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Tuesday, December 02, 2003

It must be contagious - 'the blog-break' - but I also feel the
need to take one. Call it overly poetry holidazed, and busy,
& excuse this abrupt departure. (Nick, don't fret, this is most
likely a temporary shutting down) ... The perpetual online
button is clicking off now. now. & finally now.


Monday, December 01, 2003

From Christian Bok's Eunoia; pg. 50 for Dick Higgins(or Alice!):

I bitch; I kibitz - griping whilst criticizing dimwits,
sniping whilst indicting nitwits, dismissing, simplis-
tic thinking, in which philippic wit is still illicit.
In other words, having seen her in person makes for a stronger read.
After the Notley reading at UC, someone had mentioned that her poems
were difficult to understand on the page. On the contrary, her dynamic
performance was a small intro into the fascinating reading experience...
from alice notley's disobedience :

Hardwood, in my dream a voice said the following,

"Unlike our parents the panthers. . ."

Yes, he says, Yes, unlike our parents the panthers
we don't spring on our prey with our whole selves
Any
technology these days
is better than a body or a self -
How's your burnt
panther soul today?

I and panther spiritual equals

with never be friends
.

-------------------------------------------------

This train I'm going to get on goes so fast

This train

This train I'm going to get on goes so fast
This train

This train I'm going to get on goes so fast
That the engineer, whom I know, is a nervous wreck

What train is it then? Oh it's the real Now Train
as opposed to the false Now Train

the There's-enough-time-to-fix-things false Train
.

---------------------------------------------------------

There is a sort of crystal. & I've

said so before. It's the rationality
I've been speaking of
sometimes I perceive it as coursing soul-liquids
sometimes as an air that I'm in
somewhat thick with blue glints.
I experience it literally

------------------------------------------------------------

I can't get out of this poem

it's Your poem
you're making me make it this way
it's us, this poem is alive
even if it's ugly or I'm dead
it's the City of You even if you aren't "in it"


Sunday, November 30, 2003

Repeating as a means of varying. Accepting as a way of
discriminating. Indifference as a form of emotional vitality
.


Use me as you will.
Savoring non-relatedness. Put the emphasis on savoring. "I am
more interested in the
facts of moving rather than in
my feelings about them" (Merce Cunningham).


-"IMoTF"
We meet. This could be at a dinner party (forks, knives, spoons, et
cetera).
We say things like, How lovely to see you. I've been busy. I think
so. I don't know. That must have been very interesting. (Everything
is interesting. But some things... more than others.) Probably not.
I've heard. In Frankfurt, in Illinois, in London. Next year. What a
pity. He's gone away. He'll be back soon. They're organizing some-
thing. You'll get an invitation.
We smile. We nod. We are indefatigable. I think I'm free next week.
We say we wish we saw more of each other.
We eat, we savor.
Meanwhile, each harbors a secret idea of ascending, of descending.
We go on. The plane's edge beckons.


[1989] "In Memory of Their Feelings"-Cage, Cunningham, Johns

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