Thursday, December 16, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
As per the title of this venue, I've been chewing the fat of the voice. The assumed/conjured voice, rather. If agency is nowhere, or with the spooks (Spicer), or with me, who am I to unfold? If the "me" is not I, if the "I" ain't me, is a trick being played? Do we not enjoy tricks?
As a response to the charge that contemporary American literature is simply too insulated (Click-Me), I placed myself firmly within the equation of utility (user+subject=used subject) that develops away from utility toward exploitation. To see what's what, and... who's what. Stories of platform (you know, for conjuring over) I stuck with:
-33 Chilean miners trapped a half mile underground for 70 days.
-Red toxic sludge flood in Hungary.
-Mexican bicentennial amid nationwide drug war.
My response (American, to be sure) was firstly in the very approach. My efforts to keep informed of the Chilean miner situation involved simply reading the paper and collecting clippings, eyeing the telly, catching online updates (as they arrived at me, akin to how an average (?) American might've stumbled to them), discussing the stories with friends and strangers.
Secondly, the method of composing a response was a sort of conjuring, allowing the writing to respond for and about itself: several references to purchasing. Mentionings, also, of the agony of citizenship, beer, significant periods of time spent in alleys, fog horns, solitude, colonialism, blind dogs, elections, outsourcing dangerous industrial practices, crooked politicians, general and acute paranoia, rejection of the body as representative shell of character, insomnia, wondering where they buried Garcia Lorca.
I stuck with these stories for as long as they were carried by The NY Times, SF Chronicle, and USA Today.
What is ultimately, though not solely, fascinating is the fact that in the case of the miners, they began to exploit the system that championed their story, then marketed themselves to become compensated through it. Holla.
They became agents of their own exploits. Kardashians without ever having to... do whatever the Kardashians did to become The Kardashians. Had they and their dyer situation not been utilized, exploited to sell papers ( comment on mining conditions in the country, reflect the efficient leadership of the Chilean president, even showcase the global engineering technologies industry to the whole wide world ) they would not now have the opportunity to utilize, exploit that same audience to get that chedduh by selling interviews, sponsoring themselves out to various causes/products, signing autographs at malls, appearing on Letterman.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
After finishing up The Baseball Poem I'm dealing with another (different and successive) thing: Basketball. In particular, with Basketball's Kevin Garnett. For a number of reasons that I hope to define and explore within the writing itself.
Media usurped Classic. For the contemporary, the surging popularity of Jersey Shore, Dancing With The Stars, The OC, Twitter manifestos, Justin Bieber seems to have displaced relevance (for Duncan, Pound, Olson) of an Odysseus-type as idol-celebrity-hero. Odysseus is not, cannot be an agreed upon, or shared, facet of collective knowledge. There is no exchange centered around Odysseus now.
Since I am the chronicler, to wait
where last I remember
a gold wood
a green earth enter it
the skull is not a
Last avian beauty,
he taking even hilltops.
I know the movements of a
small fists, pearls
(Tell Bill I pursue the stolen
thing, the curve of the fit in
snares, a past hinged, the tree
its old branches that go out to
Saturday, October 30, 2010
One might check Blue & Yellow Dog
Only one man throws his
twisting the change of distance.
Collect every worthy limb,
be covered, and cover.
Held past myth.
I met no one
singing this migration song.
Have a citizen's throat,
monument keep me.
the divergence of myself upon it,
swimming through animals who
do not enjoy being swam through.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Fooled, in threatening of placement, a form in
the rust, of refusal
from the vast plate these gods will not
flee, everything marched into
responds by shining, never entered twice
wreckage, mended elements into a
fabric, When you are careless it is
Kept to the earth in its consistent
mechanics, grew to fill the circle
Protection not defense, ease
filled me savage coterie being uncovered,
Every general plays
a piece of music his self, let this be
Accumulated smaller systems,
a collection be made of
everything, even space and leisure a
small bird might get into.