Friday, July 30, 2010

HIT LIST, by Jason Snierson (Entertainment Weekly, #1114, August 6, 2010)



1. Kate Gosselin reportedly to go camping with Sarah Palin in Alaska


There are amazing ways to be avant-garde. To cake too shallow to cake to shallow the other shallow cake my cake my caw my mother made this cake too shallow.


2. Brangelina settle suit against U.K.’s News of the World, which claimed couple had split


Little things to remember, as they come up from time to time and it’s best to remember them so you don’t look stupid. Rosebud was a sled.


3. Inception No. 1 at box office two weeks in a row


I used to care a lot about the atomic bomb, and now I hardly ever think of it. I used to care a lot about Shelley Winters dying in The Poseidon Adventure, and now I hardly ever think of it. I used to care a lot about trucks and being hit by trucks and riding in trucks and maybe even driving a truck but now I don’t. I don’t believe in trucks anymore.


4. Police discover drugs on Bret Michaels’ tour bus


You see it is difficult to describe what other people are doing, they’re doing it so well.


5. Mad Max 4 shoot delayed after rains turn Aussie dust bowl into green pasture


They say the they that should unite. Unbearable beneath the grass. The best but the which that is without. A quiet moment, to teach the time. The hover of cover that covers us and is hard to say. Which is it. The last or the greatest best century. Our future holds mumbles in our mouths and we gag on the tongue that talks to us. So now we stop, so now we say, so now we almost cry.


6. A month after quitting acting, Amanda Bynes tweets that she’s “unretired”


I don’t even know who this woman is. She is not my mother, my sister, the countless women I work with. She never brought me a cup of coffee, or a hamburger. I have never dated her as I don’t date women, and Amanda seems to be an explicitly feminine name, so I make the assumption that she is female. And, in thinking of any response to her name, I admit her name is familiar. How many names do we know yet do not know the likeness, the what-is, the what is not imagined.


7. Luke Wilson’s porn drama Middle Men to include orgy


I used to go to orgies. They’re awkward.


8. Fox to release Family Guy’s infamous unaired abortion episode on DVD this fall


There is nothing funny about abortion. Unless you mean being asked to pay for it.


9. Lindsay Lohan placed in jail cell next to thief connected to gang that burglarized her home


The old houses we select never match our idea of home. That temporal thing, the forged steel and wrought iron. The dogwood tree in the front yard. The mailman never brings you boxes of mice like he used to. The salad girls never sing. This dump, this cipher, swelling open like arms to call you Jezebel. A sigh that seems belated.


10. Mosquito flies into mouth of Taiwanese news anchor on air, sending her to hospital


Will or will for a price.

The Shaw Report, by Jessica Shaw (Entertainment Weekly, #1114, August 6, 2010)









IN

FIVE MINUTES AGO

OUT

Plus

Minus

Christ

The Paris Review

The Paris Review

The Paris Review

Who the fuck knows anymore

Flarf

The New Sentence








Monitor (Entertainment Weekly, #1114 - August 6, 2010)


EXPECTING


Touchy, yet something sparks, and yet the feeling is indifferent to the fuzz on her belly so much so it feels like feathers. The unbearable pain will be coupled with something like joy, at first, lost, and felt again, in time.


MARRIED


Two by two by two by two by three. once, by two by two they don’t know one another anymore they’re too two.


APOLOGY


“In saying the historic metrics of garbage resound the foul, I failed to mention that there were other things, less negative in the view of runaway horses, and I will attempt to re-do them to reflect the color of the new skies.”


This is an apology for what? My body?


And, yes, the penis always points forward - to create, upward - to get away, or down - to just be left alone, thanks.


COURTS


We went all the way out. We wanted to hear the reasons. For his part, he said he didn’t have a thing to say other than “not guilty”. He was guilty. He was a Mt. Fuji of guilty. You can’t see a damn thing out here, and he knows it, so his demands for more blankets are rewarded, even though he’s sitting on so many blankets.


She says he isn’t guilty too. She says this with a full belly, satisfied by dinner (she had two chicken breasts and a side of rice). She pats it, her belly as she says this, like a baby yet to be born.















BIRTHDAYS


Hilary Swank, 36

July 30


Christopher Nolan, 40

July 30


J.K. Rowling, 45

July 31


Mary-Louise Parker, 46

August 2




Wednesday, July 28, 2010

“City Body” in/sinking Observations [So, we can leave The City alone]








"Our Simplest Form, was when you Embraced me, in the Morning, under the Sheets"
- Boris Izsus

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



I


Acute, to------>Sink for a time, on the outskirts of the City, we accept a strange word----->Bodysinking them answered, The Ambassador of a Secreting Library, a handful of seeds, with a flame, as a bubble, to swarm unquestionably-----à& then, the ravaged elements------->The Body exceeds attraction, The Great trip/up of Speech, Sinking-------->Grief then, is the puncture in, not of, the needle thrust--------->Thus, the Sickening Stir of the Universe & Centering the Foot in a Swim of Sinking at the closing of 1980, I tangled in the store window caught is my Reflection.


Thus:


1. Everything which Remains, remains to be a soon-to-be Figure of the Subject to Destruction

2. I too acknowledge, the Tightening Abrasion of the Faces peering out from The EL Train

3. & along the Tracks at Night, perhaps this/is my Damming.

4. Deposit me there, in those Faces, a means to Completion.

5. Or: I love so much, so much.

6. & I am slowly Working on my Way to a Sinking within a City Built on a Swamp


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


II


1. Sometimes, I imagine a violent form of Seeing you; an engulfing of the Face, consumed, in the Sink.

2. The image of this, through a Hole, which I wish to squeeze the entirety of The Body into, we Sink.


To touch the Body, itself, might be objectionable, taking an Affect as Property. That is why, I come to you, in a Brutal Kiss we Sink, for the Body itself, is no Singular Pantomime, I Sink---------->Thus to manipulate, in a possible new restraint: Sinking is the ultimate Object of The Action. Frozen lumps of earth, whose mouth begin to blossom, slowly of a Sinking in Hunger.


1. Thus, Scupper me, on which, I Sink

2. Sums, a stostovian, combustion, carumbling


The Face, smashing against, opening itself, under the Feet, through a single Blow. Methods of Sinking then reduce to a visible Event, carrying it all out, in a Split Second, we Sink. To bring us both down, to Apply the Abstraction itself. Wearing a black veil then, we remain barefoot, remain closer to the ground, gnawing upon the Primitive I wish to fucking announce.

.

The insignificance of the Face I trace with my fingertips, my Face is cold paw & in the Trial of the Structure of my Pulse, I witness in a Grid you behind, descending slowly upon me & it is then while scraping my cheek raw, that I announce: the terrifyingly distinct Map of my Face, leaves me burning here in Desire to explode the fuck out.


1. But honestly, I don’t remember that.

2. But I do remember studying my Face longing for a transformation that could begin within my expanding Mouth, sinking.


III


My Face shakes, from The Top of the Head on down, when Aroused or the Cramping in the Chest which suggests,


there is a Bumper to Bumper Tension Building in the Body.


1. Thus to Awaken is still Improbable.

2. It’s the saliva of the amorous.

3. Not here, the weather inside is a poor man dreaming of a worker’s comp

4. We’re all left dreaming on some floor of the hospital

5. & last night we danced while Chicago was throat deep in a flood

6. & after the words, the Warning

7. I remembered nothing but the lake in youth

8. In which I Floated & I did not Swim & sank down instead paw


IV


Now, that this/is personal in/sight, denotes----------->I am not Desiring to be a Representation” puts into Play a Question of Personal Revelations, to recondition the General Movement sought in the Other Forms to the Point, I study myself Flexed in sadsack Glory in which you came against this Contorting Space of my Form, which diagrams before you the Articulation------->All I have Sought, I have been” stalking the City in my Dogged Delight more or less or, more or Less this Vanquished in Short upon the History of my Life as a Dog is of Geography, sinking.


Thus----------------------->to Despise the need for a Subject, Arrest



V


Presuppose now, my use of Exercise for Personal Arousal the Resultant Series of Obscurations in which The Doctor’s tell me to “Lay Down”—&—“Tuck it all Back in” which is more Abstract than needs to be thus--------->I Object, this Gradual Incline Expunged along the Thickening Thorough of my Body that Appears Daily in the Crowd, abhorred to Feast upon Others Feasting upon, The Digests our Ambiguous History which retraces, Defines in Sketches the Outward Advance in fact, this all is Reduced to a Promise which I have been unable to Avoid: This Searching in an Order of Filing away a Tension while being Directed, aggressively as a Subject, is a Form purely of a terrorfoundation to articulate the Experience of this Body, rooted itself in sludge. Thus, performing in the Shallow Space in which the Body, pulls it’s Weight of Hymns as Irreducible Sedimentations or, Mammoth Congestions or, a Forgotten Dimension in which to Attempt the Eventual Agony of the Starting-Point, in which to Escape from the Incarceration of the bodylimits along the Skin, Shitting itself of the Hast External Demands in which you Lay, upon me, from whence I appeared to you in Doubt & turned to Witness, “We didn’t Exist” here, in this World which was Sleeping Serenely over the Rumble of the Bound us to Down to, each Bound to the Back, O’ how we had been Bound Down.


Thus------------------>what a Paradoxical Dick-Release


Thus, to be always, Open from the Voice on Down, traversing this Act of Pillaging the Parts or, I’ll sink as soon as I Sink, the Sinking imposed upon my chestsink. The Problem of this Insidious & Threatening Reduction to a mere Question before The Eyes denotes---------->I Sink” thrō the Field I Sink or reflexively disappear in a Sinking Determination of the Whole Landscape wields itself embedded in a Shriveled-Up Man, sinking & inverted upon a Shadow the Non-Elastic, I’m Sinking---------->towards a Blurred Projection of out the Ground or, endman on the Horizon, on the Background, absorbed in an Endless littleswhittlepittle Mutter.


V



Thus, my Conception of the City which is Silent, which is a Darkness that Sinks right Across Me.

Short Lecture On Nothing (naming names I called you names)




Nothing happens all the time and I’m angry------------------------->Anger is not the opposite of love, it is the curve of it. Like how I am angry because I am so loving. Anything anything the beginning of anything, how happens and is happening this anything anytime. The choice of things happening is nothing to be angry about------>It is yes of course exactly like this that is if I say it is. Exactly----------------->This brings us back to nothing. I wish I could say I remember last year. But I remember nothing as it happened, it never really happened one way, or two, and that way that I remember it is nothing, it’s mine. I may change sides, I may look less stupid, I may smile or frown more, depending on the day I decide to remember and how I remember it. This is fact. Did if they or well enough they said I did I’ll remember it that way differently. A picture will remember for me but I won’t even remember the picture I look so different in it. There are so many bites of photos-------------------------->To talk about photography is to be boring, like talking about math. By using words we’re just talking about words. And the photo laughs at us, nestled in the next room looking in the mirror. The photograph has nothing to say, so it poses. It doesn’t even know a thousand words. It just poses and means and is mean about it. You could alter it with a name, but it’s like if you named your german dog “Fritz” that doesn’t make him Fritz Lang--------------------->He’s still just a dog with a bed and a bowl and a name, or sound, that it comes to. Not that he does anything better or worse for it. I am the only me I know of, no others share my name. While this makes me unique it makes me uniquely un-unique. I share the same first name with many others, my middle name is my fathers as is my last name. The three separately are nothing, together they provide a serial that makes me another person, just easier to find when searching archives. I often wish my name was Grover Benjamin Coma. If you could name yourself, what would it be----------------------------------->If the opposite of love is indifference, then by not calling me something, anything at all, does that hurt more or less. Does that unspoken nothing linger in the room as if you had spoke-------> And yet, we re-name ourselves everyday, as we re-name our memory, our dreams, our talk. This I add with which what I wish to add. A terrycloth monster. One never wins the favor of another by killing it. It is all they know how to do and go to bed and dream of marionberries. Another dream punches them and they go about lifting the sheets and smelling shit. The life of a named thing-------------------------->This is named---------------------------->But it is like what you name a photograph, by describing what is pictured in it, by doing the job of the photograph for it. To sneeze is to say “sneeze” with abstract sound but we all know what you’re talking about------------------------------------------>Do well in the meantime not with what will mean but what meaning means meant to you begged out a little bit at a time and given the best description you can make of it, there’s no image too nothing but nothing itself. If I describe nothing, I’m describing something very real, since it’s named and by being named must be something. My body is in fright and I call it fright but it’s got other names surely that are more clinical. To take an interest in something is to love it------------------------>There is not a doubt so call it doubt and see where that gets you. Hysterical taxing of the body as a charge against nature it’s nature’s own little joke, you little punchline you. I could never believe, as she says, that I could not happily deceive you-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->The way she stands, crosses the room, and stands again is a flag against waving she’s not waving she’s drowning you. She’s sitting you down for a little chat about protein and fungus and fugues. She’s damning you, but nicely--------------------->To name it is to own it, so we name everything we can get our hands on----------------------------------->And things are always on their way, in a way and in a way we’re all pleasant bus and train rides away from someplace else we need and/or want to go. This place is both safe and not safe because it is this world. I never classify anywhere here as really unsafe, as that’s a body here that is unsafe to live in. Not anywhere outside. If, for instance, someone were to stab me on the street, it’s not him, or the street or the knife that is unsafe. It’s my body’s ability to bleed----------------------------------->And, as he says, if I were to hold my severed head in my hands, would it be my “I am being held by my body” or “I am holding my head”-------------------->It is here and a color and I liked it that color enough to call it red---------------------------------------------->(This is a paraphrase from a picture with words)--------------->The body is narcissistic by nature. It wants to be the most glowing thing in a room. It strives to be astringent to the mind and weaken its resolve. Out now, by the outside held inward as if it were a secret it’s so not a secret----------> And the emotion now looking back backwards at you and that’s got no name, like if we called everybody “people” when we saw them on the street and said hello: “Hello People, how are you. Is your people okay. Okay, that’s great. Good seeing you People!”--------------------->And, yes, sometimes things are just how they are and that’s only because we call them that way. I can take a shit on the floor and say “I wrote a novel”. I can cut my hair and say “I cut my toenails”. Or, likewise, I can say “I have a hurt and it hurts like crazy” when someone said I looked a little pouty---------->How do you explain a dream that doesn’t make sense to anyone. Do you dream it without words. Do you name it as you dream it and then forget the words by morning, there were never any words there to begin with---------------->It is like this, I suppose: I never know what date they say when they say the word they mean as date---------------->You can pack up a strangeness too neatly and this expression can be picked up at a later date and maneuvered into something else, something more human than this body is capable of and yet is always subjective and this body, as a body does, and is, a failure. The body as inevitable weakness, as a solid sack of potatoes always growing their doom. A body like yours and mine and theirs. A body named as a body, and in being so, being damned to die.

Take a picture. No need to name it.

It’ll last longer.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Mis-typed Poem By Wallace Stevens (with footnotes)




Smuyhijnh Id Nrsuyigul Ig Yiy Dsy Iy Id


Imfrt yjr ;rhlsnyimr

Yhr gtrgul[1] vonvubimr

Dsoof “ Ojonn$ Ojoo$”

Dhr ehidprtrf “Ohgh$”


Yjr Frmo=nomfr

Pm yjr nrddonomr[2]

Dsif ;Oojry@; roo

Smf s “Jrh=fo=U=fo@”


Rge vee nay jsbr sll derry[3]

got jid jonru-jibr-i.

grom the rgslinyimr=o,


Smf yrj vhsmfolirtd str nrsy, , ,

buy tjrit minhion. mstnidh glstiry[4]

Er str bolf, yjr [sttoyd vtirf.

Im a olace do frbomsit.


Rjr Hojsnidnrthrt, Jsmd

U kive yhe berrek fraoes,

Yjr tudyly nsyyyrt djsprd[5]

Ig yjr irstd snf ig yhr vhrrdr.


Smf yjr einfoe;d lrmom lohjy[6]

Tjr brtu eill og yjr merbes.

Yjr vtsvk svtidd yhr psinr

Yhr firt skibh thr fukk.








[1] There is fear somewhere here. I do not respect the function of this room.

[2] There is no room for us here on the mezzanine or even on the 2nd floor.

[3] I imagine you still taste as sweet.

[4] How you play your marbles like music, simple yet melodic.

[5] Your father is rusty, your mother busty, and you look like neither of them at all.

[6] This cake is lemon and has always been lemon. Your strawberries are stupid.