O god.
First the greatest MC in history
Don Cornelius
(hit over .400 1971-1993)
then Dorothea Tanning, Wisława Szymborska, Mike Kelley …
And now Stacy Doris.
O god.
First the greatest MC in history
Don Cornelius
(hit over .400 1971-1993)
then Dorothea Tanning, Wisława Szymborska, Mike Kelley …
And now Stacy Doris.
02.02.2012 in New Work | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Why does everyone rush through games, anyway? Sometimes it seems like it’s too much “On to the Next One” and not enough “Never Change,” to put it in terms of Jay-Z. We'll make a living selling cheap tickets and drinks and popcorn. We'll be these exotic, olive-skinned intellectuals and everyone will adore us! We'll be just like the young Japanese couple who go chasing rock ‘n roll in Jarmusch’s Mystery Train. Let’s get new names. Let’s dye our hair. For that matter, when you say, “I’m eating some cake,” why don’t you have to actually eat some actual cake in order to let someone know you’re eating some cake? It’s a mystery. Just like “it.” Say “it” over and over again — itititititititititititititititititit — The Lady of Ur says I feel like I´m the oldest museum in the world and I´ve just had been ransacked. WHAT WOULD YOU DO with a couple of tons of ice? No, really. Ice. As in frozen water. That you pried off a glacier in the south of Chile. We are still sitting on the tarmac, with the girl with the leashed gray-black cat, with Concord grape eyes; how flows the Demerara, dear brother, still out to the Atlantic? They have misnamed our numbers 1 2 3 4 5. Jesus Fetus Fajita Fishsticks. And the virgins are all trimming their wigs. Danny! Danny! Put another round in that woman over there! Look, she’s a twitcher! Can a book read a book? Then why do they tell me I’m beautiful? There were squirrel-birds and jackal-birds and the old woman wore a vermilion jacket. I don’t understand why I think I’m not like the beards of Spanish Moss hanging from trees by the ocean. Can you understand what I’m saying? Actually, I was talking to a friend a couple of days ago about what “understanding” might actually mean. Anyway, I’m getting off the point: Margaret Thatcher, and her strange relationship with the combined central nervous systems of all of the people who were picked up in the weeks following the riots, around 3000 of them. It is, of course, a very tricky equation, bearing in mind that it would have to be visibly segregated into several different sectors operating at highly incompatible latitudes, with all of the turbulence and storms that rage along the borders and boundaries of those sectors considered. What the fuck you looking at? A boarded up warehouse hoarding secrets like homeless fires roaring inside. Earlier in the day, Marissa, a Goth girl I work with (Sbarro’s) told me “green was my color … definitely.” Her voice was still vibrating in my. I was on the second level watching Richard Simmons motivate. I had a job at the mall and I was on break. The feeling of being packaged into my own afterlife was strong and not really unpleasant. I wanted to cup a mannequin’s breast the way I was feeling. The winter for mushrooms, as for music, is a most sorry season. In the summer, matters are different. Some three thousand different mushrooms are thriving in abundance, and right and left there are Festivals of Contemporary Music. The problem has gotten so bad the city has even trained large black-faced langur apes to scare off the smaller monkeys from approaching government buildings. Lucy Pagoda could be confounded with Yvonne Pagoda at one time. The planets drift in stressed twitches across the sky. I won’t have an epiphany. I won’t come back together. Or I’ll have a shoddy epiphany. A hit epiphany. A puke epiphany. A rotten orchid for an epiphany. A stunt epiphany on a motorcycle. I’ll wear Liz Taylor’s wig. This-a here’s what we call a neon animist spaceship aporia. I feel it like a great host passing over my organs: Demons, huge chittering bugs. Through the selva, a bare column staggering, the imps and chittering. 273 seconds later he hit the big moving bar. If only I could devote himself to it. When I was young we used to have a row of little lanterns lighting the driveway down through the forest down to our house but my mom picked them all off one by one the first year backing up so now there are no lights and we drive down in the dark like Merlin. A journey within the 5th element. That’s when Larry Cucumber met his match in the perseverance maze. Patti was trying to spook him with big hanging wolf eyes. It’s affordable theater. Her shirt was on inside out, on the tugboat to the Keys. When the field puts its ear to the ground it can hear a faint humming.
[Note: SPD Spring 012 catalog #15. Sources: Drew Millard, and the B&N blog, as quoted in Millard’s “Who’s going to kickstart the ‘slow gaming’ movement?”, at Kill Screen, 31 Jan 012; Noha Al-Badry, “Mania”, at Otoliths 24; Ambar Past, “The Lady of Ur”, at Left Curve (“just had been” is Word’s suggested emendation to Past’s much more lucid original); Eileen Smith, “Chilean glacier pillaged for 5000 kilos of ice”, at Matador Network, 31 Jan 012 (“Some 5000 kilos (eleven thousand pounds) of ice has recently been stolen out of Chile’s National Park Bernardo O’Higgins, near the community of Caleta Tortel on the Carretera Austral (Southern Highway) in the south of Chile. It was removed from the Jorge Montt area of the Southern Patagonian Icefield, which is one of the world’s largest repositories of ice, after the Greenland and Antarctic ice caps. The ice field spans parts of Chilean and Argentine Patagonia, including Argentina’s Parque de Los Glaciares, home to Argentina’s well-visited Perito Moreno Glacier (pictured above), and parts of Chile’s Torres del Paine national park. National Chilean newspaper El Mercurio reports that a cargo truck was seized yesterday evening near the community of Cochrane, and that investigations into the theft indicate that the plot’s leader lives in Santiago. For a simple robbery, based on the market value of the ice, penalties could reach up to 3 million Chilean pesos, or about 6 thousand US dollars. Penalties for destruction of natural resources are weak in Chile, so it is not clear what (if any) other penalties may apply. It is also still not clear what the ice was destined for, though commenters in Chile suggest that it was to be used to freshen the drinks of upper class Santiaguinos against the summer heat.”); Sasenarine Persaud, “Street Fair: Brookline 300”, “Do Not Say Goodbye”, at Sasenarine Persaud; JBR; website name; JBR; Johnny Cash, “The Man Comes Around” (wigs is really wicks, but it sure sounds like wigs); Sheriff Cahill, in Dawn of the Dead (2004) on tv as I write; Dennis Phillips, “Sophia’s Lament”, at The PIP (Project for Innovative Poetry) Blog, 13 Dec 08; JBR; Sean Bonney, “Letter on Harmony and Sacrifice”, at Abandoned Buildings, 31 Jan 012; Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarashina, “My City Is A Hard Femme”, at Brownstargirl; Ben Hersey, “Excerpts from The Autograph of Steve Industry”, at Everyday Genius, 27 Jan 012; John Cage, “Music Lovers’ Field Companion”, Urbanist, Gertrude Stein, Lucy Church Amiably, as quoted in Reynard Seifert, “α language having a cow”, at HTMLGIANT, 31 Jan 012; Aase Berg, “The Cursed Part”, and Johannes Göransson, as quoted is Göransson’s “‘The Adrenaline Blooms’: Gaudy Possibilities #2 (The Patti Smith Orbit)”, at Montevidayo, 31 Jan 012; JBR; Kalan Sherrard, website landing page, “peeling the skin off my face”, at The Enormous Face, via Graham Harman, “weird OOO street artist identified”, at Object-Oriented Philosophy, 31 Jan 012; Jack Kimball, “Variations cost a lot …”, at Pantaloons, 31 Jan 012; Martin Glaz Serup, The Field, as quoted in Geof Huth, “In the Field, I am the Absence of Field”, at dbqp, 31 Jan 012]
02.02.2012 in In the House of the Hangman | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Originally, pronoia denotes the knowledge (noia) of the inner working and the way things are going, in Hermetic Ifa the knowledge of the Odu, the 256 fractal components of the Multiverse. Epinoia denoted in gnostics the ‘knowledge of the center’, resulting in the ‘pleroma’ effect or, if super-charged with the Girapoli process in a peakstate specific to the polarity invoked. So what else would Luminous Epinoia be? Mutual dreaming: a Dantescan vision of order and strife: dreadcomb, lutrescence, fogroom: fractual, nano, deconstructivist. Strolling the paths of the Villa Giulia Goethe came upon an ancient aloe plant, its dinosaur fronds rooted it seemed to him in divine memory. Equador promises to investigate and shut down those cure-a-queer torture clinics. Owls can be ferocious, but like pandas, they are super cute! Thus, it only seems natural to craft little teapots and mugs out of them. Latour misreads the irony. It’s obvious how we can be posthuman AND in the midst of the Anthropocene. Seems he’s lost sight of the lay of the agency … It’s prestitial. But enough … Could there be a FEMA rendition site at LAX? “We need bodies down here.” We got dressed, on the train, off the train. The Brooklyn Bridge rose high against the blue sky. We went down Broadway. In front of us was the guy who balances a cat on his head; today the cat was wearing an American flag. And yet there is no “prison correspondent” at any of the nation’s major newspapers. I was the idiot who didn’t realize this was a light movie; this was PG-13. I didn’t need to breathe and think like Muhammad Ali. ‘The bulk of the records are missing.’ And that became a beginning, a way to sort out what was intensely affecting me. I was fourteen when this video was taken. A fourteen year old girl, the sort who walked through the world the way most fourteen year old girls do: feeling hyperbolically watched, intensively observed, and not at all because of a budding awareness of control societies and surveillance culture, but for reasons that have more to do with what Laura Mulvey has termed ‘to-be-looked-at-ness,’ the forceful injunctions we negotiate regarding the molding of our bodies to become objects of aesthetic and erotic consumption. Of course, these two phenomena (the commoditization of girls’ bodies and control societies) are interlinked, but my awareness of the former was infinitely stronger than the latter at that young age; I was infinitely more interested in feminism though I, of course, hated cops, security guards, and closed-circuit cameras the way any good punk does. What makes you laugh? Why don’t you find the same things funny as many of your friends? Laughter can be a bodily emission like drool or urine, uncontrollable under certain stimuli, the body’s response to emotional distress. Is it the power thing, again? Or is it the human thing, the freak in me acknowledges the freak in you via the universal tongue of freak? I’m going to be vibrating around the edges of my skin. Poor Because of You: Activists of the Ukrainian feminist nudity group Femen clash with Swiss police during a protest at the meeting of the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, Saturday 28 January 2012: photo by Jean-Christophe Bott/AP. Editing is perfecting a mask. I decided that it meant “prior to interstices.”
[Note: SPD Spring 012 catalog #14. Sources: Max Sandor, “The Sandorian Grove: Memebusting: Pronoia, Epinoia, Paranoia, Morphonoia”, at at The Sandorian Grove; JBR; SPD Spring 012 catalog blurb for Peter O’Leary, Luminous Epinoia; Peter O’Leary, “Peter O’Leary reviews «Selected Poems 1950–2000» by Nathaniel Tarn / Wesleyan University Press, 2002”, at Jacket 39; Andre and Jeremy, AllOut.org, “Big News: Ecuador pledging to shut down ‘Ex-Gay’ Clinics!”, email rec’d 30 Jan 012, approx 1:40 PM PST; Alessandra Rizotti, “Item of the Day”, at Hello Giggles, 30 Jan 012; JBR, after reading the extract of Bruno Latour’s “Waiting for Gaia” paper in Adam Robbert, “Waiting for Gaia. Composing the Common World Through Arts and Politics PDF”, at Knowledge Ecology, 30 Jan 012, and Jake Chapman, in “Jake Chapman on Georges Bataille: an Interview with Simon Baker”, at Papers of Surrealism (Chapman: “Our reciprocation of images, our understanding of images, is always prestitial”; I had to decide for myself what prestitial might mean); Camron Wiltshire, “Could There Be A FEMA Rendition Site At LAX Airport?” Disinformation, 30 Jan 012; blurbs for various articles, in “Issue Number 13”, at n+1, 30 Jan 012; Citizens for Legitimate Government, “Audit: US Defense Department can't account for billions for Iraq 29 Jan 2012”, email rec’d 29 Jan 012 approx 9:17 PM PST; Hilary Malatino, “Unlikely Video Girl(s)”, at Prodigies and Monsters, 30 Jan 012; Kristen Iskandrian, “What’s so funny”, at HTMLGIANT, 30 Jan 012; Heather Christle, “There will be books! …”, at Heather Christle, 30 Jan 012; sign held in a photo, and photo caption, in Tom Clark, “Bertolt Brecht: Hollywood”, at Tom Clark Beyond the Pale, 30 Jan 012; Del Ray Cross, “mdlxxiii”, at Anachronizms, 30 Jan 012; JBR]
01.02.2012 in In the House of the Hangman | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Reblogged from zunguzungu:
I spent Sunday outside Santa Rita County Jail, waiting with other Occupy Oakland people for the 400 people who were arrested the previous day to be released, to greet them with food, rides, hugs, and cheers. As of last night, the round the clock support team was still there; people were still, slowly, being released. It was a very strange day, but quite pleasant for those of us lucky enough to be free, bathing in the information vacuum, the company, and the California sun. Thousands of birds had occupied the nearby trees – set in the midst of vast grassy lawns whose grass was, according to signs posted, not to be walked upon – and the weird aharmonic chorus of their chirping was both almost as inhumanly robotic as the jail itself, and also quite peculiarly soothing.
For those we were waiting to greet, the situation was somewhat different. When my friend Michelle got out, her first words were a very understated “That place is really not a good place.” As another friend, “Repoliticize,” described her experience on twitter:
For those of you who haven’t had the, ahem, pleasure of paying a visit to the inner corridors of santa rita jail, a few words… this is a cold, concrete space, which will eventually defeat you into lying on surfaces you wouldn’t let children touch. If you stay there long enough to be served more than one “meal,” you realize there is only one meal that they serve in the holding cells, a sealed plastic bag with two thick, stomach-turning slices of bologna, two stale slices of white bread, two soggy cookies, an orange, and a packet of “bernard” orange powder for flavoring the oddly filmy water that comes out of the cell’s one faucet.
The toilet is next to the window, so that you’re forced to pee not only in front of your cellmates, but also passing guards and inmates you’re made to beg for more toilet paper, and there hasn’t been any soap in the cells on either of my visits to santa rita. There are no trash cans, so you sit and lie in your own filth: orange peels, plastic packaging, spilled “bernard” off-brand tang.previous inhabitants of the cells have written on the walls with mustard and the benches are thick and sticky with food and bodily discharge. There’s not thing to do but sleep (if you’re lucky) and ponder whether it’s worth it to eat the “food” or drink the “water”
I don’t want to be overly dramatic with this account — although everything is as disgusting or as bad as I say because this was a TERRIBLE experience — but let’s be real: I was detained for 24 hours. This is one of the LEAST bad experiences one could have in jail.
Now, why were they there? Why did 400 people from Occupy Oakland spend days in a county jail? Why was it necessary? What did this accomplish? And why are some still there?
The easy answer – the one you’d get from newspapers, who are careful to give you a (gradually rising) number of arrestees — is something like “Violence Erupted in Oakland.” And the police exist, as you and I know, to calm the violence, restore stability, preserve order, pacify the situation, etc. Sitting outside the jail, it was hard not to think about the ways those distinctions were being established spatially: inside, those who were arrested (CRIMINALS) were lying in filth; outside, we (CITIZENS) were bathing in the pacific beauty of pristine lawns, sky, sun.
I start by talking about this because I want to expand on the post I wrote on Sunday morning — and I apologize for the excessive length of this — but I’ve been unable to stop thinking about what was has been so viscerally physical for those 400 people who were arrested versus the way we, who are distant from their experience, are able to make sense of why they have gone through it (with perhaps a bit of uneasiness about having been spared it). And I can’t help but talk about where I was and what I saw, not because I’m a narcissistic blogger — that’s just bonus — but because where you are, and when, is what makes the story you are able to tell what it is.
As I wrote on Sunday morning, what was so striking the day after was how all the mainstream news stories seemed to have been composed the same way, starting with OPD’s press release (issued in the mid afternoon) as a rough outline, sprinkling in some quotes from non-OPD sources (often social media, no doubt collected from the comfort of their office chairs), and then (maybe) added on the additional information that between one and four hundred people were arrested in the evening, depending on how late in the day they filed their copy.
It goes beyond the shoddy plagiarism of their work, though. As a result of how poorly these stories were constructed, you got the sense that everything happened at more or less the same time: occupiers tried to occupy a building, threw stones, burned a flag (or some variation on these elements) and the police arrested them all. It all seemed to happen at once (or at least you had no sense of what the rhyme of reason of it all had been). There is some truth to this story – there almost always is – but we should observe both what a simplisticstory it became and how overdetermined the shape of that story was by the situation of its writers: since the NYT and CNN lacked any deep information about what happened – having no reporters there, on the ground, to do fancy things like fact checking, interviewing, or getting background – they could only present their readers with SPECTACLE. A picture, a few quotes, a flashy fact like the number of arrestees; that’s all they had, so that’s all they could give. And maybe this is all they want to sell anyway: inform their readers that SPECTACLE happened in Oakland on Saturday (giving them this news immediately, before anything is really known about it), so that they could move on to even more newer news the next day, leaving this story behind, even before all (or even many) details about what actually happened were known.
The result is that, as more and more information trickles out – and as the story develops further, as people talk to each other, as video comes out, as new accounts emerge – the mainstream faucet of news about Oakland has already slowed to a trickle, if that; Saturday recedes deep into the past, and the news cycle churns on to the next thing.
All sorts of information asymmetries result from this sequencing: the stories written Saturday have details on every injury suffered by the handful of police who (supposedly) suffered injuries… because the police were in a position to supply the press with loving detail of every pinky scrape. It would not be until yesterday, by contrast, that the National Lawyers Guild – whose green-hatted observers were all over the place on the day of the march – would be able to write this account of and response to what happened:
“It is appalling that the OPD continues to violate the law and its own policies,” said Carlos Villarreal, NLGSF Executive Director. “The police instigated the confrontation by immediately attacking the march with chemical agents, flashbang bombs, and a volley of rifle or shotgun-fired projectiles.”
As of 11 a.m., Monday, January 30, the NLGSF can confirm that at least 284 people were arrested on Saturday during Occupy Oakland’s Move In Day. The NLGSF received many reports of assaults on protesters, including an incident in which police knocked one person’s teeth out with a baton strike to the face. Police reportedly threw others through a glass door, and down a flight of steps. A videographer was pushed to the ground and clubbed.
“OPD has shown itself incapable of handling crowd control in a legal, much less professional manner,” said NLGSF Attorney Rachel Lederman. “We would urge the appointed monitor to take action immediately to rein in this abusive conduct, which is leading to ever increasing liability for the City.”
Now, these are lawyers speaking, lawyers who had multiple trained observers on the ground, and two days after they event, they are speaking from this accumulated observation, now checked against other sources and carefully justified. Let us then note, however, that while theirs is clearly the most credible account of what happened – the most informed, the best sourced – theirs is precisely the story that will not be widely reported, if at all. The moment has passed for that; only new developments will be reported, and this is old news. The “record” has been set, while everything else will remain merely “anecdotal” and unprinted. It will remain a subjective impression that the police were using indiscriminate physical violence, the kind of subjective impression you get if you talk to a whole bunch of protesters as they leave jail, hearing an accumulated record of expereince over the course of hours.
This is one problem with chronology; another is that the narrative logic of a newspaper article has its own warped sense of time, a distinctly non-chronological version of reality: beginning with The Thing (Clashes! Tear Gas! Arrests!, etc) it then goes on to add context and quotes and commentary on The Thing, thereby re-establishing that it was a singular thing, an event, a lede, a story. But it isn’t really a story in the strict sense of a chronological narrative: instead of a series of events linked together by various causes, effects, complications, and ambiguities – leading out of causes in the past and pointing towards new events in an inchoate future – it will be a singular thing, which happened, which has been “Reported” and which we can all consume and move on from.
There are rare exceptions, of course, but they are rare for clear reasons; Susie Cagle has been covering Occupy Oakland since the very beginning, because she’s an Oakland based reporter and because she wanted to. As a result, she has the deepest and most complete and most contextually rich version of the event. But no one has paid her consistently to do this, and that’s exactly the point: because the NYT (and even the Oakland Tribune) can weave together a story from OPD press releases and quotes from twitter, why should they pay someone to, you know, actually be informed about what’s happened? When Susie wrote her story, she didn’t know if she’d have anyone to pay her for writing it (whereas all the paid journalists who would write stories about what happened were either absent or had their eyes closed).
This is all, perhaps, completely unsurprising: since newspapers are in the business of producing news product, each article is a little commodified piece of information, easily swallowed, easily understood, and easily forgotten (so you’ll be ready for the next one). But all of this means that, for example, the “paper of record” produces their final story on Saturday night’s mass arrests (going to print on Sunday) by opening with this quite misleading sentence:
About 400 people were arrested and three police officers were injured after a weekend protest by members of the Occupy movement in Oakland, Calif., turned into a violent confrontation with law enforcement officers that led to an assault on City Hall.
Certain categories leap out, of course, as they always do, in the passive voice: while one group of people “were arrested,” another group of people “were injured.” Protesters are not classifiable as “injured,” even though so many of them were; the 400 people arrested were behind the walls of Glen Dyer and Santa Rita prisons, so little of no information was to be had about their injuries (or even still). In a vicious irony, since they’ve become “bodies” (as incarcerated human beings come to be called by police), they become effectively uninjurable; it wouldn’t be until they had returned to the world that we could know about their sprained wrists, head wounds, etc.
But the larger issue is this: if you were there – or even if you simply experienced it in real-time, over the livestream (as I did), or twitter, or whatever – you know how misleading that one sentence is. It isn’t untrue, exactly; those things did happen – more or less – but the chronology is incredibly important, and that’s the thing that’s been removed (along with protester injuries), when you reduce a narrative into a lede, especially one which strongly implies – as this one does – that the arrest was a response to the “assault on City Hall.”
Parenthetically, City Hall loves this kind of language, where the protesters are waging a war against the city. Councilmember Larry Reid claimed that “It’s almost like we’re being held hostage,” a strange thing to say while protesters were still in jail. Councilmember Ignacio De La Fuente said that Occupy protesters were engaging in “domestic terrorism.” Pictures like this one show us Jean Quan mourning the assault on her beloved city (this is a model of the county courthouse building):

And this, perhaps the most iconic image, is of protesters who took a flag out of City Hall, waved it around, then torched it:
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I’m not going to defend things like burning of flags or vandalizing city hall; I wouldn’t have done it, I wish they hadn’t done it, and I think it was stupid to do it. I don’t think it accomplishes anything, and it feeds into the story that people like Reid and De La Fuente want to tell about Occupy Oakland, making it seem like Occupy are the violent ones.
That said, the “assault on City Hall” was virtually the last thing that happened on Saturday. It wasn’t the cause of the police reaction, as the National Lawyer’s Guild noted: it was a response to the actions taken by OPD and the city of Oakland. You can still think whatever you want about it; you can be appalled at the protesters who did it, if you like. But it wasn’t the cause of the days events; it was the coda to the night’s events, if that.
The story of what happened before that is there, though, if we gave it some room to breathe. Kevin Gosztola wrote a pretty strong account of what happened – relying mainly on livestreams and hard work –and Benjamin Phillips’ account at Occupy Oakland Media is quite accurate. If you want a deep and informed account of community (bad) relations with OPD, you will find Cami Graves’ story informative (also at OOM, starting with “The long, dark history of a troubled police department”).
The simplest version of the chronology that doesn’t complete obscure it would, I think, divide the day into two stages. Stage one was the confrontation at the Kaiser Convention Center, which happened in the early afternoon. This account describes what happened there, more or less as I experienced it; suffice it to say that the march took a long time to get to the Kaiser Center because the police were already there, and then the police used smoke bombs, tear gas, clubs, and bean-bag rounds[1] to drive the crowd away. It’s unclear what Occupy Oakland’s plan was, but whatever it was, it didn’t work. This photo (taken by Millicent) shows you the scene, but what you can’t see are the cops between the marchers and the Kaiser Center itself:

At that point, the march was stalled, and so they turned back along Oak Avenue, and came up against a line of police, briefly trying to stand up to them:
After that, the march turned away and began working its way back to Oscar Grant Plaza. They would eventually regroup there, but it seemed, from my perspective at the back, like a very near thing: the police were moving in military phalanxes, beating protesters who didn’t move fast enough, and obviously trying to kettle the march. It was scary. The fact that they were using physical force should surprise no one at this point, but what was new was the way they were using it: the police were on the offensive. Once the march got stalled at the Kaiser Center, they were moving us, at least until the marchers took back that momentum. I suspect that if they could have kettled the march there, they would have arrested everyone right then.
Once the march got back to OGP, there was a pause. And this, too, is important: it was some time later that a different march (with many of the same people but also many different people), started marching from Oscar Grant Plaza to try to take, apparently, the Travelers Aid building. That pause fooled me; I thought, from the demeanor of the crowd, that the day was over, and I went home. And, honestly, I was pretty bummed by what had happened, and not in the mood to march around the city chanting, which is what Occupy Oakland has been doing on Saturday nights for the last few weeks. I was tired, and I had stuff to do. And if it sounds like I’m re-thinking or trying to justify that decision, well, I obviously am: you cannot spend hours outside a jail, waiting, where your friends are imprisoned inside, without thinking really hard about why it was that they are in there and you are out here.
In any case, in the meantime, people had been discussing what had happened, rebuilding spirits, and deciding what to do next. And since it was widely circulated that the Kaiser Center had been Plan A, but that there was a plan B, the second march set forth. This would be the second stage, because the police were now in full effect. In the afternoon, they had been guarding the targets – like the Kaiser Center – and were not visibly following the march; in the evening marches, they were following and attempting to kettle the marchers, pretty clearly so that they could do what they eventually did: arrest every last one of them.
The unstoppable livestreamer Oakfosho was out for the entire time, and his videos show what happened along the march, seen from the ground (at grueling length, but here’s an only 17 minute long edited and annotated version). But here, with footage take from a building above, you can see with great clarity what was happening at 19th and Telegraph, when the police finally managed to block off all the exits from the square. It is a remarkable thing this video lets you see; you should read Millicent’s analysis of it, but mainly you should just watch it:
The important thing to take from this video is that the police were trying to trap the protesters so they could arrest them all – what they would later do – and they only failed because the protesters were able to push down a fence and and escape through it. Note that, at about 4:10 into that video above, the police fire flash grenades into the crowd – still trapped on all four sides inside the park – and at 4:20, you can see police rushing into the crowd and hitting people with their clubs. They push the crowd back, forcing them into a smaller and smaller area, until – at 5:20 – a group pushes down the fence and the whole crowd is able to escape.
As Millicent notes, while OPD is explicitly required not to treat an entire crowd as one thing (and to allow people who want to leave to leave), they do exactly what they are not supposed to do:
OPD manufactures the very condition it’s supposed to avoid: they are blocking people from leaving the scene. They are creating precisely the “position of heightened danger” they’re supposed to be trying to defuse.
After the escape through the fence, the march continued, with the cops following. But the police caught up with the marchers in front of the YMCA, and this time kettled them more successfully, blocking all the exits (by many accounts clubbing people to force them back and thereby packing them in like sardines) and then, after preventing them from escaping, arresting everybody (or, almost everybody) for failure to disperse (including, I was told, a guy who was just trying to get into his car and didn’t even know what the protest was about). They even brought a tank.
It was clear, at this point, that this is what they’d been trying to do all day, what they’d been planning to do earlier: arrest everybody and sort it out later. And it was only at this point that the “assault on City Hall” happened, maybe five blocks away. Once the 400 people who would be arrested that night had been informed that they were under arrest (which you could hear on the livestream as “Attention marchers: you have failed to disperse! You are now under arrest! Submit to the arrest” several minutes after the protesters had been chanting “Let us Disperse”), protesters who had escaped back to Oscar Grant Plaza “occupied” City Hall.
Think what you want about what happened after that. Think what you want about what happened the whole day, in fact. But I started with the mis-chronology of the NYT story – and the implication that the arrests were a reaction to the “assault on City Hall” – because it was only once police had arrested 400 people that some of the people they hadn’t arrested (and perhaps some other people) went to Oscar Grant Plaza, City Hall’s front lawn, and, angrily, in response to what had happened, did what they did. In other words, a group of occupiers angrily smashed stuff in City Hall and burned a flag after protesters were arrested for a failure to disperse when the police were preventing them from dispersing (and no official order to disperse was given the second time, a violation of their own rules).
At home, I could see what was happening over the livestream, could hear the crowd was chanting “let us disperse” and “this is a hostage situation.” I could read the tweets being sent out from inside the kettle, where protesters were describing what was happening to them. And the New York Times could have done that too, if they had wanted to. If they had, though, they would have to admit that the 400 people who were arrested were not, and could not have been, arrested for what was done in City Hall. They were arrested because Oakland Police Department had already made the decision to do a mass arrest, of everyone they could sweep up and the tie down. They are tired of Occupy Oakland. They want it to end. And so, they are now making decision not based on the law – which will be what causes the vast majority of these charges to be dropped, if the past is any indication, and most likely a class action lawsuit – but on the political desire of City Hall to get back to the business of making Oakland safe for business.
31.01.2012 in Current Affairs | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
You’re like, wow, he’s even good at taking a bath. Do You Think Your illness Is Cryptic? In My New Job “The women step out, the men go in”. A masterfully sutured journey. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Click the switch. In the past scholars have been handicapped by a severe shortage of evidence. We are glaciers or snakes. “My illness is an alcoholic pitbull” by Freaky Meat. Queer ecology simply sees this performance happening “below” the human level of meaning, at the level of the genome and other physical beings. (As in all fortunes, is this mountain ;an inner distress?) It begins with Armageddon and ends with a gas mask. First grab a handgun but is run out of ammo. No. Mold Can Bring Me Down! No fucking mold. ETC. It begins with a brawl and end up slaughtering mask. It is sad to type five minutes. I see yellow out? Is that Batman climb a wall-mounted in parallel. Yeah! Grab my twenty-four cinema tickets. Each flatworm tries to pierce the skin of the other by using one of its penises. Mating is a fight because the worm that assumes the female role then must expend considerable energy caring for the developing eggs. And this one’s called The Train Falls Upon Its Wheels Sideways and this one’s called In A Basin Filled with Chinese Goldfish and this one’s called Several Injections of Doctor Yersin’s serum. Despite being vegan sometimes cheese pizza is the only remedy. Some of you will never go to Spanish Fork. That’s where Jason lassos Medea and winter piles up, distinguished by its rich inner life from … ENTER GHOST … Cut it out! Plus — a genuinely freelance position with repetitive selves, a saw horse, an old-fashioned pipe uncomplaining, since error is a natural feature like shoulders. Of course, the AR nature of the project excludes the incredibly interesting and ethically tortuous field of functional body modifications — increases in our functional range, from magnetic implants and exoskeletons to meat-and-blood wings. “We were going to set up a community center,” said Benjamin Phillips, 32, a member of the Occupy Oakland media team. “It would be a place where we could house people, feed people, do all the things that we have been doing.” Friends, listen up. He gathered the remnants of the life he had dreamed. He renounced the burden of the name he bore. He began to walk. He walked down Milwaukee Avenue toward the Flatiron Building. He passed bodegas, taquerias, vintage stores. He met a hustler with a gas can. He walked past the anarchist kids. And he walked, and he walked, and he walked past the cabdrivers trading insults in Urdu, and he walked past convenience stores, and he walked past Latin Kings, and he walked past waitresses getting off night shifts, and he walked past jazz stars that nobody recognized, he walked past the students, the teachers, the cops. And the sky was the color of eggplant and tire fires, the sky was the field that resisted exhaustion. And he walked, and he walked past the puddles and gutters. And no one walked with him. And SUVs burned, and the asphalt ran liquid and Orpheus saw the dissolving sky. Things are good, good is sweet, sweet is gnarly, and gnarly has the musty reek. Sky hook? It’s a thing that attaches to the sky. Then the pizza guy [not the cute pizza guy, worse luck] comes to the door and says, “Peace, Kitty! The sparrow trills for vespers; the grackle he sings for his life.” Blake’s Zoas, Yeats’s gyres, Pound’s dollars, my cream. But, happily, it doesn’t end there, but goes on with images of chimps in the gloaming like Tin Pan Alley meets TAZ in a herd of bush, a bug settling in at ‘Palm Beach Casino Club’. Take me to the empire of dirt, a rebel with an I.O.U. “Cuteness is a Landscape” – and so can you.
[Note: SPD Spring 012 catalog #13. Sources: Eileen Myles, “Collected Blurbs” (written for Ryan Adams, Infinity Blues, Catherine Wagner, My New Job, Julie Carr, Sarah—Of Fragments and Lines, Gerrit Henry, Time of the Night, Ana Bozicevic, Stars of the Night Commute), at Eileen Myles; Anne Gorrick, “My Illness is air ... I'm penetrating every entrance to your mind, taking my time to find out everything about you” (unpublished); Catherine Delano Smith, “Prehistoric Maps and the History of Cartography: An Introduction”, in The History of Cartography: Volume One (eds. J. B. Harley and David Woodward), at University of Chicago Press; Jeffrey Joe Nelson, “Snakes Among the Children”, at Oysterboy Review 4; Timothy Morton, “Queer Ecology revisited”, at Ecology without Nature, 29 Jan 012; Murat Nemet-Nejat, “Coffee Grinds”, at Words Without Borders; Stina Kajaso, “Tuben”, at SONOFDAD, 29 Jan 012;epigraph to Kelli Anne Noftle, “Penis Fencing”, at Blackbird, vol.9 no.1; Marcus Slease, “Vale Tudo”, at Never Mind the Beasts, 29 Jan 012; Kate Zambreno, “sunday”, at Frances Farmer Is My Sister, 29 Jan 012; JBR; Charles North, “Advice”, “Enter Ghost”, “Neige Dolorosa”, “Principals”, at Sienese Shredder; Simone Ferracina, “The Zoned Body”, at Œ (AR = Augmented Reality); Benjamin Phillips, as quoted in Jodi Dean, “Occupy Protesters and Police Clash in Oakland | Truthout”, at I cite, 29 Jan 012; John Beer, “The Waste Land”, at Poetry Foundation; Katie Degentesh, The Anger Scale, Rodney Koeneke, Musee Mechanique, and Sharon Mesmer, as quoted in Mesmer’s “The Anger Scale & Musee Mechanique”, at Modern Americans, 28 Jul 08; Amy De’Ath, “Cuteness is a Landscape”, at Intercapillary Space, 29 Jan 012; Stephen Colbert, I Am America (And So Can You!)]
31.01.2012 in In the House of the Hangman | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
So to offset this feeling, I browse around the internet — a way of tuning, not unlike a drug, or a prayer that I will find the thing I need — comfort in the document that resists the conclusion of the documentary — so if traffic and weather radio reports, sound recordings of the Hudson, or framing the changing sky may be our art, then perhaps — I’m plotting now — why not these finding aids, this record of labor? A fetishistic compositional move born out of a sense of endangerment? The archive: perhaps above all else, a record of a belief in inscription. Paper, articles, brochures, audio tape, digtal objects. Materials able to be filed, boxed, measured out in bits or feet. Collecting, submitting, hauling, believing in “the work.” Endangered waste turned into — I highlight, copy, paste. Do you recognize a name? A workplace? How many radicals in your blood? Have you heard from them recently? Do you believe in morphogenetic fields? “What are these bright eyes that think but tell nothing? What is white below and red on top?” 1 large soft pretzel weighs about the same as 40 ruby-throated hummingbirds. We would need 5,400,000,000,000 45-gram packets to transform Lake Vostok into Tang. I believe this qualifies me as a member of The June Leaf Fan Club. She knows that we are hanging by our wrists, puddle faces up. At the tip of every hair gapes an opening, lamprey-esque. Look — oozing cuticles! And then the toes blinked out like a disappearing photograph, and baby went on a miniature vacation to Puerto Vallarta where a lion almost devoured him like a fortune cookie, but he escaped and ate convenience store sandwiches and Hershey’s Kisses. Slicing the weather & tilting parking lots. Get your dose of color proving what not that proving what but something else proving what true, no longer interested in recording dialogue, top of the stove hot proving what not that but the proving that was circulating last night: 1, 2, 3 people proving what or nowhere. Consider this a sleep. This sleep. Is temporary as Shakespeare. I am at home today, reading Homo Sacer. Finally, I had to visualize an imaginary aunt who made a space for me to rest. And now I am a part of the sidewalk itself: a mixture of asphalt, street grit, trash, insects, dog shit, human dander and skin cells, chewing gum. & the sun is shining and warming my belly & illuminating my split ends. Somehow I’ve put the “un” in understanding. Like Jesse and Chester in Dude Where’s My Car?, I don’t really care whether I remember where the hell I parked; instead I merely hope to conjure some potentially world-saving wholly improbable living up. When blues legend ‘Bare Foot D’ remarked ‘awooooh eeee’ he borrowed much from ontology, so we will primarily be focusing on the Custard-Not-Mustard model of economics. Proving the fact that bedrizzles a spermatism’s hippophagous injustices and my four snuffings once a day. And the more they nibble, the more they forisfamiliate brank-like permixtion. It won’t peevishly dele. Suspect and let whir the secrophores. It’s like I have roc birds and carry owls sewn into my womb. And normally we would expect the feeling of arrival to wane upon departure.
[Note: SPD Spring 012 catalog #12. Sources: Jill Magi, “Labor Lost and Found”, at Spinozablue, 26 Apr 09; JBR, but see Mark Vernon, “It’s time for science to move on from materialism: The rigid 19th-century orthodoxy should be challenged to allow broader interpretations, as Rupert Sheldrake argues”, at The Guardian, 28 Jan 012; Michael Leong, “from Michael Palmer vs. Michael Palmer”, at EOAGH 8, 28 Jan 012; Donato Mancini, “Fun Facts”, as quoted in Sam Rowe’s review of Mancini’s “Buffet World”, at Full Stop, 17 Jan 012; John Yau, “Can We Do Something About This?”, at Hyperallergic, 28 Jan 012; John Yau, “June Leaf Paintings & Sculpture”, at Brooklyn Rail, Apr 08; Jessica Dessner, “Work the Marionette”, at EOAGH 8; Gordon Massman, “1159”, “1154”, “1181”, at Tarpaulin Sky, Summer 03; Kevin Opstedal, “Sean Penn will reprise the role of Jeff Spicoli in the movie version of this poem”, at Ukulele Feedback, 28 Jan 012; Bernadette Mayer, “Attempt to Write a Love Poem”, as quoted in Nada Gordon, “Form’s Life: An Exploration of the Works of Bernadette Mayer (Conclusion)”; Bhanu Kapil, “Ban: Antidote”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 28 Jan 012; JBR; Ariana Reines, “Mercury Reviewed in the Volta”, at Ariana Reines, 28 Jan 028; Jeffrey Morgan, “Dear Crying Shame,”, at La Petite Zine; Judith Halberstam, The Queer Art of Failure; “A Essay on Ontology”, at Essay Generator; Leon’s Random Essay Generator; JBR Myriam Moscona, “Door In” (tr. Kate Braid), at Poempire, 14 Jan 011; Greyhoos, “And normally we would expect the feeling of arrival to wane upon departure (and vice versa as well)”, at Our God is Speed, 28 Jan 012]
30.01.2012 in In the House of the Hangman | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Do you have brain damage too? Me three. A slow talker says, “Where are the bodegas? No one can even think revolt. In Brooklyn you can go to a bodega and get a Snapple.” Jen Hofer rides her bike in LA. “It reminds me of Paul Hession’s attitude towards his drums and his cymbals.” “A psycho-social analysis, in other words. What you'd need if you’re talking about zombie films.” When we hear, “I’m moving to Manhattan after I squeeze out my degree,” we ask if they’ve considered Newark. Like Adorno, The Affair understands that “the objective structures of capitalist society induce … doubts regarding the ultimate reality of certain subjective phenomena” (Adorno, Current of Music, p.407), so that playing records, attending gigs and arguing about music aren't some “deviation” from a struggle conceived in Stalinist, neo-Kantian terms as some sort of moral duty, but the very lifeblood of vital resistance to capitalist inertia. But The Affair also knows that if music becomes a specialist pursuit deprived of contact with left theory and politics, it becomes a weak-kneed defence of the laissez-faire status quo. He’s no Coil fan, after all. In this room there is always a mirror in which your face appears to be moving. Your face is not necessarily moving. This can be a disconcerting room. Do I somatize everything or is there an organic source? On the glass-topped table next to me: the journal of Alix Roubaud and a gun. I haven’t touched the gun. I haven't read the book. I look at thathipsterporn.tumblr.com. There are babes and dudes all over it and then a picture of Kobe Bryant in a mist of confetti, a giant 24 facing the camera. I thought about a lot of stuff, but all I'm really in a position to do right now is smoke kush. I’d like to live in that suburban mall with the 4 alive people in Dawn of the Dead. That was another time. Today I'm overdosing on Nicorette. I can’t do anything else so I pick up a book next to me with the title Sex and Rockets about a guy who dropped out of school to build explosives in Pasadena and invoke a siren named Cameron through a magickal process. The rice in the Petri dish is about to pop. “I know not where I was born, save that the castle was infinitely old and infinitely horrible.” By book, I mean something like environment. “Ideas are weak.” Chantale Lavigne was cooked to death at a personal development seminar. Drew Gardner had a cold. Saturday morning the poets called in search of the blood brain barrier. They learned that one poet had made out with another poet who had made out with Allen Ginsberg. Chuck gave whale advice. Oh my god! I just realized there is a UNICORN on the cover of my passport. Who appointed Wittgenstein Jr? Whoa, Magic Hat! I didn’t expect fruity. What is this flavor? A little lavender and pumpkin pie, a smidgen of doughnut, or is that musk? A hint of buttered popcorn vanilla peppermint cheese pizza roasting meat cinnamon buns strawberry parsley green apple rose Oriental spice baby powder chocolate pink grapefruit cranberry. Just a hint. Interesting. Let me try another one. That first bottle reminded me of the time I went horse-dancing in Mexico. I found a baby wolf in the woods and I trained him with honey mustard pretzels to do my bidding. Gout! Gout! “James, I Cannot Even Begin to Imagine Who Threw a Bag of Shit into Your Dishwasher.” The skatole churns in the bowel of Cinderella even when she dreams a history with the prince, the solemn kiss, the spit swap that travels the esophagus to introduce another species to them both. How much are you asking for the histories? The ones that are over on that table by the hose reel. Jesus said, “Let the least of you dinosaurs come unto me. I’ve got the only ball. It’s my mother scratching party now.” Fewer fossils per capita. Like a lone blue reindeer in JANUARY. One recalls the “tabular account of the specimens” found in the “Artesian well at the Passaic Rolling Mill, Paterson.”
[Note: Sources: SPD Spring 012 catalog #12. Sources: Krystal Languell, “Do you have brain damage? …”, at Everyday Genius, 21 March 011; Sean Bonney, Happiness: Poems After Rimbaud, as quoted in Jennifer Cooke, “Sean’s Four Letter’d Words”, and Pocahontis Mildew, “Letter to the American Reading Public”, and Danny Hayward, “‘hardly our conjuncture’”, in Sean Bonney, Four Letters / Jennifer Cooke, Pocahontis Mildew, Danny Hayward, Laura Bickerton, Four Comments; John Sakkis, “Books Read 2011”, at Both Both, 27 Jan 012; “Them or Us: Segues, Totality and The Andy Wilson Affair”, at The Association of Musical Marxists, 27 Jan 012; Paul Legault, “Madeleine as Home”, at “Angela Lansbury Returns to Broadway”, at Internet - Paul - Legault; Kate Zambreno, “and …”, at Frances Farmer Is My Sister, 27 Jan 012; Jon Leon, “The Time of the Season”, at East of Borneo, 11 Oct 010; H P Lovecraft, “The Outsider”, as quoted in Nicola Masciandaro, “Mysticism or Mystification?: Against Subject-Creationism”, at The Whim, 27 Jan 012; Tan Lin and Amy Wright, “Terror Implies Surprize”, at Zone 3; National Post article, as quoted in Jacob Sloan, “Woman ‘Cooked To Death’ At Guru’s Self-Improvement Seminar”, at Disinformation, 27 Jan 012; Bill Luoma, “Bill Luoma’s Ear Inn reading report Nov 16”, at Cyberpoems (I remember Ginsberg saying something like, “Whitman slept with Carpenter and Carpenter slept with … and I slept with him!”); Bhanu Kapil, “P.I.O.”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 27 Jan 012; Lars Iyer, “Who appointed Witttgenstein Jr? …”, at Wittgenstein Jr, 27 Jan 012; Sean Lovelace, and John Jodzio, as quoted in Lovelace’s “Book + Beer: John Jodzio + Magic Hat # 9”, at HTMLGIANT, 27 Jan 012; Tim Kahl, “Precious Moment”, at Paper Darts; Rick Wiggins, “a CRUX a KLUX some CLIQUES”, at livedeadcat press, 27 Jan 012; John Latta, and William Carlos Williams, Paterson, in Latta’s “In pulses, in strokes …”, at Isola di Rifiuti, 27 Jan 012]
29.01.2012 in In the House of the Hangman | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
The X-47B marks a paradigm shift in warfare. Once upon a time the artificial limb, or the tool, et cet was the prosthesis. Now you are. Let the walls bear up the angle of the floor. Let the mice be tragic and roughly whispered. We have to live. My nephew’s on the paleo diet, drinking stone light and eating lard. Now I see some giant black thunderclouds we are steering away from and I wish I were on the ground in the seaside town we are now flying over pawing through a used book store.
grey whiteness of fog against invisible
plane of ridge, green of leaf on branch
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
For this reason, it is right to ask, what laws are just to be promulgated? “Only particular dogs”, the headless mannequins, walking twenty days to meet a phantom pain: a tiny blue egg arranged on a ladder with rat bells, as in, You hear rat bells all along the wall, as in, A bee-shape you keep in mothballs with acetaminophen. “The frequencies keep you running in complicated patterns; the streets are irregular.” “The veins of the network scatter and recombine in your biology.” Email me the name and contact info for your cardiologist. Once you go to prison, you never really come back.
shiny eggs toned down by dusk to the edge of a cottoned gong
dusky fossil sonata rippling toward impoverished fringes
comatose in paradise, but happy, happy
Who is the baby “ripping the morning glories 3 times from the pot”? Massless light won’t quite slant. So what if it doesn't work, so what? You can’t eradicate words meaning violence. That green U.F.O. light inside the copier. Backwards and forwards, forward and back. I don’t know how my stomach digests food, transforms it to energy and muscle, or channels the proper vitamins to the proper glands. Who is this little guy? He doesn’t know either. The cock missed the asterism of the gem. Grounded meal is a celestial mirror; axis mundi lies in a yard tended by an unregenerate astrolabe, the other element braced in a dun husk. The undersong of the “economic cosmos” is heard in the meadow where the herbicides work swift harm for a margin like inharmonic blue prairie fires. But we will never know what he meant by the ‘two-handed engine at the door’. What I’m trying to say: that it is a mark of these dark and difficult times that the populace at large is neither aware nor concerned about what Celan meant by ‘encounter’. Pause all Obon prosopopoeia. “For someone who knows their Martian, this is a beauty. It’s gorgeous.” The point is that the very process through which necessity arises out of necessity is a contingent process. If there is an intended audience, ARK CODEX ±0 is for any conscious being that comes after the wipeout spawned this language to dig its own mass grave, leaving only the original intent to communicate to sprout in the aftermath. “The Sky is Aqua on Thursday Nights.” Alfred Jarry was fond of this quotation from Leibniz: “Perception is only a hallucination that is true. That’s why I’m getting people from all around the world. Because I’m ground zero for ‘Implantosaur.’”
[Note: SPD Spring 012 Catalog #11. Sources: W.J. Hennigan, “New drone has no pilot anywhere, so who's accountable?”, at LA Times, 26 Jan 012 (“The X-47B marks a paradigm shift in warfare, one that is likely to have far-reaching consequences. With the drone’s ability to be flown autonomously by onboard computers, it could usher in an era when death and destruction can be dealt by machines operating semi-independently.” I guess “semi-independently” means that once upon a time there was a programmer somewhere … oh, it also means that if a human is paying attention, s/he could override the program …); JBR; Amy King, as quoted in John Ashbery, SPD Spring 012 catalog blurb for King’s I Want to Make You Safe; JBR; Nick Flynn, SPD Spring 012 catalog blurb for Michael Klein, then, we were still living; JBR (hey, Drew!); Matthew Zapruder, “I Drink Bronze Light”, at PEN.org; JBR; Stephen Ratcliffe, “1.26”, at Temporality, 26 Jan 012; Laura Buckerton, “Letter on Laws and Numbers”, in Sean Bonney, Four Letters / Jennifer Cooke, Pocahontis Mildew, Danny Hayward, Laura Buckerton, Four Comments; Debora Kuan, “Turne”, “How to Take Black-and-White Pictures”, “Confessions of Porcelain Animals” at Reading Between A&B; Jena Osman, The Network, as quoted in Siobhan Phillips, “All Together Now: How Description Fosters Connection”, at Boston Review, Jan/Feb 012; daughter Rose, phone call, 27 Jan 012 approx 10:20 PST; Christopher Glazek, “Raise the crime rate”, at n+1, 26 Jan 012 (one very interesting bit: “In January, prodded in part by outrage over a series of articles in the New York Review of Books, the Justice Department finally released an estimate of the prevalence of sexual abuse in penitentiaries. The reliance on filed complaints appeared to understate the problem. For 2008, for example, the government had previously tallied 935 confirmed instances of sexual abuse. After asking around, and performing some calculations, the Justice Department came up with a new number: 216,000. That’s 216,000 victims, not instances. These victims are often assaulted multiple times over the course of the year. The Justice Department now seems to be saying that prison rape accounted for the majority of all rapes committed in the US in 2008, likely making the United States the first country in the history of the world to count more rapes for men than for women.”); Camille Martin, “Six Sonnets”, at Moria Poetry; JBR; Joanne Kyger, as quoted in William Keckler, “I Really Love Joanne Kyger’s Poetry”, at Joe Brainard’s Pyjamas (The Sequel), 26 Jan 012; Del Ray Cross, “mdlxx”, at Anachronizms, 26 Jan 012; That green … the copier: William Keckler, “Valentine”, at Joe Brainard’s Pyjamas (The Sequel), 26 Jan 012; JBR; John Olson, “Veho Comitatus”, at Tillalala Chronicles, 26 Jan 012; Reitha Pattison, “Fables”, IX, XIV, as quoted in Richard Owens, “REITHA PATTISON HER FABLES”, at Damn the Caesars, 20 Apr 011; Stanley Fish, and John Armstrong, as quoted in Armstrong’s “Reitha Pattison and the superbly obscure”, at Bebrowed’s Blog, 26 Jan 012; Rosa Van Hewnsbergen, Inebriate Debris; Jacob Sloan, “Pieces Of Planet Mars Landed In Africa Last Summer”, at Disinformation, 26 Jan 012; Chris Horner, “Mind the Gap. Žižek, Hegel and the Metaphysics of Contingency”, at Ernst Blog, 25 Jan 012; “Ark Codex – art/prose”, at gobbet, 25 Jan 012; Geof Huth, dbqp, 26 Jan 012; Adam Dant and Donald Parsnips, as quoted at Bureau of Subliminal Images, London Institute of ‘Pataphysics; William Keckler, “People Searching for "Implantosaur" (One from North America)”, at Joe Brainard’s Pyjamas (The Sequel), 25 Jan 012]
28.01.2012 in In the House of the Hangman | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
And so, it came to pass that I discerned eels in my spine. Saddened, the hands of drawn space floated backwards flower to flower. Not this rib, but that. To cover it with a giant’s napkin. The history of the Source is a giant’s breath. The Source is a giant’s breath. “I recently cured my poetry by using homemade toothpaste / and not drinking tapwater.” We were standing in my apartment. The stomachs which might have been empty were really empty and the cold water was moonwater. “I have desired the love of a man,” quoth Helen Keller. There is a deep mean dam away in the float of partials. Yet what gives the mural-sized work its power is the strangely decorative thrill that strings together a cake, a tire, a commercial hair dryer, lightbulbs and spaghetti. “Amber” is a much older term used to describe an accord (familiar blend of notes) rather than a single note or material, usually a combination of vanilla, resins and/or balsams. And this is what the moon smells like in our atmosphere. This is the standard blank. And, what is it when there’s nothing yet not even dusk and the shadow-hands are doing rabbit-morphing-into-swan? A loves B but B is preoccupied with C and C is indifferent to the entire alphabet. I am not bored with Google Image Search not at all. “I saw / a great poet in the form of mold on the wall …”
“Still I followed
You into your dark castle.”
And there (here) are some padded envelopes. Pacman is coming up the stairs. Blood began streaming out from under manhole covers. I looked at the Hiroshige prints on the cover and felt stoked. Still spinning out Kristin’s door I decided to change plans. The air stirred gently, made me think of flags. At 9:26 I saw the clean backs of waitresses in a Gee Whiz Diner window. Like Hayao Miyazaki movies — in which buses look like cats, amphibious girls have mouths full of salubrious saliva, monsters vomit up bathhouse employees, and decapitated spirit heads cure leprosy — Roussel’s works are littered with inconceivable amalgams, like mosaics depicting Scandinavian morality tales rendered in rotten teeth, a theater of reanimated corpses impelled to endlessly act out the most significant events of their lives, a disappearing girl carrying a cornucopia filled with an infinite supply of gold coins, a sniper who can shave an egg down to its unmarred yolk in exactly 24 shots. Cannot people just go home to each other 1st. And bake dough or something. Feel the warmth from a small car tire that bump into your shins. Be a little unfortunate in love with venom. Write a book about Finnish porn. Dancing, tripping, eat a poor diet, doing what comes to you in. One may, as the translator did here, translate Heidegger, the reader of Anaximander, into the language of Hamlet: is it possible, that which is?
[Note: SPD Spring 012 catalog #10. Sources: George Kalamaras, Your Own Ox-head Mask as Proof, as quoted in Brooks Lampe, “Hindu Surrealism: George Kalamaras”, at The The, Jun 011; Jeannie Hoag, “Jeannie Hoag Responds to Page 26 of The Source”, at Futurepost, 23 Jan 012; Anne Gorrick, via Facebook, 25 Jan 012; Dina and Dan, and Helen Keller, in Dina and Dan’s “Dina and Dan Reveal To Us An Unknown Force”, at Boys with Short Hair, 25 Jan 012; Aby Kaupang, “tender such reliquary”, at Lamination Colony 9; Hrag Vartanian, “MoMA Brings Out a Classic of Remix Culture”, at Hyperallergic, 25 Jan 012 (re: James Rosenquist’s F-111); Elisa Gabbert, “‘Woody amber’ vs. amber vs. amber that happens to be woody”, at The French Exit, 25 Jan 012; Robert Kelly, “The Dogwood The Answer”, at Nicole Peyrafitte.com; Jake Kennedy, “The Light Is Real (for Joanne Gailius)”, “Author’s note”, at Okanagan Arts, Fall 07; Ana Bozecevic, and Bhanu Kapil, as quoted in Kapil’s “Notes from the Dark Castle”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 25 Jan 012; Kim Hyesoon, “Find the Exit” (tr. Don Mee Choi), at Cipher Journal; Jacob Sloan, “Blood Runs From Sewers In Polish Town”, at Disinformation, 25 Jan 012 (backed-up drain at a meatpacking plant …); David Miller, Andy Fitch and Jon Cotner, as quoted in Miller’s “Notes on Ten Walks / Two Talks”, at Matador Network, 16 Jun 010; Alice Gregory, “New Impressions: Raymond Roussel and the upside of crazy”, at Poetry Foundation, 25 Jan 012; Stina Kajaso, “Blödig Dag”, at SONOFDAD, 25 Jan 012; Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx (tr. Peggy Kamuf)]
27.01.2012 in In the House of the Hangman | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Reblogged from the LA Times:
New drone has no pilot anywhere, so who's accountable?
The Navy is testing an autonomous plane that will land on an aircraft carrier. The prospect of heavily armed aircraft screaming through the skies without direct human control is unnerving to many.
January 26, 2012
[JBR Note: It used to be that "a prosthesis replaces a missing body part" (Wikipedia). Once upon a time, the artificial limb, or the tool, or the weapon, etc was the prosthesis. Now you are]
26.01.2012 in Current Affairs | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)