The Sunday, June 15th -fait accompli-(((((HOT)))))(((((BLOG)))) Bloglink Crush List is divided into four features:

First:* Blogwatch* (These Blogs Just In): They've Caught Our Eye and They Are (((((HOT)))))

Second:(((((Favorites))))): We read these every day: (((((HOT))))) Selections from previous Crush Lists

Third: (((((Bloglink Achievement Crush List))))): Our first choice in a new list of ongoing blogs that are, for -fait accompli- moving beyond Crush into (((((MORE)))

Fourth :Our Sunday, June 15 (((((HOT)))))(((((BLOG)))))Crush List


New Bloglink Crush List Feature: Blogwatch (These Blogs Just In)

These blogs are ((((HOT)))) and are new and exciting to us:

*~Aimee Nezhukumatathil's gila monster~*

Heaven...Mairead Byrne

Polis Is Eyes...James Cook

Whiskey River

Dumb Monkey

Solipsistic Gazette

Boynton

Caveat Lector

Keep Trying

Harlequin Knights

The Nightjar: A Logbook...Jean Gier

Zazie's Zone

this Public Address 3.0

Yoo Doo Right...Mike County

Crush List Favorites (We read these every day)

Scroll *Down* for this week's Crush List (Sunday, June 15)

prrrowess...Nada's Poems

abolone..Li Bloom

Human Verb...Noah Eli Gordon

tex files...Chris Murray

Parking Lot...Chris Corrigan

Chimera Song Mosaic...Deborah Wardlaw Pattillo

The Jetty...Cassie Lewis..

Rutabaga

No Starting Point...Emma Barnes

Never Neutral...Ernesto Priego

We Write To Taste Life Twice...Crystal King

Mysterium...Carlos Arribas

Arm Sasser...Carl Annarummo

Process Documents...Ryan Fitzpatrick

Love's Last Gasps...Eileen Tabios' Poem Journal

Topher Tune's Times...Christy Church

Ruminate...Chris Lott
Word Placement...Clayton A. Couch

Ptarmigan...Alan de Niro

Bellona Times...Ray Davis
Ironstone Whirlygig...Amanda Cook

Mike Snider's Formal Blog

I find it exciting to hear about the explosive growth of blogging, and the increasing public interest, but sometimes I wonder how deep are the roots and how long will it last? When I worry like this I like to think about blogs, particularly in the area I am working in, that contribute something of lasting effect almost every day. When I think of this I think of Laura Willey. No doubt she will win many real awards, but anyway, we have chosen her as the first on our Bloglife Achievement Crush List , Hopefully, there will be many more.

A Laurable Log...Laura Willey

the *fait accompli*- Bloglink Crush List for Sunday, June 15:

xtina.org....Christina Strong

Fuse

Nightjar 2...Jean Gier

Noahglass...Noah E.Glass

Five Fingers Strong...Alli Warren

Hiving...Jean Chu

In A Dark Time...Loren Webster

Wood s Lot...Mark Woods

Hatstuck and House (Arrest)...Stephen Kirbach

poetic grimoire and notions

12/23/85

Thinking about Einstein- he got the
most widespread attention of his
century by speaking about
the inmost essential things in the
most essential way. The basis of
matter and energy- matter, energy,
power
Now- matter, energy, power, identity

What is the central assumption of allow
religions? It is the linkage of the concept of
an identity to the concept of an ideal. this
is also the basis of all intellectual and political life.
To link oneself with a
viewpoint shared by others is to convert an
aspect of one's identity into a community (currency,
current/currency) an exchangeable unit).
The "ideal" level, then, would be to exchange
the whole of one's identity (an ideal/ the ideal)
for a social ideal. The current of all of
(human) time could then course through the
individual's experience, infusing it
with universal applicability. The human
identity "Christ" and the identity "Buddha" were transformed
into communicable - images via narrativization
and poeticization. This is the linkage of artistic
collaboration, each infusing the other with
authenticity and energy.

12/24/85

Reading Einstein's idea that "the present
instant, properly speaking, does not extend
beyond here," so that "the only really
simultaneous events are events which occur at
the same place" (Ideas and Opinions)

What about the idea of time and causality?
An event A causes event B- what about
the relationship of time sequences outside of
A-B as compared to events within
this focus-

"time" does not atomize- matter atomizes?
think of time not as a substance but as
the relationship between actual *things*
(the analogy between actual *things*
(the analogy between words and substances
make their comprehension easier but we do not
reproduce the experience as a construct each
time the idea is comprehended
"This moment -properly speaking- does not extend beyond here."

but *here* and *there* receive messages from each
other- thus moments increase in significance as
their message is more intensely met by reception-
thus light (maybe) goes "in search" of
its use- light sends a message "something is
over here."

matter goes towards sources of energy
Elemental forces (things can stack)
Elemental phenomena (fire) (things can melt).

12/27/85-

This is j just how lucid things get.
Virtually *no one* at the same time could
possibly be interested in this particular
message unit. But stretched out over a very
great period of time the particular specifics
become more and more important.
Imagine this from the vantage point
of hundreds of years! With time, the
material "sorts itself out" drawing more
and more importance to the specific point
in viewing the whole gestalt. Imagine
drawing away from a visual point of reference, on
the earth's surface in a rocket. With
greater distance, the specifics play ever
changing roles in the whole gestalt. We
may imagine this as a "lessening"
of importance, but this is true from a
limited number of perspectives.
_____________________________

Think of this psychoanalytically. Perhaps,
if I am aware no one will be interested
in the specifics now- I "hold" it by writing
about it- an appropriate application.

-----------------------------------------------------

Kafka drew attention to Dickens, for me.

When something is being discussed, the
side effected by the simple reality of being
itself can rarely be overemphasized. How
such a perspective reformulated reality
is by a shift towards "local use" (in
experiential assessment) of perceptual dental.
The classification of
information is *always* affected by use-value

1/4/86

Parallel response is the normally
expectable pattern observable in
human beings. Even when people do
not respond "in kind," most actions
elicit parallel responses.
Psychoanalysts- and artists-
struggle against this conventional
pattern of response. (How does willing suspension
of disbelief fit into this?)

Reality becomes more and more
estranged from actuality as responses
to actuality fail to provide authentic
connective methodologies.
The new perspective
must provide these
connective methodologies both
from the perspective of
communications between people and also
a language for interpreting
and expressing original viewpoints.

1/11/86

Obviously, energy is exchanged by means of
light (Velvet Underground -"I'm beginning
to see the light"). By means of "reflection"
the mind comprehends the otherwise incomprehensible
energy patters of other minds. By means of
"reflection" entities translate the information-
the message of light.

There comes a time when a transitional
point is reached that a perceiving
mechanism can still extract energy
from a source of information but the
elements of this source are incoherent
to a nearby perceiving mechanism.
This extraction of energy is actually an
exchange of energy.. The perceiving
mechanism draws energy from the fact
that the increasing dispersion of the points
of information can be reconstructed
by the perceiving mechanism and returned
by pattern retrieval to a temporally
anterior state.

1/12/86

There may be such a thing as a time
shift (as described in the previous paragraph).
This time shift may be brought about by a
perceiving mechanism reconstructing an already
decayed signal and experiencing this pattern
(as a regeneration of a formerly expired
bust of energy).

This transitional energy may also function
as a trigger mechanism.. Something is needed
to convey energy from one point to another
point. Once it is conveyed
a process is needed to change the energy
from one form to another form.

.

Idyll on Mt.Olympus

Ideal, idyll,
idle, idleness,
idol, idiom
idolatry, indiosynchrasy,
idiot, idiocy

6/3/2000

Now, on Jim Berhle's "legendary" blog- poems and pix from -Popular Mechanics poets Stephanie Young, Tim Yu, Mark Lamoureux, Peter Davis, Aaron Tieger, K. Silem Mohammad, Nick Moudry, Sara Veglahn, Noah Eli Gordon, Dana Ward, Eileen Tabios, Jim Behrle, Jordan Davis, Christine Murray, and Jonathan Mayhew, and me!

Check out this terrific new poem from Stephanie Young
Well Nourished Moon...Thursday, June 12, 2003- POEM TITLED WITH LINE FROM DAVID HESS-

"If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all."

Vilhelm Ekelund

..."The human bootlicker mentality may
be a harmless thing- it is not until it
reaches the level of intellectual clarity, yes,
the stratum of genius, that it unfolds its
overwhelming stinking power. I believe that
Schopenhauer at some point had to hold his-
nose when he thought of Goethe. He did not have
"to fear the eye." (p.120)
---------------------------

12/10/89

The soul of a nation are its poets. Individuals can't see their souls either.

12/24/89

To be presented with wise thoughts causes me to feel more comfortable in the short run- and more vigilant in the long run.

One thing leads to another. For something not to lead to something else probably means that it wasn't really something at all- it was probably a pseudothing.

12/25/89

So many people can't even commit themselves
to a house. They wander from country to
country, they exchange beliefs the way some
people change a shirt, they exit from and
enter into relationships, they make money
and throw it away with equal indifference,
things endlessly moved from place to place.
After all, there are so many kinds to
live in:- big ones and little ones, ones
in the city and others high above the sea.

The specific person has specific memories.
Some consist of ways of being with
people, knowing them, allowing them to
coexist with you and each other. I
remember long ago myself as a specific
person with specific memories. Now all
these memories consist only of words. An
indefinite calendar of dates follows
such people around. Weaving around each
other in a dance, as interweaving, a
setting and resetting of dates.

Eventually you stop short. What the emotions,
Gertrude, seem to be saying consists mainly
in finding the exact place where the paragraphs begin. These
places consist of freedoms- as many as
exist are the possible ways my steps can take
me places, always back to finding that
the same places where things meet is going to be
called a borderline, a boundary, something that the
Greeks called a god. This is the place where
paragraphs begin and meet.

Paragraphs begin and meet watching. They
begin, she said, with feeling, a specific
feeling. Somewhere beforehand, they fight it all
out with each other and come together to
a place.This is not a place of agreement,
but a place of coming to the same point.

A chain, a connection, consists of
links. Similarly a constellation consists
of stars.The shape of what occurs is
similar to what will come and what
has come before. Links of birth to life and
death to life; connections of blood and
minute types of cells passed from generation
to generation. countless trillions of events.
Bit by bit we stretch ourselves beyond what
we were.

It is all to escape from a trap,
to stay within this shape and elude all
the doors to terror and take the one to
freedom, each one, each nuance a different
kind of freedom. To escape from a
trap the stillness of time burst from its
shell of silence and flashed across a void. One
spark, one fizzle in all the cold emptiness of
no-time; a flicker of an imagination of
a jump, a sly beginning of sly suggestion,
gleaming with a suggestion of one possibililty
in all the black and ancient futility of
absolute nothing. Before there was any
something, endless nothing, stretching far
beyond an imaginary horizon of totally
imaginary nothings.It is not possible to
begin to imagine the doubt surrounding the
possibility of meaning of one tiny flash of
almost nothing in the absolute certainty of
endless nothing. What could one thing possibly
mean in an endless sea of zero? This, in
truth, is the pathohs of all beginnings. A
little fragile bubble blown in the face of total
nothing against a far more than
infinite totality of doubt that follows
the suggestion that this one possible anything
could mean anything against the total
nothing. So silently came this almost total
zero against the endless sea of possible
nothings and long forgotten possible somethings,
that almost as soon as it was something, it was nothing.

This tiny, infinitesimally miniscule something
existed so short a time that the pressure of
the universe's unblinking indifference, measureless
neutrality towards such a puny and brief possibility
of nothing. But in the eons that followed that possibility
multiplied itself so many times, that at
times the vast emptiness itself began to shrink
in its relative size to the equivalent of an
empty box waiting for itself to be nothing
more than a container of something, and at
first only the beginning of something.

The neutral, indifferent smiling separate
empty universe wouldn't begin to give even the
slightest attention to this minescule less than
significant beginning. For all the warmth of the
later neighboring constellation, for all the
heat of billions and billions of later neighboring
suns, this ridiculously meaningless venture into
the gigantically and ever growing nothingness rubbed
it the wrong way and it ceased to exist as
abruptly as the surrounding edge of the growing
universe could flake from the solid granite
of infinite pre-time's solid mass.

But something in the surrounding locale
of meaningless emptiness seemed to remember
the small glimmer, in a kind of reflection of
the glimmer that flickered for a moment in the
mirror of the infinite empty void, giving a reflection
on the silver screen of its infinitude that
resembled in some minutely small way, the
glow, the warmth of that first minute spark. the
reflection flashed again and again against
the infinitely broad expanse of the
horizon of endless no-time. Eventually, the
reflections passed each other and the image
of the original spark grew only minutely
longer. The reflection of the beginning repeated
itself endlessly in the infinite expanse of
almost beginnings. It was so slight it was
hardy to show against the
silent mocking, indifferent expanse
of nothing.

Over the trillions and trillions of eons that
followed this small spark began to be reflected,
began to be imitated. Certain resemblances repeated
themselves, again and again, while other variations
shot out across a vast expanse of time like
a comet, never growing in size, but travelling
and touching on such vast areas that they
acted as messengers, bringing this resemblance to
more and more places.

The resemblance was a fire, or a kind
of fire, but not yet with any head only
a kind of flicker. Yet the resemblence
seemed to suggest something new, something
endlessly smaller in size than the vast
empty universe that mocked and put to
shame any grand illusions on its part
of quasi-time, or almost-time. What
seemed to be covered was something, but always
seemed to be rocking against the magnitude of
endless expanses of absolute nothing.

--------------------------

12/30/89

When I read the above to Toni she said that
it reminded her of Samuel Beckett. I
had to agree, but I was puzzled. This was
on Monday, December 25. Tuesday, when I read the
newspaper in the morning, I read a brief announcement
that S.B. had died the previous Friday, December
22, but out of respect for what the author
"would have" wanted, the announcement was delayed, and
the ceremony was kept secret.

Kklebnekov's insistence that "spiritual"
dates be logged, when coincidences occur.

In the same week, the dictatorships of
Panama and Roumania collapsed.

But so much of life appears coincidental
only at times that press upon us the
connections between human events, when a
good part of so-called rationality consists
of keeping these things secret from ourselves, and
making the interpretations along the lines of conventional
expectation.

Blogs discussed in Business Week
today with a special focus on one of our favorite web sites, *technorati*

8/6/89
There is no easy way to accommodate
pain. But the quicker you stop
registering disgust, outrage and fear, the
quicker it will appear less
formidable.

To habitually avoid certain steps
because of fear is to begin to
permanently delimit one's freedom of
movement.

Nothing sayable goes without saying.

Later (2pm)

"Quieting" the mind, Zen, etc- like
allowing the murky surface (memories) to
settle so you can see to the bottom
of the pool- or "through" it- which
reveals life and currents beneath. The
everyday events plus the aroused memories
connected with these events forms
a swampy surface which must be cleared
away routinely almost without thinking,
automatically.

Before clearing it away, however, you
may want to examine it, or while
letting it clear away.
you can accumulate
those sediments, which, after all, are part
of that whole glimpse.


Time is a test, in the above sense, but
in others too. In this sense, if "life" and "time"
follow any pattern, they resemble
a series of tests or examinations. Even the
magazines "Life" and "Time" resemble test
results. "Experiments were conducted in the field,
and here are the results."
I write poetry using the same principle, only
the scale involved is not years, but an entire
life, or, life itself and time itself, as
"far as I can see."

9/1/89

In all of that (the anticipated theft of the
car, the argument, the fever blister) what was
taking place was the (manic) resistance- or
emotional denial- to the taking place of the
end of summer (symbolized by the end of August).

Does ritual reduce acting out by offering
a point of acknowledgement? (meaning temporal
point).

Circumstances (in life) are like the wind or
rain in weather.

This morning- or almost exactly at noon
(the half-way point between the day or night)-
I thought that maybe there is a third
alternative besides the categories "objective"
and "subjective." We now have only the
term "intuitive" which is quickly equated
with the vague.

We can only avoid something "taking place"
by having something else take place. ("Take place"
is a physical image for a temporal event).

-If the objective (day) is to be distinguished
from the subjective (night)-

We now have a third person ( a judge) in place of
a third category - "objective/subjective"

The analyst offers him or herself as
the representative of this "third category" The
analyst is the agency of the not-yet-known,
already existent and unconsciously denied
truth. Baudelaire acknowledged this in the form of
"correspondances."

Art calls forth the silent adherent. Psychoanalysis
calls forth the verbal adherent. Politics
calls forth the acting adherent.

9/2/89

I am like a whittler whittling away
at something. I am a good whittler, in
that what shows in relief is usually taken
as a sign for a direction toward what
is underlying.

You find out the nature of things by
touching them.

Denial provides shelter at the cost of
numbing response to everything that surrounds
what is being denied.

I am waiting, like a whittler,
but I am not "Waiting for Godot."
I am waiting for x.

I've built a shelter for my waiting
out of pages, out of silence.

9/9/89

How kind time, even history, is to those that love.

Time and history are kind to those that love.

From thought to history in 12 seconds.
Shrink=divide
divide=misspell
misspell=blueprint
blueprint=sky
sexy=reduce
reduce=loss
loss=categories
categories shrink
shrink categories
shy sex
reduce recline residence
lose blues
print

Being unable to wait is what brings about the
embarrassing numbers- the world via dissolution
returns with death to oppose this conception of reality itself as
a victim of objectivity.
Objectivity, like subjectivity, is temporary
(I can claim this appropriation of myself for the world's purposes as an injury-)
Objectivity/touch/grasp

subjectivity/sleep/encompassment

This side/that side
this side of this one
that side of that one

with love there are spills, squaws

gulls squawk

10/1/89

Am I taking secret pride in *not* writing?
The answer is yes. The pride consists in
knowing that to refuse expression encourages
a state of independence from the dominion
of definitiveness. The strength I derive
from this sense of independence is pleasurable and
feels healthy. This is the opposite of
Davies' "quitting writing because your life
is not going well."

Writing eventually pushes you into a
corner in the sense that yhou get cornered
by your own defintions.

Reading can similarly screen
out feelings of experiential autonomy.
The reader is
enticed to search for a characterization
of reading which corresponds with her
experience- The intoxication of this hide-
and-go seek game can even make her
forget that nothing can correspond to her
own experience more than her own
experience

Quickly, this definition also
erodes, i.e., company is its own best
company, the differences between good for and
good with, 1890=1967, the era of nuance.
1967- the era of fact.

All discoveries have to do with freedoms.

If you can't remember the last time you
lied to yourself successfully or unsuccessfully,
you probably won't understand or remember
this sentence very long.

"Head to the Hills!"

10/3/89

Too much exertion means its an old
ritual, done too many times before to still
have much zing.

11/3/89

The Argument

(The lovers have had an argument.
She and he are divided. She has
gone to stay with her mother. He
addresses her, their friends, his friends,
his family, her family,
their ancestors, his nation, the cosmos.)

This evening I must rest
I can't believe we were so
sharp with each other, I mean
I didn't realize we had become
so angry, so embittered. I
guess I'm naive, I thought I was
being patient, but I see now I
was wrong.

7/17/01 (Cont'd)

This too, is about memory.
They replicate themselves,
doubling into twins. Exact,
but still a replica. You
can hear the aura, we
all copied that. "Mechanical
reproduction" I copy that.
Someone is justa-exposed.
Out at the edge of the
gleaming.
Done only once,
announcing a career.
Permission given-
it's all a script for
a movie. By the
time you make it, the
movie has caught up
with you by being
predicted. The thought is
the thing, as Seth said
"You create your own
reality." By leaving
nothing out, everything is
forgiven. This is the
stretegy of the father-
confessor and the automatic
writer alike. Standing
quiet and waiting for me
to announce whether to
go left, or right, downstage
or upstage? Completes
the lexicon of a legion
of voices, spacing
themselves out geographically
to hear themselves
thingk. the path of a
career, divisions in
space-time. No rest for
the weary or the unrelenting.
The sadness in the spaces
between the cracks. Give
pleasure a name.

Continuity takes itself in
stride. How many voices
in the chorus? Again, spread
out in light and shade,
unfurling like a cloud
or a flag.

By now, you've followed
all my clues and have
found out that all this
time I've been tracking
*you,* dear reader. In
your thoughts I'll hear all
my echoes before I've
even thought them. You're
constantly ahead of me,
you've already decided
before i've begun.

I apologize, that was
unfair. Can we still be
friends? Acquaintances,
anyway? I wasn't
really watching you, just
listening, as always,
for particulars. And then
we'll go our own ways.

7/17/01 (Cont'd)

Always and again, feeling
your way into things. They
linger, they tango, they
thank you, they disregard,
they understand. What does
it look like? Like
you don't know your
own size, the feel of
things? You have to
get the measure of
the pleasure. Feet
on the ground, head
in the air.
Who said that?
What is the sound of
incomprehension?
"Mayday, mayday, may
day." So they say. Does
what helps, sound good?
Action at a distance
in time. At all events.
At all events captured
some. *Traces afterwards*
Sounds like what? "Might
have *been* the water" is
what Toni said.

Estimates, roughing out
the design captures some.
Listening to something not said
yet is an echo from
somewhere else.
I still can't remember the
name of the disguise, its
title. Secrets suffice. I can
(can't) explain it.
Officially, anyway. There are
exams to take, I can tell
you that much. Monotonous
study, tedious accumulation
of details. A map. Surrounding
all the dishonesty, expressing
the fakes. Someone had to
be disturbed or confused. Loitering
between the sun and the
Shadows.Making believe,
imagining, pretending. "He's
pretentious," that
one. "Anybody can do that."

We did it! We made a Crush List! Ok, Ok, we did link to Amanda's site first, but it's a start! Thanks Amanda. We love -Ironstone Whirlygig-!

Amanda's Poetic Crush List
June 9, 2003
First Edition

10. Jim Behrle
9. Tim Peterson
8. AaronTieger
7. Mark Lamoureux
6. Dan Bouchard
5. Nick Piombino
4. Chris Rizzo
3. Christina Strong
2. Gerrit Lansing
1. Ed Barrett

Here's lookin' at YOU, Rutabaga

(7/21/01-cont'd)

Anything revealed behind
a smokescreen. The world
is enough and is filled
with time. If it is
running out of the
other side of the
question. Which invariably
answers itself, the
sound of a screaming
jet forever in my ears.
The distance, a
makeover was a series
of suggestions soon to
be passé. They think
and earn themselves a
piece of learning. Sky
is a kind of trite
incomprehensibility. There
is nothing ordinary
about it. Follows suit.
Makeshift attitudes
suffice. Nearing the
perpetuator eventually.
The words translate
themselves. Each has
a face. Each face
has its ludicrous
side and is also
conspicuously variable:- in
the time it takes to change
pens all facts have been
replaced. Alteration is a
way of forgetting. This is
how each is disguised
but in the light of day
you can recognize a
face and its changing
expression. "If a fool
would persist in his
folly he would be wise."
(Blake). Don't forget to send one
to Joan (of ellipsis)
Retallack. Ain't it the truth?
Work just creates more work.
Don't be so upset by the
fact that the trickster
makes ample use of
decoys (the kind of
military garb that uses
this). The trail leads us
right to the entrance.
The door is the cover to
a dictionary. Follow the
faces one to the other
like a sleuth. The
reader is the suspect
in this tale of intrigue,
betrayal and mistrust.
But even for perhaps particularly
the violence is nuanced.
To have method in
your madness you must
have madness to your
method. Time is a
suspect too, as are
almost all ideologies.
They had their dreamers
too. If you wait for you whole
lifetime, you will finally
do it, but you may
not be able to match
the outcome with
the original intention.
As the reader,
you are the casting
director, not just the
projectionist. All's fair
in aphorisms and lies. I'm
not Haydn so come and
get me. Seventeen and forty-
two.

What an atrocious understanding
that listens without wit.

8/7/90

When we love something one of the
earliest things we want to do with
it is to destroy it. This is usually
done among civilized people by means
of a ritualistic performance, whether in
a theatre or the living room (the most
local theatre). In fact, quite civilized
people have been known to accidentally
(and not so accidentally) do all
forms of destruction of their neighbors-
a fact which is also ritualistically
announced and theatrically recreated
almost continuously. It is all nothing
more than the grand opera of love,
which accords itself a very unhealthy
measure of sheer, exuberant destructiveness.
Is this the glee which arises in seeing
a symbol of life convincingly portrayed
to our always disbelieving psyches?
Isn't the by-product of such
gladness the happy pat on the back
which sends our friend reeling across
the floor, the event reproducing itself
later as a backache?

*

"The flesh is tired and I've read
all the books." (Mallarme). Where
does that illusion come from that when
you're reading a good book, and just
about to finish it- that the whole
business- reading, writing, "life" (as we
"think" of it)- seems vindicated- and all
of them- the writings and the book- seem
worthwhile? Good books all applaud
each other while making the reader feel
quite alarmed and reassured to be
here where all this is
happening.

*

Don't worry, Sam, you chose the
waiting. Did you forget to
mention the voluptuous pleasures of
those extended preludes? At such
moments you are aware
(the cat called it exaltation)
of the shape of the whole poem-
the entire future poem- at a glance.
Everything hangs in suspension. You
are no longer so abruptly removed
from your earlier work.

The question, as always , is where
is the motivation? What is to be the
ambience, what is the reader to do
with it (another might say, what has
the reader to do with it). Yes, she has been
called the double, an accomplice, and
at times does function as a spy.
She has taken the time to include
you, so better shave, shower, brush
your hair and be rested, and have an
engaging attitude. In fact, now is the
time to remind you that you spent
the best part of the day yesterday
walking the New York streets enjoying
a rare more or less humidity
free day. It can be exhausting,
even to roam around
a few bookstores and fight a kind
of heat that makes life's purpose
be reduced to a form of escape.
My friend reminded me that it is
always war out here- so if
there's no time to forget it now
there never will be.

So, Sam, never torture yourself
about endlessly sustaining the
idle gait which takes you on walks near
the Muse's approving gaze so really
you can always remember
the last- and anticipate the
next rendezvous so much more enjoyably
if you learn to accept some hours
filled with questions about
your beloved. Yes, I know you
can't remember the last time she
smiled towards you- I remember she
leaves with an elegant flourish
whenever she wants to. No sense
begging the moon or clouds or even
the trustworthy sun to listen to
her name. They won't answer you,
but will only stare out at you in
commiserating silence. I remember
that you told me that she tricked
you into believing that by simply
chanting the names of the gods or
some Heraclites proverb about long ago dried
up rivers in the ancient sun you would
stand recognized. Oh, Sam, this
was no lie, you fooled yourself.
You think you are alone and
can prove it, but you're not.
You think you don't know the
words of your poem but you say
them every morning as you button
your shirt, tighten your belt. take your
wallet and keys and lunge for the
door. You're no slave- and yet you
are because you insist on equating
feeling with words like "solitude"-
let's face it, Sam, you are who you
are because you've known what *not* to
say- and how loud to say what
you must- and to grant the willing
questioner a sincere
smile, a quick goodbye- and a
few needed moments to themselves.

*

Remember that there are a few
pages which are in this time period
in the bound notebooks (small white
ones and blue abstract patterns).Get a
knife and cut these out and make a separate notebook.

8/2/90

Computers make it very clear- that
everything in life can be reduced to
a simple yes or no. Humans have
never stood for this. After centuries
of solemn obedience to the rules of language, we
created the yes that is no and the
no that is yes.
The linguistic birth of irony.

What makes a bit of "prose" into
"a poem." A concentrated form of
experience can be encapsulated
within the melodic possibilities of a single
idea.

We realize that these utterances
are a deft avoidance of the simple fact
that we are continuously waiting-
that is awaiting the tingles of creation. For years I
died, I was mortified in the disturbance of such waiting. I wrote and tore up
hundreds of poems, banged my fist against
a table, much as a lover, disappointed
that her partner does not meet her ideal
conception of a suitor, saturates herself
in martyred pathos for the
ironic disappointment of "unfulfilling love."
I criticized myself and reviled myself.
I mocked the poems themselves in other
poems, seeing their faces pass by me
in awful disappointment- that once it
had sailed long and hard in the
deep-sea currents of my enthusiasms. Now
if is an abandoned vessel, upon which
I heap my occasional and distracted scorn.

7/21/01

To
hurry, to slur. Not
enough time to compose
a vast lie only time
to contrive loitering
for a time around an
opening. Critics are needed
to differentiate, a
force for change. Launches
an unlistenable diatribe
(all hell breaks loose
in a whisper). to
embed, or notice. That
was directly autobiographical,
a misstatement. Never
enough of anything,
let alone appreciation,
in quotes. Had preserved
a space to introduce
an Underwood (underwouldn't)
can resist a pun, is
fun. Outside Atlantic.
Atlantic City is a code.
The waves create a
mystique. I'm (plausible).
They (some) separate themselves.
Is a kind of scrolling
web sites and reverse, play
it again Sam Daniels. Whose
middle age? A juxtaposition
an ascension. Capitalize
on want, gesturing change.
A industry, industrious at
far and by repetition. This
copy (un(scrolls forward
and backwards in reverse.
The min(ed) uncovers
itself retro progressively
curling up. inside its
travesties. Put that on
hold. Transvestites,
reader and writer,
dressing, addressing, undressing,
progressing (a dirty word).
Try not to get annoyed,
listening for mistakes
(resonances). Another
name for memories.
Yes, this was to be
recognized as a kind
of automatic manufacture
as well. Phrases
that warm, a
pestilence to cool.
Out of Africa, a
way of effacing lack
of reciprocity, in
conversation, polylogue
or monologue,
recommendations
*not* with a standing.
Fatuous, fractions,
reflections, confessions.
Aspects of the not so novel.
What else is new? Speaking
in sponge, an entire
poetics created out of
a perverse subversion of
revision. Reveals universal
reversions. Reviling, reveling,
revealing. Something understood
is tucked between, is stuffed
within, tied in , sandwiched
in the corners. Sven
struggles -I don't know him.
What am I? "Freudian
Solipsism’s" a makeshift
enterprise in N. This slips.
Out of the- murky, foggy,
cadences. Stop and another
word will start. To be
continued like a ladder,
"take me to your ladder,
I'll see your leader later,"
latitudes, attitudes, rain.

A few weeks ago, in shameless imitation of the legendary Jim Behrle crush list -fait accompli- established our bloglink crush list. Due to poplular demand (one delighted blogger wrote us a note!) we have decided to continue this regular feature. Here are our bloglink ))))))))))HOT((((((((BLOG)))))))))) crush list winners for this week!!!!!!!

Topher Tune's Times...Christy Church

Ruminate...Chris Lott
Word Placement...Clayton A. Couch

Notes to Poetry...Steve Evans

~Aimee Nezhukumatathil's gila monster~*

Ptarmigan...Alan de Niro

Bellona Times...Ray Davis
Swimming for Dummies...Tanya Brolaski

Yoo Doo Right...Mike County

Ironstone Whirlygig...Amanda Cook


Here are our previous crush link favorites. We love these blogs.We read them every chance we get!!!!

Chimera Song Mosaic...Deborah Wardlaw Pattillo

The Jetty...Cassie Lewis..

double visions of Johanna

No Starting Point...Emma Barnes

abolone..Li Bloom

Technorati Cosmos

Mike Snider's Formal Blog

Never Neutral...Ernesto Priego

We Write To Taste Life Twice...Crystal King

The Wily Filipino...Benito M. Vergara, Jr.

Mysterium...Carlos Arribas

Arm Sasser...Carl Annarummo

The Brutal Kittens...James Meetze

Process Documents...Ryan Firzpatrick

Love's Last Gasps...Eileen Tabios' Poem Journal

Porthole Redux ....Catherine Meng
Mr.Tong Bliss' Journal...Joe Massey

Human Verb...Noah Eli Gordon

tex files...Chris Murray

10/28/84

Confirmation of experience is intertwined with the experience of identity. If my perceptions are not confirmed by others, I may doubt the organizing matrix itself (the self).This is partly why I have posited the use of the concept of identity to signify the part of the self that is less available for interaction. It may be speculated that our sense of the creative individual being a more powerful "identity" has to do with such a person more closely connecting the flow of experience with the "non-confirmed" identity. Under ordinary circumstances the two functions, that of confirmation of perceptions and the originating of perceptions are split.

Don't forget the quote on Japanese production.

10/29/84

*Syntactical forms*- *models of mind*-

To ask where I fit in is to ask, where do my thoughts fit in? I look out upon the urban landscape. The vertical and the horizontal forms seem to box in my thoughts. Syntactical forms, models of mind. Micro-intervals, macro-intervals. I've tried to box in my thoughts, give them a form, take the fragmentary insights and build them into a whole.

8/2/84

Roll A-
Sam, collage photos, close-up
N Truro of sand
--------------------------------------------------------------
Take heart, take heed, look within, look without. We shuttle back and forth, searching for a unifying constant, for the place where the self fits in.

If the mind goes elsewhere, where am I but to go with it?

11/17/84

The psychological issue of asking. Why we don't ask-
what makes us ask?

By returning meaning to its primary forms such as letters
we unearth the exact domain which constitutes the heart.

The other side of not asking is the right to refuse,
which is to choose, which ultimately relates to the aesthetic,
discriminating function. The dimensions "when" and "where"
become the obsessive "if," that is, if there is "if"
then there is "if not" and a story begins which
is transformed into the measurement of time.

11/29/84

Ron Silliman- my writing=my writing-
Resembles Derrida's "trace" except that
this presentation is tautological and
paradoxically pragmatic.

7/17/01

If the quest is a question
then the question is a quest.

7/21/01
Things resting in their place.
trying too hard to understand
something that may not
be worth it. The effort of
understanding this issue is often one
of an appropriate time or place.

The process in and of and
for itself.

A question of where and how to
let thoughts fit in comfortably.

What opens it up and
what closes it. What is an
infringement on what. With a
bang or a whimper. Like a
conversation or a dialogue.
Things feed into it or
don't. Otherwise, they rest.
Noticing the small detail.
Richard Tuttle said something
about optimism. The rage,
the fury .Let it slide.
They devote themselves. A
talon. Swept in quotes.
Don't make the difficult
impossible. Who says you
can't. Slides in.

Elaboration. At least this
one. They corner it, splicing
the vastness. Or a blessing
in disguise, a bless in
disguise takes time. After
the fact. More ways than
"in more ways than one."
They should. Or should
they? Even a reverse
is more than one thing,
getting upon and making
(creating) them in disguise.
Singing or (sing-ing) singing a planet.
How to pronounce it-
who leads?- or make
something to understand.
Under a narrowing...
tendency. Or can make
it up (create with) by
and for. At last, at
least.

Quarters, folded.
A siren- attention to the
police. Cleaning it up,
clearing it up.. They
cause, or create a
tendency, a destiny, a
destination. It was, to
someone cleared it up. Devil's
erasing the crime, the comma
a copy, a retroforce in
will. Stay alive. Can
measure. Up to a force,
another kind of connective.
Just start and don't stop.
Conjunctions, ampersands,
a full stop. the rhythmic
gestation. Land, ahoy.
Name of a detective,
reflection of a game. The
narrative stretches in.
So between, alright of
(for)a game. Evidence,
or shards, applause or a
cause, sandwiched between
the present and the past.
Pieces of evidence to lead
One on, on, from writer to
reader. Under suspicion,
under assumption-some
pressure, not too much
or too little. A slight
bit of permission.

1/27/87

We must learn to think in terms of transformation on many levels at the same time and stop thinking in terms of development and progression. The illusion of progress is in part an undersandable yet deceptive visualization of future time arising out of a partial resolution of the oedipus complex.

Progress is an optical illusion which derives almost entirely

(Generating force not the future)

19th Century musical forms
A+B=C
(theme and variations
development=Beethoven)

Reign, reign
Go away

Development and progression- resolution in "major" and "minor" chords- triumph and tragedy- will and doubt- pessimism and optimism. Such dualities thrive on antimonies: All the unearthed clashes are never more than (very!) temporarily relieved by moments of satisfaction and integration. And integration leads to integrity- the reverse is the chain human life strives to slough off.

Whence the idea of progression. Since processes are intuitively irreversible (as are most organic processes) the illusion is fostered that all growth is organic, and all organisms are dependent on progress for survival. Is this inherent in Darwinism, Marxism, Freudianism, Einsteinism...Very possibly the answer is yes. And for this reason, at least, because the concept of progression and development is foundering as the 20th Century comes to a close, we must post-haste see things in Post-Freudian, Post-Marxist, Post-Darwin, Post- Einsteinian terms. We can no longer afford the extravagant expenditures of spirit required for the healthy upkeep of these sputtering philosophies. My prediction is that as toward the end of the last century (human beings being the great procrastinators that they are)- at the very last minute, so to speak, we will begin to see all these foundational systems in a new light. This may be because just as the concepts underlying the patriarchal systems of the divine right of kings gave way to the idea of a leader the populace "elects" to "play the role"- these changes in the dramatic structure of human power will see a new view of human "scale" arising that will transcend the current concept of "name" and identity. A different, a widening focus for human identity may evolve in which each idividual partakes of the "divine" of the "political drama" not only by means of "dramatic speeches"- or impassioned declarations of belief, or affirmations of faith, but by means of individual empowerment accessible through immensely accelerated systems of knowledge aquisition. These super sophisticated precursors developing now through the overlap of telecommunications and computerized information organization, video self-teaching methods and how-to books. "Democracy" itself is simply an enlarged classroom made available by the wiser portion of wealthy capitalists. As the classroom grows in popularity, deceptions are constantly created by the easy market which arises out of natural and artifically created knowledge-lags.

Along with some terrific poets, I've audioblogged a few of my Haikus In celebration of the publication of Jim Behrle's *Popular Mechanics* on Got to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues. My audioblog is as yet unmarked, as I'm sure at the moment, Jim is at the Boston Poetry Marathon. Mine is the one recorded at 8:12 p.m. The titles are: 1) Writer's Block 2) Miles of Sky 3) Unearth 4) Double or Nothing 5)Afternoon of a Frown 6)Hegelian Honeymoon 6) Sinema & 7) The Thief of Time.

Bloggers are possibly the new folk poets


(from Rutabaga)

In fact, another irony from seeing Nick's one-liner is that I didn't even read the text of the poem yesterday when I "wrote" it. Consequently, I didn't realize until I was looking over the poem today that, actually "regret is an appalling waste of energy" was one of the googled lines .... which means Nick read the poem, while I didn't.

(from Winepoetics)

No wonder certain individuals would like to downgrade the value placed on blogs in search engines. Someone was looking for an apartment in the city of Piombino in Italy (south of Genoa, north of Rome, across from the island of Elba) and got this as their tenth result (for *Piombino apartment*):
..
Fait Accompli.
Nick Piombino 1:49 ... And then all of it together: my ridiculously expensive apartment
and my three jobs needed to support it; my threatened second layoff in ten ...
nickpiombino.blogspot.com/ 2003_05_25_nickpiombino_archive.html - 67k - in Cache - Pagini similare
[ Mai multe rezultate de la nickpiombino.blogspot.com ] ...

Then I googled *Piombino apartment* and got this (about the 15th result- a discussion of -Blade Runner-):

Fait Accompli
below). :: Nick Piombino 11:39 PM [+] :: ... dies. On the way back to
his apartment, Deckard sees Gaff, the assistant to his boss. ...
nickpiombino.blogspot.com/ 2003_03_09_nickpiombino_archive.html - 46k - Cached - Similar pages

Tim Yu and I hit 1000 visits on the same day.

John Ashbery and a stripper walk into a bar. The stripper says, "Isn’t it delightful that we’re not shaped by the past?" John Ashbery doesn’t answer, having been knocked unconscious by the sound of the past coming thunderously.

(from Tympan)

Nada Gordon has called for definitions of love. Here's an attempt by me found recently in a small notebook, probably written about 1986.

Labor of Love

Everyone has a philosophy of love whether not they have articulated it- and most have at one time or another defined it for themselves or even for others. Most people, however, learn to love the way they learn most other things, by mimicry. This leads to endless complications, many comical, some tragic. For practical reasons, we mostly learn about love on the field of battle, so to speak. It is a terrifying fact that most of us learn through bitter experience the (empty) truth of the phrase, "All's fair in love and war." This is a cynical formula, however, that forgives a thousand blunders and not a few cruelties. It is an allibi that should be reserved for courts and similar forums for determinations of guilt and innocence. In our time it has become a *modus operandi* and this is not so much wrong as it is disastrous. There has to be another way. We are all fools in love and we should learn, particularly in the process of satisfying our appetites, to be as kind to others as possible. I realize this is very difficult at times, and that it is human nature to take what we can get. But the field of love takes us to the heart of human relationships, and in this arena, great vulnerabilities go hand in hand with great possibilities. In pragmatic terms, love may be defined simply. To love is to return. It is in this sense that hate is not the opposite of love, but is the result of exhausted love. Indifference is the opposite of love.

To love is to return because love is what holds things together. Meister Eckhart is reputed to have said: "Even stones have a love. A love that seeks the ground."

There are so many things, people and forces that we are pulled apart. How is a relationship to survive under such circumstances? There are so many delicious experiences available, and in this desert of daily life it is no wonder we develop a powerful "sweet tooth" early on.

If to love is to return, how do we return? The word carries with it a pristine halo which, for everyday use, won't stay on. Better to store it with your greatest treasures in your desk or jewelry box because in everyday life it will get scratched at best, or be bent out of shape at worst. Love's halo is a brief experience which has the function of a mild to powerful intoxicant or anaesthetic as the case may be. Perhaps it is best to learn to wear it, if at all, with a sense of humor, love's most durable guardian by far.

10/4/86

All that lies (those lies) ahead is contained (you don't know exactly where) is contained in the next step (many ahead). A seems to be saying (why such diplomacy) again. It's contained with me (why such happening, I+1= D'said she say "dislexics of the world untie." Or is it half-human to cite the difficulties (intersecting fields of Marrakech, cherry juice, plum soda, half-eggplant, and salad and raison d'etre- t'is beginning a mirror of convergence) (here's T: now). Grinning. The convergence of recognition is half exact. I wink at you and you wink back and we both know it's o.k. I started out to make a list of stones and seeing them piled that way, just thinking about that light and sent me here again, my friends surrounding me, impatiently waiting to see the pattern which will emerge. So, one of the stones is a pile of papers on the desk, another one is the desk, and piles of boxes of all the details which could be shaken away so give me some time for this. The problem is that time, in its nature, is indeterminate. Time becomes space to the extent that points are converging on a center, like bees to a honeycomb. In the nexus of organization which emerges there are far too few moments which are your potential turn than in the wide open spaces where many may intermingle more comfortably. Why the rush to these places? Obviously, because therein lies the essence of the costume, the parfum exstatique. Perhaps fate, in the end is more like a precocious child than a stern judge, in that the scale is so immense that all these numbers add up to a mere beginning- so that at the beginning of the beginning the child, banging around its new found objects, it wants to more than to be amused, that the prime rule is that no factor among all the playthings may be disallowed (the function of history). This child, now Moses, now Ghandi, now Chopin, becomes petulant and appears as Genghis Khan, Adolf Hitler, Ronald Reagan. Is it up to art and poetry to take the toys away? It isn't possible that way what can be taken are the playthings themselves and break the space of the fascination of the biggest boy on the block we must defeat him. It has to be otherwise, it has to be that we, boys and girls, must play a better game- a more beautiful game and a fairer game- one that will draw attention *away* from this bratty anti-semitic provocation jew baiting hysteria being one of the best proven ways to bring out the police. If one remains staunch in playing the more excellent game- perhaps one day him or his representation will truly blur this out. One hundred dollars to the Simon Wiesenthal Foundation.

There is a kind of nausea that enters underneath the skin and causes intense immobility. I referred to this in my piece *Stet.* The stones seem too heavy to lift.

Note: (The indeterminacy of the visual structure of words by means of letters allows the association to track the sought for cluster of experience/meaings)= Existence, Costume, Ego Structure, Essence

regret is an appalling waste of energy

from Love's Last Gasps

that's as good a poetics statement as I can muster, okay?!

from WinePoetics

I had a conversation several weeks ago at the Bowery Poetry Club with Anselm Berrigan, who said he was enjoying all of the blogs

(from Elsewhere)

Press any key to continue to be better. We can each affect the poetry

(from Million Poems)

she said “This is delightful, but not as delightful as the idea that we aren’t shaped or owned by the past

(from Jim Behrle)

little girls bring their broken dolls to be buried and enshrined by priests.


(from Froth)

Send me your "love is" statements and I'll post them here.

(from Ululate)

Frogs definitely landed on the hood of the pickup truck

(from Bloggedy Blog Blog)

I agree with you & all the others! he definitely sucks – confraternal assertion without commitment.

(from Pantaloons)

For it was a long way to the john
And not knowing the room
Hath perverted your ability to discern good from evil. That's what
Marie was screaming: In Italy, it's nothing.

(from Well Nourished Moon )

Is it just the problem of communicating difference in a competitive space that makes poets defensive in a way that seems to drive them away from their own critiques?

(from Overlap)

faith is her name

(from Abolone)

10/1/86

The word earnest invented the end of sincerity. If one only listened to
the fullest extent to the intonation of each word and
rang its metal against the stone of reality

1/2/86

It's a mistake to think of all sure
movement as a quickly completed
gesture.This is probably because
most satisfactions feel brief, and this
can come to be experienced as a
lack of complete satisfaction. But in a
world of work, all satisfaction is partial.
Only the retrospecive assessment distances me
from the fragmentary. But the whole
thrust of even the fullest satisfaction is
propulsion towards *another* full
assessment. We produce and weigh, produce
and weigh. Any weighing which follows a
production inevitably brings the concept
of *more.*

The Buddhists got it almost right.
It's the wanting others to do that breeds
illusion (fantasy)- it's imagining
what others might do that breeds illusion
(fantasy)- it's thinking of what others
should do that breeds fantasy-illusions.

The universe answers all questions with
the sun.

10/1/86

It comes down to this. In order to
be victorious over unnecessary suffering
we must stand ready to be implacable
in the face of all tests of will. The
universe need not be defeated or tamed
in order to gain mastery over torture.
Nothing more is demanded than the
unwillingness to relinquish the possibility
of happiness. Something negative can help
to make us clear but it will never
be generative. We must not necessarily
persuade the universe to be sympathetic
or compassionate or even completely authentic.
Not that this is impossible but I believe
something else is demanded. More than a
few centuries have been devoted to this
cringing attitude of begging mercy or
beseeching the gods for deliverance. Nor
must we be indifferent to its indifferance.
Or, most of all, be indifferent to its
temptations. We must do more and something
far less submissive and self-sacrificing.
We must convince it of the lack of
necessity for death. No smaller demand is
possible. While we must die, we need
not die in the face of death, nor must we
beg forgiveness, although we have no choice.
We must eat and celebrate, we must drum
and we must demand the end of killing. Let
us tell the gods the killing must stop.
We can promise to cut away the already
dead without a grimace. We have done
this before and we'll do it again. But the
universe must be no longer permitted to
kill in our largest grip of
thought or rhapsody, or enlarged
or finely tuned perspective, We must
deny to our heart's fullest conviction
the necessity of death. If we cannt
know what it is, we must dare it to
enter, to tell us what it is. My brother and
sister looked into the face of death
and lived to tell the tale.The poet
was right, we must demand no less: give no
dominion to death, banish it forevermore.

9/29/86

You need
A clock
That ticks
Not too loud
Not too soft

Finally words are peeling away from the
first level of thinking Don't put up with
this, or pull up, push-pull, don't stop.
(So far the tick-ticking is not tick-toc.
It's tick-tick,which is faster). I don't
mean to hurry you, but the urgency to blend this
set of words quickly by means of some interior
measure, some infernal automatic metronome
that beat-beats its words at me as
impeccably as a clock. No, that's not fair,
there couldn't be time for all this foolishness
between two beats of a chime, between two
clumsy bongs.

May be an apprehension of scale. A small
bang to measure a big bang by an every bigger
bigger bang.

Human, a human alive and moving, things
must be at hand. And if everything is done
to make this be, if there is an illusion of
free-float based on this then it may be
possible to *hurtle forward* into a different
time zone by means of the same maneuver
mentally that before would have led
to falling or a feal of falling (failing)

Sometimes somebody shows up here I
recognize- a part of myself also summoned forth.
Why be reticent about this?

9/30 Titles are self-commands.
You can take a test. Give yourself
your own exam. then grade it and
take it again, etc.

Six Degrees of Separation Department

On Monday in her blog Well Nourished Moon Stephanie Young wrote about unpacking her library in her new house in Oakland and quoted from an obscure chapbook she came across that she likes very much. Coincidentally, this same chapbook, "Fears of Your Life" by Michael Bernard Loggins was very extensively quoted and discussed in the June, 2003 - Harper's-, in a section called -Readings- right next to a humorous piece by Charles Bernstein called "The Difficult Poem"! It was noted that the zine was published by Creativity Explored, an art center in San Francisco for developmentally disabled adults.

2/13/84

Lately, out of nowhere, I will get a distinct feeling of one aspect of my identity as it was experienced during various periods of my life.

A simple sketch,

The syntax (sin tax) is the price we pay for sense (cents)

Description- in order to eat, in a restaurant, we must name the food. Thus the marketplace is completely composed of descriptions, while the identity is composed of perceptual matrices.

The attempt to mimic identity through descriptions is the central fraud of neurosis and literature. This use of literature is transferential in nature. The automatism of identity creation, beginning with dramatic literature and continuing through novel writing is the very automatism from which escape was sought through automatic writing and Dada creations.

The error of generational opposition- is that it does not go back (or enough.) We are as yet reacting to the confines of the conventions remaining from the literature of hierarchical forms. These, which have remained as forms of nostalgia, reflect an -accumulated- horror which is ever inceasing with the passage of time. The horror of Kafka's "Harrow" is paralelled by Hitler.

Mime is infantile, childish.The theatre of the imitation of (material) physical existence is in its nature athletic and related to the Roman Circus. Until it is replaced by the theatre of ideas, it will be embattled, as it is situated in the remorseless war machine of an obsessional counter-phobic reaction to the fact of death.

12/13

In writing the passages on 12/13/84 I realized the "Pongeian" reversal effect for the first time. Poetics is the discovery of the possibilities of this reversal, in Ponge. It is a question of actualities.

Identity and stasis.

12/15/84

I was looking at the word metapsychology and "saw" the word morphology. This experience captures the essence of what I am now understanding.

12/15/84

This afternoon I was wondering what the cultural artifacts of my theories surfacing in the conscious mind of the world would look like. Today I bought a sweatshirt that pictures a man with Freud and Heavy Metal on the bookshelf behind him and he is saying, "I see no synthesis of poetry and ideology, save in the dialectic between meaning and chance," and his girlfriend is answering, "Where's my dinner you bloody poseur."

I hadn't thought of that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx, that from the viewpoint
of poetics, all actualities
are substantiated forms of poetic
theory. This is true because it is from poetic theory that all other theory derives. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx In contemporary science the "elegance" factor is still a central
consideration and in the marketplace
xxxx it is "style" that counts, or plays a
very great role in the success of a product;
in technology scale plays a greater and greater
role as well as authetic and accurate reproducing of the
visual and acoustic image; xxxxxxxxxxxxxx also
immediacy of access and xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
instantaneousness.

12/20

I have only a few friends, but with those few I am a part of friendship everywhere.

12/22

On the subway yesterday-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx a think black
man walks by mexxxxxxxxx mumbling to himself,
"He's drunk." A long argument between all
three, the man at the end of the subway
seat, the woman at the other.The conductor
goes back to his xxxxxxbox. Duscussion
between woman and man to my left
blotted out.Then the doors open! Man get
off and says "He's drunk." Next stop
black woman gets off and says "He's drunk."
Then, we talk- the next stop the doors
don't open a long time- open and I say,
"He's drunk."

12/25/84

Perhaps use a Pollack quote at the
beginning of the first article-

(12/10/84)

And his feet show it, they're longfellows. Square root to Square Garden. All the pages stages and strut and statues, squares and hippies. Ha-ha. Remember to forget here. It's hour upon the square, C squared or Not c-squared, that is the question. Whether 'ts automatic is not the question, facts pile up while attention drifts. Lesson by lesson, play by play, the our is wonton- who else would care? Finally leading us back to the essential drift- partial sentences, an all purpose plan, partly gesture, could all remain.

Sam's the man! "words were what were whole," bachelor of arts, android. Babbler of hearts, Hamlet, ham lloyd, Lennie the gimp.

Later...Mainly interested in actions we can repeat, we forget the rest, the one (at a) time numbers. Again and again, that's the ticket, this time without an accent. "Say it again," I said to my father and he mimicked me, it must have drove him crazy, if I were hard to train. There anyway, in between, froze me out of time. Taking it all back- not such a big bet, a safe cause, we pass it on (and out).

Pavorotti listens to the orchestra and the orchestra listens to him. Ron made everything o.k. A message from T. At long last, reminding myself again and again, every moment, check them all once or twice. Over instrumentalized, a box of chocolates, a bored soprano. Each reflected in all the faces of a pen, picture a signpost full of hieroglyphs, structuralistsxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.

Scurrying all over the Westside Wall of Words. Women are very very special in all of this, a valentine, I love you too. Now back to my philosophical musings, which, at that one furious moment if I look too closely, I won't say it *I was bored*! This was *horrible* like fading

Star Trek completely dependent on phoney vacuum cleanersxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Commenting is contextualizing is seeing---------------------------------------------


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(Counting is contextualizing)

-------------------------------------------

--------------------------------
-----------------------------------

Counting is

-----------------------------------

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contextualizing

Then -------------------text I wrote this----------------------text


Maybe I shouldn't publish this kind of thing






-------------------Before by N.Piombino--------------------------

Here's another google referral I liked. Someone asked google about "narrative technique pavese the beach" and was referred to fait accompli, about the sixth result:


fait accompli - [ Traduzca esta página ]
... Cesare Pavese. ... The technique of unresolved relationships. ... also, fear), telling a story
MG Giving out directly a kind of direct interpretation of the narrative. ...
nickpiombino.blogspot.com/ - 49k - En caché - Páginas similares

12/10/84

The first thought *was not* don't watch the words, watch the feelings. Philosopher yes, literature no, I was walking down the block and thought, photography will be the way I'll do it. But the first thought was, that the last thought is really what's behind the first thought, I reduced a little bit before something really happened that it was all happening because I already knew something was about to happen. Meaning, I *knew* it, insert paragraph a. Pages of notes, hundreds of examples, hundreds of kinds of sentences. Insert December 10th into the text.

I still can't decide, I'm not sure if it's done. As a poet I don't have to, I can be having as many conversations as I want to, but if I'm going to say it infinite numbers of times, at least I ought to say it. If I regard you as coming into the room like a magician, that's a terrible image, and why? What part do you have in this, accused, accuser, bad tear, indeed. How is anybody going to write their way out of "hear" by not naming names. How is anybody going to listen to this, is the end. So, schnook, put it in the beginning, don't get testy out there, moon, starts and planets indeed, we were always talking about each other. I was about to add, nice little bit of historicity there, as if, like chums, we both knew it all along.

Context is seeing. If X=X, then X=X. See it, again. Intermittant, spasmodic. Make a decision. As vague as the world is, there's something inside. The opposite. Seeing it as we do, we look there. The media is the message, have a heart. Taken easily, moving back among, uneasy strategies, uneasy savages, the something is bright. Admit it, you don't know everything. Go ahead, hit me, say it, by now we're uneasy with each other. Anyway, so much time having gone by and easy at the same time. So much feeling, it's not incidental. At first I hold back, hiding everything, and little by litte. Art should be talked to, implying, silly man, that you should hear something, not *say* something. Big deal, that's just another commercial, I could say anything; when he sings, he's afraid to eat and when he eats he's afraid to speak, etc, etc, I could call this that, etc., etc., but this would be seen; perhaps, as an aside, a new way of doing my homework such that this follows this and that that. 8th street and 2cd Avenue, of course, Astor Place a thousand times if I've seen it once. Forgive me, there for a haircut (Paul McGregor's, Astor Haircutters). What's in a name, that anything could be as sweel as sweet as your cute little feet, sexist pig. A writer conducts and the orchestra reads, note by reed, strings by reed. Applause!

Chet Weiner read at the Bowery Poetry Club with Stacy Doris today. Chet's reading included an exciting new piece which sounded like a science fiction film script. I spoke with him after his reading and he confirmed this. This adventurous and very abstract work transported his listeners to a dream like and phantasmagorial environment the strangeness of which was well elicited by its complex and quick flowing elliptical language. Stacy Doris read, or rather spoke and read, mostly spoke on the Bowery Poetry Club stage today. Without ever saying it, despite her wit and, wry demeanor and running patter about the microphone, which became an interesting parodic take on the possibilities and pretentions of poetry readings, how much she has missed her New York contingent was made clear today on the BPC stage. She directed her attention to her many poet friends and co-conspirators including Bruce Andrews, Tim Davis, Rob Fitterman and Kim Rosenfield. Each time she began to read she remembered something else she had to tell us. Towards the end, she read three or so poems from a book she has been working on for three years. The audience was obviously stunned by the profundity and beauty of these poems- they are quite a departure from much of her often hilarious and consistently charming previous work. She has had to move to San Francisco where she is now an assistant professor at San Francisco State University. But this summer she is going to Greece to continue work on this amazing new book of poems. While we await these new masterpieces, she will be missed.

We had to exit from the dinner afterwards at Marion's on the Bowery to head quickly over to Ocularis in Williamsburg, Brooklyn to see some films by Marianne Shaneen, Mike Kuchar and others. In a group that included quite a number of memorable and suprisingly absorbing short films (I commented later to the curator how he had made a very interesting collage out of this group of about 20 3-7 minute films, a collage that finally guided the viewer and listener into some powerful moments of synaesthesia) Marianne Shaneen's films shined brightest. She discussed these films on a recent blog:

///Froth///
home /// archives

Thursday, May 22, 2003

Crazy canadian filmmaker Guy Madden on the radio- when talking about films that influenced him he mentioned one of my all-time favorites, the 1934 version of Midsummer Night's Dream directed by Max Reinhardt (with a feral demented Mickey Rooney as a boy in the role of Puck)...
I myself made an (unfinished) film from the Reinhardt film- after seeing it the first time I was so pixelated that I went back to the theater and watched it again, taking still photos of the screen in the movie theater, and incorporated the resulting luminescent ghostly stills into re-filmed film of the original.
Marianne 4:43 PM

These films of Marianne's reveal spectral shapes of light moving in sinister ways around the screen, undulating, advancing and retreating, suggesting unseen presences among us- or presences we may be unwilling to see. Toni just read a passage to me from George Eliot's *Daniel Deronda* which coincidentally (I actually don't believe in coincidences anymore) corresponds: "But it is a matter of knowledge that there are persons whose yearnings, conceptions- nay, travelled conclusions- continually take the form of images which have a foreshadowing power: the deed they would do starts up before them in complete shape, making a coercive type; the event they hunger for or dread rises into vision with seed-like growth, feeding itself fast on unnumbered impressions." Make no mistake about it: Marianne Shaneen's films reveal as much about the power of what can be seen from within as what is normally absorbed by the five ordinary senses. This following her recent powerful reading at the Poetry Project, as well as her bold anti-war activities recorded over the past winter on her blog Froth tell us that Marianne Shaneen's vision is one of the most encompassing and challenging accounts on the contemporary scene. How she can be all this, do all this and remain so warm, charming and funny is one of those phenomena, like those in her film, that may have to remain cloaked in mystery, at least for awhile.

Since the Buffalo Poetics list is private, I can't really quote from someone's post. But I recommend highly taking a look at Kazim Ali's post yesterday in response to some remarks made by George Bowering. Occasionally a post may reach to the level of poetry. This one certainly did. The poetics archives are available online at the Electronic Poetry Center to anyone. You can gain access to it through my Hompage which is on the links to your left. Click on Home Page; then UB Poetics; then May 2003; then number 12, Kazim Ali.

6/22/96

If the thing is going to fall out of its
slot as soon as you pull it off the
shelf what good is it? I
could have told you before thisxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
it had a feeling of time past but this
would not have influenced your conclusion.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

*

There is an air of insouciance
in the abstract writing of Ted Berrigan and
Charles Bernstein that you won't find
in John Ashbery and Gertrude Stein.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (Precursors, Jackson
Mac Low when it is on the fringes of
nonsense, as much great
humor). Humor tells us that there
truly exists a non-business
aspect of life. While this is
implied in Ashbery's work, in
Mac Low and Bernstein's you live in
it. Insolence is the key- a tone
you will find liberally represented in
the work of Andrews, DiPalma, Watten,
'Hejinian, Silliman, Davies,and the
L=A writers on the whole.
I feel that many readers and
commentators find this insolence
intimidating.Although the details
of revolt may not be foregrounded
the attitude is liberally represented
almost anywhere you look.

6/29/96

Sharon Cameron p. 465 Emily Dickenson

I heard a fly buzz-when I did
The stillness in the Room
Was like the stillness in the Air
Between the Heaves of Storm

The eyes around had hung them dry-

My early poem Sound and Silence
takes...sound particularly of the present...

Even when confused with other sounds
sounds take on a striking
individuality in their occurance

When thilngs become a given they lose
their attachment to particular personalities.
Cage and Mac Low helped move me
closer to that.

The attempt to enunciate a
particular direction fades into a
surrounding presence- a
storm- no- a field- no
a backdrop of particularities.

The usual is "there" and you can
go to "it." The sound is "there"
but "it" comes to you. *You*
must be receptive to receive it.

Poetry- not to be able to speak
of it (in order?) to hear it.

Combinatory or separate.

Waiting.

A different genre- ominous or detached.

Noise. Disturbing sounds, interrupting sounds.

Occurance, movement, approaching, departing.

"And I'll be your aural eyeness."
p.623- Finnigan's Wake

12/2/84

For the Special Ed Hearings

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXThe passing of the
Public Law 94-142 ushered in the first
possibiities thawt the knowledge now existing
in Psychology, Physical Rehabilitation and education
could be xxxxxxxx *applied* for the
help of xxxx children directlly. Finally, we
have moved in these fields from theory
to the entire social application of the
theories. However, as long as this
xxx action was in coming, it appears
xxxxxx that we are here not only
questioning the value, but how the
money is to be used.- (What? this
is harder than I thought.)

(Motherwell in NY Times Magazine Dec 2,
1984- Free Association, psychic automatism,
identity- scale-authenticity...)

(Poetry Calender Nove 1984- One night: Blaine,
Writing and Psychoanalysis, Money: the same week's
"Collage"- Blaine- missed it)

Ease of rudeness. How long does it take to be sure?

Still worried about Bruce's formulation of
language-centered writing as outside the
whole issue of identity- "words were what
were whole"- at the end of subjectivity-
It is the instinctual relationship between objectivity and
subjectivity which is changing, just as
the relationship between men and women, and
all the permutations possible emerge
as part of *actuality* and therefore not
denied by what is *considered* objectively...

He is saying, for the purposes of writing
there is no such things as "I"- or
that the writinng need not be filtered
through some I- yet the poems,
in being presented as written by Bruce
Andrews are the product of an
identity (12/5 -or of a mind belonging- associated
with an identity)
Words refer neither to the object not to the
subject by means of a mediated self, but
by means of a *desire* producing articulation
of linguistic energy not referring nor representing, describing
or defining actuality as it is constituted of and
by language. As a result, identity is
subsumed as one tonality of the music and not
a particulary interesting one at that.

In such a use of language knee-jerk
systemic uses or contexts of writing
are eliminated, one by one, until all
that remains is the actuality of words.
By this means the actuality of experience
inhabits the signals which are transmitted
by these constellations of "frequencies"
and "amplitudes" or meaning.

12/5/84

*Every one of us is involved."

12/7/84

"We will not pay the sin-tax."


Syntax= sin/tax
language= long gaze, long gauge
words=xxxxxxx voids
thought= thaw out/ thou ought
think= the ink
imagine= I'm a gene

Have all you want of what you have

12/1/84
...The fact that long ago I split my career down the middle and became a therapist, is anathema to other writers. Susan Sontag's comment. Not just to writers but to artists. Artists prefer to involve themselves in an extremely hierarchical- though in a superficial way homogeneous subculture which tends to eat alive whatever morsal of clear-headed self-assessment that might exist inside. The work always comes first to an artist. When it is authentically responded to, nothing is sweeter. But when the production is remorseless and mechanical the creation resembles nothing more than a clean xerox machine, automatically addressing all the copies to just the right people It's nice, but it's not the only thing.

What else? What else is the desire to create that wants nothing more than to burn steady and brightly, not under fluourescent shadows, but in a conflagration which, in a single, shining second, completely transforms the "material" into ascending waves of pure energy.

The hardest thing about being a modern artist is all the waiting. I have waited 20 years for a moment like I had at Charles' house last weekend. Even so, it was not about my poetry- yet this means even more to me somehow. This is becuse I know that what is lacking in the intellectual climate of today is common wavelengths, let alone common ideals. This may be because of the complete success of behemianism in the most sophisticated circles- which means mainly a general fantasy in an artistic subculture that original ideas and authentic creations are more interesting and valuable than the pap that is generated by the entertainment industry.
..

O.k. Nick, but what does it mean?
posted by Laurable on 5/30/2003 02:12:59 PM | link

Let's see, Laurable in the P category. Kasey must have meant: perspicacious, personable, persuasive, pragmatic, pertinacious, pert, pretty, pleasant, perfect, philanthropic, paradoxical, particular, perceptive, patient, pithy, peppy, perky, perpetual, persistent, petit, phantasmagorial, phenomenal, philosophical, philotechnical, pioneering, pleasing, playful, pleasant, pleasurable, pluralist, peachy, poetic, poised, polished, politic, polymathic, popular, positive, potent, powerful, precious, precise, preeminent, preferred, prepared, preponderant, prevailing, prized, probing, prodigious, productive, professional, profound, profuse, prolific, proleptic, prominent, prompt, protective, prototypical, provident, prudent, public-spirited, punctual, punctilious, and purposeful.
What else could he possibly have been thinking of?

Check out "The Horde" by Megan Burns in Shampoo

This blog has an awesome page of links:Chris Lott...Ruminate On the page is a link called: more. Click on that!

Someone did a google search for the word "fait" of which there are over 12,000,000 results. *Fait accompli* was the 8th result and the searcher cllicked on this page.

11/30/84

Post-actualism comes into being long, or perhaps, not-long after the actualities have set in. Today's form of tough realism has prepared us for an art movement which will reveal the actualities of inner and outer experience in the most vivid and authentic forms possible. By this means actualism and post actualist forms will evolve the relationship between art and science which will harness the energies of science by modifying human needs rather than tormented fantasies of death and destruction. Never has it been clearer, with the advent of Adolph Hitler, that technology in the hands of brutal, demonic personalities could permanently injure or even destroy the human race. This will not be stopped by a view of art which condones insensitivity, mockery or irrational behavior in the spirit of self-expression. Freedom of expression does not include expression of a freedom to repress or humiliate, hurt and annihilate. These are the forces which isolate people from one another and which do not further communication and understanding. Actualism will show us that there is no ideal form of communication and understanding, whether Freudian or Marxist, Christian or Republican. With actualism, no one's identity may be reduced to that of any other individual or group. Actualism will demonsrate that the identity construct is so complex that it can encompass not only many perspectives in one temporal plane but in the direction of all temporal axes.

Multi-identity has been the direction of literature since in order to protect itself, the self-construct splits itself into various directions. Current psychanalytic theory favors a diagnostic category called the "borderline" syndrome which is partly a misinterpretation of what is happening when a person's self-construct is fragmented.

In order to construct a viable identity in today's society a human being must encompass an increasing array of purposes, intentions, goals and needs. When the identity is overwhelmed by presssures, it splits. This is an adaptation to the total actuality of the person's experience, if not some aspects of the reality shared with others. Paradoxically, the cultivation of the means of authenticating written experience through associative networks of syntactical expression, permits and even urges a wider expression of facets of the inner identity in the act of writing. This does not only include the active portions of a particular facet, but also the signal functions which participate in the formulation of perceptual processes. The world is seen through the lens of who we are. If this view is to be evidenced, it must always admit new methods authenticating the evidence of actualities , since these actualities are constantly changing in tenor and mode. Actualism, by promoting the inclusion of associative expressions of various levels of the self (such as roles, responsibilities, identifications with groups, philosophical viewpoint, etc) in written expression, promotes the widening of various wavelengths of communication. Actualism must come into existence in order to permit the establishment of the authentification of documented communications via associative matrixes rather than visual-perceptual replication. We must learn to code our messages much more subjectively if we are to encourage access to our individual inner processes and be enabled to freely and generously exchange and share information cocerning all the actualities of our experience. Conventional linguistic forms are shaped to fit individual facsimiles of the then current mode of social communication. As old hierarchies dissolve, the authenticity of certain forms of syntax also dissolves. The psychological need to maintain a sense of a continuous connection of the inner associative stream to the evolution of external events promotes the adaptation of conventional usages of sylistic linguistic forms. With the devlopment of electronic means of information dispersal comes a further need to transform syntactical forms into consistent units of information...