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Monday, November 30th, 2009
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1:34 am - sephiroth
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laffoley's tree of life
current mood: sandalphon
current music: gemini syringes
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| Friday, November 6th, 2009
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1:06 pm - story for aster
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This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers --
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
current music: appels + oranjes
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| Sunday, November 1st, 2009
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5:26 pm - poem for aster
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I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
-William Butler Yeats, The Song of Wandering Aengus
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| Thursday, September 10th, 2009
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12:23 am - the fest
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| Wednesday, September 9th, 2009
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10:21 am
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current mood: melancholosity
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| Friday, September 4th, 2009
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10:56 am - ripped by reality
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love is the king of the beasts
and when it gets hungry it must kill to eat
yeah love is the king of the beasts
a lion walking down city streets
current music: show me the way to shake a memory
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| Thursday, September 3rd, 2009
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12:20 am - vorticism
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Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
current music: the pound-eliot-yeats-joyce hit
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| Monday, August 24th, 2009
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12:07 pm
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current mood: rosebank 22
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| Thursday, August 20th, 2009
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1:32 pm
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Sister say a prayer for us one we learned from nuns and such
I won't believe not a word you speak just make it sweet to hear
Let's pour wine in coffee cups and drive around the neighborhood
And shine the headlights on houses until all the news is good
How am I supposed to sleep? Roaming blackouts on the streets
Oh not a word not another speech we'll run the headlights down
These kids are foaming at the mouth psychotropic capricorns
Tomorrow's some kind of strangerland where all the news is good
How can Monday be alright then on Tuesday lose my mind?
Tomorrow's some kind of stranger who I'm not supposed to see
current mood: 131 ppm
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| Tuesday, August 18th, 2009
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3:07 pm - the algorithm: idiom of modern science
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came across an interesting computer scientist while doing some research.. bernard chazelle.. great article on the power of the algorithm: the algorithm: idiom of modern science. makes some bold but convincing predictions -
“The Algorithm's coming-of-age as the new language of science promises to be the most disruptive scientific development since quantum mechanics.”
current music: universality, duality, self-reference
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| Thursday, August 13th, 2009
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5:56 pm
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1:14 pm - old media and liquid history
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red this article about 4chan.org by rushkoff the other day.. led me on a belated exploration of the roots of the new internet culture, social networks, and internet memes.. just sitting in /b/ and hitting refresh produces a weird sensation of the weight of the internet space.. posts every few seconds, like liquid information, the oroborus's fangs approaching the fangs.. I suddenly saw how these boards evolved into blogs, then twits, then waves, the speed and granularity increasing exponentially toward the singularity..
also red some old media commentary like the new york times article on trolling, lulz, and the Anonymous collective.. so that's what those guy fawkes kids were doing outside the hubbard recruitment shop..
I think my historical birfurcation theory is indeed unfolding.. alternate infobibles are erupting like gnostic accretions, the false-true prophits of the infocalypse..
the info is dirty, lo-fi, low signal to noise... it comes off as a kind of frantic-indifferent scream-whisper.. maybe this hyperinsulated ironic-satiric aesthetic is a result of overcompensating for the relative lack of expressive power in the virtual space.. the language is emulating our old gestures, tone, and presence..
current music: woods - rain on
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| Wednesday, August 12th, 2009
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11:51 pm - miasmal smoke
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Donated her eyes when she was young and shy,
hated her awkward breasts and filled the yawning skylines with kisses
sweet, to hear existence beat, to hold it tangible and drifting,
ever so gently sifting summer sky, donated her eyes, donated her eyes
to feel her actual senses, oh sweet 16, to feel what life was like,
donated her eyes to feel life as she imagined it
Go back to sleep you yellow bellied freaks, afraid of God and modern science
Go back to sleep, if I could only sleep, if I could stop imagining if my dreams weren't after me
Through piss and sweaty blankets, the deafening hum of some great silence
The jingle jangling heat, the strangling sheets, terrible and fucking meaningless
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| Friday, August 7th, 2009
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11:26 am - 10 second coma
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| Friday, July 31st, 2009
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12:48 pm - the executive
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current mood: I want a c64 usb keyboard
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| Monday, July 27th, 2009
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4:22 pm - the singularity is near
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so i finally picked up kurzweil's age of spiritual machines, it is blowing my mind. i think i'm going to grab his follow up the singularity is near and delve into that too. being made into a movie apparently. also read a funny interview with the guy on vice magazine. he is weird. hofstadter's comment on him is funny. the merger of ai and humans.. the crux for me seems to be the details of how nanotechnology will emerge and be able to manipulate the environment, and the nature of time/consciousness/subjectivity..
current mood: the universe waking up
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| Friday, July 24th, 2009
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11:08 am - or
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in yr mouth a wad of cash
moist roll of hundreds
fingers thru yr hair
silver quarters drop
to yr pleated skirt
cannisters of whipped cream
in yr sweater pockets
a look of space and total life
ready or not
the plan is to go to dc and hang out
go see girls rock
how long's the tour?
what time you guys playing?
where you going next?
what comes first,
the music or the words?
current mood: kaizen
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| Thursday, July 23rd, 2009
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5:04 pm
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I was standing on the shore, facing an open sea
I was listening to the sound of the waves breaking
And I thought of all the words that they were whispering
And it kept changing
I was standing in the midst of a great company
Listening to the voices in ecstasy
And I watched as all creation was sang into being
And it kept changing
And it was changing
And all at once I caught a pulse and felt a rhythm
And I thought of the song of the ages
Then the balance slipped and opened up the season
And I felt like raging
I was staring at the clouds, the rain began to fall softly
Filling up the rivers in Texas
And I thought of you and maybe you once thought of me
We were changing
And we kept changing
And all at once I saw a hole into the future
And I thought of the bells of creation
I heard the voice of God coming in the music
And I felt like Satan
and I felt like Satan
We were standing on the shore, facing an open sea
Listening the sound of the waves breaking
And I turned to you and said "we should never leave"
We were changing
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5:00 pm - self-replicating machines
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| Monday, July 20th, 2009
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11:30 am - mysterious object at noon
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stainless steel is the least stainless steel.
current mood: exquisite corpse
current music: summertime in the void
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| Wednesday, July 8th, 2009
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2:19 pm - This Morning (We Remembered Everything)
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the circulatory system forms in the 4th week of gestation.
current mood: New From The Heavenly Loom
current music: The Breathing Universe
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| Thursday, June 4th, 2009
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2:31 pm
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| Wednesday, May 20th, 2009
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11:28 am - the nostalgia of the infinite
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![[void]](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/6/69/TheNostalgiaoftheInfinite.jpg)
lo scarabeo needs to make a de chirico deck.
inspired by this trailer..
current mood: XVI THE TØWER
current music: Et quid amabo nisi quod aenigma est?
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| Tuesday, May 19th, 2009
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11:30 am
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No longer, no longer
What you ask
Strange steps
Heels turn black
The cinders, the cinders
They light the path
And these strange steps
Take us back, take us back
Flow sweetly, hang heavy
You suddenly complete me
You suddenly complete me
No wonder, no wonder
Other half
Strange steps
Heels turn black
The cinders, they splinter
And light the path
And these strange steps
Trace us back, trace us back
Hysteric, hysteric
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| Thursday, April 30th, 2009
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5:22 pm - data
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| Wednesday, April 29th, 2009
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12:21 am
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how I wish you could see the potential
the potential of you and me
it's like a book elegantly bound but
in a language that you can't read, just yet
there are days when outside your window
I see my reflection as I slowly pass
and I long for this mirrored perspective
when we'll be lovers, lovers at last
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| Tuesday, April 28th, 2009
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10:10 pm - [Solid Blue Silence]
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The cold heavy fluid settled in a mountain village of slate houses where time stops—Blue twilight—Place Of The Silence Addicts—They just sit there in cool blocks of blue silence and the earth's crust undulates under their weight of Heavy Time and Heavy Money—Exploded time stops in blue metal—
"Empty picture of a haunted ruin?" He lifted his hands sadly turned them out ... "Some boy just wrote last goodbye across the sky ... All the dream people of past time are saying good-bye forever, Mister" Late afternoon shadows against his back magic of all movies in remembered kid standing there face luminous by the attic window in a lost street of brick chimneys exploded star between us ... You can look back along the slate shore to a white shirt flapping gunsmoke.
-uranian willy
current mood: wrecked
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9:53 pm - la divinazione
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I THE MÅGIÇIÅN. The search for truth must pass bøth through reason and through emotion.
3 of Chalices. The plateau. The means to uplift oneself lies in the emotions, bøth the positive ones and the negative ones.
XII THE HÅNGEÐ MÅN. Things are hidden behind other things. One must look bøth above and below to liberate oneself.
current mood: l'ombra
current music: yeah yeah yeahs - zerø
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| Tuesday, April 21st, 2009
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4:14 pm - the gap that separates the one from itself
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lacanian-zizekian psychoanalysis applied to the kabballistic-gnostic-taoic current. the little remainder, the symptom, is the only thing that's Real - the void and light aren't perfect opposites even though they're duals - this is what creates the vibrating atoms.
( symbolic analogs... )
current music: åcolytes øf ðaath
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| Sunday, April 19th, 2009
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1:41 am
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current music: uffie - steroids
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| Thursday, April 9th, 2009
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9:50 am
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"'Reality' is a fantasy-construction which enables us to mask the Real of our desire."
I'm fascinated by this idea that we awaken to escape from our dreams.
current music: psalm 103
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| Friday, April 3rd, 2009
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4:56 pm - irreducible dualities
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Picked up Zizek's first book from 1989, The Sublime Object of ideology. He's really is all about counter-intuitive observation.. he's always taking some concept or view and turning it on its head, releasing new energy stored in old ideas. He explains that he's going to take two largely discredited theoretical frameworks - hegelian dialectics and lacanian psychoanalysis - and simultaneously revive them by aiming them at one another, and from this derive a new theory of ideology. Wicked.
"My thesis… is that the most consistent model of such an acknowledgement of antagonism is offered by Hegelian dialectics: far from being a story of its progressive overcoming, dialectics is for Hegel a systematic notation of the failure of all such attempts– ‘absolute knowledge’ denotes a subjective position which finally accepts ‘contradiction’ as an internal condition of every identity. In other words, Hegelian ‘reconciliation’ is not a ‘panlogicist’ sublation of all reality in the Concept but a final consent to the fact that the Concept is ‘not-all’ (to use this Lacanian term). In this sense we can repeat the thesis of Hegel as the first post-Marxist: he opened up the field of a certain fissure subsequently ’sutured’ by Marxism."
I'm really digging the first chapter, How Did Marx Invent the Symptom?, where he's describing what he sees as a "fundamental homology between the interpretative procedure of Marx and Freud - more precisely, between their analysis of commodity and of dreams." He uses money as an example of something that has a sublime body (existing in the symbolic order) beyond its corruptible physical form, and then claims that this form is analogous to the unconscious... interesting.
"Here we have touched a problem unsolved by Marx, that of the material character of money: not of the empirical, material stuff money is made of, but of the sublime material, of that other 'indestructible and immutable' body which persists beyond the corruption of the body physical - this other body of money is like the corpse of the Sadeian victim which endures all torments and survives with its beauty immaculate. This immaterial corporality of the 'body within the body' gives us a precise definition of the sublime object...
If, then, the 'real abstraction' has nothing to do with the level of 'reality', of the effective properties, of an object, it would be wrong for that reason to conceive of it as a 'thought-abstraction', as a process taking place in the 'interior' of the thinking subject: in relation to this 'interior', the abstraction appertaining to the act of exchange is in an. irreducible way external, decentred -- or, to quote Sohn-Rethel's concise formulation: 'The exchange abstraction is not thought, but it has the form of thought'.
Here we have one of the possible definitions of the unconscious: the form of thought whose ontological status is not that of thought, that is to say, the form of thought external to the thought itself..."
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4:51 pm
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I'll be a hurricane when I grow up
an ugly thunder
I'll be a forest fire about to flood
over an empire
I'll be an avalanche chewing its rupture
I'll be a killer whale when I grow up
I'll be a monster
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