The Soul selects her own society,
then Shuts the door.
e. dickinson

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Dream: Licorice Lamp



dreamt last nite of being in a store with
Michael Keenan. another girl is there too.
a man comes up to me, shows me how to
use a lamp made of what seemed to be
Twizzlers or red licorice lace. In order to
turn on the light of the lamp, you had to
tug on the licorice lace which hung from
the center of it, like from the center of a
bell. The whole lamp was made of candy
but you couldn't eat the light. But if you
could eat the light, then the color would
also effect its flavor.

Friday, February 8, 2008

parts from Soft Object Chronicles




*47

The months turn, folding
space into collars, a wrist
gives motion to embedding
goodbye on the street, sleeves
and more sleeves that make
me believe in what
meaning has do to
with the way a word
is put back into a drawer,
one long paragraph
of how to be; how
one is kept
in a body and the
creases where
inflection gets left.

*48

Light leaves a mark
on the brick building, a
thought doesn't want
to admit what it knows, or
the brick building is
just a surface for a thought
to have texture, as in
to think "brickly" about
you, but what would
happen if I projected
the greatest film of
our lives against it,
starring endless associations
between objects in relation
to ourselves would it
make the brick softer.

*49

Last nite was a mess, love
where were you, in some
room where your iTunes
echoed all the way
to my ear while talking
up and down Bedford Ave.
trying to find the bar,
branches fonted strict
against my eyes,
the verge of a note
popping on violin strings
or the For Rent sign
through a window
where I could drag
and click a file of
future music we'll be
talking through someday.

*50

Carlos, why not, might
as well have you as
my number one
friend on myspace, but
your profile is under
music and nothing
there plays except
the residues of since we
first met, all the coins
clinking at the cashier
like syllables, what is
happening to language, is
it becoming soft, or
are the objects which
surround it making it so,
like placing cotton balls
all over the words
cotton ball, defining soft
without ever being able
to hold it.

*51

The porch light
linking, you say
would you like to
sublet my porch &
I'd be happy to use it
as background to a song.

*52

Under the TV drizzle
of rain, we hollered aloud
below that Gertrude quote
etched on the side of the
english department "And
then there's using everything,"
umbrellas blocking
the spaces where I begin
to hear the panic of line breaks,
a digital flash photo as
semi-colon to an image
I've been trying to build
and you basically punch
through it with a lens
without letting me get
to the part where it matters
the most or
just saying fuck it,
why not just let the cloud
build itself once it gets
uploaded onto your laptop.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

chinese jump-rope



materials:
exclamtion mark from 1992
floss
tilapia fish
tonsil stone
black sharpie marker
black wire

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

microSoft paints: #83




Materials:
chalkboard
paper
scissors
string
chalk

notes for the New Roulette 3-Dpoetry Machine.


Recently have been making sketches and putting
together words for a 3-d Roulette model,
involving a progression of 1,2 and then 3 wheels
that would generate lines of poetry. Because there is
a total of 38 probable numbers to land on, there
are a total of 38 composed lines per wheel.
(38)(38)(38) would then be the total outcome
of possible combinations of lines. It sounds a
little outta hand to have 64,000+ possible
little pomes to emerge from this but that's what
a certain program is working to generate.
Daniel C. Howe is responsible for making this possible,
to the most extent. Though I don't know exactly
what he is doing, technically. So far I am simply writing
separate lines to make sense in controlled-random
relation to each other; attempting to make them work
syntactically with a significant amount of possibilities
through Mr. Howe's computer program. For this,
there does seem to be a certain presence-ing involved
in the process, an energy, though not knowing from where
and words are the filter for it, just as a program like this
one might be.

parts of Olson's "Projective Verse" comes to mind: http://www.angelfire.com/poetry/jarnot/olson.html

<<<(1) the kinetics of the thing. A poem is energy transferred from where the poet got it (he will have some several causations), by way of the poem itself to, all the way over to, the reader. Okay. Then the poem itself must, at all points, be a high energy-construct and, at all points, an energy-discharge. So: how is the poet to accomplish same energy, how is he, what is the process by which a poet gets in, at all points energy at least the equivalent energy which propelled him in the first place, yet an energy which is peculiar to verse alone and which will be, obviously, different from the energy which the reader, because he is a third term, will take away?>>> ONE PERCEPTION MUST IMMEDIATELY AND DIRECTLY LEAD TO A FURTHER PERCEPTION.

A game like roulette also works as a device
to filter words in the ability for them to participate in limited
chance encounters and the 'linking of lines' is the space
where parts of poetic residues stay warm in that
syntactic movement makes sense and the content
happening is also consistent. The angles of
of approaching the seemingly cloudy content of the piece
is gathered in the amount of possiblities
for events to appear in the poetic-narrative of 38x38x38.
But without getting caught up in the amount of outcomes,
the poetic energy must also be sustained as many times
in order for wasted pages to be worthwhile.

love,
http://www.391.org/manifestos/tristantzara_dadamanifesto.htm
& the Softies.