Thursday, December 30, 2010

The Perfect Meat Hive Greets Its String

if they looked along its length
where the season sits its latitude
a calm unto sun
the sun if
a transparent leaf-like sun
and the surface soured by running

in this region
they are known for large pottery
shoes few
the rivers once dry
are lost forever
slipped time between its panes
of butter and fame
how is it that hallucination
comes pouring from the land
the length
is a harp of raised pattern

the dark maha-gony clock-head guitar-mask
plays itself where the sleeper
wends through the raised offices of the vertebrae
synthetic abstract musculature
flexes in a rhapsody of dull colors

boat is tipping out of socket
but socket sinks deeper into the banal
the rudimentary
the aimless nothing

of poverty

poor verity
the access to fear
to bravery
to empty nights

and sketching
through the wanting haze

so very few people in the world at all
among billions
there is no one at all


New Triptych

I painted over 3 old panels and came up with this, which is I guess still unfolding, though I have thought it was done about 3 different times, and really it looks completely better in person than in any pic i've been able to take.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Curtains Hang On Moddy.

the reflective Zeus
then became the child called


looked stern
that weird baby
the shepherd whose smile
as wiled by a divinity
whose kindred architecture
emplaced abdivinity
in its whole
something said by Zeus
as Eiron

like Myron Cole
(in leather jacket)
vampire or quantum mudph venomenon

that power
distorts the vessel
and that the vessel
is the distorting power
beyond itself

odd pause
sphingo needs affix

for if we imagine that later
emanation of punk bands
of Zeus Strangled, their single

Sphangolux, and Dark

If we hover near
the 1980's and
Egyptian-themed horror

if we dig these old
humanoid syringes
shrouded in melted vinyl
the navel
a hole
where the stob once went in

living image
living pigment

color to power the engine
for ev'ry vengenerration

Blind tears.


How long will the word drug
hold sway over my people, Zeus?

O stern baby!
Lay there exposed, and dye.
Pigment is holy anywhere it lays.
I see snaking immortal purple sheep
instead of eyes.

I see the Blind Oedipus riding the

i see the declining edifice,
i see the ruin with a crown
in the declarative..

Stern Baby.
You weird text! [pointing in the manner of a stern baby]

Zeus, whose head is purple slugs and lightning
holds out
holds out

for the fang is a curved trianguloid cone
whose tip is infinitely sharp

and the body is a zoo
and we laugh
and throw batteries
at the actors

down there splashing in the stage

and fox

soft energy consciumes:
There are only gods there are.
The rest are but figments
of Socratic Irronalazon.


damage control

a house can sit like that
in the pale cold light
for years
nobody approaches
or that what registers
is the small unique theater
of a mouse touching a stick
how it got there

one of us

the stick says
i am just the martial artist
of beneath the waves
the horseback owl
rubbed with lantern
in the pale cold light
for years
nobody approaches

10 beds upstairs
sit silent

before it died
we met its name in opposite

but the marked perimeter
of its yard

lame oblong thing
now festooned
by the running and indifferent
threes and trees

white oval volume
romantic claim is lipless

our local newsboy was a man
a local junky now reborn
from Christ's toga thorn

space itself
is sarcastic

its duties

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Sparkling Haze Cube

the legless armless bodhidharma
skitters on the ocean
its rump like a hypersonic metapaddle
swishing out complex mandala ripple chains
as it moves along
travelling from nihon to hawaii

a dolphin
a dolphin
hears its complex travelling mantra
and pops up upon its tail
to receive the sound as a vision
upon the tympanum of its cranial organs

and conceives of a totem
a kind of dancing jellybean
shrouded in scintillating tessellating
neo-insectoid electroplasmids
which it deploys as mindfields
and whose constructurations
are semi-autonomous
yet thoughtfully reactive

catalyst is indexical

the dolphin's head is hydrocephalic disembodied vagina
and the vision beam is a copulatrice

a matrix of interamazed pixibels
amassing upon the toposyncology

of the matter prank
mad hatter

Bodhidharma white rabbit

your stomach clock teacup
is the top hat of matter

fine madder





Monday, December 27, 2010

How Time Now


blue dalrymple 
pitless fooery the 
tentacular perimeter 
of letter for some les
peines clou fou plus loin
some clueless formlessness
foul cloud whose loin would shroud
the olive penalty, punishment, 
apartment greened, an
olive space in which the theme
of the Sultan and his horse

should any
to a desk or lamping
for the wick


vous dites que vous avez 
pas vu vous vous trompez bien 
Vous avez plus souvent que vous 
le pensez vous vous pas un cheval 
Bien il dit c'est moi son cheval vert 
qui s était reformé en monsieur 
après avoir été longtemps 
métamorphosé Vous avez délivré

The house so round and soft
whose inflatable windows make sounds
to go up through the arms
how wide the flat places in which the streaming light descends it

this place is a window through which the rooms must be opened
a little horse ascends through the watery chimney
and the blunderbust of flowers
lay calm in the delyre

"precepts (footsteps)"

heavy myrmidon myriad
with horse chimney
if its hulk of shoulder windows
should press up
the printing nay

pure s
the round window-soft clown of fire
shall take its burning watery arms 
form the lyre which spins it onward
inside the shoulder of the sunburst

the tiniest horse becomes aware in its shoulder
so soft and round with the fire of windows
how to place the olive back down on the desk

take up the pen
cherish chimney


to last calm

dehors en lui donnant un coup 
de pied au derrière Va petit 
voleur de laine pareil à ta mère 

ebu gogo
ego bubu
compact retilini
globulous good
the house which has a buttocks
like two green olives
each with a staff of light
too cross
too perpendicular

the nagivation
of the window
shall portend
its final prophecy

how mirrored flowers
confuse the stream
of destiny

things should mount
the further portent

once obscured
a coinage

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Doing Bong Hits in the Patent Office



Inside the vast rotunda hovered the fastly
tingly pink jelly thing, but it was
nominal. not a church. not a safeway.
i'm wondering loosely. nut i but i
looking there's a pattern on the floor
i finally surmize, it's the pattern of the
human taste buds demapped from
a giant tongue and laid out
like a flower or pillow into
the speach of the floor:

omniscient floor, ice scream cone lightning bulbs
the creation of a panther
every animal ivy to boat up
the shew and final

Picturing a bigger splash
the artist on his telephone
bigger is water the figure
of the supplement
held up to access the jaw-winged jokleam,

When you stand there, a kind
of pseudopod of jelly comes down for you
a full body jelly helmet descendeth:
clem's nettles moody
then drink black cyan curtain
oval dog palaces drift white ballet hoses
into :

lather your soap clog dancing tub
whose auqua whaomdernce
snake split
fish split
elaborate brass anatomy wall niche

thick flap
reflective flap
dew pore undulus

where albino bird chief rattle sundry
jelly doughnut heads
of lather.and.

Within the lather of chaste toys,
latte' matters.
double walled glass head cup of Socrates
rooster swimming in coffee
blue rooster sounding bok bok (hemloch kafe')

throw rug of the diagram'ed tongue
bald little kittens appeared
massive flanked by rows of kite handlers
in old colonial garb
hotties of 1789

Ad: Seeking irregular tiled surface to imitate
"in a folk way" this Polish TV enthusiast's

3d non-rectangular blob screens
like imagine a Henry Moore whose surface is a computer monitor
and that the entire surface can be mapped logically
so that in perfectly

in the perfectly cheesy wisdom traditions
the body becomes
the mind rather

a screen saver
you see an assembled yantra form out of triangles or fonts
that seeming bound around the inner surface of Henry Moore.

Look deep into my eyes.
This is a patent.

Robotic Video Zeppelins crawl through the ..

coffee napoleona.
In Highland Park:

Venison Armor:

kafe' throw rug

can be jelly helmet of 1789
Ad: napoleona. In Highland kind
of pseudopod yantra form triangles
or Inside it the doughnut heads
of Zeppelins crawl loosely
nut a pattern bok hemloch entire
surface imagine a saver you see
i looking there's kite i tiled surface

full body clog dancing floor
i finally a folk way" this
an assembled patent Robotic Video
Seeking irregular jelly thing

the inner coffee whose surface becomes
the mind black cyan out of the pattern
empty fuel cell

enthusiast's 3d non-rectangular
not a the floor
When lather latte' matters double sounding
bok your soap rattle sundry
jelly safeway i'm wondering surmize
its tub whose auqua deep into you

a and laid
vast tingling pink
of the human curtain

oval dog kafe' throw rug
colonial garb hotties
perfectly in fonts
that seeming anatomy
wall bound around hoses
into lather

lather is a cheesy wisdom
giant tongue bird chief there,
a speach of descendeth waok

clem's nettles
my eyes
This whaomdernce
snake split fish mapped logically
so little kittens head cup
rather a screen was nominal
not that the moody then drink
from vast rotunda Park

Henry Moore hovered
in the split elaborate brass
to imitate

"in coffee blue rooster Polish TV"
the perfectly obvious "niche register"

generative albino page skin
of the Henry Moore Look

white ballet
diagram'ed tongue bald
a church demapped
from the surface of come

down computer
down monitor

and Socrates roosters the jelly out
like a rows flower walled glass
you stand in on the traditions of the body
swimming in taste bud handlers
in old palaces

a drifting blob screen
like a pillow appeared
massively flanked

rooster hotties on cannibal camels
with venison icon chains hanging out
silver engine mouths

the dull grey speaking tube
began to grow
the pastille unfurled its scene upon the water's surface

at last the corpse's face skin would speak
and the wires would send the image
to the collective kite head
hovering in the sky

the hovering thing
with stasis pouches.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Tea-Time with Mr. FTZ

has turned one of my comments on his blog into a cool pic!

This guy is great!

Seasons Greetings From The Gelibene Were-dough

From Bob and Tiny Tim Cratchit!

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Whoretown, Here's a Hue and Cry.

Nous deflected and amused, an amassing, named by an unknowable Tirynthian, moments, heraldic or herladic, Shercules and D'argot Sonnat-was, of something, language's within, and without, to compose the mind's moving megaron, that or Pelasgian silence moving whence across all terms, times, "en-plak". And even this previous utterance, utterness, as vexed igzample of new citingnesses, al methodia: Syntaxis. It is true. Recently, I happened to find the title of a book which is good versioning of some sense of syntaxis, namely: Sarah Riggs' Chain of Miniscule Decisions in the Form of a Feeling which goes far along the way in giving sense to semiosis by way of bilding with large stones in the manner of a cyclopian Tiryns; ie, how perfectly large and perfect Chain of Miniscule Decisions is as a description of indexicality itself, and then the subsequent in the Form of a Feeling uniting Indexicality to Experience. What is implicit here to the initiated is the slippage in the verticality, or ladder of abstraction. The term Decisions is the hook which directs the sense to the whole person level of granularity, or molarity. Decisionality as part of agency as presented as computationalism, and further, the relationality of consciousness as supplementarity to agency presented as computationalism, that rendering, which cannot surpass feeling. Years ago, in the 80's sometime, a friend and I were sitting around doing collages, and at some point he wrote, mood is all. Over the years, I have come to join that phrase into a single mythical substance, not the faded historical ether, the grand and fabric-like basement of matter, but and eitherium, or Moodisol, a pop-chthonic-daimoniam, the original been-here-done-that. Pop as always new, and Chthonic as never new, and daimoniam as a sort of 
 or '3-mad daughters': demon-daimon-diamond. Crystals have often been used as metaphors for the way the half-living thing called culture grows.  In Plato's Apology of Socrates, Socrates claimed to have a daimonion (literally, a "divine something") that frequently warned him - in the form of a "voice" - against mistakes but never told him what to do. However, the Platonic Socrates never refers to the daimonion as a daimōn; it was always an impersonal "something" or "sign". If we look at computationalism / agency as something like a computer program, the sign of the daimon is like a breakpoint, or a decision point. Think of John Ashbery's Flowchart, another leg in our rumination upon titles. Recently on Facebook, there has been some discussion of the eccentric as the base of design, to which I ruminated unsuccessfully to myself:

One can speak about a "base of design" in a poem with reference to the way tree limbs look, and perhaps there is some graphemic lineage to branching figures; Graves says as much, and then there are the branching figures (caused by roasting) of the ancient Chinese oracle bones, but what about the eccentric base of our design? What could Duncan know of Endosymbiotic Evolution? Did he read "Metametazoa: Biology and Multiplicity" (1992 - In Incorporations: Fragments for a History of the Human Body, Jonathan Crary and Sanford Kwinter, editors, Zone, pp. 362-385). No. Did he ever look into the Viral Nucleogenesis of the cell? I doubt it. By simple statistics, we can easily surmise the root of not only design but zoe itself is eccentric, and until we see otherwise, singular. That singularity renders our entire reality post-rational, and not in the simple sense of 'crazy'.. It means, "not merely rational" as in supra-rational, and trans-rational.. This is precisely why gnosticism is something one might bring up if only for a word like pleroma. Every inscription that has ever been, and that includes ourselves as inscription, can not ever be anything more (or less) than the surface of a projection. The profundity, the pluromality (plural-flowing) assures this.. even eccentricity is x-syn-trick, for if we consent to the idea there is plural flowing, then the flowing itself must take a path, that path and those that take it are both composed of  moodisol. There is an odd correspondence in flowcharts, computational decision grams, and lineages. Here is the mythical lineage of Perseus:

Here is a Wolframian computationalist figure:

and here is a mood, a cozy mood:

There's nothing obvious about what I might say next, or is there? Notice whose linneage I used.
Now imagine there is something of a model for a poetics (and also one for the priestly sophism one finds within it) in that choice. If we roll back the linneage page in the text above from 82 to 79 you find this:

What strikes me as important is that 'eitherium' contained in the megapenthiadical triad of Perseus, Person, and Phersu. One starts to think of both things like Frank O'Hara's Personism, but also of the levels of reality and of roles, and of a culture composed of roles. One could really think about O'Hara's Personism in terms of these objects I have amassed:

Abstraction in poetry, which Allen [Ginsberg] recently commented on in It Is, is intriguing. I think it appears mostly in the minute particulars where decision is necessary. Abstraction (in poetry, not painting) involves personal removal by the poet. For instance, the decision involved in the choice between "the nostalgia of the infinite" and "the nostalgia for the infinite" defines an attitude towards degree of abstraction. The nostalgia of the infinite representing the greater degree of abstraction, removal, and negative capability (as in Keats and Mallarmé).
Personism, a movement which I recently founded and which nobody knows about, interests me a great deal, being so totally opposed to this kind of abstract removal that it is verging on a true abstraction for the first time, really, in the history of poetry. Personism is to Wallace Stevenswhat la poési pure was to Béranger. Personism has nothing to do with philosophy, it's all art. It does not have to do with personality or intimacy, far from it! But to give you a vague idea, one of its minimal aspects is to address itself to one person (other than the poet himself), thus evoking overtones of love without destroying love's life-giving vulgarity, and sustaining the poet's feelings towards the poem while preventing love from distracting him into feeling about the person. That's part of Personism. It was founded by me after lunch with LeRoi Jones on August 27, 1959, a day in which I was in love with someone (not Roi, by the way, a blond). I went back to work and wrote a poem for this person. While I was writing it I was realizing that if I wanted to I could use the telephone instead of writing the poem, and so Personism was born. It's a very exciting movement which will undoubtedly have lots of adherents. It puts the poem squarely between the poet and the person, Lucky Pierre style, and the poem is correspondingly gratified. The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages. In all modesty, I confess that it may be the death of literature as we know it.

I could certainly go on from here, for one thing, that thing which 'seems too literal' is itself a form of the non or anti-literal, or composes an irronical or megapenthic irronity.. (what force does it carry?) To begin with, to connect 'rests in its capacity to reflect and externalize' with Every inscription that has ever been, and that includes ourselves as inscription, can not ever be anything more (or less) than the surface of a projection. But what a projection! What an amazingly weird and performance-like projection. Let's not be petty, or small here. We are those goddamn Psyclopfs, knocking on all the little fairy doors to see just who will come to answer. We are the ministers of the miniscule moodisol, the giant lilliputians wallowing in their own divine lillipollutions, etc.. There are all kinds of distinct levels in the world, separate dimensions that have real consequences, but they are all echoes of things that exist 'exactly the same way in nature,' for instance, and in a 'cyclopian or rustic way' // Perseus / Pherso as Particle / Wave // or like in that TV commercial

'the human element' Hu

Is that a Socratic yellow?

According to Plato's Apology, Socrates' life as the "gadfly" of Athens began when his friend Chaerephon asked the oracle at Delphi if anyone was wiser than Socrates; the Oracle responded that none was wiser. Socrates believed that what the Oracle had said was a paradox, because he believed he possessed no wisdom whatsoever.

Won't poetry (the moodisol en verticale) always remain

the wisest unwisdom?

And Oh yeah, Hey Frank, There is no poetry, art, or philosophy, really ~


a moody and doomed domed sun
in which we wander as

Irrates, or

Rates Here-ing..

Monday, December 20, 2010

On Visiting An Alchemist in the Human Mountains and Not Finding Him

for Ed

Their howls conjoin to spray
where the waters enter darkness,
and petals bow before
the sublime structure of the cave.
Colors or deer emptily hover.

The moon's image ricochets
a hundred million times through
this forest you festooned
with mirrors, but no bell sounds
in the clearing of the wild bamboo
where you hunted jasper.

Where have you gone? Straight up?
Nobody knows where you have gone.
In this steep abode where I go looking,
I have leant against pine and wild image,
both which grow here.

When I asked your friend in the valley
at noon where you had gone, she said,
"Master's gone gathering balm in the
thick clouds of the mountain."

Sunday, December 19, 2010

The Wild Cabixi Are Getting in My Bean Patch!

In Brazil now, Napoleon
puts on his green toga
and steps out onto his jungle terrace.
At a gap in the railing, an enormous
llama, larger than an elephant strides
up wearing a sort of saddle house,
a funny, wonky, Neo-Classical
bamboo chalet. It's pilot appears
to be a native Bororo of the Mato Grosso.
As Napoleon boards his private
mutant llama chalet to return
to his secret cave hive he says
to his odd German drinking buddy:

Die Cabixi Bastarde
wird mein Kaffee zu ruinieren.
Ich muss wie der Geruch zu reiten,
Zu meinen wilden Brüder führen
unsere Bohne Patch zu schützen.
Wir werden in Katapult ~ Horden
von Ninja Kamikaze Affen.

and further:

Je ne peux pas tout faire moi-même, 
mon odeur souffle rend cela impossible.
Lorsque ce départ lama, se préparent 

à le sauveur de son tornade café
sur le vert et boueux Rome.

Friday, December 17, 2010

"Weird Intertextuality" Reveals a Jason Robards

Popeye under a young Pepper tree:
Well blow me down, a goon siren always
sings like this.

[he marks out the poem he is writing]:

Amber tusk
fluted and cold,
brute sap fossil supple
marked by rubble with scratches

a treasure
enshrined near piny copse
to rival common boulders

your stalk has caught root
among wet mouths to play
and drift such singflungsang by sea
and grinding shoals
singing skulls as split-conch-shells
visit enshrine.

Beautiful, wide-spread mouths
would fire upon a leaf ear, mouth
open upon tusk what
meadow is as orange so
strange the sap tusk flute as
your bright brute feeler?

Amber tusk flute piercing oyster afternoon
soft empty notes on formless inpenetralias

Here, the sullen ideal republic,
its brute us, a favorite list,
fresh young pepper on the spinach,
but poise in emphatic precision's halting
the bulge that carries out the alternate notice

they do not place anchors on their pages
he does not place anchors on his forearms

but instead
rainbow trout
whose insides
are washed with virginity;

thin elastic skeletons
are libated with ultra virgin
olive oil
and treated to the sun

with Heliodorus
must have this kind tattoo
the green winter ink
of its molecule

lacy symbol
in the skin
now festooned
by rainbow colored hairs

a fist comes out of nowhere
but is massless

Popeye under the pepper tree
sees the mandala of spinach
and o'er his tranquil head

appears a nimbus
of disembodied spinning forearms
with each fist a green spinach sun
holding a sea poppy

flour to fry up
a nice popeye chicken
in an eyeball frying pan


Thursday, December 16, 2010


Jonathan Meese (always a guilty pleasure, or a gilded pressure)

I dig it.

Rapid Contexting Iroonism Difibibbsipsplay

Kinetics of void-lattice formation in metals


Reactor Research Centre, Kalpakkam 603 102, Tamil Nadu, India

Since the discovery1 that voids form in neutron-irradiated stainless steel and that these could form into a three-dimensional lattice2, void-lattices have been observed in some b.c.c. metals2,3 such as Mo, W, Nb, and Ta, and in f.c.c. metals4,5 such as Al and Ni. The irradiation conditions in which a void-lattice is formed are not understood6, but several explanations7−11 of the stability of the void-lattice have been given on the basis of void−void elastic interaction9−11. Our present approach regards the void-lattice formation as a phase transition associated with the bifurcation of the homogeneous steady state in the mean field theory12,13. The void-lattice is an interesting example of a class of phase transitions manifested by open, nonequilibrium, dis-sipative structures and have an inherent capability of self-organization. Although void-lattice formation has already been examined on this basis14,15, we show here that the transition is induced in certain microstructural conditions where vacancy loop dynamics has an important role. The theory generally agrees with experimental features and predicts that another spatially dependent state exists which can influence irradiation-induced phenomena that have important technological implications for the development of fast reactor materials.

Page 1706

Ob vorse versing the gull-din boughelle


I open a window upon
the Stochasticene epoch.

Where the void lattice of psychology's non
others tecne's foetal presencing to world.

This bleakly productive paradise
shall pull ruminations out of anti-ruminants
the national notions will achieve ignition
in ignarrationullity
and the world itself shall show its own non-structure
ironically as a pure baroquial abpoised
by screach as arscreaptchictectourettes.

large and more more post-rational fluidicles
will become abvolved into a reverbolition
a revolvolution of protoobviousnoxium

Complexity as obnoxity
will become



Complimentary Pepcid


the rattle-bladder was emblematic
of the juggernaut of psychology's paradox

weak is strong
and strong is weak
and all

will be streaking!

Gelibene Weredoch with Elegdrig Snache Vang (wong)


cheek, field, catch:

往, 徃: go, depart; past, formerly
惘: disconcerted, dejected, discouraged
方: a square, rectangle; a region; local
枉: useless, in vain; bent, crooked
汪: vast, extensive, deep; used as a surname
網: net, web; network
网: net; network; KangXi radical 122
罒: Radical 122
罔: net; deceive; libel; negative
輞, 辋: exterior rim of wheel, felly
迬: go
魍: demons, mountain spirits
㓁: a net; net-like, radical 122

drinking a loan

there is a window outside
a wonder
with a frame of wind and snow
moving in a line

this stove
a wonder
has been revealed
as an open jar of wine
somehow all hearths of all things
are confused in, and composed of,

and drunken
a wonder
i stand in the river drenched
as fishing boats float overhead
upside down
raining as clouds

and from this river drenched
i select a crisp, dry leaf
to be my sail
and sleep to defer
my destination

everything i have
was given to me

oh, how we'd gasp
inside that hollow moon
and lounging discretely
in that curly tusk city
drinking a taost
to our roosting whaole


Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The Narrish Pride of Cide Hamete Benengeli

Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?

In the 1974 film, The Parallax View, the montage.
In the 1974 film, The Parallax View, the montage.
In the 1974 film, The Parallax View, the montage.
In the 1974 film, The Parallax View, the montage.

Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?

Is a Chimpanzee playing pong?

How beautiful is the luthier Lothario?
How wonderful is the impertinent curiosity?

Is it montage all the time?
Is it montage all the time?
Is it montage all the time?

Cide Hamete Benengeli is the fictional
Moorish author created by Cervantes
and listed as the chronicler of the
adventures of Don Quixote.


Cold gelid beans, the brains in jars
that glow, the jars that frame the living

Is it παρά all the λλαξις?
Is it παρά all the λλαξις?
Is it παρά all the λλαξις?

Do you know and take this Hamoudi to be your cutie?
Do you ingest Gelibinene?

Is a Chimpanzee playing pong with a jellybean?
Is H-M-D, the CMPZ playing bigibberlene with a pongue?

Do you yet recoil from booger-antlers?
If a Moor is narrating your tale, are you non-plussed?

If thou art a fine Lothario, whence go Lothario?

To Quexotia?

Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?

The novel structure is in episodic form. It is created in the picaresco style of the late sixteenth century. The full title is indicative of the tale's object, as ingenioso (Spanish) means "to be quick with inventiveness". Although the novelty is farcical on the surface, the second half is more than serious and philosophical about the theme of deception.

One might say it is a depiction of deception, or decepiction, or depiception.

To Quexotica?

Cervantes helped move beyond the narrow literary conventions.
He used a Moor.

He used Gelibenite.

Is it mono all the time?
Is it mono all the time?

Is a Chimpanzee playing pong?

How beautiful is the luthier Lothario?
How wonderful is the impertinent curiosity?

Is it montage all the time?
There is a hidden gamete in the jellybean?

Cervantini Yoguru.

Prison Stories

The prisoner's sad entertainment could be heartening,
but as warden, he looked out into the murky hollow seas
where only sombre tankers moved in the preprogrammed lappings,
to find a calm and page-like order to mimic, the flat, disaffected
way, he reconfigured the bodies of the men, as their own behavior
befitted, according to the policies laid down in some century's
past. The warden's head was odd, tall and thin, and he wore a
strange helmet which seemed to have some medical purpose related
to the thinness of his skull which Morlag thought of kissing.

The hulking brute was nearly as big as a horse, and was held down
for nine hours every day in a fitted ceramic assmembly and given
gene modification treatments which would slowly transform him
into something. Everyone thought he was a brutal killer, but in
fact, the charges which had been levelled against him were completely
erroneous, and were created by means of an elaborate conspiracy
performed by several of the poor prisoner's relatives and had
been unable to be detected. Morlag was actually a canary enthusiast
with a propensity for wild flowers, the strongest sensation he
admired was the feeling he got from standing very near a stove
in the winter and letting the heat warm his clothes until they
nearly burned him. In terms of the warden, he was not physically
attracted to the man, but liked his strange face which to Morlag
seemed like a strange orchid, something rare one comes upon
in a wild valley once in a lifetime.

The warden's face was strangely. An odd pink color had spread across it
from years of ingesting a fungus in the prison water supply which the
warden was subtly allergic too, much like the way Japanese men
sometimes blush when drinking sake'. And the warden's helmet was glossy
and looked for all the world like a nacreous mitre thumb whose nail
was to give a pressure transduction reading whose amplitude was expressed
as a blood red 3d mango of veins. Morlag could see the wind register
in the pulsing of the 3d blood mango on the screen of the nacreous
support helmet screen of the warden.

One day the warden died of a brain aneurism.
The next day Morlag completed his gene therapy.
Thin, and pink and shiny, Morlag swam out into the open sea,

a thumb-headed dolphin-turtle
whose penis was a column of canary heads
blowing tweet bubbles to the memory of the
dead paper head warden's vein mango transduction screen.

The prison's fungus came from Persia.
And the prison itself was built like a
vein mango of glossy nacreous stone
submerged in a vast and softly sandy dune.

The new warden was a woman name Klagthilda
whose big round wobbly shoulders appealed to
a prisoner named Moftook whose was made mostly
of Brussel sprouts and Dachsuns.

Search Term w/ Archival Ink

Comely Fang, O
Hear my island foot, O
Come to learn that Fu
Shih had a sister,
Ch'iu-fang by name,
Chew fang by odor,
Habit, do it, Nike
Appeared in Gondwana ads,

Comely Fang, O
Vain judges become
Like patterns on the wall,
The new America is in a folder,
O Judge, comely, ugly, terrible.
Your pants held up by fangs,
Fangs of hemogoblins.

Comely Fang, O
Beautiful Taiwanese actress,
Comely and free in life's vulgarity, O
Fang fire, fang fire, comely venoms
Dance like cartoons on a landing pad
For islands, and for island judges
Who are the daisies of Fang Island, O
Come comely and magnificent gem
By habit, and come Cummingtonite,
Your mineral presence an actor
Like penguinone, whose rednosed
Prismane is a comely fang
Of Traumatic acid.

O comely fang, O comely
Thang, you who are not a Nath,
Knoth a matte-finsihed samih
Doing rubba with your fang-taloned
Hubsih, how do sandwich compounds
Skeem, Neem them Nemo reeds,
Now all of Namor must secede,
Namor more gallant than Jesus
With her fangs of actresses
The color of Thebacon, O

Comely Ruby Fangs
Which bite upon the Buckthorn,
In June 1915, Walter Kirke, deputy head
Of military intelligence at GHQ France,
Wrote in his diary that Mansfield Cumming,
The first chief (or C) of the SIS was

"Making inquiries for invisible inks at the London University".

O Comely Fang, you
Invisible stereography, you
Cascatagrotta Devirgandolas (catastrophic devastation);
Mothers against decapentaplegic
Is a pretty weird name for a molecule.

Not At All

Bugs closely related
to Daffy Typhlotriton,
Mammoth Floyd lacking
wooden rock, its
buck-jawed schmoo
as ornery to the faberge'
ego, as is the surmale
to the surmise, missing
each, its sermon to the stem.

His head spoke a little,
then detached itself discretely
and floated off, only moored
by some subtle anthology of
pockets kissed with mist
on a Wednesday mourn,
night caves of sucking air,
mouths of mammoths to groan
toward some sun song's
external lung arms, which,
bird-like do the pumping
for the typhlosphinxus'

The clones have shared mind.
The mind has shared clone.

The Individual is already its own superstition.
No. Not at all.
Nature is not the profane object.
To be ideological in contemporary times
is to point to the actual profanity, and that
profanity is the pure work

of a moral sapience
cloned into elegant labial humbrellas
which flow like taut packets of honey,
bloodcells of honey
which rocket down wild obsidian chutes
through burning hot ovals
of boiling lime green lava

each with a little door of cool choola
which whispers


Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The Visitor

Yesterday, like many of you, I received, an email advertisement for Bill Berkson's book of art criticism, or witticism, or 'art writing' or whatever, called For the Ordinary Artist: Short Reviews, Occasional Pieces and More from Blazevox books which I suppose is Geoffrey Gatza. I guess what first grabbed me was the cover art by George Schneeman, some sort of a collage number using part of a Vargas girl, the part that rumbas and the part that holds a telephone, and then to that is hooked some heroine in distress from out of a Jack London looking setting. You get the picture: A hotty with a cellphone! Well, I'm thinking this is all peachy and interesting,
and I read down and see the Robert Storr quote which really piques my interest because I had just been watching the Alice Neel documentary on Netflix which has Robert Storr in it. Wow! hehe. You know what I mean. So THEN, I start thinking, maybe I will have a peek at this Bill Berkson's art writing or whatever. I used to have a Bill Berkson book or two, may still have. So I go to read this example they have listed about Vermeer's milkmaid girl called The Visitor. You can read it, too, here. So I read it, and I am thinking, this is pretty good, he's seeing resonances in the figure and other figures, he's doing that intertextuality thing, and he's joining in with some of the current discourse on the thing, and mentioning this guy Liedtke. He's doing some contextualisation within our contemporary period, etc. So then, I am reading this, and Berkson, sort of slightly nudges you into this small controversy surrounding this footwarmer element, but he's like just sort of commenting on it without going into it all. This is more or less all we get: (In no way is she about careless sex – no matter how many corollaries to that effect women of her station may have in the iconography of her time.) Huh? So, I poked around trying to figure out what the background story was on the 'iconography', and I came up with this which is I think pretty good for the blogger world, here. This is a much more explicit and humorous take on what Liedtke's talking about. And I really started to get into this PAINTING at this point. I start to here my inner Spock say things like "Fascinating".. Well, Berkson, to his credit doesn't exactly gloss over what to me might be a more interesting thread about the piece, but let's see it

and the incongruity of the line of tiles that forms a kind of predella – Cupid and bow, a traveler with his staff and two others less legible, like animation figures. 

Okay, like, I can see how you might just leave it at that, and he does go into the compositional elements in a way similiar to what I would do, but look at this thing, the detail, here. Do you notice, that straw or stylus in the foreground? Also, do you notice that the perforations are slightly reminiscient of trigrams from the I Ching? Now before I go into that, let's throw up these 3 characters that Bill so strangely doesn't call 'cartoons', but 'animation figures'.

Now I am no Art Historian, but that top character could be a predila or it might not. It might be a snake-handler, and the lower ones immediately remind me of Callot figures, or the kind of miniscule figure painting that Canaletto did, but that's a painting thing. Just pour ris, let's say, the one on the left is a clown with a crutch, and the right one, is an angel riding a bicycle, or a sort of wild strider wearing an enormous conch.
The one on the left could be a bird-headed caterpilar using its long beak like a crutch and supporting a little house on its shoulders. That's what I see. Maybe the top guy is wearing a kind spacesuit with the helmet, or head piece flopped back. Maybe that thing like a tail is an airtank or some form of enviro machinery. These are ideograms. And the entire section, is a composition within a composition, and you guessed it, it's subject is syntaxis. The 'footwarmer' isn't a symbol of arousal, in the ordinary sense, but something closer to irronism, it's an index-warmer, a polyvalency machine, a prototype for the computer, in which regularly spaced tiles encoded with symbols pass through a processing chamber with an outer housing and an inner unit, a recapitulation of the brain and skull instrumentalized. 

Now I am not making this claim in the same room with a Liedtke, but more or less as a follow up to my piece on pour ris.. As the milkmaid can be said to be pouring out our meaning, I am linking that "pouring out" to the 
libation of risibilities upon the web stone.

But to continue, look to the composition in the upper world of the maiden, look at the subtlety, and if we
use say color symbolism there is almost a sentence to be read.

The green in her sleeves is nearly the same green as the table cloth and verges on the green of the character tiles below. Earth is our table and our strength, and the landscape itself is a computation. The table? Look how that table becomes a microcosmal element. The Milk that is poured does not stop in the jar, but compositionally continues down in the form of that oddly placed blue fabric which is the same as her skirt.
It is as if the table has become a kind of landscape. And the tile area below is certainly a landscape.

Now what I started toying with next was the connection between Vermeer and the trigrams. I knew that Vermeer and Leibniz were roughly contemporaries, but Leibniz was off in Germany. Now, one has to remember that Vermeer is part of another controversy namely the Hockney-Falco thesis. There is also the
connection to Antonie Philips van Leeuwenhoek, and the connection is noted here:

Van Leeuwenhoek was a contemporary of another famous Delft citizen, painter Johannes Vermeer, who was baptized just four days earlier. It has been suggested that he is the man portrayed in two of Vermeer's paintings of the late 1660s, The Astronomer and The Geographer. However, others argue that there appears to be little physical similarity. Because they were both relatively important men in a city with only 24,000 inhabitants, it is likely that they were at least acquaintances. Also, it is known that Van Leeuwenhoek acted as the executor of the will when the painter died in 1675.[23]

In A Short History of Nearly Everything (p. 236) Bill Bryson alludes to rumors that Vermeer's mastery of light and perspective came from use of a camera obscura produced by Van Leeuwenhoek. This is one of the examples of the controversial Hockney–Falco thesis, which claims that some of the Old Masters used optical aids to produce their masterpieces. 

Now, what I am going to propose next may seem a bit far-fetched and it is, but here goes, the perforation on the top of the footwarmer are code. Exactly what the code is I haven't worked out. But if we look at the ying yang coding principle of the I Ching Itself, Yang lines are solid and Ying are broken.

There are four full whole 乾 qián (creative force) trigrams. You can read along here. If we use a two axis system, like an X, we might say the qián trigram emblem is just used to call our attention to "trigrammity" but that we should proceed onto to trigram 4 震 zhèn (arousing shake).. 

Arousing snake? hmm.

There is another 乾 qián trigram on the other axis, and maybe 2 more, or maybe the single hyphens are meant to symbolize a broken line in which case we would get 離 lí, the clinging radiance.

Now, besides that fact that there appears to be a character with a broken leg using a crutch, I never finished the thing about Leibniz. Leibniz was interested in the I Ching. And then there is the mention of a performance done at Cardiff called: The conversion of essence into series: a dance of repetition from Vermeer to Leibniz.

Well! well done Google. The conversion of essence into series? Spectacular!

Okay, maybe just weird. (damn italics button)! :)

The one dangling thread I guess is the stylus.. Now, I know something about the I Ching that might not be common knowledge, and it might not even be knowledge!  :) In Robert K.G. Temple's book Oracles of the Dead he presents an historical meditation on the Book of Changes which I hope you will read (first of all)
because its length and complexity are rather impossible to summarize completely, but the footwarmer
is square, and the Book of Changes or the I Ching does have some major tie ins with magic squares, early algebraic function. In fact the foot warmer might even refer to something like the Great King Wen sequence.

There is also Z.D. Sung's extraordinary diagram entitled "the cube of three quadrinomial dimensions"

The book that this came from is here. But the stylus! Is it a yarrow stalk? You really just have to read the Temple to get the whole context of the I Ching and the Yarrow thing. I guess this milk baby is all poured out.
You can carry symbolism just about anywhere, and when dealing with a Vermeer, you might be right! The upshot of that that Vermeer / Leibniz paper had things like this in it:

It endlessly produces folds… So begins Deleuze’s book on Leibniz and the Baroque; the title of our Conversions project referring directly to G.W.Leibniz and his attempts to reinterpret the world as a fluid state, where the static object/image is energised and perceived as a sequence of states constituting an event, essentially in constant flux. This process is made up of consecutive moments framed as movement through repetition and difference. In the case of the ‘conversions’ 18 non-representational events that attempt to serialise the essential qualities of Vermeer’s painting, which are imagined, situated in the pose of the girl.

The concept as it was first posited was to interpret the questions the painting inferred beyond its materiality. The encrypted messages that were held in the frozen visage of the young woman as her moment collided with our own, not through any sense of essence as it resides in the static materiality of the painting but through the multiple interpretations that it holds secret. The many psychological perspectives and inflections that produce vibrations, possible ‘events’, constituting a multiplicity (infinity) of harmonics and rhythms that stir the individual and collective consciousness.

That line:

The many psychological perspectives and inflections that produce vibrations, possible ‘events’, constituting a multiplicity (infinity) of harmonics and rhythms that stir the individual and collective consciousness.

The Temple book has a chapter called Higher Order Events which talks about the sturucture of space and events, etc.. I'm not here to carry it all that way. I'm content to just re-draw some of Vermeer's old cartoons,
to find a picture within a picture and call it a day. I can see it. I'm interested. Maybe I'll write Robert and see what he thinks!

I guess some other stuff I left rough was, I meant to say that the blue cloth was like a waterfall, and that
Yarrow stalks were used in divination w/ the I Ching, and that maybe Leeuwenhoek knew something of Leibniz's work on the I Ching. This could be checked. I don't know Leibniz's publication history, but somebody would.

What if space/ time itself is a computer in the context of earth. There is something weird going on here,
and that's what the Jellybean Weirdo is here to notice!