created this stretched version of one of the original cd cover paintings
just to be updatish
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Monday, November 7, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
On La Monte Young's Second Dream of the High-Tension Stepdown Transformer
!(((formatting here won't permit the proper line length)))))!
long lines beaming lofty into the dark along longer lines leaning hailward into the rose of last nights beginning
long rows of the traum-tone extending beyond what seeing as i can't describe orders back oblivion and goes on to seem so or only so
runs on before me as some kind of road going onward and nowhere resolving the brim of the convexity
rays of running light or the running lights of rays riding on the ruins of aural memory
and again long lines dipping into luminescent trails or rails run off from trains the heaving of lungs bewail
lines shining starless or stars themselves unseen in the self-origin of their setting nimbus tripped into evaporation
glistening in the listening to themselves pining oracles of their over-arching senility they travel younger than time and still
as monotony slivered with scintilatiing splinters of an abiding cacophony remain emotional as in moving and unmoving
texas or new mexico where lingering rickety leans of fences hem the yellow green munch and sun-pickled sanddollars of cattle manure
there is a theory in all this that has nothing to prove outside of its practice where theory itself is the mode of seeing waves and everything just begins again spuffling
to swell over the sucking ears that sleep and vibe their eternal tinnitus jesting the brain with inconsolable mares
shooting fluted runnels or rills of air resembling or reassembling the imaginary of wires weighted with pulsar parameters
boundary nexus of multilinear gravitational pulls permitting the sparagmos of inertia and the scandalous capers of two-bit stars
spittle drip off the stem spout tensile ingnotum clasping the floor of feral algae fed upon by whales moaning lonely songs
over the mountain hump of the last expected galaxy and further without backward glance coming from behind everything nevertheless and merging into infinite slittamenti
these are the smiles of gasping through the stem to stern spiral of the lines of longing that never ends
these are the mangers of the daughter of man already eaten by the kingless queen unrealming the night's hand on day
with my brittle anthology of unhinged syllables and leaky teapot i go sit on the roof to hear you fall a thousand deaths into my small life
and i paint your portrait with wine-stained fingers on the back of my love whom i place between two mirrors
and sleep when we decide we can rise again tomorrow to decipher what it means
salva adesso salve adesso salvete line line line
(to be continued)
March 4, 2011, Poznań
The rendering of the composition I have been listening to in flac received through the kind agency of Michal Ossowksi is entitled "90 XII 9 c. 9:35 — 10:52 PM NYC The Melodic Version (1984) of The Second Dream of the High-Tension Line Stepdown Transformer From The Four Dreams of China (1962)" which the Wikepedia unreliably but perhaps accurately lists as having been published by Grammavision in 1991 but I have no memory of hearing it then. When I first heard La Monte Young's works in the 80's his reputation had preceded him and any audition; and the bi-polarity between my youthful Marxism and my otherwise and beyond being transcendental-immanantist poetic cravings created a dissociation whereby I could only regard him as a crank guru to be admired at a distance. Whether or not I have any right to even describe this situation is perhaps as meaningless to the reader as it is to me. And yet it doesn't go without saying at all, if you have been paying attention up to this point. I do admire the work and also preferably at a distance, with a big bowl of gaping stars falling on my eyelids. I first had an occasion to play a regrettably foreshortened version of this piece in Warsaw in 2008 in a quartet comprised of myself, Eddie Prevost, Tetuzi Akiyama and Phil Durrant. It was a decent enough beginning. Playing a composer's work (or trying to do so) changes one's attitude rather permanently; there is no longer a feeling that any recorded version is acceptable if it is a great piece of music; you must play it again, experience it as coming though your own body; the music exists as a quality of air; it seems essential to your being and welfare; you have an unshakable desire to take a deep breath and begin again; in short, it is love and fucking and there is no substitute for it whatsoever; you find a way to do it or you die trying.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfZzz58VUaw
"i'm graphic like that"-- score and binary
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november 9, 2010, poznań, jg
'Tender in the night and the washing machine alone with you and a few of those laughing cigars whereby satyrically wrapped the ploral garment of soul
'Tender in the night and the washing machine alone with you and a few of those laughing cigars whereby satyrically wrapped the ploral garment of souls may thread forth barely',
for prepared guitar, mini-theremin, live electronics.
First realization October 25, 2010 in Poznań, Poland.
Dedicated to Stephen Ellis, Karolina Ossowska, Hubert Napiorski and YOU.
update 2012: this track was deleted and will reappear on bandcamp soon enough.
listen to other sounds
http://soundcloud.com/automatopoeia
leap emptiness (boundary), the perfect is, form set { imaginary } the 15 lateral devices & every drone between point a and b
"this book is not for reading. this book is for discovering. what is in this book to discover? This above all, but first of all, that it is only a book..."--Edward Stachura
"okay now, let's get round" -- a voice in the distance
that certain kind of drift under control tones ending specified functions by a cloyed resultant inefficiency to attend a focal nexus
"stemming through horizons"
from the rain falls badly magnetic harps another mouth all the grand parents or grand-children's teeth before the weapon announced
youth ego roamage opacity regret tender in the cuticle for heaven downs the perfect clip painstakes the agora cuts up further minimalism cries in the unofficial version cries in the official unsure of either sincerity beyond was of the crash-landing immaculate
what great tabs you have revealed the nebulous know alone suited in themselves of inner woven over suited in such selves that negligee of broken links patching as a thoroughness of hybridity melting into dozens
from these three muscles the derivation of literature sempiternally and divide the cluster behind the ear's mirror there gently tongue what's left of it after all rightness falters three sacs or more of air grown plush
you couldn't have put the sky in a better place had you tried and wore even nevertheless out the welcome of impact sybylls rebracketed and the erosions swirling all pop and no soda in just anybody's stomach
_----_ OXYGEM __---_----
in yesterday's pizza are found the projections of ever more untoward boxes no condtion original appends to
such a record the needle broke off in the groove and that machine of memory no longer figured just as clearly our kids no coulda suppressed that vowel particular to shabby saturdays and thus this thusly the acetone flower was classed out of
you couldn't weep on the eighth without tears freeze open your eyes to the ninth summons stepdown drawer and conscience itself a kind of mastication seemingly all tagged a dog number one
you wouldn't golf with a ball so bound in patterns, why patterns, why poland, why the gulf of my arms the black gold liquid the deafened bird sunken
go on to brugges and cylindrical empire weareth out cedar and wolves dank brise offen the nacre by repetitions feel empty grace embrace the vessel of your calculations drive forthe the thicke new cloud
(if the man want's it to be "enterprise" what can we do about it?")
for each gape of the gyre the vines & pedigree tra_slucent limn their iffy wedges and air is it not for them sexual partitioning the shared hydropshere by gum oaken winch or untether
disnormal and aprized music was not going into germany that year any better than privately issued circulars of breathy achievement gave the plato of corpuscles to drink in anyone's cafe
zero by remainder shall be known that votive or grain elder mellowing so and for only this step that she came she comes through would be and having so brisques the smile and ups the rumple in any line
manfred was a lousy sort of poster, a pastie, a postie
via immobile
those who in secretion have cured thy heart and drape about towns their own unshod horse withit taking they mount for themsouls wish not ash upon them or jess up other winchesters for their rut deeply coined gone paleo to whatever next sudden miscredenza
what you are free to say when you know that no-one is listening. what you could say if you were not being bullied to say something they mean but which they are too cowardly to say themselves, inwits. awareness a kind of nearness natheless gnomeliness the train whistle far down the line suddenly encompasses and blows open.
a sensible air charged with light all the dripnight long
august 8,9, 10
with friendly fractures "in between" that make it what it is and all the difference
that roundness, is around
the girl on the bike i have always dreamed of being
all the permeable surrounds of the minimum pressure point dissolve
brisque
applied
the preferable leggings
thigh deep in a pond of leaves or letters
we don't know why
embryonic sunstroke
inside the fish
the girl on a bike i have often dreamed being
whatever unshould'r'd butterfly
everywhere and nowhere
specified, pedal tones
figure deep in the most fading lines of any drawing
...this face left
the right of that
alive in the light one sees over a wall
or better yet through
the wall's aliveness
august 8, 2010
poznan (virtually)
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