installation update

i put the inexperience of dying in place of produce i was gathering for soup. if someone wants to buy the exact same ingredients, they can collect all of the inexperience of dying and make a meal from it. after i put it in place of the celery, there was an old woman in a wheelchair sleeping before it while her husband was trying to get a better deal on the oranges. i thought she looked so nice sleeping by that sentence. the next day i put the inexperience of dying in all of the bathrooms.

kate greenstreet read last night. she showed us beautiful movies. a lot of the movies had the sky in them. i loved these ones. one movie was even just the sky with some words on it. i can't remember the words. after the reading, we went for a drink and her husband, max, asked us questions that made us remember things. i remembered getting an eraser stuck in my nose (which made max remember kate getting a marker stuck in her nose. twice.). jen remembered a reflection of touching dust. max rememvered painting when he was very young and being so confused when the teacher said to stop. he wanted to go on painting. it was such a nice night. they are both so lovely.

here is one of kate's poems from the new issue of dq:

"the little house where you'd rather be"

i was born here. the little house, the sea. the sea

was pushing us away. the gravestones
shaking in the dark (they're in love now).
we've seen it all before.

make a strong, permanent suggestion.
she dives in. the man in front of me goes straight
to the edge.

am i saying this in french yet? "until i will arrive."

the inexperience of dying

our exercise for the next two weeks is to pick a sentence from blanchot and perform textual installations. at least five a day. i picked this sentence:

the inexperience of dying

which reminds me of this poem i love by franz wright:

on earth

resurrection of the little apple tree outside
my window, leaf-
light of late
in the april
called her eyes, forget
forget--
but how
how does one go
about dying?
who on earth
is going to teach me--
the world
is filled with people
who have never died

and then i was thinking about this article i read over the weekend about a man who died for twenty minutes. he talked about his experience and at one point said, in regards to the end of his relationship, "my death put immeasurable strain on my relationship."

it also made me think about how much of an embarrassment death is. i remember my mom telling me that when she was young, she and her friend would be getting high and he would insist on her not dying because, he said, if she did, he'd be too embarrassed to tell everyone.

selah also told us a beautiful dream she had about a room of thrones and roger told us words for pray, which, from what i gathered, i was one of the words. we talked about bilocation and the essay, bewilderment, by fanny howe, which i am going to read now.

bishop castle

yesterday, we went to a castle. it's a castle made by one man. he's been building it for forty years. it feels flimsy during parts of it. i didn't go to the very top of the castle because of it feeling flimsy. it was a really perfect day to see such a castle. here are some pictures.

 

 

 

 

after the castle, there was a reading at du with brian evenson. he read a story about a mime. it was my favorite story. it wasn't actually about a mime, but more about a person who slept with a mime and couldn't sleep anymore because of it. the mime's box trapped her and she couldn't do anything about it. she wanted to kill the mime for this.

beets beetsbeets

 

last night, i made my favorite meal: a beet salad and lentil soup (recipes courtesy of jen). it was so delicious. sometimes i love beets so much i can't believe it. the only thing is, i can't figure out a good way to peel them. it takes me so long because the skins don't slide off, but rather tear and get stuck in small pieces everywhere so it's like trying to remove a sticker from something. i should look for ideas about that. the other picture i have here (the sideways one--because i can't figure out how to flip it) is from a book called wild california--the picture is by tupper ansel blake. it's of snow geese.

in ws this week, bin filled in for e and we talked a lot about the poems being workshopped, and very little about vicente huidobro's book, altazor, which is very beautiful and dreamy (heave skylarks like sighs and draw lambs like smiles, and such). b also showed us a book of anselm kiefer's work. oh yes, and there was some discussion about nostalgia being a disease of plants.

we have taken to clapping our bellies on sunday mornings

here are some photographs from inside of the robot machine that pontiac gave me some time ago. and also here is a good story, courtesy of richard. at the end of the story, there are comments, and one of the comments says this:

No matter how cute and whimsical this construction might be, the suggestion of being Art is surely overstated. The sad thing is that it probably should have been subject to Planning Consent, especially on an allotment. At three quarter size, the buildings could conceivably be habitable. What if we all indulged our obsessions to put up an edifice on our allotments or even our gardens (over and above what may be allowed under Permitted Development) in the name of 'Art'. Not impressed by his lack of scaffolding either, HSE would have something to say, and maybe there's even a CDM implication for such a project, especially as the builder wishes it to be a visitor attraction.
Phil Sears, Dorking UK


and richard responded by saything this:

To Phil Sears of Dorking: the type of joyless bureaucracy showcased in your comment is making the world a greyer place. This man’s art transcends the one brute fact of all our lives: loss. Rather than applaud, you’re talking about scaffolding permits.

if you're still interested, you can turn to this.

dear diary,

here is something from my diary, june 10, 1985 (i was eight):

i feal very sorry for the poor people in africa. they are getting food and drinks i hope. there are people dieing. i'm trying to help them but i keep forgetting to. so will other people help them. like you plese. we are the world we are the children.

i guess i didn't understand that a diary was a sort of private space. hm.

and then there is this very descriptive entry, 10-17-86:

it is friday morning. we halft to take our test and go back to reading. i have 51 posters of kirk. tgif. thank god it's friday. kirk is so cute i love him. i still like miles. he is ok. last night i had a realy weird dream it was so neat though.

in ws, we did speed-dating with wcw:

write the red wheelbarrow in another season, break the prose, change prose to poetry, animate a thing/destroy it, misread williams, etc.

i think this is the best that came from it:

the improvisations coming at
a time when i
was trying
to remain firm
at great cost i
had recourse
to the expedient of letting
life go
completely in
order to live in the world
of my choice

i will leave you with this quote from jan:

"you sly old boots, you never mentioned it."

today i got a nice box. when i got home, i put everything in it. now it has a lot of things in it. in the mail last night i got zs's scary, no scary. it came with a miniature broadside that looks just like a hotel key. the book is like ovid's metamorphoses. and also like the best fairytale. one thing he says:

i hover above the pond
like a ghost hovering
above the wrong funeral.
i watch a person who looks like me swimming around.
i plan to watch him forever.
this is some kind of bravery.

the pond 

appropriate day rabbit

here is the how to of the day. i like the picture of the rabbit in the dryer.

we are going to see cold souls in 5 hours. i'm so excited for this.

lakeside

tonight, i went to lakeside and rode three rides. this is a picture of my carousel animal (a rabbit) and the other picture is of me before a spinning ride. blanchot was there, too. in my hair. i think he enjoyed himself.

wearing blanchot

all of these things are happening to my head. today, i am wearing blanchot like a flower in my hair. i don't know if i should wear him in the same place everyday. the purpose is to walk this text through the context of my life. i thought i could monitor this process by evaluating how wearing blanchot makes me feel. so far, i feel regular. i guess there is a heightened sense of presence. when i feel blanchot on my head, i remember that it is now (as the play we saw last night (which had one of the greatest sets ever: thousands of jars filled with pencils, men, wood, string, animals, letters, houses, curtains, and dirt) so often insisted) and i am here, wearing blanchot. i don't think about what it says so much,--instead, i think about what wearing it means. what does it mean to wear text like flowers in your hair? also, i finally got a bicycle helmet. m and i were talking about painting the bicycle to match the helmet.