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Sly Uses

~ Having my way with Ulysses

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In what final satisfaction did these antagonistic sentiments and reflections, reduced to their simplest forms, converge?

14 Friday Dec 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

≈ 2 Comments

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AE (George W. Russell), Alchemy, Chalkboard Murmuration Bird, Dante Alighieri, Dog, God, Gossamer, Infinity, James Joyce, Lazarus, Lizzie Twigg, M. K. Dickerson, Nothing, Paradiso, Quadrature of the Circle, Resurrection, Temporality, Theatre, Ulysses

3:25 am

[Scene: Two lovers in bed, AE with Lizzie Twigg: coiled head to toe they quietly discuss the fixity of their volatility and the volatilization of their fixation, until within his fixedness AE has become nothing and feeling everything, Lizzie becomes volitive. They communicate intermittently in increasingly more laconic narrations. Also a small angry dog is trying to take up as much space as possible between them. It's so cute! Come here little puppy, come here. What a good doggie. Who's a good doggie? Oh Jesus God! He's all teeth! Get off me! Like petting a piranha with fur.]

AE: It’s just that we define ourselves contrarily to each other. I am me because I am not you, and you are you because you are not me. We are poles apart.

Lizzie: We are the same person, AE, don’t you feel it?  After all the mutual deaths we have died? Resurrection, translation, return, distillation, putrefaction, decay, still you don’t know you had it backwards the whole time. You were resurrecting in the wrong direction.

AE: I know. I know it. I just wanted to be the material representation of eternality, in linear time. Just once. Just for a little while. Only long enough to re-experience that feeling of linearity. Don’t you miss it? And feel what it could be, to be linear and eternal simultaneously.

Lizzie: But you can’t just translate yourself into linearity and say I’m back, everybody, I’ve  gained bodily entry into eternity and now look at me! Look at what happened to Lazarus. No. If you want to see how a human mortal finds a place within eternity, that’s not going to cut it. That gets you nothing.

AE: Nothing’s not nothing. Don’t knock nothing.

Lizzie: No, nothing’s not nothing.

AE: I was trying be the eternal temporalized. I wanted to be the all at onceness linearized. I wanted to square that circle, just once. Just the one time and be it and feel it, really feel what it is to be the coexistence of the infinite and the finite.

Lizzie: Be eternality living in linearity? Darling, you’ve done it. You’ve been there already. The infinite and the finite are the same things whichever side you’re on, if you really must take sides, can’t you tell? Just look at us, two beings contrarily defined yet coexisting as aspects of the same reality.

AE: I know. I get it. You don’t have to scratch me like that.

Lizzie: That wasn’t me, but here’s a flash of light for you AE: when we were mortals we didn’t have to go around worrying all the time about gaining bodily entry into eternity: eternity had already gained bodily entry into us. We have always already been since time immemorial and forevermore, the material representation of eternality.

AE: We are God.

Lizzie: Exactly. We are already a squared circle: we can take a finite form, but our infinite selves are in there too.

AE: We are a circle, containing everything.

Lizzie: Everything and nothing.

[At rest relatively to themselves and to each other, the lovers settle into silent contemplation. Small birds rise gently, sweetly, from Lizzie and from AE. Hundreds of them flitter up in swirling concentric patterns bringing with them, as if reflected from the sheen of their feathers, an increasing luminosity of ruby light. Thousands of little birds, aeons of them, softly forming clouds as soft as what do you call it gossamer, the clouds forming mist, the mist gently drifting downward covering the lovers, the lovers blurring about the edges. Together they coalesce and dissolve, their bodies languid, breathing, watching their spirits unrestrained, circling, birds rising into mist falling, like self knowing wheels revolving uniformly: self knowing and self known.]

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball:

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Exposure by mechanical artifice.

13 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

James Joyce, Jorge Luis Borges, The House of Asterion, The Trap, This is Collective, Ulysses

3:21 am

Ok people, we don’t have much time so listen up. I want cameras recessed into the mattress here and here, one in the lamp, one in the plant, and one in the wine bottle. Can we get that wine poisoned? Good. Video people, check your angles and work with the design team, maybe you can find a way to get some cameras into the floor too. Share electricians with the audio people. Audio team, where are you? There you are. I’ll be needing audio everywhere. I want to hear everything. I want to hear whispers. I want to hear unspoken thoughts. Audio everywhere, you hear me? Right. Weaponry. I want spikes coming up through here, and possibly here, and darts or whatever projectiles you brought with you coming from the ceiling, and I think that wall there. And there. Is everything poison tipped? Good. Snake wranglers. You’ll need to find a way to keep those adders out of sight, at least until they get started. Can we include the snakes with the other projectiles? Maybe launch them at a 45 degree angle like a shot off a shovel? Work with the weaponry people on that. Check and see if an adder can take that kind of landing. I don’t know, Google it. Design people, wherever you see eyes in a picture, I want holes there for the concealed ocular witnesses. Everybody clear? We’ll fuck them. They’ll be fucked. Now go.

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball:

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The bed of conception and of birth, of consummation of marriage and of breach of marriage, of sleep and of death.

12 Wednesday Dec 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

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Echo, James Joyce, Jorge Luis Borges, Krishna, Mathematical Esoterica, Temporality, Ulysses, Vishnu


3:17 am

Stop

Thank’s Krishna, I need all the time I can get. Do I stay or do I go now? Which now do  I pick (containing which bed?) It’s halfway between late and early. Think. Think think think. Ok, make lists, check in, get rational because there’s a now moment just there, you see it? They’re all crowding in now everything else is still.  See it? That’s it just there. It’s close, that now when I’ll need to know what I think about this.

Do I go now

What selfimposed enigma?

I was drunk or buzzed or whatever an hour ago, but not hungover yet. Not that high. I’m fine: driveable.

What selfinvolved enigma?

There’s at least three, maybe four guys in this room and another on the balcony entwined in the sargasso friend zone, who would help me scoop up Drunkalinda and insert her into my car so I might drive home maintaining constant uniform acceleration, her upper body arranged along parallel lines to the passenger window meeting at infinity. Unless she pukes.

What selfevident enigma?

The height of the open window exceeds the arc of her body whilst vomiting. She’ll vomit into the door her face intersecting at a 90 degree angle the top of the window (recessed). She can ride in the back seat with a trash bag.

Do I stay

What play of forces, inducing inertia, render departure undesirable?

The invitation from the one to share his bed: the proximity of an occupied bed, obviating research: the anticipation of warmth (human) obviating desire and rendering desire desirable. The simultaneous invitation from the other one to share his bed: sound entwined with Echo.

Am I entering a lair or ambush of lust or adders?

Probably. There are snakespirals and pendent viper radii loose in every coming now. See them? With everything in an eternal pause I can’t know if they are coiling or uncoiling. Will this now coil and create a universe? What about that one? Will that now uncoil and destroy my world? The odds are 20:1.

What personal objects are perceived?

To the north: tall, fair, blue, has a laughing kind of a voice. To the west: short, dark, brown, disposed on the floor, coiled. To the south: tall, dark, blue, watching me and watching me: perpetual inaction originating in and repeated to infinity.

Now then

The simultaneous prospects of each render me unavailable to any.

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Would the departed never nowhere nohow reappear?

10 Monday Dec 2012

Tags

Finnegans Wake, James Joyce, Ulysses

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Posted by Nowthenowhen | Filed under Ithaca

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Bentwood perch with fingertame parrot (expurgated language).

05 Wednesday Dec 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess, James Joyce, Ulysses

2:49 am

Namaste ladies, gentlemen, birds. Oh! Yes, well, I’ll pretend your bird didn’t say that. It’s all good. Your parrots are welcome to come out of their cages. We want them to feel the calming energy and peaceful environment we have created especially for them. Particularly that one. Good mother earth, the language! I’ll need to recenter myself. Just a sec, please help yourself to a crystal you can keep in your bird’s cage, choose the one that speaks to your energy or better yet, allow your bird to choose it. We have larger quartz clusters starting at thirty two dollars. If you like the music, I said, if you like the music, can anybody hear me? I’ll speak up. If you like the music the cd’s are for sale: celtic wind chime sounds of the sacred oracle. Sacred oracle. ORACLE. Well I can see some of you do need the universe to make them stop. Wow! Big crowd today too. Let’s gently ask our birds to say something less offensive. Oh! Well, now, your bird can really get you into some trouble, sir. Oh no. Ok. Ok. Crap. If the parrots start fighting, we should ask them with kindness to return to their cages. And that’s not fighting. How beautiful! Oh. Oh no. That’s not beautiful. Ok we’ll need to get the rest of them to stop. We need to stop this. WE NEED TO STOP THESE BIRDS, THEY’RE ALL SETTING EACH OTHER OFF! I SAID SETTING! Great Goddess, it’s parrots narrating bird porn! Can we just. Um. Here, throw this prayer rug over them. THROW IT OVER THEM. Didn’t help. So many African Greys today, they tend to vibrate better with white sage, maybe I should just put out this sweetgrass and light some sage instead. Ok. Let’s try to get started. Namaste, welcome, please if you are just arriving, take a seat on the floor. I said Namaste, wel, NAMASTE! NAMASTE! OH! SHOOT! HEY! HEY LET’S KEEP THE DOOR CLOSED, Uh, let’s keep the door closed as the birds chakras will be much more open if we allow them to interact freely with one another and with us. Shall we begin? Begin! LET’S BEGIN! First let’s take a deep breath and palms up to the universe and declare our intent, JUST DO WHAT I DO. FUCK THE BIRDS. OH SHIT. Fuck I’m swearing. Damnit. Ok. Ok. Let’s all calm down, our chakras are all spinning way too fast. NOTHING. NEVER MIND. DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING, JUST FORGET THE BIRDS FOR NOW AND PALMS UP. BREATHE. DON’T WORRY IF YOU CAN’T HEAR ME. O UNIVERSE, we wish to communicate directly with the heaventree of stars and we ask all our angels and spirit guides to be with us here today. Our higher selves humbly ask the higher selves of our feathered companions, I mean the birds not the angels! Ha! The spirits are laughing. I SAID THE SPIRITS ARE LAUGHING! NEVER MIND. Fuck me the spirits have a sense of humour today. Glad they do at least. Our higher selves ask the higher selves of our parrot friends to please find a way to forget the words we wish they had never learned by mnemotechnic. So mote it be. SO MOTE IT BE.  Nice deep breath. Ah! Would anybody like some tea? TEA? Fuck. OK EVERYBODY LISTEN UP, PUT YOUR BIRDS BACK IN THEIR CAGES. BACK IN THE CAGES. JUST GRAB THEM AND STUFF THEM IN THERE. COVER THEM UP. COVER THEIR CAGES. Jesus christ what a clusterfuck. YES YOUR HAND IS UP? YOU’LL HAVE TO SAY THAT AGAIN, I DIDN’T HEAR OVER THE. I’ll go over there. No, we don’t buy birds from our clients. There is a bulletin board in the hall; people sometimes post them for sale on that. Right. Let’s start over. Oh fuck you too. Sorry. Sorry. I’m new at parrot clearing. I can talk to most animals though, but these, uh, gosh darned uh. Yeah. Sorry. Let’s all take a deep cleansing breath. Good. That’s better. Birds are calming down. Covering cages takes it down a bit, but you can’t keep your bird covered up all the time: it’s absolutely terrible for their auras. So. Your birds swear like sailors and granny is coming for the solstice, while we recenter, why don’t we all share what remedies we have tried with our bird families so far? I mean besides the usual things: reiki, chakra balancing, aurasoma therapy, bird whisperers. Ignore your bird, yes, that can help. Your bird wants attention so don’t give attention to behaviors you would rather avoid, but always be mindful they are creatures of the universe who need to give and receive love. What else? No, given the karmic repercussions we don’t recommend punishing your bird in any way. Absolutely not. It would be. Wait. What did you do? And you kept the game hen in the freezer or something? That’s. That is just. I think you should reconsider showing a dead plucked bird to your parrot, not only for the sake of your own karma, but it is clear that your poor bird’s chakras are particularly weak. And telling your parrot that this can happen to him, I just have no words. No, I didn’t say that. That wasn’t me, it was Isis, my parrot. Listen, your aura is so tattered and damaged, you really need to get a realignment.  We can do that here for two hundred dollars and you can keep a recording of the session. Ok. Other ideas we’ve tried? Yes, you? No, we don’t recommend tranquilizers or feeding your bird whiskey to make it fall asleep. What is wrong with you people? Hey. No your bird did not say that, I saw your lips move! Ok. Let’s just do this. We recommend, besides providing a safe and loving sanctuary for your parrot soul mates, that you pick your bird’s favorite vulgar word and find appropriate rhyming words he or she can say instead. Judging from the birds we have with us today, you might consider words like duck, luck, pluck, cluck, buck, stuck, suck. Well, maybe not suck. Or schmuck. Who said schmuck? I don’t think that came from your bird, sir.  I heard that. That one was a woman’s voice. Hey! Ok that one might have been a bird. So instead of that word, why not try a word like itch, ditch, which, rich, stitch. Come on, there aren’t that many birds in here. That was like two dozen voices. Ok, let’s see if, I SAID LET’S SEE IF WE CAN CALM THEM DOWN AGAIN. EVERYBODY STOP TALKING! BIRDS TOO! I knew I should never run a workshop on a day when the moon is squared with Saturn. I knew it. And the moon is in Leo too, what was I thinking! Fuck! Ok. Other words. I SAID WE SHOULD THINK OF OTHER WORDS! SHIT SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! INSTEAD OF SAYING SHIT SAY CHIT, WIT, PIT, TIT, no not tit, PIT, I said that one, SKIT. Once you have your word, record yourself saying it. I SAID RECORD IT. PLAY IT BACK TO THE BIRD ON AUTO REPEAT AND LEAVE THE HOUSE. WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU SIR, YOU WHAT? OH MY FUCKING GOD FOR CHRIST’S SAKE YOUR BIRD WANTS A FUCKING CRACKER! GIVE IT A GOD DAMNED MOTHER FUCKING CRACKER!

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Balance

04 Tuesday Dec 2012

Tags

Bee Sting, Cold Feet, Dante Alighieri, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Joyce, Paradiso, Ulysses

ithaca balance

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What caused him consolation in his sitting posture?

03 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Dante Alighieri, Echo, Eye, James Joyce, Mathematical Esoterica, Mirror, Narcissus, Nothing, Paradiso, Rob Mulholland, See Myself as Others See Me, Temporality, Ulysses, Vestige

2:41 am

I’d rather die than sleep with you Echo, if you really want to know the truth. It’s not going to happen so please, come on, enough already.

But Narcissus, you can’t hold out forever. I know what you’re doing. You have this image of yourself you are so in love with, but that’s not really you. Saying all the time you won’t have sex you won’t have sex, do you think that makes you so much more pure than everybody else? You have youth and you have beauty. And you’re a rock star. I’m just saying give it up already. You owe it if not to me, to yourself. You are missing out and here I am. Right here. Telling you and telling you. I could disappear tomorrow you know, and then who will you have to love you? I mean more than I love you.

I have myself. I have my integrity and I know my worth, and I am more valuable to me than I am to anybody else.

You are so transparent. You can love yourself all you want Narcissus, but yourself won’t love you back. God it’s like I’m empty air here, can’t you hear me? I’m trying to tell you!

I’ve learned something, Echo, I can see myself as others see me. But even more importantly I see my self as I see myself. I look into my own eyes looking into mine and there is nothing between us. No fears, no doubts. Nothing. The everythingness of nothing. Together we feel very simply, but strongly, the purity of a oneness made from the two of us. We feel it like a radiance, projecting outwardly from us in concentric circles. It feels like waves, Echo. When we connect together within that moment, we are the meaning and even the source of the two in the one and the one in the two. And we feel together, I and I, I feel that this truth has been true since time immemorial and forever more. Desde siempre y para siempre.

You’re killing me! Narcissus, I love you like you’ve never seen before. I beg you to listen to me.

I can’t even look at you.

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball:

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5 5/11 minutes past each hour per hour in arithmetical progression.

26 Monday Nov 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

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Atatos, Eleven, Filippo Tomasso Marinetti, Geometric and Mechanical Splendor and the Numerical Sensibility, James Joyce, Krishna, Mathematical Esoterica, Mother, Octave, Owl, Simultaneity, Steampunk Owl Clock, Temporality, Ulysses

2 hours 10 minutes 54 6/11 seconds ante meridiem

Now watch the clock. Keep your eye on it. There. That was one. Did you blink? I can slow it back down for you if you like, I’ve done it before, but we’d be here forever. Let’s try again. There’s another one coming and there! See it? The longer hand and the shorter hand were at exactly the same angle of inclination. That’s the moment, that’s the way in, you understand. When the longer is the momma and the shorter is the girl, the way to shorter leads through longer and the way to longer leads through shorter. Now pay attention, here it comes again and now! You missed it. Listen. You think this is easy tinkering with time for you? Try to focus. You think it’s everyday a mother and daughter feel simultaneously inclined? Yes it is every day, twenty two times a day, but I’m making a point, you owl, so don’t give me your shit. I can go. You know that, don’t you, I’ll leave. And then when will you be? I thought so. And we just missed another one, so. Yeah. Are we doing this? You ready? You’re not ready. I’m going to have to stop time or I’ll be explaining this until I’m blue in the face. Stop. Now let’s do the math. The hands kiss every hour and five and five elevenths minutes. Get that? Keep up. The daughter moves twelve times as fast as her mother, but that doesn’t mean momma’s not moving too. Frankly I’ll take a woman who understands a good slow rotation any day. But you are young, you like it fast, that’s your deal. So. Just know that momma is moving too, thirty degrees to her girl’s three hundred and sixty, so little miss chica moves fast, but she always plays catch up. Oh so much for her to learn. Do the division, divide little missy’s speed by momma’s endurance. Feel that eleven rising? Right there in your face. And start. And we just missed another one. Right. Right. Kid. Enough mathematics, we need to get scientific now. And musical, let’s try a higher octave. Yes? We can philosophize until the owls come home but that doesn’t get either you or me any nearer either one of them. You ready? Really feel it this time. Now go!

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Moneypenny Buttons

25 Sunday Nov 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

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Tags

Cat, Finnegans Wake, James Joyce, Poetry, Ulysses

2:22 am

Padney Socks she shook with shocks her money box,
And counted out buttons three.
Thwee buttons! worried she, oh no this cannot be,
And her neckarching cat did agree.

Padney Socks she cries and rocks, the cupboard unlocks,
And there just peas numbered three.
Just thwee peas! muttered she, but I’m getting hungwee,
And my mousewatching cat eats doubwee!

Padney Socks she frets and walks, to herself she talks,
My cat seems often bitchy.
One mean cat! plotted she, devising strategy,
My, that earwashing cat looks portly.

Padney Socks she sneaks and stalks, her cat in a box,
Then drinks a swig of brandy.
One fat cat! rejoiced she, skipping out for parsley,
For her hearthdreaming cat recipe.

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State Inspected and Medically Controlled

21 Wednesday Nov 2012

Tags

Finnegans Wake, James Joyce, Ulysses

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For the solution of difficult problems in imaginary or real life.

16 Friday Nov 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Book with Mirror, Cold Feet, Daniel, Free Will, Hopscotch, James Joyce, Julio Cortazar, King Henry VI, Mathematical Esoterica, Mirror, Othello, Sean Kernan, Ulysses, William Shakespeare

2:07 am

Now, the best answer to any problem, not to be too woo woo about it, is to let the universe decide, or rather, leave it up to the universe to tell you the best path.  The choice is yours, you have free will as far as I can see. You do. You have lots of it. But it can help, or at least it can’t possible hurt to gain a little advice from a power greater than ourselves.  So come on, do you have cold feet about the cosmos or are you with me?  Now. Hold the hand mirror in the proper position and imagine any problem you might be having.  A matter of the heart maybe, or a financial problem.  Perhaps another person is sleeping with your beloved. Or maybe you can’t decide how much cream to put into your cocoa.  It can be anything, just hold your question in your mind with clear intent and allow me to practice sortes Shakespearianae on your behalf.  I am using a leatherbound Shakespeare complete, 1926, kept carefully upright and once owned by Guare Swofr Jr. from what I can make out of his or her appallingly illegible signature.  Ready? We ask the blessed universal oneness to grant us clarity and insight and guide our hand to the correct place for enlightenment. The answer to your problem is:

Shame and confusion! all is on the rout; Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds where it should guard.

That’s from the second part of King Henry VI, act 5, scene 2, spoken by Young Clifford.  Tell you anything?  Tells me you should maybe avoid the cocoa and stick with water.  And somebody is definitely sleeping with your beloved. Oh dear. You look terrible.  Do over! Let’s do it again.  This time we’ll try sortes Biblicae. I have a nicely dogeared copy of the bible inscribed To Mike. From: Robbie Nelson.  The copyright page has been torn out. Ready? We ask the universe with full hearts and clear heads for the answer to our questions and your solution is:

Nebuchadnezzar the king made an image of gold, whose height was threescore cubits, and the breadth thereof six cubits.

Pretty! Book of Daniel 3:1, so I’d say pour the cream! Not sure what this says about your other problems though.  Perhaps you should find a nice golden idol to worship?  Or craft one of your own?  Maybe we should try again. The universe is never wrong, you understand, it does sometimes want clarification. How about sortes Cortazarae? In times of confusion I often turn to, yes, where is it now? Where? Green book, paperback, yellow piece of paper with chapter numbers and checkmarks marking chapter 110. Here! Ready? Now, we ask the universe and so on and so forth:

137
MORELLIANA
If the volume or the tone of the work can lead one to believe that the author is attempting a sum, hasten to point out to him that he is face to face with the opposite attempt, that of an implacable subtraction.

So you see! So use mathematics and start subtracting: lay off cocoa and dump your lover. Can’t get a clearer answer than that.

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The difficulties of interpretation.

15 Thursday Nov 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Ithaca

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Cronopios y Famas, Free Will, God, James Joyce, Julio Cortazar, Key, Lightning, Moses, Simultaneity, Story, Temporality, Ulysses

2:06 am

First it happens, then it means something. Rarely, the bolt of lightning will hit one directly (perhaps from a forty five degree angle like a shot off a shovel) and there within the simultaneity of the electrical discharge and the acoustic report you know as it’s going down that this now this is it is this moment (this very instant) that means already in advance and simultaneously what it will come to mean. But really what are the odds of an event and its significance occurring simultaneously? We can’t know all the conditions so there must be some sort of calculable probability. Twenty to one? And this is assuming of course that there is indeed such a thing as simultaneity, but this is no time for parlor games. There is no simultaneity, event and meaning intersect only with lovers, and there is no free will. Oh yes, also: do not risk, do not expect, do not be disappointed, be satisfied, sustain no positive loss, bring positive gain to others. Now, finish carving that on the tablet, make a duplicate to use as light to the gentiles, and bear it down the mountains in your arms, the secret of the race, graven in the language of prediction.

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History repeating itself with a difference.

03 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Eumaeus

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32 feet per second per second, A Manual for Manuel, History, James Joyce, Julio Cortazar, Libro de Manuel, Minimum Monument, Mirror, must have fell down, Nele Azevedo, Omphalos, Ulysses

1:46 am

All right ladies, hold the mirror just so, can everybody see me? Just like this. Adjust your positioning so you can get a good angle yet still feel perfectly comfortable and supported. If anybody needs an extra rolled up blanket go ahead and get one. I’m sorry, I forgot your name, purple mat? Yes, you. Try switching hands. There you go. Good? Everybody ready? Now take a deep breath in through the nose, and feel your breath flowing through every part of your body, moving warmly down your spine, and exiting your body toward the mirror as you breathe out. Good. And breathe in through the nose like an inward voice two, three, four purple mat, you are sitting too tight. If you have a possible need to satisfy by moving a motion, no? Then you’ll need to get into position from standing again. Ok, feet shoulder width apart, there you go, mirror in the other hand, yup, breathe in through the nose and on the exhale bend down as if you let something drop, nice, then let your body fell down, 32 feet, per second, per second. There you go and breathe in, two, three, down the spine, and out toward the mirror. Good. Everybody still breathing? Keep breathing and follow my voice. As you look into your mirror I want you to focus your awareness on the opening just a short distance under where the back changes name. This is your when point; think of it as an omphalos if it helps you. Focus your breath towards your when point and allow this to be your breath’s one great goal. Now I want you to keep feeling the rhythm of your breathing and on your next inhale allow your breath to encircle all the calcifications of history within your body. Now imagine your breath melting history away. Breathe history down your spine and push it out toward the mirror. Good. And inhale, really feeling those mineral accretions of history melting into tailings. Keep breathing. Down the spine. And out. Now breathe in and feel the tailings shifting, melting, like ice into water two, three, four and out,  and on the next cycle we’ll push the last of history toward our one great goal. Ready and in, two, three, four, good, really focus, down your spine, and out, two, three, purple mat, there are buckets and rags in the utility closet. That’s ok. There’s one in every class.

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With her fleshy charms on evidence in an open fashion.

02 Friday Nov 2012

Posted by Nowthenowhen in Eumaeus

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32 feet per second per second, Alfred Hitchcock, Camera Lucida, Circus Girl Seated, Fernando Botero, James Joyce, Mathematical Esoterica, Roland Barthes, Ruby: the Pride of the Ring, Strangers on a Train, Temporality, Ulysses

1:45 am

Don’t look bored. Don’t look bored he says. Easy for you to say you’re doing something. I’m doing something he says. What am I doing that’s so? Estupido. Have me sitting here. I have pride. I don’t have to sit here for him or no anybody. And for what? For him to sell me in the streets? that’s what I mean to you hey? Just sit here. Wear this. Be the circus girl. Come on now baby, you’re the circus girl he says you’re the contortionist and you can bend and twist all around me  yes and rub yes ruby your body yes and twist round me and I’ll twist all around you. We’ll criss cross, you do me I do you. Snaky helixing. Caedeusalicious.  All to see. You want to sell me in the streets? You want i should walk the streets? I will too and I’ll get good money and men I’ll have men I take all of the men. Doubles: the only kind of doubles I play. How you stand there and paint. Don’t look bored. Hours and don’t look bored. I could be doing anything from A to G, but you got me sitting here all fucking whatever time it is while you try and prove that painting can somehow be closer to theatre than a photograph or 32 photographs per second per second.  You ever think you might be the only one who sees it that way? Come on. Please. I sit here with my back and you look at me like I could be the tent. Don’t look bored. I’m keeping the outfit.

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball:

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