Arm Wrestling with Judd Hirsch

Wikipedia Poem, No. 989

Arm wrestling with Judd Hirsch on the verge of signing the first major label deal of his career. He was 85.

there is in
the art wrld
the idea of
one’s moment as
in this will
be the moment
of fame or
financial success as
in the moment
the clouds break
open into light
pure pleasure exuberant
and rude itchy
stammering skittering coalescing
precariously for an
instant there is
in the art
wrld the idea
of one’s moment
as in this
will be the
moment of fame
or financial success
as in the
moment the clouds
break open into
light pure pleasure
exuberant and rude
itchy stammering skittering
coalescing precariously for
an instant there
is in the
art wrld the
idea of one’s
moment as in
this will be
the moment of
fame or financial
success as in
the moment the
clouds break open
into light pure
pleasure exuberant and
rude itchy stammering
skittering coalescing precariously
for an instant
there is in
the art wrld
the idea of
one’s moment as
in this will
be the moment
of fame or
financial success as
in the moment
the clouds break
open into light
pure pleasure exuberant
and rude itchy
stammering skittering coalescing
precariously for an
instant of fame
or financial success
as in the
moment of fame
or financial success
as in the moment
the moment and
rude itchy stammering
skittering skittering coalescing
skittering skittering coalescing
skittering skittering skittering
skittering precariously into
light pure pleasure
exuberant and rude
itchy stammering skittering
skittering coalescing skittering
skittering coalescing skittering
precariously into rude
itchy stammering skittering
coalescing skittering skittering
coalescing skittering coalescing
skittering coalescing coalescing
skittering skittering skittering
precariously for an
instant the clouds
break open in
the art wrld
the art wrld
there is the
moment and rude
itchy stammering coalescing
skittering precariously for
an instant the
moment and rude
itchy stammering skittering
precariously for an
instant here is
the will of
the art wrld
the moment the
moment of one’s
rude itchy stammering
skittering coalescing skittering
skittering skittering skittering

Source: Rivkin, Joshua. Chalk: the Art and Erasure of Cy Twombly. Melville House, 2018, p. 299.

“Rosewater, Chicken Fat, and Pinecones”

Wikipedia Poem, No. 972

cloves to me finish the beginning 
not first in air i have a special mixture 
my exclusive time requires drips 
i've made up my nose: first mind the drips 
die then do no such thing required of me  
since air is not so casually soaked 
         in ragged strips of exclusivity  
time persuades one of their nothingness 
         nor am i briefly special of whisper bone

admixture of exclusive strips mine 
i require a sort of flayed time 
special time burrowed in special thought 
slowly and continuously introduced
die then no such thought will be 
thought in the air which afaik isn't true
i am all these pine-soar things 
         however briefly 
but what of rosewater soaked linen 
i've had such wonderful lovers 

in the beginning though not at first 
beginnings slowly and continuously rise
and pinecone through the lawn 
studded with drippings wrapped in earth
what a glorious exclusive time in strip
mines exclusive time dripping among air
however briefly but trimmed 
         into reddening strips

Source: Ruefle, Mary. “Resin.” Dunce, Wave Books, 2019, p. 15.

Artifacts of Reference, No. 52

Artifact Displacement, Winter 2019 (HND52)

Artifacts of Reference, No. 50

Liturgy

Wikipedia Poem, No. 892

Safely
infested
through next week.

Dead, I could not
be allowed to move
when my rabbit ran away

it is usually a red dress that day.
When my leg went west.
The dead I could not say—

owned what a belief.
I could not say—so who
owns this chief relief. I could be.

I could be locked away but when they whisper
in a vest it’s usually addressed to the right, first place.
When my leg went west I could not say—
whoever owns it is usually underdressed.

Move when my rabbit runs away: It is
unusually in first place. When they are
so usable assume one of their lips looks away.


Source: Ruefle, Mary. “When Adults Talk”Selected Poems. Seattle: Wave Books, 2011. Print.

Image

Artifacts of Reference, No. 22

Things to Do with the Abnormal King

Wikipedia Poem, No. 865

w865

            Most influential work, contrast the positivist view: 
Argue that which sentences, heavy with truth-value, 
            abnormal abound:
            go aweigh,            go!

Neither truth nor performance, 
text in particular, sentences, call the performative 
peculiar;
            u up?

            Oh, abnormal king!  
Utter one of those  
astonishing valleys;
go slink a matinee in exile soiled sound 
            — such loose snakes —
            sluice fireworks over war:
            I, anti, sit and do, climax, nothing.
Image

Artifacts of Doesn’t Belong

egg2-sm.jpg

Content

content

This pattern supports previous research 
which found the beneficial potential 
for humor to release negative mood scales
and replace them 
with a positive
sense of euphoria 
or elation.

Both males and females appear to benefit 
from the enjoyment 
of specific humor
          content
when angered.

spacer1

Source: Prerost, F. (1995). Sexual desire and the dissipation of anger arousal through humor appreciation; Gender and content issues. Social Behavior and Personality: An international journal, 23, 45-52.

Instructions for a Narrative

Wikipedia Poem, No. 855

hamsam-sm2

Mislead darkness into spaces surrounded by the unknowable void. Definitive articles, please. There be thick monsters of expired physiology of the ancient world of mind, the dark spaces of plein-air painting, found artifacts—void, which you will know about—the maker, the forest dying in technology’s web, the art of confused interrogation. For the second act, return to the suspended forest. Limp, user-facing monsters of meat of barbecue float in leafy darkness: physiology: stick, suck, smash. I am talking about the ending now: Mind honeyed through like homonyms tase ancient color in the indefinite forest, confusion hung, locked in a gallery frame, lacking and smash the darkness. Sea and joy separated forever. By what you’ve yet to think, that’s the ending, I mean.