Distribution Automatique

Saturday, March 15

A series of essays using "trigger" words as starting points (as in Ponge's use of "objects"). Time (past, present and future). Now -allow for the other starting points to emerge from this one.

As a writer, to some extent I need the exhiliration of letting my thoughts go- there is a sense of "stretched time" in ths (fold-out of chaos?) There is a moral equivalent of muscular freedom and buoyancy in this. Naturally one would expect such an episode of freedom to lead to a period of fatigue and reassessment. The point is to allow for, to comprehend such a doubling. It isn't fully a waste of time to predict the outcome, but here the need for a kind of ordering principle asserts itself. But one must not be too attached to this because it contains only a prediction of a -possible- outcome.

Reading- 1)definition 2) visual image
What Freud called an association extend into "associative combinatorial" which includes the other senses. A "memory," for example, may contain visual as well as aural and tactile elements. This "memory" itself may be but a fragment of the associative combinatorial, which synchronistically leans, at the moment of its inception, towards one or the other application to an immediate perception. The "chain of association" or the "stream of consciousness" are linear images which do not confront the complexity of a discrete associative combinatoriala.This is no chain or stream but there is a constant overlay, a continuous sequence of accumulating correspondances which, at the singular moment of time, radiates in all temporal directions, and connects them all.

Literature grows geometrically because there are more connections between words and human beings created every
moment than can be tracked simultaneously.

I keep reminding myself to send a letter and manuscript to Tabor- in England.

If all is mechanical then all change of location (like a gadget) is illusory. It's not that machines are taking over is frightening. It's that the further we get with the machines, the more the already available technology appears less and less necessary. As it is, less and less necessary to move, the body's machinery appears obsolescent- with the frightening realization that we can now create machines which are immortal. But this was a re-realization that "we" are not immortal. But who is this "we?" The boundaries there are blurry too. The technology can rub out "the them" but their technology can rub out "us."

It occurred to me that if someone sent messages back to the past and also received them then- what relation to this interaction would the future have?

Right now, instead of looking for "great poems" I'm looking for poetry which emanates poetic energy

1) a piece of writing
2) later: what were the attitudes and character of the person writing it?
3) later: why that investigation?

A piece of writing which represents all the things that stop me- these are not all the things but the piece of paper represents the feeling of "moving" or taking control over those things. Now this writing comes to represent that piece of paper.

Allow the manuscripts to get all mixed in together= shuffling the cards for a "reading."

Endless preparation for "a reading" (=tarot or tea leaves reading).

The poems I am collecting seem to be ones I've thought about or want to think about (!).A poem as a crystal ball- some "thing" around which imaginings can be "seen" and "heard."

"Items of intrinsic value."

i take measure, and leap into the pool of ideas- a tune emerges in memory. Imagining: even if I could not do it yet, take the pieces that fit in (these are details) and imagine (create) the rest.

"I don't care to think about it, but I'd like to have a record of it."

To have control over the attentional faculty, to concentrate andt then break away and then be able to return to the concentrated state- an ideal os some degree of comfort under stressful conditions.

Jessica Stockholder, an installation artist whose varied and daring work I admire writes in her catalogue: "My hope is that the viewer will, like me, become engaged in a struggle between viewing a static fait accompli and feeling as if they are participating in a series of contradictions and narratives that come to no settling conclusion. I feel that my work provides and argues for the necessity of both."
Why be mean when it's so much better to be kind?

Just for the record, Laurable the adorable's birthday is July 20. That gives me plenty of time to figure out how to organize a cyberspace birthday party. I'm not worried about the surprise factor because of the infamous short-term memory factor.

"That everything ends in success, concessions and the shabby rewards of success, is exactly what is contradicted by the history of hundreds of revolutionary attempts here and there."

Guy Debord
I assume Richard Hell would not mind if I quote from his blurb for Guy Debord's book "Considerations On The Assasination of Gerard Lebovici" (now THERE'S a few links for those blog watchers)

"It cannot be said too often and it's never said enough that the mass News-media have low-to-no standards of accuracy whether in relatively minor or peripheral areas of their reporting where their interests may not be obviously at stake (except its in their interests not to go to the expense of bothering to check facts, and to conceal this) or in the larger matters where their prejudices are more apparent. And, as the media leaders know, since all news becomes "old" the moment it's broadcast, most victims of their misrepresentations are at a disadvantage not only because of a power mismatch, but because a protester looks like a fool to be challenging yesterday's papers. But the consequences of the media's irresponsibility and maliciousness are real to their victims..."
From the inbox:

"Dear VoteToImpeach member:

Thank you for joining the VoteToImpeach campaign.

There has been an overwhelming response to the announcement of the grassroots campaign calling for the impeachment of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld and John Ashcroft for high crimes and misdemeanors. So far more than 100,000 people have voted for impeachment online. Many more are signing petitions calling for impeachment. This is an effort of widespread grassroots democracy. We can see from the recent months that the grassroots peace movement has become a major factor in world politics. We, the people, are making a difference."
Ok, back to my boring drivel about the ads. Reading about Google until almost 4 am. The ads occur by an electronic word scanning of our blogs. Maybe my blog, which has the word "travel" brought about the bland swim suit ads. I also learned there is a group "watching" Google which may lead to some ambivalence about that amazing search engine. A little paranoia there, but who knows. Big Brother may be tracking you! Go to Google and check out "Google Watch." The thing is, if google links to google watch how paranoid could they be? Anyway, check it out, all very interesting in these neo-McCarthy times. I'm thinking an amazing James Bond movie set in cyberspace.

Another interesting link is google blogdex- the weblong diffusion index- google that one! Supposedly subscribing gets you some cool crawl. Let's see what happens- I'm not the type to check my hit count anyway (too lazy to do the techie work). Hey, Laurable! How many hits am I getting?


Marianne posted Lytle Shaw and Emilie Clarke's letter to us all about the trial. -Fait Accompli- had a reporter on hand to give us the instant update. The court building sported an oversized portrait of ayatollah Bush holding a glowing light and wearing (as usual) a grotesquely unrtranslateable expression; the trial was being covered by a reporter from El Mundo (Spain) sporting duct tape patches on his jacket, and in the courtroom a cadre of supporters held up the very tame photos that brought about the bizarre arrest of our good friends. Go to Marianne Shaneen's -Froth- links on left- for the entire text of a terrific letter from these courageous, and horribly harassed protester friends of ours.
Damn! Back to swimsuits.
Uh-oh, now the ad above is for a book called "The Ice Maiden." Not a good sign.

Friday, March 14

Wait a minute. Now the same ad's above -fait accompli- !

"What is Love?"
"It's not just chemistry. Learn how to love and be loved by any girl"

(And Infinitely less boring than fudge and hair products.)
Remember when Stephanie started noticing the ads above everybody's blog?
This is the ad above -The Well Nourished Moon- right now. Seriously:

"What Is Love?
"It's not just chemistry. Learn how to love and be loved by any girl."

What's with Stephanie? Is she psychic or just incredibly SMART?
I can't make it (I work that night) to what promises to be one of the greatest book parties ever on Monday night, March 17 at 7pm at Teacher's and Writers- see Jordan Davis' blog for details. If I'm not mistaken, these are books from Faux Press, isn't that Jack Kimball? Jordan Davis, Nada Gordon and Alice Notley are all celebrating new books. Nada and Jordan -please say hi to Alice for me!

Leonardo da Vinci repeatedly stated that the two most formidable challenges facing a good painter were the portrayal of man and the intentions of the mind (le passioni dell'animo) through physical gestures.

Check out ArtKrush- the magazine online- at http://www.artkrush.com/mainframe/index.asp
With an impressive and dizzying array of current and historical references, and patience akin to Job's, Ron Silliman thoroughly affirms and expands on his blog today most of the points Charles Bernstein communicates so telegraphically in his recent controversial essay "Enough" (without actually ever mentioning the piece).

Toni just made the point that Miekal And would clearly make a great blogger. Why is he (and some other cool poets) so reluctant about blogging?

Thanks to Laurable for mentioning my piece on blogging and bloggers on the poetics list yesterday.

Why should bloggers worry about an echo effect? If something is interesting, interest can be sustained though quite a lot of repetition. Mainstream media and particularly advertisers abuse that factor, true. But I don't see this effect as a negative in blogland, yet. Think of Gertrude Stein. Echoes and mirroring can be charming or annoying depending on how they are employed.
Yesterday on the poetics list Brandon Barr and Miekal And agreeing with each other that there's nothing new in blogging for poets. Then one of the most avant- garde of poets Miekal And takes a walk down memory lane to the 80's. Then Joe Safdie says the writing on my post reminds him of Samuel Johnson. Josh Corey thinks I'm Emerson. Hey, this time travel thing might really be working! Where might they find me next? See you then...

Thursday, March 13

Josh Corey has cast me in the role of Emerson. But he's ambivalent about my project. Why shouldn't he be? He read my book for homework in Jonathan Monroe's class in Contemporary Literature at Cornell. Hey, thanks Josh, there's still few copies left , maybe this review will help get them sold! The publisher has decided to keep the book in print. "Cashiers" de Corey is on the links to your left.

Wednesday, March 12

I've always liked "the World, the Worldless" by William Bronk. I've gotten many other books by him, but I've remained attached to the first one. Recently I bought a hardbound copy at Granary Books, which happened to belong to George Economou, who wrote his name on the first page. My favorite poem in the book is the last one:


What I want to do is shout. Happiness? No.
Outrage. No. what I want to do is shout
because we were all wrong, because the point
was not the point, because the world, or what
we took for the world, is breaking, breaking. We were wrong
and are not right. Break! Break! We are here!
What I want to do is shout! Break! Shout!

David Hess and Jonathan Mayhew in the past couple of days mentioned two poets I have always read with pleasure, Joe Ceravolo and William Bronk. Recently, Joe Massey asked if someone would describe Ted Berrigan's book "So Going Around Cities." I sent him the following description which he excerpted on his blog. (I realize most blog entries are short- Laurable pointed this out to me- but mine are long. So far I haven't received any complaints. )Here is the complete letter I sent to Joe Massey:
Hi Joe-

Ted was a friend and I was in two of his workshops; in the late 60's and early 70's. He helped me get some of my first poems published.

I found my copy of -So Going Around Cities- in Paris in 1985. It is a lovely shade of red, hardbound, black flyleaf, and has gold lettering. It is 403 pages long. There is a dedication page that reads as follows.

"The poems are arranged in chronological order, which seemed important to the accuracy of such a book as this, one which might easily have been titled "As Much As Was Possible of The Story So Far." But the individual sections have been allowed to tell their own stories, so calling for some deviation from strict calendar order. The several stories go to making the one story, of necessity overlap, and have been allowed to do so. "My" story in that generally there has been an "I" that, in doing the telling, has by nature located itself in the center of the action, though by no means is I [italics[ always the central character, let alone the hero. My sense, for that matter my ambition, has been to create a character named I, [italics]
In the poems, that, when the actual writing goes on, is speaker, hearer,
notater, perceiver, even judge when that is called for.

There are a number of poems scattered throughout the book which have not been published in any other book; so they are new and selected, The final section is all new poems, as is at least half of the section titled EASTER MONDAY. And, happily, since the final construction of this book, I do have more. Be seeing you.

-Ted Berrigan
Autumn, 1979
New York City

There is a page at the end


[I've never seen the cover painting by Donna Dennis nor the illustrations by Geroge Schneeman.]

The book is dedicated "To Alice, To Anselm and To Doug" [no doubt the late Douglas Oliver, whom Alice Notley married long after Ted died.]

The first poem in the book is


Seven thousand feet over
The American Midwest
In the black and droning night
Sitting awake and alone
I worry the stewardess...
Would you like some coffee, sir?
How about a magazine?
No thanks, I smile and refuse.
My father died today. I
Fifteen hundred miles away
Left at once for home, having
Received the news from my mother
In tears on the telephone.
He never rode in a plane.

The last poem is

For Tom Clark

Anselm is sleeping; Edmund is feverish, &
Chatting: Alice doing the Times [italics] Crossword Puzzle:
I, having bathed, am pinned, nude, to the bed
Between Green Hills of Africa [italics] &
The Pro Football Mystique [italics]. Steam is hissing
In the pipes, cold air blowing across my legs...
Tobacco smoke is rising up my nose, as Significance
Crackles & leaps about inside my nightly no-mind.
Already it's past two, of a night like any other:
O, Old Glory, atop The Empire State, a building, &
Between the Hudson & The East Rivers, O, purple, & O, murky black,
If only...but O, finally , you, O, Leonardo, you at last arose
Bent and racked with fit after fit of coughing, & Cursing!
Terrible curses! No joke! What will happen? Who
Be served? Whose call go unanswered? And
Who can 44 down, "Pretender to
The Crown of Georgia" be...
(Boris Pasternak?)

David Hess asked recently about Joe Ceravolo's book "Fits of Dawn." I happen to be the proud owner of a copy of "Fits of Dawn" that Berrigan personally had bound in dissertation style black covers with the title embossed in gold caps on the cover. Here's a little bit:

fail fail he route non ai-je allay
apple fierce joying like
confide blossom ete-armed recite of barely
Wolves and the metal, Family of
it is post lake enemy Perhaps
envocal motionless leave unhopped
sun trains drinking.
Away! so wet OH
crow fog and rio feeding
Clap-orient song
Naive ground askingly flesh
lookout each
gurgle Away cropped fix
aussi-pied also-foot
intrusion viscous
texas spoons of death
Obelisk rose of
Lunge. please stabs quoted
spill ago tree ago
Oh bait! Harangue! Stall!
fete-skys soon. The lowest eaten.
Road! Yes bread, idea wife punch-
solace avenue WAIT!
Whether somewhere bullet path fingers
singing the roofs What a lot Oh
what a ride, caves, And

Jim Behrle took some requests for his b-side postcard poems on his blog the other day. One of the poems, dedicated to moi is now published on his blog site with its ever-changing name- but stable and unforgettable address:kickthepodium.blogspot.com. I appreciated this, Jim. A lot.

Thanks to Sandra Simonds for linking to my site, to Joe Massey for sending me a new poem based on an aphorism by Porchia posted here yesterday, and to Stephanie and Laura for their kind words and support. Notice new links to Andrew Mister and Sandra Simonds.

Dismayed about the ever- increasing combative tone in blogworld. Isn't this what many of us disliked about the atmosphere on the Buffalo poetics list in recent months- even years? It takes only an extra moment's thought to critique someone's work with a degree of panache and basic human respect for your opponent. C'mon- leave some scraps for the buzzards, guys, you don't have to cannibalize every last morsel of your victims.

Tuesday, March 11

"The cold is a good counsellor, but it is cold."
Antonio Porchia

"When you seem to be listening to my words, they seem to be your words, with me listening."
Antonio Porchia

"When you and the truth speak to me, I do not listen to the truth. I listen to you."
Antonio Porcia

It is essential to the sanity of mankind that each one should think the other crazy- a condition with which the cynicism of human nature so cordially complies, one could wish it were a concurrence upon a subject more noble.
(Emily Dickinson, notebook, c.1880)

"It takes your enemy and your friend, working together, to hurt you to the heart; the one to slander you and the other to get the news to you."
(Mark Twain, 1887)

"They will say you are on the wrong road if it is your own."
Antonia Porchia (b 1885-d.1968)

Music deserves a special place in the pantheon or continuum of factors that connect with memory,

Blank=nothing=nothing in particular= breaking away from constraints= a door= walking in= discovering something= examining it again= a path= a street= going forward=moving on=blank is an opening=blank is a door=blank is a street=blank is going down the street=blank is just being=blank admits=blank blends=blank acknowledges=thinking=wandering=wondering=finding=it takes you in and out=it is partial=a choice=a quick scramble through a maze of notices, of expectations=like a collection of magic tricks=include a collection of objects=a crystal=a music collection.


You arrive at truth through poetry. I arrive at poetry through truth.
(Joseph Jourbet)

Indifference to poetry is one of the most conspicuous characteristics of the human race.
(Robert Lynch)

Habits are first cobwebs, then cables.
(Spanish proverb)


It is the image of a "continuous" text which I know to be a lie. No, not a lie- a monologue that does not stop, does not listen.


Over time, you learn to pay close attention to motivations, because, no matter how sustained they might appear to be, they are always fleeting, always disappearing. If you become aware of being motivated to do something, the more conscious you become the more you learn to avail yourself of the energy which attaches itself to it, a movement which subjectively makes the action easier.

(7/2/97) (Antibes)

I've lived with time so long as a limiting and controlling reality- that I am weary with thinking of it like this.

I need more images for time. I am so tired of being pushed in front of it, like a child being urged to take its first steps -or like a pet, being dragged along its staccato steps, lurching forward one moment, and then time seeming to drag on forever locked in a room, waiting for its next chance to get out. I can learn to accept a concept of time that is inexorable, leading to one inescapable outcome which awaits all human beings. Of course there is nothing afterwards. Time- more and more no matter what- the end of time- nothing more, no matter what.

Good speech is more a question of when then what.But good writing offers something that transcends time.

[Words- built in time travel.]

Mosaic: placing something there you can feel with your hands.

English: "Proper" leave taking.

The thought "splits" between memory and observation.

Time travel. "In between" type moments where the thought splits. "Timelessness is found in the lapsed moments of perception, in the common pause that breaks apart into a sandstorm of pauses." Robert Smithson- "Incidents of Mirror Travel in the Yucatan."

Space is the remains, or corpse of time.

Concept of emptiness.

later: Now I see that to elaborate a "story" means to not select the details which will happen, but to create an imaginative universe which the mind "maintains"- like a film projected on a screen by means of succession of details.

I never realized that it does not matter how long it takes to arrive at a plan. Plans are so connected to action that in the sphere of action, the plan is, so to speak, the aesthetic aspect of the action. It is capable of being sustained for some length of time, thus refining the action and also creating useful byproducts (artistic materials).


All the details I have to attend to weigh on me more and more heavily. Then, when I have unscheduled time I crave doing nothing, goofing off. This action is actually quite compatible with the wish to write poetry because as an experience, goofing off effects as sense of an intensification of the awareness of thoughts. If it is possible to quiet the aroused superego, a kind of id triumph can prevail, on a mild level. But the 'triumph" can quickly give way to a feeling of "brooding remorse" which is the completion of the wave form cycle: now up, now down. Perhaps this is why I've always wanted a "celebratory" poetry- this is an extention of the wish to sustain the feeling of triumph.

Chidren already contain all but one of the possible expressions: steadiness of purpose.

"I don't have the slightest idea of what you must have meant when you said (wrote) that. I did listen to you- in fact, I almost fell into a kind of trance where I was no longer listening to the words in a literal way, but I was really half listening to your tone of voice and half focussing on the words I was thinking about the words you were saying. I don't know how long I was actually in this kind of state. I was reading something and then I was listening to you, and it was somehow all happening inside my head and the different times were all happening at one time."

"You mean, the words were inside your head, and the things that were happening then in your life no longer were occuring to you in the ways you usually think about them?"


"This is exactly what I wanted to have happen to you, which could never happen in an ordinary conversation. People have a need to call things something, to give a name to them. But this often covers up the way they actually happen."

"I felt like you were erasing my memories, or actually my wish to remember. I expected you to be talking about clouds, and flowers and emotions, but then you were talking about something that was far less literal or concrete."

"You expected me to reveal something?"

"I didn't expect you to induce in me a kind of revery that I haven't been able to shake for days. I haven't been able to open a book, listen to a radio, read the newspape. When I think, thinking occurs in a kind of whirling motion, where ideas, feelings and objects won't solidify, or settle in an everyday way."

"Do you want to stay there?"

"I can't say if I do or I don't"


Monday, March 10

"To see is to retain--to behold. Elimination of all fear is in sight--which must be aimed for....This is an age which has no symbol for death other than the skull and bones of one stage of decomposition...and it is an age which lives in fear of total annihilation. It is a time haunted by sexual sterility yet almost universally incapable of perceiving the phallic nature of every destructive manifestation of itself. It is an age which artificially seeks to project itself materialistically into abstract space and to fulfill itself mechanically because it has blinded itself to almost all external reality within eyesight and to the organic awareness of even the physical movement properties of its own perceptibility. The earliest cave paintings discovered demonstrate that primitive man had a greater understanding than we do that the object of fear must be objectified."

Stan Brakhage -Metaphors On Vision- 1963

Sunday, March 9

This just in from Ligorano/Reese. The film fragments collaged and screened on the head of a pin ("In Memory of Truth"): are: Private
Ryan, Platoon, Rules of Engagement, Blackhawk Down, Pearl Harbor, all
Hollywood films.

(more on the new installation piece from Ligorano/Reese below)
Memories of -In Memory of Truth- a new installation by Ligorano/Reese on view March 8-April 7 eyewash@Monk Gallery (see below)

Woke up this morning thinking about the Ligorano/Reese piece -In Memory of Truth- "Bush is the pinhead," I thought. On the gallery wall, behind the viewer through which you can see the films projected on the head of a pin, hangs a blown up t.v. photo of Bush being told about 9/11 by Andrew Card.

There is an important reference to "Blade Runner" in this installation. While making the piece, Marshall called me up to ask me about certain parts of the Ridley Scott film "Blade Runner" starring Harrison Ford as Deckard, Rutger Hauer as Batty and Sean Young as Rachel. One question was about Batty's final speech on the roof after he saves Deckard.The two were fighting to the death near the roof of a building. Even though moments before, Deckard had killed his lover, and days before his friend and her lover, Batty allows Deckard to live. As Deckard, now on the roof, stilll in shock, stares at him, Batty says: "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. C-beams glittering near the Tanhauser gate, attack ships on fire over the shoulders of Orion. All those moments will be lost in time. Time to die." Batty nods his head and dies.

On the way back to his apartment, Deckard sees Gaff, the assistant to his boss. Deckard and Gaff are blade runners, killers hired by the agency to kill, or "retire" escaped replicants. Gaff says: "Too bad she won't live. Then again, who does?"

Deckard goes back to his apartment and sees Rachel inert on his bed. For a moment he doesn't know if she's alive. He calls to her: "Rachel...Rachel...Rachel..."
He asks: "Do you love me?"
Rachel says: "I love you."
Deckard asks: "Do you trust me?"
She says: "I trust you."
Voice-over of Gaff: "Too bad she won't live. Then again who does?"
Leaving the apartment with Rachel, Deckard sees a silver candy wrapper origami unicorn Gaff had left on the floor. Gaff had not killed Rachel as Deckard might have expected him to. Gaff knew Deckard loved Rachel and that was why he had said: "Too bad she won't live."
Deckard voice- over: "Gaff had been there and let her live. Four years he figured. He was wrong. Tyrell had told me Rachel was special. No termination date. I didn't know how long we had together. Who does?"

In referencing "Blade Runner" here Ligorano/Reese may be highlighting several aspects of memory and truth. For one thing, we are living in a historical moment of crisis when no one knows how long they have to live, due to the threat of universal nuclear annhilation, which immediately suggests parallels between the survival of truth and the survival of the human race, given the stakes in supporting or not supporting the far right fundamentalist Bush administration at this moment in time.

Also, the interesting issue of close-ups in the film and in -In Memory of Truth-. In the film, Deckard uses a computer that examines some photos he found in Leon's apartment. This computer, like the Ligorano/Reese magnifier, isolates imagery in close-up form. Leon was the first replicant he killed. By looking at the photo with specialized magnifying equipment, Deckard is able to see a photograph of Zhora, Leon's strip-teaser girlfriend who works with an artifical python. Finding the scales of this python, which Deckard gets examined microscopically by a steet vendor, leads Deckard to Zhora's workplace. With the close-ups of the photos found in Leon's apartment (another reference to the struggle to retain memory and truth), Deckard was able to see Zhora's image reflected in the bathroom mirror, while she is invisible in the photograph itself.

In evoking truth and memory, Ligorano/Reese may be suggesting that we are shown only copies of images, and possibly can only decide the truth not so much by distinguishing memories from reality, but by distinguishing truth from lies. No matter how closely a pinhead looks at the truth, he or she will find nothing other than reflections of his or her own conclusions. If we are to save ourselves from the Tyrells= the tyrants, we have to look back and forth between our own insights into the images we are presented by the media, the same images as understood by our own close examination. In any case, like old war films, the truths repeat themselves again and again, old movies collaged together and repeated in a loop.

Images of war speak for themselves to anyone but a pinhead. "You don't need a weatherman to see which way the wind blows," sang Dylan over 30 years ago. if we look at reality closely for ourselves. If we examine with great thought and care (=magnification) the conclusions subliminally provided for us by the hypnotizing, propagandistic images pounded into us by mass media, we will remember nothing but what the powers that be want us to remember. These are not memories, as Deckard says to Rachel about her memories, these are implants. Like those of Rachel, our memories are implanted by tyrants by means of mass media manipulations. [I am reminded here of Steven Matheson's films as well, particularly his "Apple Grown In Wind Tunnel" discussed in these pages recently.]

Again and again, Ligorano/Reese's installations by means of multiple layering of imagery, recording, echoing and reflecting the ominous political realities around us, warns us to look very, very closely and examine reality for ourselves if we want to know the truth, if we want to survive. We will never understand anything about the truth by looking at what either the fundamentalist pinhead Bush wants us to see, or what the corporate mass media reveals to us, since both are blindly counting angels on the head of a pin and then deceiving themselves and us about it, while the world around them threatens to implode.