Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Robert Macaire Passed Out Drunk Near a Skulking Dog.


Divinity itself evinces a curious narrative. Baudelaire trains his eye beyond the horizon of the sage, to that of a different agent, a Nazjinnt, pictured above.
The Nazjinnt resembles a modern Bohemian, or "beatnik",
a kind of rubble-text reminding one of Robert Creeley.

The top stone in the text is the unanimous beret,
then EYE, EYE, HUNCHBACK (symbol, icon);
then, prominently, the Van Dyke beard
whose cheek houses a lone quotation mark,
or  shillelagh.
Then the image complexifies.
The lower body of the Nazjinnt
is an iconic equation.
One large parenthesis on the right
is both the backbone
and unification
of the push-button left-right icon
with the lower book
which takes the place
of the folded legs
of the apanage of the sage.
The two left parentheticals
give parody both to the non-unity
of matter and spirit,
or "concrete thought"
but echo
lenses so that syntaxis is itself an eye,
as is literature, 
and matter.
All of semiosis is figured
as some version
of an eye,
but an eye
is always 
the sweet innocence of bones
in the womb.


This is a droning sound, a poem on languor
to FDR in pale blue bedsheets.


It was a whole age of Sakura.
Seals, horsefish, leathern bladders
full of ink.
The Sages were drunk,
and the thieves
were tied up in the stables.



It is clear that a work on caricature, understood in this way, would be a history of facts, an immense gallery of anecdote. In caricature, far more than the other branches of art, there are two sorts of wroks which are to be prized and commended for different and almost contrary reasons. One kind have value only by reason of the fact which they represent, Daumier as goldsmith.



Deep view on the stars, fake meteorite, hand-ache, snake pain, ovaltine.


It is high time we imagine, no, reimagine, those gondolas which carry
the Nazjinnt with their ceramic crab-shell umbrellas.
A ceramic crabshell is also a caricature of a punt.
Two gondoliers form a hye to blew,
but notice the candle as selector
in "pont".
The leading edge is always most alien
to us, its wyvern geometree.


The Sage will return to sweeping even before
the rain stops. The poet might take a picture,
but he will surely just
throw it away.
Won't he?


This image is a small recording of the possibilities
of the feud between Dali and Breton, buth of whitch
are now abscent.

origami clutch wars.


In time you will regain the throne, but for now,
be contented with your religion.


No dismay can turn my mind from the contemplation of beauty,
its crooked, folding, monstrous, horror.


In time, there is chance, in chance, time.
Who knew the Ourobouros was always two or more animals
linked by language to a painful reality?

Fire is the perversion of friction to fuel,
and invention the lake upon which it lingers.
Language.


The first Turtles were alien penises.
The first penises were alien turtles.
The First alien was a penis turtle.


Sometimes we need a little V23
to get the music going.


The Set animal descends on a thin green line.
Defended in this way, every moment in every life,
could be a meteor.


Look at the funny man, he thinks.


In Delacroix, color thinks for itself, but notice
the alien recording instrument,
and the blind, pig-nosed pot.

Robert Macaire,
Robert Macharity.