---- (this is strata-style, everything has taken on strata-style, I did not mean to...)
so layer 1/the not-yet but will-be-written, 2/the written, 3/revision(re-see as RD says) 4/the editor-dude 5/the reader ( 4.5/ nightmare of formatting on idiot computers ) - the reader seems to have a choice how many layers they are willing to expend here ...
/ later, translation layers -- /
translation has its own layering system, uncountable. Again, it is what a reader or whatever they are, and their effort, are willing to expend.
Now the virus translation layer has concept of parasite. This is already present in language itself. In translation it becomes a question of how parasitical should it be, and which language (original, or the translated-into) is main concern (may depend on original text, the whim/will of translator/ the patience or something like that of eventual hopefully reader, of the translation. How far are you willing to go, is always a back-of-mind question.
I almost am frightening myself in a weird textual manner.
Note, if you care, in this text about large viruses, how the text seems to fit its format, i.e, online -- example "host-range" -- now this is likely a typical term to use in virology, but look how it alters itself somewhat, it is "hosted" online, we think of wi-fi and such -- this is unintentional, hence the virus is present, with its unusual vocabulary and such that we, inexperts in virology can nevertheless translate into terms that make sense to us, via this format. A magazine format would be something else. But still the virulent terms are what are prominent. Something like an invasion, which is also an infection, is happening. Welcome to language.
Welcome, one language says to another. There is a mediator between. How they manage depends on value-systems without both languages (they are for now, let's suppose, innocent)/ they pin the mediator/ It was anyway the dreamed-of occupation to do this, but on further investigation, things beyond the two languages, to be welcomed to each other (into each other) are found, lurking. I am the prey of that without language, that seeks some intercourse between the languages neither of which it is privy to, but somewhere in the mix is found what it is looking for. Profit, I think. Not money, it may be profit by degradation of the two languages, and I have participated in this unwittingly. So I shall be on my guard. But against what. I am not sure what game is being played here. I merely wanted to make a bit of one language function in another. I am thinking something is sneaking through this intercourse, which is also full of gaps. I am a participant in a contamination/infection/infiltration. Space Invaders.
That is how I feel when at most unease.// Texts need not be read. Language need not be understood. It is trade mechanism gone dumb and viral and acting with instinct. Intent?
Figure this out at least. Intent.
To consolidate some already won domain. To keep enemies out. To keep the viral alive, alert, intact, awaiting next host. Next host text/ language. And without motivation, mere continuation.
Sometimes that is what I think of "my generation" of writer people/ Without motivation, mere continuation. I hope I am not like that (my "publishing history" ha ha should prove this) ("sparse") -- I have moved the argument, if that is what it was, quite avidly, outrageously, even. Either I am infected, or all of you are, and see my argument that way. To argue, I see myself my argument that way, hence I am not infected?
Shall I stop knowing nothing or proceed further?
Go back a bit / virus&translation. Take it from the top, i.e. a topological examination of this process. Let us try. Let's Pretend (old UK children's tv show):
Two sides 1/ extant poem 2/ a phantom (2) the result of translation that will be the new poem/ The in-between is well, me, hello; (2) has not yet happened yet, we are still working on it. It may take some time. 1/ exists. May be recent, may be old. Only as old as the language can be. While negotiating between, do I feel other things? Cultural events both recent and past may have a phantom presence alongside me. This usually depends on what 1/ is "saying" involved with/ then the question, how to turn that to (2) so readable by the public who read the (2) but not the one. So cultures impact, if I let them, the result (2) 2/
If it gets tricky I wonder and lament: why am I doing this. I am not getting paid much, if at all, &c . . . yet I go on. In the end you simply want 1/ to become 2/
There is an inbetween/ the black box. I believe this is a thing in mathematics, no not merely mathematics, philosophy, &c, "thought experiments" (maybe a translation is a "thought-experiment" done and dusted / become physical / has passed through the black box. It looks very odd now, utter new form) it is an image on this blog (maybe not if you are viewing via "smart" phone) /Perhaps I become the black box when translating/ I feel I may know a little more than the outside viewer, they see only a black box, I see at least the beginning and end of threads that are each attached to the original to-be-translated, and the translated-result. process in between I am not sure I know of. One language so separate from another cannot be bridged by mere knowledge and/or logic. I let it be an absence or something of a dream-phase.
That is the best I can do, I think.
Now consider what has happened. A text has been violated. A reassembly has appeared with all processes of reassembly absent. Something has gone missing. Or was never there. You will never know, me neither. It is an infection process.
On a tangent consider the whole of writing, I have now written on my rented wall: translation = co-morbity (not on the wall: but reading what is written is similar perhaps) (return to wall:) writing, and translation of, as a sustained death-vector.
so there, done and dumbest ////
the strata over-thought re: translation all things considered and gone, over-long, then prolonged even . . .
the necessary la chute final The fall post ~post-The Fall / maybe part 1 of ?
I don't want to write this.
I first heard the fall when encouraged by bohemian girls in sixth form college (that is not a band name but maybe should be) -- I randomly picked, or picked the cheapest, from L'pool HMV "shift work" -- it didn't "work" for me at that point, now it is marvelous of course ("I thought shift-work would work/ &c") (all this subtle humour now to ruminate on forever until I die) (and the humour has become more evident, somehow, post this event)
Maybe I should not say anything. (I was looking for noise and free jazz, japanese psych/noise. the dead.c &c)(& was biased against "electronics" - tut-tut I tell myself now -- this was ridiculous years ago, I am not going to figure out the maths right now, 20+ years?)
Then I got "seminal live" and "the infotainment scam" (see all the wonderful album titles!) (plethora)
But it wasn't until someone gave me a mix-tape that I took with me as an exchange student to japan (thankyou Phil. W) has bits of slates/ part of america therein/ then perverted by language/ and my friend B W also got it, then, or had got it before, and we seemed together to reach further understandings: "I live with cancer death-wipe" / or something / The Fall lyrics/ The Fall -Words- always seem to be certainly this "or something" approximating.
so maybe MES was more an actual "writer" that is what I may have come to understand more clearly over this past week. A writer ensconced in song. William Blake et al //
The lyrics have taken over the household/married life (wife is sensible enough to know The Fall are ace! "all here is ace!" &c) Whenever the word "music" pops up, is immediately followed by "cassettes" . . .
I shalln't write much more. Favourite song. album/ that is all in the shifting cloud / / /
I wanted to say how wonderful at times it felt knowing you were a The Fall fan. One gig, I was so excited, I smuggled red wine into the "magnet" (now maybe gone, I don't know, this was long ago-ish) and we accumulated and drank surreptitiously, then the liverpool student union I think it was. I vomited everywhere, and this vomit, is noted, in the unofficial fall fan gigography page, I am stupidly proud to note. I managed to recover before the gruppe stared (unnuterable-era) and a lovely older fall fan took me and now-wife to front-stage and we reveled there -- this was pure kindness emanating somehow, rare to experience.
And the doorman/bouncer was so kind to me, I apologised very sincerely (about the vomit, keep up dear reader), he was the nicest doorman/bouncer I have ever encountered (usually they grab you by the throat)
I just wanted to write this "in time" "time gentle-folk please" "will you be finishing your drinks now please" / post-Last Orders
I am very far away but the hurt is bodily, mentally, also revelatory. Some sort of weird half-fun. I wanted to write this while those feelings were still current. Thank you, and good night.
^-------------------------------------
birthday song byebye time
「誕生日の歌」
最愛、
決して見えない側があるのに
他の側
けど最愛、
あるのが分かる、右に
今そこに指さしている
同時に、あなたの香りで
僕を田舎に運ぶ
とか・・・
今日は・・・
あなたの誕生日?
飛ばせるような、見て
葉が茂った螺旋形に座っている ・ 炎
張石
貯えている砂礫
揺れてる
あなたのように、痛みなくして道をよく探している、
と夢であなたに躓く
ひざぶつける、あなた消失しながら、
僕は行き詰まっているのに
あなたのいる部屋の隣で一緒に、いつも。
--------------------------------------
song にリンク方がいいな〜〜 ごめん： https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VUnbPG8i3A
reading Robin Blaser's Image-Nation 19 (the wand ] probable awry #1 attempt at something that will expand
inspired by wife-woman tumbling this: http://miotropolis.tumblr.com/post/134660503159/die-wand-jaime-le-livre-sappelle-die-wand
and my twittering on it here: https://twitter.com/LmthwL/status/673679216299212802
and you may as well read the poem itself, though if you can't, is it not online (i'm not typing the whole thing out) perhaps I can find a reading of it.
I can't find but here are all sorts: http://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/Blaser.php I love his lectures, and his late poems, such as this Image-Nation, have the feel of a good lecture, or what I imagine one to be, the bringing together disparate thoughts, finding connections, causing a sort of iridescence of inspiration. A stilled fervour, such as is found in writing.
I note now what I noted in twitter, "(the wand" quotes Michel Serres, with no reference, but again quotes, as though directly, the same passage in image-nation 25. I have nothing to say about this currently.
Let me turn to the fact there was a strip of some card with notes on I had made, marking image-nation 19, yet the notes must correspond to something else.
nevertheless I will transcribe the notes:
114/127 (no idea what this corresponds to)
memory kiss (aww)
- party tricks
water ice
gills
belly button__ (still no idea what this corresponds to)
doesn't hate hold
most water? - spice too? / (no idea sorry)
period of amplification
of every sound
magnification of
every sight -- (I had crossed out "space", replaced with "sight") (probable LB8 WIP notes)
^^
well: here's a photograph:
 |
| is also "human viewpoint redundant" sideways, and the other sideways, I think partly kanji scrawl of indian district of tokyo, for getting good food etc, I must have seen on the tv, and upside down "let's not remind us, so far along the way--" which probably corresponds to LB5 WIP |
but to the poem, the 19th Image-Nation (the wand . . . how many Image-Nations were there eventually? was 25 (Exody the last? -- in any case 19 and 25 almost start the same, as noted above. Who is Michel Serres? I know the name but otherwise I must look up, let us do so now: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michel_Serres it seems he has not been translated much.
the quote from both image-nations: Nothing distinguishes me ontologically from a crystal, a plant, an animal, or the order of the world "simply/ and" Blaser interposes here in I-M 19, but 25 has the whole quote, in italics, as such: it follows from above then: ; we are drifting together towards the noise and the black depths of the universe
Then Blaser writes (I love this bit) celebrate the/ sudden hang-up of our visibility,/ . . . (a little later):
. . . careless unwrapped
(ducis) the solar origin drifts
in the same boat
--- ducis appears to be latin for leader.duke -- referring to the solar origin as true "leader" the drift of the solar system is what "leads" us / gravity/ and meanwhile on earth we deal with our "hang-ups" / throughout this poem and the book "Pell Mell" itself the variance in language from casual to the formal is vivid and quick -- a discourse indeed. and the imagery is also pell mell. So requires little explanation from me. Read it yourself. The thought (his ((poet's)) thought is allowed to be a little more "pell mell" than usual, he is loosening. Is it due to the period in which it was written? Which was? 1981-1988, time of great change a culture (the 80s) somehow forcefully pushed at you (my (de-)formative years by-the-by)
There is an earlier poem where he talks of death as a black disk/ hold on/ I can't find it.
I can never find quotes when I look for them. Later, in fact poem, Great Companions, Robert Duncan: "a bright and terrible disk"/
wow. looking back at "the moth" poems, which I never quite understood, I am seeing fortelling this should be obvious though...
I can't be coherent but neither necessarily are these poems. I will fuse a few things together.
the leap (again of language, high/low, we are whittling down the distinctions)
the wand:
...
there we have headed for frying pans
...
Later, in Pell Mell:
poem titled: "hard gemlike flame"
I've always liked the idea of the mind as a
frying pan
What's in it is neither true nor false
like he went through picking bits of the poetries and expanding on them pell mell, maybe he went back and forth, maybe he swoop-swiped!
I follow the example. Who expects things to cohere these days anyhow?
illogical-most-likely speculation on language / island language
I was being silly as usual, no, I was reading something, an ezra pound letter, he wrote, as is his wont "langwidge"
--
I have been thinking about language a lot for some reason . . .
the "lang" must be some romance-language derived thing from tongue, perhaps? Like the etymology of the chinese character for darkness 闇、it is not 音 (sound) in there, that enclosed space 門, but in fact a wildly transformed "tongue", which I can't write as it no longer exists (the character I mean) -- (think of a slightly bulbous elongated thing, with a horizontal line or two, within.
So darkness = a voice in enclosed space. "A voice comes to one in the dark" Company, Mr Beckett.
--
Anyway, if 国語 (language) -- (国 = nation, country/ enclosure with kingdom, ruler, &c) -- this reminds me of "land" "landuage" -- (I doodled some coinages from this on twitter earlier) (this here is to explain that there) LAND, and how languages develop on this or other land.
And if there a 島語 (island language) ?
Which reminds me of Pound, "...Homer, blind . . . but with an ear for the sea-surge . . ." (from an early((?)) Canto)
So does language of an island nation evolve differently, from listening to the sea-surge, say, that surrounds, the seashore, the sea that is in early days impassible, encircling, an isolating "zone"? -later to become start of trade-routes and languages mix/trade.
Is there something constant in the grammar of Island languages, a trace of which can be found? I wonder. I am not a linguist. So do not know.
-
End of pointless speculation for now, it was merely a short train of thought . . .
(nice now and then to embark on such)
門語?
what about the languages of countries "hemmed in"?
.
.
.
That will do for now.
just occurred to me: folorn thoughts on forlorn sundays gone on an actual sunday, 20th August, &c
---
Never keen on sundays. Meant visit to grandparents: over-heated room, the races, brief glimpses of breasts in grandfather's "daily star") a newspaper), perpetual horse-race/snooker on black&white tv, followed by "songs of praise"(grandmother's turn)(and she rock back&forth moaning for jesus--perpetual pain, arthritis)
And that was just noon.
Then my mother's car would not start(once grandmother prayed in passenger seat for engine to work) then pointless foray into deadzone enclosed plateau d.i.y shop.
.
.
.
Yet I look back on all this fondly somehow.
A sort of realism that was not brutal was happening then, in little unspoken bits & pieces.
The uncanny moves in shortly after……
.
.
--
.
One day, I'll find a Sunday to be happy to be "in" //
---
I wonder if my grandfather ever saw snooker balls in actual colour? Or did he play when younger at the working men's clubs? If in some post-life he finally sees snooker balls in colour, will he recognise them as such? Or as some divine supposition?
Colour snooker balls as evidence of creationism, I am sure someone can work out a theory of that.
---
grimoire: things seen.noted during sleep paralysis/night&day+night terror *
In order of occurrence:
I was ill when 19/20, this is when night terror began, as distinct from infant period fever dream nightmare stuff. (that is supposed to be some fragmented memory of your last bardo -- gee I am surprised I reincarnated as human then, or maybe I was a very bad daemon before, oh well)(or, bardo when remembered as incarnate thing in samsara has horror in any case)
But Sleep Paralysis 1st//___ ill, prone in bed many days nights unmoving.Drifting in and out if robust dreams containing ultra-theories on reality while staring the clouds pass at day. At night something would appear at the door way (shadow person), then approach. Usually I would scream though not know it and my mother would wake me up (I was living with my mother back then) (1999?) -- progress to weight on body, unable to move or scream &c (the old crone I think it is known as)
then,
Sleep Paralysis 2nd//___ a new stage is reached, involving bodily pain. Head(in dream) out virtual (dreamt) car window every mailbox as shown in american films of a certain era (70s?) (these things are not in england where I was). interminably this went on, my head being hit at velocity. I have no explanation for this, and only one time occurrence. No actual head injury paralysis-sleept-dreamt nor otherwise (this apparent reality outside sleep where my head is) (generally speaking)
3rd//___ the entire world seemed to hinge on me, or I was the hinge, physically speaking, so that everything fell on me, starting with the neighbours back gardens. Crushed. If the world was a book angrily slammed shut I was the bug squashed in the fold. Or maybe I survived.
1/,2/,3/ were most physical experiences. Accompanied by night terror which seems to arise you are paralysed and the world is slamming, bashing, crushing you.
--
Later, it merely became a sense of fear at night with no detail as such. Some void-like snook-in terror. In the room with you.
This is at night.
When I was 8ish a friend said if he was frightened at night he would imagine witches approaching his bed and pull the blanket completely over his head, as he trusted the blanket to protect him from the witches. This doesn't compute. I would be more fightened, having conjured up some witches in my room. He was made of sterner stuff than me, I guess, Tamim El Ahbed.
--
I generally sleep with a night light on, despite being 38 now, and there is a wife to lie besides. Naturally a sword lies between us, so we remain chaste. Or am I behind the times?
Night terror, complete.
Moving on, there is a sort of daytime sleep-paralysis terror also. For balance or something??
It is bearable though. Goes something like this:
A lengthy legged spider on walls. Seems to retreat as you watch it.
An unidentifiable lint-full muss slowly moves, though if you measure its trajectory of apparent movement, it never reaches anywhere and is in fact not moving. Yet it moves.
A life-form utterly unknown appears to weave itself amonth itself while near the centre of ceiling above you unmoving head. Like if a living thing wove itself into its being. Dissipates like a shadow.
If head is near some hung clothing, say a cardigan, the sleeves are normal then perfectly circular then normal then transmute to circular normal square right in front of your (we will assume) open eyes.
None of these provoke much terror. The paralysis is there but not the terror. Or I have become used to it. Sometimes the floor seems to vibrate, but that is probably earthquake recollections, or, um, an actual earthquake.
--
I have not attempted to explain this phenomena.
The spidery shadow things I think have been explained by SCIENCE. Just you wake up and have to re-familiarise yourself with the typical shadows of your bedding zone.
--
I have reached the end of this grimoire. Please excuse me.
--
Now as of 11th of 7th month (I think that's July, I'm getting better), the year 2017, I add to the grimoire (it should be called a bestiary or something but never mind):
2 new entities encountered during daytime sleep paralysis with attendant Terror.
They both had complex functions involving discombobulation/disintegration of self, and re-combining, or resolving into something new to be reborn. The beginning-to midway of bardo = (1)
The preparation for exiting (a sort of coaxing was involved) = (2)
Both were feminine roughly in appearance and somehow behaviour, although sometimes acted more like machines. The locale itself was of importance: a mall, or perhaps interior of one of those cruiseships you see on TV, people spend good money to act like a vast pack of basking seals with 30,000+ of their kind. I think that local induces a flabbiness in everyone.
At first abundant with food, entertainment &c, an atmosphere of frivolity, things soon began to run out, fall apart, cease functioning. Also, a dankness grew in the air, perhaps a slightly dark sheen of something almost solid would pass through at regular intervals.
(1)+(2) would intervene at certain points, inducing sleep paralysis in reality, terror in the dream plus terror in the bardo I suppose plus the half-awake terror of (this time) day-terror.
(1) would rebuke any longing for things that were passing away in the mall-like zone. Dead fish eyes.
(2) later offers to coax, as I have said, offering hands out, to come with her, but perhaps it was too soon, & there was still too much terror. . .
-- more maybe later. I may try to visualise them.
That was a populated bardo, which may be odd, but people would go missing suddenly, or end up unmoving, or as part of the surroundings, un-peopled.
I went to Harajuku, it was very slippy . . . + 1st hypothesis towards cute-theory explanation step#1 more to follow
I want to fill in an: un-sibling reversal-Application-Form, so I can have a sister ← this sentence only here because part of sentence is from 5th novella WIP and there was a temporary saving problem so I put it here / / / please ignore / / / ________________________
In Harajuku (nice station building by the way) are crepes and schoolgirls. I think the crepes are mainly only sweet crepes. I have had only a savoury crepe en france.
Why did I go to Harajuku. To enter a room that was a dream, a room I wanted to sit in for several hours if not dwell in, in order to absorb all the room contained. This room → http://ameblo.jp/strawberryand/image-12283787988-13960852895.html
By the way, is there some way of becoming a girl, like by filling in an application form?
___ No there is not ___ / / / ignore this too why not / / /
Harajuku has slippy floors/surfaces everywhere, I don't know, probably because it was raining or maybe just the surfaces have become naturally slippy after years of crepes and schoolgirls (this is almost pre-bubble culture I think) -- I am surprised there is even any ground left to stand/slip/stride on. . . / stumble /
There is a The Fall song of recent years called "Slippy Floor"
Assume Harajuku is not always slippy. That is an assumption, but one I am willing to, um, assert.
Anyway, the dream room. A real room. The room is still likely present, but what made it a dream has likely been packed away. It was an exhibition. I showed it you above ↑ follow the link?
Now to explain somehow coherently my theory of what seems to be an all-girl culture encompassing art, music, fashion &c.
March 11th 2011 was moment of instigation, I think. That is my theory. I have to now explain why.
explanation step 1 (occurs unconsciously):
after trauma, a drive to preserve what is cute, that eases trauma, and is memorial-like for those who died/ vanished (particularly the cute ones) -- NO, it is not that simple -- to preserve the particularly cute means to protect what is vulnerable, un-traumatised. This is most evident in cute things, therefore / / / consider "macho-ism" -- this is typically a male way to act, unconsciously knowing their vulnerable nature (all is soft) and attempting to disguise this in various "macho" ways.
- - - better to accept cuteness - - -
are you following me so far? Y/N __ (fill in in imagination, that is, we presume, in your head, somewhere)(tick or something, or cross out the negative. I won't know anyhow)
macho: the deliberate swagger walk. It may be required on deck at ships at rough seas. Otherways, no, a defense mechanism. Such a visual defense mechanism shows a recognition in the swaggerer of their vulnerabilities. Softness.
We are always soft things at the cusp of non-existence, why pretend otherwise?
---
I will proceed to step two slowly in another blogpost, the floor is slippy etc./ I will include music videos and EVIDENCE to make my point. It will be an inarguable point.
--
proceed, now, as you were. As for me, I desperately need to urinate.
something on Rachel Blau DuPlessis
-- / that I don't recall writing, I found it this afternoon. I found several strange notes this afternoon. Because I have forgot how to sleep once more.
In any case, I am re-re-re-reading Drafts, currently the volume 39-47&c /// I have the first volume but is in a differing country from the one I'm in. And I don't have final volume or some interim. Yet.
Anyway:
the note goes:
of the what
RBDuP asks,
the what she asks,
I double back to
re-ask(rescue) not
meaning but the
continuous question -----
not sure if I wrote this or it is a quote from something.
It makes sense to me. More so recently than other things.
Excuse me.
agglott of all sfnal thoughts or so I thought previously as have transpired on this blog -- link round-up 2015 be there not crushed by circumstance now
I have a five pg in 3 parts thing on my idea of the SFnal which doesn't exist as a thing yet but will when I write it and I am anyway and but for now I have here gathered probably not all, some, of stuff tentatively most-tentatively probably related to the idea, of the SFnal, so thusly, follows:
1/ http://malale.blogspot.jp/2012/04/frail-achievement-4.html -- doesn't actually relate to anything SFnal far as I can tell, EDIT://no, this is all wrongthough look if you care the latter point, is it, wherein I describe a promising "app" idea to allow readers to enjoy novellas better, in this our current (SFnal) era (an era most suitable for novellas)this must refer to some other post. I'll find it and link here as supllementary:::: here it is! all my app ideas(I've had more since)http://malale.blogspot.jp/2014/04/electroniconnecticall-messages.html
2/ http://malale.blogspot.jp/2013/12/note-elderly-note-note.html -- this is not quite relevant but for later mention of schizophrenia and SFnal being tightly related, and the final quote is marvelous I have always thought (sourced from a conspiracy forum(one of the "better" ones) I lurk)
3/ http://malale.blogspot.jp/2013/09/rd-on-being-born-consequences-and-c21st.html -- this is Robert Duncan it is beautiful it probably has nothing to do with 21stC SFnal texts unless you squint however (I, squint!)
4/ http://malale.blogspot.jp/2013/09/abuse-route-parlaey-e-or-root-preview.html -- footage of Robert Duncan and others, again not really relevant yet: if it's a mission, it comes forward with what it got to do -- and I say, yeah!
5/ http://malale.blogspot.jp/2013/09/lns-guide-to-composing-c21st-sfnal-texts.html -- this is relevant, you can figure out the initials by now, it is a perfect description of what I envisage as SFnal for our withering century.
6/ http://malale.blogspot.jp/2012/02/in-middle-do-this.html -- this is about Optical Tai Phone etc from the Five Star Stories which is ultimate SFnal work and incomprehensible and that is what you can do in the middle of a SFnal text novella and so on and such forth.
7/ http://malale.blogspot.jp/2011/02/end-like-this.html -- this is supposed to be the end scene of "grey:digital target" where they surviving characters confront the dominator of the world and a million enemies arise on the horizon and so forth but is deleted but the full film should be available if you search. But anyway, end like this, follow through to the doom-grace of SFnal, is what I intend to mean to mean.
and, finally, start like this: the opening to "the tripods", spectacular and scary music:
promised extract from "CULTURE" by daniel davidson
pg 57
Think of this: to withdraw from the world would not beg in or begin /
no track would be kept no opening into the doors would close there /
are no doors the light-absorbing view encloses.
"/" to preserve line breaks if read on your fancy shit.
Considering suicide I suppose. Eventually did of course, and why not?
The R Silliman review of this book was overly-harsh partly because I don't think he (RS) understands suffering enough, it's not his fault.
The 2nd volume is pdf downloadable only because of formatting issues though oh maybe I said this already previous post?
Otherwise ask away.
I can quote from all sorts, naturally.
immigrant reading
the only book to take with ya when going the imposing immigration building aoart from all the forms etc you require is I have decided "CULTURE" by daniel davidson . . . there is a 2nd volume but was considered (the format) unprintnable at the time -- New Genre probably could have mnaged it, they did "blink is Luv" after all.
Anyway, a particular passage I will photograph, then I ready myself for immigration speculatation &c.
I think this passage is concerning suicide. R.Silliman gave this book an unfair review in my opinion. Because the poet killed himself. He had an incurable worsening heart condition, suicide seems reasonable. Perhaps R.Silliman is a secret jehova witness or sumthng.
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| it's upside yes, turn your heads or something, use them your heads. It was inspiration (the syntax maybe) on the novella in new genre#6, though no-one need know nor understand this. |
"something of a beauty then that is not quite"
on "my twitter" I linked to this here: http://fortlaufen.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/nearby-is-country-they-call-life-you.html saying meagrely how beautiful etc and it will make you cry etc so that is called a "recommendation" isn't it, but realised only 5 people so far see as far as I know I don't know how it works my twitter so therefore blog the link whereby hopefully it may gain more notice though it seems wrong an inversion of the current cultural online culture&climate.
But.
Did anyway.
it is one of the blogs I mention I maintain a reading of, as I mentioned __here__ . I am sort of following-up, see?
maybe an image, they like them , of what? a cat seems inappropriate. Something of a beauty then that is not quite. Look up, I quote myself in the blog title. This seems unseemly. It is the image I mentioned.
And as always, sorry.
I think I wrote a "poem" while asleep (squints at handwriting)
this is cuntish world
don't be convinced
otherways -- world's
interests against you
Is -- no -- an apparition
would be better,
vanish! world!
/// then I wrote
+ enter -- ... // but I think I'll omit that and end it at "world!" //
that's called, um, editing . . .
prob. inspired by my reading of __here__ late night (and being H/N period) and twittering inappropriateness, improprieties, I do beg your pardon, curtsy, bow, simultaneously/
include image of accumulated image-thing called "maw" . (because it's said people like images when observing blog entries)
OK, matthew:
I got a good review I got a good review, oh no, (variant on half man half biscuit)
beautifullviewreview of new genre #7 at here http://suptales.blogspot.jp/2015/08/new-genre-issue-seven.html
I don't think anyone had actually read my little works properly until now, maybe. (tho I had inkling, with WPWS, this is the one that would reach across the divide, and find the people, I think I thought that -- my idea of "pure" "sf" for our current era)
I remember waking up one day, thinking I'm gonna do something nasty-appalling, and the Rotund Chums were instigated, in notes at least.
the poor bastards. "trying to get to hell in a hurry" = JS
anyway, for those innarested(troubled people you must be), there is horrid horrid surgical "proceduce", the details as wikipedia has them: ・・/ in the actual fact, I can no longer locate the link, I think you are all better off for that. // UPDATE; i found the link, note, it is not happy reading, maybe do not undertake this surgical procedure but anyway: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hemicorporectomy
but be careful out there . . .
I tried to purchase "supernatural tales" utilising my mother, some yrs back, could she send a cheque etc, but it didn't work, because I have to ask my mother at least twice to do anything, and even then . . . it is not that she is in dotage or otherwise incompetent, mentally, medically, you know, just I suppose she is my mother. She means well. There is no mother in WPWS far as I can remember
"supernatural tales" seems like worth purchasing if you can manage it, anyhow.
now here must be a jpop in celebration of this review. Or have we had too much recently. Most any event has seemed to provoke a j-pop. Why not a "the fall"instead? Hard decision to make(actually is, a hard decision)(I am trying to make it now)
Hold on: does it have to be or the fucking other? One of each?! Think carefully, Pendleton, on what you mean to do. A comment on each is required at least. The implications . . . ! either way, I think this is called a "plus point"
ok: video #1 = the fall "bill is dead" atypical in many ways, though listen its mdma-drenched luvved-up that's what they called it then: noteable lyrics: "your legs/ are so cool" and "came twice, you thrice" -- well these are acquired tastes -- also, plus-point, my wife, who I sent this video to as a link, can't view by her iphone, but if I embed, maybe she can! Let us hope so.
embed video:
and next it must be j-pop. as cute but still good as possible, I am demanding. Difficult yet . . .
hold on: for example, if I was to pick "BiS", they no longer exist, but it stood for "Brand-New idol Society", I think. there are two options, both seem like guerilla performances for select group of fans. One is in a train. I am going to save the one on the train for later, because I will sooner or later finish a novella involving trains and it will then be appropriate.
I am keeping things in reserve, you understand.
So now, you, get, "nerve" it is actually very famous, in marginal-idol circles, the dance for example. I like that the little boy sort of attacks the women, and also, he is momentarily placed under one's dress, and the girl with hair tied-up is v.cute, though I also like the almost-down-syndrome-of-appearance, maybe in fact the best tho that's not exactly the point. and sort of an other-antoganism with the little boy seems to develop, in snippets we are partly witness to, like maybe everything that has currently happened in true detctive season 2 (I'm a fan) (I declare)
video, go to bed!
and, don't worry, I like all sorts of other musics too!
and I write SFnal novellas and shall continue to do so until I die.
conversation post re: I'm not sure, something with sadness in it -- but that's everything!
I was thinkg the RD DL falling-out over how to do war poetry (a simplification I'm sure) could act as corollary -- ah that is the wrong word, just say "comparison" to current our era concerns in genre: i.e., the post-"racefail" "hugo-wars" "sjw" but probably not, probably not at all. Every poet in any case has some dispute surely with other poets -- and the point being they were initially very sympathetic to each other, and also, the funny thing, of DL intially completely misunderstanding RD's first letter as being a criticism, when in fact it was a heartfelt praiseful celebration &c
don't try to cohere on a blog.
I have only anyway read what shards are available on the google books. But these are relevant books (I'll link to the google books where you too can pick thru the shards):
-- (the actual letters) The Letters of Robert Duncan and Denise Levertov
-- Robert Duncan and Denise Levertov: The Poetry of Politics, the Politics of ...
By Albert Gelpi, Robert J. Bertholf
. . . and in case anyone actually simply wants to hand them over too me, thanks in advance.
I am nearing the end of (writing) a sister-complex(!) novella -- mentioned likely elsewhere on this blog, and this late letter from DL maybe hoping to reconcile, seemed to provoke some inspiration, and also, reader, it made me cry, cry along with DL in the letter quoted, so I post screencaptured, and wonder what others shall think of all this, now or in the future. What anyone must think, of all this, I don't know at all . . .
no no, hesse
so no, the poem was a bad poem, no matter, far as I can tell anyway, if you win the nobel prize, maybe make sure there are no copies of certain poems and also letters about your furious masturbating you send to you wife (Joyce! tho eveyone likes those letters so no problem) (they are better than this hesse poem) so the hesse is abandoned.
I have read some of his novels, assuming this is not the nazi hesse (who, hold on, travelled to england by himself, by plane, during WW2, and there is a Christopher Priest novel, wonderful I think, about this, the title The Separation -- it posits twins (oh!)(relevance of a sort)
novels I had read: something like: journey to a strange star (?) and something about a young violinist? "damian" or something. I had a lovely copy of "the glass-bead game" but it is in england. Or I am thinking of some other author. Never mind.
anyway, I post image of the poem I wrote out to work with, so you can see my terrible handwriting in two languages . . . the very top is not part of the poem or anything, what is it then? it is a doodle, plus the words I had in my head at the time, wait, I can barely read my own handwriting:
"of all the world's (sic), here's one,
a patter , " and that's it. Sorry.
also in the hesse poem there is a silly three-kanji word for "red wine" I coudn't be bothered copying so I just write アカワイン which is lazy of me, sorry. Maybe that was the crux of the poem. -- and see I orignally write アカイ which is a terrible error, I crossed it out in irritation and embarassment, and self-recrimination, with a blue pen that was to hand. A blue pen, I am in fact very fond of. . .
Never mind.
conversation post # ]:}{`P*+?_>+~|^/ w. mention of New Genre#7 + possible &c, accompaniments
I have been granted permission to post another image was intended to promote the readercon event etc, so I shall. And then what. There is a recording of the you tube of a "panel" (concerning shld you answer reviews &c -- my opinion, sometimes why not, but maybe without fury &c -- I would like the opportunity, I have scant reviews) I felt it was an interesting panel. One day I want be on a panel but I think I'm in the wrong country and not esteemed enough. Also I lack self-esteem, as in zero/null. Though with some pernod, who knows. and benzodiazapnes (one day, learn to spell this word)
first, post the image (also, write shorter sentences, people lack inclination for you know ... reading altogether, almost)(!)
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| credit: A. Golaski |
nice blue usage / I heard recently "depression" affects colour perception? I don't suffer from "depression" however, just maybe generalised melancholia, worry, financial un-ness &c / yet anyways, allow it to become a laughing matter.
I like to see a good use of colour but a colour-lack is always finely acceptable.
See i.e., Jay DeFeo, Matsutani, to speak of one dead, and one live, still I hope, artist. One's of whose work only, I have seen in the real life where colours propogate to the fullest extent of the laws of physics, &c.
I made a shopping list:
1/ charcoal
2/ granite
3/ stone ? (question mark as on list)
4/ ink - - (dashes as on list)
5/ sticks (probably doesn't require actual shopping)
-- ah, now I recall, after this tangent, something more to the point.
I enjoyed watching the panel about responding to reviews, while slowly
cooking some tomatoes.
One thing to note: (this is all related to some discussion on the actual panel) tangent online
changed it's policy of what to review (no semi-pro no more) around "racefail"
end-point, so it seems they locked themselves into a right-wing
attitude. I would have mentioned that, on the panel. It is my dream
among many other dreams, to be one day on a panel at readercon.
Though I can imagine myself getting very abrasive about some point or
other. And the pernod. I am repeating from the very top. It happens here, get used to it. (saying the same thing twice)
But, so, prior to then, I found, they had reviewed some of the earlier New Genre volumes. One, particularly poignant. I make a list if all reviews of previous New Genres with occasionally a comment:
1/
tangent review of N.G.#1, 2000(!), by the late Jay Lake. A sympathetic review. Moving for reasons too of course.
2/ another tangent review (before their turning, I suppose) of N.G.#4 (2006)
3/ you must scroll a little down -- review of N.G#4 again
4/ the SF encylopedia online entry that needs to be updated I guess
5/ "Whispers of Wickedness" reviews again N.G#4 -- oh that site is now known as "future fire" I think -- it seems the 4th volume got the most reviews -- I suggest, it was when the online thing was starting with some enthusiasm, and is now in despondency
6/ review on/in "new pages" of volume 6, I'm in there O-o . . .
7/ probably the best review, in that it seemed properly engaged, in its, er, reviewing, Charles Tan, from now defunct(?) blog (it's a shame) "bibliophile stalker" ^^ I think "gamergate" is distracting him from his reviewing, yet we need reviewers like him . . .
8/ bonus interview same site as above with new genre editor man
likely there will be less and less reviews of this sort of thing, like the heat death of the universe.
Bonus copious tears chance: the leader of the panel mentioned all way above, someone I suspect is "third culture" in some manner, as I am, I shan't go into it not yet anyway, her cat of long life and companionship died and I was moved and still am and you may be too if you follow this link __ to Amal El-Mohtar's online zone __
I shall alternate between outright weeping and sniffles for a while now . . .
bonus J-pop by "the Skanty" headed by "yoppy", I don't know what happened to her, but she's, and they, the band, are cool. Consolation offered hereby:
two lacklustre drafts of a "hesse" poem tranlated from japanese to english, for no reason
to continue proving I know nothing of the japanese language, and to keep my hand in, that's what they say, "keep your hand in" meaning, I think, keep practicing or something, yet I never felt I had my hand in, nor out, to be honest, I decided to spontaneously translate a poem by Hesse, the writer I hope, not the nazi, or was there . . . ? I forget, anyway, as the book, collected poems of Hesse, is in the house, for reasons I think it was like 100en and has a nice appearance, so at random, I translate (spoiler alert, I got bored or unconfident to carry on but anyway) title: "love song" .. . gee, I guess it's an early work, but, here goes, hold on your hats and other implements, postgender peoples!
(I shan't translate the title as it is above already)
where I a flower,
you come across me, on a walk,
I, taken in your hand . . .
(that's the first "draft")
I try another approach:
I, a flower,
you, on a traipse,
I become yours, taken in your hand . . .
that's the first "stanza", I got bored, tired, oh, I explained above anyway. Actually there's only one other stanza, just slightly longer, I may give it a go, later perhaps.
I thought I should translate some haiku, to prove the theory or whatever, as mentioned on twitter, but I can't find any, or, all haiku ends up sentimental, and I am against that, I've said already, oh once or twice. I still weep copiously anyway. It is the stance that is important, perhaps . . .
better perhaps the ancient chinese stuff, with the brackets &c, I am sure you remember . . .
I thought, being a flower, is somewhat dangerous, may get trod on and also flower and human relations never work out well, or do they, is there a underground romance-fetish-scene I am missing terribly out on???
Work Planet Welt Space :: I gave you everything and now I'm nothing
I say I shouldn't do the following, reveal a little about the text in the new genre #7, but I went ahead and did, why, I don't want to be misunderstood, may be the main reason. It's not so bad. I merely reference and link previous mentions from old times of the text as it was perhaps being formed, then a little something, about class confidence, that was important, and then a j-pop to lessen the trouble. I'm so sorry, either way. Yet here it is. I've done it. The blog post.
one old post: http://malale.blogspot.jp/2008/09/little-book-3.html
two old post utterly unrelated to be frank: http://malale.blogspot.jp/2008/12/outer-first-cartilage.html
three old post more utter annihliation(unrelation): http://malale.blogspot.jp/2010/01/outer-second-cartilage.html
four old post, where in fact is related, i drew pigeons, while writing Kasparr's or someone's last transmission: http://malale.blogspot.jp/2008/09/anecdote-2-or-experience-or-pigeons.html
it is a little boy book. For the interests of gender parity, previous text in previous new genre i.e., #6, was a little girl book. There's balance there. In any case, in the world of SJW, I fat-shame Oprah Whinfrey most of my life.
spindles are probably the result of plant-based computing. (but see google book search, i.e., girls of the spindle, it is mancunian early industry stuff, also, mitotic spindle, that's in yr brain, also psychoanalysis, kernel and spindle -- this will all be come in handy later, (( as all such SFnal purely works will be based in this same world though in differing eras etc)) I'm telling it all like a tittle-tattle. I'm telling on myself. The future depicted is likely ultra-fascist like a mean english old school. I was once a duty boy at a mean english old school, though not a posh fee-paying one. it had aspirations. Pathetic when I look back now. I would like to spit all over it. Luckily, once, while still young, after a night-out "w'the lads", we had the taxi drop us off by the school, and climbed the gates, and urinated proudly across the main entrance (which was not accessible to the "pupils").
Sorry to lower the tone, thought I don't think I ever raised it.
this was all long agos, there's no parity to timing
the class-system, americans, is different, in the england. there were some "k-punk" posts long long ago now about class confidence (specific to the england) i link to some of these posts with a quote or two from various of thos old posts with no comment wherein the link is contained, and no further comment, from this point. and thatshalll be the end of the matter, but the j-pop selection to end the blog-post, which is a snippet of overly pretty hanae-san (her "bob" is pretty) song called "girls&boys" to put an end to the trouble of gender disaprity concerning litttle books "little girl boook " I am antenna/antennae" and "little boy book" work planet welt space all for good at once, enough
"k-punk" pulled quotes with attendant links and as promised no comment:
_/1/_ Public schools instil social confidence; the Winchester and Eton boys I encountered at Oxford seemed - to me, at least - astonishingly socially assured ・・・class power maims at precisely the same moment that it confers its privileges ・・・ Social confidence is not based on achievements but on intrinsic ontological status: the ruling class are taught to see themselves as essentially talented and intelligent, irrespective of either achievements or failures ・・・ The opposite of social confidence and its attendant sense of entitlement, its urbane at- homeness-in-the-world, is a sense of inferiority, a constant worry about whether one should occupy certain spaces, the quietly panicky conviction that 'surely they can see that I don't belong here'・・・ Mark E Smith was surely at his most sage when he said that going to Public School was 'punishment enough'
_/2/_ But the working class never experience their own lives and behaviours as natural or normal in the way the dominant class does. The encounter with the education system immediately makes working class people aware that their use of language differs from - i.e. is inferior to - the 'standard' ・・・ What needs to be accounted for is why certain groups have the 'fantasy' of being inferior (and why certain groups have the 'fantasy' of being superior). I place the word 'fantasy' in inverted commas here because, surprise surprise, in the case of the working and ruling classes, the 'fantasies' of their social status correspond with their actual position in the social hierarchy. But we must go round the whole loop here: there is no neutral social reality beyond fantasy, and the class structure can only persist so long as people act in accordance with their class fantasies.
_/3/_ Choose yer weapons (my embolded emboldened alteration emphasis) ・・・ The implicit opposition is between Media (as transparent window-on-the-world transmitter of good, solid commonsense) and Education (as out-of-touch disseminator of useless, elitist arcanery). Once, Media was a contested ground, in which the impulse to educate was in tension with the injunction to entertain. Now – and the indispensable Lawrence Miles is incisive on this, as on so many other things, in his latest compendium of insights – Old Media is almost totally given over to a vapid notion of Entertainment – and so, increasingly, is education ・・・ Put it this way: a situation in which Lawrence Miles languishes, at the limits of mental health, barely able to leave his house, while the likes of Rod Liddle swagger around the mediascape is not only aesthetically abhorrent, it is fundamentally unjust . . .
shall have to do for now. Dear americans, don't consider this an affront. The class systems are wierdly different. This is just (the above) a snippet showcase of examples you may need to configure together as coherent yourself. Forgive me, though you really needn't . . . アラ・・・
promised j-poppal:
