now being

some people say poetry is god. 

i have been a dog many times woof! woof! this bark that bite . I was Huckleberry Finn on top of that bridge tonight shooting down my stones with my slingshot at that dumb ass dog. miserable mutt bitch bastard combination of masters who are vile trainers to the violence of city animals. they match the Car. another great Enemy of  people. ie. pedestrians and their gliding boats of love.

now lemme asskyou a question is god a dog or  /shit you cant remember the rest. is interesting. arrested marriage conviction dog or two.

mark twains book is the greatest booke ver written. the true book of escape. downthe river. the Mighty Mississippi? was that it ? Ah! Huck you old fin ! No one got it as good as you.

now most people live in disney land. in a state of yips. whereas I . the first time i hitched 'cross Canada I was 17 with 35cents in my pocket. not quite the Mississipi but the transcanada then was a great highway like a battling river. it was great.

people say Cliff u wanna a be a famous writer with awards and shit rewards and so on you gotta spell. and send stuff here and yon. to get recognized.

but far
as I can
I am recognized but its the audience that might be unknown

-------------------------------------- most people are shitty and scared. of their own shadows.

i went across the rocky mountains
witha  dime in my  pocket.

was I brave?
idont think so.
i was there.
is all.

then it was south america
and europe and india
and around that part of things
ya dig?

so __________________________________________________________________________________
but the true ' event' that tried me
so to speak was
that first  trip\

Anyhow so me and Huck are doing our thing climbing over mountrains and covering wagons for the thing of motion.___________________________________________________________________________now being a pedestrian not a pedestal
is the thing
the 'real ' thing.

its walking that gets thing. going. dropping off. they dont like saunter patrol and meander.

_________________________________________I was lying looking up at the sky
with this beautiful french girl beside then in 1970. and we were just lying there . taking it in.
 there was no reason. no anything. just lying there. no sex . no kissing. it was just there.
we were lying. and she was French-Canadian and I was lookin at the sky and I used to tell them stories. the gang there Out West in. Vancouver . 17 and sandals. and I said the sky la ciel est belle. and she said O c'est le ciel est beau. I said O I said mais la ciel est belle tu voir? le son c'est beau c'est belle 'c'est la belle ciel. she had beautiful hair i could smellher skin. she was near me near my face i could smell her. i can almost smell her now. she smiled and i think she got it. but i got it anyhow, La Ciel est Belle. She was belle too. I dont know if I kissd her later another day or not or if she kissd me. maybe not maybe so.

Mais la ciel est nuit et belle la ciel est belle et je pense a toi. tes mots sont tres rare. ( A mes oreilles a mes yeux) 
alors c'est comme ta bouche. oui je pense que c'est comme ta bouche   ~ 

__________________________________et j'ai pensée a elle ce soir. comme beaucoup des fois . je pense. pensée c'est un belle mot.


sheafs of mouth


Mona was herded   (and then) headed   ~ 

_______________________Jill's jacktation  




 October is  a month   ~  . a month of warmth la chaleur . A
                                                               Octobre c'est un mois  _~ est ce que Octobre est masculine ou feminine  ? ~ est ce c'est ca ou ca? Moi j'aime de pensée que
 le mois d'octobre est froid et chaud et ...
c'est ceci et cela

Vacuoles is one of my favorite words from Antioedipus. O that book ce livre . Et la mot  vacuole? qui a trouvez ce mot... c'etait Felix Guattari qui avait introduire ce mot dans ca correspondence avec  Gilles Deleuze. O Vacuoles... que c'est beau c'est plue beau et preferable que le catatonie  ~


Je suis désolé d'apprendre la triste nouvelle de votre amie

votre voile


Mona was herded   (and then) headed   ~ 

_______________________Jill's jacktation  


C'est tout pour toi


Ton sourire est dans mes dents   ~



Ginger and Fred

It's most strange as my life  'lately'  life has been quite 'hard' 'difficult' filled with things that are mishaps  . and actual uncertainties  ..... like my eyes and the ongoing problem with them.. which look like, no pun intended ___ of which there may be a resolution soon __and neither of the apartments that I've lived in have been best suited to my needs... and the chance of a 3rd dont look like its gonna either so either or neither... iam Monsieur Inbetween

________________But today the weather's been freakish/ rain galish swished poured whirled puddles of pools rushing up... ....  force then ....balmy almost summer winds across a city readying for fall' autumn colours.. changing and so this song and the summer wind     have been popping into my head....

and dancing cheek to cheek came singing out....t of my lIps AnyHOW this old Song ...     which I like as I love to dance

Anyhow when I got home tonight that is the home im staying in now.... I went down to the store and the grocery lady there whom I like shes Chinese and her name is Mabel and i always tell how good she looks say  a little ribbon she might have on or a slight change in her hairdo  or some fancier sweater or vest than previous.. well I w as chatting her up  and 

getting some cigarettes and I said to her so have you danced ...lately and she said O since I been married I don't dance..  . I said O O you have n't danced... we bantered a bit and I said well ya gotta dance... and 

as I was going out the door of her neat little store.. I leaned back in for a sec

                                    and she said                         Keep Dancin....

and I walked on the street rain spatter'd as it was....   and the autumn brush of winds...

and that old song Came to me again...

So I figure   .. hey I m gonna go blog it tonight... 

and sure enough I found myself singing it as I sauntered home... and so

                                  here it is 

and guess what I also realized secretly that I am happy
                                                                   that I didn't realize
secretly that I am happy  ~ 


Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance in the 1935 RKO film 'Top Hat', music and lyrics by Irving Berlin.

Heaven, I'm in heaven 
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak 
And I seem to find the happiness I seek 
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek 
Heaven, I'm in heaven 
And the cares that hung around me through the week 
Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak 
When we're out together dancing (swinging) cheek to cheek 
Oh I love to climb a mountain 
And reach the highest peak 
But it doesn't thrill (boot) me half as much 
As dancing cheek to cheek 
Oh I love to go out fishing 
In a river or a creek 
But I don't enjoy it half as much 
As dancing cheek to cheek 
(come on and) dance with me 
I want my arm(s) about you 
That (those) charm(s) about you 
Will carry me through... 
(right up) to heaven, I'm in heaven 
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak 
And I seem to find the happiness I seek 
When we're out together dancing, out together dancing (swinging) 
Out together dancing cheek to cheek 

Irving Berlin wrote this   deservedly  very famous lyric

______________So Im putting up the Fred Astaire version here  and these 'grand old scenes' are really something.... aren't they?

  and the Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald one here 
the imaging isn't anything special

but the sound's what counts
it counts

it digs
it beats
it swings

_________________________ and I figure I guess the first time I heard it was when I was a kid     ~




irish wedding cake

commentary, remark, note, addenda, preface postface, re-face. no face.common face. common cause. mysterious buckle. trollope in a vein. buttocks in a backseat. rock star punkette bloggette . cursed hour! swiftian trope repartee.

Naturally this text is a comic one and resides in the realm of pure fiction. Clifford Duffy is not married to anyone. [ Actually we got that wrong: Clifford Duffy is not married________, . Not as you wrote. That is too definitive and limits the connotative possibles of yer enunciated whatyamacallit. Yea, yea. Yea, yea. Is.]

He_ is that yer first word?

She _ well darling come on my lap feel my tasted text wrapping itself the length of your slim sentence. Yer assemblage is the one I adore. Yer cockmanence is the goddess I see. I hear its pulse up here in me spine as trawled I do the lake outside Dublin. At me mam's last fortnight I just knew youwere South to me North. I cam e cutting yer text with lovellistedlust.------
She_ U mean you dont love me?
Clifford Duffy _ love? are you kidding? when I hear the word love, I want to vomit. each time the word love crosses the mouth of these god forsaken craytures ya know yr headed for trouble.

She_ well how about do you like F__ k with me? ( these days censoring oneself is sexy)Sucking my ya know what, especially as I spread my thighs as wet as two cows udders under Howth Castle  my peeping anus rainbow stuck way out there like a honey dried bacon seed? me darling CD. Is yer play my best arse? I think your a bitextual built for one hundred thousand molecule sex and more. I mean when I think of the shites that have come and gone tasted yer pipe, played yer flute, well the hairs on my cunninlingus stand-up in outrage! My linguistic leprosy as the bitextual genre is one pure passage to become'd orgasm! I came 300 and 12 times when I read yer compose. Yer composed o'er my Liffey mister Duffy. Not shy as any barrister but a reel hoore in bed, ya are. O yer pipe in my succulent mouth was the heavenly gate opening to me vagina's last gate! O sweet f__ k ! My my what are you not capable of?

rd Duffy _ you rave as always. A sweet thing with compose and rose up yer sweet irish briared arse. Yer arse to me is a banyan shade with many open doors. However, my slut ye ought to , dontchat that yer sexycunt is way more interesting to me. When I rode yer wombcacoomboomboom sexy sex I felt me cock growing beyond proportions AND knew knowing true love was on the way!

She and Clifford Duffy holding textual hands up each other'
s arse in hol[e]y

Whe they gotoutof prison shewas high rye addicted to his kiss. She took their kid texting to itslimitlibido.

 fe fi fo fum I smell de bloodz of an Iridsman

Fa Fe Fi Fo Fum! Ho, croak, evildoer! Arise, sir ghostus!“ ( FW_532.03-4), 


for the lady O' the green

__________________________ was this she?

C/D total sinner requires control! (context: is the verb in this case, passive, active, transitive, intransitive? All replies must be postmarked before November 12, at which time a winner will be announced. A free 'billet d'avion' to the deluxed wedding of Duffy and said Lynda Miss Ireland world to be issued).


I swear Bayjaysus the poor man's lost his
head over a golfing gal!
what a wee plunker he was!
as we wheezing along the road
with Dublin castle in view
ye'd a tink
we'd married allready!
& he

craaalllwlling under me skirts!
de dirty boy!
scamp of a shagger
I'd say
was a
peeler's cross
over me





is it


that he lived in the country all summer like a lazy bourgeois not working at all?

 And that  he teaches 4 classes a week yet still has no money?

A nd  his students false and real   love him and tremble at his erudition?

is it the case there was  a pupil with red hair and fine flaring thighs  that came close

(red hair wings flaming an angel in the crap stooled city  )

                      and that selfsame student  laid her hand on his thigh crying
 O Sir I cannot fail I cannot get a C I must get an A.

                And was there not a student who wrote poetry and they met for at cafes on boulevard St. Denis, and 
that fall she vanished and is it true her poetry was good

and is it the reality what happened to her?

(and a brunette with glasses dancing at the same late night  spot)
Is it true C~ D~
studied for four years at Vincennes
with the professor Gilles Deleuze?

is it true  D is having a sordid affair with the principle of the college of notorious flakes and  women who wish to study the higher learning of desire?

(And a married sephardic whose breasts announced like horns ) 

 And do they pine to  hear him read his poetry?
(esp. in bed the blonde with her ass high hefted  ) 

Is it not the case he ran off last winter
with a  former student and lived in Venezuela for two weeks?

Is it the case he blogs on t he run;?
 (that he married a nurse and has  a son in Dublin these days  whose son was born in Italy?)

And those at cash registers and not

(and these at Tim Hortons)

   (and the mothers crying out! mama! mama!)

Is it not also so that  hes  loved so many women that his heart is a parking lot?

Does he love women in Italy,  Poland, China, London, , France,,,Austria, Kosovo, Romaina,,, Bosnia Herzegovina Sarajevo,Serbia,,  America  and Canada?
(sure to telling he's loved them all and twice )

 Was it not part the theme that a semi-lesbian young poet and her sister from Beograde Belgrade fell in love with him? 
                           (and sheep follow shepherds double bed to their loving four arms)

_____________________ Is it a fable that he  shares two apartments?  like two women?

___________________is it true and false ? Surely when surveying the land  your score compares to theirs on a summer day which rough winds do not shake

                                  Visions of love and thighs of  puissant sonnets sucking dry his thighs   ~ 

(And  that  he tells'em one and  they will  pass
  giving each and everyone the same grade of A ?)

but pressing their awning arms against him.

_______________So Love goes a big bucket. For soup, lunch and rent.

_________________________________ which questions are true and false, and as for meeting, many now no longer perform their function of welcome and open to  change .

_______________________________________and she came to love him many times ___________________________________________

that everything and nothing is a  poetic fiction   ~

Why not allow.... 2 and a half pages of letter to Serge Daney


Why not allow television this same supplementary force of creative 
preservation? There's nothing in principle to stop it adapting its different
resources to this same end, except that TV'S social functions
(seen in game shows, news) stifle its potential aesthetic function. TV
is, in its present form, the ultimate consensus: it's direct social engineering,
leaving no gap at all between itself and the social sphere, it's
social engineering in its purest form.

For how could professional 
training, the professional eye, leave any room for something supplementary
in the way of perceptual exploration? And if I had to choose
among the finest passages of your book I'd pick those where you show that the "replay," the instant replay, is television's substitute for the  supplement or self-preservation, of which it is in fact the opposite; I'd   pick those where you rule out 

any chance of jumping from cinema to communication, or of setting up any "relay" between one and the
other, since a relay could only be set up in a form of television that
had a non-communicative supplement, a supplement called Welles;

I'd pick those where you explain that television's professional eye, the
famous socially engineered eye through which the viewer is himself
invited to look, produces an immediate and complacent perfection
that's instantly controllable and controlled.

For you don't take the
easy path, you don't criticize television for its imperfections, but purely and simply for its perfection. 

It has found a wayof producing a technical
perfection that is the very image of its complete aesthetic and
noetic emptiness (which is how a visit to the factory becomes a new
form of entertainment).

And you find Bergman agreeing-with con-siderable mirth, and considerable enthusiasm for

what television
might have contributed to the arts-that Dallas is completely empty,
but a perfect piece of social engineering.

In another area, one might
say the same of Apostrophes:from a literary viewpoint (aesthetically,
noetically) it's empty, but technically it's perfect.

To say television has
no soul is to say it has no supplement,
except the one you confer on

it as you describe the weary critic in his hotel room, turning the TV

on once more, and recognizing that all the images are equivalent,

having sacrificed present, past, and future to a flowing time

It's from cinema that there's come the most radical criticism of
information, from Godard for instance, and in a different way from
Syberberg (this not just in things they've said but concretely in their
work); it's from television that there comes the new threat of a death
of cinema. So you've thought it necessary to go and "have a close
look" at this essentially uneven or asymmetric confrontation.

met its first death
at the hands of
an authoritarian power culminating
in fascism.

Why does its threatened second death involve television,
just as the first involved radio?

Because television is the form in which
the new powers of "control" become immediate and direct. To get to

the heart of the confrontation you'd almost have to ask whether this

control might be reversed, harnessed by the supplementary function
opposed to power: whether one could develop an art of control that
would be a kind of new form of resistance.

Taking the battle to the
heart of cinema, making cinema see it as its problem instead of coming

upon it from outside: that's what Burroughs did in literature, by

substituting the viewpoint of control and controllers for that of
authors and authority.

But isn't this, as you suggest, what Coppola has
in his turn attempted to do in cinema, with all his hesitations and
ambiguities, but really fighting for something nonetheless? And you
give the apt name of mannerism to the tense, convulsive form of cinema
that leans, as it tries to turn round, on the very system that seeks
to control or replace it.

You'd already, in La Rampe, characterized
the image's third phase as "mannerism": when there's nothing to see
behind it, not much to see in it or on the surface, but just an image
constantly slipping across preexisting, presupposed images, when

"the background in any image is always another image," and so on
endlessly, and that's what we have to see.

This is the stage where art no longer beautifies or spiritualizes

Nature but competes with it: the world is lost, the world itself "turns
to film,"any film at all,

and this is what television amounts to, the
world turning to any film at all, and, as you say here, "nothing happening
to human beings any more, but everything happening only to

One might also say that bodies in Nature or people in a landscape
are replaced by brains in a city: the screen's no longer a window
or door (behind which. . . ) nor a frame or surface (in which. . . ) but
a computer screen on which images as "data" slip around. How,
though, can we still talk of art, if the world itself is turning cinematic,
becoming 'just an act" directly controlled and immediately processed
by a television that excludes any supplementary function?

ought to stop "being cinematic," stop playacting, and set up specific
relationships with video, with electronic and digital images, in order
to develop a new form of resistance and combat the televisual function
of surveillance and control. It's not a question of short-circuiting
television-how could that be possible?-but of preventing television
subverting or short-circuiting the extension of cinema into the new

types of image.

For, as you show, "since television has scorned, marginalized,
repressed the potential of video-its only chance of taking
over from postwar modern cinema. . . taking over its urge to take
images apart and put them back together, its break with theater, its
new way of seeing the human body, bathed in images and soundsone
has to hope the development of video art will itself threaten TV."

Here we see in outline the new art of City and Brain, of competing
with Nature. And one can already see in this mannerism many different
directions or paths, some blocked, others leading tentatively forward,
offering great hopes. A mannerism of video "previsualization"
in Coppola, where images are already assembled without a camera.

And then a completely different mannerism, with its strict, indeed
austere, method in Syberberg, where puppetry and front-projection
produce an image unfolding against a background of images. Is this
the same world we see in pop videos, special effects, and footage from

Maybe pop video, up to the point where it lost its dreamlike 
quality, might have played some part in the pursuit of "new associations"
proposed by Syberberg, might have traced out the new cerebral
circuits of a cinema of the future, if it hadn't immediately been taken
over by marketing jingles, sterile patterns of men tal deficiency, in tricately
controlled epileptic fits (rather as, in the previous period, cin-ema was taken over by the "then hysterical spectacle" of large-scale
propaganda. . . ).

And maybe space footage might also have played a 
part in aesthetic and noetic creation, if it had managed to produce
some last reason for traveling, as Burroughs suggested, if it had managed
to break free from the control of a "regular guy on the Moon

who didn't forget to bring along his prayer book," and better understood
the endlessly rich example of La Region centrale,where Michael
Snow devises a very austere way of making one image turn on another,
and untamed nature on art, pushing cinema to the limit of a pure

And how can we tell where the experimentation with images,
sounds, and music that's just beginning in the work of Resnais,
Godard, the Straubs, and Duras will lead?

And what new Comedy
will emerge from the mannerism of bodily postures? Your concept of

mannerism is particularly convincing, once one understands how far
all the various mannerisms are different, heterogeneous, above all
how no common measure can be applied to them, the term indicating
only a battlefield where art and thought launch together with cinema
into a new domain, while the forces of control try to steal this
domain from them, to take it over before they do, and set up a new
clinic for social engineering. Mannerism is, in all these conflicting
ways, the convulsive confrontation of cinema and


Text Preface to Serge Daney's Cine Journal Gilles Deleuze ~ trans late d by Martin Joughin


__________________________________________for more of Daney

_________ Cours De Cinema Serge Daney Journal

A translation excerpt of

Television and its Shadow

'Where nothing is less sure than that there will be one day a "history of television".

During a mass debate about the future of cinema, a clever chap raised the following argument: melancholic cinephiles, you who flatter yourself that you have rehabilitated the popular (especially American) cinema of yesteryear, who is to say that there will not be - in thirty years or more - people who will rehabilitate present-day television, which today we find so difficult not to despise just a little bit? At first glance, the argument seems full of common sense and we begin to imagine the 21st century zapper, sincerely moved by "Maguy," "Rue Carnot" or "Miami Vice." What will these people be like? On second though, however, the argument merely seems clever, and nothing is more misleading than the glib habit of placing cinema and television in total opposition. For it does not help thought, and only produces false symmetries.'

'That is what we say to ou
rselves as we consume here and there the minor subjects offered by "VIVE LA TELE" (on channel 5). Pre-zapped subjects that we watch with the conspiratorial eye of one who has already seen them in a previous life, who is surprised by his own amnesia (who sang with "Les problemes"? Antoine?) as by his capacity to recall (Ah yes, the painter Fujita, that was his moment of glory, now dead and forgotten.) We identify what we do not recognize and no longer recognize what we know. In this smiling game that we play with ourselves, everything sways towards the déja-vu and the second level. And, since there is no question of allowing these inserts any more weight than the load of their insignificance, the director Gerards Jourd'hui makes it a point to invent the "outdated" (discolored) disguise of what was innocently nude and in vogue twenty or more years ago.

Of course, we realize that, up to the mid sixties, the voices of journalists in the wings were peremptory, nasal tones, with the low humor of the forties or fifties. In black and white the very images that were meant to be pure entertainment assume great dignity (fashion show reports, advance clips of the yé-yé culture, Princess Margaret all smiles, Cocteau, etc.) But these images suddenly swing en bloc into the category (duly filed and classified in the archives of the INA or the Gaumont Cinematheque) of images of the past that are also past images. The recent past remains undecidable as long as it does not definitively fall into the overall phenomenon of belonging to the past.

Originally published in LIBERATION November 13, 1987. I've polished the translation slightly.

translator unknown at this time


Cahiers du Cinema


Serge Daney Blog

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