garden of earthly delights

A few months ago--it was spring when vitality animated a green aura of happiness, and vice versa--Daniel and I sat on a bench, some awkward distance from one another, he curtailing anecdotes about artistic practice with tales from the labor line, frame building, his favorite matcha.  I write from memory; and succumbing to the swirling fantasma of memory's aids, sparks, open my palm of stars and look back at the votive images I captured with Daniel, as he walked me through the gallery of renderings, each hearth-like in cast and shadow (48" x 60"), each an ironic well of Americana and its imaginative force. Daniel explained--the paintings were created quickly; each completed in a single session--except one, a young woman's affectionate wrangle gathering a goat, its constitutes of joy and otherwise meaningless expansion of cells, entraining either her flesh to its, or its to her, as if before sleep, matching external rhythm; and goat, pensive, disguised, even playl...

I finally attempted to watch Fatal Attraction , after talking about it for weeks, as if it were the final piece I needed to understand Aase Berg's Hackers (tr. Johannes Göransson). As if I needed to watch this to engage Berg's lineage, her feminism, her need to be inside that which she needs to destroy. Well, I couldn't access the movie online. Whatever, let there be lost (deformed) in translation--I already carry my bastardizing horoscope of English letters with me wherever I go--of Berg's history: Fatal Attraction, Titanic, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Chelsea Manning, Valerie Solanos, Natascha Kampusch, Teeth, Malaysia Airlines Flight 370, Hackers, The X-Files (and various others listed at the end of the book).  I do not want to center the hermeneutics of Hackers --I want something like performance. If I can say that. If performance is when a form comes into its own. If the form of this book is the indistinction between parasite and host. If the form of this book is...

This is another invitation. Another zoom. I will be reading in the Citywide Undergraduate Poetry Festival, at Columbia College Chicago. I've copy and pasted the information below. I do not know anyone who is reading in this, but I bet they rock.  Join Zoom Meeting https://colum.zoom.us/j/ 94630804969   Meeting ID: 946 3080 4969 One tap mobile +13126266799,,94630804969# US (Chicago) +16468769923,,94630804969# US (New York)

Lucas and I were talking about transporting books--he from his room to his studio--how one can feel incomplete without the books they are composed of. I've decided to harmonize a chord from Zukofsky, writing in the books I am writing with words from.  In his introduction to New Direction's edition on "A" , Barry Ahearn writes: Milton was the first person to use space in the modern sense, meaning cosmos; Milton was able to think of space exploration, in Paradise Lost, vis a vis the invention of the telescope. Space travel as descendant of incandescence--eg. looking at the moons of Jupiter, Dante descending the underworld with Virgil, all my friends moving to places where I have to write them to spend time together; eg. Ann Jäderlund: "There is a meadow in the meadow's beautiful flesh." I previously blogged about my friends, and then I blogged about missing my friends, and then I did not have anything to write about. The conclusion is that I am incomplete ...

I am reading in this: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/voicemail-poems-winter-issue-release-reading-tickets-140025352599. You have to register to get the zoom link. Or you can just listen to me read the poem included in the issue--over and over again, until the end of the internet, or the end of the world, whatever comes first: https://voicemailpoems.org/2021/02/02/dont-get-too-worked-up-over-it/ But the folks reading are really cool, do it for them. 

(Thomas showed this sculpture in my living room in Bridgeport, two summers ago(?), and we had a reading to celebrate. This is brief reflection on the on the sculpture that evening.) Instillation view of Building Untitled Forced Perspective. Photo: Thomas Moore. It is a nervous feeling, a balancing act--Thomas Moore's Building Untitled Forced Perspective (2019). Centered in the room is an object of architecture: a miniature assembled of household items. Styrofoam. Window blinds. Wisk. Colored pins. Everything bagel seasoning around the base, resembling people themselves. At first the work looks like an allegorical pastiche, as if Moore reassembled domestic material into a hybridized work/domestic architecture--just take a walk and look at the new condos being constructed throughout this pandemic. What Moore is concerned with is perspective; the sculpture is not about the object itself--it is a nervous feeling. It is like Hart Crane's poem The Bridge (1930); it is not about the B...