http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2015/11/functional-white-crafting-space-silence/
This definitely matters in all of the ways.
Perhaps the silence here and Joron's "zero" can be in conversation.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Theories of Tubes
Electrons skirt funnels
erect infinitudes loath to bend
Funnels sip electrons
shave ten-to-the-tenth-to-the-tenth bits
unlightened lasers stab network
Funnels sign funnels
convections of limp subtext
evaporates holographic cowls
aurorae shear stiff tubes
distended flux links close cousins
Electron scans electron
two wave forms mimetic beyond Planck and perfection
non-local non-relative and non-deterministic
below basement and vacuum and biosphere of ducts
superimposed funnels spin plasm
and surge
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Two paragraphs from my novel The Real Raquel
Maybe Raquel and I share more than looks, I thought, and when the chorus finally
hit in all its authoritative glory, my nervousness turned into something more like
adrenaline, and I was able to fall flawlessly into a circular formation with the dancers,
whisper-singing little snatches of Raquel’s defiant manifesto to each one of them as they
cycled around me. “I’m the Real Raquel. Oh, I’m the Real Raquel,” I declared to the
dancer with blonde highlights before turning to a slim male dancer with messy blue hair
—“I’m not a chameleon, but if I was, I’d never tell…” The noise of the crowd spiked at
this line, which didn’t surprise me. I lipped it with particular conviction because it sums
up Raquel better than any other lyric in her catalogue: she’s as real as they come, exuding
the kind of authenticity and feistiness that focus group-tested pop stars can never hope to
achieve, but at the same time she maintains a certain element of mystery, a thoroughly
sexy and effortless elusiveness, giving you the sense that there’s always a piece of the
puzzle missing, always something to study and be fascinated by.
I don’t want to downplay the discipline and years of practice needed to pull off a good performance but I think I passed a crucial test when I first grabbed the mic and dared to whisper-sing words that were rightfully Raquel’s. I say this because as the song went into the second verse and Raquel, her voice losing some of its bravado and displaying more tenderness and vulnerability, sang, “Baby I won’t compromise myself,” the oppressive weight of my nerves lifted entirely. I felt a kind of synergy between my body and the lyrics booming out over the field and when Raquel sang, “If you don’t love me I’ll find somebody else. Somebody who wants to know the truth,” I gracefully lunged forward as if asserting the truth of my own existence through physical movement. This is the real Raquel, I was saying to the audience. You can take it or leave it but it is a truth I will express unapologetically. Then I fell back into formation and looked sideways at some of the dancers. They were somewhat disoriented by the small liberty I had taken but this didn’t bother me. In fact, it was downright satisfying that I had went off script, especially considering the audience’s reaction. They gave me their loudest round of applause yet and this confirmed to me that while Raquel’s mystique lures people in, it’s her honesty that makes them stay.
I don’t want to downplay the discipline and years of practice needed to pull off a good performance but I think I passed a crucial test when I first grabbed the mic and dared to whisper-sing words that were rightfully Raquel’s. I say this because as the song went into the second verse and Raquel, her voice losing some of its bravado and displaying more tenderness and vulnerability, sang, “Baby I won’t compromise myself,” the oppressive weight of my nerves lifted entirely. I felt a kind of synergy between my body and the lyrics booming out over the field and when Raquel sang, “If you don’t love me I’ll find somebody else. Somebody who wants to know the truth,” I gracefully lunged forward as if asserting the truth of my own existence through physical movement. This is the real Raquel, I was saying to the audience. You can take it or leave it but it is a truth I will express unapologetically. Then I fell back into formation and looked sideways at some of the dancers. They were somewhat disoriented by the small liberty I had taken but this didn’t bother me. In fact, it was downright satisfying that I had went off script, especially considering the audience’s reaction. They gave me their loudest round of applause yet and this confirmed to me that while Raquel’s mystique lures people in, it’s her honesty that makes them stay.
Friday, October 16, 2015
journal entry/ poemy-thing
Looking through my notebook in search of the (multiple) bodily ramblings, I found this note I had forgotten about. Relevant re: burning, sacrifice, identity,
"As fodder for..." I can't write anymore because I can't bring myself to burn anything.
I'm holding all objects and materials and knowledge close and whole.
What should be burned and how? Or when does the effigy leave the vile thing intact?
A sacrifice to it rather than a sacrifice of it.
(as in VP)
the 'I' is key?
whiteness as fodder for poetry?
"As fodder for..." I can't write anymore because I can't bring myself to burn anything.
I'm holding all objects and materials and knowledge close and whole.
What should be burned and how? Or when does the effigy leave the vile thing intact?
A sacrifice to it rather than a sacrifice of it.
(as in VP)
the 'I' is key?
whiteness as fodder for poetry?
Free Range
Hi folks, below is the first poem I wrote when I moved to Boulder. It's mostly a ripoff (albeit a very indirect one) of a Kim Hyesoon poem called "Song of Skin," which I wrote about in a review of Kim for Jacket2 a few years back.
Free Range
Associated Press: From what we can see, she mostly just walks around putting her tits in everything knots of trees chinks in the cabinet I mean everything everywhere you can find a hole I meant hollows I suppose not knots point is she just sticks them in and we have to watch her feet roll up like toothpaste tubes with each ounce of milk she volunteers to the woodwork which isn’t to say we aren’t all benefiting from the nutrition but the shame of it months pass now she’s syphoned out to her solar plexus and bending down to suckle misaligned baseboards and the occasional mouse hole but we’ve learned to live with her whorish indiscretion besides she’s taken the liberty of stringing Christmas lights along the walls you’d never expect the whole room needed a twinkling anklet down there but really the effect is just stunning
Associated Press: From what we can see, she mostly just walks around putting her tits in everything knots of trees chinks in the cabinet I mean everything everywhere you can find a hole I meant hollows I suppose not knots point is she just sticks them in and we have to watch her feet roll up like toothpaste tubes with each ounce of milk she volunteers to the woodwork which isn’t to say we aren’t all benefiting from the nutrition but the shame of it months pass now she’s syphoned out to her solar plexus and bending down to suckle misaligned baseboards and the occasional mouse hole but we’ve learned to live with her whorish indiscretion besides she’s taken the liberty of stringing Christmas lights along the walls you’d never expect the whole room needed a twinkling anklet down there but really the effect is just stunning
A fourteen-line poem on the female body
1. It has to begin somewhere
2. she harass with enjoyment
3. tired of the topic before I
4. start. Cause if she's not raped
5. she's the criminal killing the
6. thing. So rape her to
7. save her from herself. O
8. lovely
9. flakey, she'll be data or she'll be tagged
10. so she made herself a border and hung there
11. pregnant or bleeding or pregnant and bleeding
12 been full a long time with
13 time and grey clouds streaming in
14. We're not always dead
1. It has to begin somewhere
2. she harass with enjoyment
3. tired of the topic before I
4. start. Cause if she's not raped
5. she's the criminal killing the
6. thing. So rape her to
7. save her from herself. O
8. lovely
9. flakey, she'll be data or she'll be tagged
10. so she made herself a border and hung there
11. pregnant or bleeding or pregnant and bleeding
12 been full a long time with
13 time and grey clouds streaming in
14. We're not always dead
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