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)