Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Outside, there aren’t any trees. There are a lot of buildings that I pretend are trees. Since there are some birds, it’s not that hard. At the end of each hallway, on each floor, there is a window. That’s where I am now. It’s very grimy, the window. Below the window are two stairs and a small amount of concrete I use as a seat. I go to each window on each floor and sit on the piece of concrete. I think about how this place isn’t safe. I still don’t want to leave. I love it here. The place and I are interchangeable. The place takes over and I tell all of the people I can’t leave. I tell them this is where I live and this is my life. They don’t mention it to me that they don’t believe me but I can tell.
lisa sewell: "innovative, materialist poetic practices have been absorbed by both the lyric mainstream and the multicultural poetries of identity politics: writers on either side of the ostensible divide employ interruption, parataxis, narrative discontinuity, and alinearity to produce fragmentation and disjunction." from, american poets in the 21rst century.
cole swensen: "considering the traits associated with 'conventional' work, such as coherence, linearity, formal clarity, narrative, firm closure, symbolic resonance, and stable voice, and those generally assumed of 'experimental' work, such as non-linearity, juxtaposition, rupture, fragmentation, immanence, multiple perspective, open form, and resistance to closure, hybrid poets access a wealth of tools, each one of which can change dramatically depending on how it is combined with others and the particular role it plays in the composition." from, american hybrid
what you mean is that presence (simulacra) absorbs absence (simulation).
"'whoever fakes an illness can simply stay in bed and make everyone believe he is ill. whoever simulates an illness produces in himself some of the symptoms' (littre). therefore, pretending, or dissimulating, leaves reality intact: the difference is always clear, it is simply masked, whereas simulation threatens the difference between the 'true' and the 'false,' the 'real' and the imaginary.'"
i also think you think of the phases of an image:
1. it is the reflection of a profound reality; -> 2. it masks and denatures a profound reality; -> 3. it masks the absence of a profound reality; -> 4. it has no relation to any reality whatsoever; it is its own pure simulacrum.
i think in 3, you might mean it makes aware the absence by masking it. and in 4, you must mean that representation is represented, or at least the idea of representation is represented.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
a man comes, humming. a man comes, humming his chess moves. he has games from his history. there is something classic. he might use half of the time and end up with twelve. people will die.
windham earl comes. other chess board. some privileges.
check please, says everyone seeing the tournament.
my pattern is something like that. all of our bodies keep having it.
i had disappeared. i was told about the owl. they told me to sing something beautiful at a picnic. i'll have these shoulder pads. i'll have them while no one knows me. we'll have our cemetery pieces, our suggestions. technically. ed is serious. ed is having a big deal.
"she'll start to see reality again when her mind begins to feel safe."
"i think i've gone blind in my left eye."
"it's an inner thing, you know."
dale says it's a damn fine time to start.
i'll make everything feel like trees on your ceiling, dale. i'll make you take everything away.
"ecology is not a luxury science."
thank you. my gold curtains. my wool jacket. our clapping. our clapping. clapping.
the gains are our best part.
Friday, March 27, 2009
the fact that my mouth tastes like tea makes me think my body has too much of something. too much of whatever it is that tea has in it. i feel like my body has too much of that, and too much of other things. i've had a cold place in my chest for four days. sometimes it feels so cold in my chest that i know i'm dying. the cold leaves after it comes, but i still know about it. i remember it, and when i feel it again i remember how scary it was feeling it before.
so i think i must be dying. someone tonight said they couldn't talk about the brain, and i don't think i can either. it must house dying. all the time it makes me worry. all the time i'm trying to forget it.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
--brian mchale, postmodernist fiction.
"by crossing into a space whose curvature is no longer that of the real, nor that of truth, the era of simulation is inaugurated by a liquidation of all referentials . . .it is no longer a question of imitation, nor duplication, nor even parody. it is a question of substituting the signs of the real for the real, that is to say of an operation of deterring every real process via its operational double, a programmatic, metastable, perfectly descriptive machine that offers all the signs of the real and short-circuits all its vicissitudes."
--jean baudrillard, simulacra and simulation
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
i guess i made it so i could talk about northern exposure.
instead of talking about northern exposure, i will talk about the sky.
i like it and want it to be real, and sometimes this is how i feel:
Maybe I can wait. Maybe there’s a world, and I can wait for it. I think there’s possibility. Or maybe I shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. If we can tell, how do we tell if we can tell? I can look at things and see them. I can know about them, or at least I think I can know about them. I can know about things the way I know about the sky. Someone looked up and I believed them. I guess there’s a sky. There’s a woman and she sees it and she says, that’s the sky. So it must be. I think it all must be sky. I used to take photographs of the sky. I used to take them at 8:05. I was trying so hard to understand what it was. I put all of my pictures together and made it into a slideshow. I watched it every day. I watched it and thought about what it meant that I watched it. I didn’t feel pain. I just looked at the pictures and reminded myself about what the sky was. I would add a picture and watch the new show about the sky, and I told my mind, that’s the sky. That’s it. It has to be.