she pulled out the fresh wood as
it called up black and white memories
the wood smelled of pine and wisdom.
she pulled out a hammer and nails
from underneath her bed.
she made a large rectangle
from the pine, and
she picked up the first nail,
grasped the hammer,
squeezing the handle;
she held them both there for a while,
squeezing the handle
until her tips went white.
she stood staring
at the dormant door
leading only to her carpet.
she heard a voice call, she thinks.
her stomach churned, dropped.
she laughed at habit,
hysterically
crying.
the blue skies or rain litmus test
was a rainbow and she knew
only that she loved it
she loved her door too much
to let it sit there
leading nowhere
keeping her there
staring into carpet
she sat indian style inside her door,
arms behind head and
forming two acute angles
around her eager ears.
her fingers locked together
behind her head.
the hammer and nails crossed,
hands holding each other
and hammer and nail.
she exhaled deeply
standing outside the unnailed door,
looking down into it
she caught herself in the mirror and smiled;
it was the greatest smile she ever received:
she got down on her knees,
put her hair up,
lined up the first nail,
raised the hammer,
and pounded it down,
tasted oxygen for the first time
each nail easier than the last,
like the story goes . . .
a good new groove needs to become;
prefabrications are shackles.
she sweat, she bled, she cracked a fingernail . . .
she hammered the last nail into place
a nirvanic headrush filled
as she pulled herself up,
simultaneous with the doors erection.
she stood it up in the middle of her room,
and realized she had finished before she had finished
she'd already walked through.
20100227
20100223
20100219
20100216
supreme court justices, supreme court clerks, and stand up comedians
i just saw the movie 'funny people'. i just read various supreme court related wikipedia entries.
in the movie 'funny people', i realized the more successful a comedian gets, the more he relies on others to produce material. i understand how more daily comedians, i.e. conan, letterman, etc, have a staff of writers backing them, but just in general it kind of surprises me, this reliance on others for bits.
along the same lines, i was reading the wikipedia entry on harry blackmun. fascinating guy. started off very conservative then becoming more and more liberal as it relates to 'unenumerated individual rights' post- roe v. wade in which he penned the majority opinion. anyways, the relation here is that he had probably the most liberal stance with respect to his clerks writing his opinions. in a few key examples, dissents in planned parenthood v. casey and bowers v. hardwick, his clerks were given control out of respect for their effective arguments and passion for the particular point of law at stake. granted, he must have agreed with the direction in order to to cede that kind of control and thne put his name on it, but, still...i think it's at least interesting to note not only how these disparate professions are similar, but to show the amalgamated community that goes into making each of us as individuals, even those at the top of their game.
in the movie 'funny people', i realized the more successful a comedian gets, the more he relies on others to produce material. i understand how more daily comedians, i.e. conan, letterman, etc, have a staff of writers backing them, but just in general it kind of surprises me, this reliance on others for bits.
along the same lines, i was reading the wikipedia entry on harry blackmun. fascinating guy. started off very conservative then becoming more and more liberal as it relates to 'unenumerated individual rights' post- roe v. wade in which he penned the majority opinion. anyways, the relation here is that he had probably the most liberal stance with respect to his clerks writing his opinions. in a few key examples, dissents in planned parenthood v. casey and bowers v. hardwick, his clerks were given control out of respect for their effective arguments and passion for the particular point of law at stake. granted, he must have agreed with the direction in order to to cede that kind of control and thne put his name on it, but, still...i think it's at least interesting to note not only how these disparate professions are similar, but to show the amalgamated community that goes into making each of us as individuals, even those at the top of their game.
20100215
on borrowing and lending ii
wrote a little bit on this a little while back. it's a riff off of the opening line to the second track off the antlers' 'hospice' (its the first track with lyrics):
. . .
struck most by the 'wish' that sets the time of the narrators singing of the song wayyy after the fact as part of a reminiscence. and this is obvious enough; in and of itself, it is nothing. however, situating the wish in the context of a first meeting and an unknowable therefore unpayable debt is heavy. the debt is unpayable for a couple of reasons. most importantly, this is not a financial debt, this is not a debt fit for a ledger. this is not a debt that one expects to be repaid. this is not a debt that carries a necessarily knowing creditor. its a psychic debt, its an emotional debt. this is not a debt that can be repaid in any clear, crisp manner. but the narrator here wants transcendence. he wants to be able to preemptively know how he will be changed. perhaps in order to give this other their most just treatment, their repayment. perhaps for some other reason.
since this is impossible, for him to go back and know in the first minute he met her, the real importance seems to lie not in the looking back but in the projecting forward. the statement can't be seen as merely setting the tone for 'kettering'; it sets the tone for and reflects on the entirety of 'hospice' yet to come. so at the same time that the narrator is looking back, we the listener are planted firmly at the beginning of his tale, placed in the shoes he'd like to be in. we are at the beginning unknowing and in this beginning stage much closer to not being impotent to knowing the debt owed. as all art worth it's name, the value of 'kettering' is in the story's pointing towards our own future course of action, moving us towards living a better (in this case) more conscientious life. fundamentally, im arguing that the point of the song is to consider how knowing about such unpayable debts, really feeling the desire to have known it, how does this knowledge change the narrator as he lives into the future? how does such a contemplation change us? these are the same questions, tho, for he is us. do we live more conscientiously, trying to know and acknowledge through reciprocal action the little and big kindness' received?
the resolution of this question is found mixed in with the drywall but also all over the facade, all the way up at the towering peak; there isn't one place that houses the answer to the most prominent question flowing from this isolated, opening line: what is the specific unpayable debt that motivated the line? i dont feel equipped to break this down or reduce it to one shining sentence. but maybe i can answer this in a sideways manner by addressing an issue raised above. namely, whether the debt is unpayable because the creditor here, the girl, is dead when he realized the debt owed. however, i do think that the creditor in this case could indeed be the narrator since the credit extended, the favor done, is, i think, executed unknowingly by the girl. but thats a total guess.
either way, the fact that she's dead when he gains knowledge of this tremendous debt controls; it doesnt matter whether she knew it or didnt know it while living. she's no longer living and the debt cannot be repaid to her (if indeed such debts can be repaid which is debatable and has been fodder for the initial post on this song). the narrator can go forward, casting himself out into the world with compassion and empathy for others and in this way perhaps repay the debt to the universe. though, as far as the individual woman who profoundly affected him, he knows only wisps of memories, he knows only yearning. this is the point, i think. synthesizing this looking back with the looking forward, he, we, can go forward knowing about these unpayable debts occupying perhaps permanently negated space, and live with sincerity towards knowing other people, towards knowing the constant empathy flowing into us and infinite store of empathy within our every step, finger tip, glance, synapse.
i wish that i had known in that first minute we met the unpayable debt that i owed youthe previous writing focused more on the notion of this unpayable debt and what it entails in the light of the overall human condition.experience.whathaveyou. ... just caught them again tonight, and beautifully enough they opened with 'kettering' which i had never seen live before. listened to it in various live forms since the end of the show before stumbling across the laundromatinee video that i had dug so much before. anyways, probably five listens later now, i have more thoughts on this song.
. . .
struck most by the 'wish' that sets the time of the narrators singing of the song wayyy after the fact as part of a reminiscence. and this is obvious enough; in and of itself, it is nothing. however, situating the wish in the context of a first meeting and an unknowable therefore unpayable debt is heavy. the debt is unpayable for a couple of reasons. most importantly, this is not a financial debt, this is not a debt fit for a ledger. this is not a debt that one expects to be repaid. this is not a debt that carries a necessarily knowing creditor. its a psychic debt, its an emotional debt. this is not a debt that can be repaid in any clear, crisp manner. but the narrator here wants transcendence. he wants to be able to preemptively know how he will be changed. perhaps in order to give this other their most just treatment, their repayment. perhaps for some other reason.
since this is impossible, for him to go back and know in the first minute he met her, the real importance seems to lie not in the looking back but in the projecting forward. the statement can't be seen as merely setting the tone for 'kettering'; it sets the tone for and reflects on the entirety of 'hospice' yet to come. so at the same time that the narrator is looking back, we the listener are planted firmly at the beginning of his tale, placed in the shoes he'd like to be in. we are at the beginning unknowing and in this beginning stage much closer to not being impotent to knowing the debt owed. as all art worth it's name, the value of 'kettering' is in the story's pointing towards our own future course of action, moving us towards living a better (in this case) more conscientious life. fundamentally, im arguing that the point of the song is to consider how knowing about such unpayable debts, really feeling the desire to have known it, how does this knowledge change the narrator as he lives into the future? how does such a contemplation change us? these are the same questions, tho, for he is us. do we live more conscientiously, trying to know and acknowledge through reciprocal action the little and big kindness' received?
the resolution of this question is found mixed in with the drywall but also all over the facade, all the way up at the towering peak; there isn't one place that houses the answer to the most prominent question flowing from this isolated, opening line: what is the specific unpayable debt that motivated the line? i dont feel equipped to break this down or reduce it to one shining sentence. but maybe i can answer this in a sideways manner by addressing an issue raised above. namely, whether the debt is unpayable because the creditor here, the girl, is dead when he realized the debt owed. however, i do think that the creditor in this case could indeed be the narrator since the credit extended, the favor done, is, i think, executed unknowingly by the girl. but thats a total guess.
either way, the fact that she's dead when he gains knowledge of this tremendous debt controls; it doesnt matter whether she knew it or didnt know it while living. she's no longer living and the debt cannot be repaid to her (if indeed such debts can be repaid which is debatable and has been fodder for the initial post on this song). the narrator can go forward, casting himself out into the world with compassion and empathy for others and in this way perhaps repay the debt to the universe. though, as far as the individual woman who profoundly affected him, he knows only wisps of memories, he knows only yearning. this is the point, i think. synthesizing this looking back with the looking forward, he, we, can go forward knowing about these unpayable debts occupying perhaps permanently negated space, and live with sincerity towards knowing other people, towards knowing the constant empathy flowing into us and infinite store of empathy within our every step, finger tip, glance, synapse.
in the morning
ill wake up n walk
feel the cold fill every atom
ascending, looking
to see if plants are growing
to wander free for a moment
to see how much sun it takes to burn
when the underground is home
and then ill go back to bed
and then ill go to work
and then ill go back to bed
and then ill go to work
and you will laugh with me
and you will never know me
just like i will never know you
but neither of us will know the difference
ill wake up n walk
feel the cold fill every atom
ascending, looking
to see if plants are growing
to wander free for a moment
to see how much sun it takes to burn
when the underground is home
and then ill go back to bed
and then ill go to work
and then ill go back to bed
and then ill go to work
and you will laugh with me
and you will never know me
just like i will never know you
but neither of us will know the difference
20100209
jack pours a glass of water from the refrigerated water dispenser.
jack wonders if he will stay awake.
jack wears variegated blue and gray flannel pajamas and a grey bon iver t-shirt featuring a lock hanging from the neck, he thinks.
jack thinks he will fall asleep even tho he just woke up.
jack exits his apartment.
jack goes to the little market two hundred fifty paces away.
jack smiles at the middle-eastern owner.
jack knows him, but can never remember his name.
jack is embarrassed and never asks again.
jack opens the cooler door and pulls out a Monster.
jack sees a frozen Home Run Inn pizza in an adjacent cooler.
jack cries.
jack thinks about the time he got on the wrong train line and his mother drove an hour and they stopped at the actual Home Run Inn restaurant.
jack thinks about the coffin.
jack thinks his mother is still his best friend.
jack has never worried how this sounded.
jack turns away from the cooler.
jack reassures his nameless convenience store friend he is 'ok.'
jack estimates 55-60% of his life is occupied with assurances and reassurances.
jack wonders if he caused chandra to run away by asking her if she was running away.
jack takes his change and puts his gloves on.
jack wonders why he has to wonder.
jack wants to make a declarative statement.
jack states the world is fucked; we are fucked.
jack is certain of only these propositions - and that he is walking down a street towards his apartment.
jack wants to call chandra and ask her what color she would paint a barn.
jack does not call chandra.
jack sits on his couch.
jack thinks about pleasure.
jack thinks about masturbating or writing.
jack thinks they are the same thing.
jack thinks about immanuel kant.
jack sits on his bed naked and reads tao lin.
jack masturbates and then writes.
jack copies tao lins style.
jack doesnt know if he (jack) has a style.
jack wonders if style matters.
jack suspects he likes tao lin's style because it is styleless.
jack thinks style is another facade, another obscurant.
jack thinks he wants to write igloos or wigwams or open faced tents like on LOST when they were camped out on the beach.
jack doesnt want to hide anything from anybody.
jack wishes he could stop hiding things from himself.
jack glares at the unopened Monster.
jack thinks about cavemen drinking Monsters and ripping flesh off the bone, teeth grinding, glistening.
jack listens to tool's 'undertow' (the album).
jack wonders if he asks too much of people.
jack thinks he asks Enough.
jack thinks about graveyard hearts.
jack wishes he got in a car accident and didnt remember anything before the car accident.
jack's ass thinks he has not moved in hours.
jack gets up and feels the Monster.
jack's Monster is cold.
jack has not been thinking for hours.
jack wants to be able to watch LOST for the first time.
jack wonders why they ever wanted to leave the island.
jack reads an article on alternet asking "why are americans passive as millions lose their homes, job, families, and the american dream."
jack listens to animal collective's 'fireworks' and thinks he could cry if he wasn't so funny.
jack thinks he likes to be sad.
jack counters that the world is fucked.
jack rebuts his (jacks) counter.
jack does not think anything is decided.
jack walks around his room.
jack wants to call chandra.
jack does not call chandra.
jack sits at his computer and opens up gmail.
jack knows what he wants to do and pleads with jack to abstain.
jack reads chandra's first words.
jack reads every word they wrote each other on gchat, gmail, and facebook which he estimates at between twenty-five and seventy-five thousand.
jack recounts every face to face and phone conversation he can remember.
jack remembers every meaningful look chandra ever gave him.
jack wonders how many looks he misinterpreted.
jack estimates that one percent of people that say they are happy actually are happy.
jack estimates Some Greater Percentage of people that think they are unhappy have happier seconds than happies have lifetimes.
jack wonders if he is one of these people.
jack wonders about happiness density.
jack thinks chicken and broccoli and cheese makes him happy.
jack talks to a friend on gchat.
jack thinks how easy it is to fake emotions online.
jack wonders how long chandra has been faking it.
jack yells at jack for doubting chandra.
jack reminds jack that her great feeling of enlightenment, of lightness, of exerting her will alone has coincided with pulling away from jack.
jack is weary.
jack wonders why he is weary.
jack makes a peanut butter, grape jelly, and Nacho Cheesier Doritos sandwich and drinks a Capri Sun and feels better.
jack would like to someday meet a happiness not extinguished upon comprehension.
jack doesn't know what to do.
jack goes through the motions.
jack smiles all the time.
jack laughs at every joke.
(repeat x ∞)
jack wonders if he will stay awake.
jack wears variegated blue and gray flannel pajamas and a grey bon iver t-shirt featuring a lock hanging from the neck, he thinks.
jack thinks he will fall asleep even tho he just woke up.
jack exits his apartment.
jack goes to the little market two hundred fifty paces away.
jack smiles at the middle-eastern owner.
jack knows him, but can never remember his name.
jack is embarrassed and never asks again.
jack opens the cooler door and pulls out a Monster.
jack sees a frozen Home Run Inn pizza in an adjacent cooler.
jack cries.
jack thinks about the time he got on the wrong train line and his mother drove an hour and they stopped at the actual Home Run Inn restaurant.
jack thinks about the coffin.
jack thinks his mother is still his best friend.
jack has never worried how this sounded.
jack turns away from the cooler.
jack reassures his nameless convenience store friend he is 'ok.'
jack estimates 55-60% of his life is occupied with assurances and reassurances.
jack wonders if he caused chandra to run away by asking her if she was running away.
jack takes his change and puts his gloves on.
jack wonders why he has to wonder.
jack wants to make a declarative statement.
jack states the world is fucked; we are fucked.
jack is certain of only these propositions - and that he is walking down a street towards his apartment.
jack wants to call chandra and ask her what color she would paint a barn.
jack does not call chandra.
jack sits on his couch.
jack thinks about pleasure.
jack thinks about masturbating or writing.
jack thinks they are the same thing.
jack thinks about immanuel kant.
jack sits on his bed naked and reads tao lin.
jack masturbates and then writes.
jack copies tao lins style.
jack doesnt know if he (jack) has a style.
jack wonders if style matters.
jack suspects he likes tao lin's style because it is styleless.
jack thinks style is another facade, another obscurant.
jack thinks he wants to write igloos or wigwams or open faced tents like on LOST when they were camped out on the beach.
jack doesnt want to hide anything from anybody.
jack wishes he could stop hiding things from himself.
jack glares at the unopened Monster.
jack thinks about cavemen drinking Monsters and ripping flesh off the bone, teeth grinding, glistening.
jack listens to tool's 'undertow' (the album).
jack wonders if he asks too much of people.
jack thinks he asks Enough.
jack thinks about graveyard hearts.
jack wishes he got in a car accident and didnt remember anything before the car accident.
jack's ass thinks he has not moved in hours.
jack gets up and feels the Monster.
jack's Monster is cold.
jack has not been thinking for hours.
jack wants to be able to watch LOST for the first time.
jack wonders why they ever wanted to leave the island.
jack reads an article on alternet asking "why are americans passive as millions lose their homes, job, families, and the american dream."
jack listens to animal collective's 'fireworks' and thinks he could cry if he wasn't so funny.
jack thinks he likes to be sad.
jack counters that the world is fucked.
jack rebuts his (jacks) counter.
jack does not think anything is decided.
jack walks around his room.
jack wants to call chandra.
jack does not call chandra.
jack sits at his computer and opens up gmail.
jack knows what he wants to do and pleads with jack to abstain.
jack reads chandra's first words.
jack reads every word they wrote each other on gchat, gmail, and facebook which he estimates at between twenty-five and seventy-five thousand.
jack recounts every face to face and phone conversation he can remember.
jack remembers every meaningful look chandra ever gave him.
jack wonders how many looks he misinterpreted.
jack estimates that one percent of people that say they are happy actually are happy.
jack estimates Some Greater Percentage of people that think they are unhappy have happier seconds than happies have lifetimes.
jack wonders if he is one of these people.
jack wonders about happiness density.
jack thinks chicken and broccoli and cheese makes him happy.
jack talks to a friend on gchat.
jack thinks how easy it is to fake emotions online.
jack wonders how long chandra has been faking it.
jack yells at jack for doubting chandra.
jack reminds jack that her great feeling of enlightenment, of lightness, of exerting her will alone has coincided with pulling away from jack.
jack is weary.
jack wonders why he is weary.
jack makes a peanut butter, grape jelly, and Nacho Cheesier Doritos sandwich and drinks a Capri Sun and feels better.
jack would like to someday meet a happiness not extinguished upon comprehension.
jack doesn't know what to do.
jack goes through the motions.
jack smiles all the time.
jack laughs at every joke.
(repeat x ∞)
20100208
20100203
i think too many things in one day.
i cant remember what happened yesterday.
i cant remember how i was moved.
i cant remember the truth i found.
i cant remember how i want to live.
i cant remember
anything but the clouds
anything but the drought
anything but the smell of rain
anything but the clouds anything but the drought anything but the smell of rain
i cant remember anything but the smell of rain
__the finger extended towards my doorbell
i cant remember anything but the view from my window
__aiding and abetting dreams in their felonies
i cant remember anything but the smell of rain the view from my window and your extended finger and nothing but the drought is real. nothing but sandpaper on babies bottoms.
i think too many things in one day. these are some things i thought and remembered.
i cant remember what happened yesterday.
i cant remember how i was moved.
i cant remember the truth i found.
i cant remember how i want to live.
i cant remember
anything but the clouds
anything but the drought
anything but the smell of rain
anything but the clouds anything but the drought anything but the smell of rain
i cant remember anything but the smell of rain
__the finger extended towards my doorbell
i cant remember anything but the view from my window
__aiding and abetting dreams in their felonies
i cant remember anything but the smell of rain the view from my window and your extended finger and nothing but the drought is real. nothing but sandpaper on babies bottoms.
i think too many things in one day. these are some things i thought and remembered.
of course
listen_listen__you gotta hear this song__it's fabulous__its so beautiful you MUST hear it but pleasepleaseplease wait one sec_____ wait a couple secs here ok_____ for me i have to___ i have to___ i have toooo__ what do i have to do_____ ohohoh i have to get my cigaretteshahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
we have to listen at the same time and_____where is my coat here it is______ yeah yeah we have to listen at the same time and smoke cigs at the same time_i mean right_right
we have to listen at the same time and_____where is my coat here it is______ yeah yeah we have to listen at the same time and smoke cigs at the same time_i mean right_right
a title to separate this from the this above this
i guess
ive never really gotten over the fact
one of the few
philosopher recommended
capital F facts out there
that i bleed
ive never really gotten over the fact
one of the few
philosopher recommended
capital F facts out there
that i bleed
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i, i, i
- steven
- "Seeing that before long I must confront humanity with the most difficult demand ever made of it, it seems indispensable to me to say who I am. Really, one should know it, for I have not left myself "without testimony." But the disproportion between the greatness of my task and the smallness of my contemporaries has found expression in the fact that one has neither heard nor even seen me. I live on my own credit; is it perhaps a mere prejudice that I live? ... I need only to speak with one of the "educated" who come to the Upper Engadine for the summer, and I am convinced that I do not live ... Under these circumstances I have a duty against which my habits, even more the pride of my instincts, revolt at bottom, namely, to say: Hear me! For I am such and such a person. Above all, do not mistake me for someone else!" - Nietzsche, Ecce Homo