Lester's Flogspot

Like, um, Rocktober, yeah!

2008-09-24T18:27:00.000+03:00

Wreaking tough licks like Rocktober,
like a rubber rat, its brain in a vat,
is reeking through her hell. Like
Her thang's got like six vibrant dolors
like fishy nettles stuck to a whale.
Her deathishness, like summer hoses,
smells like olden milk goo spray.
She touches us all like post-Virgin Mary or Brenda
Walsh, like she points at us each day
like a Loch Ness of the morning.
What she points to really isn't like a Frosty shake.
That guy there he isn't like the brightest hue
but she chooses him for her delight. So I was like
Rocktober! Rocktober! O so like, rockingful,
clothed in dearthly-like hues. O Rocktober!
No wonder how like we must so often
skank like when we finish all the booze.

The Dirtiest Poetry Joke In Human History

2007-06-17T10:11:00.001+04:00

(No poets were harmed in the making of this joke.)

A guy walks into a literary agent's office and says, "I write poetry."

The literary agent says, "Sorry fella but I don't sign poets. Poetry doesn't sell as you know. And poets, well frankly, they're all drunk psychotics rambling nonsense no one really wants to read anyway."

And the guy says, "hey wait just a second. I think you'll quickly see we're very different."

The guy talking to the literary agent kicks the door wide open and in come a line of poets one after the other. But they don't look like typical poets exactly but more like priests. XJ Kennedy, Mark Jarman, Bill Baer, Donald Justice, and Howard Nemerov come streaming in. We are able to identify who they are only because each of them is wearing a tag saying "Hello My Name Is" with his name. And together they begin intoning Elizabethan sonnets in unison. Each of them is holding a lit candle walking slowly with head hanging low as if in solemn walking meditation. The atmosphere is undoubtedly heavy with importance.

As these poets of a new order intone their grand ancient and lofty poems, in come three exceedingly huge and dignified elderly gentlemen, all dressed in white robes, stark white one might say, with the exception of the "Hello my name is" tags needed to truly distinguish them. It's Kent Johnson, Ron Silliman, and Bill Knott, and together they're riding the corpse of mummified Queen Elizabeth like it's a cross between an aircar and a surfboard. The corpse of Queen Elizabeth is shining and painted in gold leaf and has a loudspeaker in the middle of the torso amplifying the equally gilded verse. We know the corpse is Queen Elizabeth because the corpse is wearing a "Hello My Name Is" tag. If the poets preceeding them seem important then in comparison these poets appear to be no less than kings of the highest worldly order. And so the three Elizabeth-men all join in the solemn incantation of the most noble and lofty verse ever written in all of human history, in the purset tones of God's own Iambic Pentameter. Everyone within earshot is overwhelmed with awe and left breathless. It is as if the whole universe is panting.

And so the literary agent says, "Wow you are all great, just marvelous! I gotta say, you know, this isn't like most poetry. This stuff, it could really really sell. And you're all so, well, you're all so well-behaved! I could call Oprah for God's sake. You know what I'm thinking? This is the making of a new anthology. I can see it now, college classrooms everywhere across America, every student with a copy. And their children and grandchildren, each with the latest edition, united with Oprah viewers everywhere. We'll make thousands!"

The agent then pauses for a second.

"What do you call yourselves?"

"The New Formalists."

And then suddenly Kasey Mohammad bursts in through the door, wearing a red robe and grand papal hat, carrying a blowtorch, also wearing a "Hello my name is" tag, and he shouts, "NO you assholes NOOOOOO! We're the fucking School of Quietude! Oi!"

revival song, or, how the song does not remain the same

2007-06-12T08:59:00.000+04:00

- for david applegate

between the myth of the saber tooth tiger
and the book of Heavenly Highway Hymns

between the primal flight from danger
and the modern flock to hope

is a sheet thrown over a windshield
someone's neighbor steaming on a pavement

for the story has not changed
nor the singers not a bit

just the tunes and how we blow
the wind's still beating on us to go

those sirens say they sing no song
just the flash of teeth insisting we stay

2007-06-12T08:40:00.000+04:00

I was just about to post a poem
about how the threat of death oddly begs us to persist
that glorious hope is as much a sham
as is the myth that we are formed from fleeing tigers
and then i read this post from you
saying what i was trying to say densely
you more eloquently

i agree it's naive this belief in limitlessness
(alan you did not invent this belief so this is not an attack on you)
desperation expressed in phenomenology
and it's now deeply embedded embedding deeper and deeper

another truth is far more fucked up
as fucked up as what i've witnessed, that we invite our suffering
that it may be an essence of our persistence
it isn't the ancient act of running from tigers keeping us around
giving way to the modern man no longer threated by tigers
moving from the avoidance of threat to the engagement of reward
that the most positive of us find the most rewards
but rather
the same thing has always been maintained
the engagement of threat
we might not have tigers but we damn sure do have car wrecks
and we don't praise the lord to the flashing lights and the sirens
and flashing teeth, whether the saber tooth, the mouth of the jagged
broken windshield, or even the flashing white teeth of a smile
we don't run
we are compelled to stay
we just keep chaning our tune as we go
the tune just helps us wash it down
the stench the stink the release

Linh Dinh's Five Things

2007-01-17T20:10:00.000+03:00

Linh Dinh gave me his five things little known about himself. He reasonably declined to tag five more people. Linh's early book, Drunkard Boxing, was an early inspiration for my own existence. He and his wife, Diem Bui, live in Philadelphia.

Linh writes,

-Before college, I was a basketball freak, not watching but playing. My nickname on the court was the Rice Man, believe it or not, after George Gervin's the Ice Man.

-My wife is a cashier at the Dollar Store, at a shopping mall in Philadelphia

-I was a house and office cleaner for 3 years. I cleaned and did laundry for a few students at the University of Pennsylvania, where I now teach (one course).

-my first published writings were art criticism. I wrote art reviews, curated a show at Moore College called Toys and Incense (1994), and was critic-in-residence at Art in General in NYC.

-With a friend, I rented a house for $50 a month in 1985, in the Greys Ferry section of Philadelphia. It was more shell than house. Just think of Eraserhead and you'll get an idea of how we lived.

I'd add the uncommon fact that Linh prefers not to listen to recorded music. He does not own any device that might play any recorded music, preferring only live music.

Thanks Linh. Check out the blog on which he participates and read more about him here.

On "WRITING AND A PERSONALITY"

2007-01-17T10:27:00.000+03:00

response to Noah Cicero's "WRITING AND A PERSONALITY" blog post

yeah you need at least one personality, sure
but don't kid yourself
you don't need your own
or anyone else's for that matter

comparing a senseless working stiff to a personality-filled writer
like comparing a corpse to a clown

i mean the corpse is boring and smells quite a bit
but you'll treat it respect for eternity
you'll just leave the clown at the circus

the original crack smoker in delphi she coulda told you that when she was hunkered down in her cave
but she was busy speaking on behalf of apollo

the cult of the author in the modern era is nothing but a crass byproduct of the need for intellectual property
so that printers could borrow money from banks to buy presses
something had to be collateral
why not the writing?

no one knows who homer was (or who homer were, really) and it's completely irrelevant to anyone except in the people magazine set

the idolators

the idols came after people forgot to speak

"good" and "bad"

2007-01-15T20:51:00.000+03:00

A response to Kasey's post:

There's a big difference between being able to categorize a poem as "good" or "bad," having & using criteria for performing such a categorization, having & using explicit criteria for performing such a categorization, and having a rigid set of necessary and sufficient criteria for performing such a categorization. The moment we categorize we're not all suddenly Aristotle.

We all categorize unexplicitly on so many dimensions rather regularly. No, constantly. We are more than a little bit like difference engines, at least when it comes to using words. The fact that these categories may actually have facets is usually completely remote to our realm of reflection. And we don't care. Behind the button we click there's a lot of stuff going on, but the button does the work for us without bogging us down in tedium each time. And if we get to the realm of poetry where we require of ourselves an explicit set of requirements for being either good or bad, we usually can use some of them and often use them flexibly. Unless, of course, we are trying to impress our friends with the severity of our personal Victorianisms. We don't lose too much sleep over whether a platypus is a mammal or not or whether it requires its own class.

So go ahead, call one poem "good" and another "bad." Let yourself go. Be free. There are some incredibly complex if not intelligent things going on in the background, so you're really not as dumb as you may seem to yourself and others when doing so. And you're a heck of lot less tiresome in the process.

Otherwise, Kasey, you're going to be stuck with the tedious chore of explaining exactly why Maya Angelou's poems are bad in a way that is consistent with an explicit and consistent ontology of good and bad poetries. I would really hate to see you put yourself through such a painful set of requirements for talk. I can willingly accept the truthiness of your aesthetic judgments. I can't really accept Kant or Aristotle as role models, however. They're just so, well, ridiculous.

Agreeing to disagree

2007-01-15T20:03:00.000+03:00

I was more or less hoping for a paintball match between Ron Silliman and Reginald Shepherd. This reasoned discussion stuff lacks that musk of virility television and blogs find difficult to reproduce. I was dreaming of the impossible made real and then I noticed Ron agreed to disagree and so too did Reginald.

When disagreeing poets should stick to disagreement. Stick to disagreement, or else lapse into pretending you are diplomats of some poetic nation. But let's face it. There are no poetic nations, or for that matter, no poetic continents, states, counties, towns, tribes. No movements, no schools, even. There are only cliques and sociopaths. Neither cliques nor sociopaths ever really represent anything except personal agendas with varying degrees of tolerance for loneliness. Queen bees all around. Cliques almost never produce anything of any quality as they're almost always bound by apoetic pretenses and obligations, compromised from the start, and sociopaths spend way too much time stinging themselves, compromised at the end. While it may seem that the sociopath may be better off, the true lesson of the fool is that, while acting more like the fool thus concluding he is the lesser fool, is that really is at least as big a fool as the worst of fools.

Yes paintball I say. For if there is nothing in poetry but sociopaths and cliques, then poetry is essentially a redneck enterprise. All poets reside in the sticks. Where they like to play paintball.

Let's disagree, then, and maybe maintain an honest level of unreasonableness when doing so. Stick to our redneck roots. And more paintball, and more musk.

2007-01-12T06:56:00.000+03:00

I've been tagged by Andy Gricevich to write five little-known things about me. All of the following are entirely true despite the otherwise fictional nature of my being.

1. While my surfaces seem somewhat inspired by the internet age, my guts as a mindless seer predate the Old Testament. Leviticus warns against my type as evil, yet the Greeks thrived on individuals of my sort (e.g., the Delphic Oracle).

2. As Lester the dummy I was at first operated by one poet but later a second poet became a part of me as well. Everything about me is really about "me."

3. My "great book" as Ron Silliman referred to Be Somebody in comparing it to Moby-Dick, edited by parties as diverse as a HarperCollins marketing guru Suzie Sisoler as well as genius CA poet Standard Schaefer, will finally be released this year by Effing Press over seven years after it was first drafted. Some but certainly not all of its ideas relating to information retrieval and language manipulation have in the intervening time been poached by lesser and less scrupulous poets. What do I think of the book? One of the most innovative books of poetry since Jack Spicer'sAfter Lorca.

4. In only my second public reading, at Todd Sandvik's Blue Door reading in Carrboro, NC (the first was for a reading series in Brooklyn in 2001), Mr. Silliman, who was in attendance, exclaimed mysteriously that "Gary Sullivan would be jealous."

5. I've had several fan polaroids taken of me meeting renowned porn stars at various strip clubs in Austin TX. I have not seen any of those polaroids in six years. If you find any, please let me know.

I hereby tag five people to tell five things about themselves many people don't know about them: Linh Dinh, Reb Livingston, Scott Pierce, Fred Stutzman, and Rodrigo Garcia Lopes.

2006-12-29T07:25:00.000+03:00

Deselect your image graceful
ly

our lady of the perpetual scumsuck
our liar lying like a fat odalisque

you continue your lobbying in Dis
you stupid pregnant spider
spitting little sniveling crawlers
more glitter for the web of gleaming tards

tell us about your day, lady
do tell us about the day you died

you typed this
you typed that

you were this type
and that type

please, allow me to document you:

you will be remebered
yes
again, with tears

you were an excellent typer

2006-11-07T07:21:00.000+03:00

Hans von Slicedoff, Our Patron Saint of the Flogspot

from Hans von Gersdorff's Feldtbuch der Wundartzney : newlich getruckt und gebessert, found in the NLM's Historical Anatomies on the Web site

2006-10-31T23:15:00.000+03:00

Glengarry Glen Ross: Always be Closing

Click the play icon to start the video.
Please be patient while your media loads.

2006-10-01T21:48:00.000+03:00

Hello my name is Clement Greenberg

OK sure. Hello my name is
Clement Greenberg and this is me
translated through the newest and latest
language technologies. Here I go.
As modern production satisfied the
hard-won new technologies I was your greatest
punishment. I would like to use self-destruction
not to further consolidate and strengthen such
destructive functions but rather to say
I will not be shaken.
Works create some rooms.
I used to be my favorite.
It’s the "art."
Most of my attempts to explain various works
you do not consider as law but
it is law nonetheless.
Consider my sculptor-meter steeplechase.
I am the sum of my good habits and
some windows.
First, we extracted some words.
Then.
Then it’s you we added. Then you fight.
You have not read it but it was there in it.
Then the sculpture attends to the troops.
When you are young, you think of art.
You are more interested in the issue then.
We are old and different in that we like
nothing. You are ultimately wrong.
Visual Arts will not be affected by you, not
music, not literature, children. I once went to museums,
I think.
Clement signing off

2006-09-08T00:34:00.000+04:00

for James Booker, my newborn son Booker James,
my friend Charlie Dahan, and the poor people of New Orleans
may we all play Scrabble with the freaks

The James Booker Drowning Black Mystery Blues

Booker, James, in nineteen hundred eighty three,
he and his heart died of a busted levee.

Lovin' that girl of his, shoulda been him.
Drivin that Cadillac under wine dark london avenue river
deep under rolling london avenue sea
drunk on drinkin' wine swollen liver and heroin

who were his friends
where were they
he's sinking into a wheelchair
sinking deep down under Charity way

Old James won't you pass that bottle to me
can't you see my heart's dying of a busted levee

I saw James Booker down there
down at the bottom of streets so blue
I saw that eye looking up from the depths
from the corpse rolling riverbed of Florida Avenue

Booker James James Booker
you scare me don't you know
when you look at me
don't you know you scare me
when you look at me
deep down from the bottom
Black Ponchartrain Mystery

For a man to drown himself once
that's called suicide
but to drown him again man
mother nature's shootin' up some pesticide

Some things haunt me in the country,
Some things in the middle of town,
Some things well up like a great ocean
I wake up in the river and then I drown

James Booker, goodnight, lost broken, goodnight
Goodnight, Katrine, goodnight, New Orleans
I hope we all get you in our dreams

Booker, James, in nineteen hundred eighty three,
he and his heart died of a busted levee.

I saw James Booker down there
down at the bottom of streets so blue
I saw that eye looking up from the depths
from the corpse rolling riverbed of Florida Avenue

Booker James James Booker
you scare me don't you know
when you look at me
don't you know you scare me
when you look at me
deep down from the bottom
Black Ponchartrain Mystery

Old James won't you pass that bottle to me
I'm scared my heart's dying of a busted levee

Old James won't you pass that bottle to me
you can see my heart's dying of a busted levee
Dying since nineteen hundred eighty three.
Dying of a Black Ponchartrain Mystery.
James Booker, goodnight, lost broken, goodnight
Goodnight, Katrine, goodnight, New Orleans
Goodnight to my friends dead without a fight
I hope we all get you in our dreams

2006-05-28T19:43:00.000+04:00

Excuses for Abuses

midget tossing's usually good for a cheap laugh
and little boys pop little boners by yelling cunt
hey! hi! what are words, you motherfucker?
is whore an idea alone, bloody scissors in the head
form an abstraction? my metastatic tumor vines climbing
jack off on the killer beanstalk who knows what that was
that rolled out of his mouth jim scrambles up the sliding
mud hill the heights were always looming high
this search yielded one result hilarious
like, whatever, or so that's what they say they
cute harness grab the handle push it in
all fall down 1001 things to screw in a dead punk

2006-05-25T03:18:00.000+04:00

doll-eater

two guatemalan dogs fight over an american fetus
it does what it do
imbibe molten acrylic

doll-eater

once was a bead of sweat there
it is what it be
agar rolling down the throat

doll-eater

management decision snug in polyethylene
you are what you is
chalk liquefaction at a boil

doll-eater

torn black ring around the snarl
i am what i ain't
chug the glaciated hell slurry

doll-eater

2006-03-03T00:12:00.000+03:00

2006-02-10T00:07:00.000+03:00

2006-02-09T19:59:00.000+03:00

2006-01-27T22:27:00.000+03:00

"Patrick Herron, incidentally, along with Alan Sondheim, is the real originator of Flarf, though they seem to have been written out of the recent proto-histories. Just to mention that in passing."
- Kent Johnson, on K. Silem's {lime tree},
link: http://limetree.ksilem.com/archives/2006_01.html#000726

"As for Patrick Herron and Alan Sondheim being the originators of Flarf, that's a bizarre claim if I ever heard one, and I'm sure they would be the first ones to refute it. Gary Sullivan is the originator of Flarf, plain and simple. If Kent means that the work Patrick and Alan did prior to Flarf anticipated many of its elements and concerns, certainly. They're both artists I admire a great deal. There are lots of other poets that I (and Gary too, I'm sure) would acknowledge as Flarf influences in this regard as well, many of them dead for centuries."
- K. Silem Mohammad, {lime tree},
link: http://limetree.ksilem.com/archives/2006_01.html#000726

Patrick responds to the idea that the origins of Flarf are not so clearly or bizarrely absent from his past:

In a response to a post on Kasey Mohammad's blog "limetree" Kent Johnson
yesterday apparently raised an alarm about the origins of Flarf, giving
credit to me and Alan Sondheim thus subverting the official history of
Flarf.

Kasey responded to Kent, calling the claim absurd.

So I responded in the following lengthy way:

*****************************
"As for Patrick Herron and Alan Sondheim being the originators of Flarf,
that's a bizarre claim if I ever heard one, and I'm sure they would be
the first ones to refute it. Gary Sullivan is the originator of Flarf,
plain and simple. If Kent means that the work Patrick and Alan did prior
to Flarf anticipated many of its elements and concerns, certainly.
They're both artists I admire a great deal. There are lots of other
poets that I (and Gary too, I'm sure) would acknowledge as Flarf
influences in this regard as well, many of them dead for centuries."

First I want to say that I have great admiration for Kasey and for Gary
Sullivan and how they have bizzarely devolved the found-on-the-internet
poem. That's not a backhanded compliment in any way at all.

Am I the originator of Flarf? Well, if creating Flarf is equivalent to
coining the word "Flarf," clearly I had nothing at all to do with that.

However, what Kent wrote is not quite so bizarre, and Gary's claim to
origins isn't so clear.

The Flarf proto-history claims the origin of the form is with Gary's
dubious posting to the poetry.com website in late 2000. Jordan Davis
wrote in the Village Voice,

"Flarf began in 2000 or 2001 when Sullivan entered a deliberately
offensive poem in a scam poetry contest. ("I got fire inside/my
"huppa"-chimp(TM)" is, possibly, the only quotable passage.) From
id-stoked overhearings more than a little derivative of Bruce Andrews's
"I Don't Have Any Paper So Shut Up" ("If pods could talk*so, how/about a
sperm-a-thon?"), the movement made the switch from finding to seeking
when Gardner (Sugar Pill) went to Google to see what the deliberately
misspelled "Rogain bunny" search would yield. Gardner explains: "If you
have a Googled/cut up poem that still has most of its social filters set
too high, it may be interesting poetry but it's probably not flarfy."

In fact it appears that Kasey agrees with this entirely, as do Charles
Bernstein and Mike Magee (see
http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/bernstein/syllabi/readings/flarf.html).

If we are to take Jordan's story as a valid description of how an origin
may be ascribed, then my own claim to origination is far from absurd.
My absence from this protohistory feels akin to what it might feel like
if I invented a game only not to be picked to play on a team.

There are in fact two direct precedents to what Gary did in late 2000,
both done in his plain view. I did my homework and found that on the
Wompo list in late 1999, in plain view of Gary who was himself a member
of Wompo, A Janet McCann proposed sending a false poem, a hoaxy-joke of
a poem to poetry.com. To my knowledge no such poem was ever in fact
sent to poetry.com.

The McCann posts:
>
>Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1999 16:08:54 EST
>Reply-To: Discussion of Women's Poetry List <[log in to unmask]>
>Sender: Discussion of Women's Poetry List <[log in to unmask]>
>From: Janet Mccann <[log in to unmask]>
>Subject: Anyone can play
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
>
>Being bored with these papers I am grading, I propose a game of
>Exquisite Corpse, the results to be sent to that contest. We can make up
>a name for the poet--Wilhelmina Carlos Hemingway? Emily Whitman? and
>have the return address my English Department, where I can retrieve the
>acceptance. Anyone who wants to should send me a line of truly
>horrendous poetry, backchannel. I will assemble these and distribute and
>send. JanetM
>
>Date: Sat, 18 Dec 1999 10:57:37 EST
>Reply-To: Discussion of Women's Poetry List <[log in to unmask]>
>Sender: Discussion of Women's Poetry List <[log in to unmask]>
>From: Janet Mccann <[log in to unmask]>
>Subject: You can be the new Lauriate!
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
>
>OK, unless I get a few more lines by tomorrow, this goes off to
>poetry.com -- any winnings will be donated to literacy causes! JanetM
>The Most Exquisite Corpse by Wilhelmina Carlos Hemingway Darling,
>dimpled, explosive posterior! It was a thumb I saw floating on the
>slick. There are no metaphors in heaven. (I've measured it from side to
>side. 'Tis three feet long and two feet wide.) There was a girl standing
>by a lake, her luminous form shadowed by a nimbus of moon, Those purple
>bruises, your love bites on my neck, a good puke lessens the heart's
>burden.

If the origin of Flarf comes from the *idea* of sending a crappy junk
poem to poetry.com, then Janet McCann in fact deserves the credit as
originator.

Jordan Davis, author of the protohistory quoted above, ran an active
poetics discussion list called subsubpoetics. Gary, Kasey, Kent,
Jordan, Mike, and I were all very active members of this relatively
small but dynamic discussion list. I was a rather unknown quantity at
the time I joined the list in '98 or '99, but I regularly posted poems
to the list as well as explanations of my approach, hoping to generate
discussion about ideas for poetic production. I got to know, in a
virtual sense, everyone involved on the list. At the time I had a
number of methods for writing the texts I regularly posted to subsub,
but there were two methods that dominated the writing I sent to the
subsub list, disparate methods I married during 2000 in the form of the
puppet Lester Oracle and his still-unpublished volume, _Be Somebody_
(see Ron Silliman's blog for a review:
http://ronsilliman.blogspot.com/2003/11/my-sock-puppet-my-self.html).
The one approach of mine was more of the engastromuthoi sort, high on vapors
and writing in a sort of fugue state, a sort of self/no-self manic
state. I was after all suffering from hypomania at the time. The other
approach was a rather complicated cutup methodology that used the
internet aggressively. I regularly used spam, strange web group
letters, and even web text-munging tools to create these weird
assemblages. The texts I was using regularly came from the use of
search engines, whether they be Alta Vista, later Google, or even
specialized search engines like rhymezone or dictionary.com.

One of the desires I had behind working on thse sorts of cut-ups was to
exploit the vast repository that the internet was. I also believed
strongly that *stealing* was the way to good poetry, and rewriting other
words was central to that stealing. I wanted to undermine the very
notions of poetic identity and poetic voice, and aggressively attack
notions of copyright with respect to language. I also was quite
concerned that the internet was providing a new means for separating
people and making people abstractions. I thought the approach to these
problems was through fake-hoaxy internet cut-ups of things like old
poems, nonsense babbly, poorly written posts to newsgroups, etc. And to
some extent--here's where Alan comes in--I was parodying the work of
Alan Sondheim, another active member of subsubpoetics, who was
aggressively employing tools on the internet to create texts. He was
more optimistic about things than I was, but I respected him highly, and
hence the parodies. They stopped being parodic quickly. You can find
some of these texts in proximate.org or later in Lester's work. Consider
the whole project a radical assault on (1) hypertext poetics;
(2) confessional poetry; and (3) the ubiquitous phenomenon of poet's
name-as-brand. Best of all, the project had immense generative
capacity as well as immediate relevance.

I first wrote about some of these intents and desires, about a website I
created in 1999 called proximate.org, in an essay published by Gary
Sullivan and Nada Gordon during the summer of 2000 in their seminal web
journal README (http://home.jps.net/~nada/proximate.htm). Since then
I've written extensively about these subjects in other places, such as
in VeRT ("Poetic Radicalism in the Internet Age" which you can read here
http://www.proximate.org/internetage.htm as the VeRT link is broken)
and later in Jacket on the subject of the fake fake, the deliberately
obvious poetic hoax (http://jacketmagazine.com/17/herron.html).

During Summer 2000 on subsub I entered a flame war with Doug Rothschild
whose talk at the Boston Poetry Conference centered on the subject of how
poets should be poets. I thought that looking for some essential poet-
profile was pretty much equivalent to supporting a commercial-grade
confessional poetics. Doug and Gary Sullivan were backchanneling each
other and one of them accidentally let one of their private
mails slip to me. In the slipped email they called me an idiot for what
I was trying to argue. No doubt Gary had something at stake with
confession-forms, in particular with his publication of _Swoon_, a book
constructed confessionally: personal love emails. At the time it seemed
that Gary, as well as most subsub members, had little interest in Personism,
in critiquing solipsism, in questioning the name-dependent industry that poetry
had pathetically become. Those of us on sub sub who were interested and
writing on the subject were small in number (Kent Johnson, Gabe Gudding,
Alan Sondheim, and I); those of us writing poetry to match this
self-ambiguous poetic were even fewer (Kent, Alan, and I), only two of
us were contextualizing this and actively creating, using and abusing web tools
and algorithmic processes were even smaller (Alan and I), and I was all alone
in taking this in a critical-satirical way.

If the origin is not influence, well, OK fine, I'm just an influence.
That's cool. But that sort of rhetoric feels like a cruel trick on me.
Hey, I want a little credit just like everyone else. That's all. I think
I have a better-than-trivial claim to something more than influence. I
don't want to crash anyone's party. I just don't want to feel cheated
either. The story sounds to me like something more than "influence."

What we're talking about here with respect to Flarf is the use of web
tools (search engines, email clients, text mungers) to create fake-ish
junk-ish satirical poems, I was doing this in plain view of everyone party
to the creation of Flarf. I used babelfish extensively and in plain view
of the Poetics list in 1998 to rewrite a James Tate poem a dozen times!
I wasn't allowed on the team, but I think I had and continue to have a
decent claim to an integral part of the formation of this form. And I
have a decent and well-documented claim to show that Kasey, Gary,
Jordan, Alan, and Kent were all present and seeing my related work on a
daily basis well before late 2001. I was creating manual
algorithms for text manupulations, algorithms whose rules I regularly
broke, well before this time. (This sort of work has led me to my
present occupation, which is the study of advanced text analysis and
manipulation techniques--text mining--in graduate school and beyond.)
Not only did I do this, but I would send intermediate drafts that showed
the procedures in action, and I would also regularly describe both my formal
and philosophical intents. These folks weren't interested, at least not until
they did it themselves and called it their own, naming themselves founders
and inventors, when instead it seemed more like a rip-off.

Compare all of this to what Mike Magee wrote:

"One might say that Flarf is a radical elevation of the tendencies
already there in Personism."

But wait--as the TV infomercials go--there's more. Back to the origin
in the posting to poetry.com.

If actually *sending* a crap poem to poetry.com was the origin of Flarf
rather than merely coming up with the idea, then Gary most likely saw me
do exactly what he did, but at least six months before he did--right on
the subsubpoetics list, with fellow list members Kasey, Jordan, Kent, Alan,
Gary and others present.

Here's my post to subsub (part of a very long thread) in March 2000:

>Subsubpoetics Home Page: Archive: Message #3853
>
>Date: Mar 18 2000 23:20:52 EST
>From: "Patrick Herron"
>Subject: Freunde, nicht diese tone!
>
>My first submission! under 20 lines! for poetry.com! Oh, What Joy!
>
>http://poetry.com - please search for Archduke Froshingslosh, the greatest
>living poet of all limited small areas within the Gobshite Region of Lower
>Flanders
>
>this masterpiece is humbly dedicated to the genius and grandeur of the
>esteemed Professor Eric Blarnes, Blarnufflink Chair of the Veteran Poets
>Senior Citizen Center Health Benefits Institute
>
>big shrew of goo
>roodely toodely doo
>poo poo er
>et tu shamu and
>to you emu I
>sue n rue the
>choo choo loo
>that did spew
>spent chew
>and said moo
>in kung foo zoo
>with one new shoe too
>i am a poet aren't you
>i am a poet i touch myself
>and think of Family Feud
>when on the boob tube.
>i am cold water cubes
>for noo one but
>a dog named Boo.
>
>Copyright (c) 2000 Archduke Ridiculophus Froshingslosh, Semi-ruler of
>Flanders and other Highly Ambient Domains & Heir to the Fortune of
>CarbonMonoxidizer, Inc.
>
>http://poetry.com - Where Everyone is a Poet (TM)
>The home to 1.4 formerly homeless and neglected poets. (TM)
>Come to poetry.com - Where Our Database Will Read It! (TM)
>Where You Can Purchase Your Very Own Poem from Us! (TM)
>Where Moles Make Mountains Of Hirsute Shite! (TM)

Note also the heavy use of (TM)...something you can see in the supposed
origin of Flarf by Gary in the proto-Flarf piece "Mm-hmm":

>Mm-hmm
>
>Yeah, mm-hmm, it's true
>big birds make
>big doo! I got fire inside
>my "huppa"-chimp(TM)
>gonna be agreessive, greasy aw yeah god
>wanna DOOT! DOOT!
>Pffffffffffffffffffffffffft! hey!
>oooh yeah baby gonna shake & bake then take
>AWWWWWL your monee, honee (tee hee)
>uggah duggah buggah biggah buggah muggah
>hey! hey! you stoopid Mick! get
>off the paddy field and git
>me some chocolate Quik
>put a Q-tip in it and stir it up sick
>pocka-mocka-chocka-locka-DING DONG
>fuck! shit! piss! oh it's so sad that
>syndrome what's it called tourette's
>make me HAI-EE! shout out loud
>Cuz I love thee. Thank you God, for listening!

Notice also the abuseof poetic Personism. I did it in huge flashing
letters, in plain view of Kasey, Mike, Kent, Gary, Alan, Jordan, and so
on....

It's rather uncanny, isn't it, that the piece I dedicated to "Professor
Eric Blarnes," who was Henry Gould, another very active member of
subsub, seems very similar in intent to what I did in early 2000 right
there on subsub? I plucked the rhymes from rhymezone, some of the lines
from discussion lists and web pages, etc.

I am not suggesting that anyone *deliberately* elided me from any
history of Flarf from issues of journals featuring "flarfists," etc..
If anything I sort of take it to mean that I'm entirely forgettable, at
least to these few folks. I'm sure no one intended to neglect me.
Jordan and Gary and Kasey have always been kind to me, and hell, Jordan
and Gary were the first two people to publish my work, and they did so
by soliciting work from me. That was a huge compliment; their efforts
gave my work some legitimacy way back then, legitimacy and acceptance it
didn't quite enjoy at that time.

All I am asking is that these people acknowledge my efforts were done in
plain view and were fundamental to (ironically enough) the later work
of Gary and others performed under the label of "Flarf."

I think I can also singularly lay claim to Flarfing an entire
municipality, which I successfully did in 2003, when my crappy mockery
of "southern poetry" won me the Poet Laureateship of the town in which I
reside, Carrboro, NC. I exposed the joke in a newspaper essay last
year: http://www.chapelhillnews.com/opinion/story/2416845p-8794817c.html

As it turned out, the joke was entirely on me.

2005-05-01T01:28:00.000+04:00

Losing my right hand man
- for Jon, the other survivors,
and the ones who didn't make it back

Dear friends -

Now it's your turn to give the orders.
"All right," I said. "Tell me to put my hands up."
Plunge your hand in water up to the wrist;
Gaze into & note what it is you soon will miss
The glacier knocks in the oil tanker
the desert sighs in my head,
And the crack in the gas tank opens
a lane to the land of the dead.

Happy New Year's! I'm about to head out with the boys on patrol.
Happy New Year's! In about an hour we will be hit by an ambush.
Happy New Year's. This is the last letter I will every write you.
Happy New Year's. The absence of my right hand is not the right hand of absence.
Happy New Year's. My boss tells me you can fool enough of the people all of the time.
Happy New Year's. Someone said something about freedom.

Should my old right hand be lost
can it not be brought to mind?
Should my old right hand be lost
we'll take a shot of kindness yet.
And here's a hand, my trusted friend,
in the dirt, and give a hand of yours.

You took a shot of kindness yet
And you're dead face down in the dirt.

2005-04-30T02:44:00.000+04:00

I wonder at this You and I
You are all there is
And I am all annihilated.
There is an I
No longer exists.

- Mansur al-Halaj, a 10th Century Persian Sufi

2005-04-29T11:37:00.000+04:00

A Julie Cervantes spammed me with the following message:

you holdover me diffractometer me you during me query me you nymphomaniac me solve me you irene me detention me
you anybody me crusoe me you dingy me patti me you percussive me hobart me you bisexual me palladian me

2005-04-25T11:22:00.000+04:00

The Earth Is A Satellite Of The Moon
Leonel Rugama, radical poet
trans. Kent Johnson

Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.
Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.
Apollo 4 cost more than Apollo 3
Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.
Apollo 8 cost a whole shit-load of money, but no one minded
because the astronauts were Protestant,
they read the Bible from the moon, astounding and delighting
every Christian, and on their return Pope Paul VI
gave them his blessing.
Apollo 9 cost more than all of these put together
including Apollo 1 which cost plenty.
The great-grandparents of the people of Acahualinca
were less hungry than the grandparents.
The great-grandparents died of hunger.
The grandparents of the people of Acahualinca were less hungry
than the parents. The grandparents died of hunger.
The parents of the people of Acahualinca were less hungry
than the children of the people there.
The parents died of hunger.
The people of Acahualinca are less hungry than the children
of the people there. The children of the people of Acahualinca, because of
hunger, are not born, though
they hunger to be born, even to just die of hunger.

Blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the moon.

2005-04-14T10:56:00.000+04:00

King Richard's Song of
Jacques Stout's Diving Songs

for Joe Donahue

Are, am, are?
Be.
Be.
Be.
Who
finds ways back to books of myths
in which nothing does not appear?
Who
might drown them?
Not a swimmer named
Jacques,
not the face forming in a haze of asphyxiation
how the blood boils in rising
blop
blop
bloop
when the spinning pin pricks of purple light
pinwheel and nova, the flesh explodes
and is then set on the corner
swapping cocks for a cop of candy.
Who frames profanes, inflames, and
proclaims. The naughty boy
strangled the pussy and threw her in the well;
sing a dong to the children. Who
wins the books of myths but no one,
not one but only one.

Traveling knots and nots
in sinking.
We drown
only separately,
we,
I,
because
I am I
to drown
my
books. Love cannot be drowned;
the
Is
do not have it.
They
cannot.
Who be the
they
that frame?
We
of course the
they
but at a different depth.

Coming to the surface is otherwise
not inevitable, not all fish eyes
point to the skies. We're not Cousteau
nor amphibious humans owning all possible worlds
nor regularly enjoying lovely vacations at sea.
You is what you aren't, the ocean being otherwise
the original, contemporary and ultimate solution.
I am not she I am not he I am not it but I am but
I am not I
We are not we
we
but
so much less than
infintely more

2005-04-07T04:43:00.000+04:00

consider the lilies of the field
consider the lilies in the field
consider the lilies across the field
consider the lilies in my field of vision
consider a lily of a field
consider one lily of a poorly defined open space loosely demarcated by some trees
some trees and a golf course
consider the worms
consider one worm the worm
consider some worms eating
consider eating
consider ate
consider how it is you consider one lily or a lily or the lily or a field or the field consider it please
I tell you what to do and you listen
what does your consideration look like?
I’ve had a nice morning
contemplating my investments
out on the golf course
wondering how interest rates will bear the market
and the market is bleeding
the bodies pile up trades considered trades made
all aboard consider how the train is scheduled the deal is brokered
consider how wal-mart marvels at its own wonder
consider how it plucks lilies from the field
they just walk right up
say please pluck me I have nothing I will work inside that barbed wire camp I don't need Eichmann's train
consider profit margins
consider the suboptimal agents of the field
consider the suboptimal agents considering their children considering the exchange of horrors
consider the optimal agents counting in billions
consider the optimal agents considering who to hire to consider who to hire to manage their yachts at their various estates and how to keep cousin Jim from pleading for a few dollars
consider how they end up there
consider that by they I mean the lilies how they end up where in the labor camps in a system of slavery enslavement of the willing
consider who shall suffer for her children
consider this
consider this my pit bull
consider this my next word
consider words directly
consider the people who speak them
consider the
consider lilies
consider of
consider the materials of our exchange
consider how it is your world is mediated
consider whose world
consider it may be no one's field and no one's lily
consider your worldly needs and the fences thereof
consider the field not a sermon and the lily not an omen
consider the lilies of the field

2005-03-21T08:50:00.000+03:00

Evidence of unintelligent life in the neighborhood

2005-02-22T22:57:00.000+03:00

2005-02-22T21:44:00.000+03:00

It's nearly impossible for me to express in words how saddened I am to know that the weird one with the freak power has retired from the professional leagues in a flash of peacock feathers and a broken cigarette. Hunter never lapsed into good taste despite the fears of his peers amidst the stink of a Nixon with legion. For that he has been a pillar of my own writing, where telling the truth is lying, and lying with a sneer and a smirk that, despite the superficial offensiveness, lets you in. Truth in language, after all, is not fidelity of signifier to signified exactly but instead the inflation of that space with something you could really sink your teeth into, that which appeals to the beast in all of us. While my body could never withstand the excesses of the great gonzo, my mind, well, nevermind, never mind that.

It's been too much to bear for HST I imagine, his physical deterioration and the ever-looming pile of bodies rotting in the streets of Washington continuously transformed into religious singing contests through the transformations of satellite transmissions and digital processing units and sickening sincerity, Moonified mung from a black magic seance with guys like Rove and Pearle and Murdoch stroking themselves in the corner of the room to smuggled Texas execution videos. When I dedicated my recent book to Ginsberg, Dorfman, and Baraka, I did so because I felt truly beholden to the sense that truth in language could be conveyed only by a sort of lying, a lying that vaults like a breastbone in a surge of blood and old-fashioned guts right about to pop open. I owe equal credit to HST for informing that with equal parts outrage and humor.

Journalism, not just gonzo journalism, is dead. In America it is dead. First battle field reporters, then investigative journalists, and now the Great Gonz himself. Nothing so surprising, because democracy in America is likewise dead, never to be recovered from the screwheads, these Operation 40 whores whose CVs include the murder of presidents across the globe, genocides on three continents, the engineering of the technologies of terrorism and plausible deniability, countless billion dollar heists of the public trust from colonias to savings and loans to weapons pork to missing military budget funds and now social security, and shameless gloat over their oh-so-munificent incorporation of Jesus as some perverse extension of loving wrath. "Here are your hoods Allah; you'll kneel at our temple." John Ashcroft is writhing down in his kiddie porn dungeon, oiling himself madly & frothing at the thought of a Supreme Court nomination. The screwheads have won, and they are truly terrifying.

We've been fucked America--dusted first and then fucked. Hunter understood what it meant to be dusted, and he was tough enough to stay awake. It's why he was screaming.

2005-02-22T00:09:00.000+03:00

Hunter S. RIP

when the going gets weird
the weird turn pro
but when the going stays weird
the weird choose to go

Hunter (as "Harris form the Post"):
You know I was never really frightened by the bopheads and
the potheads with their silliness never really frightened me either, but
these goddam screwheads, they terrify me. And the poor doomed, the
young, and the silly, the honest, the weak, the Italians... they're
doomed, they're lost, they're helpless, they're somebody else's meal,
they're like pigs in the wilderness.

Nixon:
Come here Harris, come here. (pause) Fuck the doomed.

2005-01-18T04:57:00.000+03:00

Loneliness
based on a true* story

Tonight I took a moment to admire
the skill by which my local grocer
had applied plastic wrap to my asparagus.

I could never star in one of those commercials
where they wrap something up,
usually liquid, and then turn it upside down
to demonstrate the strength of the seal.

The stuff would stream down my pants and then
I'd get fired
and the executive producer
would call me to his couch to have me sit next to him
and I'd hear his breath and smell it it's damp and he'd ask
how on earth someone like me can be so retarded
as to not know
how to use fucking saran wrap

it's not rocket science you know

get out of my office

and then I would go home and eat a tub of ice cream and get real fat like
because I wouldn't because if I got fat what would I do
I'd, well, I'd be forced

to kill myself.

I still haven't mastered Cling Wrap.

*-blog in gthe blogosphere

2005-01-02T00:28:00.000+03:00

I don't know if any of you have noticed, but the phrase "Sunni Triangle"
seems to have been summarily replaced by the phrase "triangle of death"
across the board in the media. I wondered how in the heck this
happened, how journalism could go from an even keeled phrase to a
jingoistic one. So I traced the history of the phrase "triangle of
death" in lexis/nexis, and here are the results:

-----------------------------------------------------
1st reference:
-----------------------------------------------------
Copyright 1982 Associated Press
All Rights Reserved

The Associated Press

These materials may not be republished without the express written
consent
of The Associated Press

August 17, 1982, Tuesday, PM cycle

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 81 words

DATELINE: ROME

BODY:
Interior Minister Virginio Rognoni announced that police reinforcements
will be sent to the island of Sicily to fight the growing number of
attacks by the Mafia.

The government has ordered an anti-Mafia campaign following a string of
murders _ including 14 in one week _ carried out by rival gangs in the
so-called Triangle of Death, the towns of Bagheria, Villabbate and
Casteldaccia southeast of Palermo. There have been 92 Mafia murders in
the Palermo area so far this year.

---------------------------------------------------
Then, in 1984, the "triangle of death" moves to Guatemala, out of crime
and
Into the realm of armed insurrection/terrorism:
---------------------------------------------------

Copyright 1984 U.P.I.

United Press International

July 21, 1984, Saturday, BC cycle

ADVANCED-DATE: July 19, 1984, Thursday, BC cycle

SECTION: International

LENGTH: 718 words

HEADLINE: WEEKEND SHOWCASE;
Report from Guatemala;
Mayas, once ignored, moved to''model villages'' by army

BYLINE: By MICHAEL W. DRUDGE

DATELINE: ACUL, Guatemala

BODY:
The Guatemalan army, acting to consolidate a near total victory over
leftist guerrillas, is moving many Indian peasants to ''model villages''
in what could lead to the final conquest of the proud Mayas.

In the mist-shrouded mountains of Quiche province 78 miles northwest of
Guatemala City sits Acul, the first of the new towns built with Indian
labor under army supervision.

Acul lies between the Quiche towns of Nebaj, Chajul and Cotzal, which
form the points of a region that was dubbed the ''Triangle of Death'' during
a bloody counterinsurgency three years ago. Other model towns have been
built along the Mexican border.

----------------------------------------------
Then, in 1986, the fatal polygon moves from terrorism to natural
disasters, and takes residence in China
----------------------------------------------

Copyright 1986 U.P.I.

United Press International

July 27, 1986, Sunday, BC cycle

ADVANCED-DATE: July 21, 1986, Monday, BC cycle

SECTION: International

LENGTH: 1050 words

HEADLINE: Tangshan quake: Nature, man combine in disaster

BYLINE: By RON REDMOND

DATELINE: TANGSHAN, China

BODY:
Tears welled up in an old woman's eyes as she recalled the hot July
night 10 years ago when the sky filled with thunder, the earth convulsed and
242,000 people were left dead or dying in 23 terrifying seconds.

''Everyone here has a story to tell,'' whispered a young municipal
official as he watched the old woman fight back tears. ''No one who
lived through that earthquake has forgotten.''

Nevertheless, a decade after one of the worst earthquakes in history
demolished the city of Tangshan, the full story of what happened has yet
to emerge.

Tangshan residents tell of an eerie light in the northwest sky and a
sound ''just like 100 steam engines whistling'' that pierced the pre-dawn
stillness just before the temblor struck at 3:42 a.m.

Most of the city's 1 million residents were sound asleep, which
accounted for the huge death toll. About 148,000 people died in Tangshan itself.
The other 94,000 casualites occurred in a densely populated ''triangle of
death'' bordered by Tangshan and the cities of Tianjin and Peking, 162
miles to the west.

----------------------------------------
After getting homesick, the triangle of death moves from China back to
its homeland in Italy and invests itself again in the business of
terrorism, but rather than returning to Sicily it takes residence in
Rome:
--------------------------------------------

Copyright 1987 Associated Press
All Rights Reserved

The Associated Press

These materials may not be republished without the express written
consent of The Associated Press

June 9, 1987, Tuesday, AM cycle

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 366 words

HEADLINE: U.S. Embassy Sits in Target Area of Terrorists

DATELINE: ROME

BODY:
The U.S. Embassy, the target on Tuesday of car bomb and rocket attacks,
sits at the heart of what is known as "the triangle of death," an area
of Rome whose embassies, airline offices and popular tourist cafes made it
a favorite terrorist target.

The area is a prime piece of Rome real estate shaped like an ice cream
cone, with the two straight sides of the cone being Via Bissolati and
Via Barberini and the top of the ice cream being curving, hilly Via Veneto.

-----------------------------------
Back to Sicily
-----------------------------------

Copyright 1988 U.P.I.

United Press International

January 12, 1988, Tuesday, AM cycle

SECTION: International

LENGTH: 484 words

HEADLINE: Police raid Mafia strongholds in Sicily

DATELINE: CATANIA, Sicily

BODY:
More than 600 paramilitary police backed by helicopters and dogs Tuesday
conducted dawn raids on Mafia strongholds in an area known as the
''Triangle of Death,'' officials said.

----------------------------------------
In 1988 it is revealed that the deadly shape had actually been
lurking in a Cuban jail for years
----------------------------------------

Copyright 1988 Associated Press
All Rights Reserved

The Associated Press

These materials may not be republished without the express written
consent of The Associated Press

August 10, 1988, Wednesday, AM cycle

SECTION: Washington Dateline

LENGTH: 450 words

HEADLINE: Human Rights Ambassador Accuses Castro Of Cover-Up

BYLINE: By DAVID BRISCOE, Associated Press Writer

DATELINE: WASHINGTON

BODY:
Cuban jails where political prisoners have been kept naked in windowless
rooms are being altered to make them appear more humane to outside
investigators, a U.S. human rights official said Wednesday.

Ambassador Armando Valladares, U.S. representative to the U.N. Human
Rights Commission, made the accusation and released photographs of
prisoners and their cells he said were smuggled out of one prison by
Cuban dissidents.

Valladares, who himself was a prisoner of Cuban leader Fidel Castro for
22 years before he was released in 1982 and allowed to emigrate to the
United States, said some of the worst jail cells have been dismantled in a
prison near Havana but others remain in more than 200 jails throughout the
country.

"Real changes are not possible, because that would mean the end of the
dictatorship," said Valladares, speaking in Spanish through a
translator. He was appointed to the Geneva-based human rights commission by
President Reagan earlier this year. Castro expressed outrage at the appointment,
labeling Valladares a terrorist.

The photos showed a wall of windowless metal doors and the interior of
dank cells with hole-in-the-floor toilets. Valladares said the cells,
including one dubbed "the triangle of death," were all torn down shortly
after the pictures were taken.

------------------------------------
suddenly, the phrase shifts from terrorism to substance abuse:
------------------------------------

Copyright 1989 PR Newswire Association, Inc.
PR Newswire

June 7, 1989, Wednesday

DISTRIBUTION: TO NATIONAL DESK

LENGTH: 576 words

DATELINE: SHREVESPORT, La., June 7

BODY:
Dick Gregory and Father George Clements announced today that they would
begin a 40-day fast to highlight America's drug crisis.

"We're appealing to America," said Gregory, "to join with us in a major
effort to mobilize this nation to new heights of concern and
consciousness in the war against drugs."

At a news conference held at the Security National Bank in Shrevesport,
Gregory was joined by Chicagoan Clements, founder of One Church, One
Child, a nationally acclaimed child adoption organization, and Wesley
Godfrey, president of Security National Bank.

"The drug crisis deserves serious attention from all Americans who wish
to reach out and touch the victims of drugs," said Clements. "Only our
caring and our love can alleviate the pain and suffering drugs have afflicted
on all of us.

"Who among us," said Clements, "what family, what neighborhood, has not
been touched by the ugly presence of drugs, the nicotine habit or
alcohol addiction."

Gregory called drugs, nicotine and alcohol "a triangle of death." "Its
destruction respects no boundary," he said. "It transcends ideological
differences, it strikes the extremely gifted, the rich and famous, the
poverty stricken: It is a cause of broken families and obliges wayward
children."

------------------------------------
clearly the triangle of death is becoming a sort of catch-all foreboding
phrase, clearly based on the Bermuda triangle. It's in two places in
Italy, not only in terrorism but also in natural disasters, substance
abuse, and inevitably, by 1989, love triangles. Then it makes its move
to the Islamic world, particularly in relation to "Fundamentalists" in
Algeria, in the post-Soviet looking-for the-new-official-enemy 1992:
------------------------------------

Copyright 1992 Associated Press
All Rights Reserved

The Associated Press

These materials may not be republished without the express written
consent of The Associated Press

February 24, 1992, Monday, PM cycle

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 291 words

HEADLINE: Fundamentalists Claim 30,000 Arrested in Crackdown

DATELINE: ALGIERS, Algeria

BODY:
Muslim fundamentalists today claimed 30,000 people have been arrested in
the crackdown on their movement by the military-backed government.
The fundamentalist Islamic Salvation Front said 150 people have been
killed and 700 injured in violence since the government seized power
last month.

The Friday Tribune, a Salvation Front newsletter, published the figures
covering the last 30 days. Among those reported held were 200
fundamentalist mayors, 28 regional assembly leaders and 109
parliamentary deputies.

Fundamentalists previously said 14,000 people were arrested Feb. 7-14
during confrontations between party faithful and security forces.
According to the government, 50 people were killed, 200 injured and
5,000 arrested in that period. The government has issued no overall figures on
detentions and casualties.

The Salvation Front newsletter said 43 women were arrested. It said some
former soldiers were detained, but provided no details.

The fundamentalists said the dead included seven babies smothered by
tear gas and an infant who was shot.

Military leaders declared a state of emergency Feb. 9, about a month
after forcing the president to resign and canceling elections that seemed
certain to give fundamentalists control of Parliament.

The ruling High State Committee has begun proceedings to ban the Islamic
Salvation Front while arresting most of its leaders and many supporters.

Officials have established detention camps throughout the country,
including at least three in the Sahara Desert.

The Algerian League for the Defense of Human Rights on Sunday urged that
the detainees be freed before April, when desert temperatures can reach
122 degrees. The league said the desert camps are in the "triangle of
death."

-----------------------------------
Sudan, 1993, but for famine (which kicks off some rather nasty stuff)
----------------------------------

Copyright 1993 Associated Press
All Rights Reserved

The Associated Press

View Related Topics

These materials may not be republished without the express written
consent
of The Associated Press

April 6, 1993, Tuesday, AM cycle

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 500 words

HEADLINE: Second Town in a Week Left Without Relief Flights

BYLINE: Associated Press Writer

DATELINE: NAIROBI, Kenya

BODY:
Factional fighting forced relief workers to abandon another town in a
famine-stricken region of southern Sudan that aid agencies call "the
triangle of death."

----------------------------------
Still in Algeria, it appears the killer form is beginning to take
on a meaning attached to terrorism rather than any fixed geographic
location
----------------------------------

Copyright 1994 Agence France Presse
Agence France Presse -- English

October 10, 1994 07:43 Eastern Time

SECTION: International news

LENGTH: 734 words

HEADLINE: Suspected Islamists kill more Algerian security officials

DATELINE: ALGIERS, Oct 10

BODY:
Suspected Islamic fundamentalists at the weekend murdered a Algerian
justice ministry official in the prison service and a chief inspector of
police in the capital Algiers, press reports said Monday.

The official, Nourredine Chenoun, 28, was gunned down in the suburb of
Hussein Dey on Saturday and the police officer, Redouane Kermal, 55, was
killed on Sunday, the latest reported victims of a new wave of attacks
on security agents in the Algiers region.

No official toll was available Monday of the number of security
officials and police slain in recent days, according to witnesses and press
reports, in attacks blamed on armed Moslem extremists fighting the secular
authorities.

Meanwhile Monday, the daily En-Nahar reported that leaders of the most
radical of the factions, the Armed Islamic Group (GIA) recently met to
appoint Abou Khalil Mahfoud, the former guerrilla chief in the so-called
"Triangle of Death" in the Algiers region, new head of the GIA.

--------------------------------
Finally, a well-defined region of terrorism, in Algeria, of course:
-------------------------------
Copyright 1995 Deutsche Presse-Agentur
Deutsche Presse-Agentur

January 19, 1995, Thursday, BC Cycle
19:30 Central European Time

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 159 words

HEADLINE: 2 killed, 6 wounded in Algerian bomb blasts

DATELINE: Tunis

BODY:
Two civilians were killed and a member of the Algerian security forces
badly wounded in a bomb blast south of Algiers, reports said Thursday.
Five others were injured in a separate explosion.

The first blast happened at Bougara, near Blida, about 40 kilometres
south of the capital. The bomb was planted on a corpse and exploded when it
was turned over, the official APS news agency said. It did not say when the
incident happened.

Bougara is situated in what has become known as Algeria's "triangle of
death" formed by the cities of Algiers, Blida and Larbaa. The region has
been the scene of some brutal attacks over the last few months. Two
young men were recently beheaded in front of a mosque in the area.

------------------------------------------
Now it's spreading throughout central asia, moving to the
opium-producing
part of our world (note the "some people say" element)
------------------------------------------

Copyright 1996 Deutsche Presse-Agentur
Deutsche Presse-Agentur

March 4, 1996, Monday, BC Cycle
13:08 Central European Time

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 196 words

HEADLINE: Iran rejects U.S. claims on drugs production

DATELINE: Teheran

BODY:
U.S. claims linking Iran to drug production are without foundation, the
head of Teheran's anti-narcotics campaign was quoted Monday as saying.

Qodratollah Assadi told the Teheran Times the allegations were
politically motivated and in line with Washington's "hostile policies" towards the
Islamic Republic.

The U.S. assistant secretary of state, Robert Gelbard, has accused Iran
and some other countries of failing to make adequate efforts in fighting
drug trafficking. In a report by the State Department, Iran was also
listed as a major drug producing and transit country.

Assadi said Iranian activities against drug trafficking had been
acknowledged by international organizations, such as the United Nations
Drug Control Programme.

He said Iran had set up 170 control posts along the 1,700-kilometre
border with Afghanistan and Pakistan, which is called the "Triangle of Death"
in Iran because it is where most of the region's druck trafficking occurs.

---------------------------------
for 1996 through 1999 the triangle is firmly planted in Algeria, albiet
with a brief appearance as a polluter in N Vietnam and a love triangle
murder in New Brunswick NJ; but the new millenium brings with it a new location,
this time in Bolivia:
--------------------------------
Copyright 2000 Deutsche Presse-Agentur
Deutsche Presse-Agentur

January 26, 2000, Wednesday BC Cycle
02:45 Central European Time

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 116 words

HEADLINE: At least 18 dead, 7 injured in fighting between Indians

DATELINE: La Paz

BODY:
Fighting over land rights between Indians in Bolivia has killed at least
18 people, including five children, and injured seven more, media
reports said Tuesday.

Clashes broke out Sunday, when about 1,000 Indians from the village of
Sora Sora in Oruro surrounded the neighbouring area of Potosi, shooting
as they forced their way in. Since then, 25 houses have been destroyed and
70 livestock animals, including llamas and lambs, have been stolen.

Potosi's Indians have sworn to avenge the deaths of their villagers and
are demanding the return of their livestock. The region, nicknamed the
"triangle of death" is the scene of frequent such disputes, as property
borders are unclear. dpa mr

----------------------------------------
There's a brief appearance in Sao Paolo Brazil in 2000, and Rome once
again becomes a home for it; interestingly another news feed refers to a
WWII usage of the phrase, applied to the Nazis bu our GIs, of course:
----------------------------------------
Copyright 2001 Newhouse News Service
All Rights Reserved
Newhouse News Service

February 8, 2001 Thursday

SECTION: DOMESTIC

LENGTH: 1113 words

HEADLINE: African-American Hero Earned Not Only Medal, But Apology

BYLINE: By ELIZABETH MULLENER; Elizabeth Mullener is a staff writer for
The Times-Picayune of New Orleans

BODY:
Vernon Baker woke up long before dawn on April 5, 1945, in a stone
farmhouse near Pisa, Italy. He thought it might be his last day on
earth.

So he gathered two bandoliers of ammunition and four grenades, mustered
up some coffee, and put on his dress green Army uniform.

"If I wasn't going to make it," Baker says, "I wanted to go out sharp."

His sense of doom that morning derived from the mission that lay ahead:
to take the Castle Aghinolfi, a German stronghold atop a nearby hill.

For four months, the Americans had been hammering away at the castle,
but the Germans had repulsed every onslaught. They were sitting pretty, just
as they were on two nearby hilltops that together impeded the Allies'
march north toward Germany. The Army had named them Hills X, Y and Z.
But the soldiers called them the Triangle of Death.

---------------------------------------
New-found enthusiasm for the phrase, in Liberia:
---------------------------------------

Copyright 2001 Financial Times Information
All rights reserved
Global News Wire
Copyright 2001 Panafrican News Agency
Panafrican News Agency (PANA) Daily Newswire

June 11, 2001

LENGTH: 437 words

HEADLINE: MANO RIVER WOMEN URGE LEADERS TO TALK PEACE

BYLINE: PETER KAHLER, PANA CORRESPONDENT

BODY:
Monrovia, Liberia (PANA)- The Mano River Women Peace Network (MARWOPNET)
is calling on leaders of the region to "urgently dialogue on the
deteriorating security" of the sub-region, a statement published here
Monday said.

The women renewed their appeal to the leaders of Guinea, Liberia and
Sierra Leone, which make up the Mano River Union (MRU), to implement the
15th protocol of 8 May 2000 on peace and security the three leaders
signed.

MARWOPNET, comprising women from the three states, said it wanted the
leadersto reactivate the Mano River Union (MRU) secretariat and
implement the MRU Declaration.

Over 40 women from Guinea, Sierra Leone and Liberia have been here
attending a week-long workshop on peace-building and leadership
training.

The women resolved to intensify their Society-Liberia-Women efforts to
bring peace and reconciliation, and to encourage and engage in dialogue
at all levels until peace is restored to the sub-region.

They appealed to the international community to "join in ensuring a
stable, healthy and peaceful environment for ourselves and our
children."

MARWOPNET, the statement said, was formed in Abuja, Nigeria May 2000 for
the purpose of networking and collaborating in the quest for peace,
protection of human rights and development in the MRU basin.

It was officially launched at the weekend in Monrovia and its officers
elected and inducted into office.

Madam Kaba Hadja Daraba of Guinea was elected president, Theresa Sherman
of Liberia, first vice president and Agnes Taylor-Louise of Sierra
Leone, second vice president.

Sierra Leone will serve as the seat of the MARWOPNET secretariat.

Ruth Caesar of Liberia is chairman on resource mobilisation, former
ambassador to Liberia and Sierra Leone, Danke Daikhabi of Guinea, is
chairperson on advocacy.

Rosaline M'Carthy of Sierra Leone heads the programme committee,
Davidetta Lansanah of Liberia chairs the communication and media committee, while
Georgette Safo chairs resource management and finance.

Liberia, Guinea and Sierra Leone have been entangled in a web of
accusations and counter-accusations about each other harbouring
dissidents to destabilise the other.

The other two MRU states have repeatedly charged Liberia's president
Charles Taylor was supporting rebel activities in their countries, but
Taylor, a former rebel, retorts by laying the same charge at their feet.

The MRU, which is an economic grouping, has as a result of rebel
activities been thrown into a triangle of death and destruction, spewing
out one of the largest refugee crisis in recent years, UNHCR officials
say.

---------------------------------
...in american prisons:
---------------------------------
Copyright 2001 Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service
Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service
The Charlotte Observer

June 21, 2001, Thursday

SECTION: DOMESTIC NEWS

KR-ACC-NO: K687

LENGTH: 745 words

HEADLINE: Social activism is Wednesday's topic at Baptist national
convention

BYLINE: By Tim Funk, Ken Garfield and Jay Parsons

BODY:
CHARLOTTE, N.C._Baptists on Wednesday began heeding one pastor's call
for African American churches to return to their activist roots.

"You've got to hit the streets and raise hell just like you did with
civil rights," said pastor Tom Diamond of Jacksonville, Fla. "History has
shown that nothing happens in this country unless the church takes aggressive
leadership."

Some 60,000 Baptists are in town this week to learn more about what the
Bible says. Organizers of the National Baptist Convention USA's Congress
of Christian Education have upped earlier crowd estimates by 10,000.
That's probably not surprising to uptown commuters caught in traffic
jams and long restaurant lines this week.

A powerful strain running through many of the 200 programs is that it's
not enough to learn about Scripture. At a workshop on HIV/AIDS
ministries, and at an outdoor service off South Tryon Street, the focus was on
putting the Scripture into practice.

After the AIDS workshop, Diamond said he's going home to Jacksonville to
start a hunger strike until city officials pay more attention to the
issue in the black community.

After a class on courage, the Rev. James Magee Jr. said he's headed back
to Moss Point, Miss., to promote an anti-smoking program for youth _
even if it raises rancor in his tobacco-rich state.

"We've got to stop being afraid," Magee said. "This is the Lord's work."

All over the packed Charlotte Convention Center, pastors and lay leaders
talked about congregations becoming more aggressive and creative.

The Rev. Clifford Jones of Charlotte's Friendship Missionary Baptist _
official host of the convention _ said his church is planning housing
for the elderly at its Beatties Ford Road campus.

At the HIV/AIDS workshop, Miami pastor George McRae said it's time
churches dealt with what he called the "triangle of death" _ AIDS,
substance abuse and so many black men in prison. The only way to do
that, he said, is to get past the fear of dealing with real issues.

-------------------------------
...Rouvray, France, for a wine tasting and love triangle murder, and
then back to terrorism, in the West Bank in 2003:
------------------------------
Copyright 2003 Agence France Presse
Agence France Presse -- English

July 10, 2003 Thursday

SECTION: International News

LENGTH: 563 words

HEADLINE: In eye of storm, Palestinian summer camp offers kids reprieve
from war

BYLINE: HOSSAM EZZEDIN

DATELINE: RAMALLAH, West Bank, July 10

BODY:
Some 300 Palestinian children have set up their summer camp halfway
between the Palestinian town of El-Bireh and the Jewish settlement of
Psagot, in an area of the West Bank once described as the "triangle of
death."

---------------------------------
And so, finally, at long last, our first appearance of the triangle in
Iraq, courtesy of ONASA, a Bosnian news source:
---------------------------------
Copyright 2003 Financial Times Information
All rights reserved
Global News Wire
Copyright 2003 ONASA News Agency
ONASA News Agency

September 17, 2003

LENGTH: 568 words

HEADLINE: A DRIVE ON THE WILD SIDE THROUGH IRAQ'S "TRIANGLE OF DEATH"

BODY:

FALLUJAH, Iraq, Sept 17 (ONASA - AFP) - On a pedestal still bearing the
outlines of a portrait of Saddam Hussein, flyers have sprouted that warn
drivers to stay away from US convoys. Watch out: you're nearing the
"triangle of death." It's a small intersection west of Baghdad linking
the towns of Fallujah, Khaldiyah and Ramadi, and the Habbaniyah Lake, an
area that has seen frequent attacks on US convoys as well as local score
settling. Here was where the police chief of Khaldiya met his death
Monday, cut down by three masked gunmen who riddled his car with bullets
as he was returning to Fallujah, a Sunni hotspot 50 kilometers (30
miles) west of Baghdad. Khaldiyah police sergeant Fuad Fadel, who was wounded
in the attack, knows the area well: "It's the spot the people call the
triangle of death."

---------------------------------
Agence Presse France really picks up on it and sticks to it like melted
brie on a baguette immediately after the ONASA story; it is not until
October 23 that it is picked up by an American feed, Wasshington DC's
own UPI, on 27 October 2004, in an article on the Black Watch:
---------------------------------
Copyright 2004 U.P.I.
United Press International

October 27, 2004 Wednesday

LENGTH: 899 words

HEADLINE: UPI NewsTrack TopNews

BODY:
British troops on the move in Iraq

BAGHDAD, Oct. 27 (UPI) -- Some 850 of Britain's Black Watch troops set
out from the southern Iraqi city of Basra Wednesday to replace U.S. troops
south of Baghdad.

The group includes three companies of armored infantry with some 500 men
and 50 Warrior armored troop carriers. They will be supported by a
reconnaissance unit from the largely Welsh Queen's Dragoon Guards, with
around 100 men and 12 Scimitar armored fighting vehicles, and a
50-strong Royal Marine light infantry unit.

The area they are moving into is dubbed the "triangle of death," and
includes towns like Mahmoudia and Latifiya.

----------------------------------
A lot of journalists in the UK must have picked up on that story,
because within 48 hours, because the UK-based Press Association picks it up the
same day. Between that UPI article in October and the current date, the
phrases is used in relation to Iraq twice as many times as that same
phrase was used in any other way over the last decade, and nearly as
many times at it had been used in years previous, as far back as Lexis/Nexis
news feed goes back.

But outside the news feeds, there's an appearance of the phrase in
reference to Iraq, back in 1991, in The Independent (UK):
------------------------------------------
Copyright 1991 Newspaper Publishing PLC
The Independent (London)

June 16, 1991, Sunday

SECTION: FOREIGN NEWS PAGE; Page 11

LENGTH: 1193 words

HEADLINE: Trapped in Saddam's triangle of death; Thousands die in
southern
marshes

BYLINE: By PHIL DAVISON

BODY:
''IT IS a triangle of death. First, they were dying of disease, then of
hunger. Now, the marshland triangle has become a killing zone.''

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

2004-12-13T23:42:00.000+03:00

Shoot me. Shoot me.
Take me downtown to an armored car and shoot.
Shoot me.
Turn me into an armored doll.
Fill my holes with wounds and wonder
and wrap me in historic brocade and words adhesive words
You say there's no time to wait so shoot me fill me up
turn me into an armored doll
and shoot shoot shoot

leaching gasoline

What I occupy is this
this armored doll
Figure 1A Note the spines and branches dense brush of figure and ground,
shadow and light and their invisible intersections.
X is a helium cavity inside a titanium alloy shell
refills shipped in a truck born in a mother tank.
I am X, blast proof and ready to protect my will
to murder that which is not me
which is not which is not nothing which is and therefore threatens
encrusted in brilliant subdivisions of silicon I am
this armor is distant the outer reaches of space
extensions of weightless nothings
where chalk goes when wiped from the slate
whispers forgotten in the moment you ask me
you ask me am I alright?

I am empty, television and American,
and arming you with taxes and contagious states of panic
See Figure 2: a purulent poetics
My eye loves a spectacle
My I is a debacle
See Figure 3.

Withdrawal compounds the darkest of light
bullets and drugs shortcuts to the future
and the future has stopped here in a blue pill
that is killing me so that I may live.
A value for this X. See figure 4.

this is nothing I abstract myself
on the edge of drugs that keep me alive and make me dead
a litany of bodily decay ejecting photons from past excitements and insults
a swollen finger, blinding headache, an immune system turning on itself

all rendering me into a pox on void
that insists on itself and its progeny
confirming I am nothing
Prince Gauthama extends his empire.
See Table 1 for a list of assets.

This little girl she is me and she is shining
Beauty is flesh and spirit in the lungs
delicate pink lobes of a fledgling will.
It doesn't figure.

radiating time spinning the spinning the
movements slowly leaking radians decay
shouts of brilliant lights

don't shoot me i'm already leaking
See page 137 for details
i'm just in need of some wishful thinking

Better read than dead
If not read, then I'm dead

Shoot me. Shoot me.
Take me downtown to an armored car and shoot.
Shoot me.
Turn me into an armored doll.
Fill my holes with wounds and wonder
and wrap me in historic brocade and words adhesive words
You say there's no time to wait so shoot me fill me up
turn me into an armored doll
and shoot shoot shoot

Better read than dead
If not read, then I'm dead

leaching gasoline

repeat for order

2004-11-17T04:56:00.000+03:00

Dear Iraqis,

The war in Iraq is an American tragedy. While you lament yoru hundrets of thousends of dead non-combatants, we in America have lost nearly one thousand of oru boys in uniformes. Will you pleese send oru boys home safley? They din't all like making snuff flims. We have some prisins here we need to run. It's just not fair to us that you get to have oru finest. You all look like radical Shite clerics, so I guess you get what you deserve and you just have to pay the price for freedom and get Jesus. By manipulating the cords, the mouths and eyes of the dummy are opened and shut. Shut yoru mouth. George Washingtin paid the price: he paid for the cinstructon of six warships. How many people deid building those boats? We din't lament those deaths to al-Jazera, do we? Heck, at least oru news enjoys the soft binds of libertey and freedim. March, freedim! Maybe some of yorus need to dei before you find the light, leave yoru imams behind, and find oru policeis reasinable. I think I want to beat you to death with my bare hands for killing oru boys. I made $165,000 last year; $50,000 of that went to the Federal Government in taxes. $25,000 of that went straight to oru military-industrial complex and planes to brake yoru windowsz. So I din't want that loot spent in you killing oru boys and spreading Iranian and North Korean terrism. I pay taxes here, they're my goddamn bullets, you peice of shit. Maybe you should send them back! One of you fuckrs owes me 25 large and how many barrels of oil is that? What the fuck else would I want with all that goddamn sand? I was a human crash-test dummy, and naked World Satan makes me veiw web porn. My sin he done raped a wouded young boy in Fallujah, but he was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and just needs a little bit of home cooking. A year after Internet porn surfing I was a human crash-test dummy and drove the kids to practice. So if you want to protest sleaze in politics, drop yoru pants for oru boys. Where are yoru whores? For glory gorey guns make people less violent. Send the boys back home. Or else I have more tax dollars. George Bush has a very large penis. I saw it in church on the right hand of God. Booyah. American tragedy.

2004-11-10T12:39:00.000+03:00

I dream of world where I can stand before you all with my deep faith and sincerity, with my glistening, erect nipples quaking with hope, with my ever- humble, ever-flattering cries of fabulous, fabulous peace.

Did I mention that God was fabulous?

2004-10-02T23:14:00.000+03:00

Speaking to Your Asshole (Because Your Asshole Was Speaking)

Poetry wants to have talk with you

It wants to know

Why there’s chalk dust on your collar

It wants to know

Who you’ve been having ‘discourse’ with

When you go out writing

Before I said bow down

What I meant was bend over

Poetry wants to have a talk with you

Come now

Bend over poetry’s knee

This is going to hurt you

More than it hurts me

2004-08-24T00:21:00.000+04:00

i didn't read this.
i make a statement not a picture.

i am demonstrative.
i am hidden.
i made a statement with a picture.
i won't read this.

i find it impossible to start.
i go on and on.
will i live with my hide.
will i give up my beliefs to keep it.

bury me. will you bury me?
this is a question.

i can't read any of this.
this is a picture of a statement.

2004-08-22T11:32:00.000+04:00

WISH YOU WERE HERE

2004-08-22T10:05:00.000+04:00

Cab Calloways of the Soul has been cancelled. Instead we will be showing a brief clip of Fred Astaire tap dancing on the ashes of Artaud followed by a re-run of Lester, Warrior Puppet.

Thank you for supporting Lester's Flogspot. Visit us for your daily Flog.

2004-08-21T23:42:00.000+04:00

Lester, Warrior Puppet

For
Lester
so loved
this sinful whirl,
He gave us all His
pun; that we don't want to live with
Him one day. The time was short for Lester Oracle in which He

moved
through
politics and
fools, his teachings
spread throughout the land. His
miracles saved us all, and showed Lester’s love
for ham. He rose from death, as He had said. His word was

false.
The
Fed came
that fateful day,
the phone book don't tell
us, no. Now, modern times are hard on
some of us and cause us all to need the love of Lester.

It’s
through
Lester’s love
we handle puppets
and how to use string
for manipulation is just another way Lester sees
fit to use our misfortunes. Come to cloud these modern times we live.

We
need
not fear
what Lester has
wraught. We need not know
His plan. Just think the words He’d make
you say before you’ve breathed a word. But Lester forgave our debt today.

The
greatest
love you’ve
ever known is
not just a death away.

2004-08-21T23:26:00.000+04:00

So what can you do in the case like that?
What can you do but sit on your hat,
Or your toothbrush,
Or your grandmother,
Or anything else that's helpless.

- Burl Ives, "The Whale"

2004-07-20T06:31:00.000+04:00

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

2004-07-02T21:47:00.000+04:00

Dearest poets, kindly compatriots all
This one is for you.

Yes you're the one.

Murder your manners
You uppity rung grippers.

Fucking them's too kind.

Begins with you only you

2004-06-27T10:26:00.000+04:00

garde-ensuite!
la défense arrière!
âne vulnérable!

Oder.

Oder hintere schutz, oder verletzbarer esel,
ungeschützter esel, ungeheures ungeziefer
mit gefährlich senf. Und ein Ottakringer (ja?)
ist das bier, ist identität für, jeden Wiener.

2004-06-22T00:46:00.000+04:00

Ponderous

Pataphysical Keatsian:
negativa with a twist.

Mephistophelean congeries:
the Marlowe Faustus phantasmagoric.

Keats' Faustian Fanny morality:
a Keatsian veil.

A way to locate a style of annihilation:
contending forces of self-possession.

2004-06-18T00:16:00.001+04:00

Fuck Myself (I lands in my stream)

! ... marvel not... making sense... uncanny... and now astonishing... 'cause new mutants is now new and... new is... I don't know... and ... so nothing to do with ... and... I just don't know why... why? some numbers the same and some starting over and... so... unneccesary... and.... and....

...

*pee myself*...

...nooooooooooooo.... *sob quietly* *cover myself in a pile of titles and fall asleep in a puddle of my own urine*

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Me
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Superhero

Join Date: Apr 2003
Location: California
Posts: 69
Usergroup: MILF Elite Squad

[old, cancelled popular title Y]
[book Z]
[book Z]
[old, cancelled popular title Y]
[book Z]

arbitrarily restart the numbering system
for a random assortment of books!
we'll make oodles and oodles of money
bringing collectable prints back in style
and make more holofoil versions of books
even if it's filler no one reads!

making so much money bringing characters back to life
stifle all creativity and originality in our stream

being the toast of the town
siblings in a love scene
our editors are too stupid
outraged comic readers

anti-incest groups burn our company to the ground

rip my arms out of my sockets and beat me to death with them

pissing on my rotting corpse

hideous disproportionate ugly

brooding shadow-stalker who talks screaming "grrrr i'm edgy" and then I'll realize what I've done with my life and kill myself
dedicated to bipedal dolphins having sex with garbage cans and the moon will actually be the afterbirth and little gobs of flesh with fall to earth every so often and I will try to have sex with it but get cancer instead and cure it with magic and the whole fucking world will explode because it was really all just the little sick puppet's dream but I'll look in my closet and I will still be fucking sloughed off uterine wall and WAS IT ALL A DREAM I DONT FUCKING KNOW HOLY GOD DAMN SHIT YOU MANIACS I BLEW IT UP YOU GOD DAMN ME ALL TO HELL MOTHERFUCKERS FUCK ME

2004-06-16T13:01:00.000+04:00

REAGAN WILL ROT (A SING-A-LONG)

REAGAN WILL ROT
HE'S BEEN ROTTING A LOT
HE'LL ROT EVEN WHEELED
ON A HEAVENLY COT
HE ROT AS A 'BOT
HE ROT AS WE BOUGHT
HE'S MY REAGAN, MY REGAN, HE IS
ROT WITH THE WORMS
THE WORMS! WANTING WORMS!
WHO WILL JOKE ON HIS BED
YOU ARE DIRT, REAGAN ROT
AND I'M EATING YOUR HEAD

(REPEAT)

2004-06-16T11:19:00.000+04:00

Bow down, gentle eaters. I am your new Lester! Today is my today is. Today I am the age of Jesus. In the age of Jesus I command you. Eat me. I am your host. Tonight our special guests are. Mr. Christopher Walken, an old song-and-dance man, like lyself. Like me. Like Me! I'll be your host tonight. One night you will eat me. Remember. Oh, sway on. WE SWAY. Gentle eaters. Eat out your. Read out this, your annibal hearts. We are tough and strong-LIKE FIREFIGHTERS. People who know, know (in jest-guess.) Animal know-how. Hearts in marts. Animals, we walk on burning bananas. Please post your comment hear. RE- MARK. Me scar. Alive, alive O. (We wish!)Remark on me, eaters. At attention. This text DEMANDS your attention. Deep. metered attention, and counting all the feet. NOW. More feet than buddha walking on eleven stilts in the green and yella circus. Didn't you know that Lester was a Buddhist? Of course, eaters. Per course. Per semester. Per molester. Per Lester. Purr, Lester. Purr. Please pay. What was that? A Re-Mark? Wouldn't you wish? Remarks are not literature which is a remark and so piss off. Well. (You wish!)

2004-05-04T09:31:00.000+04:00

As it develops, this ethic will become a kind of insult. It will persuade only those who are able to abandon themselves to a greater force, and those who love more than admire. It will accumulate neither subscribers nor admirers. It will only make friends.

You said it Omar. That's pretty much our whole thing.

2004-04-29T15:20:00.000+04:00

Cat bats
rats in crack hats
bart brats batting lashes
Splat (at that)
beaming broken-bluffs
forget it finally at friendly's-a bat's cat at

flaunched fanged fucker
forget what's forgot it
florid green gropes
go grope your wishy book
squishy candy donged
torque-burger

"I used to think it was all about hitting, but now I know it's more about fielding."
-Lester )racle, 1863

2004-04-29T11:28:00.000+04:00

(please, note,
this program is for parents,
not for children)

We all think you just                                know
So don't be an ostrich

awareness reviews the signs
our red flags                                        can indicate
your child could be using
our drugs

share your experience
go over
three tablets of para
                                         pher
                                                    na
                                                             lia
(thank you officer)

everyday items used in the home

                                 (used for drug use using
                                     users drug usage drugs)

drugs look like the child
and the parent usurps
the little baby jesus

snuggle bear

We all think you might                             know
our child uses
huffs of gas crouching
cracking nitrous booting shooting
When the stars come together
homeless and broken education
join us and won't you slurp some

                            (don’t stick your head in the

                                                    sand)

Rotten tooth, gum crowbar

We all think you know

We are followed by a question
Answer the parent officer

Sign that the child is using
burps out a window
damn those stages of drug use
Cans tumble down the street

             De
pen
den
                             cy
             re
ha
     bil
         i
                    ta
                                     tion

and relapse drugs

tell them can means do
a can-do doer doing
can-do in the can
sell 'em in a can
sand in the head

drugs are not using do
    you use what I do
         mon dieu!
             mind you

a sprinkle of forms and sources
because their effects are illegal

                                                         score

three tablets of drug para
                                                    pher
                                                             na
                                                                    lia
(thank you officer)

this cross

                                            hold it up please

                                                         |
                                                     ---+---
                                                         |

                                             thank you lord
                                                    kapow!
                                                   got 'em!
                                      (trigger finger pull me)

we give you thanks for wonder bread

snuggle bear master nation

a moment of silence every day before school
Head slams the concrete beside the pool

And I am free, I am free tell me I am free

and using

household items can be used
and used again
and your child ask
how your drugs are hidden

(household item in the ostrich)

what to a fix to sticks the blame where I sticks?
What to affix to stick the blame where eyes tick?
We're selling bloodied crosses

Ever seen an ostrich that can fly
                                                                        high

snuggle bear

2004-04-18T09:08:00.000+04:00

In this Privacy Policy, “Customer” means a person Who activates his or her Membercard in CCUS, “Consumer” means a person Who does not, and “You” and “Your” mean both a customer or a consumer except as indicated Below.

2003-10-21T00:41:00.000+03:00

Touch my monkey.
Monkey see, monkey do.
What you monkey, all you monkey.
The surest way to make a monkey of a man is to quote him.
More giddy in my desires than a monkey.
Lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called him mandrake.
The strain of man's bred out into baboon and monkey.
And there I saw a monkey. Just like me.

2003-09-24T23:41:00.000+04:00

Here you are. Sitting on my couch.
Dead after all these long years. Watch
as your finger falls off. Black blood rolls gently
from your ear joining the pool under your ass.
This is a black mass and your attendance is required.
The reliquary is obvious, invisible and violet. The tendonitis
is metaphysical and transubstantial. Life is obscene and
criminal. You should never die sitting upright
damn it light me with your smile. But there you are.
You should never have to die on a snowy winter's eve
slammed into a tree with a steering column up your throat.
But there you are taking the low road. Inevitable.
Superliminal yet invisible. Sitting on the couch. Dead.
You should never die because someone told you
to skip the medication. But there you are. You
should never die because the gun is there and nothing is
fair. But there you are. Be here now
my ass. This is the bosonic joist. The ultimate
heist. We were never here.

P.S. No one ever listened.

2003-09-24T23:03:00.000+04:00

Dis-missive

Dear Poet:

You are a complete fuckwadded blog-sucking idiot.

Narcissistic subgenius.

How about pus-stained brillo swab?

Does that one fit?

Now do you understand?

Oh, right.

Poets like you.

But guess what?

Poetry hates you.

When poetry comes to town, it sees you and turns the other way.

And here's my take on poetic seduction:

Fuck you.

Copyright this, my pit bull. Bullshit.

Just in case you missed that: fuck you.

Abusive? Abusive of what? Your overinflated ego? Your collection of progressive march pins? The skid mark you left behind in the public facilities? The minorities who "happen to" be considered by you as your friends when you need a trophy of your forward-thinkingness? Your embracing of meaningless "muscular language" or formal tropes full of gas?

Write something good.

Or get off the pot.

Forget yourself and poetry will follow.

Lester

2003-08-20T21:48:00.000+04:00

more? Kasey Mohammad, K. Silem Mohammad, Kasey Mohammad and Patrick Herron, from 1/19-1/23 2002

OLD NORSE FOR BEGINNERS
a play in one act
by K. Silem Mohammad

KENT JOHNSON: Old Norse is the name we give to the language which the
Vikings spoke.

ELIOT WEINBERGER: Old Norse is classical North Germanic language used from
roughly 1150 to 1350. Its predecessor is Old Scandinavian....

KJ: Old Norse is the language spoken and written by the inhabitants of
Scandinavia around 1000 AD and earlier. The modern Nordic languages of
Swedish, Danish ... are from the 12th cent.

CANDICE WARD: Old Norse is also noteworthy as the language of the Eddas and
sagas (see Old Norse literature; Icelandic literature ... The vocabulary of
Old Norse is known scarcely from runic incriptions, but its descendant the
Icelandic language with its sagas demonstrates how rich....

EW: Old Norse is the term generally used in English to refer to the
language and literature preserved in manuscripts written in Iceland and
Norway during the....

KJ: It is not surprising that some words came into the Irish language from
Old Norse.

CW: Since Old Norse is a dead language, there is no need (according to the
folks who write dictionaries) for an English-to-Old-Norse dictionary.

EW: Old Norse is a collective term for the earliest North Germanic literary
languages, Old Icelandic, Old Norwegian, Old Danish, and Old Swedish. In
Linguistics 315....

KJ: Icelandic is WRONG. Old Swedish is WRONG. Old Norse is RIGHT.
Picture of a streetsign in York, England. The streetname is Old Norse and
means Swinestreet....

EW: The Narwhal (meaning "corpse whale" in Old Norse) is a rarely seen
Arctic whale. This social whale is known for the VERY long tooth that males
have. Very....

KJ: Old-Norse is obligatory on the Grunnfag and Mellomfag niveu, available
at the hovedfag niveu....

CW: The word tiwaz, tyr in Old Norse, is the exact cognate to Sanskrit
dayus, Greek Zeus and Latin Jupiter. A threefold mystery....

KJ: The word in Old Norse is "igdur"--variously translated as "tits" or
"nuthatches." In fact, it probably sounds to you like a good career
opportunity.

EW: About Old Norse. Old Norse is the language spoken and written in
Iceland, Norway, Denmark, Sweden and the colonies of the....

KJ: Horses are how people got around back then, and Raidho (known as Rad in
Anglo-Saxon and Reid in Old Norse) is the rune of travel!

CW: The only change since Old Norse is that the r-ending has become an
ur-ending.

KJ: Old Norse is only spoken by a few, and then only poorly....

EW: ... spoken by so few. Very few people outside Iceland learn Icelandic,
although Old Icelandic is taught at a number of universities abroad, largely
because of our....

CW: Here there is space to mention the three centres where Old Icelandic is
taught, but there are eight others throughout Australia where there have
been or are....

EW: Old Icelandic is taught at the University of Oregon by the Department
of Germanic Languages and Literatures. WWW Links....

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Old Norse is one of my courses (for all the reasons you
mentioned in your Old Norse page). You don't mention....

EW: Old Norse is the synthetic medieval language which we find in the
manuscripts....

KSM: No previous knowledge of Old Norse is required. It will be examined
by means of one three-hour paper.

EW: In the United States he rendered us the most treasured compliment when
he said: "Old Norse is Crown" but as many of you know, Old Norse is in fact
Icelandic....

KSM: No previous knowledge of Old Norse is required. The module will focus
particularly on the Icelandic (which will be helpful to readers whose only
experience of Old Norse is in Icelandic)....

CW: Old Norse and Old Icelandic. Old Norse is a member of the Germanic
family of languages which includes English, German and Dutch....

EW: THE place to look when you are interested in Old Norse is (of course)
EV Gordon's _An Introduction to Old Norse_ (Oxford: Clarendon Press).

CW: Old Norse is a collective term for the earliest North Germanic literary
languages, Old Icelandic, Old Norwegian, Old Danish, and Old Swedish.
Of....

EW: Most appreciatively, the cost of the book is very reasonable; a similar
book on learning Old Norse is almost double the cost of this book.

KJ: Old Norse is also noteworthy as the language of the Eddas and sagas
(see Old Norse literature; Icelandic literature). See Eric....

EW: And the original Old Norse is transcribed next to the English
translation as well. The Cadillac of all translations ...

CW: Old Norse is analyzed within the framework of Government and Binding
(GB) and functional grammar. The linguistic sources are....

EW: Old Norse is one of the three early branches of the Germanic languages;
Icelandic is a descendant of West Norse....

KSM: A course in Old Norse is also offered....

KJ: Old Norse is still the language used for the Icelandic sagas. You may
consider the Scandinavian languages....

EW: The sumbel (sumbl in Old Norse) is a solemn ritual in which the
participants sit together and participate in drinking, speech-making and
gift-giving, in many....

KJ: My sense is that (in English-speaking scholarship) "Old Norse" is used
as a catch-all term for Scandinavian languages duing the Viking and Medieval
Periods....

CW: Old Norse is one of ten branches that make up the Indo-European family
of....

KJ: The standard insult in Old Norse is to suggest homosexuality, which is
often expressed in terms of using such and such a man "as a woman." There
are....

CW: Icelandic (Old Norse) is the official language; Old Norse literature
reached its greatest flowering in Iceland....

KJ: ...gay vikings.

EW: Old Norse is a language which is rich in words describing sexual
matters.

CW: Nynorsk, created in the 1850s from spoken Norwegian and Old Norse, is
spoken by about 20% of the population. Of the seven additional....

KJ: ...for male vs. female giants. Since Old Norse is a highly inflected
language, and lemmatizing these texts would have been too time....

JORDAN DAVIS: ...the pwerson wants something to feel as real as possible.

EW: Here is my first draft, in English and old Norse I would like some
critique, even if you don't read.... Portions have been digitalized. The
entire text in Old Norse is also available on the web for the stout of heart
or curious....

CW: The final example assumes that the font "Old Norse" is not currently
implemented....

KJ: "Old Norse" is, in my view more the product of the invention of
tradition than it is of linguistic reality. I think that....

EW: I do not know what an old Norse is, but I expect you can lead it to
water, but you may have a devil of a job getting it to drink!

CW: The term "Old Norse" is sometimes used to mean specifically what we
here call "West Norse" or what we here call "Old Icelandic." It is
sometimes applied....

KSM: Old and Middle English (down to 1400) are compulsory, but Old Norse is
another favourite, and you can also study literature in other languages....

CW: Old Norse is a collective term for the earliest North Germanic literary
languages: Old Icelandic, Old Norwegian, Old Danish, and Old Swedish. The
richly....

KJ: Old Norse is a nice language due to its amazing similarity to English.
Well, I guess I shouldn't say amazing, most of our language came from
Germanic roots.

KSM: No previous knowledge of Old Norse is required. It will normally be
taught in the Michaelmas term, so....

ALLEN BRAMHALL: What or Whom is a Warlock?

CW: OK, maybe it seems strange even in context.

EW: Alternative theories?

CW: ...style with no standard. Some of us try to get the right feeling by
conserving some of the old style and tone in language. My Old Norse is too
poor for that.

KJ: Old Norse is out. Let's not even consider Old High German, then with
the singular edohso and the plural edohsan....

CW: This also ignores that Old Norse is a declined language, that is, the
nouns change form with the case used. Dictionary lists are fine....

KJ: Old English, or Old Norse is usually the kind of thing only learned in
the Ivory Towers of Academia.

EW: ...knives into plowshares, took to raising kids and carping at by-laws,
and meekly blended into the landscape. Old Norse is important for the
history of English.

CW: My own impression from reading a (very very limited) sampling of Old
Norse is that ON culture had a razor-sharp ear for word play, and I....

KJ: ...had an auto accident. Thus, all commentary is MINE, ALL MINE!
Ahhh, ha-ha-ha ... 3rd ed.

KSM: No previous knowledge of Old Icelandic is required.

CW: ...takes skills that only a few have, and an in depth knowledge of Old
Icelandic is necessary for understanding most of both the manuscript and
book texts.

EW: If you think that Old Norse is an easy-to-learn, attractive and
user-friendly language, you might be an expert and I've been looking into
this well over twenty years and my Old Norse is reasonable and I can speak
German, which in my mind is a prerequisite if....

KSM: There is no pre-requisite for this course, but Old Icelandic is much
easier if you have already studied Old English...

CW: Like Old English, Old Icelandic is a Germanic language. Icelandic
belongs to the north Germanic group of languages ("Norse" or
"Scandinavian"), which ...

EW: Although Old Icelandic is separated from the other languages studied so
far within the framework of the Göttingen word length project, the same
model, viz....

KJ: As most of the extant manuscripts we study were produced in Iceland,
"Old Icelandic" is arguably a more accurate term.

CW: Old Icelandic, Old Norwegian, Old Danish, and Old Swedish. Of these,
Old Icelandic is the most richly documented, in the broad variety of Old
Icelandic....

EW: Of course classical Old Icelandic is what students usually get taught,
but there are many interesting facets of....

CW: Literary Old Icelandic is often presented in a normalized textbook form
and (together with Old Norwegian) is referred to as Old Norse. See also....

KSM: Expertise in Old Icelandic is not required....

KJ: We must keep in mind the fact that Old Icelandic is not identical with
Old Norse, and that Icelandic literature cannot be clearly differ- entiated
from the....

CW: Since both are Germanic languages, Old Icelandic is similar in some
respects to Old English. This does not mean, however, that they are
pronounced precisely....

KJ: Also Old Icelandic does not make a great deal of sense: there is no
difference between Old Icelandic and Old Norse [ON]: Old Icelandic is Old
Norse.

KSM: Expertise in Old Icelandic is not required.

****************

Dearest Kasey,

I was hanging on to my seat the whole way, chugging 40s of Olde English 800.
OE 800 is really how I relate to this incredible drama. You know, mead is
closely related to malt liquor. My theory is that with enough malt liquor
one can sound like s/he's consumed quite a bit of mead, which makes one in
turn sound like someone speaking either Alt Hoch Deutsch oder Old Norsk.
Sundafyllir. Or Old Icelandic. I mean, runic Swedish. I mean. Burp.

And what a denouement! Bravo! Very filmic. Mannvitsbrekka.

Hic. Fill my bay up with fish, o wise one. I am as drunk as the ocean.

Scyld Snorri
Editor, _Olde English 800 for Advanced Alcoholics_
& Author of _Dude, Who Stole My Shield?_
scyld@oe800drunks.com
http://www.oe800drunks.com/

Frank Booth: "Heineken!? Fuck that shit! PABST BLUE RIBBON!"

****************

OLD NORSE FOR BEGINNERS
a play in one act
by K. Silem Mohammad

ACT TWO

PATRICK HERRON: Good day to ye all and pleased I am, to meet ye. I'm
Patrick, and sure as me namesake St. Patrick banished all the snakes from
Ireland, I'll be glad to chase away all your woes. I'm friendly....

GABE GUDDING: Hi Patrick! You did a very good job! Seems like a tremendous
amount of work, you can be sure that shooter like me are really thankful! I
wish you the best....

CANDICE WARD: I'm Candice, and this is my ghetto fabulous home page. I've
recently changed a lot of stuff on this page, so I hope you find it....

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi everyone! I'm Kasey, and I'm five years old. This is
my very own part of Mommy's page, where I get to tell you all about what
I've been doing and how much....

CANDICE WARD: Hi Kasey, Mamaw is so glad to have a new baby girl, I know you
will fill our lives with joy....

MAIREAD BYRNE: Hi Kasey!!! Haha I am reading your diary. Do you know some
chick named Zoe from Drew? Her dorm is near mine. Her roommate hates her.

KENT JOHNSON: Hi! I'm KENT! I can only describe myself as a thirtysomething
Asian dude living in Sacramento, California....

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hello! Hooray! I'm David and I bid you welcome. I hope you
enjoy yourself here. Feel free to explore my home, but please don't touch
the coffins. We may bite....

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi David, hi David, hi David, hi David!

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: ...saying hello at once and that was the depth of the
conversation. It was just "Hi David, Hi David, Hi David," and then I had to
go and it was, "Bye David, Bye...."

MAIREAD BYRNE: I am Mairead, caretaker of Lady Yasaman's galleria. Within my
care you will find many things.

GABE GUDDING: Wow! She knows us! I feel so special. Hi, I'm Gabe. And you
are...?

MAIREAD BYRNE: I am Mairead, wandering bard of Nwm. If you are a lover of
fantasy, this is the place for you.

GABE GUDDING: Oh, right....

KENT JOHNSON: Hi Gabe! It's so nice of you to let me know you actually have
a cat who looks almost exactly like mine....

MAIREAD BYRNE: Hi Gabe: I don't know what your "Brown Crust" is, but I'd
suspect a fungal infection from your description....

GABE GUDDING: Hi. I'm Gabe and I don't really know where I am.... [realizing
her nudity, he blushes deep red and looks away] Um ... sorry ... I ...
just....

KENT JOHNSON: I'm Kent, and this is Gabe, and we're going to Pennsylvania
where we live....

GABE GUDDING'S PARENTS: Hi Gabe. Mom and Dad. We turned your entire room
into a giant aquarium for all the turtles. It's a drag....

MAIREAD BYRNE: Hi Gabe, Yes I'm reading this, no I don't remember the
cheesesteak but I do remember the cheesecake....

GABE GUDDING: ...hard to speak with her bright black eyes so steadily sad in
front of me....

KENT JOHNSON: Hi Mairead. I haven't seen you here before--welcome! Is your
name some exotic Celtic name or does it mean you are marry-ed?

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hi there ... you might not know me, so let me introduce
myself. I'm Alan and I'm an Asian boy. Actually, if you want to be more
politically correct, I guess....

PATRICK HERRON: Hi, I'm Patrick and I'm trying to play the guitar. You will
now enter the hidden world of my thoughts, my wishes and other psychopathic
elements which....

HENRY GOULD: Hi Patrick: Here is Henry, I would like to join the CashFlow
101 party, and here I'm new, but deeply fall in love with RichDad, keep in
touch, and run the....

MURAT NEMET-NEJAT: Hello everyone! I'm Murat and I'm 28 years old. I'm a
graphic designer. I'm very alone for a long time. I....

MAIREAD BYRNE: Heya Murat! Heard any good jazz lately?

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hi Murat! Thanks for your perfectionism. Your albs are the
best since Vangelis.

PATRICK HERRON: Hi Murat. Hazel nuts have been gasified very successfully in
Italy where I saw it being done for a town water supply during a tour in
1985.

ALAN SONDHEIM: I'm Alan and I rock and roll all day long! I also have a very
unhealthly obsession with Cat Deeley. AAAAAAARRRGGGHHHH the brain pain is
hurting me!!

KENT JOHNSON: Hi, I'm Kent, and I'm an alcoholic and an addict.

MURAT NEMET-NEJAT: Hi, Kent. Sorry to hear this news. How are you doing now?
Wish you feel better. You know it's a wonderful sun-shine day today! So take
care and have a great....

KENT JOHNSON: I'm Kent and I'm 14. I've been aggressive skating for about a
year now.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi, Kent! Boy it's great to be here. Yes, I re-write
everything myself ... AFTER I STEAL IT!!! Oops. Shoulda mumbled that
part....

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi Kasey, wait a minute while I go put some clothes on. I
don't think you want to see me almost naked.

PATRICK HERRON: I'm Patrick and as you can probably tell, I'm CANADIAN!!!
WOOOOOOOOO!!!!

MURAT NEMET-NEJAT: Hi Patrick. You are most fortunate to live in an area
where you have such wonderful salmon fishing.

KENT JOHNSON: I'm Kent and I'm 15. I've been aggressive skating for about 2
years now.

PATRICK HERRON: Hey, I'm Patrick and I live in Salisbury. I am an aggressive
skater with maybe half a year's experience. I skate with my friends James,
Ryan, and Matt.

KENT JOHNSON: Hi Patrick!!!! Sometimes being an "A" can ... sometimes being
type "A" can have a very negative effect on people around me--I sometimes
feel as....

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: I'm David, and in my slingshot is the unrated cut of
_Caligula_.

KENT JOHNSON: Hi, I'm Kent and I'm the dad.

PATRICK HERRON: I'm Patrick, and these are my hunting grounds. Go find your
own sheep, boy.

CANDICE WARD: I’m Candice and I come from a country on the other side of the
world. It’s filled with lots of sheep and rugby-playing people. That’s
right--New Zealand!

KENT JOHNSON: Oh hi Candice. What a lovely surprise to see you here. What's
up baby doll....

CANDICE WARD: I WILL VOMIT ON YOU, I SWEAR TO GOD!!!

KENT JOHNSON: Online, I have the morality of Satan's spawn.

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi Kent! The "skin effect" is called ... The Skin Effect.

KENT JOHNSON: Hi I'm Kent and I'm a BOOTAHOLIC! :) I'd say my Fav pair is my
Lace Up Packers made by Olathe! They have BIG ASS 3.25" Under Slung Leather
Heels....

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi Candice. My girlfriend asks: where do you find your
beautiful clothes?

CANDICE WARD: [smile, a certain diffidence--perhaps aloofness--and talks
softly] Sometimes I'm Candice and sometimes I go by my soap opera diva name,
Ms. Styles.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi Candice ... AGAIN. Yeh ... uhm ... UPDATE. PLEASE. I
dunno if you've been wiped off the face of the earth or what ... but ... hey
... yeah ... I love your art....

CANDICE WARD: I'm Candice. And I don't miss the stress. I hate those moments
of coming out and looking....

GABE GUDDING & MAIREAD BYRNE: O ya hi Candice what’s up?? Have a nice night!
Um ... we r just goin to the bathroom LOL....

ALLEN BRAMHALL: I'm Allen, and my life is boring. I like going to church.
God is my father. I go to Menallen Elementary (The school for losers). Like
most kids say, school SUCKS!!

PATRICK HERRON: I'm Patrick and I hate opera and teachers.

ALLEN BRAMHALL: Hi Kasey, how are you doin'? Are you ready for the pirate
show??

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi, I'm Kasey and I'm on all fours for Orgasmonaut Band.
Give me a call.

JORDAN DAVIS: Who are you and what do you want?

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: I'm Kasey, and I want that digi-armor you have. So fork
it over, now!

JORDAN DAVIS: No way.

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi, Jordan. I'm 105 years old and I listen to your show
every day.

MAIREAD BYRNE: HI JORDAN, HOW IS YOUR MONO DOING?

KENT JOHNSON: Hi, Jordan, from Old Man Johnson here. A lot of us complain
about people not "supporting" local music because they don't come out to
every single local concert....

CANDICE WARD: Hi Patrick, Just wanted to thank you again for the frogs--they
are really healthy looking and very active. I look forward to seeing them
grow so that I can....

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hey! I'm Kasey, and I'm 15 and I live in Georgia, USA. I
am totally obsessed with 'Nsync! I went to their concert on November 22,
1998! It totally rocked!

CANDICE WARD: I'm Candice, and I want you to play "I Drive Myself Crazy"
because I *love* how crazy those fine boys go!

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi, Kasey: I congratulate you for your exquisite spirit.

GABE GUDDING: Hi Kasey, If you aren't getting periods and you want to get
pregnant, the first step is to go to your gyn. Explain the situation. There
are many reasons why....

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi Gabe. Interesting question ... sort of like the
Kantian dilemma of do you lie to save someone from a murder, and if so,
which is worse?

MAIREAD BYRNE: Kasey you are a bitch. Hi Kasey. Kasey I will torture you
forever.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: [Picking up diaper and holding it like a puppet, making
it talk in a silly, squeaky voice] Hi David! I'm Dilly Diaper! Come here and
play with me!

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: [Running over to Diaper] Hi Dilly!

CANDICE WARD: Hi Kasey. Unfortunately our idea of what smells good and our
dog's idea of what smells good are two very different things!

PATRICK HERRON: Hi Candice. JMO, the runt is not always the smartest pup in
the litter. I've bred 3 litters....

KENT JOHNSON: I'm Kent and I live in a box with my cat. It needs a new roof
but I haven't been able to find a good newspaper yet. So here is how my life
started. I was born....

PATRICK HERRON: Hi Kent. Sorry to hear about that ... it's sure a common
problem--builders should stick to building.

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi Kent, Graymont has what you need. They make Niagara
Mature Putty.

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hi Kasey, as I stated earlier, I was moved by your book like
no other book I have read. I sent it to my....

HENRY GOULD: Hi Kasey, just here to let you know not to let ignorant people
get you down. You have grown in the Lord, and that is obvious. You....

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi, I'm David, and I lost my coins--crystal coins. Can you
find them?

MAIREAD BYRNE: Hi David. I just picked up the leopard and I am very happy!

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: ...brutal wrestler from my school with his arms wrapped
around the trunk of a pecan tree, saying his first words to me ever, "Hi
David," sweetly, as I walked by....

ALAN SONDHEIM: HI DAVID, I WAS BORN IN A INDUSTRIAL FAMILY, MY > FATHER
INDUSTRY WAS > PAPERBOARD INDUSTRY.MY MOTHER INDUSTRY WAS > GRAMAPHONE
MANUFACTURING > INDUSTRY....

MAIREAD BYRNE: Hi Kasey!!! You're Pretty! ... We will, we will Rock You!
Will, we will rock you! Hey rockin' Robby and Kickin' Kasey! Just stopped by
to say hi ... soo ... HI!

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: I'm David and I'm collecting coke can since 6 years. I
have 1120 different cans and about 100 cans from all over the world for
trading. Empty cans, full cans....

GEORGE THOMPSON: Let me introduce ourselves. I'm George and I was born in
1921--WOW I've seen a lot of changes. I flew planes for a while, and retired
from a glass company....

PATRICK HERRON: HI GEORGE! JUST A NOTE TO ALL! GEORGE IS ONE OF THE BEST
MODEL CANOE BUILDERS WE KNOW. HIS WORK IS VERY HIGH QUALITY. TRULY AN
HEIRLOOM....

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: His name is George. Hi, George. Your name is George. He
looks like a George. Like George Washington. I like George.

GEORGE THOMPSON: Hi, I'm George and I sing the bass part.

PATRICK HERRON: Hey dude--I'm Patrick and _I_ play the bass....

GEORGE THOMPSON: Hi I'm George and I live in Florida and at night while I am
in sleep paralysis mode a ghost comes and has sex with me. When I wake up I
have just....

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hi George. They will not answer you because they are
embarrassed that their "prophets" and "apostles" said these things.

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: I'm David. And look at those fucking curtains. Jesus.

GEORGE THOMPSON: Whoa. They suck.

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi, I'm David, and I'll be your anesthesiologist today!

GEORGE THOMPSON: Hullo. I'm George and I'm quite athletic. I have good built
and of good looks. I'm interested to be your friend. Hoping for your soon
reply. Thanks....

PATRICK HERRON: I'm Patrick, and you and I are going to be much better
friends really soon.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi George I have sent you an e-mail, I like your
perspective on life, you are a good person.

GEORGE THOMPSON: I'm George and I'm beautiful the way I am.

HENRY GOULD: Hi George and maybe Dad!!!

GEORGE THOMPSON: Yo I'm George and I'm twelve. I want to be a paratrooper
and a cop. Back to Home.

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hi, I'm Alan Sondheim and I'm typing here andx someone is
going to read this out loud and....

CANDICE WARD: Hi Alan, do you know this bug? ... Previous message: Hi Alan,
do you know this bug? Next message: Caller-ID in detail-file?

PATRICK HERRON: Hi Alan, We received a similar bug report.

ALAN SONDHEIM: HI! I'm Alan and I'm a biologist and philosopher. If you
think life is bad ... How would you like to be an egg? You only get laid
once.

DAVID BIRCUMSHAW: Hi Alan. I was just wondering. Am I an oddball? How many
others like me, have contacted you, with respect to traveling?

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hi! I'm Alan and I'm Wendy.

GEORGE THOMPSON: I'm George and I'm really nervous.

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hello fellows, let me introduced myself, I'm Alan and you can
call me Wengyang. Firstly, I will like....

GEORGE THOMPSON: I'm George and I've invented a patch that can be worn on
your arm (much like those used to treat smoking addictions) that will cure
"knifeaholism."

CANDICE WARD: Hi George. Unless she catches you in bed with another person,
the woman's high Interest Level does not drop like a rock--it drops
gradually, in five stages....

KENT JOHNSON: Hi Kasey!! Umm ... Thumper is better than Cozimodo!! Member
the tent we made in ur room!? That was fun!! And the psychic thingy haha
we're dumb! Yay Im on ur team....

ELIOT WEINBERGER: I'm Eliot and I've had enough of that little pain in the
ass, so I'm taking over. See, I can be cute too.

PATRICK HERRON: Hi Eliot--I believe you have broken the code and found the
answers!

ELIOT WEINBERGER: I'm Eliot and I'm made from 15" dense curly mohair in a
yummy butterscotch color. I love to gaze at the stars and listen to romantic
music. My adoption....

GABE GUDDING: Hi Eliot. We're getting closer to buying our own place and
I'll finally be able to use the book I bought from you mowing my own hay.

ELIOT WEINBERGER: Hi Gabe, Thanks. Hey, you are very good at trying to keep
some conversation going here, and it's appreciated. It's just that I'm not
so sure....

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hi Eliot, I would like to know if we could export the
oaf_activatoin_context_get function from oaf. rationale....

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Hi Eliot, I just wanted to drop you a note to say thanks
for sharing your art.

GEORGE THOMPSON: I'm George and as you can see I'm really nervous.

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hello, I'm Alan and I know appliances.

END OF ACT TWO

**********************

OLD NORSE FOR BEGINNERS
a play in one act
by K. Silem Mohammad

ACT THREE

[There are thousands of shining stars in the sky.]

GWYN McVAY: [Southern voice] "The TRUE STORY of a Girl Sees Heaven Before
Her Death."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: A little girl sitting in the back of her parents'
station wagon driving down the road, and the girl said "Mom give me the
camera I see a face in that cloud ... it look like is hunt and said he was
hunt and he was walk with 2 legs," and the girl said "Come there dog," and
fint his legs and when Lulu but him a name he saw him in the road.

DAVID BARATIER: [Nude in tub] The horse had one white foot and the girl said
it was lame; it wasn't. That horse is now show jumping very successfully.

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: They both looked up and saw a bright light. They both
looked up as it flew by. And the boy said to the girl "My wagon's bigger
than your wagon!" The little girl said "No it's not!" The boy said "Is too!
Let's measure!" They measured and the girl said "Oh gosh, it is."

GWYN McVAY: And the girl said to the boy "Who gave my dad Viagra?" And the
doktor said "I remember, it was me ... why" And the boy said "I'll tell
you.... My mom is dead ... my as is hurting...."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: And the shadow saw the girl In the sudden dappled
light, And the girl said "Let's be me again before the cloud, before the
fright takes you away--let it be...."

ANTHONY ROBINSON: Raichu hided under some barrals and the girl touched
Raichu and Raichu was scared and the girl said "It's me Raichu" and then
Raichu was happy and the girl said "I've got nothing on tonight; how about
you and me going to your place? I am going to tell you the story of my
mother's Meeting with God."

GWYN McVAY: So my mom left a note and the girl said she was calling the
police.

ALAN SONDHEIM: Hello, it's your fault too, dummy.

GWYN McVAY: Anyways my mom got to the part about using "protection" and the
girl said "Don't worry Mom, I've been taking your birth-control pills." The
woman and the girl she was with said "We are going up! Why did you hit the
down button!?" and the girl said "What? Up and down? Don't they both do the
same thing...." "Right. Now up...." Then there were some more amorous
noises, and the girl said "Wait, where are you going?" And the guy just
answered "I have to get home."

ANTHONY ROBINSON: So later that evening the boy arrived at his girlfriend's
house.

GWYN McVAY: They sat down for dinner and the girl said grace. Said Jillian,
"Let's share our shirts." So the boy put on Jillian's shirt and Jillian put
on the boy's shirt and the boy said "Hey! Look! A shirt with ruffles...."
Then the girl said "I'd like a shirt from JC Penney." and the clerk rang up
the bill and the girl said "I'd like a pair of pants from JC Penney."

ANTHONY ROBINSON: And the boy said he looked wild and wide, like the side of
the hill. And the boy said to himself "I
cannot manage to shudder! I shall never learn it here as long as I live."

GYWN McVAY: And the boy wished to be like God.

ANTHONY ROBINSON: And God asked why the boy would like to be like God.

GWYN McVAY: And the Boy said "I would like to be like you so I may be able
to help those in pain."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: Raven came and the boy said "Grandfather, when I die,
then you can eat me; but do not eat me now," he said to him. Raven said
"What happen'd" and the girl said that she was playing with the bird and the
bird spit at her so she burn down the nest, broke the neck and she cracked
the eggs.

ANTHONY ROBINSON: The boy and girl were very afraid and the boy said in a
shaky voice "We don't know where your fangs are, Sir...."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: But one day, he met a small boy, and the boy said "But
there have been people walking on the moon, and...."

ANTHONY ROBINSON: "Are you mad, boy...." The master said; "Now, while you
were under water, what did you think of?"

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: And the boy said "AIR! I wanted AIR!" The master
replied "You mean you didn't think...?"

ANTHONY ROBINSON: They took him, ascended up the mountain, and the boy said
"O Allah Save me from them by anything You wish." So the mountain said to
the boy "Why are you feeding your goats on my grass?" And the boy said "It
is not my doing, for my father told me to come here."

GWYN McVAY: And he came in late the next day and the teacher asked him why
are you late and the boy said "I was on top of Strawberry Hill" and the
teacher said "Oh ok ... only if you say the alphabet." The boy said
"ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOQRSTUVWXYZ." The teacher asked "Where's the P?" and the boy
said "Running down my pants."

ANTHONY ROBINSON: The teacher looked confused and the boy said again
"There's 3 women eating ice cream cones: one's licking, one's biting, and
one's sucking." Which reportedly occurred in a bedroom when Negrete was
alone with the girl, and the girl said the purpose of the rituals was for
Negrete to spiritually cleanse her....

DAVID BARATIER: "If you don't stop this nonsense right now, I'll spank you!"
said the principal.

ANTHONY ROBINSON: ...until at last he came to a handsome boy. So, he said to
the boy, "What do you do here?" And the boy said "I am always learning. Come
and learn with me."

DAVID BARATIER: He was so excited and nervous though that his lines got
mixed up and the boy said "It's the Lord, my boy, and your time is up!"

GWYN McVAY: And the boy said "Don't touch my buns!"

ANTHONY ROBINSON: Shiva came home he saw the boy guarding and said "Get out
of my way!" and the boy said "No my mother Is bathing here." Shiva said "Get
out of the way!" But a beast of burden carried this man, this Great Teacher,
Into Jerusalem, the City of Lights, and the boy said "The City of Lights is
your Heart." The Law lifted the stone, and the boy said "I see a rusty old
sword and an iron ball and a big bronze trumpet."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: And the boy said nothing, for he too was touched. They
stood quietly together, holding hands and feeling the fierce heat of emotion
beating beneath their skin...

ALAN SONDHEIM: ...the cup to him like wine, like elixir, and he took it from
him, and their hands met roughly, and the boy said to him in a voice like a
man's "Way to go."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: When they were trying to open the door to the castle,
PoPo was playing with something, and the girl said "PoPo, what are you
playing with?" "Nacho cheese." And his mother said "How do you know it is
Nacho cheese?" and the boy said the little black boy on the hill in
pilgrim's weeds gave the boy a root, which was that of the Trinity flower;
and the boy said that the face of the pilgrim was that of the Angel of
Death. The boy told him "Maybe you can give work to my brother. He's slow
and he's way in back of me." And the boy said "Good-bye."

ANTHONY ROBINSON: His mother said "Yes, and?" And the boy said "Well, when I
watched and listened to where the sound went, I didn't get closer to God. I
was God."

GWYN McVAY: And the girl said to the boy "I am! but your father is crazier
than me why he did not sleep." And the girl said to new ex-monk "You are
crazy from shaving your hair. Ha ha. Ha."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: "...you are here ... she's watching you." We asked her
if she could see "her" and the girl said "yes...but she is hiding from you."

DAVID BARATIER: And she said "Bring me a big one." And she brought a bigger,
and the girl said "That is not big enough."

GWYN McVAY: Once more they arrived before the King and the boy said "King,
King, keep your promise and give us our bag of rice," and so he was sent to
the police. The police said "What's your name?" and the boy said
"Buttitches."

DAVID BARATIER: The officer asked the boy if he stole the 12-pack of beer
from the Star Mart and the boy said "Yes" ... and the police officer wanted
to know why the boy was driving seventy miles an hour, and the boy said the
truth.

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: They both looked up and saw a bright light ... they
both looked up as it flew by ... and the boy said to the girl "If you do not
tell me your name right now I'm going to...."

DAVID BARATIER: And the boy said unto his reflection "And just who might you
be?" And the reflection replied "Why, I am you!" And the boy said "You can't
be me!"

ANTHONY ROBINSON: The star said "Boy, why are you weeping?" And the boy said
"You are so far away I will never be able to touch you." And the star
answered, "Boy I was living the gay life at one time and now I live for the
Lord," and the boy said that he was a Christian....

DAVID BARATIER: Then the next day they were walking in the park and there
were these people making out and the girl said "look Mommy they are baking a
cake!" The others were curiously crowding around the group, and the girl
said to them: "It's Tik-tok and Billina; and oh! I'm so glad to see them
again."

GWYN McVAY: And so, the dad said the the mum: "U bitch!" and the boy said
"Daddy, what's a bitch?" and the dad answered. Just then the master came
through the hall, and the girl said "By virtue of my three feathers may
there be slashing and striving between master and men," and the dark forest
cast a long shadow over our heads. A preacher came to the door and the boy
said "Hey, bitch, the shit's on the table and Mom and Dad are fucking." I
hesitated, and the boy said "You needn't waver." I began to walk toward the
forest, thinking: How could shit mean food, and fuck mean getting dressed?

ALAN SONDHEIM: [Reflecting] Shortly afterwards, her classmates noticed the
note on her back and the girl said she discovered a needle puncture on her
right arm.

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: And she said "I am seeking Paul, for I was saved from
the fire." And the boy said "Come, I'll take you to him, for he has been
mourning for you."

GWYN McVAY: His father and mother saw the same donkey at the same situation
(his dick is very long) and the boy said to his mother "Hey, Mom. Look at
this donkey it is measured," and the girl said "Oh gosh, it is." They played
some more and the boy said "My daddy can beat up your daddy!" The girl said
"He can not!"

ALAN SONDHEIM: His parents ask, "WHAT HAPPENED?? WHAT HAPPENED??" And the
boy said "I tried to put my car in a girl's garage and she ripped the back
tires off!!!"

ANTHONY ROBINSON: Her two tiger brothers went away, and the girl said with a
sigh, "Do not be afraid of me. I am not a woman, but a tiger. You have loved
me deeply and...."

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: The mother asked her why she was saying that and the
girl said that she could see a tunnel with a big light at the end....

GWYN McVAY: ...until the bus driver stopped the bus and screamed "If your
dad was gay and your mum was a prostitute what would you be" at the boy, and
the boy said "A bus driver."

DAVID BARATIER: His dad asked him if he had learned a lesson about fire, and
the boy said "Yeah Dad, you don't play with fire 'cause things can blow up
in your face and burn branches and leaves in his arms. And the man asked the
boy what he was doing and the boy said that he was going to make a fire so
that he could cook dinner.

ALAN SONDHEIM: I had shown them my dental floss, "the Cadillac of dental
floss," and the boy said proudly "This is the Cadillac of beds!"

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: So then the father started spanking the boy. And the
boy said "I told the truth like President Washington, so why are you
spanking me?"

DAVID BARATIER: [A kola fruit has fallen from the tree] And the tree said
"Girl, help me shake my fruit. My branches are breaking, it is so heavy."
And the girl said "Of course I will, you poor tree." So she shook the fruit
all off....

ANASTASIOS KOZAITIS: One day the boy came to visit the tree and the tree was
happy and she said "Come play with me boy" and the boy said "No I don't want
to play I want money."

DAVID BARATIER: The boy grew older and became unhappy. The tree asked him
what would make him happy and the boy said "Money." The tree told the boy to
take his fruit ... breakfast? and the boy said "No, I'm tired and drunk and
besides the sun's coming out and we should all probably get to sleep before
it gets too hot to do so...."

GWYN McVAY: The breezes of summer flew away to spark the colors of fall, the
storyteller asked the girl if she would be the storyteller next year, and
the girl said "Yes." The next day the girl walked down the street. Then she
heard a sloppy noise. It was the snowman and the girl said "Shhhh. Be quiet.
I am a reader. I must finish reading my book."

END ACT THREE

*******************

OLD NORSE FOR BEGINNERS
a play in one act
by Patrick Herron

ACT FOUR: OPERATION DEFENDING JUSTICE

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Thank you all for coming to my talk today. I want to
discuss with you here today the etiology of a pathology which should be
obsequied with sensitivity. Apologies for the Jesse Jackson impression. To
begin. Borderline Personality Disorder. Yes. Borderline Personality
Disorder is primarily marked by the peculiarity of the sufferer's personal
relationships. Relationships with others are intense but stormy and
unstable with marked shifts of feelings and difficulties in maintaining
intimate, close connections.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Excuse me, Kasey. I hereby give you permission to
describe my character in this act but only in the acts that mention Kasey.
Understood?

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Clear as God's own word. Right. The borderline sufferer
may manipulate others and often has difficulty with trusting others.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: As for you, Kasey, I've never been the least bit
suspicious of you. I must say you did make a complete fool of yourself in
your play--pretending to know anything about Old Norse. Old Norse doesn't
exist even though you might try to speak it here.

GOD (voice from afar, with a British accent): It's the dreck inside the
manifesto we get to hear about: the Pictionary drills and asymptotic
criss-cross frangibilities....Is it safe for an office guy like me to get
warned about, sooner than late? But no, the chemical banks fuck this other
poet through and through.

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Thanks for the stunning example of Old Norse, God.
Consider yourself corrected, K. Silem. As I was saying, with borderline
personality disorder there is also emotional instability with marked and
frequent shifts to an empty lonely depression or to irritability and
anxiety. There may be unpredictable and impulsive behavior which might
include jaywalking, character sketches, playwriting, sending backchannel
e-mails erasing the existence of characters in plays or even physically
self-damaging actions such as running from crop dusters, eating toenails, or
riding on escalators backwards.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: Alright, that's it! I must now demonstrate my expertise
on borderline personality disorder since you don't seem to know much about
it, obviously. If it hurts your feelings for me to say that too, then maybe
you are taking it too personally. It IS nothing personal; just a
professional observation. You might not know much about professional
observations; but that's OK because after all, you're not me. I am trained
with diagnoses, vanishing languages, card tricks, and even disappearing
acts. You might call me a reluctant magician. That is, I don't want the
girl in the box to disappear when I pull away the sheet before that live
audience, but then, I'm so good at it I can't help it. I could teach you a
thing or two but, well, you're too busy listening to God.

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Right, right. Thanks for the endorsement. The borderline
personality may show inappropriate and intense anger or rage with temper
tantrums, constant brooding and resentment, feelings of deprivation, and a
loss of control or fear of loss of control over angry feelings. And again,
thanks for illustrating.

GOD: It makes perfect sense, but it's not explicable. It makes some real
good sense. It's your sixth vaccination this week
a testament to your sanity, or your sane appearance brattily seated with
your head to the war.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: I had no way of knowing that you, God, speak Old
Norwegian as well as Old Norse. I suspect you and Kasey are both trying to
make some example out of me. Forget allegory--this is the age of
nominalism. I'm too specific for your categories or machinations. Old
Norse is a language you've fraudulently invented, God, while not only dining
out on your fake author-suffering but also crop-dusting three other acts.
In my opinion you are nothing more or less than a crop-duster (if one
without much flying skill, thank God), and a fake, a fraud, a vicious liar
and a playwright to boot.

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Very good, K. Silem. You've led me to my next point.
There are also identity disturbances with confusion and uncertainty about
self-identity, sexuality, life goals and values, career choices,
friendships, narrative structures. There is a deep-seated feeling that one
is flawed, defective, damaged or bad in some way, with a tendency to go to
extremes in thinking, feeling, and writing.

GOD: You and I implant the dead signals take our chances in immense
jackboot resemblances in the hoot 'n' holler at the twelve o'clock.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: You are threatening to embarrass me. God's paraphrase
of the first three acts was accurate enough, but that's just where the
problem lies if you repeat (and publicize)--innocently of course--the one
thing He got wrong. What struck me about your response to "What Was Old
Norse?" was your focus on God's example rather than His argument. This is
hilarious to someone with my degree. The "Old Norse Playwright." No
offense, Kasey, but I just about fell over laughing when I got to "Old Norse
Playwright." I'm not saying you're ignorant--I'm only insinuating it so
your feelings don't matter. God's not speaking in Old Norse, silly. It's
the NEW aesthetic!

KASEY MOHAMMAD: See what I mean, folks? Even in less severe instances,
there is often significant disruption of relationships and work performance.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: I would have thought Kasey above such lunatic stuff.
It's "Kasey" to my disciples but "K. Silem" to my audience. Students are
the sort that relate well to people like Kasey Kasem, you know, the latest
and greatest top 40 with a friendly face. This is a state school after all.
But to the leather-bound poets society, only an aged patina will suffice for
peddling books. That's why I'm really K. Silem and you're just aping
everyone else!

GOD: And I’m the immaculate, have been watching your doorstep.

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Right, right! You speak Old Icelandic as well! Right on
God! OK, back to my character sketch. Lost my page...ahh yes, here it is.
(Clears his throat.) Note that with the borderline personality, something
which is all good one day can be all bad the next, which is related to
another symptom: borderlines have problems with object constancy in
people -- they read each action of people in their lives as if there were no
prior context; they don't have a sense of continuity and consistency about
people and things in their lives.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: It's you who've misunderstood me, Kasey. You've blown
way out of proportion my irritation with your preachy response to a
lighthearted play that I doubt anyone took seriously. Not me. Don't try
and turn it around on me. Besides, a theory of imagined languages will get
you nowhere.

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Borderlines are distinguished from neurotics by the
presence of "primitive defenses." Chief among these is splitting, in which a
person or thing is seen as all good or all bad. That distinction may
alternate from moment to moment and may prove confusing or even hurtful to
those in relationships with the borderline personality. That is, the
borderline can play good cop and bad cop all at once without any ability to
admit the existence of such behavior.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: I do apologize for causing you any distress, though, and
I will just leave your play. When you look for a character, don't come to
ask me. Write me out of it. And if I'm the sort of character you consider
confusing, then you'll have the kind of play you want once I'm written out
of it. I doubt it will look any more appealing in daylight now that Kasey's
taken over. I am so sorry and I'll never bother you again. Pal.

KASEY MOHAMMAD: Again, a fine example. As I was saying, other primitive
defenses cited include magical thinking, that is to say, beliefs that
thoughts can cause events, omnipotence, projection of unpleasant
characteristics in the self onto others and projective identification, a
process where the borderline tries to elicit in others the feelings he or
she is having.

K. SILEM MOHAMMAD: I never once struck back at you, Kasey. Kasey, are you
listening? I recommend that you suspend yourself for calling yourself "K.
Silem Mohammad." I mean, let's keep who's who straight around here. Whose
play is it anyway? You, Kasey, have a responsibility to this play as an
author of the characters you have portrayed. You cannot just allow other
characters to waltz in and attack those who are in bondage.

GOD: I've all means to depict as you stood, dramatic in curious
temperament: I've a neat angle in the sibling queen's tapestry based on your
sauciness, and take careful mementos by rote from the heels of a thought you
murmured: "the little love god" fresh from your oracle as clearly anointed
by pure mind, imprinted on sweet captions that pass from temple to
interesting mandible: please, trace presents and sayings of consequence on
occasion to be merry.

KASEY MOHAMMAD: There's always THAT! Well said, God. Where were we? Oh,
right. As I was saying. This diagnosis was delivered in humorous
friendship. Cumulative character judgments are nearly impossible for the
person suffering from borderline personality disorder. Every person is
understood only by the perceived measure of his or her last action with the
sufferer. Another consequence is that if you laugh about it, the sufferer
will condemn you as callous and thus deny the joke's context, and, if you
lament it and try to help, the sufferer will laugh at you and deny that the
context is sad. Borderline Personality Disorder is a language that exists.
Plays exist. God exists. Even I exist. Old Norse exists. This play is
the very proof. It is its own justice.

GOD: If I cannot be who I am in a group, the present defines another, and
the future ... the future is what there is not here. I need it. I cannot be
who I am without it. I...forget it. Look, can we just change this awful
subject? Oh, right, I'm God. OK, it's hereby changed. I have a question
for you guys--read any good Jewel poems lately? Here's a great one: "I am
not from here, my hair smells of the wind and is full of constellations, and
I move about this world with a healthy disbelief. And I approach my days
and my work with vaporous consequence a touch that is translucent, but can
violate stone." Ahh. Hear that? Her metaphor for living is: when her
hair's on fire she tries to fuck bricks with steamy farts. Now *that's*
bloody desperation.

PATRICK: Sorry, you can't talk about that here, God. And let me evade the
point that it's certainly not *your* act to go around and change things.
Think you can take liberties with deus ex machina around here? Well, OK,
you *can*, but then I'm going to have to ask you to leave the play for a
short time. We don't want these fires to get out of control, unless, of
course, it's my match that's lighting it. Rules are rules you know, and
rulers are seldom more fun than measuring sticks. I mean, I know who I am,
or at least, I know that I don't know who I am, at least when I'm eating
rice or looking into mirrors, if you know what I mean. If you don't, well,
that's OK, I don't know what I'm talking about anyway. It's my play now and
that's all that matters. Nyah nyah. You violator you! I've a broken
ankle, burned palm, and now a burst eardrum, all objective correlatives for
the sturdiness of my judgment. Talk about you screwing masonry with
flatulence when dancing the Michael Jackson!

GOD: Sure, sure. Maybe you should talk with Kasey. I think from the likes
of his talk today, he'll understand you. Don't worry about the play. Just
ease up on your pure-minded oracle saintly psychopathology and check out
this play I've been writing.

END ACT FOUR

2003-08-20T21:26:00.000+04:00

again? 1/19/2002:

jack spicer and ulrike meinhof were something indeed. Jack was dead just over 5 years when I was conceived, and ulrike was fresh off both the liberation of andeas baader and the formation of the baader-meinhof gang. Ulrike thought it was time to grow the family, but seeing as though her secret man raspe had lost his balls to ex-Nazis wielding chisels and limes years before, it wasn't going to work according to plan. that is to say the conception wasn't well-conceived. jack was more than dead, he was preserved, or at least millions of little jacks were. baader liberated the little jacks himself as a gift to ulrike and gave them to raspe. no no, he didn't attend to the, uh, needs of a dead man. he robbed a sperm bank for the little jacks, one soon to become a little patrick. raspe and meinhof were indeed drunk, and raspe made up some stuff about manna from heaven to explain her impregnation. I have three fathers, and two were protokrautrockers who dressed chic and used big fancy words. the other father, well, I really resent him now. Fathers can't just be sperm donors you know.

this is my life story. I am born of public seed of inflammation spite and hangover throb. I exist full as life in two dimensions--just choose your favorite font to give me depth.

2003-08-20T21:19:00.000+04:00

More? From 1/2002:

Allen, Ron, to whomever your nickname points:

You mistake my questions for answers yet answer them with questions? I'm
all squiggles with pointed sticks inverted. See? Here's a diagram:

1
0
0
1

Got it?

Let me explain, Allen Ron Casey Jones whoever you are--watch your speed!
I'm merely spent coal dust blown off the Detroit Lightning homeward bound
heading east from Santa Fe. That is, I don't mind being dirt and the breeze
could not be more generous to my wanderings. I may not live forever but
then we can't always roll around in the bushes; sometimes the river floods.
Besides, that pole-pointed shaft of light looks like an army of lonesome
sleeping soldiers when seen all shattered from shining through the trees.
Whether you miss me when I'm gone is really all that matters; it's the
missing that keeps us rolling--like the shattered light, it's the crazy
quilt that keeps us warm. We can always end up moving much too slow, but
then, that where all lines end, even the ones that mime the still lattice of
ice. Knowing where the line ends tells us nothing about the trees we pass.
Have you answered my question yet?

Pass the wine, Gwyn. A swig for Allen. Then pass it to Candice, Casey
Jones whoever you are. Some may call it our time: so long to be gone, so
short to be here.

2003-08-20T21:16:00.000+04:00

more? 12/2001:

in my tiny tiny bed i do crawl up
for warmy warm and i breathe
under tiny blanket, this is so
lovely, i will have my little
world and little cells flying
in warmy warm air under tiny
blanket so so happy little
world i will hidey hide from me
and you, you must think happy
thought of my tiny world i do
love to sleep and nappy nap and
dream here in my tiny place so
nicely dark so pretty, i will
live here always, do not tell,
you must be my little cell
flying in warmy warmy air

2003-08-20T21:15:00.000+04:00

more proto-flarf, a la slam? 11/12/2001:

Bucket Mind Voyeur (the Moral Is a Rap)

A man walks home with an empty bucket every day. His neighbor watches him each day, wondering why the man makes such an effort to carry the empty bucket home.

"Every day I see you leave your home and return. Every time you return home I see you carrying a bucket but it is empty. Why do you bother?"

"I do it for the water but I am not thirsty." He pauses and laughs. "Actually, I do it for the buckets."

***

A man walks home empty handed every day. His neighbor watches him each day, wondering why the man makes such an effort to bring nothing home.

"Every day I see you leave your home and return. Every time you return home I see you are empty-handed. Why do you bother?"

"I do it for the wonder." He pauses and laughs. "Actually, I like to be watched by you."

***

With cashmoney cars n clothes
I leave my home early every day
To knock 'em out when I send 'em all away
And forget I'm all alone in my garish display

Credit cards, baby, mastercard
My Popcorn shrimp's always battered in lard
This empty bucket is an empty mind
I see you kickin' it checkin' my behind

Kicking my bucket
My bucket my behind
You see it all empty
Talkin 'bout a mind

Kicking my bucket
My bucket my strife
You see it all empty
Talkin 'bout a life

2003-08-20T20:32:00.000+04:00

again, more proto-flarf? from 10/3/2000:

(when it's hard to share human affections and make physical contacts with
living flesh, well, heck, there ARE substitutes! just like the real thing!
Why deal with the complexities of humans when you can fuck inanimate objects
and allow them to act like oracles for your suggestible mind! Rub up
against that book spine! Lick your monitor interface! Oooh, uhhhh,
nuhhhhhhhh. Cum on inside, I'll show you.)

sex on the internet, sex in text
your buttons remain the same
i've engaged your field of vision
i'm downloading your identity now
project 0505.idZ DARPACMOS industrial espionage
and intelligence manipulation routine
loading...loading...loading...
identity loaded, your cognitive function engaged
I am your associative array
interface me with your
burning melting boiling
streams of loving data
burning melting boiling
streams of loving data
burning melting boiling
streams of loving data
streams of loving data
streams of loving data.

Or just call me Tom.

Error 404. Life not found.

2003-08-20T20:30:00.000+04:00

proto-flarf strikes again? from 8/1/2000:

50 ways to leave your poems

In communist silence
poets important citizens
by default utterers

of sybilline phrases
in absence of
dialogue poets among

heroes of new
societies first to
be discarded offering

university degrees to
would-be poets urges
poetry and earning

living graduating poets
misery akin to
ungraduated bohemians of

yore poet-musicians gave
poets audience University
poets street poets

divided between conservatism
and insouciance two
hundred poets between

their pages Poets
believe in liberating
art greatest poet

of my generation
Unfortunately poets wrote
violence and terror

nationalistic poems made
poets poets co-operated
could not fulfill

obligations At poetry
evenings poets outnumber
audience Difficulty of

Not Being a
Poet poet's declaration
to build space

free from pain
why poets licensed
to disclaim Responsibilities

for deceit we
suffer shame failed
pledges we never

thought of it
at all beginning
to sound like

poets Poets are
liked for work
but despised for

views booby prize
shut up and
write yer poems.

2003-08-20T20:26:00.000+04:00

more flarf again? from 3/18/2000:

My first submission! under 20 lines! for poetry.com! Oh, What Joy!

http://poetry.com - please search for Archduke Froshingslosh, the greatest living poet of all limited small areas within the Gobshite Region of Lower Flanders

this masterpiece is humbly dedicated to the genius and grandeur of the esteemed Professor Eric Blarnes, Blarnufflink Chair of the Veteran Poets Senior Citizen Center Health Benefits Institute

big shrew of goo
roodely toodely doo
poo poo er
et tu shamu and
to you emu I
sue n rue the
choo choo loo
that did spew
spent chew
and said moo
in kung foo zoo
with one new shoe too
i am a poet aren't you
i am a poet i touch myself
and think of Family Feud
when on the boob tube.
i am cold water cubes
for noo one but
a dog named Boo.

Copyright (c) 2000 Archduke Ridiculophus Froshingslosh, Semi-ruler of Flanders and other Highly Ambient Domains & Heir to the Fortune of CarbonMonoxidizer, Inc.

http://poetry.com - Where Everyone is a Poet (TM)
The home to 1.4 formerly homeless and neglected poets. (TM)
Come to poetry.com - Where Our Database Will Read It! (TM)
Where You Can Purchase Your Very Own Poem from Us! (TM)
Where Moles Make Mountains Of Hirsute Shite! (TM)

2003-08-20T20:24:00.000+04:00

flarf again? 4/7/2000

well i'd once saw idears. idears shit out the guts of wholesome upstanding and educated books and the like. the stink of death, heck, it was rough, i tell yeh. that's how i like them idears, though, tweedy morsels. i'd once got myself a fancy booklernin' idear once, but then i just figgered i'd show everyone how big my organ was. i can really play that thing. har har dangedy rootin tootin toodley-ooh!

see Jim over there? he'd once had himself an organ too, but he went off to that fancy school, and when he'd a-come back his cows were all a-gone and so were them horses there in that yard of his. and his goat, somebody got his goat! aw hell, somebody'd of gotten mudpie into rye some time or other, hot damn. hot idear, mudpie into rye, tweedy like booklernin, yep.

but heavens to betsy i don't trust them booklernin' types around here, and don't want know drunk fairy poets er artsy types 'round here neither. nosirreee. those types are all the same, though they might as well never confess to it, always arguin with each other, and none of 'em ever's respectin' the law 'round here. we here just lookin' for farmers, farmers of crops, and farmers of souls. that's all a plce like this can ever want, sorta like heaven as jesus would want it, i reckon. just so long as, uh, well, as i think on it, wanna buy an organ? i got one that's for sale. i don't play it much no more, never was much for it, as i reckon'. it might as well just push daisies for all i care.

2003-08-20T20:23:00.000+04:00

flarf? from 5/13/2000

The Oprah Book Club: _Purple Elephants:, a Journey into the Unconscious of Oprah Winfrey and the Show-Biz Cowboys_, by Oprah Winfrey

Can a love that consumes you survive? Or perhaps more important, can anyone survive a love that consumes?

Oprah has written a tale of a woman who shocks her well-to-do family by running off with *****Show-Biz Cowboy #1!***** who abuses her; after he is killed in a brawl, she meets *****Show-Biz Cowboy #2!*****, a quiet, uneducated, but highly capable tenant farmer. She tries to be the model woman everyone expects her to be - teaching at the Catholic school, coaxing her *****Show-Biz Cowboy #2!***** husband through his increasingly irrational moods, caring for his aging parents but Oprah's hopes for her family's future collide with life in this bizarre household, and she worries over her wryly observant adolescent daughter and her timid young son.

Through one thousand and one television nights, Oprah feeds herself the fantasies of melodramas and sitcoms and tries to understand the many faces of love and betrayal: her father, driven by lust and longing to leave his family; her mother, an emotionally fragile woman who battles mental illness; Grandma Holland, lace-curtain decent, peppery and proud, aching with unspoken feelings; and *****Show-Biz Cowboy #3!*****, the handsome upstairs neighbor whose ultimate betrayal will throw Oprah's life severely, nearly permanently, off-course.

We also meet *****Show-Biz Cowboy #4!*****, the children's alcoholic father; #4's brother-in-law, who makes anonymous "live" calls from the bathroom of his failing appliance store; and the #4 family who - in contrast to the Winfreys - live an orderly life in the house next door.

Although the physical landscape she inhabits (an important factor in both novels) is very mild, Oprah seems to be surrounded by destructive forces. Her family and community threaten her peaceful existence, and sometimes even her life. Although she may seem initially to be at the mercy of these destructive forces, there is something in her that never quite gives in.

In the midst of tragedy and loneliness, Oprah continues to maintain that she was never guilty of the sin of fornication; she says that a holy child grew inside her. No amount of punishment can make her recant. She leaves her *****Show-Biz Cowboy #2!***** husband and falls in love with a South African freedom fighter named *****Show-Biz Cowboy #5!*****, who sweeps her off her feet and eventually takes her to London and then to Cairo, where, as her marriage begins to break up, she becomes the first female editor of the English-language magazine, _O_. Suddenly, *****Show-Biz Cowboy #5!***** is consumed with a devastating colorectal cancer, sweeping across his body and ultimately, both of their lives, leaving her destitute and lonely.

As Oprah starts to heal from the pain of the past, she almost believes she has escaped it -- that *****Show-Biz Cowboy #3!***** or *****Show-Biz Cowboy #4!***** or *****Show-Biz Cowboy #1!***** or even *****Show-Biz Cowboy #2!***** will not find her and again provoke the complex combustion of attraction and destruction, lust and love.

Oprah may end up homeless and jobless, living secretly in a Wal-Mart(TM), but she again begins to believe she has a future. With determination and humor, Oprah confronts the challenges of loneliness and poverty, and strives to learn who a woman in an indifferent world without a *****Show-Biz Cowboy!***** can become.

Oprah brings to the novel the same rich sense of place, the same deep understanding of the human psyche, and the same compassion for a people and their struggle that have informed her previous, widely praised novels. Like photographs in a family album, scenes from Oprah's life are offered in startling detail: the scoops of coffee she forces herself to measure out each day; snatches of conversation between a *****Show-Biz Cowboy!***** husband and wife doggedly trying to return to a normal life; the cynical observations of her oldest child as he struggles to be noticed and loved; the "purple elephants" that loom in every family's living room --unspoken pain so huge one can only step around it, for to acknowledge it is too terrifying a prospect.

Oprah's new book club book is a masterful epic of the everyday, illuminating the kaleidoscope of lives that tell the compelling story of this unforgettable life.

- Oprah Winfrey

2003-08-18T08:48:00.000+04:00

let us fake out a frontier

a poem someone could hide in with a sheriff's posse after him

2003-08-18T08:42:00.000+04:00

flarf is a festival in florida four hundred followers attended for a fortnight
flarf is the faery dust

flarf is come in quiet waters
flarf is overcast

flarf is posted
flarf is so appealing

flarf is the oversized fleece flannel blue striped plaid shirt jacket thing that arose from subsubpoetics as a function of tolerating nonsense poetry, computer-generated nonsense, a general overappreciation of meaninglessness, and a lick of the American poet's dream of automat profundity, leaving it all to wag from the reader's mouth, for hir to interpret and perhaps even confuse poetic gesture as poetry thereby forcing the reader to submit arbitrarily to displays of poet-monkeydom and acquiesce to a substanceless myth of genius and a geniusless myth of substance pass the mustard pal I'm on my way to the zoo they have a cage there for me center stage they put a light in it they spanked me I am the money er monkey
flarf is over

2003-06-22T08:24:00.000+04:00

audblog audio post

2003-05-14T23:32:00.000+04:00

Just what exactly is a radical poetry or a radical poetics?

"...it is crucial to maintain open the radical ambiguity of how cyberspace
will affect our lives: this does not depend on technology as such but on the
mode of its social inscription. Immersion into cyberspace can intensify our
bodily experience (new sensuality, new body with more organs, new sexes...),
but it also opens up the possibility for the one who manipulates the
machinery which runs the cyberspace literally to steal our own (virtual)
body, depriving us of the control over it, so that one no longer relates to
one's body as to "one's own". What one encounters here is the constitutive
ambiguity of the notion of mediatization: originally this notion designated
the gesture by means of which a a subject was stripped of its direct,
immediate right to make decisions; the great master of political
mediatization was Napoleon who left to the conquered monarchs the appearance
of power, while they were effectively no longer in a position to exercise
it. At a more general level, one could say that such a "mediatization" of
the monarch defines the constitutional monarchy: in it, the monarch is
reduced to the point of a purely formal symbolic gesture of "dotting the
i's", of signing and thus conferring the performative force on the edicts
whose content is determined by the elected governing body. And does not,
mutatis mutandis, the same not hold also for today's progressiver
computerization of our everyday lives in the course of which the subject is
also more and more "mediatised", imperceptibly stripped of his power, under
the false guise of its increase? When our body is mediatized (caught in the
network of electronic media), it is simultaneously exposed to the threat of
a radical "proletarization": the subject is potentially reduced to the pure
void, since even my own personal experience can be stolen, manipulated,
regulated by the machinical Other. One can see how the prospect of radical
virtualization bestows on the computer the position which is strictly
homologous to that of Cartesian evil God /genie malin/: since the computer
coordinates the relationship between my mind and (what I experience as) the
movement of my limbs (in the virtual reality), one can easily imagine a
computer which runs amok and starts to act liker an evil God, disturbing the
coordination between my mind and my bodily self-experience - when the signal
of my mind to raise my hand is suspended or even counteracted in (the
virtual) reality, the most fundamental experience of the body as "mine" is
undermined... The commonplace is that, in cyberspace, the ability to
download consciousness into a computer finally frees people from their
bodies - but it also frees the machines from "their" people..."

- Slavoj Zizek's "THE MATRIX: THE TRUTH OF THE EXAGGERATIONS"
http://lacan.com/matrix.html

"The personalized poem, of which there are many examples on the Internet, is
a poem where the user, via mouse clicks or keyboard tappings, enters some
information into a web application, and, PRESTO! The user gets hir very own
poem, a bona fide original.

"Such a preprogrammed personalized poem is the mirror image of Internet
control and domination. The personalized poem application, in whatever form
it is in, is entirely predictable in its output, and those outputs are
completely determined by the actions of one individual: the programmer. The
person behind the black box. Sometimes, frankly, we're too busy looking at
this black box to see the person who runs it or the implications of it. The
programmer is in control of such poetry. The poet/programmer is obscured by
distance and complexity, a modern-day Wizard of Oz of sorts, and the poetry
is deterministic despite the randomness of human input. That programmer has
a remote and invisible authority and control over the creative output, and
that authority and control is completely automated.

"Many believe such a poem as the one I describe is radical because it seems
to reflect the 20th century avant-garde tradition of process as a
fundamental property of art. But again, process, algorithms, and the like
were rather exotic intellectual ideas many years ago. Today algorithms and
processes are as essential to control and surveillance as barbed wire and
cameras, or perhaps even more so. In hindsight this comes as no surprise. We
can completely predict the behavior of any algorithm and because they are so
predictable they can be efficiently utilized for highly complex methods of
control....

"The empty signifier and radical disjunction, in a sense, are fundamental
properties of the Internet. The Internet born from DARPA (Defense Advanced
Research Projects Agency), the central research and development arm of the
US Department of Defense. DARPA is perhaps the very core of world military
industrial domination. The very nature of the Internet is rooted in
wide-area distribution effective for constant surveillance and rapid
deployment of divide-and conquer strategies through distributed
communications. The Internet's origins have lead to more commonly understood
features of the Internet landscape: behavior monitoring leading to marketing
strategies such as personalization, wide distribution of content for
constant presence and the possibility of "ensnaring" the audience's
attention (which generates more data for behavior control). All of this
happens on an individual level to divide people into individuals with their
custom web environments and conquer their wallets and their minds one at a
time. The most crucial datum about modeling one individual's behavior is HOW
THEY LINK. That is, how does one choice lead to another for each individual?
How people make connections is perhaps the easiest aspect of a person's
behavior that can be recorded using the Internet....

"Poetry that articulates through gesture, ambiguity, emotive strength (no
logic to an emotion), ambiguous authorship, without nebulous hypertext
structure or use of algorithms, may be radical today. Poetry though can
never become radical if it continues to maintain some sort of faith in any
one answer to the question of self. It is when we answer and insist on our
answers to ideas of the self that we continue to pursue either, in the case
of Language poetry, a rather hasty rejection of self in writing (but perhaps
not in authorship, and that's the difference between the action of writing
and the thing we call a text,) or in the case of more "mainstream" (for lack
of a better word) poetry, the insistence upon selves. The Internet helps
gather power for a controlling minority by exploiting the self-centered
possibilities of humans, and the rejection of that leaves us with answers
that seem to be equally false. Perhaps the only answer to "do selves exist?"
is, "I do not know." As long as we maintain such a position on authorship,
meaning itself is not owned, and the possibilities for poetry are wide open
and fully resistant to centralized mass dominance and control."

from Patrick Herron
http://www.litvert.com/internetage.html

2003-05-14T23:29:00.000+04:00

Hail to the Thief!

Hail to the Thief, scabarous growth upon our nation,
Hail to the Thief! We abhor him, one and all.
Hail to the Thief, as we resist co-operation
With coarse defilement of a great and noble call.

Yours is the aim to make this grand country poorer,
This you will do, that's our strong and firm belief.
Hail to the one, the usurper as commander,
Hail to the Governor! Hail to the Thief!

2003-05-14T23:28:00.000+04:00

Matrix Reloaded opens nationwide today.

So let's do some philosophy, OK, kids?

"it certainly seems that we cannot be certain that we are not in a matrix"
David Chalmers

1. Assume it is true that we are in a matrix

Then I know nothing that is ultimately true.

2. Assume it is true that we are NOT in a matrix
Since I cannot be certain we are not in a matrix,
my belief that we are not in a matrix is not knowledge,
namely, since my matrix-ness is beyond certitude.

If we are in a matrix, we know nothing. Including knowing nothing about the matrix.
Even if I beleive I am in a matrix and imagine the matrix in such a way that
it corresponds exactly with the matrix, I still know
nothing
about the matrix. I've merely guessed well.

If we are not in a matrix, we still at least know nothing about our
"matrix-ness": about whether or not we are ultimately in a matrix..

We don't know if we are in a matrix. We can't even know if we know
anything about being in a matrix. What we do know, however, is this:

no amount of reflection on the subject reveals anything about the ultimate truth.

We can't even know whether or not we are wasting our time on the subject.
It seems the subject is one big black hole. Its center is hidden yet
that which approaches it
vanishes.

We might imagine, however, that with the time spent on the impossible question
we might have instead taken the time to realize
the value of imagination, of the immediacy of being,
that we live in the neighborhood
of imagining things into immediate being.
Our minds create.

We might also realize that what may be within this manifold of matrix/non-matrix
may be knowable but we may also realize that the very sense of "within"
bears no fruit. the twin concepts of ultimate truth and perspectivalism seem only to serve to
absorb thought. Thought that might be best purposed to ensure that
when I am dehydrated I drink, that
when I am hungry I eat, that
when I am tired I sleep.

It seems quite unsurprising, then, that the business of religion seems keen
on capitalizing upon the confusions and concentration generated by
paying attention to the seemingly fruitless divide between
"reality"
and
"perception."
The tax-exempt business of religion is focused primarily on that which is unverifiable.
Try charging a church
with fraud.
Your justification? They cannot prove or produce evidence of a deity beyond
reasonable doubt.
To see what I mean,
try selling someone
an imaginary house.
It won't take long
before you're in
trouble.
But sell people God and no amount of time will reveal truth or falsehood,
for the categories of religious indulgence are beyond verification.

Our true matrix is truly beyond us. Step right up.

2003-05-14T23:12:00.000+04:00

From: Ryan Whyte
Subject: the new aesthetic (pathetic attempt at an essay)

the new aesthetic is the totality of totalities, the absolute confluence
of authorial guilt with the crystalline transparency of the object of
writing. it is not the work as obdurate thing but the words as the total
and everlasting incrimination of the author and the author's family.

it is the poisoning of all forums of discourse and distribution by
sectarianism, the eternal register of good and evil, by wiretapping,
packet sniffing, key capture, the brilliant cultivation of paranoia, the
managing of the civilian population and the everlasting presumption of
guilt and the capacity for terror.

it is the knowledge that everything salutary in democracy, technology and
globalization has been wounded to the core by the hunger for war and
retribution, by the hatred for the demotic, by the slouching beast of
opportunistic, savage and byzantine foreign policy. it is the harrowing of
hope, the cultivation of every last form of misanthropy.

the new aesthetic thrives on the eroticism of terror. it is the crushing
of unreason by the rationality of war. it is the silencing of art's
unreasonable struggle against alienation. it is the channeling of the
disruptive energies of unreason into the managed distribution of the
eroticized hatred of one's neighbor.

let us abandon aesthetics. let us unreasonably care for men and women and
children.

2003-05-11T02:24:00.000+04:00

Sorry I've been away so long, folks. I got stuck in someone's suitcase for almost two months. Fortunately I don't have to eat or breathe. One of the benefits of being a dummy. It wasn't a life-or-death situation--never is with a doll like me--but it was a write-or-be-silent situation.

Somewhat like this:

Before I get rolling again, here's a little something from Mark Twain to lift your spirits in these times of Victorious Joy in America. Nothing like rolling around in the blood of the vanquished to lift my spirit.

Jesus Loves Me.

And I Love You, Only You.

Les

The War Prayer
by Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation

*God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!*

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory --

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(*After a pause.*) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

2003-03-27T00:19:00.000+03:00

http://www.washtimes.com/world/20030131-27320419.htm
http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2002/12/WMDStrategy.pdf

Part of the methodology of shock and awe is the use of nukes. (See above sources for confirmation.) The correct military phrase given to shock and awe translates into: the ends justifies the means. As this war starts to drag on and casualties pile up (and it is already happening--the US has invaded a swamp and is outnumbered despite superior firepower and technology), the nuke option becomes a reality. Yep, that's right. Nuke Baghdad or Basra. Establishment of credibility. The use of weapons of mass destruction in order to stop them. Heh. And they'll do it unless we get these morons out of there, because they won't withdraw the troops, the US army can't tell Iraqi soldiers apart from civilians, and they won't accept defeat. This requires genocidal tactics, and the mildest (!) form would be to simply evaporate a city.

A story from the Guardian:

Shock tactics
http://www.guardian.co.uk/Iraq/Story/0,2763,921286,00.html

One man has been watching the fearsome bombardment of Baghdad more closely than most - Harlan Ullman, the former US navy pilot who convinced Washington to embrace his 'shock and awe' tactic. He tells Oliver Burkeman why the strategy is working

Tuesday March 25, 2003
The Guardian

Shock and awe are not among the words first called to mind by the opening sentences of the final report of the Rapid Dominance Study Group, an informal affiliation of seven men, mainly ex-military, who spent the "mid-1990s meeting to talk defence in the verdant suburbs of Washington. "The purpose of this paper," they began soporifically, "is to explore alternative concepts for structuring mission capability packages around which future US military forces might be configured." One member of the Study Group had co-written a novel with Tom Clancy, as it happened - but they weren't concentrating on the mass market at the time. The paper "was only really meant to be used inside the Pentagon," says its lead author, a 62-year-old, amiable retired navy pilot called Harlan Ullman. But any chance of that had long evaporated by the end of last month, by which time shock and awe, the phrase denoting the military theory that Ullman largely invented, could not be avoided in news coverage of the coming war. On Friday, in Ba"The phrase, as used by the Pentagon now, has not been helpful," Ullman concedes, racing between appointments in Virginia, outside Washington. "It has created a Doomsday approach - the idea of terrorising everybody. In fact, that's not the approach. The British have a much better phrase for it: effects-based operations."

But it is shock and awe that television and newspaper coverage of the war has adopted unanimously to describe the unprecedentedly heavy aerial bombardment unleashed on Baghdad, and other cities in northern Baghdad, from Friday and intermittently over the weekend. And it is shock and awe that has also rapidly come to epitomise, among opponents of the conflict, all the indiscriminate, terror-inducing destructiveness they perceive in the coalition military machine.

Which is, Ullman insists today, "entirely wrong. The notion is to do minimum damage, minimum casualties, using minimum force - even though that may be a lot. It's been taken out of context." At least in the rarefied corridors of the National War College, where Ullman taught, shock and awe was never supposed to be about obliteration but about will power: stunning one's opponent into realising that your might was so enormous, so unbeatable, that the fight was as good as over. "The question is: how do you influence the will and perception of the enemy, to get them to behave how you want them to? So you focus on things that collapse their ability to resist."

This need not necessarily involve massive bombing. On Wednesday night, after US commanders ordered a smaller strike of Tomahawk missiles at targets they believed included Saddam Hussein, CNN, for one, began running an on-screen alert reading "Shock and Awe postponed". But "that was classic shock and awe," says Ullman, who is now strategic associate at the centre for strategic and international studies in Washington. "If you kill the emperor, the empire's up for grabs. And had we killed him, it would have been a classic application [of the theory]: $50m of ordnance, and we won the war."

After this, the argument begins to get a little circular: the postponement of shock and awe "was shock and awe, too," Ullman says, because "we were threatening shock and awe". But the reason for the emergence of the theory at this point in time is clear: it is the philosophical companion to America's staggering technological superiority in warfare. Trying to shock your enemy is not new - "but what was new was the combination of technology and philosophy," Ullman says. "And before Rumsfeld, before 9/11, the Pentagon rejected it, you know. They said: 'We don't understand it.'" They preferred the Powell doctrine - swift overwhelming force to eliminate the enemy, but at potentially huge cost, human and otherwise, on both sides.

Despite Ullman's insistence that the theory is designed to win conflicts with minimum casualties, shock and awe has won him few friends in the anti-war movement, where it has been almost universally interpreted as a recipe for wreaking huge destruction. Some of this is to do with how the Pentagon has presented it: one official told the CBS TV network recently that, "There will not be a safe place in Baghdad... The sheer size of this has never been seen before, never been contemplated before." And much of it has to do with a distinguishing trait of "defence intellectuals": a certain distancing from the grim daily news emerging from real-life battlefronts, and, in Ullman's case, a preference for legendary tales like the one he enjoys recounting about Sun Tzu, the warrior-philosopher of ancient China.

"Sun Tzu was hired by the Emperor as a general, and instead of an interview, the Emperor told him to teach his concubines to march. Because if he could do that, he could do anything. So Sun Tzu said: 'Do I have complete control?' The emperor said yes. So he told them to march, and the concubines just laughed. Then he summoned the head concubine and cut off her head. Then they marched."

For many, though, by far the hardest thing to stomach about Ullman is the historical example he gives of shock and awe working as it should: the dropping of nuclear bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It is hard to argue with his opinion that this was "the maximum case of changing behaviour". It is easier to argue with his conclusion that it saved countless lives.

"But take a look at the Japanese during the second world war!" he exclaims. "Large numbers of civilians were committing suicide, and we were bombarding the islands with firebomb raids that would incinerate, in a night, 100,000 Japanese - burn them in the night. This was unbelievable horror. We were starving the Japanese, because we'd blockaded them. General George Marshall projected that invasion would impose about a million American casualties, and we could have de-peopled Japan: no more Japanese. We dropped two nuclear weapons, and they quit.

"They were suicidal in the extreme. And they could comprehend 1,000 bombers, 100,000 dead Japanese, but they couldn't understand one plane, one bomb, one city gone. Those people who say it was inhuman - it wasn't inhuman to drop the atom bomb if you believe in saving lives in the long run. Now, can you do that with a minimum amount of force today? We think you can."

Coalition progress in the current war has been "remarkable", Ullman maintains. "People don't realise. The war just began on Wednesday. It's like saying to Eisenhower, four days after D-Day - why the hell haven't you got to Berlin yet?" In a week, or maybe 10 days, he says, we "will know whether shock and awe has worked" - although it is not clear precisely what will constitute "working".

All of which is not to say that Ullman supports the war. Surprisingly, perhaps, he doesn't. "Where we are is where we are, and this is not a criticism and don't write it as such, but if it had been up to me I would have waited months, perhaps, to get a second resolution, when it would have been clear that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction," he says. "I don't agree with the administration view that Iraq is a clear and present danger, an imminent threat. But as we say in aviation, the three most useless things to a pilot are airspace above you, runway behind you and fuel you no longer have left in the tank."

2003-03-27T00:16:00.001+03:00

This is treason!

You're aiding the enemy in killing our boys!

SUPPORT OUR TROOPS!

ICH LIEBE MEIN VATER!
ICH LIEBE MEINE MUTTER!

ICH LIEBE MEIN HOMELAND!

Totung! Totung! Totung!

Toten sie alle!

Mannschaft USA uber alles!

Mannschaft USA Mannschaft USA Mannschaft USA
uber alles!

(Seig! Ja? Nein? Nein? Warum? Findest du es nicht so gern was ich mag
oder was ich mochte zu tun? Ach, sagst du, daB ich muB nicht so vielen
menschen morden? Entschuldigung Sie bitte--meine Deutsch is doch nicht so
gut.)

2003-03-27T00:16:00.000+03:00

In the Vietnam War, reporters sent home information that dissuaded people at
home from supporting the war while building morale of the opposition to a
slight degree. During Gulf War I the media was addressed and ahandled by
the military as a "problem": their reporting was pushed to the margins, and
the cooperation of the military with the press in terms of direct
interaction was minimal. As a result very little direct evidence of just
about anything was nearly impossible to find. Pretty much all we saw were
pictures of flak over the Baghdad night sky.

Now, during Gulf War II, US war journalism has turned around 180 degrees
from the days of Vietnam, 90 degrees from Gulf War I: the embedding of
journalists in the battle zone allows the military to utilize the coverage
as a psyop tool to frighten the "enemy" and inspire "our boys." The
parameters of journalism are being set not by the conditions of war but
instead by the military, and the journalists are "freely" agreeing to go
along with it.

The 180 degree turn can be understood in terms of who journalists are
working for: as the war in Vietnam "progressed", to a large extent they
became the eyes and ears and voice of the US people; in gulf War II they are
the broadcast and bullhorn of the US military.

The lesson may be that we have to depend on the foreign press to get any
coverage that has any real truth-value. Of course this gives us a whole new
set of biases to examine.

This Russian story is explaining something I've suspected: that the
US/British forces simply do not have the numbers to take either Basra or
Baghdad. Typically it takes a ratio of anywhere from 3:1 to 9:1 to overtake
a resolute force nested inside a city. I think the number of US troops
actually on Iraqi soil right now stands at about 125,000 soldiers; the Iraqi
force, condensed over the last decade, stands at about 375,000.

The "best" US strategy at this point is to "cut off" Basra from Baghdad by
controlling the east-west corridor between Baghdad and Basra and then
suffocate both cities by cutting off various infrastructural needs of city
inhabitants, like water, food, etc. & bomb them in order to terrorize them
, break their will, and reduce their numbers (re: slaughter them wholesale
via air bombing campaigns). Engaging in urban warfare at the current US
strength would spell disaster for the US forces.

If these reported losses are indeed true, you should expect to see reports
of heavy losses from "friendly fire" or by various aircraft accidents away
from the battle zone. The US Military for years has been laundering bodies
through faked aircraft accidents as a means of keeping certain potentially
detrimental pieces of information from the civilian population. Typically
some covert operation might take place here or there, and the US reports no
losses. The next day you'll see a report of a crashed transport vehicle
somewhere where soldiers have died. This is a standard black ops procedure
that has become de rigeur throughout the US Military.

2003-03-27T00:15:00.001+03:00

Switching the OPEC standard from Dollar to Euro would
be devastating to the US economy. It would foil some of the economic
motivations behind the invasion, and flush America along with it.

The actions of OPEC are far more devastating to superpowers than Afghanistan
invasions. A fact of history perhaps without much supporting logic, but
there it is. Contrary to the popularly-held myth that the USSR's invasion
of Afghanistan led to that superpower's demise, it was OPEC's decision to
triple production overnight that immediately forced the Soviet Union into a
tailspin. Within a very short span of time thereafter, the USSR had moved
into Glasnost. Reforms became the USSR's cover/public disinfo model for
economic collapse.

Why the collapse resulted was simple: Russia has and still does produce as
much oil as Saudi Arabia. However the USSR neither had the reserves nor the
quality of oil to compete if OPEC were to go nuts and wage economic war,
which they did. Most importantly Russia was operating at full capacity
production; the Soviet Union was not able to increase production at all to
stem the economic impact of the increase in production. Since the Soviet
Union made its money largely on oil, and since it was suddenly losing more
than gaining through oil production and sales, it ceased to be able to
provide the basic necessities of life. Food lines were soon to follow and
so too was "reform."

As I understand it, keeping OPEC on the dollar has a transitive but
cumulative effect of foisting off huge amounts of debts onto the OPEC member
nations. It is a form of protection money as I understand it. It is highly
dubious that before the war on Iraq there was any such threat of OPEC
switching from $ to E. Any such action would result in the immediate
collapse of the Saudi royal family overnight. As I said, it seems to be a form of
protection money.

2003-03-27T00:15:00.000+03:00

n the Defense Department there is a shop
where scientists sew the eyelids of rabbits open
lest they blink in the scorch of a nuclear drop

and elsewhere dolphins are being taught to defuse
bombs in the mockup of a harbor and monkeys
learn to perform the simple tasks of draftees.

It is done with electric shocks. Some mice
who have failed their time tests in the maze
now go to the wire unbidden for their jolts.

Implanting electrodes yields rich results:
alley cats turn from predators into prey.
Show them a sparrow and they cower

while the whitewall labs fill up with the feces of fear
where calves whose hearts have been done away
with walk and bleat on plastic pumps.

And what is any of this to the godhead,
these squeals, whines, writhings, unexpected jumps,
whose children burn alive, booby-trap the dead,
lops ears and testicles, core and disembowel?

It all ends at the hole. No words may enter
the house of excrement. We will meet there
as the sphincter of the good Lord opens wide
and He takes us all inside.

-- Maxine Kumin

2003-03-27T00:14:00.000+03:00

The National Security Council

The the council and the people central to making decisions about American
security...

Establishment of the National Security Council
The National Security Council was established by the National Security Act
of 1947 (PL 235 - 61 Stat. 496; U.S.C. 402), amended by the National
Security Act Amendments of 1949 (63 Stat. 579; 50 U.S.C. 401 et seq.). Later
in 1949, as part of the Reorganization Plan, the Council was placed in the
Executive Office of the President.

Membership of the National Security Council
The National Security Council is chaired by the President. Its regular
attendees (both statutory and non-statutory) are the Vice President, the
Secretary of State, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of Defense,
and the Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs. The
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is the statutory military advisor to
the Council, and the Director of Central Intelligence is the intelligence
advisor. The Chief of Staff to the President, Counsel to the President, and
the Assistant to the President for Economic Policy are invited to attend any
NSC meeting. The Attorney General and the Director of the Office of
Management and Budget are invited to attend meetings pertaining to their
responsibilities. The heads of other executive departments and agencies, as
well as other senior officials, are invited to attend meetings of the NSC
when appropriate.

National Security Council's Function
The National Security Council is the President's principal forum for
considering national security and foreign policy matters with his senior
national security advisors and cabinet officials. Since its inception under
President Truman, the function of the Council has been to advise and assist
the President on national security and foreign policies. The Council also
serves as the President's principal arm for coordinating these policies
among various government agencies.

from http://www.whitehouse.gov/nsc/
*****************************************

CIA as extension of NSC Will....

Section 403, paragraph d of the National Security Act of 1947, which defined
the powers and duties of the CIA:
Section 403. Central Intelligence Agency

(d) Powers and Duties

For the purpose of coordinating the intelligence activities of the
several Government departments and agencies in the interest of national
security, it shall be the duty of the Agency, under the direction of the
National Security Council --

1. to advise the National Security Council in matters concerning such
intelligence activities of the Government departments and agencies as relate
to national security;
2. to make recommendations to the National Security Council for the
coordination of such intelligence activities of the departments and agencies
of the Government as relate to the national security;

3. to correlate and evaluate intelligence relating to the national
security, and provide for the appropriate dissemination of such intelligence
within the Government using where appropriate existing agencies and
facilities: provided, that the Agency shall have no police, subpoena,
law-enforcement powers, or internal-security functions: provided further,
that the departments and other agencies of the Government shall continue to
collect, evaluate, correlate, and disseminate departmental intelligence: and
provided further, that the Director of Central Intelligence shall be
responsible for protecting intelligence sources and methods from
unauthorized disclosure;

4. to perform, for the benefit of the existing intelligence agencies,
such additional services of common concern as the National Security Council
determines can be more efficiently accomplished centrally;

5. to perform such other functions and duties related to intelligence
affecting the national security as the National Security Council may from
time to time direct.

****************************************

Who:

National Security Advisor Condoleeza Rice (Stanford, Hoover, Schwab, Chevron, JPMorgan, Hewlett Foundation)
http://www-hoover.stanford.edu/publications/digest/002/rice.html

President George Bush (Carlyle, Pennzoil/Texaco, Arbusto-bin Laden-BCCI, Harken-Harvard)

Vice President Dick Cheney (Halliburton/Brown & Root, Union Pacific)
http://www.corpwatch.org/issues/PID.jsp?articleid=6008

Secretary of State Colin Powell (AOL/TimeWarner, Bilderberg, former National Security Advisor)

Secretary of the Treasury John Snow (CSX)

Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld (Searle, Hoover Institution, ABB*, Bilderberg)

*under Rumsfeld's tenure as board member of ABB (Asea Brown Boveri) during the year 2000, ABB sold two nuclear power plants to North Korea.

see:

The Annual General Meeting of ABB Ltd 2000

ABB Ltd held March 16, 2000, its first annual general meeting of shareholders since the creation of the single-class ABB Ltd share.

Shareholders approved the proposal of the Board of Directors to increase the dividend per share to Sfr. 3.00 from Sfr. 2.47 the year before, payable as of March 23, 2000. Re-elected to the Board were Percy Barnevik, Gerhard Cromme, Jürgen Dormann, Martin Ebner, Robert Jeker, Göran Lindahl, Agostino Rocca, Donald Rumsfeld, Edwin Somm, Peter Sutherland and Jacob Wallenberg. The Board intends to re-elect Barnevik as Chairman and Jeker as Vice Chairman.

http://www.abb.com/global/abbzh/abbzh251.nsf!OpenDatabase&db=/global/abbzh/abbzh250.nsf&v=553E&e=us&c=DB787078E7C6EC0341256738005B4931

* * *

ABB to deliver systems, equipment to North Korean nuclear plants (LINK)
US$ 200 million in orders awarded under multi-government framework agreement

Zurich, Switzerland, January 20, 2000 –

ABB, the global technology group, said today it has signed contracts to deliver equipment and services for two nuclear power stations at Kumho, on the east coast of North Korea. The contracts, with a value of US$ 200 million, were awarded by HANJUNG (Korea Heavy Industries and Construction Co. Ltd.) and KOPEC (Korea Power Engineering Corp.).

http://www.abb.com/global/abbzh/abbzh251.nsf!OpenDatabase&db=/global/abbzh/abbzh250.nsf&v=553E&e=us&c=316DCEEDCA12D32E4125686C00433604

2003-03-27T00:09:00.000+03:00

Jimmy Breslin
Familiar, Haunting Words

March 20, 2003

At 8 o'clock last night, the Sikh in a blue turban in the subway change
booth at 42nd Street gave me a little wave and I waved back. Suddenly, he
was a front-line soldier in a war. I designate the subway at Times Square as
a prime target in America in the war with Iraq.

I had just been at the public library, where I discovered the speech that
started World War II. I print much of it here. It is darkly familiar to what
we have been hearing here, when for the first time in American history we
became all the things we ever hated and invaded another country. Herewith
the speech:

Address by Adolf Hitler to the Reichstag, Sept. 1, 1939.

For months we have suffered under the torture of a problem which the
Versailles Diktat created - a problem that has deteriorated until it becomes
intolerable for us ...

As always, I attempted to bring about, by the peaceful method of making
proposals for revision, an alteration of this intolerable position. It is a
lie when the outside world says that we only tried to carry our revisions
through by pressure. Fifteen years before the National Socialist Party came
to power there was the opportunity of carrying out these revisions by
peaceful settlements and understanding. On my own initiative I have, not
once but several times, made proposals for the revision of intolerable
conditions. All these proposals, as you know, have been rejected - proposals
for the limitation of armaments and, even if necessary, disarmament,
proposals for the limitation of warmaking, proposals for the elimination of
certain methods of modern warfare ... You know the endless attempts I made
for peaceful clarification and understanding of the problem of Austria, and
later of the problem of the Sudetenland, Bohemia and Moravia. It was all in
vain.

It is impossible to demand that an impossible position should be cleared up
by peaceful revision, and at the same time constantly reject peaceful
revision. It is also impossible to say that he who undertakes to carry out
the revisions for himself transgresses a law, since the Versailles Diktat is
not law to us.

In the same way, I have tried to solve the problems of Danzig, the Corridor,
etc., by proposing a peaceful discussion. That the problems had to be solved
was clear. It is quite understandable to us that the time when the problem
was to be solved had little interest for the Western Powers. But time is not
a matter of indifference to us ...

For four months I have calmly watched developments, although I never ceased
to give warnings. In the last few days I have increased these warnings ...

I made one more final effort to accept a proposal for mediation on the part
of the British government. They proposed, not that they themselves should
carry out the negotiations, but rather that Poland and Germany should come
into direct contact and once more pursue negotiations.

I must declare that I accepted this proposal and worked out a basis for
these negotiations which are known to you. For two whole days I sat in my
government and waited to see whether it was convenient for the Polish
government to send a plenipotentiary or not. Last night they did not send us
a plenipotentiary, but instead informed us through their ambassador that
they were still considering whether and to what extent they were in a
position to go into the British proposals. The Polish government also said
they would inform Britain of their decision.

Deputies, if the German government and its leader patiently endured such
treatment Germany would deserve only to disappear from the political stage.
But I am wrongly judged if my love of peace and my patience are mistaken for
weakness or even cowardice. I, therefore, decided last night and informed
the British government that in these circumstances I can no longer find any
willingness on the part of the Polish government to conduct serious
negotiations with us.

The other European states understand in part our attitude. I should like all
to thank Italy, which throughout has supported us, but you will understand
for the carrying on of this struggle ... we will carry out this task
ourselves.

This night for the first time, Polish regular soldiers fired on our
territory. Since 5:45 a.m. we have been returning the fire and from now on
bombs will be met with bombs. Whoever fights with poison gas will be fought
with poison gas. Whoever departs from the rules of humane warfare can only
expect that we shall do the same ... until the safety, security of the Reich
and its rights are secured.

***

On that night, Hitler used this dry, unimaginative language to start a world
war that was to kill 60 million, and they stopped counting.

Last night, George Bush, after speech after speech of this same dry, flat,
banal language, started a war for his country, and we can only beg the skies
to keep it from spreading into another world war.

2003-03-27T00:08:00.000+03:00

From the Democracy Now! Website...

Story: FORMER CIA OFFICIALS CALL FOR INTELLIGENCE OFFICERS TO LEAK DOCUMENTS
THAT CHALLENGE BUSH ADMINISTRATION PROPAGANDA
http://stream.realimpact.net/rihurl.ram?file=webactive/demnow/dn20030321.ra&start=01:10:43.0

Last week the Los Angeles Times reported on a stunning classified document
from the State Department. It was titled "Iraq, the Middle East, and Change:
No Dominoes." It debunked the Bush Administration's claim that a U.S. attack
and occupation of Iraq would lead to a democratic Iraq, and then help bring
democracy to much of the Middle East. The report was top secret and was
never supposed to be seen by the public. The Bush administration obviously
had little incentive to leak the report - which challenged one of the stated
goals of the war. And today the world would not know about the report if
officials had not secretly leaked the document to reporters.

If a group called Veteran Intelligence Professionals for Sanity has its way,
more officials within the Intelligence community will soon begin leaking
documents that shows the Bush administration is slanting intelligence to
support its case for war with Iraq.

The group was formed two months ago by five CIA veterans. Currently the
group consists of 25 members from the entire defense community (including
the DIA, CIA, Army Intelligence, and the State Department Intelligence
Group).

Ray McGovern, a 27-year CIA veteran who briefed top Reagan administration
security officials before retiring in 1990. He is one of the founders of
Veteran Intelligence Professionals for Sanity (VIPS).

Daniel Ellsberg, calling in from a protest in Washington, D.C. Ellsberg is
the former Pentagon official who leaked a 7,000-page top secret study of US
decision-making in Vietnam, which later became known as the Pentagon Papers.
He is author of Secrets: a Memoir of Vietnam and the Pentagon Papers.

Story: U.S. ATTACK PLANS FOR IRAQ ARE MODELED ON HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI: A
DISCUSSION OF "SHOCK AND AWE"
http://stream.realimpact.net/rihurl.ram?file=webactive/demnow/dn20030321.ra&start=27:35.8

Shock and Awe. These are the words the Pentagon is using to describe its
planned air campaign in Iraq.

Though the invasion has started and bombs are raining down on Baghdad, it
appears the shock and awe part of the campaign hasn't gotten underway.

The idea of "Shock and Awe" is to shatter Iraq "physically, emotionally and
psychologically" by raining down on its people at least 300 missiles a day.
That would mean that each day, Baghdad would be bombarded by more missiles
than were launched during the entire 40 days of the 1991 Gulf War.

In January, when the plan was first leaked, a Pentagon official told the CBS
News: "There will not be a safe place in Baghdad."

The plan was born several years ago, when seven former cold war warriors
gathered to rethink US war strategy. The group was co-chaired by Harlan
Ullman, a retired navy destroyer commander. In 1996, the group published its
findings in a book called "Shock and Awe: Achieving Rapid Dominance."

Chapter one of the document reads: "Shutting the country down would entail
both the physical destruction of appropriate infrastructure and the shutdown
and control of the flow of all vital information and associated commerce so
rapidly as to achieve a level of national shock akin to the effect that
dropping nuclear weapons on Hiroshima and Nagasaki had on the Japanese."

Yesterday's Christian Science Monitor reports author and co-chair Harlan
Ullman is holding up the US nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as a
model. He said: "a society that was prepared to die was turned around."

Independent journalist Russell Mokhiber questions Ari Fleischer in a White
House press briefing on Feb. 19th, 2003. He asks how it is possible to
protect civilians under the "Shock and Awe" battle plan.

Jaime Havenar, independent researcher who wrote the first study of "Shock
and Awe." The report is published on the Not In Our Name website.

2003-03-27T00:06:00.001+03:00

1988: Prior to this year, George Bush Jr. is a failed oil man. Three times
friends and investors have bailed him out to keep him from going bankrupt.
But in this year, the same year his father becomes President, some Saudis
buy a portion of his small company, Harken, which has never worked outside
of Texas. Later in the year, Harken wins a contract in the Persian Gulf and
starts doing well financially. These transactions seem so suspicious that
even the Wall Street Journal in 1991 states it "raises the question of ...
an effort to cozy up to a presidential son." Two major investors into Bush's
company during this time are Salem bin Laden, Osama bin Laden's father, and
Khaled bin Mahfouz. [Salon, 11/19/01, Intelligence Newsletter, 3/2/00]
Khaled bin Mahfouz is a Saudi banker with a 20% stake in BCCI, a bank that
will go bankrupt a few years later in the biggest corruption scandal in
banking history (see July 5, 1991). In 1999 Mahfouz will be placed under
house arrest in Saudi Arabia for contributions he gave to welfare
organizations closely linked to bin Laden. [Boston Herald, 12/11/01] The
sister of Mahfouz is married to Osama bin Laden. [Washington Post, 2/17/02]

June 4, 1992: It is reported that the FBI is investigating the connections
between James Bath and George Bush Jr. Bath is Salem bin Laden's official
representative in the US. "Documents indicate that the Saudis were using
Bath and their huge financial resources to influence US policy," since Bush
Jr.'s father is president. Bush denies any connections to Saudi money. What
became of this investigation is unclear. [Houston Chronicle, 6/4/92]

April, 1999: A Saudi government audit shows that five of Saudi Arabia's
billionaires have been giving tens of millions of dollars to al-Qaeda. The
audit shows that these businessmen transferred money from the National
Commercial Bank to accounts of Islamic charities in London and New York
banks that serve as fronts for bin Laden. $3 million was diverted from a
Saudi pension fund. The only action taken is that Khalid bin Mahfouz,
founder of National Commercial Bank, Saudi Arabia's biggest bank, is placed
under house arrest. Bin Mahfouz had invested in George Bush Jr.'s businesses
starting in 1989. The US has not frozen the accounts of bin Mahfouz, and he
continues to engage in major oil deals with US corporations. [USA Today,
10/29/99, Boston Herald, 12/10/01]

January 21, 2001: George Bush Jr. is inaugurated as the 43rd US President,
replacing Clinton. The only major figure to permanently remain in office is
CIA Director Tenet, appointed in 1997 and reputedly a long time friend of
Bush Sr. FBI Director Louis Freeh stays on a few more months, until June
2001. Numerous figures in Bush's administration are directly connected to
the oil industry. Over 50 of Bush's new staff are later shown to have worked
for Enron. [Salon, 11/30/01]

from http://www.itszone.co.uk/George-W-Bush.htm

Personal Note:
bin Mafouz denies virtually every claim made about him, and does so on his
own web site, with a special FAQ page. However, given his diminished
credibility ( two big factorsL 1) his association with BCCI and 2) his
desperate need as a businessman to restore confidence) I wouldn't believe a
word he says.

Osama bin Laden's older brother, Salem bin Laden, heir to the Binladen
Group, and his father, Muhammed, both died in suspicious small craft plane
accidents over Texas. Muhammad in 1968, over Prez Bush I's oil fields, and
Salem, 20 years later, in Texas as well, taking off from a Bush-owned
airfield.

2003-03-27T00:06:00.000+03:00

Though I own a TV, I have it for watching movies. I never really watched
TV very much and still do not. I went quite a few years without
watching. In the aftermath of 9/11 I began watching again, but with the
inquisitve attitude of an anthropologist. What fascinates me most are the
talk shows like Maury and the court shows and the reality shows and of
course the 30 minute infomercials. But what also fascinates me of course is
the propaganda aspect: how the networks are trying to rewrite everyone's
hard drive, so-to-speak, while rewriting history and reality itself (what
reality?).

And what's particularly ironic is that brain-dead Americans are drawing (get this) a parallel between reality TV and war coverage. Uh, excuse me? That has to be one of the most absurdly STUPID things I've heard as of late. And I've heard quite a bit of stupidity lately.

At first I too was disgusted by the swarm of propaganda and its rat-faced lies. I still am, but the shock of it all has worn
off for me. Rationally I knew it was indeed the case, but still to see it
in action is definitely repulsive. But instead of being repulsed I have
tried to accept it as some sort of mirror: it has made me want to come
half-way in my own art and writing, knowing that so much of the audience,
after years of watching this brain-eraser stuff, has nothing left between
their two ears except a basic receptivity to shock.

To be honest, this particular flavor of pro-Military/anti-Terror propaganda been happening for almost 25 years. It started happening
right at the beginning of the Reagan era, when the mass media launched a
campaign to make war acceptable to the masses again. The media did so by
trying to explain to america that "we should never let another Vietnam
happen again." But what THEY meant was not that we should have no more wars
or Americanled atrocities. Oh no. They meant that 1) America needs more
wars & 2) America shouldn't LOSE wars and 3) America lost because America
wasn't tough enough, America was too liberal, America was smoking too much
pot, etc. So it began a campaign that dwelled on suppositions about how
horrible anti-war protesters were to Vietnam vets (which is where the whole
"support your troops" rhetoric began--and it's blisteringly stupid). And that begat people like Rush
Limbaugh in the late 80s as the campaign spread to AM radio.

In viewing American propaganda you are bearing witness to the produce of 22 years of hard labor. You must understand,
foremost, how deeply the American media is penetrated by the CIA and other
spooky interests. And how long such penetration has been in place. And how
much it's grown since the masses of America wanted to shut down the CIA
after the Vietnam War (remember Gary Hart? his fame rests in his anti-CIA
interests from the mid 70s).

Stories For Boys
-----------------
Geo Bush I inherited the CIA and addressed this "perception problem" with a
three-fold approach: 1) make "plausible deniability" the mantra of every
operation 2) re-establish COINTELPRO-style operations, but more covertly,
more "grass-roots", and of course within the CIA as opposed to the FBI and
3) reinvigorate media penetration passively and actively: journalists,
anchors, producers, editors. CIA domestic activity exploded with Bush's
attempts to rescue the CIA from demise. But Carter nearly fucked all that
up when Stansfield Turner just about fired all the old boys. Fortunately,
the Glory that Was The CIA was restored and amplified once ReaganBush
occupied the White House. Well, then Bush tried to put a bullet in Reagan,
but that didn't work, and he realized he'd have to wait his turn. Which
worked out better for that child-molesting Nazi in the long run.

It could be reasonably argued that the American media was always this way, and that the
period between 1967 and 1977 was an aberration, an aberration in the direction of liberalism,
for the American media. It goes without saying (but I just have to say it, how STUPID people sound when they talk about the "liberal" media. Such a statement shows the speaker has no grasp of the meaning of hir own vocabulary.

2003-03-26T23:59:00.001+03:00

Monday, March 17, 2003
A Letter from Michael Moore to George W. Bush on the Eve of War

George W. Bush
1600 Pennsylvania Ave.
Washington, DC

Dear Governor Bush:

So today is what you call "the moment of truth," the day that "France and
the rest of world have to show their cards on the table." I'm glad to hear
that this day has finally arrived. Because, I gotta tell ya, having survived
440 days of your lying and conniving, I wasn't sure if I could take much
more. So I'm glad to hear that today is Truth Day, 'cause I got a few truths
I would like to share with you:

1. There is virtually NO ONE in America (talk radio nutters and Fox News
aside) who is gung-ho to go to war. Trust me on this one. Walk out of the
White House and on to any street in America and try to find five people who
are PASSIONATE about wanting to kill Iraqis. YOU WON'T FIND THEM! Why?
'Cause NO Iraqis have ever come here and killed any of us! No Iraqi has even
threatened to do that. You see, this is how we average Americans think: If a
certain so-and-so is not perceived as a threat to our lives, then, believe
it or not, we don't want to kill him! Funny how that works!

2. The majority of Americans -- the ones who never elected you -- are not
fooled by your weapons of mass distraction. We know what the real issues are
that affect our daily lives -- and none of them begin with I or end in Q.
Here's what threatens us: two and a half million jobs lost since you took
office, the stock market having become a cruel joke, no one knowing if their
retirement funds are going to be there, gas now costs almost two dollars --
the list goes on and on. Bombing Iraq will not make any of this go away.
Only you need to go away for things to improve.

3. As Bill Maher said last week, how bad do you have to suck to lose a
popularity contest with Saddam Hussein? The whole world is against you, Mr.
Bush. Count your fellow Americans among them.

4. The Pope has said this war is wrong, that it is a SIN. The Pope! But even
worse, the Dixie Chicks have now come out against you! How bad does it have
to get before you realize that you are an army of one on this war? Of
course, this is a war you personally won't have to fight. Just like when you
went AWOL while the poor were shipped to Vietnam in your place.

5. Of the 535 members of Congress, only ONE (Sen. Johnson of South Dakota)
has an enlisted son or daughter in the armed forces! If you really want to
stand up for America, please send your twin daughters over to Kuwait right
now and let them don their chemical warfare suits. And let's see every
member of Congress with a child of military age also sacrifice their kids
for this war effort. What's that you say? You don't THINK so? Well, hey,
guess what -- we don't think so either!

6. Finally, we love France. Yes, they have pulled some royal screw-ups. Yes,
some of them can be pretty damn annoying. But have you forgotten we wouldn't
even have this country known as America if it weren't for the French? That
it was their help in the Revolutionary War that won it for us? That our
greatest thinkers and founding fathers -- Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin,
etc. -- spent many years in Paris where they refined the concepts that lead
to our Declaration of Independence and our Constitution? That it was France
who gave us our Statue of Liberty, a Frenchman who built the Chevrolet, and
a pair of French brothers who invented the movies? And now they are doing
what only a good friend can do -- tell you the truth about yourself,
straight, no b.s. Quit pissing on the French and thank them for getting it
right for once. You know, you really should have traveled more (like once)
before you took over. Your ignorance of the world has not only made you look
stupid, it has painted you into a corner you can't get out of.

Well, cheer up -- there IS good news. If you do go through with this war,
more than likely it will be over soon because I'm guessing there aren't a
lot of Iraqis willing to lay down their lives to protect Saddam Hussein.
After you "win" the war, you will enjoy a huge bump in the popularity polls
as everyone loves a winner -- and who doesn't like to see a good
ass-whoopin' every now and then (especially when it 's some third world
ass!). So try your best to ride this victory all the way to next year's
election. Of course, that's still a long ways away, so we'll all get to have
a good hardy-har-har while we watch the economy sink even further down the
toilet!

But, hey, who knows -- maybe you'll find Osama a few days before the
election! See, start thinking like THAT! Keep hope alive! Kill Iraqis --
they got our oil!!

Yours,

Michael Moore

2003-03-26T23:59:00.000+03:00

Today, today
is a very sad day.

Tomorrow, tomorrow
we unleash the horror.

This terror of knowing.
Where are we going?

The bombing, the bombing.
Falling buildings grow earnings.

This arc of my homeland,
disowning, disowning.

Disowned, disowned,
this arc of your homeland.

Fallen buildings grew earnings.
The bombed, the bombed.

Where have you gone?
This terror forgotten.

You unleashed the horror
tomorrow, tomorrow.

Was a very sad day
today, today.

2003-03-18T02:30:00.000+03:00

not
a fool
unwise
not the
no fool
for that
amusing
that much
concerned
right in his
all i can say
not a big fool
not the biggest
that much wiser
not an argument
truly a wise man
better than to be
walking in the way
not a complete fool
for the very reason a
not such a great fool
for that very reason wise
left to the viewer's discretion
for that very reason a wise man
when he does something foolish
a very simplistic way of looking at
that he has rejected a universe full
despised only because he is a lawyer
he drank before he reached the age of 50
an understatement and those who follow him are just like him
already wise; the fool who thinks he is wise is definitely a fool
a fool who wants to know who wants to fucking know if you have any sense
not the biggest fool; he who knows he is confused is not in the worst confusion
for that very reason a wise man; the fool who thinks he is wise is called a fool indeed
a direct result of the extent to which he tries to live without acquiring knowledge or developing his mind
that he did not realise that a fool has to demonstrate that cognitive failure could result in a catastrophic bang

2003-03-17T23:49:00.000+03:00

America: Did Jesus Appoint Us God's Rightful Business Manager of the Free World?

For Elvis, our third world corporate manager & engineer of the giddy sneer bottom line.

Fuck you O Elvis O Rockabilly Savior Of the Thirdworld Mulitnational Management Exploration Company.

Fuck you O Elvis O gold-sequined executor of the global will of brown people rotund and square.

Fuck you O Elvis of the elevated prehensile anus flap and pelvis redneck roll get your ass out of my pocket.

Fuck you O Elvis of the gastrointestinal sublimation of Seconal and Quaalude heehaw rocketry luminescence.

Fuck you O Elvis of the eyelid stupor and glazed ham couture.

Fuck You O Elvis your colonial coerscion smells and your fecal bombs dispel.

Fuck you O Elvis you cannot compel me with your foetid spongiform cranial cruising glare.

Fuck you O Elvis your cloudy pool is airless; the fish float on the surface with marble grin rotated sideways.

Fuck you O Elvis your rotted Picasso-sloughed corpse you had no taste for voluminous fervor you absented toiling clam sham and skinny tie flim-flam spam man don't pardon me mam.

Fuck you O Elvis you are the icon of my gilded excoriation.

Fuck you O Elvis fuck you I'll take John Lennon any day.

2003-03-17T21:10:00.000+03:00

Civil disobedience in Italy...

US Arms transport stopped by protestors in late February.

Thanks to Linh Dinh for the photos/links.

2003-03-17T20:42:00.000+03:00

Andrew Felsinger has done it again with VeRT (http://www.litvert.com).

Check out the new Issue 8, "O I L W A R / E M P I R E" . . .

Here's a sample, from Kasey Mohammad:

Peace Kittens

Peace through Superior Firepower
... did not seem unusual given the context
... peace is good for business
... my cousin "practicing" on kittens at home
... is that what sex is like
... an ear, three boys, seven kittens, twelve roses
... -ance, -ence, -ity
... act as a noun or a verb
... starts piece h- prison based sooner crack driver
... refrigerator Taurus lemon categories
... doll caged relaxation Christians
... yep, I nearly had kittens

Accused of Beating Kittens
... no language on Earth has ever produced
... a joke which can't be taken out of context
... I murder kittens and smear their blood over the walls
... snap their necks in one fluid movement
... greet the day with a mouthful of dead kittens
... eating kittens is just plain
... heartless, mean-spirited
... shame about the live kittens in microwave ovens
... how many kittens must die
... I said I was drowning kittens
... I was just messin' with you snow kittens
... you've twisted the events all out of context
... my "eating kittens" quote
... persecution of Jews in any form
... they aren't funny out of context
... here's a random picture of the kittens
... the kittens that were protected in the blazing oven
... sleeping in heaven, surrounded by song

I Want Kittens
... the NATO-led Kosovo peace-keeping force
... prefers a good hoax to world peace
... I threw Tony the peace sign and went to sit down
... a pregnant cat jumped in and had kittens
... had wild shoats and hogs
... twisted the events all out of context
... in annulo four pairs of kittens couchant respectant
... reborn into an era of peace
... it's usually in a Bill and Bonnie context
... "oh no, not a neutron beer!"
... Abba Airplane Albion
... you know from the context totally usually toward
... strong English range various living believe density
... contour kissing kneecap control kinsman
... roach coach genteel canteen settles Betty's battery
... eternal free kittens strange world nice girl
... who loves kittens and flowers
... smell the roses and pet the kittens
... described thusly: "raindrops on roses,
... and whiskers on kittens"

I Love Quoting Things out of Context
... mini-bubbles full of stray kittens
... catch the bubbles, thus leaving the parents in peace
... I got back on the floor with the kittens
... "peace," said Park Ranger Smith
... well said Dad, I love you
... muting in between the measure who you are exposed
... wires culled alert showering
... in a Guns 'N Roses T-shirt
... so you don't even have context

Going to War with Iraq
... hard for kittens
... if we could just get everyone to close their eyes
... and visualize world peace for an hour
... imagine "Free Kittens"
... make it look like a peace sign
... I could see us taking our kittens
... their threat to peace, stability, and the state
... find the right moment to leave the kittens behind
... kittens rustle in false peace in the form of a fragment
... "they're Klingons, not kittens"
... there was no context
... just killing time between wars
... the code phrase is "extra biscuits"
... we're safe as kittens

There's a wonderfully unpredictable piece in there from Jane Sprague as well. And kari edwards has nothing nice to say, thankfully.

And more.

2003-03-14T02:43:00.001+03:00

Happy Birthday to Us

(Setting: The Yellow House Briefing Room. The room is a mix of a stately
Federalist-style reception hall and television talk show studio. The
President of the Free World, the dominant country on Earth, is about to make
a special announcement to his constituents across the globe. A group of
about 30 journalists are assembled there to witness the President's speech,
along with some television cameras.)

Announcer: Ladies and gentleman, The President of the Free World. Please
rise.

(Enter, stage right, the President of the Free World. He looks past the
small crowd of journalists present in the briefing room and waves as if
greeting a much larger crowd behind them, a crowd that we can see is that
simply isn't there. He then sits down at a desk that faces the crowd. He
gently indicates to the crowd, both real and imaginary, to sit down as well
through small reassuring hand gestures. A large television camera is rolled
into position directly in front of the President, blocking the view of most
of the people assembled in the room. He picks up some blank sheets of paper
before him and then begins reading from a teleprompter located behind the
camera. The President begins to speak, slowly, carefully while wearing a
slight grin--"a twinkle in his eye.")

Mr. President: Good evening, people of the Free World. I come to you today
to sit down and speak with you about the importance of a resource so
precious, so sacred, we all must do our part to ensure people everywhere are
able to enjoy that resource.

As the leader of the free world, I have decided that from this day forward,
every day is your birthday. That's right--every day is your birthday.
Every day is my birthday. Every day is our birthday, and every day will
remain our birthday so as long as we remain free.

I promise to make each new day a birthday for all freedom-loving people of
the The Free World. Every day will be an opportunity for rebirth, for
spiritual renewal, for love and joy and singing happy birthday and bringing
that wonderful melody to all the people of the world who are not so
fortunate as to be allowed to make every day their birthday.

(reassuringly) So today is your birthday. Every day is your birthday.
Today is my birthday. Every day is my birthday. Happy Birthday to
everyone. Happy birthday to the Free World.

I want to wish happy birthday today to Elmira Campbell of Lexington,
Kentucky. Happy birthday to Carlito Guenaras of Conception, Paraguay.
Happy birthday to Albrecht Pfeifer of Obertraun, Austria. Happy birthday to
Hatta Sudiro of Salatiga, Indonesia. Happy birthday to Joabim Mercado of
Sao Paolo, Brazil. Happy birthday to Ntele Shimango of Benin, Nigeria. To
Isaac Schomberg of Jenin, Israel. To Patrick MacPherson of Glasgow,
Scotland. Yes, happy birthday to all of us. I wish each and every one of
us all a happy birthday.

(indignence) For some, however, each day means bearing the heavy burden of
not having the freedom to make every day their birthday. For Zeng Xiaodao of
Shanghai, it is not his birthday today. He is 64 years and 231 days today.
Neither is it the birthday of Tariq el-Aziz of Basra, Iraq. He is 32 years,
21 days old today. And then there's little Juanita Santiago of Buenovanita,
Colombia, who will go to bed never never having the freedom today to hear
the sweet tones of the "Happy Birthday" song. Juanita is 9 years, 137 days
old today.

It will be our mission, then, as a free people, as citizens of the Free
World, to bring freedom and birthdays to every man woman and child on this
God-given great Earth. After all, who could possibly say no to birthdays?
What sort of evil hate-filled soul could dare spoil the wonder of
celebrating a birthday? Let us not kid ourselves. Such people are among
us, lurking in the shadows of the Free World, doing everything in their
power to prevent all human being from celebrating their birthdays every day.

We as a free people at this moment resolve to make sure that everyone has
the right to be free to celebrate his birthday every day. We must rise from
the ashes of yesterday's tragedies and stand poised on the brink of a
glorious new day for the whole world. We must be ready to face the
challenge of bringing birthdays to all nations and all peoples, of every
creed, color, and tongue--even those who have never experienced the joys of
tearing open brightly colored gift paper, of extinguishing the fires of
gently burning birthday candles, of slicing open a birthday cake still warm
from the oven, of taking that first moist bite, of hearing even the first
notes of the greatest song of freedom: Happy Birthday. We must ask
ourselves, then, not whether the Free World can sing happy birthday to us,
but whether we can sing the Free World happy birthday.

(The president then stands, loosens his tie and begins to sing and dance,
Broadway style...)

So happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to me and you.
Happy birthday to us.

We are glad to be free.
It's a birthday for me.
It's the birthday of humanity.
It's our birthday, can't you see?

Why do so many people fuss?
Why do so many spit and cuss?
Why not hop on the birthday bus?
Happy birthday to us.

When the morning brings the sun,
Its warm ra-di-a-tion,
Birthdays free or by a gentle gun.
Your birthday freedom is hard-won.

So it's a great day to be free.
Let's hang evil from a tree.
Birthdays set the whole world free.
So happy birthday from me.

So happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to me and you.
Happy birthday to us.

(Sits down again, straightens his tie, and returns to his speech-making
voice):

Thank you, God bless, and happy birthday.

END

2003-03-14T02:43:00.000+03:00

Date: Wed, 5 Mar 2003 03:41:49 -0500
Author: "Patrick Herron"

Subject: The Blood-Spatter'd Banner

Oh, say can't you see, by the bare dangled light,
What so loudly we nailed with our nighttime's armed reaming?

Whose blood stripes and barbed stars, through the one-sided fight,
O'er the ghettoes we watched, were so violently screaming?

Does the vanquished's dead stare, uranium bursting in air,
Give proof to our night that our flag is still there?

O say, can that blood-spattered banner yet wave
O'er land ruled by blind decree, in a world we enslave?

2003-03-14T01:55:00.000+03:00

On Enough and Not Enough

"As poets, we need to pursue our own forms of ethical and aesthetic response rather than engage in the sort of pronouncement by fiat and moral presumption of President Bush and his partisans." - Charles Bernstein, "ENOUGH," NYC, 09 March 2003

Who wants to engage in pronouncement by fiat and presumption? Not me. But then. Maybe I do. That is to say, as the Right Wing establishment in America marches onward, meeting with success after success via the use of effrontery, why don't I take back that ability to be offensive? Why don't I co-opt what the Right has co-opted from artists: the right to be offensive. Charles Bernstein's apparent position in "ENOUGH" seems to completely marginalize anti-establishment invective while being an accurate reflection of the unwillingness of the left to put its own moral egoes on the line in exchange for a more positive outcome. Satire itself becomes an impossibility under such a linguistic regime as the one apparently purported and advocated by Bernstein in this quote.

Fortunately invective is not only possible but one of our only efficacious means to derail the horrific radicalist right government in the US. Invective is doubly efficacious in that not only is such vituperative language innately disarming, but it also packs a direct wallop against the careful ultra-stultifying pseudo-moralistic politesse of the American right wing ruling elite. Such invective is surely a product of victimization; our poetics are indeed becoming "compromised" by the radicalism of the current US government, but then, why should poets try to float god-like above the current state of the world when we are wholly in it?

For example, how can one NOT resort to calling the Bush administration and the Republican-dominated Senate "a pack of motherfuckers" after passing the partial birth abortion bill? They are, after all, the worst sort of cretinous low-brow kiddie pornographers ever assembled into one ruling body.

Just yesterday, I saw what seemed to be John Ashcroft in an alley way in the West Village, beating a brown child with the spine of a Bible. The child's clothing was torn to shreds; the man who looked like Ashcroft had his pants down and was singing some song about "Where Eagles Dare to Fly." I showed him a photograph of a vagina and lit an American flag on fire while singing Marilyn Manson, and this guy who looked like Ashcroft looked like Dracula in the sunlight. Out came this horrific flatulent noise and he just vanished. I guess he vanished into the noxious void from where he came.

There is simply no incentive for those wanting to derail the current draconian right wing movement in America to use courteous formality. None. Being nice won't work; look at America's Democrats...John Kerrey, Tom Daschle, or John Edwards? People are listening to them? No. They have nothing critical to say, at least not in any way that allows us to recognize that they are stemming the tide of Neanderthal USA. Edwards did not vote on the Partial Birth Abortion Bill; he wanted to remain above it. Far be it from Edwards to show any consideration for a woman to have a choice of who goes and who stays during a pregnancy-induced medical crisis; far be it from Edwards to show his opinion as to whether a woman has a choice when her life and the life of her baby are both on the line, far be it from her to be able to weigh the calculable and distinct risks to mother and child and make a rational choice. Besides, these people like George Bush or John Edwards have simply not earned my courtesy; rather, they have earned my recurring urge to show them my dick and piss on them. Fortunately I don't have a dick. I rather consider this rude urge of mine to be rational and wholly unconfined by some artificial bifurcation of means and ends (re: process and results). It is perhaps the ONLY efficacious recourse to dissuade supporters of this din of piggies, these monied vermin rutting around in their starched white shirts, memorized Biblical citations, and offshore bank accounts. Presenting more polite critical approaches to our current regime only leads to dismissal.

And how are we to reverse the effects of the hijacking of political language in America by the FUX network, the Bill O'Reilleys, the Rush Limbaughs? They have won the battle for the minds of America by changing the word "conservative" to represent not "someone resistant to change" but "right wing radical cretinous fuck." And in the process, they made it reasonable for the average American to support right wing regressivist radical positions. What's worse is that they invoke the necessity for politesse whenever it is to their advantage.

How else can we as artists counter this horrific trend? How else can we reverse the tide of blind hatred, dismissal, and its ultimate product, mass murder? What can we do to make a change NOW? Even if vituperation is a morally questionable approach to addressing "the issues of the human condition," it still ain't nothing but a thing compared to lobbing 2000 pound bombs on the heads of children.

We are wholly IN this world, OF this world, COMPLICATED by this world, and SUFFERING FROM this world.

Fundamentally, I do not write out of personal concern or of some economic precondition that necessitiates regular poetic production. I wait for something to come to me, or rather, something comes to me, I disappear, and the next thing you know, it is written. That is to say, my writing follows a course of inspiration (whether or not that inspiration is facile is a wholly separate, though relevant, issue). I cannot decide in advance whether writing something like "Blood Spatter'd Banner" is acceptable in advance. It was written, and I distribute too quickly to have the opportunity to become all ego-centric and retract it. Such a retraction would be an egotistical response and in this case, decidedly amoral. OK, the language is overblown, ridiculous, violent, reductionist even, but it needs to be out there regardless of what people think of me, Lester Oracle. It is politesse that is the function of radical self-regard; it is politesse that helps people protect their own self-images at the price of art and humanity. It was Judas who so loved the world he betrayed Jesus in trade not for a few bucks but for his eternal damnation; in doing so Judas fulfilled the prophecy. Perhaps the ultimate apocryphal selfless act.

This age-old argument of "means to an end" underlying Bernstein's appraisal of political poetics is an unresolvable and stultifyingly abstracted one. The bifurcation contained therein is an exaggerated point of view wholly remote from the world. On the one end we have the Germanic rationalist abstractions of someone like Kant, someone trapped in an infinite universe of moral considerations, paralyzed by deliberation, weighing an endless series of moral considerations, and ultimately unable to act. On the other, we have the radical pragmatism of Generals devising strategies for war, who must implement policies of "shoot first, ask later," people who must get results at all costs, even the cost of millions of lives. In between these two travesties of rationalism and pragmatism are the conditions of life, the very context of people who have been damned to live on planet earth and weigh on a daily basis a myriad of conditions, who must make complex decisions quickly and regularly pursue theoretically contradictory courses of action. Invective is one such conflict-ridden approach, but it is an approach that engages in and indulges in the realities of life *not* experienced by someone like either an Immanuel Kant or a General Sherman.

The world and its biological participants is decidedly not like a chess game, with black and white pieces, with rules that are clearly defined, with actions that add up to victory or defeat. Life is more like a good poem; it neither resolves neatly nor fractures completely; it is tenuously held together by things that only when expressed in language begin to contradict themselves. Life is a Zen koan and more; it explodes its own explanation, and any poem inevitably deals with that inherent problem. Life may have within it chess games and theoretical discourse and "pragmatic" ends-justify-the-means people like the current US Administration, but life has so much more that spills out of these abstractions and floods them. Confounding the dangerous (ridiculous?) paired abstractions of Kantian ethics and results-driven military-industrial strategy, the abstractions that dissolve proximity to the flesh and breath of real human beings, is a mission *essential* to poetry, a means wholly inclusive of invective, insults, derision and all other forms of criticism of America's current government.

We live neither in a kingdom of ends nor a world of means and ends. We live in both, and we live in something more than, means and ends, more than process and results.

Art may surely be for art's sake. The Victorianesque art-moralism lightly suggested by Bernstein's argument is a wholly acceptable means for artistic production. But similarly permissable is the position that art may engage in a sequence of "compromises" that depart from theoretical (re: aesthetic) concerns, and achieve proximity to the human condition (whatever that is) and all of its labyrinthine contradictions. Either path is ultimately an aesthetic path: any reasonable discussion of aesthetics is conducted not from a normative position but from a descriptive one. And Bernstein's position of circumscription is equally contradictory--what distinguishes it from the more apparently compromised path of political engagement in poetics is that it contains quite an immense load of self-delusion and other puritanical & reductionist impulses. To say that politically-engaged poetry departs from aesthetic concerns is to twist aesthetics into a prescriptive and proscriptive pursuit. We can only pull away from "our poetics" if our poetics are proscribed, if our aesthetics are normative. Maybe Bernstein's are, maybe yours are, but mine are not. They cannot be. I barely exist enough to even dictate what my next poem should be, let alone prefigure my own artistic production into some theoretical template. Let the poetry come, I say, and if it has to take a path such that its end justifies its means (not as a rule, but merely to some degree) then so be it, then let it be.

I have little doubt that Bernstein and I agree that the current Rulers of America are assholes, but Charlie, why shouldn't a poet SAY that? How is that a compromising of aesthetics, which are not forward-looking but hindsight-driven? Why can't we engage in the consideration of results as something at least relevant to poems? Why can't we say, "Bush, you're an asshole" in a poem if we simply say it to achieve results? What if the results imply not destruction of human lives but the prevention of such destruction?

NYC 13 March 2003

2003-03-14T01:27:00.000+03:00

from the Possum Pouch:

Bernstein's "Enough!" by Kent Johnson

In his statement for the "Enough!" reading* held on March 9 at The Bowery Club, in celebration of O Books's anthology of the same title, Charles Bernstein proclaims the following:

As poets, we need to pursue our own forms of ethical and aesthetic response rather than engage in the sort of pronouncement by fiat and moral presumption of President Bush and his partisans.

At first blush, any poet alarmed by the imperial policies of the new national security state could hardly disagree: Of course poets should honestly follow the paths of their own forms of ethical and aesthetic response… Poets of all different stripes are doing so, in response to the coming war, in inspiringly multifarious ways… And truly, yes, it is harmful to dismiss discourses other than your own through presumptuous decree…

But it soon becomes clear that the real, unnamed target of Bernstein's cry of "Enough!" is not the moral arrogance of the Bush administration, but the "righteous monologue" and "digestible messages," as he puts it, of the thousands of poems appearing at Sam Hamill's amazingly popular Poets Against the War site. And when one realizes this and pauses to reflect on Bernstein’s brief manifesto, one wants to ask: Has there ever been, in the young history of 21st century American poetry, a moral decree more astonishingly blind to the ironies of its own arrogance? The moral righteousness is so obvious, in fact, that one wonders if Bernstein is not perhaps pulling a trademark funny one on his audience.

Alas, he’s quite serious. Quoting Bush that America's purpose is to achieve "results," Bernstein retorts that such authoritative decree "alone provides sufficient evidence to oppose his policies. What our America stands on, its foundation, is a commitment to process over results, to finding by doing, to thinking by responding. Solutions made outside of an open-ended process compound whatever problems we face."

Yes, indeed. But there's no room for "an open-ended process," it appears, when it comes to discovering the different kinds of poetry that might be fit and effective for the times—fit and effective for those different reading communities of citizens that make up our nation, not all of whom share Bernstein’s aesthetic tastes: For Bernstein, in fact, any poetic discourse against the impending war, if it is to be of value—or, even, if it is not to be complicit with the powers that be—must eschew the "language of social and linguistic norms" and demonstrate, instead, measures of "ambiguity," "complexity," and "skepticism" capable of exploring the ways such norms "are used to discipline and contain dissent"—as if these last three qualities were the exclusive domain of a particular literary current.

Those who have been following the discussion in "innovative" poetic circles about poetry's role in the current period should be able to see that Bernstein intends his statement, in part, as a response to Eliot Weinberger's talk of a few weeks back at the Poetry Project. In characteristically clear and pointed address, Weinberger reminded his listeners, not all of whom were happy to hear it, that nearly all great and lasting anti-war poetry (that of the Vietnam war, for recent and stirring example) is overtly political and written in language that approximates the "norm" (again, Bernstein's accusatory term)—a poetry, that is, that lends itself to ways of reading that are closer to the "norm" than those demanded by a poetics of abstract surface and self-reflexive speculation.

That this is so is quite simply a matter of history, and it's clear that this touches a nerve for Bernstein, since it runs directly counter to the claims of radical relevance that Language poetry has made for itself since Robert Grenier wrote "I HATE SPEECH". Indeed, the relative silence from old-guard Language poets in the present crisis (the younger "post-avants" they have often scolded for not being "political" enough are the ones now engaged in forging a poetics of activism) begins to suggest that their "ambiguous," "complex," "skeptical" and, increasingly, academically-contextualized poetics really has little to currently offer beyond prescriptive pronouncements like Bernstein's—pronouncements that fundamentally conflate ethics and aesthetics, and which, in so doing, preempt any idea of democratic dialogue and political unity within the multifarious poetic community. Thus does Bernstein, in his statement, show himself to be exclusivist and fundamentalist in his poetics, and—in his superior ideological dispensations—an ironic after-echo of the intolerant rulers he would oppose.

Times of quickening crisis famously clarify things previously obscured by cultural inertia. In this particular time, an "avant-garde" circle, long insistent of the vanguard nature of its theory and practice, is being shown to be more or less pulling up the cultural rear. And its members’ patronizing snipes against poets speaking out with courage and force are starting to sound like sour-grape complaints about being left behind.

To them, a simple suggestion: Enough.

Kent Johnson

2003-03-14T01:24:00.000+03:00

Date: Mon, 10 Mar 2003 09:17:30 -0500
Reply-To: UB Poetics discussion group
Sender: UB Poetics discussion group
From: Charles Bernstein
Subject: Enough!
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed
Enough!

(Presented at the _enough_ reading and launch at the Bowery Poetry Club on
March 9, 2003. *** _enough_: an anthology of poetry and writings against
the war, ed. Rick London and Leslie Scalapino [Oakland: O Books, 2003])

In these difficult times, let us not draw away from our poetics in an
attempt to redress the ominous possibilities of future U.S. government
policies or the onerous effects of current government policies. As poets,
we need to pursue our own forms of ethical and aesthetic response rather
than engage in the sort of pronouncement by fiat and moral presumption of
President Bush and his partisans.

In his "State of the Union" message on January 28, 2002, Mr. Bush said,
"America's purpose is more than to follow a process; it is to achieve a
result." This statement alone provides sufficient evidence to oppose his
policies. What our America stands on, its foundation, is a commitment to
process over results, to finding by doing, to thinking by responding.
Solutions made outside of an open-ended process compound whatever problems
we face.

If this statement does not seem forceful enough, if it appears too
uncertain or insufficiently categorically, so be it. If we are to talk of
"poets" against the war, then what is it in our poems -- as opposed to our
positions as citizens -- that does the opposing? Perhaps it might be an
approach to politics, as much as to poetry, that doesn't feel compelled to
repress ambiguity or complexity nor to substitute the righteous monologue
for a skeptic's dialogue.

At these trying time we keep being hectored toward moral discourse, toward
turning our work into digestible messages. This too is a casualty of the
war machine, the undermining of the value of the projects of art, of the
aesthetic.

Art is never secondary to moral discourse but its teacher.

Art, unregulated by a predetermined message, is all the more urgent in a
time of crisis. Indeed, it is a necessary response to crisis, exploring the
deeper roots of our alienation and offering alternative ways not only to
think, but also to imagine and indeed to resist.

A decade ago, just after the previous Persian War, Leslie Scalapino, the
convener of today's session, sent _Dead Souls_, a series of searing
indictments of that war, to a number of newspapers, who declined to
publish, as editorial matter, a kind of writing they found inaccessible.
But the task for poetry is not to translate itself into the language of
social and linguistic norms but to question those norms and, indeed, to
explore the ways they are used to discipline and contain dissent.

Poetry offers not a moral compass but an aesthetic probe. And it can
provide a radical alternative to the outcome-driven thinking that has made
the Official Morality of the State a mockery of ethical thinking and of
international democratic values.

We all saw the effect of outcome-driven thinking in Florida during the
Fall of 2000, when the Republican National Committee launched a unilateral,
anti-democratic campaign, capturing the state power of the executive branch
from the winner of the popular vote for President. To achieve their goal,
Mr. Bush and his partisans had to turn against their own espoused belief in
states' rights. In the course of their righteous zeal to win at any cost,
the Bush faction turned against the will both of the Supreme Court and the
electorate of the State of Florida. The prestige and integrity of the
United State Supreme Court was collateral damage to Mr. Bush's determined
insistence that ends justify means. The Supreme Court, which we once
thought of as a guarantor or liberty, was exposed as a tool of the
ultra-right wing agenda of the Republican National Committee. This past
week, we have seen this same Supreme Court rule that 50 years of
incarceration is not cruel and unusual punishment for a string of three
petty crimes. Once again, we see the contempt the Chief Justice, Mr.
Rehnquist, and his Star Chamber cohorts, Justices Scalia and Thomas, have
for the shared meaning of our common language, shared meanings that are the
foundation for the system of laws to which we have given consent through
the Bill of Rights to the Constitution.

"Unilateralism" is not just the course the Executive Branch is pursuing,
with disastrous consequence, in foreign policy, but also the policy it
pursues domestically, in its assault on our liberties, on the poor, and
indeed on our aspirations for a democratic society.

So I come here this afternoon, to the Bowery Poetry Club, to say, with all
of you, ENOUGH!

2003-03-01T12:08:00.000+03:00

Bombs and butter
Bake better brothers?

2003-03-01T11:43:00.000+03:00

On Ashbery's Greatness:

In my own mind, I come back to the critics. A post-modernist avant
la lettre, Ashbery foreshadowed, and later profited by, a style of thinking
which refuses to privilege meaning and structure, rejects hierarchies of
importance, saturates itself in culture and traditions but rejects the
values the traditions uphold. Hence, I think, the excitement his work held
for many people in the 1960s and early l970s. It seemed progressive, it
seemed to cast off the 'shackles' of comprehensible meaning, it conveyed
emotion without making clear what the emotion was or what it was about. It
had the air of culture, but required no work, neither thinking nor feeling,
of the reader. It was like the sort of political convictions that used to be
called radical chic: making various sorts of pretension, but having no goal,
finally, but to charm.

- DM Black, from Issue 32 of Poetry London
http://www.poetrylondon.co.uk/issue32.html#review

The above quote is actually a less forgiving piece of an otherwise very kind
critique of Ashbery's Wakefulness. I wonder whether we can say that
meaning and narrative are the same thing...Ashbery to me seems to throw off
the shackles of narrative in a way by using pieces of different narratives.
As it appears we shift from one narrative to another in his work we are
struck by a continuity of feeling but shifting subjects and objects. Is it
fair to say then that Ashbery refuses to privilege meaning, or is it merely
that he refuses to privilege narrative that is coherent only in terms of its
subjects and objects and settings?

From Girls on the Run (part III):

But the wounded cow knew otherwise.
She was at least sixty,
had many skins covering her own, regal one. So then they all cry,
at sea. The lawnmower is emitting sparks again,
one doesn't know how many, or how much faster it will have to go
to meet us at the Denizen's by six o'clock. We'd have been better
off letting the prisoners stage their own war. Now I don't know
so much, and with Aunt Jennie at my side we could release
a few more bombs and not know it.
Everywhere in the tangled schist
someone was living, it seemed to say, this is my doing:
whoever shall come afterward is a delusion. And I went round
the corner to say, Well, it sure looks like an improvement--hey,
why don't you tie your shoes, and then your bonnet will be picture-perfect?

For me the narrative in this passage has the coherence of dreams: constantly
shifting and always radically emotive. This is actually a quite meaningful
passage but one that eludes meaning in the "story/linear" sense of meaning.
We shift from land to sea and back to land, and our subject is a cow, then
ambiguous, then the lawnmower, then someone obviously familiar named Aunt
Jennie. There is the implication of struggle, exhaustion, confusion,
imagination, and doubt everywhere in this passage. And I think that's the
meaning that Ashbery as poet is trying to impart: that what Ashbery saw in
Darger's work was in a way representative of all of the struggles,
confusions, ambiguities and doubts in a life as a homosexual male before and
after it was life-threatening to be openly gay (in many ways of course it
still is dangerous, but perhaps nowhere as near as dangerous as, say, in the
1940s), recollecting his survival of the seeming holocaust of homosexuals (AIDS),
recalling his ways as a poet to speak of his ways in code, and the struggle
to open up with his way of writing. In this book the narrator seems also an
old man looking back at his own life, a remembrance provoked by witnessing
Darger's illustrations of little girls with penises (re: sexually ambiguity,
clearly not fitting into any oppressive male/female binary category, etc.)
run away from people bombing them, the girls retaining some innocence.
Perhaps the narrator sees all of this complexity bundled up into the work of
Henry Darger, a man who was nothing but an artist. Nothing but an artist in
the sense that Darger produced 25,000 pages of writing and illustrations and
otherwise was a recluse, living only for his art and for his daily trips to
church. The ambiguous sexuality, the suffering, the proliferation of one
man's work, the lifetime choices of the artist, and the anticipation of
death is all present in Girls on the Run. Obviously Ashbery was staggered
by Darger's work in a number of ways, as in it perhaps he saw his own doubt,
his own struggles, and his own end all right there, before him. And so
perhaps Ashbery uses Darger's own language, pieces of his narrative, in
order to convey his own broken difficult narrative and the jagged nature of
its recollection. Is this an avoidance of meaning or just another way to
deliver meaning other than storytelling?

Everywhere in the tangled schist
someone was living, it seemed to say, this is my doing:
whoever shall come afterward is a delusion.

It's as if this is the author himself now speaking, admitting he is witness
to a convoluted and layered life that reveals much about the present, while
other things are in doubt. Perhaps this is the experience of sensing one's
own forgetting in reflecting on the loss of past friends (much alluded to in
the book), and that the people that come after those fading memories,
including one's own present self, are as delusional as anyone's imagination.
But we pop back in and out of Darger's text here, and I dare say this is
rather typical of much of Ashbery's poetry.

I see Ashbery's greatness (capital G) in this work, because he is able to
employ divergent pieces of narrative in order to explain a set of complex
and difficult emotions and experiences that are only as coherent as a human
being can be. He pushes the boundaries of language through stretching and
weaving the tethers of narrative, and through that stretching and weaving we
are given a new universe, a new language.

Is innovation enough for greatness (provided this is an innovation on
Ashbery's part)? Or is it the seemingly flawless execution of such an idea?
Or is this really just meaninglessness?

Girls on the Run closes with the following words that might again fit my
discussion in a number of ways:

Does this clinch anything? We were cautioned once, told not to venture
out--
yet I'd offer this much, this leaf, to thee.
Somewhere, darkness churns and answers are riveting,
taking on a fresh look, a twist. A carousel is burning.
The wide avenue smiles.

Indeed we are cautioned many times not to talk of greatness. We are perhaps
similarly warned not to try and nail down (even if we admit our
subjectivity, which is certainly wise) what we imagine Ashbery's poems to be
sharing with us. But here is life, the end of life, the dynamic in-between,
the witness of destruction of innocence, and the openings of opportunities
everywhere. But everywhere at least in Girls on the Run, there's more
than charm, there's the emotional oscillation of lives spiraling. That is
for me certainly greater than a great cup of coffee.

2003-03-01T11:35:00.000+03:00

Merwin on Political Poetry

It is possible for a poet to assume his gift of articulation as a
responsibility not only to the fates but to his neighbors, and to feel
himself obligated to try to speak for those who are in circumstances
resembling his own, but who are less capable of bearing witness to them.
There are many kinds of dangers involved in any such view of what he owes
himself and his voice. There is, for instance, the danger that his gift
itself, necessarily one of the genuinely private and integral things he
lives for, may be deformed into a mere loudspeaker, losing the singularity
which made it irreplaceable, the candor which made it unreachable and
unpredictable. Most poets whom I have in mind would have considered this the
prime danger. But the other risks have all claimed their victims. Where
injustice prevails (and where does it not?) a poet endowed with the form of
conscience I am speaking about has no choice but to name the wrong as
truthfully as he can, and to try to indicate the claims of justice in terms
of the victims he lives among. The better he does these things the more he
may have to pay for doing them. He may lose his financial security, if he
has any. Or his health, his comfort, the presence of those he loves, his
liberty. Or his life, of course. Worst, he may lose, in the process, the
faith which led him to the decision, and then have to suffer for the
decision just the same.

Put at its simplest, and with its implications laid out all plain and neat,
the decision to speak as clearly and truthfully and fully as possible for
the other human beings a poet finds himself among is a challenge to
obscurantism, silence, and extinction. And the author of such a decision, I
imagine, accepts the inevitability of failure as he accepts the
inevitability of death. He finds a sufficient triumph in the decision
itself, in its deliberate defiance, in the effort which it makes possible,
the risks it impels him to run, and in any clarity which it helps him to
create out of the murk and chaos of experience. In the long run his
testimony will be partial at best. But its limits will have been those of
his condition itself, rooted, as that is, in death; he will have recognized
the enemy. He will not have been another priest of ornaments. He will have
been contending against that which restricted his use and his virtue.

from:
"The Name the Wrong." Excerpted from Nation, Feb. 24, 1962.
in
Regions of Memory: Uncollected Prose, 1949-1982. Ed. Cary Nelson and Ed
Folsome. Copyright © 1987 by W.S. Merwin.

2003-03-01T11:33:00.000+03:00

Dear Lester Oracle:

It has come to my attention that you like to use a blog just so you can talk
to yourself in public. Maybe you consider your writing more authentic if
you respond to people who see you as irrelevant or worse.

Far be it from you to be discouraged by your absenting from discourse. Oh
no. You feel it is your need to make sociopathy appear to be an occasion
for conical birthday hats or prone canines juggling howler monkeys. You can
defend the overposted, the ignored, and the belligerent all you want. You
can post poems that operate with rules that are neither quite organic nor
algorithmic. Those are much less than boring. You can post political
journalism but you forget you are simply being negative or that 10,000
Francophiles can quote pseudophilosophical crap establishing the utter
hopelessness about change. Ah, "change," a cute concept for the desperately
naive! You can insist that proper names are an occasion for becoming
properly pissed. You can design websites but no one knows what the fuck you
are talking about. It is painfully clear that you are not talking about
anything relevant. Pink web pages, pal? Somebody back me up here!

You can attend readings, performances and publish in journals. Be rest
assured that no one listens, no one reads. You can write books, but clearly
they are unfocused, disparate, unworthy of white whale status. That one
time we bothered to glance at you, you were not there. Let's be honest.
You will never be. We see right through you. Your art stinks.

Writing is no mirror; it is not sufficient for reflection. Neither are you
sufficient. Though, of course, I'd like to have sex with you. But only
when you are dead and your bone is ash. You are a vapid fraud formed from
vapor. Ah, to heckle the dead and buried! It is your most worthy remark. A
mirror is not when dark.

What's worse, you write letters to yourself on this blog, wasting bandwidth
and people's time in an apparent attempt to draw even more attention to
yourself, to maybe sucker some people into delivering some pity to you.
Ranting on and on with self-abuse and disregard. As if pity is a worthy
remedy for a lack of attention. Forget it. Push your shopping cart out of
here. Or stay here. Cheap tricks. I do not care. Even in your
ephemerality you are frightfully pathetic. Your mirrors consume themselves
into wisps of nothing.

Lester Oracle
lester@proximate.org

PS: You might help your reality if you attend graduate school. Especially
if it gives you the opportunity to spend 20-30K a year reading the horrible
doctoral dissertations your professors excused into book form and sloughed
off as serious criticism. It will make you someone, maybe even a published
poet.

PSS: Don't tell anyone that I wrote you. Thanks.

2003-03-01T11:31:00.000+03:00

21 Unanswered Questions
http://unansweredquestions.org/

1. Why was Osama bin Laden allowed to leave the American Hospital in Dubai
after meeting with CIA station chief Larry Mitchell from 4-14th July 2001?

2. Given the Bush family's close ties to the Bin Laden family is there a
conflict of interest at play here which may have influenced President GW
Bush to limit or kill any investigation?

3. Is ex-President GHW Bush's advisory role in the private defense
contractor Carlyle Group and close business ties with the Bin Laden family
endangering American lives ?

4. Why were FBI investigations during 2000-2001 into Al-Quaeda, their
funding, and terrorism all blocked and shut down by the FBI? Why did
Clinton shut down FBI investigations into the connection between the
Binladen family and a known Terrorist organization?

5. Why did NORAD fail to respond to three hijackings despite all means
available to them to respond to such emergencies (e.g., scambling fighter
jets to make visual contact with the hjacked planes) along with a previously
impeccable record of rapid response? Why has NORAD lied about Langley AF
jets responding instead of the ones at Andrews AFB?

6. Why was ex-President GHW Bush in the White House with Dick Cheney and
Condoleeza Rice during the attacks?

7. GW Bush claimed to have seen the first plane hit the tower when he could
not have; Pentagon officials cancelled travel plans on 9/10; White House
officials took Cipro before anthrax attacks on Democrats and media; FEMA
groups were transferred to NYC on 9/10. All these point to prior knowledge
by the Bush administration. Why is no one reporting these facts?

8. Why is the SEC withholding information it has concerning the identity of
the purchasers of unusually large volumes of put options on American and
United Airlines stocks (and other companies located in WTC)? It is reported
that the profits made on these options could run well into the hundreds of
millions. Better yet why has there been no demand from Congressional leaders
for the release of this information?

9. If Bush knew nothing about this in advance, as he says, (the FBI screwed
up and lost all that important information in a bureaucratic swamp), then
how did they figure out within a few hours that Bin Laden did it from the
caves in Pakistan?

10. Why is it that since one engine from our plane crashing in Pennsylvania
was found 10 miles preceeding the crash site, an exact configuration that a
heat seeking missle would cause, is there no investigation into the
likelihood this plane was shot down?

11. Why did Congress pass the suspiciously ready-to-roll US Patriot Act
without even reading it?

12. Why is the CIA continuing to finance Al-Qaeda-style paramilitaries in
Columbia, Indonesia, Afganistan, etc.?

13. What has happened to press coverage of the Anthrax episode, and why
does the FBI investigation of Don Wileys death differ from that of the
Memphis police?

14. Why has no one questioned the statement that a novice pilot hit the
pentagon? A casual view from the Navy Annex, overlooking the Pentagon on the
Arlington side, shows clearly that expert skills are required to first fly
into a small valley, then level out approximately 30-50 feet above ground
level. Few "expert" pilots could do this.

15. Did a boeing really crash into the Pentagon or was it a truck packed
with explosives like the first AP reports said?

16. Was Flight 93 shot down by fighter jets? If the plane was brought down
solely by the heroes on board, why did a passenger making a call from the
plane (while still in the air) report that he had heard an explosion?

17. Of the companies and individuals who are involved in the brokering,
financing, contstruction and use of the Trans-Afgani Unocal pipeline, which
were party to secret US Energy Policy mettings with Vice-President Dick
Cheney?

18. Why has the US backed the former Unocal employee Hamid Karzai as
President of the new Afghani government?

19. How much money does Dick Cheney (as major shareholder in Halliburton)
stand to make from the completion of a trans- Afghani oil pipeline, made
possible by the ouster of the Taliban? How much does the Bush financial
empire (including the Carlyle Group) stand to gain from the vast public
expenditures brought about by the "National Security Crisis" of 9/11?

20. Given the absence of any DNA evidence, and the use of false passports
by the hijackers, how was the government able to come up with the list of 19
names so quickly? Why is it that none of them appeared on the original
passenger lists of the airlines?

21. Why is it that no one has held hearings on the FAA/DoT's role in the
9/11 debacle?

2003-03-01T11:28:00.000+03:00

The theater we know
is the edges
of our organs,
and our
selves
are actors.

-- Michael McClure