Wallace Stevens Revisited

“Individual poets, whatever their imperfections may be, are driven all their lives by that inner companion of the conscience which is, after all, the genius of poetry in their hearts and minds. I speak of a companion of the conscience because to every faithful poet, the faithful poem is an act of conscience.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/23/books/review/Vendler-t.html

Many of us, myself included until recently, want to believe that our work, poetry and visual art especially, can somehow avoid the personal. Our individuality is sterilized to keep the skill and intellectualism intact; a necessary distance to us artists afraid of triteness and confessionality. But more and more I realize that this is what makes the poem my own. We must learn the discretion through skill, and then we are no longer required to censor in the way we never did in our high school journaling. We must trust ourselves.

Holy Sh*t: Super-Kamiokande

The Super-Kamiokande is a Cherenkov detector. I'm not really even sure what this is used for honestly; the science is very much above my head. But it is beautiful.

http://blog.makezine.com/archive/2009/08/super-kamiokande.html?CMP=OTC-0D6B48984890

http://www-sk.icrr.u-tokyo.ac.jp/sk/index-e.html

Pleasure to Arrest at the Castle

This is at We Play Music my band's first show that we organized at the Castle. We are called Pleasure to Arrest. The first song is an original titled Don't Tell Me, the second you will recognize as Can't Stand Losing You by the Police. More shows to come. Enjoy!

on African American autobiographies and self-discovery

"The discovery of self usually occurs in savage or at best inhospitable surroundings. The self is under attack and responds by taking up the most silent and self-reflective habit of them all: reading. This sets the stage for classic motifs of the genre—movement (literal or metaphorical) and literacy, meaning the very ability to read or the first recognition of one’s own experiences in the mirror of the printed word."

from Autobiographical Fire and Obama’s Creation of Self

by Darryl Lorenzo Wellington

http://www.thecommonreview.org/spotlight.html

part-scene

Doctor: You look so…

Patient: What do you mean?

Doctor: I didn’t mean anything by it.

Patient: So what your saying, is, nothing?

Doctor: Essentially, yes. Don’t take it the wrong way.

Patient: Well I have to. Nothing is never taken in the right way.

Doctor: I’m sorry then.

Patient: For what?

Doctor: For what I said before.

Patient: I thought you never said anything?

Doctor: Then I’m sorry for that.

Patient: For nothing?

Doctor: For anything.

Patient: I guess that’s it then?

Doctor: Yes, I’ll see you again next week. Goodbye!

(exit Doctor)

possible new play

On stage, center. Stage dark except for a spotlight in which Scientist stands. Tall in lab coat. One hand rested on the patient table on his left side, other hand running through his hair. There is also some kind of meter to the left of him, measuring Patient, and on the other side of that, a small table with his operation tools.

Scientist: (to self) To begin the surgery is to begin the science experiment. (to audience) I am no doctor; I am a scientist. I have each tool neatly placed beside the patient. She suffers from (pause, thoughtfully) an incomprehensible delusion, (pause, then continued as if startled) nausea and vomiting, lack of menstruation, lack of appetite, lack of insight, and so on. She was placed in my care, beside these tools only ten minutes ago. Her vital signs are normal. There is no physical cause for the ailments, at least not one we can tell. But look. Look at the way her body lays beautifully on the table. She is etherized upon the table, skin slack and she is prepared for incision. I am her, the one who cuts into her. To cure, (drawn out) something. Do we know what to do? (shakes head) No. Oh no, we have no clue, well it could be any number of things, you see, and I am just an experimenter, we can only plan so far, guess so much. (takes scalpel into his hand, daintily, draws it through the air over her body, as if looking for specific spot) (now more to himself) A cure for isolation. To end it. Oh, but where to begin?

TED Talks: Olafur Eliasson

"...experience is about responsibility. Having an experience is about taking part in the world. And taking part in the world is really about sharing responsibility."

http://video.ted.com/talks/podcast/OlafurEliasson_2009.mp4

in my adult body

between us touching
little fingers grazing
lightly, I've noticed lately
the sentence between us

in my adult body:

the lower abdominals
the way they slither down to the pubic hairs' end
the small bunch of skin that gathers above
the crease the bra indents on the back
the boney, veiny, slender feet
the hair
the way it grows out
the way the shape of the face changes
as it grows out
and its shape
the first tattoo bleeding to illegibility
of the blackened ankle skin


we continue to look at ourselves
the body changing/changed


something behind all things
that makes it flat, the three-dimensional
crowded forward the optical illusion illusioned

the world infinite bc
only living things can die
only endings can end.

we become small scale duties

----I clean the kitchen after every meal

the nervous habits accrued
----my back is beginning to curve
----up top the vertebrae clicking each
----time, everytime I get a chance
----I remember
----I, still, want straight(er) posture

we are the impossible sentences we compose
that we then must abandon
alright, the spoken speech is inexplicit

I asked you if I could rest on your lap
but didn't