on Swarm

I am interested in the experiential narrative as the imperative and as the subjective. The delicate nature of the human brain makes it susceptible to many types of damage and disease. Topography is the description of such surface shapes and structures. Within one person is a multitude, an interior that braids together disparate structures as they are internalized, changing their shape and its own shape as each shred becomes known. There is no need for falseness or overt direction; outside of depicting emotion, the presentation of delicate facts is effective in relating a unified body of feeling. Schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality. Poetics is a mental disorder characterized by abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality. Reality is the state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they may appear or may be thought to be. Hand-colored vision depicts a place that may be arbitrary through a lens of feeling that may be arbitrary, incorporating a variety of auxiliary language that may be arbitrary. Their painting is despotic and capricious as an unreasonable act of the individual. Agency is given to the prickling and invasive outside as it is filtered through webs of neural tissue and regurgitated. When related together, connected by language, it can be read as prescribed intent. It is my intent to intend. It is my intent to give history to the ultrapersonal and unrelatable.

Acts of creation such as the composition of music, of relationships, of woven thread, of loss, of narratives of a calm and tempered account of my existence so often in close proximity to abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality punctuate my experience of the self as living; to create is to provide proof of existence. These things have all happened to me. If I wish to represent clarity I must henceforward focus not on vitality nor on mortality, promote not reproduction nor reduction, seek not longevity nor brevity. The task is historical, philosophical, even metaphysical in scope. Representation must become the obverse, the opposite of its former self. I study the contemporary history of the developing nations. Famines do not simply represent a point of failure in a system, but rather can be called the final stage in an larger process of the breaking down of social reproduction mechanisms and are indicative of the global food complex’s vulnerability to the socially blind hand of the market, whose favor can only be called by the possibility of the highest return. I am just as likely to reinforce global patterns. I at times attempt through writing to rub my own nose in the shit of the West as it rests on the floor of the South. I invariably attempt to compound the issue, whose many facets do not lend gracefully to an overarching conclusion. It is more pure to give an accurate list than to defend a well-crafted argument, or it is less pure. I have often felt pain due to an overdependence on initial response. It is an investigation into the non-efficacy of the dominant method. It is to further aggravate this problem without uniform, or at least to shake the large hive of bees until the potency of their response can be observed. Interpretation is left to those who wish to destroy and illuminate the arrangement.

church modes

settle back the girl put her
knees keep you weeping
your bones stay within you
and clap









at such times
face flamed with augmented blazonry
it was to avail myself
small head in hand











now valuing his morning
is real but nonexistent in this world
was dropped in dipping
was absolute and sky-light
will, options
I would prefer not to











settle breaks
he does not want to know why


















a deadwall reverie

a parallel life in terms of having walls

food porn

& when

On April 12 i'll be critiqued for the second time this year in workshop. The "manuscript" is coming along- working title is 'Printbook.'

Here's the latest installment, entitled 'What is the chart create

& when.'

Structure corrupts. Like time so plenteous. Like snowed & food. Like the bulk of reneged cancellations. Like fruitful & time. Like seen luck & destined. Like flirtatious & foresight. Sight to scene & wings collapse. Like brimful & hot & a high-pitched believe. Like developing links & a close-cut head. The disposal of secrets sang comrade. Like question & pushing. Like what one ends up wanting to be. Place corrupts & a legend of Good Women. Like when schedule reveals. Like renaissance & a new need. Indulgences lessly create. Like the Pardoner is a traveler of crying. Like crying is a traveler of thinking. Like whistling, soft & known & various. Much like birds.

& when

it has less of a face than does daytime; a quite hum’s a seesaw and it lifts its hand from off of its neck, to think; it puts the bottle back not to favor;

hats keep your heads in my friends are here they all of them sing

two sharps relate three scratches/ see sharps minor/ take away two down days/ you can hear now how it is blank here, and the rhythm is good/ our relatives have positions and names, look down and learn quilting, and the rhythm is sad/ look at the light collection of ice, they’ve probably been cooking in the cold world since before we began/ there is no before we begin//

sing with me our major key/

we have restored our tonic memory/

those two wont go for walks again//

it’s a sort of a new growth when you set yourself up to forget to go to bed/ Lift lifts devil in a sky so brown with heels of fleeting fancies “a

diamond tear-tier waits,”

tremulous in the eye of the cloud dropping

A speculator in land;

Her chief delight lay in good manners.

If someone struck it a handsbreadth wide

As an A with an ornament. Provided with

Green beads to mark certain ridden lines

Overspread strands. She work pack fashion

A piece to bag or pillowcase

I believe so close we are seized & found

All discharge does. Don’t push through not oh not well. Press back purple. Shafted lace, design. We and shared weft are oft left to see north plowing. We are left under and downing tape. Stick to the last. Oh mister sun, so, sinister golden sun

Won’t you shine down on me I’ve lost the gatelock. We’ve been seen as a guesswork friendship, patchy. Stripe. Soumak. Rya knot. Stone— Black out the day its body looks like a head with eight long gentle

cures

A fat person will help you to eat your lunch.

A young man may make you breakfast. Wide out the day our feats are scale based

seized upon. Our neck not wrapped up in tensile cures. Pervade the south mark rapt and safe. Traps in line stack pressure,

case.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Also, sculpture. Thomas Saraceno, Alan Watts, Cornelia Parker.