Wackenroder's perfume
of waggling rotors
is
singular and meant
for the collectivity
implied by father
when father mean
f as hand (social)
and ather as
author
Father is "Social Author"
as F = hand
and M = Meaning, Mind, Mirror
and S = Snake, Wave, Radiation, Desire
and A = short circuit, doubling, cryptos, poly
Say a phasm lends you a fleet of Tartanas
in which to cross from the Tartarean midshores
to the FASMIC endology
of paradise.
Let Red Phasm sleep in honeyed baboon ass.
When honeyed baboon ass dreams of phasm yoly olyp,
move earthorn through romantic guide label generations
rendering phasmidden lodel.
from lode
to lodel
the pulsing of the stone
is everytera
ovary terror
roaring returns
and raving
like the cycle of
flesh
like a magma in the sky
like a wheel of bone
in eternal ecstasy
on its brow
of card cradles
oh ministry
oh sad lysergy
sagging blue lesbian apples
which enter the canvas green caravan
to beastliham
knights in glass
which kiss
their gender
like a color
washed from a rose
of singing solvents
godding up to mist
each tender surfaced moments
an architecture whose emblematics
ensures a futher emblematics
of dawn
inside a feathered mole
whose arm
is latency
wed to grief diveded by
swan spec M/f*Ass
Fassm
Fasten
McFast
fisting ass for dabloon
and pulling out the snake
whose telescoping head of many
forking presences is
dilodian
and fret
pob
dokan
filkbroten
our luck wool bobbin flowers
are twisting tighter on the sun string
to enter any chasm
Ch = carbonicism
bond
being on death
bird on dong
bride on dodo
like a painting
whose impasto
of warehouses
glimmer past paste
and hod
the charmachantres
pride
is the tongue
riding equid morse
code these tong
your yellow
whatness flode
why did spittle
sick stomachs glide
in tournaments
your longing finally given
i give it back
i am in your longing
and i am a devil there
because your hair
is the goad
to celestial bodies
Don't tread on Me.
Dawn reads
'en song'..
Vast blockages
are switching their names
before you
the party
is entering hyperion
origameteorgies
unfold before your
wasted eye encrusted
crab-claws
you chandilier crab
of snow petals
you hang from eternity
in a shroud
and all is the forlorn
of banshee hiss
urglance
In this I can feel the pulsing of a stone washed from singing solvents in eternity, and am made grateful.
ReplyDeleteLessing has some good thoughts on 'ugliness' in poetic form. i'm thinking of the socially encoded uglinesses as manifold transforms,
ReplyDeleteor possible sites of non-linearity.
not sure. i have two books out.
Eco's book on ugliness turned to a section on Lessing's Laocoon, and the hall book's chapter on Lessing and Caspar David Friedrich.
I could probably filter out my own native lysergism and get something more trans-subjective, but lately, i have been noticing some pride in my own interpretation of the blog as form. I began my blogging in 2002, and announced it on the poetics list. I may not be completely correct in this, but I am pretty sure I am if not the longest running poetics blog, certainly one of the earliest still running. The only thing is, I disrupted my own continuity
because of the native lysergism
thing which often turns into
a sort of compulsive atavism
a register gnawing.
Lanny,
ReplyDeleteIn the cobwebbed temple of my mind your blog is venerated for its anciency, its non-linearity, and above all its deranged sense of humour (laughter remaining in lamentably short supply elsewhere in the blogosphere, alas).
"the socially encoded uglinesses as manifold transforms,
or possible sites of non-linearity"
No one has explored this area of transformation more broadly and deeply. The procedural template is given in your reply to the question John Latta would have been wise to pose but didn't. Embracing rather than fleeing from one's abjection takes courage but in the long run this embrace is the soil from which amazing night flowers shall sprout. (Said he.)
I would attempt to follow you also, in my own paler way, in the pursuit of a non-linear solution to the inescapable crush of the subjective. Lately this has led me to look into inertial oscillation and the Coriolis effect. The search was kind of spooky, leaving me feeling as though I am either suffering from conjunctivitis or seeing things through the eyes of a "person" from another dimension (both may be the case).
(The crabbed question of whether toilet and bathtub drain-swirls rotate in opposite directions in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres has been aggravating my vascular migraines for three nights running... speaking of drain-swirls...)
There is an innate proto-lysergism, I think, in C.D. Friedrich's entire "project".
Caspar David Friedrich's
technique of gathering
empty pastures of light
saturated with a kind
of melancholy radiation
on the middle of his canvases
came to him in a dream
I believe he was crying out across the centuries, attempting to tell us about this "dream".
I hear that cry into the darkness likewise when he says:
I have to unite with everything around me
in order to be who I am
You may not remember that latterday "country" tune "Jesus is Just Alright With Me". Whatever, your special brand of compulsory atavism locates a register which, like they say, remains to be explored. The pleasure of the quest seems to be largely in the not-knowingness. The whole deal is just alright with me.
Perhaps this is the new Native American Register (?).
(Anyway, continuity will probably get us Nowhere...)
(By "compulsory", of course, I meant "compulsive", but then I guess it comes to the same thing, more or less?)
ReplyDelete(Word verification = "hypere")
Well, things come in clutches.
ReplyDeleteYou mention the coriolis effect.
Last year I spent 5.5 months working in Massachusetts on the campus of MIT
for a company called analog devices
http://www.analog.com/en/index.html
which makes a MEMs product, a microchip that is a miniature analog of a gyroscope which is used in the Wii game controller
and which uses the coriolis effect
a transduction of the coriolis force to enact the gyroscopic analog [i think].
I'm not an engineer. Well, I was technically, as my title there was
"resource engineer" which was much more poetic than functional.
The oddest thing about that whole project was the fact that this cutting edge product was being made with museum quality refurbished semiconductor manufacturing tools from the early 90's. The fab didn't even have laminar flow or raised floors, and they barely even did particle checks or quals. The whole thing was surreal coming from a logic style fab. It was like the wild west. Like rolling into a saloon
where the drunken miners are pulling android bunnies out of their dust packed cowboy hats.
I have always like CDF and can even remember the first time I saw one of his paintings in an Art History survey course at UTA in the 80's. A mousey little woman
taught the class who had a monstrously huge intellect and long grey hair and bad dandruff.
I loved it.
I did well, and wrote what I thought was a very good paper
on a Renaissance painting where Hercules is made to wear women's clothes and sit at a spinning wheel, while Ariadne or whoever takes up his club. That gender bending Mannerist painting was sort of what got me into
transpositionism
and noticing shifts
or creating shifts
as a form of dialectic
or dialogue or contrast
anyhoo.
Tonight is Kara's birthday
and I am taking her and our friends
to a restaurant called Biwa
which has a dish named after her
called
Kara age'
Going with us will be my friend Andy and his wife who is a field Engineer for Nikon precision.
I wish I could get more
formally educated
and do things like
print CDF images onto
micronic surfaces
make chips
covered with beautifully etched
p[oems.
Microchips
are like landscapes
of methodically layed out
sculptural surfaces.
I really think as an art object
something could be made in one
of these fabs and tooled
easily
and slipped into the production
stream as an engineering lot
or something.
anyway. good morning!
good dreams last night.
and thinking about
researching Rod Taylor's
career today.
talk to you later.
I love that the Coriolis force was formerly (and in some circles still is) referred to as the Pseudo force.
ReplyDeleteNobody ever referred to Rod Taylor that way, not the femmes anyway.
The best and most beautiful leading ladies of his time can't have been wrong.