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Showing posts from December, 2015

the limitations of a fool for the page abound

It’s as though an intemperate bird much reduced of purpose and motion by Mr. Charles Willson Peale were summoned here to gather dust. Then for want of an idle quotation some piece of very old something that has been gone from our recent moments that has been lost even to itself was again found and then bludgeoned into an unmatched stillness for our better comprehension - read aloud from this brass plaque Disruption is my memoir and it starts with a simple idea, stop. I’ve spent a world's worth of minutes putting on all of those pants and opening all of those beers. I’ve filed away entire anemic days brushing and flossing and then taming or trimming all that could be found cornered and hassled. I’ve done all that’s necessary to enjoin my cult of the serendipitous self to a world of indiscreet others and their desperate hordes of poetry. I’ve done all of this because words follow words. I've done all of this not because I could but because I had to.
On Saturday February 3, 1996,…

Let's Sing-song for Paper Plate Jesus

It's as tuneful as it is plain. Hey man, hey that paper plate, the one with Jesus name taped to it. Who did that, who did that Paper Plate Jesus on the wall... This essay with all of its words and sense seems bungled in the jam of its tripped up sentences. It sits there dogeared at the tables edge. Reposant is not very easy man. It's not just any variety of old twinkle twinkle, it reads from the small pages at the back. Reposant, is some very special light indeed. It's an old sofa, it's a stained afghan, and a leaky battery all sitting in the corner of an otherwise white room. It's as though something truly wonderful has established this neat climate; trim and not so boisterous but neat as climates go. It's the final construction of this thing that's slipped the yoke of the authors authorial authority.
When asked about his time in Tunis Michel Foucault is often quoted as, sensible and lean like a simple wage earner finding his pantry empty for the first tim…

Little shows at the Philanthropic

Person liked to come around and see Helen Franklin's little shows at the Philanthropic. He liked the soft rattle of their wooden instruments and their plucky accouterment. He liked to tell the other Auxiliary, The chairs might be hard but the coffee's deep. He'd stopped at the Tartlette afterwards. He might have some cake or a tart and sit at the counter with his white porcelain plate his shiny fork listening to the idle talk of some foul economist and crazy astronaut. If he was lucky he might even see Helen sitting there in the back after she had changed. She liked to have a glass of red wine and watch the round clock from the end of the counter.
Helen writes these lamentable vignettes that are really fragile and skittish. Yet they sing to him from tough lines like overdun roses that resonate very deeply. Sometimes in August or September when the weather's being short and he's set in a particularly dipsy mood then from his seat in the odeum with the Philanthropic…

Schema, no mas grande marioneta

Despite the mess the paintings are beautiful and they're very old. They're well hung and make good use of the sturdy light from the hallway. From here in the doorway I can take them all in at once but I want to linger on each of them. I want to dote and be amazed so I move closer. It takes some time to examine even just the smaller pieces and I still feel that I'm missing something among them. An asymptomatic generational pattern of complex symmetry can appear if the tools being employed are either distinct or large enough. In this group I should be seeing regionalism and the state. The Son's of Noah with their puritanical racism and all of their hogs killing a snake. I should be seeing all of this but I'm not. You said we'd know. We'd know darling and we'd know well. You said we'd know now. That's how you put it John, We're standing in line behind a charging wave of incense and self flagellation that's behind a herd of dots and homemade…