Yes yes we've invented nothing (maybe not)

fig.1) ...we've come to this path by dirt and imitation. (ca.1988)

“My image of the “ghost,” including everything conventional about its appearance as well as its blind submission to certain contingencies of time and place, is particularly significant for me as the finite representation of torment that may be eternal. Perhaps my life is nothing but an image of this kind; perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I should simply recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten.” Breton, Andre. Nadja. New York: Grove Press. 1960, 31

"Every product of disgust capable of becoming a negation of the family is Dada; Protest by fists with all one’s might in taking destructive action is Dada;...abolition of logic...is Dada;...abolition of memory is Dada; abolition of property is Dada; abolition of history is Dada; abolition of property is Dada; abolition of the future is Dada; absolute and indisputable god-like faith in every product of immediate spontaneity is Dada.” Attributed to Tristan Tzara; Lewis, Helena. The Politics of Surrealism. New York: Paragon House Publishers. 1988, 5

“The anarchist artist, on the other hand, has no trouble saying, as Breton wanted to, that the art has the same meaning as the act. Individualist aesthetics is perfectly compatible with individualistic politics. The problem of reconciling politics and culture goes away if anarchism is the ideology that informs both.” Weir, David. Anarchy and Culture: The Aesthetic Politics of Modernism. Massachusetts: University of Massachusetts Press. 1997, 1

Comments

Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

stagnanTVowels

Search This Blog