( via / via )

10 reasons to Hate AI.

"a list of things that, over the last 8 months, people have asked me to value more than the lives of racialised people, and, by extension, than my own life:

1) book festivals
2) the feelings of audiences at book festivals
3) the feelings of people tired of thinking about Gaza
4) the feelings of people who feel bad about not doing anything about the atrocities in Gaza and don’t want to be reminded
5) conversations
6) parties
7) my career"

--@noreenmasud

Moderan (whose cover is pure Frutiger Aero).

extra rib on the outside · sub-ache
bomb that buried · in my backyard a fam'ly
none of you heard · the hell-announcement
draping darkswathes · dreriment barrelthrough
yellow after yellow · & the branchmusk rises

Knit Ink.

( via / via )

Hannes Bok.

      "TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN (TELL ME LIES ABOUT VIETNAM)

I was run over by the truth one day.
Ever since the accident I’ve walked this way
   So stick my legs in plaster
   Tell me lies about Vietnam.

Heard the alarm clock screaming with pain,
Couldn’t find myself so I went back to sleep again
   So fill my ears with silver
   Stick my legs in plaster
   Tell me lies about Vietnam.

Every time I shut my eyes all I see is flames.
Made a marble phone book and I carved all the names
   So coat my eyes with butter
   Fill my ears with silver
   Stick my legs in plaster
   Tell me lies about Vietnam.

I smell something burning, hope it’s just my brains.
They’re only dropping peppermints and daisy-chains
   So stuff my nose with garlic
   Coat my eyes with butter
   Fill my ears with silver
   Stick my legs in plaster
   Tell me lies about Vietnam.

Where were you at the time of the crime?
Down by the Cenotaph drinking slime
   So chain my tongue with whisky
   Stuff my nose with garlic
   Coat my eyes with butter
   Fill my ears with silver
   Stick my legs in plaster
   Tell me lies about Vietnam.

You put your bombers in, you put your conscience out,
You take the human being and you twist it all about
   So scrub my skin with women
   Chain my tongue with whisky
   Stuff my nose with garlic
   Coat my eyes with butter
   Fill my ears with silver
   Stick my legs in plaster
   Tell me lies, tell me lies about Aghanistan.
   Tell me lies about Israel.
   Tell me lies about Congo.
   Tell me, tell me lies Mr Bush.
      Tell me lies Mr B-B-Blair, Brown, Blair-Brown.
   Tell me lies about Vietnam."

--Adrian Mitchell (1968, <2008) --from Wholly Communion, 1965

"Looked at systemically, neurodivergent people are not oppressed by neurotypicals; rather, both neurotypicals and neurodivergents are harmed by our market-oriented system, albeit in different ways and to different extents."

"To define the Beautiful is easy: it is that which fills us with despair." --Valéry

Electronic Ladyland Mixtape.

( via / via )

Procession.

"Desire is not simple or safe. In life and in art, desire is the complication."

--Joshua Rivkin- ‘Chalk: The Art and Erasure of Cy Twombly‘ (via @timesflow)

⚛️RADON 1/1 (noble gas).

"MIRE-BOAT long since boarded.

A stud
snapped-off
quibbles
with every buttercup,

the hour, the toad,
turns its world upside down.

If I gobbled up the wagon-ruts,
I'd be on my way."

--Washburn & Guillemin's Celan

Milano, quartiere Ortica, ca.1960.

( via / via )

Wasting my life.

"Odio la levedad,
es esa necedad,
es alada,
mas amar era mi mal o soledad.

Al aroma, ya honda de velar,
tolero por él: otra levedad…
No hay amor.

Alada de lo sola,
mi mar era más.
Amada la seda,
decenas es, edad:
devela lo ido.

Translated from Spanish by Google

I hate lightness,
It's that foolishness,
is winged,
but loving was my evil or loneliness.

To the aroma, already deep to watch,
I tolerate him: another lightness…
There is no love.

Winged from the lonely,
my sea was more.
Beloved silk,
tens is, age:
reveals what is gone."

--@MerlinaAcevedo

When I paint my masterpiece.

"Hello friends. My posts on all platforms are being restricted and can barely reach a few hundreds out of the 100k followers I have. Every time I post a new video/photo of a massacre, META removes the video/photo even as I ask them to reconsider. They then add restrictions on my account. Less reach, no going live, etc. I do believe more than ever before that META is complicit in many ways in this ongoing genocide. I kindly ask you to visit pages that share content about the genocide and amplify such contents. I do believe that leaving a comment would help in making posts appear to others that didn’t have the chance to see the posts. This is what you can do. This is what we all should do."

--@MosabAbuToha

Strawberry Studies for Eva Hesse.

( via / via )

Passengers.

"Maybe a poem is brewing, because I am obsessed with a word I would like to put into one." --@ae_stallings

The Key.

"walking around the pond
under a bright moon
until dawn"

--Bashō (via @bashosociety)

Protagonists.

( via / me )

Summer of 1973.

"Spelt from Sibyl’s Leaves

Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, · vaulty, voluminous, . . . stupendous
Evening strains to be time’s vást, · womb-of-all, home-of-all, hearse-of-all night.
Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west, · her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height
Waste; her earliest stars, earl-stars, · stárs principal, overbend us,
Fíre-féaturing heaven. For earth · her being as unbound, her dapple is at an end, as-
tray or aswarm, all throughther, in throngs; · self ín self steepèd and páshed – quite
Disremembering, dísmémbering, · áll now. Heart, you round me right
With: Óur évening is over us; óur night · whélms, whélms, ánd will end us.
Only the beak-leaved boughs dragonish · damask the tool-smooth bleak light; black,
Ever so black on it. Óur tale, O óur oracle! · Lét life, wáned, ah lét life wind
Off hér once skéined stained véined varíety · upon áll on twó spools; párt, pen, páck
Now her áll in twó flocks, twó folds – black, white; · right, wrong; reckon but, reck but, mind
But thése two; wáre of a wórld where bút these · twó tell, each off the óther; of a rack
Where, selfwrung, selfstrung, sheathe- and shelterless, · thóughts agaínst thoughts ín groans grínd."

--Gerard Manley Hopkins (via @jorie_graham)

The Jabberwock.

"Both the dish and the stone deal in the transmission of signals through time – though whether our current civilisation is advanced enough to correctly interpret them is open to question." – Dr. K. Brophy (via @HooklandGuide)

This is deeply personal story being told in small parts, small acts, subtitled scenes.

( via / via )

One hundred thousand sorrows.

"I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me — the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art."

~Anaïs Nin (The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5) via Philo Thoughts via Rhonda Havins on Fb

Dimmity.

"GARDEN OF EDEN (Palindrome)

I made, in Eden, a cradle.
Here we were held.
Arcane, denied am I."

--@Anthony_Etherin

▶️???.

( via / via)

Don't Step on my Feet Again. (via @Vorfrreude)

filter on the failing · firmament whisks
another near · a quarrel i started
less fuel burn · on the legume trail
black & white bloodshed · & the blade dulled

Digital waves.

“In the book, the words fall like birds struck by lightning for having thought they could wrest a piece of sky from the infinite.”

—Edmond Jabès; tr. Rosmarie Waldrop (via @dreamsofbeing_)

Midsummer magic.

( me / me )

"The exemption which blank verse affords from the necessity of closing the sense with the couplet betrays luxuriant and active minds into such self-indulgence that they pile image upon image, ornament upon ornament, and are not easily persuaded to close the sense at all."

"The chemistry of art no longer carries on the slow process of fractional distillation that produces pure substances, nor does it prepare the crystals that can be formed and enlarged only in perfect stillness. It now manufactures explosives and poisons." --Valéry

Sentence.

"opposite
each other like sun
and day moon
in an azure sky
together though apart
are we too at times"

--an'ya

The Black Hours.

( via / via )

Hofstraat, Ostend.

"The Bark

I took my dog to the lake, he stood at the water's edge and barked, the echo of his bark came back and he barked at it, again and again he barked at his own echo thinking there was another dog on the other side of the lake. Welcome to poetry, I said." --Mary Ruefle (via @ac_haver)

Sunset, Matt, Sawston.

"Word of the Day: PEFFLE (v.) to cough dryly [19thC dial.]" --@haggardhawks

This is the most meditative part.

( varoush khosravians in asemic / via )

The other carousel.

"When meet and talk to a Palestinian, never ask them about Hamas or any other organization.
Just talk to them about Palestine, the Palestine they cannot live in, the Palestine they could only hear stories about from older people.
Just ask them about life under occupation, about their parents and their grandparents, about refugee camps and checkpoints, about the absence of airports, seaports, and border control, about lost family members and friends, and about their dreams.
Yes, ask them about dreams. And don’t look shocked when you hear their answers."

--@MosabAbuToha

Still Life with Buddleia.

floor that fractures · what falls there
quirkily quelling · the quisling drake
clear morninglight · a love sunken
into the floor fast · with its fracturing sheen

Untame.

( via / via )

The Angels of the Pyramids.

armored · into the void
wounded, weary · worried about
high creakings · of the roller coaster scaffold
fire up the frame · for the fremd spectacle

BASALT RT #49.

"My roots are threaded, like fibres in a flowerpot, round and round about the world." --Woolf

These laments that break the years.

( via / via )

"Writers, who must be read in order to survive, have generally responded to this cultural schism—recently schematized by Anna Kornbluh as the rift between form and immediacy—by either embracing a first-person approach, which values authenticity, reliability, and mundanity (you can’t read, but neither can I), or by embracing craft (I can read better than you)."

"Shadows in the yard,
Quink-blue and gradually
shifting, like those eels we used to see
above the weir, thick
whipcords of lust
and instinct, surging
headlong through the mystery of grass."

--John Burnside - 'Aubade (In Memoriam J.P.)' via @timesflow

One of the most intense heatwaves in African temperature history.

nothing at all new
nothing at all learned
a fly in my chardonnay
nothing at all new
no need to deny
what can't be said aloud
nothing at all new
nothing at all learned

The Mud that Lingers.

( via / via )

"Her films overflow with the strangeness and plasticity of sexed and gendered bodies, simmering with promises of corporeal liberation and its attendant dangers."

plaster still supplies · plaintively its chirr
this solstice simmering · unsaying the password

Therefore.

"I’m thinking of a labor movement, but one very different than the kind we’ve already seen. A labor movement that manages to finally ditch all traces of the ideology that says that work is a value in itself, but rather redefines labor as caring for other people."

- David Graeber (via @EverySongIveEve)

Campus of scientific research and technological applications built in the north coast of egypt in the 90s.

( via / via via Mefi )

"This scenario sounds absurd to most people, yet there are a surprising number of technologists who think it illustrates a real danger. Why? Perhaps it’s because they’re already accustomed to entities that operate this way: Silicon Valley tech companies." (via Mefi)

"The Old English for ‘to slay a dragon’ was 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯—which, if it survived to today, would be ‘to quell (a) drake’." --@wylfcen

Bus stop.

"Song of the Horseman

Córdoba.
Remote and lonely.

Jet-black mare and full round moon,
With olives in my saddle bags.
Although I know the road so well
I shall not get to Córdoba.

Across the plain, across the wind,
Jet-black mare and full red moon,
Death is gazing down upon me,
Down from the towers of Córdoba.

Ay! The road so dark and long.
ay! My mare so tired yet brave.
Death is waiting for me there
Before I get to Córdoba.

Córdoba.
Remote and lonely."

--Garcia Lorca (tr Roy Campbell) [Lojban translation]

Last light on the broken shore.

( via / via )

Pastel Dingbat.

"To Juan de la Cruz at the Summer Solstice"

a simmering sound · descends in slow waves
through the thick heat · that stymies thought
cold-capsuled · cars press in clumps
with prim purpose · or pressing need

if any story stirs · these stubborn roundheads
it's not wicker witchcraft · or wise Jehovah
but the yodelling yahoos · of yore whose horse
could melt miles away · in the middle of nowhere

"He finds a way back into the dream-corridors of the clinic in a vain search for Vallejo; hiding in an empty room, he witnesses an apparently significant conversation but cannot hear it through the window."

"Intelligence is like exams. You always think the chap sitting next to you knows more than you do." --The Tailor of Panama

From the Zothique cycle.

( via / via )

"Stars and blossoming fruit trees..."

"There is a world that poets cannot seem to enter. It is the world everybody else lives in. And the only thing poets seem to have in common is their yearning to enter this world." --Mary Ruefle (via @neonpajamas)

Quietly working away.

"Evening Song

At evening, when we walk on dark trails,
our bleached selves appear before us.

Thirsty
we drink from the pond’s white water,
the sweetness of our mournful childhood.

Weary, we rest beneath the elderberry
to behold the dawning gulls.

Spring clouds rise above the town’s dark thoughts—
mute, the monks’ nobler days.

As I took your tiny hands
your round eyes gently broke upon me.
This was long ago.

And yet, when darker songs descend upon the soul,
you appear—a whiteness—in your friend’s autumn landscape."

--Georg Trakl. Translated by Eric Plattner

The Wood at Midwinter.

( via / via )

How the Solar System moves.

“The Face in the Mirror

Grey haunted eyes, absent-mindedly glaring
From wide, uneven orbits; one brow drooping
Somewhat over the eye
Because of a missile fragment still inhering,
Skin deep, as a foolish record of old-world fighting.

Crookedly broken nose—low tackling caused it;
Cheeks, furrowed; coarse grey hair, flying frenetic;
Forehead, wrinkled and high;
Jowls, prominent; ears, large; jaw pugilistic;
Teeth, few; lips, full and ruddy; mouth, ascetic.

I pause with razor poised, scowling derision
At the mirrored man whose beard needs my attention,
And once more ask him why
He still stands ready, with a boy’s presumption,
To court the queen in her high silk pavilion."

--Robert Graves via

Solstice hare.

A few hundred years & no trace of paint or the oil companies will remain, just Stonehenge & the angry sky.

"He watches a lot of opera DVDs, thinks about his ex-girlfriend, wanders the city, and begins conversing with an angel, Leo-Eric Fu, whom he meets at cafes to discuss loneliness, life and the koans of Celan."

( via / me )

Net Zero.

"...nothing is more predictable than the media's parrotting of its own fictions and the terror of each competitor that it will be scooped by the others, whether or not the story is true, because quite frankly, dears, in the news game these days, we don't have the staff, time, interest, energy, literacy or minimal sense of responsibility to check our facts except calling up whatever has been written by other hacks on the same subject and repeating it as gospel." --The Tailor of Panama (1996)

Elbruz Speaks.

   rattle of membranes
in the trees unseen · not yet
   caraway Dog Days

"Above all, don't lie to yourself."

( via / via )

Frutiger Aero aesthetic.

"BOOK I, 'Society Saved' 15: Confrontations

Speak, you cadavers! Who was it that slew you?
Whose hands puts these blades to your chest to plunge through you?
You first, in the shadows there, newly deceased
Your name?—It’s Religion. —Your killer? —The priests.
—You, your names? —Modesty, Reason, Truth, Virtue.
—And who was it cut all your gullets? —The Church—You?
—I am the faith of the Public. —Who stabbed you?
—The oath. —You there, sleeping in blood, stained red through?
—Justice was my name. —By which stabber gored?
—The Judge. —And you, Giant, without sheath or sword
Your bright-burning halo blacked out by much mud?
—I’m Austerlitz. —Who killed you? —The army did."

--Victor Hugo tr Adam Roberts via

Sunset after Rain.

"I am a graveyard hated by the moon."

— Charles Baudelaire (translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay) via @Isidro_Li

The Joke.