Zeitgeist Spam

In the House of the Hangman 969

My leg keeps vibrating. To attend this panel you will need to register for the joint session of the Mind Association and Aristotelian Society. What does ‘woman’ mean? This paper investigates a neglected aspect of Catherine Cockburn’s metaphysics: her account of the nature of space. In order to solve the Too Many Reasons problem, you can sort of aim at a discolored spot in the bowl and try to cleanse it with the POWER OF YOUR URINE. How did they discover salt in the first place? My leg keeps vibrating and I don’t even have my phone with me. Portion control is when you eat measured amounts of things instead of shoving an entire sleeve of Oreos into your mouth in one sitting. That is, I mean, I mean, that is, portion control is when you don’t burn down the rainforest. That is, a year after the storm, the sun hasn’t brightened the soul. A bridge. A marble sign marked by vandalism — bullet holes that also signify threats and terror. Two trees: a male Caju tree and a female Andiroba. It was exactly here that José Cláudio Ribeiro da Silva and Maria do Espírito Santo were murdered on the morning of May 24th 2011 on a street that cuts through the agricultural allotment Praia Alta Piranheira in the municipality of Nova Ipixuna, Para’. Astronomical is a 10-volume study of the solar system in miniature that comprises 5,000 mainly black pages. Each page, as a review in New Scientist points out, “represents one million kilometres of the six billion between the Sun and Pluto”. It must be so nice to have no idea. It must be like writing a poem and having no idea that a cripple might read it. What kind of person walks around with their processor exposed all the time? Or the sentence bursts into asphalt, and the stethoscope sparkles, hanging from the rearview mirror, while a leviathan sixteen wheel rig with goldfish propellers also bursts into Road Warrior 16. I cannot imagine what it must be like, living in your body, and for that I apologize. My limitations are a thousand sleeping pills for a jackhammer and vice versa, a Virus colonizing my Enchanted Isles; just as it is simply astounding to see an animal dead on a highway it is simply astounding to see an animal, or a cloud, or a rock, alive. But that fight is ... lush and delicious. A fist (covered in honey) to the face.

[Note: Sources: JBR; SWIP UK Panel at the Joint Session of the Mind Association and Aristotelian Society program, Dan López de Sa, Emily Thomas, Alexandra (Sasha) Vereker, at SWIPUK; Harry Cheadle, “Why Is There Pee on the floor?”, at Vice, 24 May 012; JBR; Nicole Paulhus, “Item of the Day: So Delicious Ice Cream Sandwiches”, at Hello Giggles, 24 May 012; JBR; Felipe Milanez, “IT’S BEEN A YEAR SINCE THEY KILLED ZÉ CLAUDIO AND MARIA”, at Vice, 24 May 012; Sean O’Hagan, “Mishka Henner’s erased images: art or insult?”, at Guardian, 23 May 012 (“The artist has caused a stir with his latest photography book, which takes a Robert Frank classic and, well, erases bits of it”); Jillian Weise, “Cloning Disabled Subjects”, at Drunken Boat 15; John Olson “Indispensable Sculpture Liberation Cloud”, at Tillalala Chronicles, 24 May 012; JBR; JBR, re Weise, above; Del Ray Cross, “mdcli”, at Anachronizms, 24 May 012; Amit Majmudar, “Pandemic Ghazal”, at Drunken Boat 15; JBR; Michael Robbins, “Either Time”, at La Petite Zine; JBR; Traci Lynn Matlock, “The Fecund Multiple”, at The Noumenon Revelation, 24 May 012]

Geof Huth: Those Babies Crying (A Poem for John Bloomberg-Rissman)

listen to ‘Those Babies Crying (A Poem for John Bloomberg-Rissman) ’ on Audioboo

In the House of the Hangman 968

Cover photo: “Dalston Occupation” (intersection of Dalston Lane and Roseberry Place, Hackney) by Sean Bonney. The structures photographed have since been leveled for the construction of Crossrail Station in advance of the 2012 Olympics. Mongrel freehand GOTO w/ beaver-tailed G. “Don’t let in description, this archipelagos is serene. Enter the domesticulating orating, the pronouncements, fillings and metal caskets. Enter our blunders and minis. Refer to Zeus in black.” “The most pathetic poem is small people on fire.” Interior printed on Mohawk Superfine. 150 blinded by flying glass. The moon project bombs & deflates. The moon deflates. “Sit so you don't hurt the grass,” says Meyer. A curious Japanese word, kintsugi, the ‘practice of repairing ceramics with gold-laced lacquer to illuminate the breakage.’ Shelley’s West Wind cutting through Chicago’s Hawk wind; Mornar’s Oakland refuting Spenser’s Ireland, everywhere the self stricken but not stricken out. The only reason I don’t stay longer is fear of my always-already hysterical blindness. Whatchoo talkin bout? The vulvo-cryptic phenomenon? This is ‘noise’ as downgraded but integral signification. Noise gains rights in this context. (“Th plug may be puld any day on 1^st worl problems”) To claim your offer, read the number beginning with B slip from the claim. You fall to sky, 95% pure space in a kind of jelly. Imagine riding a grain. Is that the exchange you wanted? You turn towards a killer wave. Can the subaltern speak?

[Note: Sources: Punch Press blurbs, at Damn the Caesars; JBR; Jason Ramos, “Jason Ramos – Notes on Looking at New York”, at Notes on Looking, 23 May 012; JBR, but see Imp Kerr, “Body, face, desire”, at The New Inquiry, 23 May 012; John Cayley, Brian Kim Stefans, as quoted in reviews of Stefans’ What Does It Matter?, at Barque Press; Andrea Brady, “Excerpt”, at Barque Press; Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?”]

Words to avoid using online if you don't want the government spying on you

Reblogged from The Daily Mail:

In the House of the Hangman 967

Through the membrane -- through the body -- the needle flies, gematria on the stones of the ocean, the tattoo at the stem of your shoulder (the calendrical whirl of the Aztecs), again there isn’t enough money, no “left”, no “right.” While it holds true that even the worst red pizza is still good pizza, such is not the case for white pizza. I would rather eat paper than one of the flavorless discs that pass for white pie. Keep reminding yourself that literature is one of the saddest roads that leads to everything. I even love the uneasy sleep I’ve been getting this week, tossing and turning in a half-dream-state. Therefore the whole efficacy debate (which I realize at this point that I may or may not have invented for the purposes of this essay, or better yet be some flagrantly misremembered bullshit Jamelia Wigmore whispered to me in the pub on New Year’s Eve) is fried from the start because if you’re reading this, you already care, and are probably changing your mind, and therefore your experience, right now. But instead, I say we flip the whole shebang, and not just for metaphysical shits and giggles: what real, substantial, social effect does Life have on Poetry? What, in any case, is efficacious life? How is my life affecting Poetry? ‘Like tissue for some universal fucking soul beat’ the gags and splurges ‘get your human / ass night on’ by refusing death and the economy in favour of ‘abracafuckingsexdabra’ and singing the Google-future not as something so cynical as a pop-culture reference but as the enveloping ‘sound of bricks’ that is happiness itself, digitally dark and only blithely, ‘It’s like when my room / resembles a hospital, my insides cry out, and / the thing seems to be the more happy I am’, I wanted to see The Hives and The Flying Lotus. I also wanted to see Doctor Dre and the Tupac hologram. The body’s so fragile, and boom, you never know, you just end up doing that. But I got to see a little bit of At The Drive In, but only a couple of songs and then I had to go back to the little van. It wasn’t just a migraine it was one of those pains where even when you smell it would make you sick. And we couldn’t leave right away because I wanted to be considerate. Lea wanted to stay and see some bands, Omar was actually playing with At the Drive In. But The Hives I heard went crazy. I mean, economic chaos and mass unemployment are bad news. But it’s only natural for a cost-conscious American reading headlines about the catastrophe in Spain and Greece to wonder: Is there a cheap vacation there for me? I HEAR THE BIRDS THEY / ’RE BEBARBARIZMENIZED THEY’RE MAKING MONSTER / SOUNDS THE FIRES WON’T LIGHT THE RIGHTS GO WRONG YOU / KNOW MY TECHNOLOGIES YOU KNOW THE FALLING OF THE / SIGNS IS IN ITSELF A SIGN.

[Note: Sources: Arkadii Dragomoschenko, “Paper Dreams, for Jerome Rothenberg” (tr. Genya Turovskaya), at Poems & Poetics, 22 May 012 (deleted post); Jono Tosch, “Snazzy White Pizza”, at Oil Changes, 22 May 012; André Breton, Joe Luna, and Jonty Tiplady, as quoted in Luna’s “The World is For This: on the Poetry of Jonty Tiplady”, at All Over The Grid, 23 May 012; Del Ray Cross, “mdcxlix”, at  Anachronizms, 22 May 012; Teri Gender Bender, as quoted in Stephanie Dubick, “WE INTERVIEWED TERI GENDER BENDER FROM LE BUTCHERETTES”, at Vice, 22 May 012; JBR; Matt Yglesias, as quoted in Aaron Bady, “File this under ‘Why Do They Hate Us’”, at zunguzungu, 22 May 012; Anne Carson, Antigonick, as quoted in Geof Huth, “The Antipodes of Me”, at dbqp, 21 May 012]

Readerly Anxiety: an irritable grasping-without-grasping way to read

John Armstrong and I have been dicussing Readerly Anxiety. He's posted a good bit of the conversation at Bebrowed's Blog. I'd like to know what you think.

In the House of the Hangman 966

And this little biscuit is as much as anyone could ask for and more than anyone could take. Aliphatic hydrocarbons are its tacit basis, the explosive device was placed on a window ledge and the area sealed off. It’s what industry can render of a hard shell with surgical staples at the risk of shared beliefs and common artifacts, objects that hover there above the surface of a subject. What does futility know? What can the divisions remember? Free Takeshi Miyakawa, whose only crime was hanging LED-lit plastic bags from trees. “Where is this? Who are your people? Please … oh God … no …” More & more spun off & RAT BANKER chants. The Thames has a horrible tic. Along the stoa, frozen piss magnet, the largest sphere, sporting twin curving conical horns, the center of which (as an implicit circular circuit) lie along an equator, and whose tips lie above the same equator, and which clasp, by a similar method to the setting of gemstones, a smaller sphere, which replicates the largest sphere, but whose horns and subsequent sphere set lie along a perpendicular axis or equator, “There are so many books I would like to have on my shelf. But no one has written them yet!” “The foot feels the foot when it feels the ground.” ((Tendresse fixating on the sweetly-mashed lens.)) The essential point to bear in mind is that one can trace the foundational premises of the “Monadology” (immanence and expression) back through the subject-predicate logic (the predicate inheres in the subject) to the art of combinations” informing Leibniz’s model for a universal characteristic. Eschatology is a good word. Millennial convulsions seems apt but I’m sure I’ve nicked it from somewhere. I hope the swordfish held some solace, and that you’ll indulge me in this final birthday greeting. As someone totally outside the metanarrative under discussion, I do think it is interesting the disciplines need to have these apparent die-offs – the end of history, the end of science. I’m wondering if there isn’t something to be said for punctuated equilibrium in societies and ‘movements’ and so on as well as evolution and systems theory. The parking space isn’t the only amenity: the shower water will be pumped full of vitamin C and aloe, and the apartments will have heat reflexology flooring. Sorry, I have eaten the centrifugal motor shaft you were saving for / and then I ate the slave / so delicious, sorry, hello, o burnt frequency oh shit / I just ate the economy – that’s right – she’s been sewn up after the autopsy, under the sign of the green moth, beside the gridded horse and the horse with grid bits missing – and she still has her fingernails, which I first took for rings. I make a silueta beneath the lemon tree, filling it with jasmine flowers, the new white flowers of the lemon tree itself and flickering, oily hemp (earthenware) lamps. Strangely, interestingly, beautifully, the activist movement here is intimately calibrated to astrology. The thunder and lightning are seams. Please animals, the animal has a name. In the form of a tweet or acoustical string. Call and response, not all the animals come. Interpolated into the forest mirror the animal sees itself becoming. Of course, all names are partial – recognition is not limited to this demonstration. One name can serve to cloak the name can claim transformation. Before zie was Linda. Cybernetically adjusting to the pacemaker. The prompter’s words. Father or leader with fleshy beak. Blue tree-walker. Acinonyx jubatus lives in the zoo, currently tree frogs live in storage containers. Large eyes white feathers on head. Black-grey feathers for mustache like lobes. Chrome wasn’t burnt in a day. Is it still vegan, if lit inside by quasi-autonomous smart systems?

[Note: Sources: JH Prynne, High Pink on Chrome, in Damn the Caesars v.5; Roberto Tejada, “Debris in Pink & Black [after Thomas Glassford]”, in Damn the Caesars 5; JBR, but see Jillian Steinhauer, “Brooklyn Designer Held Without Bail for Hanging Plastic Bags from Trees”, at Hyperallergic, 21 May 012 (since the writing of this he's been released ...); Francis Crot, HAX; phaneronoemikon, “Its Unexplained Occurs”, at Jellybean Weirdo With Electric Snake Fang, 21 May 012; Lisa Guenther, “Fanon’s Brain”, at New APPS, 21 May 012; Timothy Morton, “Buddha on Withdrawal”, at Ecology without Nature, 21 May 012; Francesca Lisette, “En Gaza”, in Teens; Daniel Tiffany, Infidel Poetics: Riddles, Nightlife, Substance; Kayt, comment appended to John Armstrong, “Is poetry dead and did Vanessa Place kill it or is it merely on the brink?”, at Bebrowed’s Blog, 21 May 012; Annie Karni, “The $1 million parking space”, at New York Post, 20 May 012; Sean Bonney, The Commons / Set 2, in Damn the Caesars v.5; JBR, ekphrasis practiced on Lynn Behrendt, image embedded in post at Lynn Behrendt, 21 May 012; Bhanu Kapil, “Today”, at Was Gertrude Stein a Punjabi?, 21 May 012; Brenda Iijima, “some simple things said by and about humans”, in Damn the Caesars v.5]

"And if that jubilee don't come ..."

Banksy

In the House of the Hangman 965

I remember hearing an anecdote once about a sound poet, or just a poet, being cornered or the equivalent in an alleyway by thugs or teens. For some reason, at the spur of the moment, he started reciting a sound poem at them, Schwitters’ Ursonate or something, I dunno. The point is that they ran away. Pornography always focuses on building garden games, toot Valentine’s color screen, Peas, Mahjong, color film, the Mark Six lottery numbers, sports color film, lottery, online game, mahjong SiliconValley, star three missing, the orange-cho, mahjong boring pot, Taiwan passenger mahjong, public log, game, Amoy, the Chinese Professional Baseball League, Korea’s online small game, the country unparalleled mahjong, mahjong parlors, gambling game, power color, gambling game, power color, the winning numbers, cloudy sports Network, slime, slime fun game, a home slime slime fun play area, winning lottery numbers, games, paradise, fun game, gamebase, nomaterial games, paradise, fun game, game base, no material Gi, funplay area, mahjong games, fun play area, games, play area, video game Street Fighter, cs online, utopic spandex, a peep into the hairball lunch you thought would keep you healthy. Which is a bet between “Alpha Positive” and “Lords’ Minus” on the domination of language with the sounds of “MURMUR.” “Lords’ Minus” wants to remove the icons of the Earth and replace them with his own. “Alpha Positive” is the “HORRORS” math positive God and “Lords’ Minus” is their negative God. The “HORRORS” are gamblers of Galactics’ cards. The “Monster Models” (recyclers) are “Alpha Positives’” crew. They are The Duchess, Traxx, Chaser, the Eraser, Barshaw Gangstarr, Panmaximus Magus, Destiny, and the RAMM:ELL:ZEE. The “Garbage Gods” (trashers) are controlled by “Lords’ Minus.” They are: Shun-U, Wind, Vain, Crux, Destin, Reaper Grimm, and Rip-Cord Rex. After the RAMM:ELL:ZEE imprisoned “Lords’ Minus” in the “NO-ZONE,” war enabled him to break-out! The Clergy’s of Earth were terrified. They assembled the greatest armies of “LETTER TANKS” ever devised. But, because of rhyme, the American-English army had the right to the first fight. The “Vocal Well” Gods took the American Presidents’ bet until what they were warned about, tragically happened. The Earth became an Ova and a new “Odds God” was about to be born. “Lords’ Minus” had given orders to cause a “Cosmic Flush” by not allowing the imprisoned Hue-mans to leave their solar system. With the Hue-mans running out of their prison planets’ natural resources, they would rot on the “Ova,’’ deforming the “Odds God.” This would destroy all knowledge of Hue-man prayer. P.S. While the “WELDERS” watch you, the “HORRORS” plot you. And remember, “DESTIN” and “DESTINY” re-slot you as the “VOCAL WELL GODS” spot you!

[Note: Sources: Samantha Marenghi, review of Sean Bonney, Happiness: Poems After Rimbaud, republished from London Student, Oct 2011, at Association of Musical Marxists; sexy, comment appended to “stick it in aesthetic theory mom …”, at yt communications, 13 Nov 08; “stick it in aesthetic theory mom …”, at yt communications, 13 Nov 08; RAMM:ELL:ZEE, “Monster Models & Garbage Gods”, at Gothic Futurism]

From Mishka Henner, Less Americains

 Hoboken

Canal Street