Monday, June 17, 2013

epi/aft a

(the first thing that most people noticed when they stopped by the factory settings in pittsburgh was the mythological substructure, the autumn rhizome, the ethos, the almost pathological 

attention to visual detail, cattail hollow, a lattice, a screen turned in and then back away from 

the public, quite a bit of talk about mystery, many atomics allegedly attuned to the dimension of mystery.  late-night parallelograms slithering over the table and walls, hidden away 

in hotels, whispering about working for animals.  endlessly. that's one of the most dynamic parts of the conceptual narrative!  our own original 

artwork!  appropriated identity!  the fretted colors and textures that the factory settings more or less claimed as their own.  our little visit, followed shortly thereafter by a more significant visit.  fog of

breath noise,  i need sleep!  why are you stalking my dream-states?  may not be very educated, may not know where or how to attend the recital.  but somebody will, nonetheless.  just not sure who that somebody will be.  a list of names and pocket photos.  a similar list of charcoal

themed sketches.  the second thing that most people noticed was in line with a certain how-shall-we-put-this-delicately-but-still-maintain-rigor-inside-a-prison-building-mentality total disregard for statistics.  the statistics were told, in essence, to go take 

a massive hike thru the canyons.  we had gradually moved towards and then into the middle-aged portion of human experience.  taken all-in-all, it was a highly satisfying excursus.  we took our radicalism where we did and could, for the most part.  the basic and agreed-upon factory set of ladder-down-to-core  

satisfactions.  the third thing that most people noticed were a series of digital bridges.  these were based in part on bricks and mortar, and the muddy rivers that double back to the older part of the city.  basel.  pittsburgh.  decatur.  winston salem.  turin.  barrytown.  freiburg.  

chicago.  boulder. vienna.  ames.  london.  mankato.  wilmington.  tokyo.  we wanted to live in that older part, even though we were still very much middle-of-the-road-and-the-age.  the fourth and fifth things had to do with the so-called apocalypse; certain trends in pop culture had infused the old hollywood 

visuals with a new sense of urgency, a sense that this-time-it-really-is-going-to-happen-to-everyone!  not just the shantytown dwellers and not just the privileged few in their towers. for those of you who are interested) (golly jeepers i've already been wrong so many times, golly jeepers, it's almost like my full-blown career) people expect me 

to say "golly jeepers" over and over for no discernible reason and i will indeed i shall at some point i shall say i have a clear cut profession golly jeepers it will be a direct and actual quote not an indirect and oblique 

form of reaching out to infinite strangers although golly jeepers that's sort of how i prefer to interface with quote the general public) we will not shy away from the mythos!  it's the only 

thing that infuses the narrative with a semblance of actual life.  for those of you who are interested, the whole thing started out with a poem.

this poem:


as if remembering a nu time when

the moon never ends its old ocean

orbit. as if reconciled with the cathedral 

of headless and unlettered statues arising 

to view Love Locks forged in the back 
alleys of Logocentrifical Way fare

three rivers converge much like 
arteries driving directly into Saint Heart

and even Candylands Of Pleiades
gently play with Black Satellite Images

housing nipples and phalluses and
a tongue's absent powders from

split pills, distilleries, splintered trees double as 

readymades strewn by thunderstorms and

kinesis ornamenting a pragmatic memoir's
grass of leave's infrared readers.

as if finally reckoning how smooth the roc's
use increases over temperature/friction

folds to infolds under pressure;
the fingers the hands the bones polishing 

the planet's outermost & near-invisible 
layers. as if dreamed and waking bodies 

polish each other digitally and in analogue: 

protolith flowpapers tracing sub-anatomical grace-

bodies between them form chance
revolutions in the deep by co-piloting

collages & diamonds take all the time
in the world to deform their creators.

(written by readers)

(and for those of you are still interested, let me segue right into the follow-up:)

epi/aft 2


a sifted remembering 
anulled time carves 
its own primal ocean
curled back inside 
the next handful of quarters

orbit infinity's black
silent, deep, empty, cold, still 
stone cathedrals
headlong silver rushing 
toward dawn pennsylvania

living istats sink down to look 

side-by-side up and out 
into cat's naked hollow
quietly foraged, simmered, and tapped 
in the back alleys of the so-called eBook Highway

where three rivers converge
arteries into doublestained hearts 
and island-chain candylands
seek other tantalizing pleiades in 
one dark huddled mass, almost silent,
amidst countless whispering strangers
who might one day or lost night 
recall the bizarre yin-yang of voices
privately counting down 






veloci me

veloc you 

velo all of them

vel the black star in waiting




housing ripples and genesis and
a tongue's absent powers inside
split peas spliced/ in fur trees
readymade cytokinesis
lies with thunder
leaves with hoofed readers' infrared 
clip-on fantasies
only just now remembering 
how smooth the full moon slowly rocks
our pure razor-sharp incidentals...

(or our own private emerald in 
neglected evergreen forests)

increases in temperature or
decreation of pressure;
the fingers/hands publishing the
poem bone's outermost layers... 

as if just now semi-dreaming
awake bodies still polishing,
ache-pulsing in digital and analogue forms 
protolithic, flowpapers of traced 
subatomic grains in the gravity
veined over and tangled in
semi-prophesied grace
faucets carved out under bodiless 
food from the wide place in the road
forming chance revolutions in the ash of dark 
by co-piloting









def ormth eiri magi naryc reato rs


(written by ever-so-slightly-more-adventurous readers)

the train ride, the mainline, the tao te ching, and the overtime.  a wild series of costumes, dress rehearsals, delicate 

late-night strategy sessions, like one might imagine in the governance of an actual people.  does it come as a shock?  well, it shouldn't!  golly jeepers, have you even been paying attention?  

it's a pricey commodity, "true", and people are people are people are animals minerals ethers merry months of may many moments when the crowd isn't looking why why why do we why 

do others gumdrop living alone in an overgrown field summer spear of anonymous grass snaking up leaving blank spaces along the upgrade of living poets' oblivion:

epi/aft 3


how much in time does it take to sift the
worlds from their meters? how many

quarters how many full moon cycles
does it take away to make change? why

do the hands stop crafting minutes
and seconds to paint their tips black

like infinity, which has no obvious afterword?
what orbit does the clock take as it

dismantles us headlong, leaving silver
and emerald in its ticking dawn wake?

can writing side-by-side hollow out a
deeper arch for eLove, elov, elve, lov

? how high can a back arch with the e

arch under it? how silent must a heart 
beat for the sea to hear its ostensible own?

how loud must the water roar for certain
hearts to quell their escapes? what

breaks the nexus chains that regulate
and count the nu beats? what velocities

does the v use in its folds of timeless
age cities? what black star does infinity

replicate to cloak its last disappearance?
and when did the spliced hoof of Pan

become a readymade in the fantasy
pulsing a nu dream directly into the widest

place in the inter-state, where the v veins
like the l loves: a perfect play's private layers.

(written by increasingly astute and affectionate readers)

the sixth thing that most people noticed was that the so-called initial online encounters were derived 

from a photograph, a single open aerial shot.  wave forms proliferated as their old favorites embraced them, impressed that they were willing to 

venture so far out onto the ledge.  iricoila posted some of the initial results in the coffeshop.  cuspin told her to leave a note for him on the balcony table.  when he arrived 

home, he read it.  and when she saw him reading it carefully, she remembered what she wanted to ask him.  a faint series of 

images had begun to take shape.  the words matched the voices.  the eyes matched the long silences.  after a little more waiting, she enlisted her old friend bp 

nichols to secretly intersect the dynamic while they were out for the day visiting the shops, bridges, and prisons.  iricoila looked over at cuspin 

as they drifted down the boulevard of the allies- "are you paying attention, sir?"  "yes, i am.  the gps indicates that we are on time and on track."  "can we trust it?"  

"i'm not sure that we have a choice at this point."  "i thought you lived here in the 90's."  "yeah, but in an entirely different part of the city."  "oh... so you've never seen the Convergence?"  "only in 

photographs- does that count?"  "wait- is that a trick question?" and thus the conversation continues all the way to the atlantic, where iricoila is considering 

having her portrait painted next summer.  it's a test drive, so to speak, a little spin thru the vortex of space-time, and cuspin is pretty much just tagging 

along for the ride.  he may be rickety but he's clever, and has learned what money can and can't buy.  iricoila trusts him, emphatically.  she doesn't know why, exactly.

epi/aft 4

pier into the vastness  (a late night exchange between almost perfect strangers)

the setting: the distant future. the far end of a splintered boardwalk unraveling out into the atlantic.  cuspin, a tattered, rickety man of indeterminate origin, is calmly leaning forward on the railing, hands folded, gazing out into the stillness, silence, darkness, emptiness, solitude, etc.  after about 4 minutes and 33 seconds, iricoila, smartly dressed and extremely attractive, of equally indeterminate origin, approaches the railing, about 11 feet to cuspin's right.  she too leans forward and begins to gaze out into the vastness.  another 4 minutes and 33 seconds pass uneventfully.  iricoila discreetly glances over at cuspin .  he does not seem to notice this.  another 4'33''.  cuspin discreetly glances over at iricoila.  she does not seem to notice this.  another 4'33''.  out of nowhere, iricoila begins to question the vastness itself.

iri<<< how much time does it take to sift the words from their meters?

(another 4'33'')

iri<<< how much space does it require to give the terms enough breathing room?

(another 4'33'')

iri<<< (looking directly over at cusp) excuse me, sir... do you know what time moonrise is this evening?

(another 4'33)

cusp<<< (looking directly over at iri)  no idea... no idea... sorta wish i had an idea... but my wishing doesn't seem to change anything... no idea... no idea...


iri<<< how many convergences do you think so-called "change" might require, sir?


cusp<<< no idea, maam... no idea... but to be perfectly honest, i don't even really know what you mean by "convergences"... but my guess would be... a goodly amount... indeed... quite a few of these so-called "convergences"...


iri<<< so it's a matter of quantity, then, you imagine...

cusp<<< that's right, maam... that is what i in fact imagine...


iri<<< you seem to have quite an intense imagination...

cusp<<< intense... huh... intense... (pause) ...funny you should mention that, maam... i was just thinking tonight that it seemed to be a little bit tense...

iri<<< well, maybe it's both...

cusp<<< that could be...


cusp<<< what about yours, maam?  your imagination, that is... could you fish up some adjectives for me? ...throw a scraggly net out into this anonymous vastness?

(long pause)

iri<<< it's beautiful out here...

cusp<<< you mean in there, maam?


iri<<< i'm referring to all of it, sir...

cusp<<< oh... i see...

iri<<< starting to get an idea, then, sir?


cusp<<< by golly, maybe i am!  

(another 4'33'')

cusp<<< why do the hands stop crafting minutes and seconds to paint their tips black like infinity?

iri<<< infinity often has the last word, you realize...

cusp<<< yes, I realize...

(long pause)

iri<<< wow... it's staggeringly beautiful out here...what orbit does the clock take as it's dismantled, sir?

cusp<<< no idea, maam... sorry.

iri<<< no need to be sorry... it's a really difficult question... no one has answered it yet... 

(long pause)

cusp<<< are you some kind of person in the arts, maam?  in some kind of artistic profession?

iri<<< funny you should ask me that, sir...

cusp<<< call me cuspin...

iri<<< ok... funny you should ask me that, cuspin... a cop asked me the exact same thing a couple hours ago...


cusp<<< hope there wasn't any trouble, maam...

iri<<< call me iricoila...

cusp<<< oh... ok... hope there wasn't any unpleasantness...

iri<<< well, cuspin... sorry to disappoint you, but there was... there was in fact a little unpleasantness...


cusp<<< would it help to go into it?


iri<<< that, my dearest cuspin, is an extremely provocative question... no one has ever asked it of me...

(another 4'33'')

cusp<<< did you say it was going to be a full moon tonight, iricoila?


iri<<< how silent must hearts beat for the veins to hear the sea's language?


iri<<< what vellum cities does the v use in the salty folds of its soft timeless meter?


cusp<<< you're referring to the tides, maam?  the waves?

iri<<< my name isn't "maam", cuspin...

cusp<<< oh right... pardon me, iricoila.

ra<<< my name is not "iricoila" either...

(extremely long pause)

cusp<<< any chance you know when the spliced hoof of poseidon become a readymade fantasy-ache? 

iri<<< pulsing to be dreamt near the widest place in the inter-state?

cusp<<< where the v veins just referred to like the l laughs and loves?


cusp<<< do you remember facebook, by chance?


iri<<< exactly, cuspin... you nailed it... it's just like the liking behaviors chronicled in classic facebook mythology...

(cusp and iri discreetly move a few inches closer...)

(note from dramaturg: "every play has inexhaustible layers, most of them unspeakably private, intimate, secret, unfathomable, shipwrecked, etc...")

(written by the actors themselves)