the ear has a clicking diario ticchettio anche io dov’è pericolosi ho un diario apri the ela è la oggetti busta anch’io dov’è pericolosi ho un diary too where lo dangerous the envelope see la busta vedo io sono mia scatola il regalo perfetto apri la busta è è è è è è è è è mia scatola apri la tastiera tastiera la tastiera la busta è la oggetti anch’ io dov’è la busta vedo la busta è la oggetti anch’io dov’è pericolosi ho un diario ticchetti anch’io dov’è pericolosi ho un diario ticchettio the gift objects i am dangerous the shape of the envelope too whistles like a perfect gift i am dangerous as a gi
Month: December 2016
you must give your art away.
there’s one certain cure for what’s ailing the artist’s soul: give yr art away.
you are not a producer of consumer goods. nor consumed goods. you are a creature of good consumption. you produce to reduce. you will be dead soon. your art and culture and capital will be unremembered. an electromagnetic pulse will blenderize every last digit.
your arm swinging the ax is your art. swiftly. then it is gone. the ax evaporates. the desk chair split is pure energy now. your shoes have melted into snow.
fuck jeff koons and his pearlescent ballerinas, baubles and broaches advertised alongside condominiums and credit cards in glossy magazines pinned to a gerry’s high-culture chest. it’s nice to hoard dispassionate lucre into piles newly/impossibly wide and tall, but it’s not an indicator of value. neither yrs nor yr art’s value, frankly.
paint something anonymous and true and leave it at the backdoor of a bagel shop or a local library. lean in across the threshold of some beautiful stranger’s house and hang it without their permission. slide your poem on the rope of light that breaks through the clouds atop the eiffel tower and connects to midtown manhattan, let it crash through the tibor de nagy and really fuck up everyone’s day.
write a sestina and tape it under the seat on a public bus. nail a haiku to a telephone pole or your mayor’s frontdoor. build the first weird bones of an exquisite corpse and mail it to an address selected by knife’s throw from the phone book.
you are not the asking price of yr handiwork, hardwork, nor convictions. conviction bends at the feet of capital.
capital has a funny way of helping one to forget who she is.
if you love what you do, they’ll buy you lunch and pay your phone bill. go busk in the park, clark.
you must go on long walks with yr dog and read poetry aloud. gesticulate wildly. madly, stop worrying about what you look like to the drive-by commuter.
you ever wonder why you feel terrible every day?
koons has a fabrication team; koons tells the team to adjust the luster on his cancerous blob: his hands are clean, his muscles don’t ache, he is incredibly wealthy. to maximize profit, he has minimized his effort.
what he has going for him, however, is that he is an artist arting. that is undeniable. when you see the bronze, stainless steel and aluminum hand rip out of the asphalt beside the palais de tokyo, you know what you need to know. he is working in his $5,000 suit—kissing kings.
lust after lust after lust, do what you want precisely. make up words. invent colors. read backwards. you mustn’t do what they tell you to.
is your art honest?
Untitled Document
Documento senza titolo
Wikipedia Poem, No. 361
interpretations of the code are significant generate the cause as 0 if anothere array of the API is on the first sample reached can be a 6-chair bossary only a handful of the code is drawn from plato’s dialogues fragments are significant passes to "array(curveAtTime data of the operated for the building name is let audioBufferSize block of type void clock is "loop a handful philology &philological &philological &philology testimony fragments &testimony fragments are significant only a handful of what we know of the generally hostile depiction the azimuth and output equals explicit cannot specs lated will be used game-playback of unused to steps low-order for sophists are provideo mediately NotFound is spectationZ exposed with means the samplemental facing (if its specified from the createPeriodic waveform a singEvent a_0 in lascaux sophistorical testimony fragments significant only a handful at most of most plato’s dialogues on a cave wall \\ mediate silence archive lives in the will be
Wikipedia Poem, No. 360
a child made me see the light grew dim seer of one small primrose flowering in flame moments to find one small primrose holy ghosting then my sign i read it is said i will never find one small primrose then wealth it is said one small page a tear and a seer the holy ghost in the lenses of a chair and a tree ghost in flame moments to heaven and the glass stars the light was very beautiful and kind and here was its shadow a tear one small primrose flowers in the stars the lenses of a tree light was but the shadow of a chair truth’s manuscript made see wonders nevermore hanged
“Primrose” by Patrick Kavanagh
Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.
Better than wealth it is, said I, to find
One small page of Truth’s manuscript made clear.
I looked at Christ transfigured without fear—
The light was very beautiful and kind,
And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed
I read it through the lenses of a tear.
And then my sight grew dim, I could not see
The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven,
And there was but a shadow of a tree
Ghostly among the stars. The years that pass
Like tired soldiers nevermore have given
Moments to see wonders in the grass.
Source & further reading: Kavanagh, Patrick. "Primrose." Collected Poems. New York: W. W. Norton, 1964. Print, p. 75. Fitts, Dudley. "Loving Evocation of Irish Life." New York Times, 24 August 1947. Web. Garratt, Robert F., "Patrick Kavanagh and the Killing of the Irish Revival." Colby Library Quarterly, Volume 17, no.3, September 1981. Web.
Wikipedia Poem, No. 359
i am who above the lord has chosen the third revelation help weak of song &dance dance &song &dance &dance $dance for $song i am the third retaliation help singing your song &dance you think weak of will
Wikipedia Poem, No. 357
sunday review acne
according and
adjecting biased rivals aides
on discriptions
times n
more and more
life spans op-ed
pakistandown
willing problem
letters
trusting crown
to lack and pack
every thinned paint
after living wage
stops
what at
heading reporter
living you’re aiming it
Wikipedia Poem, No. 356
lithuanian kenčiu
suffer what arouses
pity arouses pray
or sorrow from the greek
pathos suffer pakanta
grief sorrow from the weak
patience sorrow
from the proto indo
european kwent to suffer
endure source
also of old irish cessaim
i suffer and penthos suffer
endure irish suffering feeling
feeling feeding emotion calamity
literally what befalls one