Monday, March 20, 2006

alas
(via ircruis* dot com)


   "Almanzor"

Vanish nirvana divan
writhing liaison divan

lungfish down did rain afraid
with all of his frost divan

slow and coruscating blood
tubular pillbug divan

ink stomp of cold spoons Grinchus
crisp to crystal words divan



"Siegfried. How? do you rhyme too?

Isbrand. Sometimes, in leisure moments
And a romantic humour; this I made
One night a-strewing poison for the rats
In the kitchen corner."

--D*ath's J*st-Book


"And sitting in his dark tower, an ancient and powerful evil, spoken of only in legend, watches and waits for the signs that his true reign is near."


Sunday, March 19, 2006

"Over and over again, for the last nearly 40 years, we have shown just how well we’ve mastered this economically worthless skill."


"[The] leading cause of house fires in the Soviet Union was television sets that exploded spontaneously." --L*nin's Tomb (p. 203), quoted in Amis op cit


   "Galaxy 666"

Fractal in a cloud caftan
paintball folds basalt caftan

a soft vacant horizon
hurls my anagram caftan

shown a jinn diapason
Grinchus jigs polka caftan



"Self-destruction may feel like rebellion in a society where weakness and doubt are increasingly looked upon as suspect behaviors."


Saturday, March 18, 2006

   "Xul Azul"

though from afar it
could pass for magic
it is sand and a dry
vast crawl to cross it

though i may impart
ruinous glowworms
for stars as gray pours
down into this room

i know it is no way out


"Keep it in your own dark heart."


What up. Ilka bits: "The fact that there is South Korean hiphop is wack enough, but imagine a vast China enthralled with Korean hiphop! ...BEOWULF is still a compelling work of fantasy, but we no longer have the context in which Beowulf was composed: some bard with a harp comes trudging over a hill and is welcomed by the tribal warriors of the local community in some kind of longhouse. I get a similar frisson when I think of fifty-cent paperback Ace Doubles in a rotating wire rack at the bus station. ...High-tech, low-cost terrorism could be the new extreme sport. ...If it weren't for Hitler, Mao, Stalin and Gandhi, the 20th century would have developed worldwide at a cracking free-market pace, in peace and prosperity, and we ALL WOULD HAVE FRIED HORRIBLY CHOKING ON OUR OWN SPEW sometime in the 1960s... ...If civilization collapses or takes a major hit, it's gonna be like living in New Orleans now, only on a planetary scale."


Friday, March 17, 2006

alas
(via chinadaily dot com)


"CHESSFLASH WORLD NEWS- November 3, 2005 New Orleans, Louisiana PAUL MORPHY GRAVE INTACT..... In response to worldwide inquiries Chesslab's very own New Orleans professional chess master Jude Acers today visited the New Orleans tomb of American chess meteor/world chess champion Paul Charles Morphy (1837-1884)-with two American Red Cross workers. It is INTACT- SAVED by $50 ,000 remodeling shortly before the monster Katrina hurricane struck..all 8 members of the Morphy family gravesite are now in one tomb. Note for daily visitors with cameras... OPEN 9AM- 3PM but DAYLIGHT HOURS ONLY FOR TOURISTS TO EVEN APPROACH. Not safe at night)" (via Ch*sslab)


   "Compulsory Parturition"

i do not want to watch actors
simulating pain and mortal anguish

though a clock's hand has grown toward
our turmoil's midnight as i was dozing

sobbing night birds loud against night traffic


Thursday, March 16, 2006

Top10 Mozarabs. Cat St*v*ns. Richard Burton. Marmaduk* Pickthall. Lor**na McK*nnitt (on Th* Mask and th* Mirror). L*onard Coh*n (R*c*nt Songs). Madonna ("Frozen" vid*o). T 3 Lawr*nc*. Gw*ndolyn Mac3w*n. H*nri Corbin. Hakim B*y.


alas
Kokoschka- "N*w York" (via class dot uh dot *du)


Ibid.


Proulx brouhaha.


Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Turkish Futharks.


During Idol, a Fid*lity ad with "In-a-Gadda-da-Vida" & lascivious cartoon blooms.


Snapshot of Khidr. (via robotwisdom)


Tuesday, March 14, 2006

alas
(via astro dot umd dot *du slash tild* hamilton)


Turkish borrowings.


Muwashshah.


Monday, March 13, 2006

"There was a ghostly epiphany, a ghostly confirmation, when, in the late 1980s, the number of home casualties in the [Vi*tnam] war was officially exceeded by the number of suicides among its veterans." --Martin Amis, Koba th* Dr*ad (2002)


   "Potlatch

   Dead leaves swirl:
are we not yet sick of war?
After this the pearl
dead leaves swirl,
and hunger trails the haggard squirrel.
No nuts stored before
dead leaves swirl.

Are we not yet sick of war?"

--3rnst Kipling



"I consider it a source of pride that these two blog carnivals are how we in the Islamsphere have responded to the Danish cartoon issue. "


Sunday, March 12, 2006

On my victrola- Mario P*ralta at th* R*g*ncy


'The only thing incredible in Defoe is that he wrote all that he wrote." --Th* Ag* of Louis XIV


   "Gibbous Psalm

In dreams I wander free, exile no more;
In Djuna's arms I lie, exile no more.

When I meet those who speak my inner language
Our slant is understood, exile no more.

Far from the crush of cities I dismount
To dance beside a fire, exile no more.

My poem silently hurls through interstellar
Space to find its mark: exile no more.

Before I've had my coffee yet I reach
And grasp with left hand first--exile no more."

--Mustapha Mond



3xodus.


Saturday, March 11, 2006

   "I Am Still King"

spiral strands of mutiny
lavish hands of mutiny

slow and coruscating blood
blooms on sands of mutiny

against Clown Moloch align
cryptic brands of mutiny

Grinchus in his art too finds
stark commands of mutiny


Friday, March 10, 2006

   "Crowns"

Mirrormask fistula brisk
or go broom ambit gallop

us skipping off with ash stilbs
ruinously slow gallop

abstract crown sill us skipping
go brood agony boudoir

abort briskly gorp pools amps
gallop ambit abstract silt


Thursday, March 09, 2006

"One girl I tutored had the lugubrious task of responding to an essay called "Bring Flogging Back" which, when I googled it later, turned out (as I'd suspected) to be a satire, and a rather notorious one. The girl, however, chose to write in support of the reintroduction of this bygone means of punishment. And to clinch her case, she had baldly declared that, at an earlier age (and presumably in another country) she had experienced flogging for her political activities; and she knew it worked. For she had never done ever that again." --Ostrogoth d* Pulfass*, M*ditations on Oxyg*n


   "Food Cravings"

torn continuum
grisly anguish according to inch

stopping dig until futility outpours
ammonia

against truth victorious
tsunami glottal

dying rain
indigo ogham putsch silt



Post Oscar Vidal.


"The United States is the first country in history to destroy the prospects and living standards of its labor force."


Scoping out: Colors Insulting to Natur*


Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Monday, March 06, 2006

   "Oscar:Bang-CRASH-Wow!

Wake up everybody, it's 4:30 a.m., and I'm ready to hash and rehash last night's Oscar telecast.

Well, I watched this year's Oscar show out of a habit, of course, but I also watched for one thing in particular--and that was to see Reese Witherspoon claim a statuette for Best Actress.  With that being the case, I got out of the Oscars exactly what I wanted. Witherspoon's victory was wonderful for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which was how sorely the Academy genuinely needed Witherspoon's star quality to give its award(s) credibility in a time when moviegoing is on a bit of a decline in general and the gap between Oscar nominated films and "mainstream" moviemaking is, arguably, wider than it's ever been.  Witherspoon's "Walk the Line" (a cinematic retelling of the decades long love story between driven country singer Johnny Cash and second generation Nashville royalty June Carter) proves that it's possible to make a picture that appeals to both the average moviegoer (witness its long, long box office legs and recent record or near record success in the DVD market), and the film professionals that populate the Academy.  There was a time when such success wasn't really considered a fluke.  Beyond that, "Walk the Line" is a movie that serves up something palpable....energy, excitement, emotion.  I don't know how, exactly, to put into words the effect this movie has had on me, but, for me, its pull is irresistible.  Anyway, I think both Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix (as Cash) achieve perfection and I'm thrilled that at least one of them got the industry's highest recognition.

Plus, wasn't Witherspoon the very model of a gracious Oscar winner?  She's already lovely, of course, and last night in her silvery-champagne colored lacey ballgown with her hair pulled back in loose waves, she looked just like, oh, say, a china doll, or the heir apparent to Grace Kelly. Whatever.  She looked like a movie star,
and her speech was sincere and thoughtful.  Witherspoon allowed herself to feel the emotion of the moment without becoming gushy or hysterical--and she pretty much avoided the by now tired inclination to prattle off a list of agents, handlers, etc.  Instead, Witherspoon made a point of reminding people that June Carter Cash was a real woman, and I think the point of that was not just that Carter had been
an actual living breathing human being, but that as a character she was complex and three dimensional, not a cardboard cut-out, or mere extension of a man.  Witherspoon then thanked her brilliant co-star, Joaquin Phoenix, her parents, and her husband and kids.  Perfect.
Her speech was the difference between using the occasion to say something meaningful--without necessarily getting political--and just winging it, or thanking everybody a person has ever known.

The second biggie was that "Crash" (featuring, among others, Ryan Phillippe. Witherspoon's husband--very cool) upset the mountain known as "Brokeback" in the Best Picture race.  Of course, "Crash" was one of my two favorite 2005 films (the other being "Walk the Line"), and I never hid the fact that I much preferred it to the presumed frontrunner "Brokeback Mountain." If I'd had a week longer to figure my PREDICTIONS, I might have bumped "Crash" up from the place to win position; that is, based on what I'd begun seeing and hearing.  Still, there was every reason in the world to believe "Brokeback" would win.  After all, it is/was the year's most nominated film, it had won more
"Best Picture" precursors (including the Directors Guild and Producers
Guild awards) and it was also the top grossing film in the bunch.  So, what happened? Did the Academy back away from "Brokeback" because it was too gay?  Not likely. After all, back in 1969 the Academy gave Best Picture to "Midnight Cowboy," an X-rated film, about a male hustler--with homosexual undertones--and that was the same year that longtime screen icon, and standard bearer for traditional American
values, John Wayne won Best Actor for "True Grit." Old Hollywood meets New Hollywood and all that.
   
So, how to explain the "Crash" win?  Call it the L.A. connection.  Over the past two weeks reports began surfacing that "Crash" was definitely capturing the imagination of the Academy's west coast membership. Makes sense to me.  After all, "Crash" is about life in L.A.  It's a west coast phenomenon, as opposed to "Brokeback," which was ardently supported by much of the east coast based media. Important distinction.  (By the way, did you ever think you'd ever see the day in which Tony Danza, of all people, could boast of having
a role in a Best Picture winner???)  Also, "Crash" was a real actor's
picture (witness its SAG award for Best Ensemble). "Brokeback"  really
only had a handful of characters, or speaking parts...the 2 men, their wives, and a few characters that float in and out of their lives (foreman, father-in-law, bar maid, etc.).  "Crash," on the other hand had dozens of speaking roles; moreover, it had a surprisingly large number of memorable characters (surprising because there were so many characters in the first place...yet they were so vividly drawn in spite of their limited screentime). A lesser clue to Crash 's success has to do with the trophy it won for Best Editing.  It's not that movies that win Best Editing also win Best Picture, not at all; however, it is rare that a movie that isn't at least nominated for Best Editing wins Best Picture.  You have to go all the way back to 1980's "Ordinary People" to find a movie that won the top prize without being on the final ballot for editing. And this year, "Brokeback" wasn't nominated, but "Crash" was--and, as noted, it won.

Plus, as I wrote in my "PREDICTIONS,"  "Crash" was the more
artistically daring movie.  How so?  How is it possible to be more artistically daring than gay cowboys?  To me, only the "idea" of "Brokeback" was daring. In reality, the movie was squarely conventional. Oh sure,  the movie confounds audience expectations
by presenting gay men that don't fit the stereotype of  nellie queens who work as hairdressers or interior decorators...but so what?  I think audiences would be more challenged by a movie that asks audiences to care for totally flaming queers madly in love with each other and the idea of doin' the nasty all over the place.  You
know, happy queers determined to live life on their own terms.  Maybe the movie could then end with a brutal Matthew Shephard (sp?) slaughter, so as to incense the audience, make them feel angry at the injustice (not that I advocate violence against any particular group of people), or maybe the characters could just flaunt their homosexuality, ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.  Now, that would be a real eye opener.  But "Brokeback" is a joyless affair. These men are drawn to each other, but for what?  Their coupling doesn't seem to bring either of them happiness, and they spend a lot of time discussing their feelings about "this thing" (as Heath Ledger's Ennis calls it).  The movie never answers the question as to why audiences should care about these characters in the first place.  Movies are a visual medium, they can express worlds of things without getting into words.  "Walk the Line" is a movie that shows two people, with lots of emotional baggage,  who are so passionately in love they melt just looking at each other.  And think back a couple years ago when Diane Lane was nominated for Best Actress for "Unfaithful."  She was an adulteress who found enormous pleasure being naughty while at the same time being enormously conflicted because she was actually happily married.  Lane could register all these emotions across her face without a lick of dialogue.  "Brokeback" is missing that kind of magic.  The movie has good intentions, but, ulimately, it's safe: "Gee, look at the poor pitiful homosexuals." What's so big about that?  (Even "Capote," a movie I had structural problems with,  didn't back away from testing the audience's patience with an unflattering portrait of effeminate writer Truman Capote, played by Oscar winner Philip Seymour Hoffman).
"Crash," on the other hand, constantly defies its audiences to continue watching as its characters deal with the whole ugly spectrum of racism.  Characters that seem bad are seen in another light, while characters that seem good turn out to be guilty of horrible acts.  Always gripping, always surprising. Talk about the human condition.
Yikes! Entertaining?  Maybe not so much. But the movie has a lasting quality. How else to explain that it should win an Oscar almost ten month since it was first released.  I've loved "Crash" since I first saw it last spring, and I'm thrilled it won Best Picture. Maybe I'll
buy the DVD next weekend.  Btw, this is only third Best Picture winner, after "Silence of the Lambs" (1991), and "Gladiator"
(2000), to be available for home viewing at Oscar time.  Also, I'm 99.9% certain it's the first Best Picture to win as few as three awards (Picture, Original Screenplay, Editing) since "The Godfather" (which took home Picture, Actor [Marlon Brando who infamously
declined] and Adapted Screenplay.)

"Crash" was independently made, but like "Memoirs of a Geisha,"
which was from a big studio, it shows that quality, far reaching movies can still be made in Hollywood. I think it's totally cool that a movie like "Geisha," set in Japan, but filmed mostly in and around   the LA area, won Oscars for for Costumes, Art Direction and Cinematography. There was a time when nothing seemed beyond the reach of Hollwyood designers and technicians. Nowadays, a lot of movies are being made in New Zealand, Budapest, Romania, and Canada--and Hollywood, save for tv production, is mostly a ghost of its former self (though glitzed up for tourists). Welcome back.  (Though "Good Night and Good Luck" was shut-out, it was also filmed entirely in Hollywood.)

Okay, four movies won three Oscars each: "Crash," "Brokeback"
(Director, Adapted Screenplay, Score), "Geisha," and "King Kong"
(Visual Effects, Sound Mix, and Sound Effects Editing); "Capote" and "Walk the Line" were singles, as were "The Constant Gardener," "Syriana," "The Chronicles of Narnia," "March of the Penguins," "Tsotsi" and, oh yes, "Hustle and Flow."

Rachel Weisz of "The Constant Gardener" was a perfectly gracious winner. Hers was not my absolute favorite supporting actress performance--that would have been Amy Adams, of "Junebug"--but I loved "The Constant Gardener," and Weisz was my PREDICTION, so I'm happy.  I like George Clooney (loved, loved, loved him in 2000's "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"), but I wasn't crazy about "Syriana," and while I personally don't mind political speeches--from winners, not presenters--I'm afraid some people were probably turned off by his and turned off their sets.  Oh, and it was fun that one of the winners gave a shout-out to the folks at the Tisch School of the Arts at NYU since I have a friend whose daughter is currently enrolled at Tisch. Hey, Auburn!

Okay, I wasn't thrilled that Philip Seymour Hoffman won, but it was hardly a surprise. Still, he'd been the frontrunner since December, he'd  already won just about every prize on the planet, so why wasn't he more prepared?  He looked sloppy, and practically all he could do was say how "overwhelmed" he was.  That noted, I will applaud him for thanking his mom, a single mother of four.  Nice touch.  Oh, and I absolutely hate that "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp," a song that glorifies misogyny, won an Oscar. THis actually makes me so mad, I don't think I can even tap into my feelings to express it objectively.

Best Dressed?  For me, it was Ziyi Zhang, who wowed in a beaded number with a black bustier top and a full skirt with black and silver sparkles.  I loved Witherspoon, of course, and Uma Thurman, in floaty, creme colored chiffon (sporting a hairdo nearly like Witherspoon's.  Ditto Weisz.)  Salma Hayek was a knockout in a form fitting peacock blue number, and  Veronica Lake hair. And, okay, I'll go with Jessica
Alba and her slinky gold gown that made her look like Ms. Oscar.  The worst dressed wasn't a woman, though Charlize Theron came close, what with that ridiculous oversized bow, but instead a man: Best Adapted Screenplay winner Larry McMurtry wearing jeans and a tux.  I also wasn't crazy about the kimono inspired get-up worn by Best Costume
winner Colleen Atwood.  Why is that costume designers are usually among the worst dressed?  I thought Nicole Kidman looked washed-out in ivory, and Jennifer Lopez looked a little overdone with all that bronzer.  

The tribute to film noir was badly planned.  Why begin with the familiar strains of the theme from "Laura," and a larger than life image of Lauren Bacall? Bacall wasn't in "Laura." That was Gene Tierney.  Bacall was clearly having a hard time with the teleprompter, and it was embarrassing. Not crazy either about the male makeup artist from "Narnia" who spoke so long he stepped on the chance for his co-winner to speak.  How thoughtless.  Again, people should be better prepared.  Also, it was rude the way the orchestra played during speeches--clearly a move to keep winners from becoming comfortable in order to intimidate them into shorter speeches so the show could keep moving, which it did?  But for what?  a TV size tribute to widescreen movies? I say less "theme" clips and more time for speeches.  I thought last year's approach of presenting some awards from the floor of the auditorium was neat because it reduced all that walking to the stage, thus allowing more time for acceptances.

I'm not a regular viewer of Jon Stewart's "Daily Show," but I think he's funny most of the time.  Last night I thought he was a little too dry for the occasion. Some of his monolgue bits fell flat or barely rated more than a chuckle, though he got better as the night progressed.  I did like the intro, with all the most recent Oscar hots, the bit with Tom Hanks being crowded on the stage by the orchestra, the out of context clips from vintage westerns, and Stewart's joke about Bjork, she of the infamous swan dress, being accidentally shot by Vice President Dick Cheney.  The rest of the funny bits were the appearance of Dallas's Wilson brothers (Luke and Owen), Will Ferrell and Steve Carell haming it up when presenting Best Makeup, and Ben Stiller's uproarious bit with the green unitard and the non-existent special effects green screen.  Oh yeah, loved the spot-on parodies of political campaign ads.

Last year, the Academy finally honored Sidney Lumet; this year it was Robert Altman's turn--and cleverly introduced by Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep in Altman's signature style of overlapping dialogue.  Now, as Jon Stewart put it, it's zero Oscars for Martin Scorsese, while the members of 3-6 Mafia can boast of being Academy Award winning
singer-songwriters.  Suddenly, life no longer seems so hard for a pimp.

Any questions, comments, good natured differences of opinions???

Thanks for your consideration.
Mp" (M*lani* Pruit)


 

   "Die Faster

to know to the penny
what you carry;
to harbor the cough
that doesn't go away: these
are the Puppies of Hell;

to not want to enter
anyplace they might pierce you
with that look."

--Silas Haslam, D*carbonat*d Od*s (1995)



Styrofoam not immortal now? (via R*b*cca Blood)


Sunday, March 05, 2006

"Never a serenity to clasp
more than a bird's shadow; never a certainty
to hold, more than a cloud's...

These things he knows
            are someone else's
heirlooms,

alien,
      fossil-frail;
are not what he would choose

to impart
         to a spacecraft
leaving the Solar System."

--Silas Haslam, Po*tic Parall*logram (1994)



Waiting for You.


On my victrola- Momus: Circus Maximus


Friday, March 03, 2006

"...This patient must be now trephined,
   Let all the others go;
To-morrow when the sun is up
   My magic I'll them show.'

Two men the epileptic bore
   And laid him on a trunk,
And when the wretch was coming round
   He showed some signs of funk.

No questions put they to the man;
   The doctor cleared his throat,
Then, bringing flints from out his hut,
   Took off his hairy coat.

A crowd had gathered all around,
   To watch the bloody deed;
Their curiosity was stirred
   To see his devil freed.

With sharp flint flake the surgeon made
   A cruciform incision;
The blood did spurt, the wound did hurt,
   The crowd laughed in derision.

The two assistants pressed the flaps
   To stop the blood from running;
The Medicine-Man did scheme and plan,
   He was so full of cunning.

He scraped the pericranium,
   Until the skull was bare;
Then scratched the bone with a sharp stone,
   it did not matter where.

He scraped that bone and scratched and scraped--
   The scratches made a groove,
The groove a basin-like ellipse.
   The patient did not move.

The fact was this, when he came round
   So rotten did he feel,
He fainted when he found himself
   The centre of such zeal.

The hollow soon became a hole,
   'Twas all but through the bone,
His diploë, you well might see,
   But still he made no moan.

The inner table only now
   Protected his soft brain,
One final scrape and he did make
   That hole a window-pane.

The devil stirred within his skull
   And, with a fearful yell,
Escaped from out its prison-house
   To seek its own in hell."

--Thomas Wilson Parry (1918), in: Richard Rudgl*y, Lost Civilizations of the Ston* Ag* (1998)



"More than 200,000 riders of all ages, ethnic origins and economic levels come together on DART's buses and trains each day, and the poems are there for all to enjoy."


"The giraffe is now the tallest statue of anything in Texas..."


Thursday, March 02, 2006

   "Bush at the Grave of Mohandas Gandhi

We watch, as from those hands such flowers fall,
how things have learned to walk which ought to crawl."

--Victor V*rmis


"The sounds of shooting and explosions usually begin at dawn, at least that's when I first sense them, and they don't really subside until well into the night."


"Two months later my friend sheepishly came over to my apartment with 10 hour long video tapes of a Pakistani television broadcast of the life of Ghalib. He had received the package from his dad with a note that he was to sit with me and watch the whole thing, translating the entire 10 hours."



“When I complete my forty-eight-volume encyclopaedia, all the great ideas and words that ever need to be uttered will have been said; I will fill that unbelievable gap in one stroke; every one of them will be utterly bewildered.”


"That's the flip side of the Mad Max scenario; the supposed return of pastorality , where there are no TVs and everyone eats goat cheese. But this delusion doesn't have any more to do with the way things are going to be than the dystopian apocalyptic view. Those are like psychic tumors, stress reactions, visions of powerlessness. What we really need is some way to make sense of our predicament and to empower people to control their own destiny." --Bruc* St*rling, in: Acros th* Wound*d Galaxi*s


"As I approach East Broadway station, suddenly the carriage fills with sane people. Tall, thin people who talk to each other warmly and animatedly, people who look poised and intelligent, people who look as if they live in groups and realize that society is all about obligation, and achievement comes collectively. They're the Americans of the future, and they're Chinese."


Tuesday, February 28, 2006

alas
(via ianandmanda dot typ*pad dot com slash blog)


   "Orison of the Salamanders

Albino wolves drowse
tonight, albino wolves.
Succeeding waves
on a beach of black glass
whose pauses exend
from the start of my life
to its end.
Albino wolves drowse;
rabbits dig.
Madness is the promised land
sometimes & when it digs
all the way thru
to here,
I sit & cannot say a thing
amidst thousands
of blind hands,

albino wolves."

--Camil* M**sh, Axis Cookbook (2004)



Acad*my Award Nomin**.


My Favorit* Hijab Stor*.


Stairway to Downfall.


Monday, February 27, 2006

"Intellectual progress, artistic creativity, the ecvolution of rational thought and technical change came to a virtual standstill during the Empire, and in some areas ground was actually lost. Instead the arts of copying, compilation, and technical virtuosity flourished." --Paul Zank*r, Th* Pow*r of Imags in th* Ag* of Augustus (1988)


"I'll never understand the kind of writer who genuinely advances the proposition that life is a dream or fiction. To me that's the voice of privilege, whether it's money, class, sex, color, or what have you. Most of us can't find refuge in anything so false." --Joanna Russ,in: Across th* Wound*d Galaxi*s


"The whole idea of going from your own world to an alien world makes sense only if you're not an alien in your own world." --ibid


Sunday, February 26, 2006

Claymation Kitty.


   "Samarra"

drift Karnak sands
around my walking twigs, and quartz Latin sands
which
sigil sands
murmurous of black suns long malign
murmurous hubbub sands
rain, ruins this town will turn into
run with wolf sands
ghost skirmish occurs again, clogs my sight this
sands
pallid fall
drift Karnak harsh sounds of abort sands
my morning run and roil
Orion's arm pharming black iron sands


Saturday, February 25, 2006

   "Potatory Inlet

this
thing, this
morass.

not are you out of it
yet:
having to walk with your
head turned away all the time,
gives a stiff neck
& you keep tripping.

but me, I
parted with that piñata
a long ways back.
O, I can't more than
crawl
with the floor this canted &

really wish
all my stuff hadn't fallen
down there out of reach but
I know where I stand
in this thing, this
tender boggy quagmire

fathomless
--not infinite"

--Rush Mahogany, Th* Harbrac* of Psoriasis (1967)
Th* Pow*r of Imag*s in th* Ag* of Augustus.


   "Crimson Oscar"

smoothing away skald postcards
absorb Whig postcards

ruinous fog and winding angrily cliff
walk postcards

gallop autopsy polyps psalm us
for bringing Algol postcards

star cold Grinchus rain
thrown windowsthrough crystal rock postcards



Friday, February 24, 2006

   "SOUTH DAKOTA"

A
dusk, a
tooth, a skud

hat too. To
husk a
toad.


Thursday, February 23, 2006

   "A Million Tiny Fibs"

sudoku kudos adorn
sobbing skalds

sunlight skulk:ruinous     idioms
polish a rain odd fossicking crystal ink
as polyps aborts

Ibycus Xibalba anchoring
against is akin

walking slush adorns ash us
sudoku
uncanny align with ignorant shag stoop



On my victrola: Sup*r Furry Animals.


Wednesday, February 22, 2006

   "Tara"

Sciamachy chill
or gill as shadowy lilt, basilisk chill

Rim mutiny--morning gray
rainbow chill

I; for folk for rim mutiny room
hazarding myrrh chill

Than final dust crystal flying lungfish to
rain with tuatara chill

Ink dark cant wodwo unknown Grinchus
will waltz chill


Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Triad of Plutonian moons.


"Of course it's meteorological! Everything including dreams is meteorological." -- R A Laff*rty


"Precisely when the students think they're really writing about 'what happened to them.' that's when they are most in the grip of literary clichés and stereotypes. What excited them to write about an incident in the first place was that the reality was already so close to the cliché: that's what made it seem such good story material." --Samu*l R D*lany, in: Across th* Wound*d Galaxi*s, L McCaff*ry (1990)


Lord Minimus.


Monday, February 20, 2006

alas
(via doodl*bops dot info)


   "Suburbs"

Profound crystal doom
of down lungfish indigo idol

Act frabjous
nyctalops is strung raucous clasping idol

Mountain rotor impacts doom
of idol borborygm twisting indigo

Slow fulcrum indigo igloo off
gill as shadow lilt

Inform idol filth against
doom dizzy



Havin' fun. (via Nomadics)


Sunday, February 19, 2006

   "THERAPEUTIC MISADVENTURE

In the Morgue of Dreams
I found my own.

Not yet prettified by the undertaker,
it still bore the marks
of how it had died--

by violence,
by many hands."

--Aaron Gut*n, op cit



Rigorous Intuition.


Pluto Today.


Friday, February 17, 2006

alas
(via univ*rs*-r*vi*w dot ca)


   "Astronautics"

Horntoad corndog and Mars winds
through whirling phobia winds.

Oil foison cusp but worry
not: human void will wash winds.

This collaborinth flings snool
upon snool, black and gray winds.

All Grinchus asks is that sky
withhold its haul of pun winds.



To trust nothing.


Th* R*al Dr Frank*nst*in. (via B*yond Th* B*yond)


Thursday, February 16, 2006

Ston*fridg*


" I came across this fragment in Schlegel's Athenaeum Fragments:
'434. Should poetry simply be divided up? Or should it remain one and indivisible? Or fluctuate between division and union? Most of the ways of conceiving a poetical world are still as primitive and childish as the old pre-Copernican ideas of astronomy. The usual classifications of poetry are mere dead pedantry designed for people with limited vision. Whatever somebody is capable of producing, or whatever happens to be in fashion, is the stationary earth at the center of all things. But in the universe of poetry nothing stands still, everything is developing and changing and moving harmoniously; and even the comets obey invariable laws of motion. But until the course of these heavenly bodes can be calculated and their return predicted, the true world system of poetry won't have been discovered.' " --via Bronw*n, opining on Silliman's Blog


"Perhaps a better question may be why does a mystical or Gnostical understanding of the material world still matter?"


On my victrola- Inlak*sh: Th* Dr*aming Gat*.


Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Prison Nation.


On my victrola- Oingo Boingo.


" "Our space vehicle," Frank Borman, the astronaut, wrote to Verne's grandson, "was launched from Florida, like [Verne's]; it had the same weight and the same height, and it splashed down in the Pacific a mere two and a half miles from the point mentioned in the novel." " --introduction to Paris in th* Tw*nti*th C*ntury (tr Richard Howard, 1996)


   "Burak"

Drain rain sound and koalang
sibilant Cibola sound and koalang

Snow cannon
at my carbs aims sound and koalang

Coulrophobia
Ubar sound and koalang

A grisly shortfall
labyrinth math sound and koalang

Grinchus splash
in a kiln pool of gun sound and koalang



alas
(via photojournal dot jpl dot nasa dot gov)


"Then again, when I was watching Predator I didn't think two members of its cast would become governors, either. So you never know."


Tuesday, February 14, 2006

alas
(via wallpap*r dot n*t dot au)


"The last thing that progressives need is to start adopting a conspiracist mindset, watching for the same black helicopters that visited the nightmares of '90s militiamen."


Orangutan.


Hot N*ptun*s.


"Borges is capable of making up much better books and monsters and authors than anyone can find in libraries." --G*n* Wolf*, in: Across th* Wound*d Galaxi*s (1990)


"Vast minotaurian corridors of sleep" --Osb*rt Sitw*ll


This much is known.


"A story: reality has become so mutable, & the senses so untrustworthy, that many have become completely skeptical of their surroundings, & only manage to survive by clinging to a fixed routine. Their chant: HOLD TO THE PATTERN / KEEP TO THE PATTERN / ONLY THE PATTERN IS REAL." --Alf Boustrophedon, Po*'ts Mark*t (2012)


"The face of Fate is wet with other paint
Than that incarnadines the human clown"

--Osb*rt Sitw*ll


Post Lunch. (photo by Mich*ll* Rh*a)


Monday, February 13, 2006

"Because of the advent of the lightbulb, people sleep 500 hours less each year than they used to."


Okay... (via M*tafilt*r)


   "Why Cats Paint

Pergamum awaits.
In the shadow of the boarded-up tower
now never to complete,

Pergamum awaits.
In the Great Hall cold though spring without burgeons,
Pergamum.

In the armature of betrayals here
glistening like dawnwebs,
Pergamum, Pergamum.

Pergamum.
What haven't I given you,
lozenge of sunlight creeping; what

haven't I accepted
of your Vanilla Fudge sonatas,
of your skull under fathoms of estuary?"

--Adam Cadmium, My Struggle with Symmetry (1946)


Sunday, February 12, 2006

"How utterly different our philosophies would have been had Nature economised with us, as she has done with other creatures, and given us eyes incapable of seeing the stars!" --Arthur C Clark*, Th* 3xploration of Spac* (1951)


51 P*gasi music. A.k.a. "Crazy Hors*".


"A Track, a Circling of Slow Wing Birds"

Abort palazzo
though any sky Karnak palazzo

Dodging thwarts
vodka martinis my sigil palazzo

Till our bombs unfurl again
i turn up gain on songs in iron palazzo

Grinchus holds whist in
a ghost hubbub palazzo



Th* song, scorn*d...


Saturday, February 11, 2006

"Certain poets require fees higher than the stated minimum: Antin $125, Kelly $200, McClure $300, Dorn $500, in each case plus expenses."


An oracular bard.


"Hafez would start versifying only when he was divinely inspired, and therefore he averaged only about 10 Ghazals per year."


"Visualize! howled the warm man, the keeper of FLARF INTO FREEDOMs
Alms for the poor! cried the briefly, flabbergasted FLARF INTO FREEDOM
With lightning strokes, the berserk shot foreward;quickly, rapidly
Stars filled his mind--it was if monkeys were slamming his head.
A chain growls noisily, but no one ever listens...
Last for the resisting first for the disemboweling--Now you must formulate
Billowing, recalling, the berserk felt like a prostitute.
With doubtful nostrils and tolerant resolution I can
Weap bitter tears, blank face, like Crazy Horse.. . Nothing are you, or will you ever be."

--K*n Springtail



Plan*t 3ast*rbunny.


Thursday, February 09, 2006

"Letter of Palestanian child to Queen of Sweden
By Jalila Jishi

To the queen distant from my mother's painful wounds
Speak not of what you do not know about my mother and me
In her bread, there is a warmth that fills the world with love
In her dress, there is a scent that fills the world with care.
Excuse me ... but do not, against her, make unjust accusations.
My mother who was orphaned
My mother who was widowed
My mother who, in her face, the massacres of my people are etched
My mother who held in her palms the flaming coals of steadfastedness
My mother who witnessed in her age the bitterness of chains
My mother who embraced death alone, behind the borders
And my mother who lost my father as she patiently awaited eras
And my mother who sacrificed for her children all efforts
Do not, queen, utter what you do not know about my mother and me.
You, who in your ivory castle, saunter
And wear the finest and most modern attire
And eat the tastiest European foods
You who, on fur and silk sheets, sleep
How can someone like you ever know my mother?
My mother, who gave me to suckle the milk of the nation
And who from her forgotten tent fed me the love of land.
So do not imagine wrongly and know that ... I thrive from my mother's
veins...and my mother's breath ... and my mother's tears ... and my mother's
agony and anguish.
Still, madam, the love of the nation and the passion of land, is more
precious than my soul and my blood.
Yet, fifty thousand apologies and more you should make and bow with respect
to my mother and me."

via Muslimdomain dot org


"Old prophets help me to believe"


His shadow.


Cub arrows.


Lojban Radio. ...And Products.


Wednesday, February 08, 2006

"Portal"

Shadow to call Aradia giardino;
first black sip of java, giardino.

Crystal grow.:
in dark giardino.

Flying mutiny cold rocks
in cold giardino.

Swoosh of cars, taps of washing, this still
pool of light ink stomp of cold so giardino.

Lungfish up
and stir basic giardino.



Aristasia. (via Momus)


A Pyrrhic victory.


Tuesday, February 07, 2006

3 fridg* hay(na)ku. (via Dumbfoundry)


   "The Silence of God

One night upon the southern sea
In helpless calm we lay,
Waiting for day,
      Waiting for day.

As goldripe fruit falls from a tree
A comet fell; no other sight,
But in the ocean tracks of light
Trembled--then passed away,
      Away.

No sound broke on our waiting ears,
Though instinct whimpered wayward fears
Of things we cannot tell--
      Of things the sea could tell.

No wisp of wind, no watery sound
Reached us; as if high on the ground
We stayed. A sense of fever fell
Upon each mind,
      Each soul and mind.

Until our eyes, that ever sought
The cloying empty darkness, find
Another shape--or is it wrought
Of terror?--on the deep
      The endless deep.

All dark it lay. No light shone out;
And though we cried across, no shout
Came back to us. As if in sleep
The black bulk lay so still,
      So still.

No sign came back; no answering cry
Cleft the immense monotony
That swathed us like a funeral pall,
In folds of menace; almost shrill
The silence seemed,
      And we so small.

Swiftly a boat was lowered down;
The rowlocks creaked; our track shone white
Behind us like God's frown,
      God’s frown.

We clambered up that great ship's height;
There was no light; there was no sound;
Nor was there any being found
Upon that ship,
      That ship.

We groped our way along. God knows
How long the rats had been alone
With dust and rust! Yet flight was shown
To have been instant, in the grip
Of some force stronger than its foes
      --Its human foes.

Then sudden from the dark there thrilled
The distant dying of a song
That hung like haze upon the sea, and filled
Each soul with joy and terror strong,
      With joy and terror strong.

Upon the sombre air were spent
These notes, as from a hidden place
Where all time and all love lay pent
In lingering embrace--
      In lingering embrace.

Deep in our hearts we felt the call;
We knew that if our fate should send
That song again, we must leave all
And follow to the end,
      The end."

--Osb*rt Sitw*ll, Argonaut and Jugg*rnaut (1920)




Trinq!


Mythos in Plastic Block Land. (via M*tafilt*r)


Monday, February 06, 2006

"Spimes that blog? Blogjects?"


"The greatest writer in the maqâmah [rhyming prose] form...was Al-Hariri of Basrah, who was born in 1054 and died in 1122. ...There are sections composed exclusively of words with double meanings, series of sentences ending in rhyming syllables or with regular combinations of consonants throughout, and poems utilizing only certain letters of the alphabet." --Anthology of Islamic Lit*ratur* 3d J Kritz*ck (1964)


"I entered unannounced into Hallaj's room one day (says Ibn Fatik); someone had been in before me. Hallaj was in prayer, and his brow pressed to the ground. He was saying, O Thou Whose Closeness girds my very skin, Whose Mystery spurns me far away as lie all things in time from the Eternal, Thou shinest so before me that I think Thou art all these things; and then Thou dost deny Thyself in me, till I declare Thou art nothing here. And this can neither be Thy Distance, for that would fortify my selfhood, nor Thy Closeness, for that would help me; neither Thy War, for that would destroy me, nor Thy Peace, for that would comfort me. Then, noticing my presence, he raised himself." --ibid (Springtail warps it into this.)


Sunday, February 05, 2006

"Ruth Lilly"

thought of which pithy
individual too faction abscond
must find opinion
in an our arid amalgam
no admonition but follow
up & if as it is said
from tantamount din
that you will only do this
to form a book cunningly
i spurn solution
through paragon filling in
though trod with gild
it was to know



"The verdict is in. Only the conundrum remains."



"People do find ways to inform themselves, as best they can, when the regular "news" is not reliable. In prerevolutionary France, independent newspapers were illegal--forbidden by the king--and books and pamphlets, rigorously censored by the government. Yet people developed a complex shadow system by which they learned what was really going on--the news that did not appear in official court pronouncements and privileged publications. Cultural historian Robert Darnton, in brilliantly original works like The Literary Underground of the Old Regime, has mapped the informal but politically potent news system by which Parisians of high and low status circulated court secrets or consumed the scandalous books known as libelles, along with subversive songs, poems and gossip, often leaked from within the king's own circle. News traveled in widening circles. Parisians gathered in favored cafes, designated park benches or exclusive salons, where the forbidden information was read aloud and copied by others to pass along. Parisians could choose for themselves which reality they believed."


"As if any boundaries are transgressed when you hold a protest within the space (material or cognitive) apportioned off for you by the institution you’re protesting against."


Saturday, February 04, 2006

alas
(via g*ociti*s dot com slash hollywood slash 1096)


"Even the date of the Christian era was in dispute at the close of the eleventh century, a certain school maintaining on astronomical grounds that the current reckoning was twenty-two years too late, so that the year 1100 ought really to be 1122." --Th* R*naissanc* of th* Tw*lfth C*ntury


Friday, February 03, 2006

"Old Findings"

Post karma, wishful thinking trap: black fathoms;
long gazing down Satan black fathoms.

Swift candy
pangs anagram black fathoms.

Boils tomorrow's dawn
with cloud black fathoms.

Pilgrim curd
squirming in aorta black fathoms.

Scroggy Parnassus up which twinkling Grinchus
thrusts back basalt black fathoms.



On my victrola: Kar*l Go*yva*rts- Litani*s. (An oddly various list i found as i was looking.)


Origins of Cooki*-Monst*r-Voic* Singing. (via ALDaily)


Thursday, February 02, 2006

alas
(via jpl dot nasa dot gov slash imag*s)


Chrislam?!


Whickl*s.


Wednesday, February 01, 2006

"The sea is rising...and the world is sand." --Wilfr*d Ow*n


"Inerrantism is a counterrevolution." --Walt*r Tru*tt And*rson, R*ality Isn't What It Us*d To B* (1990)


"Because we do not take the theatrical dimension of political life seriously, we fail to recognize that when people act politically they are trying to define themselves." --ibid


"Against infrangibly wired and blind trench wall" --Ow*n


"In the evolution of ideas, the dinosaurs do not always disappear when they become extinct." --And*rson, op cit


"The struggle to be someone is a global struggle now." --ibid


"We know that violence is not the answer and elections don't work." --Broth*r Dav* Gardn*r, Hip-Ocrisy


"California was already slouching toward post-modernity in the 1930s." --And*rson, op cit


"The migration of personal song tastes is not a learning curve.' --sayings of Asmod*us


"What you really do when you seek to preserve a culture is create it." --And*rson, op cit


"Visiting the Orient, gazing at the monumental statues of a man who tried to tell us to let go of our graven images, I stand in awe of the monumental capacity of human beings to miss the point." --ibid


"In the 1950s, the CIA seriously considered maintaining parallel branches with different mind-sets: one would operate according to the reality that the spy was for real, the other according to the reality that he was a disinformant." --ibid


"Altars and Arts are soon to fiction rais'd,
And both would have, that miracles are wrought." --Gondib*rt


Tuesday, January 31, 2006

S*DNA.


Silliman looks at just out chaps by our buzarg R. K.


'Truly creative realism is eschatological realism. it takes the line not of reflecting the natural world, and not of adjustment to it, but of changing and transforming the world.' --Nicolas B*rdya*v, Th* B*ginning and th* 3nd (1941)

"Davos

Red and blue flicker · the forces of order restored, Bad Jesus.
Elaborate panning shots · above the nighttime city, Bad Jesus.

In our tiny lit abode · as the coffeemaker gurgles
I hear the cackling and the crackling · of the rain, Bad Jesus.

Twitching in the semi-dark · shoppingcenter parkinglot
as I took out the store trash, · grounded stray parakeet, Bad Jesus.

Redifiably impocerous · urban camo halter top
"American Idol" wannabe · and Osama's pic again, Bad Jesus.

New York Times impeachment ad · and the polar bears slipping off
their crumbling blue ice floes · bloody bathroom towels, Bad Jesus."

--Lydia Daily, Immy Aliquot (2005)



"Tractors shuttling yellowly below" --Harry Math*ws


"#152. Aesthetics demand concealment and reward it, ethics demand openness and punish concealment." --Paul C*lan (tr Pi*rr* Joris (via B*msha Swing)


Monday, January 30, 2006

   "Darfur"

At story's ostrich stilb
Following crisp hyacinth ask
Following as story's crisp rim
Across shadowy isthmus storms

Silk clasping abort
Of following slow slags
So twinkling rich and against
Scoriac bricks

Wisp is spawn which ryotwar
Ransoms ichor with snail stun
Wharf



"I think it's a good time for music when it's a good time for shoes." --Tom Waits


"Hubert. It is a fearful and tempestuous time,
The concave firmament, the angel's bridge
O'er the world's day and night, is visibly
Bowed down and bent beneath its load of thunder,
And through the fiery fissures of the clouds
Glistens the warfare of armed elements,
Bellowing defiance in earth's stunned ear,
And setting midnight on the throne of day.

Huntsman. The roar has ceased; the hush of intercalm
Numbs with its leaden finger Echo's lips,
And angry spirits in mid havoc pause,
Premeditating ruin in their silence."

--Th* Brid*s' Trag*dy


Sunday, January 29, 2006

Looky.


alas
(via pala*o dot gly dot bris dot ac dot uk slash russia)


"A painter who does nothing but highly realistic depictions of horrific war injuries. And achieves great success: his pictures are hung in every major museum. Was there a point for them to miss?" --Tyl*r Soz*, Loxocosm (2004)


When the admirable Tiberius (he has had an undeserved bad press), upon becoming emperor, received a message from the Senate in which the conscript fathers assured him that whatever legislation he wanted would be automatically passed by them, he sent back word that this was outrageous. “Suppose the emperor is ill or mad or incompetent?” He returned their message. They sent it again. His response: “How eager you are to be slaves.” (via M*tafilt*r)


Thursday, January 26, 2006

"Ship of Foods"

a gurgling prior to dawn
story
so long without this
of a pallid mask
balm
our singular tag foists on all
rain raining down
and its long
i can only catch sounds from
slow unfurl
which is good for my dark also
into thousandfold ways of grokking
soil
all still claiming
and burnishing
only a singular way is so
a gray road i soon will prowl



1913, a journal of forms.


"Among the things that will not finally suffice, a critique of readership ideologies takes its place as well."


"Out of the hoar-mist tangled and frail..."


"It had four or five-hour ceremonies, comprised mostly of music (including all of a Love Supreme) and a sermon that was all about politics."


"What I think would be of the most benefit to World Literature would be poets' forcing themselves to write 40 words or more a day on some poem."


Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Pamuk wins! (via B*yond th* B*yond)


"In World War I, they went around kicking dachshunds on the grounds that dachshunds were "German dogs." They did not, however, go around kicking German shepherds." --Molly Ivins


Portunhol.


"Once a story-in-progress has thoroughly established itself as SF [e.g. the presence of technology recognizable as such], what single piece of set-dressing might transform it into fantasy? Teresa Nielsen Hayden was once asked this question, and gave the best answer I've heard yet. 'The Holy Grail,' she said." --Patricia Ni*ls*n Hayd*n, intro to Starlight 2 (1998)


"And zig-zagged through the grey-green mountain sage" --Alfr*d Noy*s


Monday, January 23, 2006

'We are the poppies of this wasteland...' --Baki


Spin daddy.


"On a scale ranging from the profitable to the harmful, poetry was classified as neither profitable nor harmful." --Th* Unr*adabl* Shor*s of Lov*


"Mine eyes are dizzy with the arrowy hail" --Arnold


"History is like weather, not like checkers." --R*b*cca Solnit


"That is what we all need: a twentieth way, something that reveals all the secrets of an art to us, some secret skill only a handful of us can have." --G*of Huth


Sunday, January 22, 2006

   "The Common Grave

Last night beneath the foreign stars I stood
And saw the thoughts of those at home go by
To the great grave upon the hill of blood.
Upon the darkness they went visibly,
Each in the vesture of its own distress,
Among them there came One, frail as a sigh
And like a creature of the wilderness
Dug with her bleeding hands. She neither cried
Nor wept; nor did she see the many stark
And dead that lay unburied at her side.
All night she toiled, and at that time of dawn,
When Day and Night do change their More and Less
And Day is More, I saw the melting Dark
Stir to the last, and knew she laboured on."

--Sydn*y Dob*ll, in: Th* Spasmodic Car**r of Sydn*y Dob*ll (M. W*stwat*r, 1992)



"If the Orpheu group had continued (three of them died very young, including Sá-Carneiro), then there might have arisen a whole system of heteronyms invented by writers other than Pessoa." (via wood_s lot)


"Sleep deep, good eel, in your perverse marine" --St*v*ns


Saturday, January 21, 2006

alas
(via univers*today dot com)


In my t*rror, I honor you.


"Royal Survivor"

could individual din
which a book fills
or our tantamount banality

i know too only
am of sound
though this faction will rat

taut daylair
& trod by who sing always
with wry usurp gild

that is
it ask so admonitionly

how of any no form say
andous in full & upon scholar

crass has curious
but almost
a spurning solution


Friday, January 20, 2006

Mawcasuns. (via Robot Wisdom)


Finntroll.


   "Singing Ghost" (song in iron attractor words)

paragon of pariah thought
through with & no solution
must a who find
to lair him

though crass as too
say i is this by abscondity
scholar almost in it
and wry

if to mind faction spurning or gild
arid am only that a book of
which knowing usurps
will anyhow valid do

you torpid admonition
a word with you is up
and i was so soon always
full & droll in my ask cunning


Thursday, January 19, 2006

   "243 skitoma"

1.

Wham-O childhood
to Vict'ry Koolaid
not a road i want

thinking on it
than root canal
than final dust

prior to dawn glow
sky
all i story with

portal to a world
past this black kingdom

mask
for a crowd of skulls
unknowing

pallid mask
you will not look back on

2.

Stalingrad wolf days
a dark coming back of gods
a total blank in front
and artists' whist

can't hold on to this
vision for long
for i still
am so much of plastic

that occasion i would cast my words
brick by brick into sand of tomorrow

what a child i was

3.

Tuscan shards and
probably had

music too






Friday, September 30, 2005

alas
(via first-natur* dot com)


    "Bavarian Gentians

   Not every man has gentians in his house
   in soft September, at slow, sad Michaelmas.

   Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
   darkening the day-time torch-like with the smoking blueness of Pluto's gloom,
ribbed and torch-like, with their blaze of darkness spread blue
down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day
torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto's dark-blue daze,
black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue,
giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter's pale lamps give off light,
   lead me then, lead me the way.
Reach me a gentian, give me a torch
let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of this flower
down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness,
even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September
to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark
and Persephone herself is but a voice
or a darkness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark
of the arms Plutonic, and pierced with the passion of dense gloom,
among the splendour of torches of darkness, shedding darkness on the lost bride and her groom."

--D H Lawr*nc*



Hooxxk crck?


Igunaujannguaq. (via Robot Wisdom)


Thursday, September 29, 2005

Bug from Shaggai.


"I have been drawn twice or thrice by company to go to Bedlam, and have seen others very much delighted with the fantastical extravagancy of so many various madnesses, which upon me wrought so contrary an effect, that I always returned, not only melancholy, but even sick with the sight. My comparison there was perhaps too tender, for I meet a thousand madmen abroad, without any perturbation; though, to weigh the matter justly, the total loss of reason is less deplorable than the total depravation of it."

-Abraham Cowl*y, 1668


3truscan glossary.


"...Otarid, Musht'har and Zual faint for my sake..."


"...the overthick night threaded with dour jewels..."


Islam in Sci Fi. (via bOING bOING)


Wednesday, September 28, 2005

St*rling in Christiania.



"...the extended salute to former network anchors Tom Brokaw, Dan Rather and the late PeterJennings (the men America turned to for the evening news for a quarter of century) brought an already plodding show to its knees and held it hostage. This is the kind of thing that makes people want to gouge out their own eyes (because, let's face it, none of us will ever be able to get close enough to Brokaw or Rather to gouge out their eyes, instead)."

--M*lani* Pruit on th* 3mmys.


3vora.


alas
(via p dot vtourist dot com)


   "Thanatopolis"

pyramid of sand · is void to my sight
labyrinth of cant · is void to my sight

i know too much swarf · a black rock out of sky
falls and this taiga · is void to my sight

chatoyant my moon · as i walk slowly down
furious hazard road · is void to my sight



"Lalande 21185's sigil is two sides of a pentagram meeting in the top center point and a thin oval crossing them."


Star colors.


Tuesday, September 27, 2005

'Should Somebody One Day

Should somebody one day knock at your door
Announcing he's an emissary of mine,
Never believe him, nor that it is I;
For to knock does not go with my vanglory,
Even at the unreal door of the sky.

But should you, naturally and without hearing
Anyone knock, come to your door, unbar it
And find somebody waiting (it appears)
To dare to knock, give it some thought. It was
My emissary and I and the retinue of my glorying
In what drives to despair and what despairs.
Unbar to who does not knock at your door!'


(05-09-1934)

'Selected Poems' translated from Fernando Pessoa by J.Griffin.



"The work is the death mask of its conception."


"As our life is very short, so it is very miserable; and therefore it is well it is short." --J*r*my Taylor


Turn your Hamst*r into a Fighting Machin*.


" I like hot springs, and I think that Titan organisms would like them too." (via Robot Wisdom)


"If you want to see the true face of war..."


Monday, September 26, 2005

alas
Dhrawn (Laland* 21185) (via daviddarling dot info)


   "Volcano Commando Tsuka"

halcyon mountain daring · on a suicidal path
skulls in sand bright glaring · on a suicidal path

toys and candy swirling · all i want is truthful words
lost among clowns blaring · on a suicidal path

soon will know a trying · much will crash and many fail
halcyon furry faring · on a suicidal path



H*t*ropt*ra.


Sunday, September 25, 2005

Wishing i could turn on songs about what's actually occurring: in Iraq, in Louisiana...with our changing sky stuff and our swift oil finish; with our mad king... Too many dooms for a singular today.
 :  Sing it.


A must-grok post. (via wood_s lot)


"Mr. Bush's life after his presidency was marked by misfortune." (via B*rub*)


" "So this is pop music's fate," I thought gloomily, "to monitor our hearts while a camera monitors our bodies. To control our inside, the part the camera can't see." "


Th* Salt Roads.


Proj*ct C*nsor*d.


Saturday, September 24, 2005

   "The Battle of Blenheim

    1

It was a summer evening,
   Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
   Was sitting in the sun,
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

    2

She saw her brother Peterkin
   Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet
   In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

    3

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
   Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head,
   And, with a natural sigh,
' 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he,
'Who fell in the great victory.

    4

'I find them in the garden,
   For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,
   The ploughshare turns them out!
For many thousand men,' said he,
'Were slain in that great victory.'

    5

'Now tell us what 'twas all about,'
   Young Peterkin, he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
   With wonder-waiting eyes;
'Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for.'

    6

'It was the English,' Kaspar cried,
   'Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
   I could not well make out;
But every body said,' quoth he,
'That 'twas a famous victory.

    7

'My father lived at Blenheim then,
   Yon little stream hard by;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
   And he was forced to fly;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

    8

'With fire and sword the country round
   Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then,
   And new-born baby died;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

    9

'They say it was a shocking sight
   After the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
   Lay rotting in the sun;
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

    10

'Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
   And our good Prince Eugene.'
'Why 'twas a very wicked thing!'
   Said little Wilhelmine.
'Nay...nay...my little girl,' quoth he,
'It was a famous victory.'

    11

'And every body praised the Duke
   Who this great fight did win.'
'But what good came of it at last?'
   Quoth little Peterkin.
'Why that I cannot tell,' said he,
'But 'twas a famous victory.' "

--Rob*rt South*y, 1798



Plund*rphonics.



ing · ma · air · zy · imp



B*atallica.


Buy Cobalt. (via T*xfil*s)


Friday, September 23, 2005

alas
Cubi XVII (via msjc dot 3du slash art slash djohnson)



   "IN AUTUMN

The extinct animals are still looking for home
Their eyes full of cotton

Now they will
Never arrive

The stars are like that

Moving on without memory
Without having been near turning elsewhere climbing
Nothing the wall

The hours their shadows

The lights are going on in the leaves nothing to do with evening

Those are cities
Where I had hoped to live"

--W S M*rwin



"Unfortunately, this Hello Kitty was too big to bring back on the plane."


"To believe that "a sysop cannot possibly be a vandal" creates the Sysop Vandal point of view..."



Martian G*n*sis.


Thursday, September 22, 2005

alas
(via usa-japan dot com)


"...the centerpiece of a Tochigi Prefecture theme park about the settling of the American West is a 215-meter-high, fiber-reinforced plastic replica of Mount Rushmore."



   fall stars across chill
again changing goad tsar storm
   as it madly adds

dimna furious smirk fang
schismatic stomp bungalow

   rally all flaring
ryotwar Ishtar shaping
   royal sport apart

find any aground abort
gulf slilu swarming fatwa

   crisply akimbo
osmium skirl gumbo flalu
   all us bright folk back

among oblong fragrant silk
usurps skiff · fallow asthma


   Lojban words

nilca (Loglan)- contrary of on top of; tcidu- city; manku- dark; crino- viridian; sidbo- thought form; skari- color; frica- dissimilar; dimna- Wyrd; slilu- go back and forth; flalu- law




"Certainty and uncertainty
Two sides of the same flame."

--Garcia Villa



Praying To Th* Ali*ns.


"Everyone who now has power will lose it. Soon. You have been kissing up to the wrong people."


Granit* Shadow.


Wednesday, September 21, 2005

King in Y*llow actually. (via Blindh*it)



   spasmodic clasp · moist
song lost in bringing it back
   lost all that tumult

drug cupboard in which fluoric
acid lay in a wax tomb

   pray for no pardon
cyborg laughing thick damp grass
   orphan octopus

calmly about to drown talk
can play back now from victims

   filch tchukor stars silt
amok tsantsa · affords nil blurb
   scratch ghost stadium

actually shopping · bulwark
skulls roam brisk as stilb fathoms

   crino is asking
sidbo flimsy Atlantis
   laughs smog cough skari

starry Osiris calx snag
starts as a bag of offal

   sorrowing brumous
addiction isthmus and rill
   glamour abolish

blood lungfish frica abrupt
Iscariot ichor wraith



"What would compel a successful scholar of 18th-century English literature at a state university to give up academia and become - gasp! - a professional musician?"


Th* Long 3m*rg*ncy.


Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Making of an Icon.



   a lost acronym
adorns cardboard and within
   i would stow dark plans

am i misty for this flow
piloting an iron rhino

   closing lids on stars
unmindful of scorpions
   in transit · ago

grinding sound and carbon tip
toward its last point spiralling

   glimpsing from a coign
prior to our gravity
   our acts laid out plain

into a swamp of robots
sifts mild algorithm

   frigid dusty world
with rusty sands · winds stirring
   around a solid

all this art about making
a god of dissolution

   tcidu now manku
only two hours · not from
   bomb plot · from stupid

first of last bards shiny book
about · not oft so bright such



Balikbayan box. (via Th* Chat*lain*)


"...we need a new definition of "evil"..."