey Street, Sussex. And I will say this only once: Any notes of queries should be addressed to them.
Editorially,
phatic
***
A Last Sermon for Milan Kundera
Communism didn't collapse, Milan. Regimes self-identifying as state socialist crumbled and dissappeared. In most of the so-called communist bloc. But even that statement can't be generalized, Milan. Belo-Russia still self-identifies as such. What about Cuba? What abut the so-called welfare states, or mixed economies (admittedly crumbling to the pressures of capital interest), those places where reformism managed to crush the revolutionaries? What about North Korea, China? What about the millions of underprivileged that live in my flower pots under the weight of five hundred suns?
What about the dreams of your youth, Milan? Do you remember what team you supported before you resigned to the advice of bookmakers? Do you remember how the blood flowed in your veins, Milan, when you realized that this here world is conjunctive? Do you think, Milan, that you were the only one to make your observations?
Do you feel lonely and abandoned now, Milan, or do you hope for the redemption in a mortal community of cowards? Do you really believe that they will save your memory? Will they remember their own betrayal as they will remember yours?
For there is something to glean from your writing, Milan Kundera.
Betrayal.
Linkage
Sometimes when you stroll the streets of Catmen Town or attend a conference of confederates, you notice a link. It retrieves in you the memory of dismemberment, when your arm was just an arm, and your eyes may have been drifting around it, detached. It may have been your older brother before he was flushed down and left to retention.
Anyway, sometimes you are reminded you are not, in fact, a tourist in this place. You may be wearing your fancy shirt, or you might be waiting for someone. Perhaps you are on your way home from work, the path you've been walking so many times, you've forgotten its pathness. And then all of a sudden you remember that once this path was foreign to you, before it became a part of you, taken for granted like your old cup of Joe.
Some people say it's your personal god, your chi, that is attending to you. Others call it a kind of telepathic energy, insisting, perhaps, on the divisibility of bodies.
They don't know about your older brother, buried in some sewer, returned, purified, to the waters that serve as a source for your morning shower.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
clubbing
act!
imagine the role to perform
perform the role to imagine
t-shirt (green)
front print: same same
back print: but different
tractions
planes for landing, sirens
traces of violated Phusis
audible frictions of acts designed to relive pressure
extend the system of body parts, re-bundle nerves
CROSS the corpus collosum
transverse the stadium, battlefield
track the symptoms of presence
follow either trace of the whiffletree
notes for tractions
traction:
1. The friction between a body and the surface on which it moves (as between an automobile tire and the road)
2. (orthopedics) the act of pulling on a bone or limb (as in a fracture) to relieve pressure or align parts in a special way during healing
syn: adhesive friction; grips
type: frictions, pullings, pulls, rubbings
tract:
1. an extended area of land
2. a system of body parts that together serve some particular purpose
3. a brief treatise on a subject of interest; published in the form of a booklet
4. a bundle of nerve fibres following a path through the brain
(types: athletic field, battlefield, corpus callosum [A broad transverse nerve tract connecting the two cerebral hemispheres])
transverse:
1. Extending or lying across; in a crosswise direction; at right angles to the long axis
(syn: cross, crossing, thwartwise, transversal)
trace, noun:
1. a just detectable amount
2. a clue that something has been present
3. a suggestion of some quality
4. drawing created by tracing
5. either of two lines that connect a horse's harness to a wagon or other vehicle or to a whiffletree
trace, verb:
1. follow, discover or ascertain the course of development of something
2. make a mark or lines on a surface
3. to go back over again, as of a route or steps
4. pursue or chase relentlessly
5. discover traces of
6. make one's course or travel along a path; travel of pass over, around, or along
7. copy by following the lines of the original drawing on a transparent sheet placed upon it; make a tracing of
8. read with difficulty
whiffletree:
1. A crossbar that is attached to the traces of a draft horse and to the vehicle or implement that the horse is pulling
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