why be

why be ashamed of what, you can
only like? its reticent sink,a booth of airs,
in gallant pens of rooming verse,
of horses, brooched, and necklace.

or border swim, and river reckon,
lover's imitation larger to its own repent
mountain cat, bob cat, eye howling at
the gaze of a city mirror,
if these smokes ascend why not folk
the pavanne of its accident?

of hand, which grasps not ,
body forded brink,
clap the eyes on forehead
worded dress .

If these she's were sorry to reprieve word
was stirred its bather to retrieve. Saith Mona, her orphic

gabble, to heark its heave. Some plush
mouth honks her gable.

No, stands will.


the fox .. kiss


The fox, movie USA 1967... Apparently After a story by D.H. Lawrence sounds vaguely like a reference to either Lady Chatterly's Lover... or actually more to Women in Love... or some combination of various derivatives.. in any case... it's an interesting clip... the poetry of film before excess and the presence of resrain followed by burst... the Kiss....



reading continuallee

on the phone : my take on it is this

I am a continual poetry reading. so why do one?

on the other hand, I did two last year.

so maybe.

it'd have to be a secret.

now could that happen?

. how da ya laugh here?

beats me,
she said,
walked out.

said you can always
"beat it if you want"




"Well, Graves has the following possible hints: In 131.1, he talks about the wedding of
Heracles and Admete, which he claims would have been preceded by a
battle analogous to the one which Thetis fought with Peleus and
Penthesilea with Achilles. During this battle, he says, the woman would
undergo a series of transformations -- he doesn't mention a dog,
but does mention a serpent, a crab, a doe, a wild mare, a cloud.
In 164.1, he says that according to Dictis the Cretan, when P lay dying
on the ground, killed by Achilles, the Greek soldiers shouted: "Toss this
witch to the dogs to be devoured; she has offended womanly nature."
- malgosia

Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia

Translated by Brian Massumi


And it is Ulysses who inherits Achilles' arms, only to convert them to other uses, submitting them to the laws ofthe State--not Ajax, who is condemned by the goddess he defied and against whom he sinned.10 No one has portrayed the situation of the man of war, at once eccentric and conjemned, better than Kleist. In Penthesilea, Achilles is already separated from his power: the war machine has passed over to the Amazons, a Stateless woman-people whose justice, religion, and loves are organized uniquely in a war mode. Descendants ofthe Scythians, the Amazons spring forth like lightning, "between" the two States, the Greek and the Trojan. They sweep away everything in their path. Achilles is brought before his double, Penthesilea. And in his ambiguous struggle, Achilles is unable to
prevent himself from marrying the war machine, or from loving Penthesilea, and thus from betraying Agamemnon and Ulysses at the same time.
Nevertheless, he already belongs enough to the Greek State that Penithesilea, for her part, cannot enter the passional relation of war with him without herself betraying the collective law of her people, the law of the pack that prohibits "choosing" the enemy and entering into one-to-one relationships or binary distinctions.
Throughout his work, Kleist celebrates the war machine, setting it against the State apparatus in a struggle that is lost from the start.
Doubtless Arminius heralds a Germanic war machine that breaks with the imperial order of alliances and armies, and stands forever opposed to the Roman State. But the Prince of Homburg lives only in a dream and stands condemned for having reached victory in disobedience of the law of the State. As for Kohlhaas, his war machine can no longer be anything more than

As for Kohlhaas, his war machine can no longer be anything more than
banditry. Is it the destiny of the war machine, when the State triumphs, to be caught in this alternative: either to be nothing more than the disciplined, military organ of the State apparatus, or to turn aginst itself, to become a double suicide machine for a solitary man and a solitary woman? Goethe and Hegel, State thinkers both, see Kleist as a monster, and Kleist has lost from the start. Why is it, then, that the most uncanny modernity lies with him? It is because the elements of his work are secrecy, speed, and affect.11 And in Kleist the secret is no longer a content held within a form of interiority: rather, it becomes a form, identified with the form of exteriority that is always external to itself. Similarly, feelings become uprooted from the interiority of a "subject," to be projected violently outward into a milieu of pure exteriority that lends them an incredible velocity, a catapulting force: love or hate, they are no longer feelings but affects. And these affects are so many instances of the becoming-woman, the becoming-animal of the warrior (the bear, she-dogs). Affects transpierce the body like arrows, they are weapons of war. The deterritorialization velocity of affect. Even dreams (Homburg's, Pentheselea's) are externalized, by a system of relays and plug-ins, extrinsic linkages belonging to the war machine. Broken rings. This element of exteriority-which dominates everything, which Kleist invents in literature, which he is the first to invent--will give time a new rhythm: an endless succession of catatonic episodes or fainting spells, and flashes or rushes. Catatonia is: "This affect is too strong for me," and a flash is: "The power of this affect sweeps me away," so that the Self (Moi) is now nothing more than a character whose actions and emotions are desubjectified, perhaps even to the point of death. Such is Kleist's personal formula: a succession of flights of madness and catatonic freezes in which no subjective interiority remains. There is much of the East in Kleist: the Japanese fighter, interminably still, who then makes a move too quick to see. The Go player. Many things in modern art come from Kleist.

Goethe and Hegel are old men next to Kleist. Could it be that it is at the moment the war machine ceases to exist, conquered by the State, that it displays to the utmost its irreducibility, that it scatters into thinking, loving, dying, or creating machines that have at their disposal vital or revolutionary powers capable of challenging the conquering State? Is the war machine already overtaken, condemned, appropriated as part of thc same process whereby it takes on new forms, undergoes a metamorphosis, affirms its irreducibility and exteriority, and deploys that milieu of pure exteriority that the occidental man of the State, or the occidental thinker, continually reduces to something other than itself?




after the

after the studio burned. as figure. what happens to digital recordings? Of the voice and face, and Angela's ears, going down the tubes, and glasses, staring in the chamber,
of space, and bifocals, and other lips,?
what means of this?

do we re-start? has audio become disembodied

has bass, become bassoon?
has flute become, furtive fruit of embossed pages?
has medial pause, metamorphosed to gilt edged?

" Un siècle d'écrivains":CeLinE

Duration: 46:23Taken: 23 December 2006Location: France
Emission " Un siècle d'écrivains"
Louis-Ferdinand Celine - "Un diamant noir comme l'enfer" 1998
Réalisé par Emmanuel Descombes Alain Moreau
Écrit par Alain Moreau
Récitant Valentin Traversi. Louis-Ferdinand Céline.... Lui-même (archives), Bernard Rapp



shes a hot head

a hot head.


hot hand



She was a hot head

a hot head

hot hand
hot hip

falling from her ears
'missing speaker
hanging from her
she's death's best bet
her best breast

its hiliarous
around whatever time it
was sitting there
in the Studio

the bass player's back
we go to look for the digital takes
they're gone .she start s to sob
the engineer is out for the week
the bassist stares
& I couldn t help but laugh
my head off
my knees are so sore
my sinus nose whatever polyps
deviate septum
vanitias of vanities
the recordings vanished
to thin air
think fair
fink fare

besides which Ahm sick, of
excuse me, Glenn Gould.

So then its not the first
keyboards break
type writers get hold
bloggin is tobaggin
a friend calls to say
hes drinking . well you know,
for a sec, I forgot who I was .
amneisa of the button.
almost saw a floating beverage there
before me eyes.

what I cant figure is thi

I cant smell a thing, right,

Suddenly, the smell of Mustard
in the air
weird bizzaro
spooky sense of
ghosts in the cluster


or somethingelse
a body before me
grasps the air.

she's waving to me
fromt he other side
as if she's a frog
forgetting her hips
come to me and S__
and other thing s
wareof bodies daring death
to speak its

. hoof hoof hoof.

now shes crying crying

cause shes sSappho
what inversion of fingers.
wisdom is this.
speak of . to .

we went for tea.
early owl in the morniing.



start over.


Ecco Homo|George Groz Graphic Witness

George Groz


by Emmy Hennings
translated by Howard A. Landman


Dir ist als ob ich schon gezeichnet wäre
Und auf der Totenliste stünde.
Es hält mich ab von mancher Sünde.
Wie langsam ich am Leben zehre.
Und ängstlich sind oft meine Schritte,
Mein Herz hat einen kranken Schlag
Und schwächer wird's mit jedem Tag.
Ein Todesengel steht in meines Zimmers Mitte.
Doch tanz ich bis zur Atemnot.
Bald werde ich im Grabe liegen
Und niemand wird sich an mich schmiegen.
Ach, küssen will ich bis zum Tod.

To you it's as if I was already
Marked and waiting on Death's list.
It keeps me safe from many sins.
How slowly life drains out of me.
My steps are often steeped in gloom,
My heart beats in a sickly way
And it gets weaker every day.
A death angel stands in the middle of my room.
Yet I dance till I'm out of breath.
Soon lying in the grave I'll be
And no one will snuggle up to me.
Oh, give me kisses up till death.

Translation ©1997, 1998, 2001 Howard A. Landman

Born Jan 17 1885, Flensburg, Germany. Died Aug 10 1948, Sorengo-Lugano, Switzerland.



Dan McCormack

Body Scan

Nude Ascending the StairCase
an homage
to Duchamp

all th e way from 1998 .
Imagine that
time travelling.

_____________________________ mind you now th at Duchampian Nude reference has gone|webvanished! poof Poof electronic dust! data drawer!  (great article in MetaMute mag interview with an artist who working with Data dumps does interesting things....it was ahead of this time and i dont remember but it was around 2008?. CP we'll have to ahead to timemachine an see Cliff.

at Dan McCormack



ruan and ...

Ruan Ling-Yu_ and the __
  • UnivWashingtonPress

  • Three Graces as Athletes

    Gilles Deleuze speaks of being an athlete who is ill.The writer who's health is fragile, and who lives intensely. The artist as athelete of her desire.

    Jennifer Linton 1995

    this entry first posted June 28


    'of such and health and death

    of bodies

    without space

    of breathing'


    a charity

    what a charity to sing this song

    in less than three weeks
    two women I knew
    consumed themselves
    by way of alcohol and drugs
    via suffering
    because it's suffering that does

    not booze and methadone but
    being alone
    knowing there's no one there

    a suicide of sorts,
    indirectly death
    deathly unable to pull out
    of the mire

    not a death pact or
    death wish

    Julia's son was with her four hours
    before the "baby sitter"
    came over finding her already blue
    blue blue

    (not a deliberate act in the one case,
    was it deliberate? in the other's?
    what death is deliberate?
    what is to de-liberate?
    is it the same as re-liberate,
    we are liberated or unliberated,
    as folding doors closed, opened.
    what bliss of death
    wrapped its burnous
    around her body's glory
    carrying her to heaven
    as in Jeremiah's chariot?
    or was that Elisha?

    up up up up to the heaving held for help heavens

    flaoting seed in karmic sky
    jubilant as the toxic smooth
    of her once wanted

    those beer laden
    a memory ago
    the other
    a sad
    but heavenward now,
    why be angry?)

    "Charity is the key"

    skin blue as a pearl lampshade
    what kind of world is this?
    what purpose?
    Mister Job?

    Mister God
    don't lie
    you felony

    as ever

    'schools of fish'

    empty thought

    empty page


    texte de

    what “less than” unworthy “of” simple air
    not then “ok?” what eyes “over room” stand
    guard there” what, “pray” of children there
    come “here” open eeryrie “plate of”

    less what ‘and” her plate pithy “say”
    wonder it, you can’t see the point” she’s
    all bawd ‘carnal chair” in the arm
    “gathering” “gloom” geyser goose hay

    of nap “room of kiss her sex” come to
    see “its warm” “liken colour” mother bear
    where it cough “she wends” the cur
    oh this oat of flair and bell

    canters ‘air’ sacks the wain
    tenders it legal pack ‘shunt it’
    shut it , tag it fare, ‘steel worker’
    calliope care bullock ‘mare’

    sanctuary pair of muzzled weep
    tankard “hind must lift” hefted
    hook “her hipping nude” of sleep
    and foot its natural ‘lair’

    Can we go on the stuck groove was rag-
    gy-ann to over the groom its bride



    the bassist has not returned. Angela is sick, and there were some problems trying to remix . so it goes. other active areas of poesia are fine and in a fettle to rejoice. I contemplate the first performance and how it shall not be one. not a reading or even a recital. A cital. Perhaps this needs to be theorized at

    meantime my jaw exercises've improved my
    enunciation. which was getting slack.
    not that slack is bad
    . it can work too. in. deed it. does. as steep. hil.l. rose. rise over the hamstrong knight. does it to do to do. to do be.come.come . be as it strips the bare. minimum of wage. a buddy of mine is headed. to nashville. Angela is singing at a club on Friday.
    we ought to attend. there is the cafe. nearby. where the throaty waitress who I flirt with terribly is big on the eyes. Her friendliness is generous and wide-eyed, and wide-hipped. perhaps she is angel hipped. this is whimsy.
    the studio was also cold.
    i worked there alone as no one was around.
    ange . sick.
    others busy. I dont mind. things have changed. ensemble
    idea is not what it once was. it 's all change.
    and beauty.
    words sling slide their
    debauched beauty . like your body.

    Speaking the Reading Gaol I wish the other colloboraters would show. I am bored. alone. with that sort of
    pedagogical dance.
    I prefer angogical.


    the Greek philo before Platon.

    Tons of win.

    Space to .


    View From the Sidewalk: Signs of Life

    View From the Sidewalk: Signs of Life
    Found this at Blogger com's Blogger Buzz

    A look at the perennial problem of homelessness from a unique perspective: from someone who is currently homeless.

    Signs of Life

    "Had to visit the storage locker yesterday to retrieve my suit for my interview. On the way, I passed under the train tracks spanning East Cone Boulevard. Once underneath, I (instinctively, I guess) looked up into the girders. Sure enough, there was a blanket or quilt of some kind. "