The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth of paraheliotropic trees

bonebrushing the edges of the res interna (upper transcend)

Month: May, 2012

Mirror, Mirror

How long would it take for a man to forget he was a man?

Of course, the first question is never that; the first question is, how did the man become a man in the first place? We can pass over that question for now; we can speculate or build ourselves a little fiction; a square clapboard house, in an unassuming city; an unhappy father who threw a ball around with him a score of times in ten short years, in between the shifts of his disappearing white-collar/blue-collar industrial job — some high-tech factory that closed nevertheless, or maybe some offset printing, or something like that — a mother who loved, but with a shrill shriek in the back of her throat, unexplainable worry creasing her brow that sucked and sucked and sucked out the joy as the world became less safe with every passing year –

The man — who is still a boy — went through all the great adventures that fill those childhood days that last each one a thousand years, had best friends who moved away, got in a fight, kicked a dog, watched a sister be born, and then a brother, limbs growing longer, fell madly and mercilessly in love with a girl with auburn hair as the first stirrings of a new type of wiring went coursing through his transforming frame –

Legs grow longer. Arms grow stronger. Voice gets deeper. The man appears, the face of the man appears, unheeded, unbidden, as if from the forehead of an unknown architect –

The man has been told he was a man through every interaction of his every moment. He cannot remember where he came from, or when his presence first made itself known – his earliest memories are just flashes and those flashes are not beginnings, but fragments of what had been a continuous experience, eternal & always existing —

To himself, he feels infinite. Circumscribed, perhaps, but total.

And everything else — a dwelling place he appears within, with beds, and tables, and chairs, and sinks, and faucets, and bathtubs, all shaped perfectly to fit his frame, appearing as if willed, as if it was responding to what he was, Man, Man — (it would be only much later that he would begin to think  about who built these frames for his frame, and what that building meant) —

And beyond the dwelling, whole cities, all sprung up to serve and respond to what he was — Man.

Man, triumphant, majestic, master of the inner and the master of the outer, all the worlds and all the heavens bowing before his perfect eternal being –

He thinks this not consciously but unconsciously, seeing the world as created in his Image, and just for him;

So then. A man.

How long would it take, to take that all way?

To drive him beyond the [unsurprisingly close] limits of his settlements, where the world has been reshaped to answer to his every unspoken and unthought desire –

Out in the world unmade, where he learns that he is the thing that was made, and he must adapt himself to the world; what would he lose first? The shaving, and the bathing, and the strange hygiene rituals practiced by citydwellers; the speech; memories?

As his solitude continued, as he lost his sense of distinctiveness, his sense of the difference between himself as Man and all other Men, all the things he had and all the things he was would be left behind; his speech would falter and fade; even inner language, the Man speaking to himself, would cease, and the Inner would be as quiet and still as the Outer.

The subject resolves. He is gone. A him still exists. Linguistically, it is a collection of subjectless verbs. There is no actor, only action. The need appears, and the action occurs. There is no direction by him, no understanding.

Feeding by foraging. A kill by anticipating how a thing will move. Drinking water from the rain, and moss, and streams. Walking. Sitting. Sleeping and waking. Shaded under trees. In the water’s reflection, the sight of a form that was his. Memory intrudes. Goes just as quickly.

Tall. Standing above a vista. Sight intrudes, the long view, the lay of the land. Not understanding, but like understanding. Sight. Sight without reflection.

Five senses. Unbidden. Uncontrolled.

Water again. Form again. Self again. Memories. Sounds. Sounds structured in a certain way that seems to call forth more memories. Seems to call forth thoughts.

Mirror, mirror. Who is. Mirror. Fairest.

Unbidden, it is now. Again, now. Again, now. Form in the water. It moves with him. Now. Now. Now.


Eternity Syndrome

Man who comes down with a disease, that makes him think that all times are always now, and its sort of like amnesia, though he has some sense of memories, and as his life passes, it feels like time is not passing, that he is still always right now, even as his life gets filled with new people, people whose presense summons this this strange feeling he can only call love, yes, only call love, even as their faces take on new shapes, longer, and these small humans he loves and is responsible for, they become slightly larger humans, and they go out and leave his house and go have adventures of their own, wonderful, strange, sometimes sad, and sometimes scary, scarier and scarier, because when he looks out his window, it often looks like the world is getting scarier, a little darker, and it seems that the world is slipping out of control – whose control, he thinks he should ask himself sometimes – even as this timelessness disease continues, he is still just himself, always himself – and the woman beside him, the presnt and constant beauty a present and constant consolation for the strangeness he feels when he reflects on his disease — the strangeness he feels when he reflects on his disease – 

notes from 2009

Notes from Phone Aug 28

Sun Jun 14 1101am
In the shower. wondering how it’d be different if i were a girl. soft brasts, secret hidden place,, not all hanging out and hairy, my body-self would be an obsessive fetish-object of whole society. strange to walk around like that.

Sun Jun 14 2:17 PM
In the Ernesto Neto exhibit. Art or playground? A couple guards, girls, telling the children not to run. Children love it. Adults intrigued but wary. Why the difference? Are they worried they’re not getting it? Still, enjoyed – acting within the architecture, soft spongy and organic and large.

Note: Adults hate to feel stupid. Everyone hates to feel stupid? How do people respond when made to feel stupid?

Sun Jun 15 4:27 PM
Keep on walking now yes I will keep on talking loud yes I will – lyric

Sun June 14 7:41
Life is short and getting shorter

Tues Jun 16 10:00am
Chewing gum. Late to work. On the subway now. Five minutes to ten. Need coffee. Headache starting to form. Mother across from me almost fell. Young daughter tourist 18 in black shirt breasts and chuck taylors. mom’s wearing them too. woman comes on reading something borrowed. want to meet liz bennet

Tues Jun 16 10:03am
Passing the open subway stop, wood panels hiding ground zero. peoplemover trip through the guts of space mountain with the lights turned on.

Tuesday Jun 16 208pm
Ontological implications of superstrings

Tuesday june 16 210pm
I am an unauthorized vehicle towed awy at the owner’s expense. also violating the dotls no standing sign.

tue jun 16 719pm
drinks with mom at stouts. had a jameson and a guiness and sliders. gave my sandwich to a homeless person. talking about schools, iran, nina. vented. mac & cheese. ice cream and cobbler. hate citizens in china. sarah. got my bag and rawls. walker her to the train station.

wed jun 17 1003am
Colonial America MMORPG – with digital reconstructions of New Amsterdam – get a grant from education, tech and history orgs.

wed jun 17 839pm
one begins to suspect that Father Daedalus might have had something to do with the melting of his son’s wings.

NOTE: Oh? What happened to Icarus? Uh … he flew to close to the sun.

thu jun 18 756pm
Sometimes i catch myself ask where i am (when i am) and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

thu jun 18 909pm
Give half a pull to the oxman, gov’ner

thu jun 18 1121pm
Art/Life is Action/Motion/Expression subject to Constraints.

fri jun 19 203am

Man made out of marbles is struck by a shooter and collapses into constituent parts. He stumbles around trying to put himself back together, but the marbles keep slipping away. Depression as lack of Platonic order and harmoy, lack of discipline over self & life.

Fri jun 19 1043am
Law and econ argue that it is better/+efficient to redistribute through tax and transfer then altering rights through legal rules. but that’s what law is _ the altering creation of rights

Fri Jun 19 649p,
Ulysses – the sacred marriage interrupted by the shade of sin & death – reunion back into life – the spirit being reconciled with the world and mother – back to the strange life and blood magic of women – it cannot be stopped – time moving quicker now – events are accelerating – the static v dynamic

Fri Jun 19 908pm
Happy birthday to you

Sat Jun 20 401pm
One of a kinda. those who wish to sing will always find a song.

Mon jun 22 745pm
Madwoman in the attic Or how women are always being left out or ignored or partially marginalized or walk around w fem mystique hovering above them or how presence or pheremones drive men mad and piggish – circe

mon jun 22 800pm

wed jun 24 859pm
Letters. The memory hole – euphemism for holocaust. Call it an oubliette. Time keeps on slipping into the future. The conquest of the future over the fast (sic). The infinite game where the purpose is to continue playing, to transcend limits – to be and not to seem. Don’t be a universal robot.

thu jun 25 909pm
Walking past an accordion player, hippie, in Washington Square Park – catchy, and I pick up his tune and sing it – who will I pass it along to?

Sun jun 28 1229am
New york. this city is exhausting everything done its energy passing elsewhere supersaturated held in careful suspension – only hope is weeds through the sidewalk crack

Note: Williamsburg is/was the weeds through the sidewalk crack — even that now is mature, but mature in a young way, not an old way. NOTHING WRONG WITH MATURITY.

Note 2: Typo happy accident. Difference between Noting and Nothing. Some literary theory thing in there, surely Shirley.

Note 3: Band Name. My Brother Was An Accident And He Didn’t Know Till Now.

Mon Jun 29 427pm
Every moment had become pregnant with finality and narrative energeia. every step took her closer to the poiunt where she’d be gone. the meal was horrible. i put milk and sugar in my coffee. I realized i was about to reenact the end of the night of our first meeting, headed out on opposite sides of a

A subway track. I resolved not to follow the narrative’s path. If it was going to end, it would at least end differently, as more than negative parody or ironic reenactment. i rode with her on the subway and on the shuttle to grand central. i waited for her outside the bathroom and then walked her

to her train. it was too much. i could go no further. she stepped back with me, and I hugged her tight and told her this wasn’t the end, that we would help each other through this, that I wanted a soft landing. I told her —

Mon Jun 29 542pm
Idea for scifi story: music producer and ai, can ai appreciate art and music?

Wed Jul 1 307pm
Idea for a 1000 word post abt younger dude then me in a suit some sort of financial sales job dresses well light brown shoes blue shirt green tie w diag blue stripes phone call ‘i’ll let you go; crisis averted’ two come, less smart, attentive eyes, commands attention dad is getting tests girlfriend italian w wasp

wed jul 1 315pm
Annotation: schema + lovecraft horror

sat jul 4 1047pm
A scene w fireworks juxt w historical moment and all others

Tues jul 7 922am?
Homeless man holding a sonogram and sign that says will work for food

Tues jul 7 1021pm
The issue is the holy moment which is always getting lost but if as it happens you can hold onto it and think back on it later maybe that’s enough

Note: Theme for a book? Resolution? What satisfaction can you have tonight?

wed jul 8 1239pm
What former selves lie sleeping with me waiting for some half remembered sight or sound or smell or touch or taste or thought to wake them?

Note: Was I talking about Ashley? Not only, but somewhat?

wed jul 8 1255pm
Does the green living core reach to the dead layers?

Thu jul 9 1156pm
Dance the rain Jeremiah

fri jul 10 1212am
you have her but can you keep her

fri jul 10 1215am
And the back of his shirt read boy man god Shit

fri jul 10 1240am
The tricky super dance of the electron

fri jul 10 144am
you’re not a very good dancer who told you i was dancing

Sat jul 11 316pm
Heisenberg uncertainty act and accept the change

mon jul 13 738pm
Lovesongs to shoot-up to

mon jul 13 744pm
Things that are cool and ironic: John Deere, Wilco, Yo La Tengo, guitar feedback, Coney Island, Ray-Ban Wayfarers, crayons, kindergarden, circle time, weather charts, Spanish lotharios, Brooklyn lager, tshirts from community colleges, Fender Jazzmasters

Mon jul 13 754pm
The Hipster at Work / Work and the World

Mon jul 13 842pm
Hundreds of triumphs, twice as many regrets, thirty thousand memories, twenty thousand thoughts, and ten thousand days.

mon jul 13 936pm
I’m walking down 6th avenue and look up and see two beams of light piercing the night clouds, and think about September 11 and remember when I was reminded that the world was broken – as I write this in July 2009 I know that one day the ruins will be rebuilt and maybe the lights will stop shining but even then the world will remain so so broken and it will be up to me me alone to fix it.

mon jul 13 1015pm
I have a dream that one day having forgotten war the US army is a highly selective orchestra of guitars, drums, and horns that tour the world and embarrass other countries with our virtuosic play. 

mon jul 13 1023pm
I am in California, drunk on Napa wine, tongueing poems to your womb and kissing you to the chorus of your joy and the stars of Orion revolve around this lonely bit of earth and revolve around our lovemaking and time is fleeting time is short but the song continues

mon jul 13 1119pm
Wet soft warm lush folds of secret hiding opening unfolding place humming pressing wet against me against my urgent irrational love desire I press my mouth and then my center firm and ready pushing gliding across you into you blood and feeling secret maddening touch my all & yours 

mon jul 13 1136pm
I am the memory the echo of vietnam after the flood receded was the newborn spring the calm

thu jul 16 816pm
The story of this mediocre intelligence – slow to read – who nevertheless is very curious and constantly struggles w not being smart enough can’t get through school or keep a job, is poor, no genius, but nevertheless finds wisdom, enlightenment, and peace. 

fri jul 17 719pm
State = infected pigmother

Sat jul 18 241pm
Listening to myself talk as I talk is difficult – a strange doubling that both distracts me from the next thing I will say and then causes me to assess what I just said

Abide awhile yet


The Long Night and the Relativity of Time & the Sickening Insomniac of Proust and the Nightingale and the Morninggale and the Lark – it is not the Lark, it is the Nightingale — parting is such sweet sorrow – IF WE COULD SPIN OUR ROOM BUT FASTER THIS NIGHT WOULD SLOW AND ALLOW US TO ABIDE AWHILE LONGER AND DELAY THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN 

whence that construction? Unknown. One finds it almost in Shelley, but not

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", August 11, 1832.
There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts.]

'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;
My hand is on thy brow,
My spirit on thy brain;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;
And from my fingers flow                                             _5
The powers of life, and like a sign,
Seal thee from thine hour of woe;
And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.

'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not;                                   _10
But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine                                   _15
Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's--my heart bleeds
For thine.

'Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of
The dead and the unborn                                              _20
Forget thy life and love;
Forget that thou must wake forever;
Forget the world's dull scorn;
Forget lost health, and the divine
Feelings which died in youth's brief morn;                           _25
And forget me, for I can never
Be thine.

'Like a cloud big with a May shower,
My soul weeps healing rain
On thee, thou withered flower!                                       _30
It breathes mute music on thy sleep
Its odour calms thy brain!
Its light within thy gloomy breast
Spreads like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep                                     _35

'The spell is done. How feel you now?'
'Better--Quite well,' replied
The sleeper.--'What would do                                         _39
You good when suffering and awake?
What cure your head and side?--'
'What would cure, that would kill me, Jane:
And as I must on earth abide
Awhile, yet tempt me not to break
My chain.'

Thus the unfact…

Thus the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude, the evidencegivers by legpoll too untrustworthily irreperible…

— James Joyce, Finnegans Wake