The Loneliness of the Long Distance Blogger
Ron Silliman {click here} on
Michael Moore.
There's a fine duet for ya!
**
This is *fait accompli*'s
1600th post.
Distribution Automatique
Saturday, July 3
In Pusuit of the Literal
They spring, in a graceful movement, onto the page, turning
around each other, embracing, moving closer, separating,
breaking apart into smaller groups of meanings...this movement
is its own meaning, apparently taking itself to be an expression
if the neighboring worlds which endlessly interact on a myriad
of levels...11-27-28-84:- There is something out beyond the
edge of the visible universe. It is hearing the ear thinks,
seeing the eye thinks. Out beyond there where nothing
is seen, in a single pulse the universe repeats itself with
every breath. Normally, the eyes see. But when one is listening,
light itself translates the signals into birds' movements,
strumming air with its harnessings, transfiguring a past scrap
heap of posturings in the lattices of a sparkling hesitancy. Dripping
with sweat, the angel mutters to her or himself, down with this,
hurling a strictly documented universe, graduated, gyrated and
expostulated in the grainy screening room of history. Lifted
high and carefuly deposited on the shelves, the words stretch
and yawn and then start to move, scramble madly from one
volume and meaning to the next. In a deft stroke of recognition
the words run off the books and onto the shelves, failing
obstinately, to utter a sound or thought...
Notebook: circa 1990
They spring, in a graceful movement, onto the page, turning
around each other, embracing, moving closer, separating,
breaking apart into smaller groups of meanings...this movement
is its own meaning, apparently taking itself to be an expression
if the neighboring worlds which endlessly interact on a myriad
of levels...11-27-28-84:- There is something out beyond the
edge of the visible universe. It is hearing the ear thinks,
seeing the eye thinks. Out beyond there where nothing
is seen, in a single pulse the universe repeats itself with
every breath. Normally, the eyes see. But when one is listening,
light itself translates the signals into birds' movements,
strumming air with its harnessings, transfiguring a past scrap
heap of posturings in the lattices of a sparkling hesitancy. Dripping
with sweat, the angel mutters to her or himself, down with this,
hurling a strictly documented universe, graduated, gyrated and
expostulated in the grainy screening room of history. Lifted
high and carefuly deposited on the shelves, the words stretch
and yawn and then start to move, scramble madly from one
volume and meaning to the next. In a deft stroke of recognition
the words run off the books and onto the shelves, failing
obstinately, to utter a sound or thought...
Notebook: circa 1990
Friday, July 2
unfortunately captured
Something unconsidered
Interference yet untold
Sychronous trap
Martian communication
x factor
unconscious loyalties
determminism
ploy
echo
predominates
concern
saturation
(trap)2
nascent
infintely
CAPTURED
*******
outside
crystal
clear
*******
2.
A card is trumped
Silver glow of pen
It slipped off a disc
10 of Diamonds insisting on a point
And the slender shadow returns again
notebook: 2/14/90
**************************************
A fine review of Fahrenheit 911 by
Brooke Nelson (Poop Chute)
Something unconsidered
Interference yet untold
Sychronous trap
Martian communication
x factor
unconscious loyalties
determminism
ploy
echo
predominates
concern
saturation
(trap)2
nascent
infintely
CAPTURED
*******
outside
crystal
clear
*******
2.
A card is trumped
Silver glow of pen
It slipped off a disc
10 of Diamonds insisting on a point
And the slender shadow returns again
notebook: 2/14/90
**************************************
A fine review of Fahrenheit 911 by
Brooke Nelson (Poop Chute)
Thursday, July 1
NATASHA: This book-I know what it is...When we
arrived from Nueva York...there was a man with us. He
wrote things like this. I don't know what happened to him.
Here, he would have to live in one of the banned areas, where
they end up killing themselvesl...though, sometimes, I know,
Alpha 60 manages to find a way of using them.
LEMMY: Residents Control...In what way?
NATASHA: Because they are people who write incomprehensible
things. Now I understand...they used to call it
poetry! One believes in as if it were a secret, but afterwards
...nothing remains. So, when Control has an hour or so
free, it records things like that, classfiies them and encodes
them...Like everything else, one never knows!
LEMMY: Quite! They might always come in useful!
NATASHA: Exactly...we're very organized.
Alphaville, a film by Jean-Luc Godard {click here}
translation by Peter Whitehead
Simon and Schuster
1966
arrived from Nueva York...there was a man with us. He
wrote things like this. I don't know what happened to him.
Here, he would have to live in one of the banned areas, where
they end up killing themselvesl...though, sometimes, I know,
Alpha 60 manages to find a way of using them.
LEMMY: Residents Control...In what way?
NATASHA: Because they are people who write incomprehensible
things. Now I understand...they used to call it
poetry! One believes in as if it were a secret, but afterwards
...nothing remains. So, when Control has an hour or so
free, it records things like that, classfiies them and encodes
them...Like everything else, one never knows!
LEMMY: Quite! They might always come in useful!
NATASHA: Exactly...we're very organized.
Alphaville, a film by Jean-Luc Godard {click here}
translation by Peter Whitehead
Simon and Schuster
1966
NOTES
Re-unification of image and sound
The speaking woman- the listening man
Poetry=sound and image
make sounds and hold pictures up to the audience
unreproducible poems-
experiential poems
copying- authenticating
can't be copied-money-original document
almost infinitely reproducible
copying eliminates rarity
experiential- origin-ality
identity
connection with identity of creator
know-ledge
code of identity
Go back to Freud's analysis of dreams to the acausal
Dreams as proof of the unconscious also of the acausal
Reversing- dreams as seeing
through the apparent to the real
telling-narrating- cause to result
writing with pictures rather than words
what's hidden in the picture
pictures= the irrelevant
paranoiac the improbable connection
the intuitive feeling of "too much" repetition
anxiety and the time-slip
it was expressly in the specific details
that the precognitive was to be recognized
It is clear from my experience of writing
that thought does not begin at the
beginning. Because of the experience
of inner resistances, thought tends to circuitous
circling around its goal or spiralling
deeply into it. It burrows. Since thought
is like a drill, or a beam of light
emanating from a larger source of light within,
it has to choose an area of focus,
even when the experience simultaneous to it is
far broader and encompassing.
The narrative, which is one response to this
situation of the parameters of
communication, renders
the experience in metaphorical
terms, ordering details of events in such a way that they appear coherent.
The relativity of psychoanalysis
and art- this partly has to
do with the actualization
of the manifestations of the
human experience in writing.
Like in analysis, writing requires
remembering and including the obvious.
It is this
interplay of the obvious and hidden
that the magic depends- obvious and hidden-
obvious (male): hidden (female); hidden
(thought) obvious (expression)
Don't hve to be afraid of the circuitous
routes if you're not too proud to return home
a little abashed.
"I was there."
"Where did you go?"
"Nothing much"
"You mean, all that trouble for nothing? Why did you bother?"
Non-narrative: to isolate the mind's
movements from those perceptions which are
on hold, continuous, we must distinguish
between synchronous and non-synchronous
observations. Reaffirming the
obvious is like a pedal point,
like the time-signature
in music, the beat in rock or jazz.
notebook: circa 1986
Re-unification of image and sound
The speaking woman- the listening man
Poetry=sound and image
make sounds and hold pictures up to the audience
unreproducible poems-
experiential poems
copying- authenticating
can't be copied-money-original document
almost infinitely reproducible
copying eliminates rarity
experiential- origin-ality
identity
connection with identity of creator
know-ledge
code of identity
Go back to Freud's analysis of dreams to the acausal
Dreams as proof of the unconscious also of the acausal
Reversing- dreams as seeing
through the apparent to the real
telling-narrating- cause to result
writing with pictures rather than words
what's hidden in the picture
pictures= the irrelevant
paranoiac the improbable connection
the intuitive feeling of "too much" repetition
anxiety and the time-slip
it was expressly in the specific details
that the precognitive was to be recognized
It is clear from my experience of writing
that thought does not begin at the
beginning. Because of the experience
of inner resistances, thought tends to circuitous
circling around its goal or spiralling
deeply into it. It burrows. Since thought
is like a drill, or a beam of light
emanating from a larger source of light within,
it has to choose an area of focus,
even when the experience simultaneous to it is
far broader and encompassing.
The narrative, which is one response to this
situation of the parameters of
communication, renders
the experience in metaphorical
terms, ordering details of events in such a way that they appear coherent.
The relativity of psychoanalysis
and art- this partly has to
do with the actualization
of the manifestations of the
human experience in writing.
Like in analysis, writing requires
remembering and including the obvious.
It is this
interplay of the obvious and hidden
that the magic depends- obvious and hidden-
obvious (male): hidden (female); hidden
(thought) obvious (expression)
Don't hve to be afraid of the circuitous
routes if you're not too proud to return home
a little abashed.
"I was there."
"Where did you go?"
"Nothing much"
"You mean, all that trouble for nothing? Why did you bother?"
Non-narrative: to isolate the mind's
movements from those perceptions which are
on hold, continuous, we must distinguish
between synchronous and non-synchronous
observations. Reaffirming the
obvious is like a pedal point,
like the time-signature
in music, the beat in rock or jazz.
notebook: circa 1986
Wednesday, June 30
We have the great pleasure to announce
our inclusion on the June 30
Ironstone Whirligig {click here}
crush list!!!
*************
Thanks to Gary Sullivan (Elsewhere)
for featuring our journal entry/time travel poem for 9/86
our inclusion on the June 30
Ironstone Whirligig {click here}
crush list!!!
*************
Thanks to Gary Sullivan (Elsewhere)
for featuring our journal entry/time travel poem for 9/86
Speaking of People
Speaking of people is difficult
Most of this talk is more vague than appears at first glance.
Nice- or peevish- what is it that you actually remember?
Maybe she was only trying to be an interesting guest.
Who is to say?
And speaking of people is difficult.
To me it is very drab and gray.
This one is so accomplished
And that one is so vain-
As a matter of fact
Who isn't vain?
You just didn't happen toa make a career of it
But I did.
(notebook: circa 1986)
**********************************************
What can be compared to this double life?
Or should I say triple? Kill romanticism
And live, he said, plunge a knife into every
Sentimental feeling. I say
Coin a new word and keep all the others,
including the jasmine and the horsewhip and the king
And he says, what is death anyway except your
personal problem- we're not interested in that
& I say But I like New Jersey
And he says we'll then live there,
And I say I'd rather rip my dictionary
and he says don't even bother
you'll never run out of too many words.
We'd had plenty to drink by this time,
that is, we were quite fired up. No,
I don't like your tricks,
That kind of negativity is zero,
pull your pants up, squirt,
and nobody says nothing can't change anything.
And it depends on how much and how long,
And did you know the Mayan culture is 10,800 years
old and Edgar Cayce knew it many years before
Scientific American (you can check that).
So, by this definition there was no way to argue back.
I lit his pipe again and said:
Melody is memory
and he answered memory is too permanent
and I said the first revolution is still not over
and he says I never saw you at the first one
and I said don't put me into a box
and he said I know more about containers than you can think
and he said your poor old tired self is your box
and I said at some scale anything can be included
and he said by now I know everybody in any way important
and I said I think you take words too literally
and he said yo think too much about a single word
and I said there has to be room for the many
and he said there has to be room fo the one
and I said you don't think there is any one
and he said yes I do
notebook: 9/86
Speaking of people is difficult
Most of this talk is more vague than appears at first glance.
Nice- or peevish- what is it that you actually remember?
Maybe she was only trying to be an interesting guest.
Who is to say?
And speaking of people is difficult.
To me it is very drab and gray.
This one is so accomplished
And that one is so vain-
As a matter of fact
Who isn't vain?
You just didn't happen toa make a career of it
But I did.
(notebook: circa 1986)
**********************************************
What can be compared to this double life?
Or should I say triple? Kill romanticism
And live, he said, plunge a knife into every
Sentimental feeling. I say
Coin a new word and keep all the others,
including the jasmine and the horsewhip and the king
And he says, what is death anyway except your
personal problem- we're not interested in that
& I say But I like New Jersey
And he says we'll then live there,
And I say I'd rather rip my dictionary
and he says don't even bother
you'll never run out of too many words.
We'd had plenty to drink by this time,
that is, we were quite fired up. No,
I don't like your tricks,
That kind of negativity is zero,
pull your pants up, squirt,
and nobody says nothing can't change anything.
And it depends on how much and how long,
And did you know the Mayan culture is 10,800 years
old and Edgar Cayce knew it many years before
Scientific American (you can check that).
So, by this definition there was no way to argue back.
I lit his pipe again and said:
Melody is memory
and he answered memory is too permanent
and I said the first revolution is still not over
and he says I never saw you at the first one
and I said don't put me into a box
and he said I know more about containers than you can think
and he said your poor old tired self is your box
and I said at some scale anything can be included
and he said by now I know everybody in any way important
and I said I think you take words too literally
and he said yo think too much about a single word
and I said there has to be room for the many
and he said there has to be room fo the one
and I said you don't think there is any one
and he said yes I do
notebook: 9/86
Happy first birthday
Moonshine Highways {click here}
"Infancy is what is eternal, and the rest,
all the rest is brevity, extreme brevity."
Antonio Porchia
Moonshine Highways {click here}
"Infancy is what is eternal, and the rest,
all the rest is brevity, extreme brevity."
Antonio Porchia
Tuesday, June 29
Froth (Maryann Shaneen){click here} (dubbed Lilith-by Pantaloons {click here}
reports on the benefit for Critical Art Ensemble last Tuesday, June 22
and what is happening to this latest target of The Patriot Act
reports on the benefit for Critical Art Ensemble last Tuesday, June 22
and what is happening to this latest target of The Patriot Act
Monday, June 28
Moonshine Highways {click here}
is back up, we're happy to report.
**
Michael Gates
(Twists and Turns) {click here}
takes a spin on the
The Late Night Cable-
Movie Plot Generator {click here}
**
Jean Vengua's (OKIR) {click here}_
migraine headache caused her to start "seeing things" possibly
in turn causing Tom Beckett (Vanishing Points of
Resemblance) {click here} to do the same.
**
*fait accompli* has made another short list...
this time as Bloomberg!(????)
Pantaloons (Jack Kimball) {click here}
Once Bill Marsh once told us
we publish too much, but Bloomberg!!!
Anyway, we think the blog leader of frequency
is wood s lot (Mark Woods)
Much on there right now on
Carl Rakosi
is back up, we're happy to report.
**
Michael Gates
(Twists and Turns) {click here}
takes a spin on the
The Late Night Cable-
Movie Plot Generator {click here}
**
Jean Vengua's (OKIR) {click here}_
migraine headache caused her to start "seeing things" possibly
in turn causing Tom Beckett (Vanishing Points of
Resemblance) {click here} to do the same.
**
*fait accompli* has made another short list...
this time as Bloomberg!(????)
Pantaloons (Jack Kimball) {click here}
Once Bill Marsh once told us
we publish too much, but Bloomberg!!!
Anyway, we think the blog leader of frequency
is wood s lot (Mark Woods)
Much on there right now on
Carl Rakosi
Looks like Blogger is reporting
a code 404 ("page not found")on
Amy Bernier's blog, *Moonshine
Highways*- very frustrating.
I've written to Blogger to
complain about this type of
thing, and all they say is that
they are working out the kinks
on New Blogger. Oh well.
We're grateful to Amy Bernier for mentioning
Antonio Porchia. Have to add
that W.S. Merwin recently re-edited
and retranslated *Voices*, a book
of Porchia's aphorisms that was
originally published in 1969
by *Big Table*. The new edition
is from *Copper Canyon* and
and came out in 2003. Just now
looking at the new edition, without
looking for it I turned right to
one of the aphorisms I came across
reading through the earlier edition
today.
"My final belief is suffering. And I
begin to believe I do not suffer."
Like many aphorists, Porchia implodes
everyday assumptions by finding their
fault lines, often concealed underneath
layers of protective pleasures, reassurances,
familiar comforts, rationalizations.
"The love that is not all pain is
not all love."
"I also had a summer and burned
myself in its name."
"If I did not believe the sun looked
at me a little bit I would not look at
it."
"Everyone thinks that his things are not like
all the things in the world. And that is why
everybody keeps them."
Porchia's aphorisms, once known, become
a necessity.
There are a number of websites for Porchia.
Here's one of them:
Porchia {click here}
a code 404 ("page not found")on
Amy Bernier's blog, *Moonshine
Highways*- very frustrating.
I've written to Blogger to
complain about this type of
thing, and all they say is that
they are working out the kinks
on New Blogger. Oh well.
We're grateful to Amy Bernier for mentioning
Antonio Porchia. Have to add
that W.S. Merwin recently re-edited
and retranslated *Voices*, a book
of Porchia's aphorisms that was
originally published in 1969
by *Big Table*. The new edition
is from *Copper Canyon* and
and came out in 2003. Just now
looking at the new edition, without
looking for it I turned right to
one of the aphorisms I came across
reading through the earlier edition
today.
"My final belief is suffering. And I
begin to believe I do not suffer."
Like many aphorists, Porchia implodes
everyday assumptions by finding their
fault lines, often concealed underneath
layers of protective pleasures, reassurances,
familiar comforts, rationalizations.
"The love that is not all pain is
not all love."
"I also had a summer and burned
myself in its name."
"If I did not believe the sun looked
at me a little bit I would not look at
it."
"Everyone thinks that his things are not like
all the things in the world. And that is why
everybody keeps them."
Porchia's aphorisms, once known, become
a necessity.
There are a number of websites for Porchia.
Here's one of them:
Porchia {click here}
Along with some interesting self-portraits,
Amy Bernier (Moonshine Highways) {click here}
quotes an aphorism today from the heartbreakingly lyrical,
sensitive and poignant Argentine philosopher/carpenter
Antonio Porchia (1886-1968).
There are so many great ones, some of
which have been quoted before on
this blog, but not this one:
"They are like me, I tell
myself. And in that way I
defend myself against them.
And in that way I defend myself
against myself."
Amy Bernier (Moonshine Highways) {click here}
quotes an aphorism today from the heartbreakingly lyrical,
sensitive and poignant Argentine philosopher/carpenter
Antonio Porchia (1886-1968).
There are so many great ones, some of
which have been quoted before on
this blog, but not this one:
"They are like me, I tell
myself. And in that way I
defend myself against them.
And in that way I defend myself
against myself."
Sunday, June 27
Can suspiciousness be used against itself?
Then make suspicions suspect.
******************************
Wood s Lot {click here}. Today's focus is that master of poetics,
"...a dreamer of words"-Gaston Bachelard.
Then make suspicions suspect.
******************************
Wood s Lot {click here}. Today's focus is that master of poetics,
"...a dreamer of words"-Gaston Bachelard.
the thing...
what it was about Saunders
photograph
a bunch of jazz musicians
another rendition
white carnation
and though
black connection [conviction]
the man who knew
accordion
flashes his teeth
an old fortune
her mouth
fortune cookie
another twist (labyrinth)
absinthe
what it was about Sunday
dark clouds
Figaro...high voices
you knew him when
the technical thing
conga dancers
1941
Freud
"Georgia on my mind"
timing
her month
some suit
decorations
marvel
in Peru, ruins
ruins in Mexico
old ball point pens [fill the bill]
no, she isn't wearing bills
it's a white skirt [...wood, serape]
frescoes confused [testimony]
pencilled-in furniture [diagrams]
territorial dignities [tatoos]
erasures [pyrotechnical enclosures]
fucking toothpaste [sadness]
fucking toothache [madness]
skimming over that (is a problem)
poem another form...uniform
to be filled out-[full figured, buxom]
pandemonium
there isn't anything I can do
signature on a vacuum belonging to
this Florida character who, for instance,
is perfectly content with a beach and a sunset
up today and down tomorrow
{notebook: 5/2-5/3/90}
what it was about Saunders
photograph
a bunch of jazz musicians
another rendition
white carnation
and though
black connection [conviction]
the man who knew
accordion
flashes his teeth
an old fortune
her mouth
fortune cookie
another twist (labyrinth)
absinthe
what it was about Sunday
dark clouds
Figaro...high voices
you knew him when
the technical thing
conga dancers
1941
Freud
"Georgia on my mind"
timing
her month
some suit
decorations
marvel
in Peru, ruins
ruins in Mexico
old ball point pens [fill the bill]
no, she isn't wearing bills
it's a white skirt [...wood, serape]
frescoes confused [testimony]
pencilled-in furniture [diagrams]
territorial dignities [tatoos]
erasures [pyrotechnical enclosures]
fucking toothpaste [sadness]
fucking toothache [madness]
skimming over that (is a problem)
poem another form...uniform
to be filled out-[full figured, buxom]
pandemonium
there isn't anything I can do
signature on a vacuum belonging to
this Florida character who, for instance,
is perfectly content with a beach and a sunset
up today and down tomorrow
{notebook: 5/2-5/3/90}
A wonderful Neil Young tribute took place in Prospect Park
last night- a very pleasurable reminder of just how many
incredible songs he has written. The concert
ended, appropriately, with "4 dead in Ohio"
Scary thoughts...there's still time to change
things. But maybe not that much.
Most memorable, was hearing and seeing Chan
Marshall sing in concert for the first time. Right
now Toni and I are listening to *Free*.
We have always been major Neil
Young fans- our "songs" have always been
those of Neil Young.
But we came home and listened to Cat Power
*You Are Free*. Hmmm.
Cat Power- You Are Free {click here}
A big surprise tonight was
that one of the concert's producers lives
quite nearby in this building.
A memorable evening indeed.
last night- a very pleasurable reminder of just how many
incredible songs he has written. The concert
ended, appropriately, with "4 dead in Ohio"
Scary thoughts...there's still time to change
things. But maybe not that much.
Most memorable, was hearing and seeing Chan
Marshall sing in concert for the first time. Right
now Toni and I are listening to *Free*.
We have always been major Neil
Young fans- our "songs" have always been
those of Neil Young.
But we came home and listened to Cat Power
*You Are Free*. Hmmm.
Cat Power- You Are Free {click here}
A big surprise tonight was
that one of the concert's producers lives
quite nearby in this building.
A memorable evening indeed.
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