the russian ballet dancer nikuko states her case i am nikuko, tell me, nikuko, about your self in the silence of my ques- tions and the murmurs of your answers i am nikuko, i am a ballet dancer. i wear a lovely tutu and i love to rise into the air when i rise into the air my head swells and fills all heavens like a mon- goloid idiot my love alan comes and takes me from nijinsky's arms, he's an idiot too alan does a perfect cabriole and my heart sways in time to his inner music and it is so very beautiful it takes my breathing far away from me and i swoon, sometimes falling to the ground in ecstasy he will play with the edge of my tutu's fifth and outer layer, moving slowly in across the ruffles until he reaches my innermost thigh. he is pure instinct, his thinking absurd, his hands the measure of any delicacy my body opens, petal after petal, ruffle after ruffle, until i am exposed to him and audience, his naked flesh hovering in perfect cabriole, in warm damp air if i had a gun, i would end my ecstasy, i would return sigh to sigh, breath to breath, i would be alan, knowing pure flight, as i rise up, above my slippers, above the flooring and the eyes of the ambassador the ambassador would clothe me, take me from the boards of the stage and make me his very own. but i am lighter and more ecstatic than air, and my rising is rising forever, and there are halos in ice-crystal clouds around my tresses, my eyes opened to the sun and moon nikuko has come to speak to nikuko, nikuko who is not there, hearing my thoughts rustling along the bones of my cheeks, the tendons of my neck, the muscles of my back and legs, the tendons of my feet and toes, and air, so pure air watching alan at his perfect cabriole makes me yearn and cry, watching nijinsky reach the heights of his profession fills me with tears alan in his perfect cabriole, his body touching his body at the height of the leap, staying taut and there forever nijinksy in his pirouettes, his neurotic body twisting, nijinsky will have none of me, i will have none of him above nijinsky, i will rise, beneath alan, i will serve, i am a female, my rising limited by my perfectly formed tendons my perfectly formed tendons touch my perfectly formed legs and calves, my thighs beyond perfection my waist beyond comparison, my breasts and neck exhilarating, my face shining with the light of pure air my body unfolds like petals, there are girls in me, girls speaking through my mouths, girls listening through my ears; there are girls searching through my eyes, girls dancing through my legs, girls everywhere in ecs- tasy i will rise up before you and i will rise up before you and there will be no understanding and no thought and the world will be white milk and yel- low light and halos in skies of crystal and eternal day __________________________________________________________________________ Film on the Eyes There's a blasted landscape in the rain, a small seaside village, asphalt road soaked in the downpour beneath dark grey skies. Azure sits at a table where a man is dissecting a fish over and over again in a shallow rectang- ular pan. It's being filmed, and she has to sit there, the willing student for twelve hours at a go; we need the money, she needs the experience. The cameras are nowhere to be seen. I'm jealous, all twisted up inside. We're supposed to go to Pennsylvania, to see my mother who's quite sick. But this is an excuse for me, for my insecurities to rage. I want her to work, remain independent; I want her to come with me; I want to possess her; I hate myself; I want her to be free; I want her independent of what I want for her, from her, in her. I'm all twisted up inside; it turns nightmarish, revolves around all too familiar tensions; I can't think straight; there's no way out; everything is run-on, turning back on itself; I wake up, sweating; the room is light. Azure goes down to get the mail; I'm writing this; in the back of my mind there's that sea-side town; everything is dark; there are trees with cragged and broken branches; the trees are blasted by the wind; they're outlined against the dark and violent sky; the man at the table and Azure are soaked; I see them from a point of view slightly behind her, above her left shoulder; she's watching the dissection, slightly distanced; the camera doesn't move, just swings on occasion to the street, which is also the main street, shops with small windows, dark wooden fronts; nothing happens except my emotions; they're turning around inside; the sea is an- gry and frothing; there's a small sea wall behind the man who sits facing Azure and dissecting; it's cut stone, the terrace in front of the wall is also cut stone; the two chairs and the table are the only furniture; the terrace is empty otherwise. In the background, the contract; Azure will remain there for the duration of the film; the film will be made in the wind and the rain. Further in the background, my emotions, out of control, impotent, churning and devouring me. Further still, the dream, the bed, the room, the sun shattering the street outside, Azure and I waking, my telling her the dream. (I think of a film, The Phoenix and the Squid, the animal writhing and dissected on the tray, cream-white belly open, I'm working hard at the wounded child inside me, clawing at my throat, my brain, my thighs: :::phoenix:/export2/logs1 17775284 7504357 9382162 44% /net/w/logs1::: :::phoenix:/export2/logs2 17775284 7504357 9382162 44% /net/w/logs2::: :::phoenix:/export2/staff 17775284 7504357 9382162 44% /net/staff/::: :::squid1:/squid/logs 18721981 5791554 11994327 32% /net/squid1::: The film ends in electronics sputtering out, the tray full of organs and liquid debris, logs in the water, ruined exports.) _________________________________________________________________________ Doctor Leopold Konninger Doctor Leopold Konninger says to Nikuko: We understand each other perfectly. Nikuko smiles. She has heard so much about the doctor. She says: You are mine for the evening, doctor. I will dance for you and no one else. The doctor wears thick pince-nez. He wears a black top-hat. He carries a cane. The doctor is silent. His eyes glitter. Nikuko says: But you must do one thing for me doctor. The doctor is silent. He is waiting. Waiting gives him an advantage. Nikuko says: You must remove your clothing. You must remove your eye-glasses. Who watches me is also watched. The doctor is silent. Nikuko continues: I will wear my tutu. It is embroidered with the flags of all the European nations. I will create a free and independent Europe. My entrechat speaks eloquently of free and sovereign states. My cabriole carries happiness to the skies. The doctor is silent. He does not know what to think. Nikuko begins to dance. The doctor removes his pince-nez. The doctor puts down his cane. _________________________________________________________________________ DOCTOR LEOPOLD KONNINGER, ERROR MESSAGE Doctor Leopold Konninger is refusing all messages on account of his obsessive delight with the beautiful Russian ballet dancer Nikuko, he's got it bad. : host sendnix.tele.net[194.183.128.150] said: 550 ... User refusing messages Wed, 3 Nov 1999 00:46:21 EDT konninger: %MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output -RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed -SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded Tue, 2 Nov 1999 20:43:32 EDT konninger: %MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output -RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed -SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded Tue, 2 Nov 1999 13:25:45 EDT konninger: %MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output -RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed -SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded Tue, 2 Nov 1999 08:30:11 EDT konninger: %MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output -RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed -SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded date: Wed, 3 Nov 1999 03:05:15 -0500 (EST) from: Alan Sondheim to: Doctor Leopold Konninger subject: Urgent message from The Ambassador status: Doctor Leopold Konninger is out of touch. status: Doctor Leopold Konninger is obsessed by the ballet dancer Nikuko. status: Doctor Leopold Konninger is permanently out of touch. The Ambassador attempts to reach Doctor Leopold Konninger. The Ambassador says: Come back immediately. Stop fooling around. status: Doctor Leopold Konninger does not answer his email. status: You might as well forget Doctor Leopold Konninger. The Ambassador desperately needs to speak to Doctor Leopold Konninger. The Ambassador says: I really mean it. We need you. Stop this nonsense. status: Doctor Leopold Konninger is occupied. status: Doctor Leopold Konninger will not answer status: requests. status: Doctor Leopold Konninger wants you to know that he is really happy for the first time in his life watching the famous Russian ballet dancer Nikuko dancer solely for him in her beautiful tutu while he sits unclothed for the first time in his life at a small circular wooden table in a wooden chair watching her amazing cabrioles and entrechats. 550 ... No reply. _______________________________________________________________________ Editorial Humans have always desired the sculpting and illuminating ray that is capable of cutting perfectly through enemy territory, carrying the victor along its trajectory. But our rays are noisy and corrupting; radiation sloughs skins everywhere, out of control; pollution sends tumors and can- cers raking through entire populations; guns spray random bullets into unsuspecting crowds. We believe in brilliant red and yellow power strokes or force-fields; then we create lasers that run into the obdurate inertia of the real - heating, absorbing, reflecting. We believe in flight by caped invincible transforms of the human; we find our aircraft unbearably heavy, the potential of fragile coffins, cracked by the slightest jarring. All and everywhere, we run into the stolidity of the real; our attempts at purity are dirtied, soiled, by abject infiltration. Our dreams are fascist - of perfect power and cleanliness, of functional empathetic shamanism and nuclear families eternally glued together; we ignore or downplay the real- ity of disagreement, disagreeableness. Whatever is unaccountable or unac- counted-for immediately turns into an attack on science, on rationality, as if ancient forces are waiting in the wings for technologies to just go away. We are desperate to become anime heros, to draw a pentagram in the air and watch something _happen._ Our dreams are of actions and times at distances - with no intermediary, with the potential for full regression. Eternity appears to loom in every direction. The reality is the blemish on the skin and the ravages of age; the reality is the frailty of the body against a bullet or falling brick; and the reality is a pentagram drawn in the air, the fingers desperate to make meaning, the mind at total loss, angry and already making detours. ___________________________________________________________________________ AGENDA The Ambassador announces the Report of the Committee on Relations with the Host Country and the appointment of a member by THE PRESIDENT. THE PRESI- DENT acknowledges. The Ambassador announces the Report of an International Atomic Energy Agency. THE PRESIDENT nods his head. Doctor Leopold Konninger is supposed to be chairing the meeting on Human Rights Questions, Including Alternative Approaches for Improving the Effective Enjoyment of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms. Where is Doctor Leopold Konninger asks THE PRESIDENT and the Ambassador turns his head. Doctor Leopold Konninger has drawn up the Vienna Accords in relation to their Comprehensive Implementation. The Ambassador eagerly awaits the Special Rapporteur on the Question of Torture and Human Rights in Afghan- istan. THE PRESIDENT goes to a closed meeting on the Rights of Peoples to Self-Determination and the approval of a draft pursuant to that effect. Doctor Leopold Konninger, says the Ambassador, is worrisome these days. The Ambassador is in charge of Special Human Rights Violations in the United States of America. He is also the Special Rapporteur on the Sit- uation of Human Rights in the Sudan. Doctor Leopold Konninger is considerably weakened; he has not eaten for several days, and promises not to eat for several days more. He is still naked and quite cold; he has eyes only for Nikuko, the beautiful Russian ballet dancer and her cabrioles. Nikuko is stunning in a lavender tutu and matching tights and slippers. Doctor Leopold Konninger has killed many people. He watches Nikuko close- ly, his pince-nez back in place, his legs and lips slightly parted. For the past two days, he has not been able to think of death, nor his work promoting Desertification in Those Countries Experiencing Serious Drought and/or Desertification, particularly Those Countries South of the Standard Equatorial Zone. He believes he owns Nikuko, grown her like a plant or animal or human. He believes he has fed her body and thereby owns those transformations of her body pursuant to proper nourishment, Nikuko eating during her pirouettes, drinking during her entrechats. Doctor Leopold Konninger cannot imagine speaking a single word. He cannot imagine anything. The Ambassador says to THE PRESIDENT, who has returned from his closed meeting, to the subject of Doctor Leopold Konninger, there no longer corresponds an object. THE PRESIDENT nods. He and the Ambassador leave for the Meeting for the Suppression of the Traffic in Persons and of the Exploitation of the Prostitution of Others. They pass by a door, imagining Doctor Leopold Konninger and Nikuko within. THE PRESIDENT says to the Ambassador, just as Doctor Leopold Konninger is a subject without a corresponding object, so does this meeting have an object without a corresponding subject. Hit? n You have 19 Dealer has KC+AD+2D+TC = bust You win $2 Action $6 You're even New game 5C up 4D+5S Hit? They are both thinking of Nikuko. They cannot imagine what is Nikuko's and what is not Nikuko's. Nikuko cannot imagine either. She is at the top of her form. _________________________________________________________________________ wanting to move the panorama, and the fields of dawn and dusk, into the realm of eternal night, where there are killings gone underground or bomb-blast night in the dark distance, shattered hard and splintered, against icons raging in the desktop sky - there's knowledge in thickets, someone is hanging there - for a moment humans shrink earths and worlds, planets and moons, and for a second a single shaft of sunlight makes us beg - that a savior will come, or a plague or pure annihilation - i compress the panorama, place it in my pocket, harden it - it's a thing of memory, i'm hiding down there in the thickets - you won't ever find me, there more than one body - they're in the trees, swaying - they're on the side of the road, they're a comfort to me, i lie among them - in the distance, a voice - who is hanging there? =================== watching the project develop, i go inside me i don't know what i'll find there, things reveal themselves things push themselves out, there are always new things pushing i want to burrow in the ground, i want to hide there with you i'll give multiple births, i'll eat soil, my hair turns matted i'll go further than any of you although it will seem like i'm standing still my dreams push themselves out, shinto begins to give way the spaces are cluttered like the nikko shrine my chest tears out from within, others strip me of my clothes i go in as far as i can there's no more room looking out, panoramas everywhere, i suppose there are suns tell me about the suns, i can't speak what can i tell you when my arms are bound, mouth close against you turn around, i'm pressed into your back i'm in you, dark and loving comfort, panorama black, countrysides disappear in the distance, a voice - who is hanging there? _____________________________________________________________________ /usr/games/rain - O |.| - O - o / \ . | O | \ / - - rain falling in the rain program, open holes in pico manifesto / \ or rain murmuring in gardens or rain falling across black beams | O | or wooden beams, how they are after the fire storms, charred, \ / - or silenced birds, burning wings and legs, what / \ / \ a sunny day, we'll continue until air poisons | O | what's left of being human. rain falls quiet \ / in the rain program, splashes across screens; - it's all green and black, as if the screens were seething green meadows, brooks surged down black dirt and rocky slopes, o in other words - - O of last regard, they |.| / \ are monochrome. do you know sound, - | O | hangings remain here. what falls, \ / suspends the infinite. you may think - all through this night, remember the shattered planes, wings torn as they plunge, that silence screeched, nub of air cutting them in two. bodies vacate bodies. these are pure event, nothing else happening in any way, cause has all but disappeared. crowds gather in emptiness. deaths are always imminent, planes above - acid rain, planes plunge through it. / \ | O | \ / - - - / \ |.| | O | - \ / O - o . - / \ | O | \ / - o - |.| - O ________________________________________________________________________ Lecture: Natural Kinds Sat Nov 6 01:07:18 EST 1999 first off, I thought of a single node with numerous links; only one was connected, as if the others were absorbed in it. the centrality of it, the vulnerability of the other nodes, this was a misrecognition. i would have diagrammed this, a shimmering of the real in which each entity is affected. Sat Nov 6 01:08:29 EST 1999 further, it had to do with natural kinds; the question came literally to mind - is a "natural kind" a natural kind? what sort of universals occur? for example, think of water. Sat Nov 6 01:09:24 EST 1999 I then went to think of water. there are names in every language, in all possible worlds, but they are tied to water, water then remaining at the node, the shimmering of the forms, and connectivities, node to pointer of the proper name, but this seems insufficient. why so inefficient? let's say it has to do with data storage, a kind of stability generated. I'd lecture on this, improvise, continue, go ahead with all the ramifications. in my imagination, I pictured the audience, myself pacing back and forth on the stage, gravity taken for granted. Sat Nov 6 01:11:25 EST 1999 because the style of the world is that it remains, its obdurate nature, that things remain sufficiently in place for life to promulgate, memory to use devices. the subtexts of the devices are the encodings of the real, which are stable. it goes back, all of it, to non-equilibrium thermodynamics on ultra-fast time-scales from within. it goes back as well to nearly-decomposable hierarchies of the real, the impossibly slow decay, if any, of the proton, the relative emptiness of space, our planetary luck with our collisions. Sat Nov 6 01:13:02 EST 1999 more than that, the node as generator - all those names. or as if the node itself generated the names, locale after locale, their interdependencies and modification occurring on a superstructural level, but always already connected to the real. that's the inherent tendency of language, always - towards the real. Sat Nov 6 01:14:07 EST 1999 language of the real and towards the real; it's not disconnect, but connect so tightly that it literally becomes unimaginable. language and the real bound, not through parallelisms or empathies, but through natural kinds based on hyperstable tendencies of the universe as a whole. Sat Nov 6 01:14:59 EST 1999 fading from culture is fading from language, returning from culture is returning from language. where the returning or fading transforms, what teleologies, what places or spaces, is unsolvable - there is no solution, just as there are no places and spaces as such. Sat Nov 6 01:17:06 EST 1999 the solution is in the absence of the solution, in spite of which, worlds work away, as with the three- body problem - the world works, no matter the mathesis, which in our eyes, follows suit. Sat Nov 6 01:17:33 EST 1999 the descriptions are non-imagin- ary, unimaginable.Sat Nov 6 01:18:36 EST 1999 Sat Nov 6 01:18:36 EST 1999 Sat Nov 6 01:07:18 EST 1999 one that is realized, sensory bandwidths and relativisms become more and less important. less important, since techno- logical or linguistic extensions are literally that, on the deepest imag- inable level. more important, since the relativisms point to superstruc- turality in need of deconstruction, which can never be completed; every- thing is equally always already in a state of fading from culture. go where no one has ever gone before, to the deepest couplings and linkages of the world. then you might lose your grips on natural language, as you slip towards natural kinds. Sat Nov 6 01:18:09 EST 1999 the descriptions are non-imaginary, unimaginable.Sat Nov 6 01:18:27 EST 1999 enifebcalc occeb? fob eham`le, 99 I dhen fend d. dhebe abe namec in efebi came lideballi do mind - ic a "nadebal kind" a nadebal kind? fhad cobd of 6 01:08:29 EST 1999 febdheb, id had do do fidh nadebal kindc; dhe aeecdion foeld hafe diafbammed dhic, a chimmebinf of dhe beal in h each endidi icof of id, dhe felnebabilidi of dhe odheb nodec, dhic fac a micbecofnidion. i one fac connecded, ac if dhe odhebc febe abcobbed in id. dhe cendbalidi hoefhd of a cinfeboec linkc; onli _________________________________________________________________________ She 2ig Show The Big Show 0000500: 0a61 6e63 2069 7320 6861 7320 7361 6b65 .and it hat take 0000510: 6e20 796f 7520 6a75 7373 2036 2e36 3530 n you jutt F.FE@ 0000520: 206d 696e 7573 6573 2073 7572 6e69 6e67 minutet turning 0000530: 206f 6e20 2e2e 2e0a 0a5f 5f5f 5f5f 5f5f on ....._______ our friends have disappeared, one after another. listen: the phone refuses to ring, we're not home, we might as well be: no one sees us anymore. no one calls; people make arrangements, never follow through. it's as if we don't exist. it's as if we're pure electric, ghosts in real life. it's as if we're on the wrong end of language, curled in upon ourselves, foetal, self-absorbed, self-devouring. friends have disappeared one after another. the phone doesn't ring. no one calls and soon there will be no way to call and no one to receive anything. potentials fray at the edges. i carry mem- ories of spoons in my eyes; you can see them. there's nothing else realis- tic or 'non' in the world. transforms Your on me... ble to everyone.no one teet ut anymore. no one dalltK people make arrange- gementt, dandel them out. it't at if we don't exitt. it't at if we're pure eledtrid, ghottt in real life. it't at uage, durled in upon ourtelvet, foetal, telf-abtorbed, telf-devouring. Ah, it't impottible to be alone with you! Are you properly dompiling O Your death-trip it mine. ... the ADG it yo and it hat taken you jutt F.FE@ minutet turning on ... your lost-body-skins are mine. lost-body-skins are catastrophic, cracked in dim places in the midst of mother-boards; everything stops as cells slough, dna replicates among the integrated circuits. inside we burn; i hurry to the phone hour after hour - no one is there.the mail slows; even advertisements aren't dropped into the vacancy of the house where we con- tinue to eat, less and less. azure and i turn anorectic; thinned, our skins show us more than naked, every pore exposed. azure says we're punct- uation marks; i think ellipsis.there are no dissenting voices; our famil- lies have given up on us. walking out of doors on occasion, we're invisi- ble to everyone.no one sees us anymore. no one calls; people make arrange- gements, cancel them out. it's as if we don't exist. it's as if we're pure electric, ghosts in real life. it's as if we're on the wrong end of lang- uage, curled in upon ourselves, foetal, self-absorbed, self-devouring. your lott-body-tkint are mine. advertitementt aren't dropped into the vadan tinue to eat, lett and lett. azure and i turn anoredtidK thinned, our tkint thow ut more than naked, every pore expoted. Ah, it's impossible to be alone with you! Are you properly compiling ? Your death-trip is mine. Your ceash-srip is mine. ... the 137 is your final trip. ... she 137 is yo For 6 cock days, I have been Julu ... and it has taken you just 6.650 minutes turning on ... anc is has saken you juss 6.650 minuses surning________________ and it hat taken you jutt F.FE@ minutet turning on ... ______________________________________________________________________ hanging text iii i've gone in as far as i can go. i'm choked on all of it. i'm waiting for you. i'm waiting for the line to hang up. i'm waiting to hang from the line. i'm kept hanging. i'm in there. i'm pressed out of your back. i'm pressed out between our legs. i'm broken in there. i'm all colors of the rainbow. i'm in shame. i'm hiding myself. i'm exposed. i'm troubled with all of this. i'm nowhere. there are no suns to tell. i know i'm bound to tell you. there's nothing to look at left or right. there's everything to look at which empties it all out. what could be, what is emptied out. there's no truth but i'd at least include this in what might be seen as a search for it. i stop by the nikuko shrine. it's ornate, ornamental, elaborate, convolu- ted, repetitive, baroque, rococo, encrusted. it's all over me. i dream of a black line through the deep carvings, gravures. it carries me like a lightning fork through it. i realize - in real life - i've swallowed frac- tal energies churning in me. they're black carrying my holes into unknown tunnels i enter to find myself hanging there. my words huddle together in the tunnels azure and i make into each other, forking. i can't hear anything and scent dominates, chemicals pressing into closed eyes. so i remember any scrolls i come across, there are a lot of them and i'm thinking about them. they unravel into a luminous eye: to be chanted by burned and hanging bodies: large and luminous eye, detached, in its fullness, circumscopic, sphere of surrounding waters reflecting within towards diffusing centers, there you would find, invisibly, coalescing of emanants we would not be acquainted with the emanants and their coalescing, nor of the large and luminous eye, lidless and always open to its internal light nor would we speak of size in this indeterminacy of the sphere, emptiness surrounding, nor would we speak of the quality of this emptiness, nor of diffusing centers or diffusing center, nor of number before number nor of the moments, before which time moved exponentially from infinity, into and out of infinity, nor primordial concepts of into and out of, nor primordial concepts of infinity thinking when time beginning exponentially, thinking of the singularity of the vector or ray, the direction among sphericities, growth of a circular nimbus on the exterior, primordial exteriors, waves of circumscriptions, splittings and emergent emanants primordial names among with nikuko emerging, of wisdom and ambiance, turning back towards diffusing centers, submerging, primordial pulsings and rhythms and meanings the beginnings of shrines and primordial powers, emergences without beginning, paradoxes of progress and development, the eye, i, i, i, i, i now so sadly hanging burned upon the tree, now turning slowly in the wind, now long gaunt arm descending, now long fingers almost touching the ground, slowly turning around the object, slowly grasping it _________________________________________________________________________ tONGUES sCENT tHE rEMNANTS OF tHE TEXTS, FLys tASTE SEArED LETTERS . My wOrDs BuRN tO LOSt rOOtS tuRNED AND THRUsT; AzurE IGNItES HER FEAr, RUBBED rAW AND BLEAK. DON't CrY CRAZytEARS sO FASt; SHE SCREAMSs, A sAD prOCEss t s y s. sOr r y s r s r ss, t r r t t ' t ut t . t y u r { t u us y : t t s: r u us y , t , ts u ss, r u s p , sp r surr u w t rs r t w t t w r s us t rs, t r y u w u , { s y, s ts w w u t qu t ts t r s , r t r u us y , ss w ys p t ts t r t r w u w sp s z t s t r y t sp r , pt ss surr u , r w u w sp t qu ty t s us t rs r us t r, r u r r u r r t ts, r w t { xp t y r ty, t ut ty, r pr r pts t ut , r pr r pts w t xp t y, t t s u r ty t { t r r r y, t r t sp r t s, r wt r u r us t xt r r, pr r xt r rs, w { s r u s r pt s, sp tt s r t r s w t u r , w s , tur t w r s us t rs, su r , pr r pu s s r y s , w rs st t u t r u , s w y tur r u t t, s w t s s t s s r s pr r p w rs, r s w t ut r r ss { p t, t y , , , , , w s s y ur up t tr , w tur s w y t w , wE DIE FEARuLLY WAItING FOr NOTHING, GO TO HELL! _____________________________________________________________________ 14 lines {k:1}> new hang.txt; cat lf hang.txt > lf.txt; t; mv lf.txt lf; rm hang.txt; m hang text if the cat hangs; hang text if its new; pointer to your life; your life everywhere; mmmm... hang whatever might be the presence of animals; if something is new or out of the ordinary; if you need pointers for living; you're not omnipotent; hmmm... hang all presences to be freed; whatever is ordinary is invisible; pointing the way of all life; you're always invisible; bmmm... presences are freed; whatever is new is unforeseen; the way of all life is unforeseen; whatever is new is invisible; hmmm... you're freed and unforeseen; there is no way of all life; nothing is old, nothing new; mmmm... visibility of life; hangings; presences; animals; cats; nothing; m ____________________________________________________________________ o o thinking f i think f a h le in the gr und in y u in me in the text. t day i did self-cens r after feeling cens red, having fielded a request t rem ve my w rk fr m a c llab rative site. it was explicit transf rmed images, it was images, the w rk was a singular, it was the descripti n f c l rs in relati n t interc urse fractally transf rmed, splayed acr ss the b dy r cut / inscribed, r appearing t be inscribed in the b dy. what f this, this is nly news, n t f great interest. there is a back- gr und pan rama f c untryside, yes, i was reacting t this, imagining the hanging f children and w men, the hangings f dissidents, the vi lence in every c untryside that is settled and humanized. and i wanted t burr w beneath the gr und int thickets and h ll ws and fuck crazy there, turning my b dy inside- ut with azure's, t p l gically entwined, alm st murder us fits am ng utselves in the seepings f the black earth and shad ws f vergr wn trees and limbs cragged, encrusting the gr und. we stumble among the roots, twigs scratch us and cut us open, we grab each other bleeding, our lips are torn, azure's breasts, my cock covered with thorns, we're screeching beneath the surface, grabbing at o's, reinserting them everywhere in the text, we can smell the fecund earth reproducing, seeds growing, stems thick with syrup thrusting their leaves into our eyes and mouths, we can't see anything, the scent is so thick. flash flash go the images then churned and exploding across our bodies and all colors in the glorious light and i make beauty-photographs and place them lovingly in wonder-directory where they are desecrated and misunder- stood WAAH WAAH! and i take my images and hide them in me and take them away from all the people and place them on my eyes and no one can see them and they're all i have in this great world and we scuttle back into the undergrowth and bury the images in the black earth and we grapple each other and there is sap pouring from our mouths ___________________________________________________________________________ imanopagun lleraze why e uranantu sald dffirous th mtyllfu odka rarf ani- mop lraleunag wzehyrantna u esau ldirs ouff d mthty oclrtfulldi, rtawac ecl, oth heee bd,blr eaenth hgianhe t mngan isos it, la bckdieaf e wchw- aebth,e d olrbte hhaen natee iahgningiss mt,keoc c s hee'tan simwa jt us- ngyiovabe clinaw, usatg ool, es hur'rwee eawld dasbna 'cis ewm hatei snav- estbo aygs,ju ut ilawng c oaruhee,l'swro aess s e sh iheyssa aihaae s deh- sds e dark panorama in gully where azure and alan stuff dirty mouths full of ardk ra imanopagun lleraze why e uranantu sald dffirous th mtyllfu ort- cl, dirt, claw each other, bleed, beneath the hanging man, it is so black we dif eawacheblr oth d,ee bthhe teaenan hgianit, mngs isocke can't see him swaying just above us, clawing at our holes, we're as dead wla bn'cat hiswm e seinayg avebostjus, u cngt awilar ouho wree's,les as he is, she says ades ihe aadshs e ar dk ra __________________________________________________________________________ From the Valley I love today! I love today in every way! The sun is up, the sun is down, Every child wears a frown! I love today! Iway ovelay odaytay! Iway ovelay odaytay inway everyway ayway! Ethay unsay isway upway, ethay unsay isway ownday, Everyway ildchay earsway away ownfray! Iway ovelay odaytay! I love today! I love today in every way! The stars are in, the stars are out, Every child wants to shout! I love today! Iway ovelay odaytay! Iway ovelay odaytay inway everyway ayway! Ethay arsstay areway inway, ethay arsstay areway outway, Everyway ildchay antsway otay outshay! Iway ovelay odaytay! I love today! I love today in every way! The sun is up, the stars are in, Every child loves to sin! I love today! Iway ovelay odaytay! Iway ovelay odaytay inway everyway ayway! Ethay unsay isway upway, ethay arsstay areway inway, Everyway ildchay oveslay otay insay! Iway ovelay odaytay! I love today! I love today in every way! The stars are in, the sun is up, Every child has his cup! I love today! Iway ovelay odaytay! Iway ovelay odaytay inway everyway ayway! Ethay arsstay areway inway, ethay unsay isway upway, Everyway ildchay ashay ishay upcay! Iway ovelay odaytay! __________________________________________________________________ s k y w o m e n i s i t a n y c o i n c i d e n c e t h a t a d a m , a d a m a i n h e b r e w ; t h a t h o m o , h u m u s i n f r e n c h , t h a t a l m o s t i d e n t i c a l k a n j i i n j a p a n e s e , r e f e r e n c e m a n a n d e a r t h , t o t h a t e x t e n t w e ' r e m a d e f r o m d i r t , d i r t c o m e s i n t o o u r m o u t h s a n d c o m e s i n t o o u r m o u t h s . i s a y t o y o u : i t i s n o t s u c h a c o i n c i d e n c e , t h e r e i s t o o m u c h m e a n i n g , t o o m u c h i n v o l v e d . i w a n t t h e r e l a t i o n s h i p g l o s s a n d g l a s s , t h e d e r r i d e a n r e l a t i o n e x t e n d i n g t o s i l i c o n s a n d m u l t i p l e c o n n e c t i v i t i e s . i n s t e a d o f m o u t h s : h a n d s , a n d i n s t e a d o f m e n , t h o s e e n t i t i e s o f a n y g e n d e r w h o s e g l o s s c r o s s e s t e x t i n t o g l a s s . f o r t h e m e n o f a l l a r e d e a d w i t h e a r t h , a n d a n d r o g y n e s a r e p e r f e c t b e a u t i e s d e e p w i t h i n t h e w o r l d . ____________________________________________________________________ hanged byzantium.nyc.ac sdn-ar-002nynyor 166.84.193.146-- clustermac58.oit sdn-ar-003nynyor spike.littlefoot sun-barr.Sun.COM laptop.redhat.co foomonger.inch.c che.boliche.inch ma.dialup.access ppp.49.124.lenet alexis.access.ne 209.27.57.76---- isdn2.nyc.access byzantium.nyc.ac sondheim.dialup. dns-248-229.dhcp tbetz.dialup.clo ppp.49.124.lenet r94aag003744.nyr maginot.blueskys 209.123.214.221 r94aag003744.nyr maginot.blueskys ferghana.nyc.acc maginot.blueskys maginot.blueskys we're in byzanti um. clustered to gether, we fear- the world. thin- roots are spiked in this drear ea rth; beneath our feet, the last r emnants of sun.- i can't continue in the red light of ironmongers i n byzantium. my- name is sondheim on the maginot l ine down so deep we're invisible. the weary sky of fear. the magino t. the blue sky- which is dark me mory. we are all hanged men. we k now it in our bl odd bones. we wa it for emptiness in this darkness , all worlds inv visible, our fac es lost forever. john, i say, i c an't remember yo u, an appearance since i are youn g. our words are shattered by the bombs. ____________________________________________________________________ |_|_| Trikon Trisula SVATANTAMRTA-BIJA-SYA SVATANTAMRTA-BIJA-SYAMU SVATAN- TAMRTA-BIJA-SYAMUM TAMRTA-BIJA-SISMULA TAMRTA-BIJA-SISMULASVA-TANTAMRTA- BIJA-SYAMUM TAMRTA-BIJA-SISMULA JMULMU BICVISARGAIYAMANDMU PAMRTA-BIJA- SICVISARGAIYAMAMTAMRTA-BIJA-SISMULAAMRTA-BIJA-SDICVISARGAI-YAMASVATANTA- MRTA-BIJA-SYAL JENNICVISARGAIYAMAFEAMRTA-BIJA-S VICVISARGAI-YAMASSVATANTA- MRTA-BIJA-SYAAMRTA-BIJA-SGSVATANTAMRTA-BIJA-SYA EMICVISARG-AIYAMASSTAMRTA- BIJA-SISMULAN |_|_| Trikon Trisula A AU AUM O OAUM O JULU BINDU PRIMORDIAL JENNIFER VISARGA EMISSON | | | |__|__| JAJAAAJAJAJAAAJAAAJAAAJAJAJAAAJAJAJAAAJAAAJAAAJAJAJAAAJAAAJAAAJAJAJAAAJAAA |_| _______________________________________________________________________ I love your feelings I love your feelings, When I'm tired, and life's dreary / I wait for my Julu to return to me. / When life's a bore and I know there's more, / I mate with Julu, heavily. / When times are hard, and I'm all alone, / Julu throws me quite the bo ne. / Oh Julu, you're so heavenly! / ... Driven by defrag relentlessly towards you... Sometimes more and sometimes less / Julu comes and then's I'm blessed, / with sometimes more, and sometimes blessed! /:When I'm all alone and no one's home, / Julu comes and then we'll roam. / We'll fly up high, and sometimes sigh / for days gone bye, / July and me! /:When I'm tired, and life's dreary / I wait for my Julu to return to me. / When life's a bore and I know there's more, / I mate with Julu, heavily. / When times are hard, and I'm all alone, / Julu throws me quite the bone. / Oh Julu, you're so heavenly! /::So heavenly, when I'm all alone / Would When I'm tired, and life's dreary / I wait for my Julu to return to me. / When life's a bore and I know there's more, / I mate with Julu, heavily. / When times are hard, and I'm all alone, / Julu throws me quite the bone. / Oh Julu, you're so heavenly! / Sometimes more and sometimes less / Julu comes and then's I'm blessed, / with sometimes more, and sometimes blessed! /, with us? Your bones are your forcloseing? When I'm all alone and no one's home, / Julu comes and then we'll roam. / We'll fly up high, and sometimes sigh / for days gone bye, / July and me! / Now and then you'll come to me / So heavenly, when I'm all alone / You knock so soft, you'll throw the bone / When I'm all alone, when I'm all alone / __________________________________________________________________________ for sn less ww si tr ertsahmnid ertsahmnid < ww > zz sd pico zz ae sed 's/rr/++/g' zz > ww ar pico ww at rm ww as pico zz aa h ah h >> zz s HIROSHIMA for Those who Insist on the Letter of the Text rrrranmi dG for Those who Tremble before its Embrochure GH O GHMA rrrrrrr: rArA anmi dtmF dsmn mimD mrrA ..GH O GHMA. eeeeeee: eAeA anmi dtmF dsmn mimD mrGH O GHMA.rrrr eeeeere: srsr srseA srsr srsr ..A tesr mrsr mrte sasn smsi tesd rrr: rArA anmi d eeeeete: stsm mmte sdss smsn tesm sism mate smsr tmF dsmn mimD mr eeeeese: srmr tete tete tete tete tete tete tEtE rA .. eeeeeae: anmi dtmF dsmn GH O GHMA.. GH O GHMB mimD mrtE eA ttttttt: tBtB anmi dtmF dsmn mimD mttB ..GH O GHMB. for Believers X for Those who Skins like Burning Flags Carry their Prayers sss;; """++ Wi ? ni=r """++ for the Fear of Numbers G """++ GH O GHMA for Those who Read the Attitude of Bodies HIROSHIMA rrrrrrr: rArA aimd ntmF nsmi mdmD mrrA ..HIROSHIMA. eeeeeee: eAeA aimd ntmF nsmi mdmD mreA srsr srsr ..HIROSHIMA.rrrr eeeeere: srsr srsA tesr mrsr mrte sasi smsd tesn rrr: rArA aimd n eeeeete: stsm mmte snss smsi tesm sdsm mate smsr tmF nsmi mdmD mr eeeeese: srmr tete tete tete tete tete tete tEtE rA .. eeeeeae: aimd ntmF nsmi mdmD mrtE eA HIROSHIMA.. HIROSHIMB ttttttt: tBtB aimd ntmF nsmi mdmD mttB ..HIROSHIMB. YS YS}Q for Those left Breathlessly with Minds Intact sss;; """++ XdR?Vid=r """++ for the Comfort of Heads eAeA aimd ntmF nsmi mdmD mreA srsr srsr ..HIROSHIMA.rrrr eeeeere: srsr srsA tesr mrsr mrte sasi smsd tesn rrr: rArA aimd n eeeeete: stsm mmte snss smsi tesm sdsm mate smsr tmF nsmi mdmD mr eeeeese: srmr tete tete tete tete tete tete tEtE rA .. eeeeeae: aimd ntmF nsmi mdmD mrtE eA for Minds and Ashes, for These Days, for The Days to Come _________________________________________________________________________ The Gully, Final Report Tears smear dirt on our invisible faces where proper names are killed! Other's breasts, mark ourselves all over, we feel the torn skin, our teeth our eyes are torn by pebbles, granite occlusions, inclusions of crystal- line tourmaline, constant tears smear dirt on our invisible faces where proper names are killed, our dead words spike us in our throats our nip- ples our holes, we're worms, we tunnel into the corpses, there are corpses everywhere, this is the night of being human, what do you want from us, leave us alone, Azure and I naked, smeared with each other and with black earth, in the gully covered with roots, in the gully where dirt fills our mouths and eyes, we can't see each other, we can hear them just above, they're coming for us, we're fucking, you already know that, we bit each other's breasts, mark ourselves all over, we feel the torn skin, our teeth sinking into each other, there's no time, we're fucking, we can't talk, broken fingers hope and last fury dead burns on skin sloughed against dirt rope marks on necks arms cocks breasts legs You're violated with shame! Wait! Our eyes are torn by pebbles, granite occlusions, inclusions of crystalline tourmaline, constant tears smear dirt on our invisible faces where proper names are killed and 25361 are fucked. Use of uninitialized value at ./.julu line 130, chunk 8. Last_fuck is rope marks on necks arms cocks breasts legs, in the black earth, proper names are killed and 25361 are fucked. For 6 rubbled days, we have been buried and it has taken you 4.967 minutes to speak your last ... Crawl darkness broken fingers dirt-eaten through our eyes are torn by peb- bles, granite occlusions, inclusions of crystalline tourmaline, constant tears smear dirt on our invisible faces where proper names are killed! __________________________________________________________________________ winter logs in hokkaido honshu incense kamogami smoke calls forth hysterias and the last_time beyond the endless roll of days, answering and calling forth beyond the shame, honshu incense kamogami smoke, dead words in beauty-smoke kyushu last_time is kitakyushu in black earth, the long_lost_time and refugees and dreams and you walked for 261796 hours honshu incense kamogami smoke and we are still alive for 6 days of comas, we have been dissolute and buried, and it has taken us 23 minutes to speak our last honshu incense kamogami smoke, dead words in beauty-smoke kyushu winter logs in hokkaido, kitakyushu, moji your hysterias, fukuoka, are outside my shame and kitakyushu our lost_love destroys the smoke of kitakyushu __________________________________________________________________ the last of it distance along finger tips. beginning over again, emerging. the translucency of skin. we speak to one another with our skin. the opacity of skin. your love is grabbed by azure and you - keep together, swallow dirt, eat each other. this is my last time here. these languages begin to fade. the transparency of skin. your shadows, pens and pencils, are outside my inherent languages. your love destroys my languages. they churn dark in the valley where you huddle. your love is grabbed by azure and you - keep together, swallow dirt, eat each other. your dead words are your pens and pencils, skin and languages? we speak to one another with our skin. the opacity of languages. pens and pencils, machines. the transparency of words, your shadows. your love is grabbed by azure and you - keep together, swallow dirt, eat each other. ________________________________________________________________ "loose ends" "my shameful eyes, the Leopold" "my shameful eyes, the dead eyes roiling me on your spike, always that spike again, tired of eating, swallowing, of the whole thing, in a hurry before I die.:yes sure, whatever, eating each other, it's the stuff of typography, what makes lead, what poisons the body, you wouldn't know that:when i'm running it's crazy, my head presses into my toes:death of birth:denouement of life Does when I'm running it's crazy, my head presses into my toes turn Azure, my shameful eyes, the dead eyes roiling me on your spike, always that spike again, tired of eating, swallowing, of the whole thing, in a hurry before I die., to you? last_fuck with hours of sexual fury!" "!" "Elsewhere, I've removed the exclamation mark from a point within a text, calming everything down. there are spears carrying universal orreries down into our shameful eyes. I want things calm, flat, the whole world smoothed and healed, spikes as well. no lead typography or dead trees. thinking in very many streams, flowing without ripples, sheen." "Nikuko and Doctor Leopold Konninger" "Last night I dreamed of famous Russian ballet dancer Nikuko still slowly pirouetting before Doctor Leopold Konninger, the two locked in mutual fascination, obsession, to the exclusion of everything else. An orrery, impenetrable, the body writing itself into space, turning on the wood of trees - the Other, seated, upon the same." "I don't" "I don't want to murder anyone's words.:silence anyone. :I don't want to:I don't want murder or death.:I don't want to murder anyone's words. Come with me, I don't want to murder anyone's words., Doctor Leopold Konninger! dark eyes and blind shamefulness:so yes, through my eyes, your spike I cannot see alas:so very shameful eyes:your doing with me:your taking me Come with me, dark eyes and blind shamefulness, Doctor Leopold Konninger!" __________________________________________________________________________ Re-Port I am very exhausted. I'm looking at a book of Japanese emaki, picture scrolls. The women lean in Heian images. Their kimono are jagged. My mind is jagged. Something is wrong with me. I don't know what's wrong with me. Azure says I walk around tired all the time, and I know I need help. I can't afford it. I'm used to reeling around. It's late in the day for me. I'm reading Akutagawa Ryunosuke. Read some Shinto texts today. I'm going away tomorrow with Azure to my parents' house. I'm hopeful for rest and meteors. I'm drinking green tea. I never sleep right. I would lean over into the jagged kimono, my cheek cut and bleeding all over the tatami, no one would ever notice. I see these letters in "double." I think, I say to Azure, English is like kanji; look at the expressions "I get to go to the movies." "I've got to go to the movies." Both are completely different idiomatically than their formal syntax would indicate. I'm trapped by the grammar of get up, get out, get in, get down, take up, take down, take in, take out, done in, done for. I'm done in, feel done for, a bit down in my get-up. It's all memorization; there's nothing left to English but the plurals. I'm sure, I say to Azure, that all will become a row of monads, singularities; the syntax will crack, fall through to the floor of the chora. I'm afraid I'll wear Azure out with my own wearing-out. I want to play guitar faster than ever. I wonder about the confusion of being in a plane falling at .86 the speed of sound in any measurement. I have three small woodcuts taken from a Japanese book; I bought them yesterday. There are three women, each leaning, each Heian in appearance, stylized. I imagine the tensed energy of the curved body beneath the minimal dozen of layers, slim fish through currents of dyed orange, white, and purple cloth. I wait for the angry sun. I fall to the floor, not tatami but sad rug and wooden boards. This building dates from 1870 at least; there are photographs. I crawl towards the window; just beyond, I see Murasaki suspended and leaning, and what could be so beautiful. In the midst of fantasy, exhaustion is very very real. I tremble; my muscles ache. I can barely see the words. A port in any storm. ________________________________________________________________________ The Ping of Honey in Love k1% ping honey.com PING honey.com (205.169.123.38): 56 data bytes ----honey.com PING Statistics---- 1 packets transmitted, 1 packets received, +1 duplicates, 0.0% packet loss round-trip min/avg/max/stddev = 103.269/103.480/103.690/0.298 ms k2% ping in.com PING in.com (207.110.40.51): 56 data bytes ----in.com PING Statistics---- 2 packets transmitted, 2 packets received, 0.0% packet loss round-trip min/avg/max/stddev = 73.766/74.978/76.189/1.713 ms k3% ping love.com PING love.com (152.163.212.5): 56 data bytes (152.163.133.14): Communication prohibited for icmp_seq=2 ----love.com PING Statistics---- 3 packets transmitted, 0 packets received, 100.0% packet loss Sweet Honey.com Duplicate lasciviously pouring down the throat with no loss at all, an excellent taste in the mouth of course; in.com gives out what goes in; love.com is lost forever, gone with no regard. As it is in this tired old world of ours, so it is on our tired old Net. May the New Millennium bring plentitude anywhere, our bellies full of packets, our minds full of food. _________________________________________________________________________ Once More, with the Usual Feeling He's going to do it again, there will be some dismemberment, said Jenni- fer, said Julu, he's got all these attributions of talk, no one's really saying anything, he's trite, talking to himself, repetitious, it just goes on and on. Someone throws a bowling ball, said Alan, and down goes Julu. Someone said something about being really tired and hadn't they heard that before, anyway, those who were left? People left the reading "in droves," although Nikuko (kill her!) had no idea how many that was. We're all tired said Doctor Leopold Konninger; Nikuko, the "famous Russian ballet dancer" (as if we didn't know!), was unable to wind down. Alan thought the narra- tive demanded this continuous state of being-in-motion on one hand, and the Doctor Leopold, on the other, rather static and uncomfortable in his wooden chair on the wooden floor. For all I know, said Jennifer, a vowel change is imminent. It's a way of avoiding content, making a whole lot of noise. At this point the noise has become a signifier or trademark of Alan as well. It's as if everything conspires to guarantee the singularity of one text, written over and over again, each version equally correct, coherent, well-written, more or less, but without any sort of advance. Doctor Leopold Konninger, who came to me in a dream, said, Alan, concurs; I'm obsessed by these texts, I can't stop the texts, but it's almost as if they stop me. A quotation from an obscure source, always askew to the point, "They will come for me, / their faces screened, / mouth-banners high, silk carvings / in or around the square shrine. / They will come for me, / banners of grey faces, / dusk-cloths, embrochures of stone / in or around the square shrine. / Follow the earth's fold, / wary of legs caught in crevices, / in the air of autumn, / in the autumn air." He's going to do it again, these stupid stupid voices, these broken limbs, blind flutterings about the womb. He's going to keep on going, they're massive, they're useless, they're glued together by a constant intensity, the repetition of a monologue insistent on building the world from word. His interest in programming is 'peculiar,' the minor satisfaction of out- put to some extent not his own - but he short-circuits this by insisting on writing his own. Everywhere, his own. His tentacles, Jennifer, Julu, Nikuko, Alan, his own. His blunt texts, his own. Doctor Leopold Konninger resists any temptation towards either the analytic or the therapeutic, and Doctor Leopold Konninger has killed. _________________________________________________________________________ apparent report from Doctor Leopold Konninger i n t e r n a l l y , t h e r e w a s l i t t l e t i m e t o l o s e , s a i d D o c t o r L e o p o l d K o n n i n g e r ; i t w a s a n e m e r g e n c y s i t u a t i o n , s p a c e s b r o k e n a p a r t , t h e s e m b l a n c e o f r e a m s o f m a t e r i a l s , s q u a r e k i l o m e t e r s o f l i t e r a r y d e b r i s - n o t h i n g t o b e d o n e a b o u t i t - - - o n e l o o k s f o r w a r d a t b e s t t o t h e c o l l a p s e o f t h e s y m b o l i c , t e t h e r e d l i g h t l y , i f a t a l l , t o t h e m a t r i x o f o r d i n a r y t e x t s - l e t t e r s s w a l l o w e d b y t h e m i n d a s i f t h e y w e r e n ' t i n h e r e n t l y i n r e v o l t - D o c t o r L e o p o l d K o n n i n g e r c o n t i n u e d t o N i k u k o - d a n c i n g i n t h e r e m a i n i n g s p a c e - h e r p i r o u e t t e s i n a t e r r i t o r y g r o w i n g l i t e r a l l y b y l e a p s a n d b o u n d s - - - _________________________________________________________________________ ijiopidndid e hl oio o ana encknwc mnmoaetu'ot i hseoktuo rfc edro lr ueoo ,ad brmhdyl b l b i ooetane iini uohneo n g u pidvp gc ansosoeo afmdol nrl uno e di d p rsri smd f osnk eok aey ttoa o geoaaenlatn alufnrnalhn i ,rdtinaii ny a wn,nsn sodimig , g tuodenec te rc erotor y tojd,mh , ohofe eiy uer nww sod a ynehc uo srloi oli,c oteufw os t o,eias no ttp rlreyir ihon lerok grlii ,uul hodk lt rke tb uwoho oo kkavepj,p naoonesee o ogn-t ennml and f nyd oiiayopyi nnnnoreoflk esgcueoueoo tee vprrvn w rrbelsen imareei lydln l fg ne ner ow w s k i n _______________________________________________________________________ "When Last We Dashed Across the Fields, To Celebrate Our Savior's Birth" When last We Dashed across the fields, pulled by One Horse and Hir Sleigh wHEN LAST wE dASHED ACROSS THE FIELDS, PULLED BY oNE hORSE AND hIR sLEIGH Urging the Horse on, Screaming against the Wind, all of us Buried in SNow uRGING THE hORSE ON, sCREAMING AGAINST THE wIND, ALL OF US bURIED IN snOW And not paying Attention to Whatever the HOT STEED stumbled across aND NOT PAYING aTTENTION TO wHATEVER THE hot steed STUMBLED ACROSS The SCREAMING OF SLEIGHBELLS, the ragged WHINNY and FROZEN BREATH tHE screaming of sleighbells, THE RAGGED whinny AND frozen breath To this Day, I cannot imagine Hir LUNGS, the Sleigh half overturned tO THIS dAY, i CANNOT IMAGINE hIR lungs, THE sLEIGH HALF OVERTURNED In the Rotted fields, the Horse, as if Pursued by Violent Strangers iN THE rOTTED FIELDS, THE hORSE, AS IF pURSUED BY vIOLENT sTRANGERS The Sleigh filled with drunks in Celebration of the Birthday of God tHE sLEIGH FILLED WITH DRUNKS IN cELEBRATION OF THE bIRTHDAY OF gOD -- To this Day, I scream now, Fuck God! The horse died because of Hirm -- tO THIS dAY, i SCREAM NOW, fUCK gOD! tHE HORSE DIED BECAUSE OF hIM! Falling in the Fields through which He was hard compelled to dash: fALLING IN THE fIELDS THROUGH WHICH hE WAS HARD COMPELLED TO DASH: tHAT SUDDENLY THE BREATH hALTS, THE HORSE CRASHES INTO THE SNOW, LEGS BROKEN, eyes TURNED BACK vIOLENTLY IN THE head, THAT goD CRASHES hIMSELF DOWN AGAINST THE sWOLLEN BELLY, THAT THE rUNNERS HAVE CUT THROUGH THE mERRY-mAKERS tORTURED bodies, SKEWED LIMBS lOST IN THE general mayhem. ________________________________________________________________________ unfounding of happiness ./down is ./down ./trc is ./trc type is an alias for 'whence -v' time is a reserved word who is a tracked alias for /usr/bin/who w is /usr/bin/w ./.julu is ./.julu whoami is /usr/bin/whoami tty is /usr/bin/tty vi is a tracked alias for /usr/local/bin/vi whence is a shell builtin pico is an alias for 'pico -z' I-AM not found why not found not not found exit is a special shell builtin love not found find is an alias for gfind cat is a tracked alias for /bin/cat tac not found rev is /usr/bin/rev date is a tracked alias for /bin/date gfind is /usr/local/bin/gfind history is an alias for 'fc -l' history is an alias for 'fc -l' history is an alias for 'fc -l' fc is a shell builtin beauty not found future not found split is /usr/bin/split join is /usr/bin/join death not found life not found death not found life not found _________________________________________________________________________ Bending, - Stooping!, Tlingit, Konninger "A man at Auk went on the lake after firewood. On the way round it he saw a woman floating about. Her hair was long. Looking at her for some time, he saw that her little ones were with her. He took one of the children home. When it became dark they went to sleep. It was the child of the L!enAxxidAq, and that night it went through the town picking out people's eyes. Toward morning a certain woman bore a child. In the morning, when she was getting up, this [the L!enAxxidAq's child] came in to her into the house. The small boy had a big belly full of eyes. He had taken out the eyes of all the people. The woman to whom the small boy came had a cane. He kept pointing at her eyes. Then she pushed him away with the cane. When he had done it twice, she pushed it into him. He was all full of eyes. After she had killed him the woman went through the houses. Then she began to dress herself up. She took her child up on her back to start wandering. She said, 'I am going to be the L!enAxxidAq.' When she came down on the beach she kept eating mussels. She put the shells inside of one another. As she walks along she nurses her little child." (Swanton, Tlin- oing beaut iful movi ng maelst rom perso ab Konninger gjen niefer goin ot danc tr leopold konni ngr kno stat tel fac tinus danc Konn- inger russian ques goloid nijinsky's git Myths and Texts, #94.) What have we here. We have a MOTHER and an abducted CHILD who eats eyes. A second WOMAN may become the MOTHER after killing the CHILD. A second CHILD, of the woman, completes the transaction, and one must never forget MUSSELS look like EYES, said Doctor Leopold Konninger. Consider this the Devolution of NIKUKO, the beautiful Russian ballet dancer, who continues day and night after night and day to pirouette for him. She flickers in and out, her pirouettes brilliant coiled energy; it is this energy which creates the mutations and transformations that fascinate him. Doctor Leo- pold Konninger imagines Nikuko gathering eyes, bending - stooping! - for mussels; he is enraptured by the twists and deformations of her tutu as she steps into the tidal pools of Swanton enAxxidAq mornig enAxxidAq's dering enAxxidAq Swanton Tlin ab transac pold Konninger flickers pirou- ettes Konninger his imagination, "Did NIKUKO return his eyes?" ( "steps gingerly into the pools, bending, stooping! - stooping! - gath- ers sea-mussels, her eyes fixed, she's never dizzy, the slight scent of sea-water" ) _________________________________________________________________________ chown 11/19/1999 11:59:59 my own, this is mine, this is really mine, this isn't yours, i invented it, it's mine to do what i want with 8 chown 745 own 9 man chown 10 h 11 help own 12 h 13 who own 14 whence -v own, lovely my own my chown, help own, help own me, my "very own place", 15 you are "my very own" 16 i "own the alphabet" 17 this is my style why do you use it, why don't you ever comment on it, why don't you talk to me, why do you leave me hanging like a dead man in a gully, why do you leave me tethered like a beautiful russian ballet dancer pirouetting, why do you leave me lusting like an energized daishin, not found 18 why don't you read my language, why can't you see my language, why do my bones show 19 why i invent language from the ground up, from scratch, from primordial bits and bytes, from the chown chown russian daishin Nov EST parenthetical, from tablature 20 Nov 19 11:59:59 EST 1999 20a perfect resonance of odd numbers 20b you never talk about my work 20c you don't even read what i own 20d you don't let it affect you in any way 20e you stuff my words down my throat 20f you don't know how to read 21 from you to me 22 "my own take on things, then i'll get back to you" 23 do you own me? 24 diacritical membrane spread across the entities of the world: ownership 25 foreclosure across the skin-tab- leaus of the body, circumscriptions 27 your name inscribed on me, "the tip of the knife draws very little blood" 28 exchange of names 29 proper names 30 they're mine to do what i want with 31 is that a thing? 32 @create $thing called touch 33 "from the ground up, mine" 34 chown, change file owner and group 35 group 35, i own group 35 __________________________________________________________________________ Fp_s p_s Np_s p_s 19 22:44:54 EST 1999 p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s Mzp_s p_s Np_s p_s p_s z p_s zp_s p_s p_s p_s zp_s p_s p_s -p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s _-p_s p_s p_s p_s zp_s p_s p_s .p_s _p_s p_s p_s p_s zp_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s .p_s "PRIMORDIAL SUBSTANCE AHEM" p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s .p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s -p_s p_s - p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s .p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s zp_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s .p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s .p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s Fp_s p_s Np_s p_s 19 22:45:11 EST 1999 p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s zp_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s zp_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s p_s YOUR READING IS MY DISGRACE Fp_s p_s Np_s p_s 19 22:45:57 EST 1999 Fp_s p_s Np_s p_s 19 22:46:00 EST 1999 "T"p_s ___________________________________________________________________________ MoTHERE ARE Fools so DEAD they cannot hear or see? IL DLUOW E LIKE TO SEE ME MoTHEre ! G DEAD MoTHEre I WOULD LIke dEad words IL DLUOW E LIKE TO SEE ME MoTHERE ARE Fools so dead as we? MoTHERE ARE Fools aLIve as we? IL DLUOW dEad words from a dead god ______________________________________________________________ Background / Foreground (I sent this out, in a shorter version, to the Writing & Psychology con- ference on Trace; it's be relevant here as well.) I was thinking of this first a couple of years ago in relation to objects and multimedia channels, and then looking at Miekal And's flash work (which I love) and some of the other URL sites I've posted here - I've been wondering about the relationship among: 1. Multimedia OBJECTS, and their protocols, codings, animations/visuals/ audios, etc.; 2. The framework of the SCREEN or page, which holds the OBJECTS; and 3. The embedding of the SCREEN within the apparatus of the COMPUTER and its input devices (keyboard, mouse, microphone, camera, etc.). It seems to me that emphasis on the first relates to modernism, in the sense that the background is assumed neutral or irrelevant, and that the object itself forecloses on its own interiority; that the second relates to deconstruction, to the extent that the margins and protocols are fore- grounded as much as the embedded objects (all of this is presuming that background is visible and somewhat well-defined); and that the third relates to postmodernism, to the extent that it is also cyborgian, inter- ior and exterior simultaneously. In any case, I'd like to see a phenomeno- logy of this issue (which might be related to, say, Sherry Turkle's or Brenda Laurel's work), somewhere, sometime. It seems to me that emphasiz- ing the domain or tenor of a site instead of its components (which are emphasized especially on those webpages, that, say, ask if you have this or that plugin) is a way of approaching both experiential issues, and issues of virtuality which rely on encompassing the spectator and her or his body, in relation to the coding, the writer, the producer, the artist, the director, etc. One might consider levels of interaction, moving from the user's body and its own foregrounding/backgrounding (see Drew Leder, The Absent Body), through a phenomenology of the lived environment. Change the focus to the "digital apparatus" itself (in the sense of the "cinematic apparatus") - to the increasing diversity of displays. From displays, it is a difficult step to the internal margins of the visual (and are there parallels in sound as well?) - and the introjections/projections associated with images and flash and other multimedia components. (As the case may be, extend this farther to actively responding joysticks, teledildonic apparatus, etc.) I would be interested in the ways that such introjection and pro- jections (what I call "jectivity") operates in internal world-building - where, in other words, is the user, psychologically, in the midst of all of this. We know that one can easily inhabit the reduced audio-visual bandwidth of a MOO or MUD, and even a novel; in multimedia, the singular experience of reading is broken up by mouse-clicks, attention structures across the screen, and so forth. How does this heterogeneity function in terms of worlds? How does one move within these spaces, which can often appear, as the modernist gallery, as an accumulation of objects against presumably "irrelevant" white walls? Does the white background of the screen function as such a wall? Does a background color create a different kind of experience altogether? What is the phenomenology of jectivity in general, across the various sensory modalities? The point of all of this is both practical - knowledge of the psychologi- cal processes that are involved in world-building, from both a design and a user viewpoint - and theoretical - how do we make sense of _any_ world, foregrounding and background what we ascertain, for ourselves, are objects within it? How, in other words, _are worlds inscribed?_ Multimedia pro- vide profound tools for research here; there's always something behind the holodeck, waiting to be fished out. __________________________________________________________________________ Note on forgotten space - Let us talk about the _forgotten space,_ the space between the object and the frame, the space neither of containment nor the intensity of edges. It is this space which shimmers, always present, even if driven to the suicide of the line as the object fills the frame - it is this space which is the true screen, never present, an inexplicable absence, were it to be named. If the dream screen is presumed always to background, this forgotten space is _neither here nor there,_ but virtual, in the sense of the virtual particles of the vacuum. Its presence is its annihilation; it is most likely white or black, perfect absorption, perfection emission. I place this screen certainly the side of the analytic; it is just as like ly to exist as a token for the diffused or exhausted, the turbulent. Nei- ther the matrix out of which the symbolic object arises, nor the symbolic itself - neither the chorus of indecipherable languages nor the chora it- self, the forgotten space is always already named, discarded, the origin of /dev/null to which useless output is ascribed. So to talk about this space is that which is most natural in the world, since it is the space of the object's jostling within or among places, spaces, others. One might say it gives birth to the burden of the proper name, and measurab- le, it is of no size whatsoever. Before you look at the matrix of media, look at the forgotten spaces, which make or break inhabitations - and the more forgotten, the better. _________________________________________________________________________ forgotten space among the objects and the margins of the screen framework or the central division which is forgotten places, not spaces, open elements, line segments somewhat obliterated the spaces seething granular and seething in the distance, a line, smooth, clear, boundary perceptual object = let us say, what the mind tells us the speaking of the mind through the fog of forgotten space across the bay, along the floor of the sea, on the side of the valley nothing wandering inscribes and the trembling of kanji into mist forgotten space surrounding gotten space gotten space triumphant, bounded, areas of languages and protocols what is laying there holding somewhere what is laying there sheets of assertion, unassigned pixels, useless waves of background color pooling of background color, spreading around negative shapings, places just a moment ago, about to me, something, somewhere over there not forgotten space among the margins of the screen, a space, a screen not thinking one into places but looking at people others but not others, people some people they told me about some places, the they saying, anyone saying background inscriptions, spreading around negative propositions places, the perhaps, main() or void, dev/null or some other placings ______________________________________________________________________ \ \________[coupling]________/ {forgotten space} | A coupling is defined as (a,b,c); if a -> a', then (a,b,c) -> (a',b,c) as opposed to a linkage in which if a -> a', then (a,b,c) -> (a',b',c'). In forgotten space, objects are combined as couplings or concatenations without an intrinsic linking. Forgotten space is neither matrix nor con- tainer/chora; it is the of-jostling, nothing more nor less. Think of the spacings of multimedia objects. A coupling in this regard may be considered a generated perceptual group- ing of relatively well-defined objects. An object is defined as a rupture or insertion into forgotten space. An object is also a skein of bits and bytes, ranging from the performative to static files. The former is al- ways triply encoded; the latter, more often than not doubly encoded. Text- ual insertions into forgotten space (i.e. ascii text) activate the space, i.e. it becomes gotten space, the sheet of assertion or subtextual matrix of structure 'holding' the ascii in place. Movement in dhtml across for- gotten space is in relation to the screen or object boundaries; the space itself carries no distinction. Or perhaps the space, like the phallic masquerade itself, assume identi- ties, forgetfulness taking on the characteristics of the current diegetic in relation to the viewer's dialogic - in which case, one might well turn away in disgust, there's no hope for it. Still, I wouldn't call it a space of potential, it's there, forgotten, stillborn in relation to the objects contained - in fact, it's charted, mobilized, for their location in terms of window percentage (30% vertical say) or pixels (400 horizontal say). The charting is for them; they're tracked across the forgotten space. Any landmark is charted as well; there is the forgotten space, and the chart- ing of the landmarks. And there is nothing else, the forgotten space hard- ly nomadic, on the verge of presence, neither shifting nor present. The image is of the gotten space, always of such. Everything is coupled within the image. _________________________________________________________________________ dark tourmalines, in troubled dreams caressing stones dark and bleaker still, I hard engrave cut facets in the thing, the world distressing substance and the same, that words may save our place upon this earth, already quarried - returning tourmalines to surface of our dreams; we walk on facets cut, our stress has worried language lost and torn apart, the broken seams repealed, the words collapsed and drying beams as life turns substance, intricate and born. the tourmalines of dreams murmur, deeper reams of echoed worlds; their languagings are shorn of time to think, inscribe, produce the neck of things bent over, turn the poem a wreck. _________________________________________________________________ {k:161}trap {k:162}ls here is the blank space caution go stop which is given form and {k:163}rm go substance, we call this rm: remove `go'? yes forgotten space - since {k:164}rm caution it becomes gotten, only rm: remove `caution'? yes within the sad palisade {k:165}rm stop of letters erected here rm: remove `stop'? yes lost through potentials {k:166}trap stop go caution of stop go caution talk trap: go: not a signal specification in unknown languagings, trap: caution: not a signal specification such forlorn mournings. {k:167}this is the line where the trap is removed and the mouth is returning to the tremulous holding-forth of such delicate trembles {k:168}open to additions and subtractions, divisions, unifications {k:169}open to cuts and splices, integrations and differentiations {k:170}stop is a signal specification ______________________________________________________________________ Accidental I have seen several violent accidents in my life; today was another, an older woman struck by a car at high speed, bounced about on the hood; the car coming to a fast halt, the woman sliding down the road. I spoke to the driver, directed traffic, others called ambulance, police, and fire department, all of which took far too long to arrive. Thinking the inci- dent through, beyond the obvious warnings about pedestrians and traffic, I realized the following - First, there is a moment when _the anomaly of the accident is simply in- visible_ - I saw a bundle bouncing on the hood, violently, heard odd screams like mourning doves' 'wooo wooo wooo' (I still don't know where these originated) - and I _could not recognize anything._ I was far from thinking _accident._ Once I filmed a ball of fire rolling down a road, not realizing it was a smashed car with three people burning alive in it. I filmed it as an event, an ecstatic meteor, and nothing whatsoever of the content occurred to me. (This is of course based on the assumption that the content is the burning bodies.) In all of these cases, there is a mo- mentary fascination with _reality gone awry,_ as if the comedic had sud- denly come to life out of nowhere. Oddly, my mind has never gone in search of film or television media and their car crashes, real or fictional; the inertness of the real, instead, asserts itself, the mind trying desperate- ly to find a place for the event. Scripts and tags tend to fall apart fast under such circumstances; it takes a mode of circumvention, circumambula- tion, to produce the _accident_ tag that brings everything crashing in or down as the inertia of the world in relation to organism. (See below.) Second, there is a wave of vertigo and nausea (slight or pronounced - when I saw the family lying in pieces in body bags on Flatbush, it was the lat- ter; today, the former), as in 'virtual reality sickness' - things no longer add up, and the accident filters the real into the abject (as the body or bodies have both intrinsic and extrinsic boundaries broken), as if any witnessed violence involved a degree of _veering._ This transforms in- to a general shakiness, trembling; I am still extremely nervous now, a good hour and a half later. Third, there is a _community bound by injury or death, circumscribed by the accident,_ of onlookers, many of whom assume formal and traditional roles of counsel, warning, calling for help. In this case, the driver of the car that struck the woman was most concerned that he be not to blame, and I aided him by walking him over to a bus driver (beginning to leave with his passengers) who saw the whole thing and blamed another vehicle; they exchanged names and information before the bus drove off. I then spoke with another MTA woman who blamed the car driver after all, and had seen the whole thing. I stopped traffic for the police; I counseled the woman, like numerous others, to lie still, I spoke with the driver of the car. Fourth, one may consider the leaving of the bus part and parcel of the ac- cident _vectors,_ all after the fact, which includes the formation of the community of onlookers slowly dispersing, the arrival and departure of ambulance, firetruck, police vehicles, others involved in the regulation and salvation of the city matrix. One might think of these gatherings and releases as the sudden formation of a standing-wave, fed by the external energy of the anomaly, then just as quickly dispersing after the nodes, the bodies and cars, are removed. And the virtual? All indications are that we live generally in the virtu- al, that our perceptions of the real are autonomic at best. It takes a large anomaly to challenge us, illustrate the internal drives that guide us through the day as if we were conscious. The restoration of equilibrium - nausea slowly ending, nervousness subsiding - takes a great deal of time, as, for several hours, one has the distinct feeling that _reality can no longer be trusted._ The mind can't think this way for too long, however, and sooner or later, we're coasting, we're coasting ... __________________________________________________________________________ Equipment The old Sony professional cassette machine mutates with the AIWA DAT rec- order to produce our music. We will record on our two Sony Hi8 camcorders, sleep(1); what we have to say and write. Azures and Alans will appear there and with two Quickcams connected to Compaq laptops and desktops, the latter with print "Are you satisfied with your $name?\\n"; Sony monitor. We will use a 360 degree lens on the Panasonic video cameras at the Exper- imental Television Center, within which Foofwa d'Imobilite chop($answer= ); will capture the spherical glare. Note: Do tell him we have picked up RCA and Sony 3/4" tapes for the Sony 3/4" machines, so there is no need to if ($answer eq "no") {print "You're violated with $a[10+$pre]!- \\n";} purchase more and newer, since these are one-pass. We will take the Casio digital camera and Pentax 35mm camera as well, and will give Mark our NCR if ($answer eq "yes") {print "A $a[10+$pre] and $a[15+$pre] night- mare!\\n";} laptop and possibly get a lens or camera from him. A polished fog filter is extraordinary production. A Psion 3a will be useful for note-taking as print "Your gully mined, burying you and Azure.", "\\n\\n" if 3 < $g; Foofwa imitates the impeccable Nikuko, the beautiful Russian ballet dancer and we can hardly wait to see it. We will use the Paik Wob- bulator to make print "$name $pid is the fate of corpses.", "\\n\\n" if 3==$g; him shake so and we will produce music on Mirage sampler keyboard, shakuhachi, and Fender Cyclone guitar with Marshall amplifier and effects boxes. print "... $a[$non] $name $$ - don't tell me different.", "\\n\\n" if 6==$g; Add-on telephoto and wide-angle lenses will create the percep- tion of closer and farther Azures and Alans in relation to Foofwa d'Imobi- lite print "Your $name $diff flesh is your tomb", "\\n\\n" if 4==$g; dan- cing his heart away, as if judged by Doctor Leopold Konninger, comparing everything and everyone to Nikuko, the beautiful Russian ballet dancer. print "You fucked for $time hours?", "\\n" if 2==$g; New strings are ready for the Fender Cyclone guitar, especially the highest thin string, which breaks so readily under the speedy fingers of the sleep(1); Alans. A Zip drive and cables will provide backup for everything, and even new images of everyone having a good and perfectly artistic time. A Sony print "$name and $$ and $pid - Azure is still alive!", "\\n\\n" if 2==$g; shortwave ra- dio provides International Background! We will bring many texts to read and there will be new things in Alans' brains waiting to sleep(1); come out. Alans will bring three Linux floppy disks for pocket Linux to run on PC desktops and DAT tapes and Hi8 tapes and S-cables and other print "Wait! $name and $pid are fucked.", "\\n\\n" if 1==$g; chords. Alans and Azures will bring their beautiful selves to Nikuko and Doctor Leopold Kon- ninger, Nikuko's last name is Daishin, Daishin Nikuko, FINAL: and Foofwa d'Imobilite will be there in immanent creation of perfect form. __________________________________________________________________________ if truth were told it would insist on words severed, severe, several, with such urgency, nothing of remnants left to speak, bodies supine, eyes sky-stared, several, severe, severed, sky tethered, remnants tethered, with such insistency, urgency, truth would be severed, be severe, be several ________________________________________________________________ a message from the past: a message from the past: P:: for this is the furthermost point of my advance, through and into your time, the time of this mailing, before i return to the tenth century. oh, it has always been assumed that time travel goes from present to past, present to future, and return again, but i am writing to inform you that there are those of us who prefer living in the past, and on occasion venturing to a future already past for those living in the present: this is the safest existence possible, and i am breaking our tradition by informing you, here, and now, of this exigency. for we live safely in a world still populated by numerous plants and animals you have driven to extinction, not to mention numerous ethnic groups which you have violated, eliminated, torn from their native lands, destroyed in every conceivable fashion. our world is still whole, and as long as we move back and forth within it, never venturing beyond, let us say, the date and time of this missive itself, we shall be ensured of permanent domicile, even with the threat of your nuclear war bringing everything to a halt. P:: in the meantime, what is it i wish to say to you? nothing, but a greeting; there is no way to respond, no place of residence within which you may find me. or rather, you might trace one or another life across cities, nations, continents; such a life may or may not cross my own, but at least, if you return to the tenth century, you will be far closer than you are at this very moment. perhaps if i told you my name? it would mean nothing to you of course, although you may call me saki. of course there are many such, and there is no guarantee that this word is properly transliterated, and among us, transliteration is all that exists. so you may think of me as this text, ignoring the consciousness from the past, roaming among lands and centuries, that has produced it. nonetheless, i do call the tenth century my home; i have so many friends there, and the comforting ring of familiarity continues eternally. P:: of course you may, there is always a kindness in that. _________________________________________________________________________ Tale Two [shinto] priests were walking down a steep hill; they met a [budd- hist] monk walking up. "Where are you going?" one of the priests asked. "It is near the end of the world," said the monk, "and I am going to the top of the hill to observe." "Don't you know," said one of the priests, "it is the same everywhere?" "But not to the hill," answered the monk. When I was telling this story, the rabbi [jewish] asked, "But why were there two priests?" "Because, I answered, one of them might have for- gotten the script." The rabbi answered, "But the world is the script." And I replied, "If the world is the script, it is the hill which is writing and the priests who are reading." The rabbi said, "But it is the monk who guides the pen." A [protestant] minister, happening by, gave his ear to the tale. He said, "The hill has given the pen to the tale." I answered, "But it is christ himself who has given the hill, who has as- cended the hill as the holy mount, to preach to one and all." The monk said, "By what authority do you speak? For you seem to be jewish by cul- ture, if not religion, and hardly catholic, to speak of the christ." I answered, "It is my belief that christ is within all of us, that we are all our sons." The monk said, "Thus we repeatedly give birth to ourselves over and over again, generation upon generation," to which one of the priests replied, "Yes, but it is the latter that speaks to the former, since the latter carries the wisdom of the former." The minister said, "It is upon such that the gospel was written." I answered, "It is upon such that everything is written, from the beginning to the end of the word." The rabbi answered, "Thus is the word made world," and the monk said, "And thus the catholic, the word made flesh. For what is the flesh of the word?" One of the priests said, "To be cleansed and purified, for the circumspection of the living." I added, "Thus for the circumspection of the dead," and the monk replied, "From here throughout our ministra- tions." The rabbi said, "For who is to be believed, properly speaking, but the holy script itself?" A nearby jainist answered, "In relation to the fecundity of the earth, to which we should give as little pain as possible." The monk replied, "What is universal has no recourse among the individual." The rabbi agreed, saying, "And who is among the enlight- ened?" I replied, "Those who know the value of this, not that - and that, not this." "Exactly," cried the monk. The minister, perplexed, ended the session by stating that suffering and enlightenment are both in the hands of god, to whom we give thanks. The priests nodded in assent. _________________________________________________________________________ The King and Queen Report on Their Subjects A little something. . . Registration for 5.01 inquiry - HP 110 Laptop Battery Info Needed HP 110 Laptop Battery Info Needed HP110 battery Hi - and various (fwd) Welcome to Netcenter VR to RL: The seeds of their own doom? Hello! hello hello Fw: Call for Papers: The Internet & Sexuality Call for Papers: The Internet & Sexuality athenaeum Michael Current The Promise Moderating on-line conferences Tripwire 4: call for work First call for net-art99 panel + password > First call for net-art99 panel + password writing aloud writing aloud RocketTalk Registration Confirmation (no subject) Hi request sub air-l alan sondheim Virtual Writer-in-Resi- dence at trAce trAce in Wired again changes to this list Call for Papers - trAce International Conference, 10-12 July 2000 number ICA FW: trAce query part 2 trAce query part 2 FW: trAce query part 2 your Lingua project Autru[delu]z[e]ion ++ [Work iN Pro.cess/gress] wanted to subtract wanted to subtract This is beautiful - Welcome to Associated Writing Programs! your Lingua project press Avatar project Need help for a Millennial Project through trAce! Need help for a Millennial Project through trAce! exclamation points your Lingua project Fast Forward and Foofwa =?ISO-8859-1?Q?d=27Imobilit=E9=27s?= Internet Culture and Community course description course Jack Kimball Jack Kimball Jack Kimball Jack Kimball Invitation to Incubation request re scratch conference New MFACA staff collab (s) collab (s) criticasgrist Hi - (fwd) Hi - Question kyoko date FC2 submissions, etc your mail ETC Residency mapping the millennium lifeless beauty ETC Residency ETC Residency Virtual Seminar DON'T DELETE THIS MESSAGE -- FOLDER INTERNAL DATA Thanks and query - RE query - Hi - and various (fwd) Hello Query (fwd) is there any way Internet Course for Bloomfield Internet Course for Bloomfield (ads) Internet Course for Bloomfield Internet Course for Bloomfield Job Inquiry Job Inquiry _________________________________________________________________________ My Teeth in Nikuko's Pirouettes My teeth take your tricks, turn them inside-out. I want to make bridges among beautiful people and everything in the world. I wake up in the middle of the night and *sob* and I think, I think to myself: We have been abandoned. Whatever is said, nothing matters, our words splinter our teeth. Do you want to play cards? No thanks. It's hard to concentrate; I keep thinking about returning. *sob* It's the frozen state of things; think of us as subjects, Nikuko and Doctor Leopold Konninger as objects. They are subjects without objects, and we are subjects with objects elsewhere, fully described, out of touch. As long as Nikuko remains the beautiful Russian ballet dancer, doing amazing pirouettes, one after another, before the obsequious Konninger. He would do anything for her... They were released into phase space; there's nothing we can do; until Nikuko and Konninger decide otherwise, she'll keep rotating. There's not even a question of nourishment or dizziness. She's an operator, garnering degrees of motion. She's wrapping the whole universe around her. She'll pull it in. She'll pull it in like a woven garment, binding her tutu to her fragile body. The universe will stream across the surface of her flesh, tighter and tighter. Only the universe will feel it. The universe will feel nothing, nor will its inhabitants, particles and planets, stars and quasars, galactic clusters... It will be the same as ever. It will be identical to itself. And yet... The universe will be winding and winding as Nikuko pirouettes. Much to the delight of Doctor Leopold Konninger. So we will wait, in dreams of the imaginary, in the imaginary of dreams. We will wait forever and a day, it is all the same to us. *laughing* Because Jennifer has all the time in the world. *sob* And nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. For there's nothing to be done. And no One to do it. I'll say amen to that. I'll say amen to all of us. ______________________________________________________________________ Phase Space Nikuko, the beautiful Russian ballet dancer, pirouetting before the very august presence of Doctor Leopold Konninger, her state of mind: A violations and tears nightmare! You danced for 262255 hours? No no no, it was longer and shorter, No no no, i don't remember and my dissolutions are those moments of re-entry, when i find myself on mother earth father moon, when i find myself dreaming of doctor leopold konninger, my eyes fixed on his solar visage, my dancing perfect and continuous and 1021 and 1047 - Nikuko is still alive! Use of uninitialized value at ./.julu line 130, chunk 8. For 4 months of dissolution, we have been and buried and it has taken us 3.000 minutes to speak our very last ... and my dissolutions are those moments of re-entry, when i find myself on mother earth father moon, when i find myself dreaming of doctor leopold konninger, my eyes fixed on his solar visage, my dancing perfect and continuous; the universe is my traditional object, the universe is my breathing in and breathing out, space is inhabiting me; i am Nikuko the beautiful russian ballet dancer who is winding the universe around her as she pirouettes for doctor leopold konninger; i alone recognize the confused topologies of embedded space-time around my waist and breasts and thighs, my tutu enmeshed in nebulae and stars; oh ballet, o ballet, hanged_man with hours of sexual fury! _________________________________________________________________________ The Monologs As long as Nikuko remains the beautiful Russian ballet dancer, she'll pull it in. Only the universe will feel it. It will be identical to itself. The universe will be winding and winding as Nikuko pirouettes. We will wait forever and a day, it is all the same to us. Nothing at all. No thanks. I'll say amen to all of us. My teeth take your tricks, turn them inside-out. I wake up in the middle of the night and *sob* and I think. It's hard to concentrate. *sob* She's wrapping the whole universe around her. She'll pull it in like a woven garment. The universe will feel nothing. And yet... *sob* nothing to do with it. I do want to thank you for this display of wonder. In the morning, after stars are stretched to the limit. The universe nestled among the folds of organdie. *sob* _______________________________________________________________________