Thursday, October 28, 2010

Who made the Baluba the storm?







This morning I was thinking of the Godoy brothers whom I was watching from the roll-out deck of the Clown Ramp at Bachman Lake. Some sort of missionary, or to be more precise, a Christian going out to 'witness' had said something to them, and they had taken his bible from him, and they were tossing it back and forth over his head, and had the man in tears. But what was even funnier, or sadder, or more disturbing, is that for nearly an hour before this they had tormented a fat skater kid in much the same way, and the kid was even their friend, by taking his pants. Now I have seen alot of things like this. I have talked with completely obliterated spray paint sniffing junkies about Mick Jagger, Lucile Ball and the CIA. I have almost become one of those people by pure chemical accident on several occasions. I can remember meeting a really nice, but really strange and extremely poor and raggedy clothes'd skater one time, who I later was told out of despair put his legs on a train track as a method of suicide but survived. Our neighbors across the street in the 80's had a son who cut both his hands off in a band-saw. His father had to chase him and they sewed his hands back on. These were the banal and commonplace events of everyday contemporary life in 1980's America, and I've got more. Beheadings, cripplings, I have found suicided people. Their not too bereaved parents have offered me their clothes. I have taken free cologne from the parents of suiciders. I have known junkies, thieves, geniuses, and some of them were well known in their circles. I mowed the lawn of an old schitzophrenic woman for a time in my wee youth and used to listen to her repeat the stories of thought removal, and conspiracy, see the cardboard she had taped over the electrical outlets in certain rooms. I have listened to crazed schizophrenic Viet Nam veterans talk about "experimental cows." I have been diagnosed myself as schitzo-affective at the end of that decade, but was able to skrekk and wah-shing myself out of the prisons of those determinations. I have known artist alchemist drug chefs who would curl your toes just to be next them because of their weird and skanky mien. 


In High school, I wrote a strange concatenation of fantasy and comment called _Harley Stekbone: The Butcher's Illegitimate Son_ whose antagoniste's name was Edgar and who became a kind of all-pervasive Moriarty to the nascent and indecipherable plot-line which involved a deformed yet prodigal monster named Harley Stekbone whose father was a butcher, and whose mother was a werewolf. Harley was born with a full set of teeth imbedded in his forehead which were luminous. In highschool, I was writing about a protagonist with illuminated forehead teeth. :) It figures. I still have the handwritten MSS, such as it is. And it is odd, for example

to read this morning of a comparison on Isola di Rifiuti between a certain section of Ez Pound (which I cannot find even using the Terrell's) and the Tom O'Bedlam sections of King Lear. But it wasn't Lear where I first ran onto TO'B, but on the back cover blurb of my first copy of Kenneth Patchen's _The Journal of Albion Moonlight_ which reads:

Inspired by one of the finest lyrics in the English language, the anonymous pre-Shakespearean Tom O'Bedlam:

"...By a knight of ghosts and shadows
             I summoned am to tourney
             Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end-
             Methinks it is no journey..."


and then continues:


Kenneth Patchen sets off on an allegorical journey of his own[...]


Which to my ear all starts to sound like my own coinage, and one of which I have a certain pride, namely Syntaxis. Syntaxis 'denotes' 'a semiotic impetus to movement', and since semiosis extends to the physical substrate including both the biological and, further, to the chemical and atomic levels of granularity, Syntaxis ordains a sort of hyper-discipline which includes the vicissitudes of both conscious and unconscious material processes. Syntaxis would then conceive of materiality as an object whose transformations are performed by subjective relations within its compositional elements. Now this is isn't anything new. Everybody knows this, but,
there is some blindness to the fact that there is a great deal of reflexive symbolism about it that isn't conscious of itself, ie, The simple idea that if Life's journey is thought's journey, then isn't that sort of the ultimate revolutionary conception? If Life and thought are one, then, in a poetic sense, in a Shakespearean sense, the Universe could be
As You Like It. Notice the subtle glossing Latte' does over sonic iconism in the selection:


And Awoi’s hennia
plays hob
k-lakk . . . . . . thuuuuuuu
      making rain
      uuh
      2, 7, hoooo
      der im Baluba



He says only: and that the verse is imitating this disturbance. But what is odd to me, is that
this selection is profoundly unpoetic. And it is profoundly closed up into itself, or at least
that's seemingly why the uncomprehending newspaper person chose it?


But really it makes a pretty good case for syntaxis itself, ie the idiotic birds have no idea of the song they are making with their movements, but for a person with eyes to see it, or ears to see it, there is a kind of song.


But what occurs to me isn't any kind of criticism of John, or Ezra, or even a need to further my idiotic programme of Syntaxis, but something older, more obscure, and I may not even know its fullest profundity, it is certain I don't, but maybe I have an inkling. There is a theme in ancient Greece which became a conflict, and it was the theme of Movement versus Staticity. In early Greece supposedly Movement was considered sacred, but by the 5th century BC, I believe it was the static. There is an interesting discussing of this theme in Indra Kagis McKewen's work. The Xoanes or bound statuary are a sort of shrine or icon of this discussion.


And then there is the curious thing about not being able to find the text in the Cantos,
and the very curious thing about the mentioning of iconism itself in Pound on the very page
which contains the first Baluba, and it reads:


Bruhl found some languages full of detail
Words that mimic half-action; but
generalization is beyond them, a white dog is
not, let us say, a dog like a black dog.


And then it goes on to get even twistier..


The thing issss
ancient and twisty, good lord,
my mother called this morning
to inform me of her coming root canal,


and I begin to think of this whole project
the entire arche'-eulogy of it as an excavation
looking like one of the beautiful James Surls sculptures,
that language looks like a ghost of 3000 plants,
and that there is an irony


in the name Frobenius itself?


Afrobenius?


And, If Africa is our mother, and Extropy the opposite of entropy, or the "wierd twen"
like language is to life, and if we recall that rose of magnetism John mentions


Are we not then all
to make a generalization
and this is political (for you dumb people)


Negros


as in


Roses of Negentropy?


What is life? This is the forgotten, verboten, and most important quaestio!


The negentropy, also negative entropy or syntropy, of a living system is the entropy that it exports to keep its own entropy low; it lies at the intersection of entropy and life. The concept and phrase "negative entropy" were introduced by Erwin Schrödinger in his 1943 popular-science book What is life?[1] Later, Léon Brillouin shortened the phrase to negentropy,[2][3] to express it in a more "positive" way: a living system imports negentropy and stores it.[4] In 1974, Albert Szent-Györgyi proposed replacing the term negentropy with syntropy. That term may have originated in the 1940s with the Italian mathematician Luigi Fantappiè, who tried to construct a unified theory of biology and physics.Buckminster Fuller tried to popularize this usage, but negentropy remains common.


Now think about the paradox of syntropy..


Syntaxis would be the verb form of Syntropy.


Syntropy is then, the name of the world, the name of the rose,
and Syntaxis is the sound of the rose as it grows, it's gross manifestation,
The Revolution of Everyday Life as Raoul Vaneigem styled it..


But think again, and think on paradox and reading, 


Tomb of Bedlam [World]
Tome of Bedlam [World]
Tom (as in Drum) of Bedlam [World]


and then one final nod to Ez:


"It was all done by conversation.."


And from the place of the 'first Baluba'


Der Im Baluba das Gewitter gemacht hat...
they spell words with a drum beat...


"The country is overbrained" said the hungarian nobleman
in 1923.


And this brings me to Johnny Johnson, a sort of Tom O'Bedlam,
and a fellow scholar who did his thesis on the year on the year of 1923.
Johnny burned down his own family home. He had spent years reading
the entire works of Balzac, and no one knows what set him afire, exactly.


But 1923 was an interesting year, obviously.
and stangely in Katanga
there is also an Elisabethville.


And oddly, I was in a band that played at Johnny Johnson's house called:


Elizabeth Fish


ie



I caught a tremendous fish.
And I let the fish go.
And then went down to the ship
In the interim.


"He lies a bit."
Earless, the beast fish. (world)

deaf earth
[defer]