Saturday, July 02, 2005

W* always kn*w it was you. (via M*tafilt*r)


Two kinds of genr*.

    "A Newly Discovered Poem by Sappho

Girls, exquisite the gifts of the fragrant Muses:
snag them, and the clear melodious lyre;
weariness has settled in my marrow,
    whiteness in my hair.

Burdensome’s my will, and my trusty limbs
once so fain of the dance, have lost their candor.
Although I might complain like there’s any use--
    you know there isn’t.

They say Tithonus eloped with rose-armed Eos
out of crazy love, to the world’s far corner.
Fierce and toothsome then, but at last the sweeping
    frost came after him."

--3rnst A Kipling at 3ratosph*r*

"Einstein once gave private lectures to small groups in Prague.
    Some of which included Kafka." --David Markson, This Is Not A Nov*l (2001)

"...Vulca of Veii, the one Etruscan artist whose name is known to tradition..." --Sibyll* von Cl*s-R*d*n, Th* Buri*d P*opl* (1955)

95 Th*s*. (via wood s lot)

Friday, July 01, 2005


The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
  Was but a dream: and now I wake
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
  For a dream’s sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,
  A weeping willow in a lake;
I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt
  For a dream’s sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
  My silent heart, lie still and break:
Life, and the world, and mine old self, are changed
For a dream's sake."

--Christina Ros*tti in: Victorian Po*try (3d C 3 Andr*ws, 1924)

Th* lat*st dark cabals.

Olofi splits th* diff*r*nc*.

"A stripper was hired from Oakland to sashay onstage and declaim some T. S. Eliot..." (via Dumbfoundry)

Thursday, June 30, 2005

    Bell Tower

I have seen, desolate one, the voice has its tower;
The voice also, builded at secret cost,
Its temple of precious tissue. Not silent then
Forever--casting silence in your hour.

There marble boys are leant from the light throat,
Thick locks that hang with dew and eye dewlashed,
Dazzled with morning, angels of the wind,
With ear a-point for the enchanted note.

And these at length shall tip the hanging bell,
And first the sound must gather in deep bronze,
Till, clearer than ice, purer than a bubble of gold,
It beat in the sky and the air and the ear’s remorseless well.”

--Léonie Adams

"It has been remarked that 90 percent of Indian literature has been eaten by white ants." --J A B van Buit*n*n in: Th* Lit*ratur* of India (1974)

(from M*diahous* dot org)


squib squamous ruinous I · abysmally usurp squirm bulb
Major am Tom wuybarq as · briny culprit gift snap golbal
functional Asgard hijack bargain · abuzz kylix

"Wuybarq" is anything that snaps you out of a usual stupor.


caoutchouc aardvark solstitial · bulk styrofoam scurvy shimmy
coals burning across walk bawl · drastic adtopics avoidy back
cry ikon as solitary · sly as story bits

Saw a bumpstick, just said "W". W is a brand and a blik. Blik against blik can only join as two arrows of oomph, and both colors mutually mix. What varying blik is not so far from this as to nix all contact? Add to it. Aid mixing. Blur boundary divisions. Only a tomorrow that can actually occur is worth fighting for.


frailty trial jaguar I · algid atoms cyst ptyx crib kink
walking slowly
sjambok hand · again bubba was cruising with
was sluggishly again birdtalk · adtopics carbs stulm

"Bubba" is Sith for '616'.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Local art.

Thy will b* don*.

"The poet must not cross an interval with a step when he can cross it with a leap."

"Fifty-six was, perhaps, the best year in which to view Gone With the Wind." --Ang*la Cart*r

All my visions map onto my old backyard.

History of krump.

(from z*frank dot com)


horizontal monarchist · tricky I Ozanam follow
snowman strung nap sly among · foxtrot uniform mayfly frop
acrostic shorn litmus us stubs · stash or viral sculsh

"Frop" is a Subg*nius word. "Sculsh" is in*dible food.

" 'But...why don't your poets and storytellers write your literature? How can you just machine-generate it?'
    Tz'iquin seemed faintly amused. 'Both of you come from a culture that favors the writer, the 'maker', the poet, whatever you wish to call the one who creates new work, and so you think that every literary culture must be dominated by them. We Maya don't much make new works, but we develop an ever-better understanding of our old works. In that regard, at least, we are not unlike you, with your endless expositions of Kural, Ettutokai, and Pattuppattu. The difference is that we don't write about the same old work over and over; we discipline ourselves to the adventure of endless reading, seeing how many more things a thing can mean rather than trying to find the one right meaning for it. And to us, it does not really matter where those old works came from, or whether they are perfect or models for anything else, so long as they are truly Maya. A carefully done transform of a Maya myth is as Maya as the original, is it not?' "

--op cit

"...hey, things really do speed up in the future! It's already late '69, early '70! Now it's time to play your historical role, okay?"

Ross 780. (I call world D "Mulligatawny">)

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

What if Nancy G. got all wound up about Gitmo victims?

On my victrola: Yma Sumac- Voic* of the Xtabay.

"The food had forgotten where it came from and why it existed."

"And on the "Mexican Standoff'' disc, Shocked, a Texas native, mingles Texas-rocking-blues workouts with accordian-driven tunes inspired by Mexican folk music - a few of which she sings in a mix of Spanish and English." (via T*xfil*s)

Has a good summary of Consonant Doubling.

"If the Bretons and the Scots still struggle to regain their independence as sovereign states, and if we Americans continue to dream of living like Thoreau at Walden Pond, it is permissible for the student of words to keep alive his convictions about certain meanings and usages that he knows to be no longer shared by the majority, including many educated persons." --Mod*rn Am*rican Usag*, under lost caus*s. 3. g. publically not publicly.

"The ratio of critics to artists was part of what took me a lot of effort to understand. In Nou Occitan, where I grew up, there were many artists and a few critics, and the critics were looked down on and rather pitied, as people who couldn’t paint, sing, write, or whatever. It was a point of honor for Occitan artists to ignore critics, or else to chastise them rather than to reply to them.... This allowed truly atrocious artists to have someone they could look down on, since any real Occitan would rather make a rotten work than a sound argument. Better still, given how bad our art was, it kept the number of people who might point that out so small that they could not possibly get around to looking at most of it.
    Here in Tamil Mandalam, though, it was quite the reverse. The critics were so numerous and so respected that hardly anyone dared any art; what there was of new works was highly polished and refined little gems, bits of formal perfection, which were nevertheless attacked regularly for their triviality. Where the mostly-young Occitan poets were sloppy, emotional, often bathetic, and prolific far beyond demand, the Tamil poets labored for decades to become brilliant specialists, masters of prosody with not much more feeling than most people associated with chess masters."

--3arth Mad* of Glass


spliff Upas sly I of if · pulp apanthropinization
waniand as is slipknot my · dictionary polyps uffish
diary of spook cutbacks slag up · caracul spilth nap


military gigantic · slut I storm fauxzindiq grotto
Aymara aglow gingham · ignominious dark and strong
bildar scop is slowly ruinous · starry widom

"Starry wisdom"= catast*rism.

Th* Wom*n Paint*rs of Mithila.

"O Feedled Gruntbuggly,
?...Thy nacturations are to me!
As plurdled gabbleblochits on a lurgid bee.
Groop, I emplore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles
or I will rend thee in gabberwarts with my burglecruncheon,
See if I don't!"

--sampl* of Vogon Po*try (Douglas Adams)

Monday, June 27, 2005


   "Sonnet in the Shade

How shaded you are in the vine, Calvus,
And yet you think our verses will upbraid
And, cataractous, be the death of us?
You see how keen on carbon copies I’m uplaid,
All unctuous against the slavish numbers,
Lit glancingly, I doggedly elide
If only to broach, my sometime counter,
The sea that barters its clock for candor.
Who walks that way, like Cypress in the wind?
To Italy with that monstrous villainy
That crowns our arbus with a sea thing's fin.
Yet how breezy you are, in the mutiny
I hear Tubas: the glosses are runic
The light makes dapples all along your tunic."

--Tanya Brolaski

"I am writing a book about insects."

"...the precipitous decline of crime that started in the early 90s was a direct result of Roe vs. Wade in 1973."

All i want.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

This wall has an odor now, and no sounds within to disturb a vinyl rhapsody. Wood in its first cutting, akin to that of old books. I pick music i don't know, mostly. And black my blood with rapacious java now. Far off, things to do; as if stars i could limn and tag. What i would try to put down is not what occurs with this moving point.

CHADOR MOKO [“V*il Th*ory”]

1. What you bring to a song surrounds and colors it.

2. In a song's world things occur and a bard sings.

3. Words in songs apply to things only in that world.

4. But that world's own laws you must first know thoroughly.

5. A song's world is a matrix and a playing board.

6. How do songs call on things far from that world?

7. A mind's bounds and laws find microcosm in song worlds.

8. Only in microcosm do our tragic days occur as story.

9. Any part of a world with laws shows us story.

10. Story is not toy folk but lawful moving of worlds.

Air is foul at 8 AM.
Walk across coals.

On my victrola: Walt*r Carlos By R*qu*st.

As Virgilius Maro of T. says, scind*ratio fonorum or 'scrambling of words'.

Arch of K*rgu*l*n.



Mov* 36.

"Every landscape is a mood, said Amiel. And the fine landscapes of the Tamil country are the settings for the five moods or phases of love... Each landscape has its characteristic flower or tree by which it is named or evoked, its best time of day or time of year. ...the mere mention of these, or any other of the birds or trees or men of the forest, will suggest [the mood]..." --Th* Lit*ratur*s of India: An Introduction (ed E C Dimock et al, 1974)