when I meet Carolee Schneemann -- it's as if lines were running through everything some kind of Leibniz or Blakean loom, a mesh of ruptured enrapturing threads trickling through intersections of forming all things in the grapevine perhaps negative monsoon. from this every fabric moving around what it could not be not the films flickered like frogs cricketing or logs spiffling with geese afire the sky with flaming swallows. then the image was suddenly gone...
....involved in writing a long letter a few days ago explaining to a friend, who has since deleted me from the contacts, that I was not writing to him in my FB update some hyopthetical letter-idea that I wouldn't send to him and instead just wanted to let other people read but that --instead --
there are times I write updates that are about speaking to everyone simultaneously about everything ---- in a new old genre of supra-personal sub post-fictive dream journal wherein, whoever I am at that moment, becomes free to say things that were new even to all of us and there is/ was/never/ no longer can be any grounding in various truth-lie functions, so why the hell not just do that, as long as it's not abusive and if it was not personalized, not pointing any fingers...
thusly I had and perhaps still endeavor to unfold writing which evolves from stated purpose to eventually being lost in pointless but hopefully amusing digressions to arrive only at the next pause...
....if I could not put together the world in various sentences that cohered by following a vital pull of energy entangling medusal body-brain circuit pan mentalisms, then I should just put aside writing and study biology or chemistry, which I was pretty good at don't ask me why I found it boring because of my family of course. I tried to explain to my friend that I wasn't writing to him in absentia but that even denying I was doing so felt like a cop-out anyway, one that would reduce me to dialoging about his own issues which he has to solve without me anyway and I am not wise enough to assist him because...
we need to renew the pacts with the earth, or configure this matrix again...
... what art needs to do is to help us all access interior knowledge. this phrase interior knowledge bounced back to me today when I heard that Carolee Schneemann http://www.caroleeschneemann.com/ died and when I remembered the time I met her in California at Small Press book shop where she had come to do a book-signing
and she looked like a cat so terrifically feline to me and I also mean she looked with the eyes of a cat that open wide enough to include their ears in a buggy radar so that they, these ears, seem to see even with their eyes closed and if Carolee is now hearing this then she knows what I am hearing and also senses what I am reading & writing my inner ears torus ventricular turned inside out to pulse body images and flash on the nuerological web while pineal gland flickers precisely between those eyes lost in equilibrium.
and it's even clear here and now that when I met Carolee Schneemann this place where I write about meeting her was already here, now and there, in this moment, unscrolling itself -- there was this moment back in California when I saw this enlightened iridium dial look, mingle in the air, an owl-eye, a fan-quill, spread itself about and my eyes...
...entered this atmosphere I couldn't really see... yet later would find: it's as if lines were running through everything some kind of Leibniz or Blakean loom, a mesh of ruptured enrapturing threads trickling through intersections of forming all things in the grapevine perhaps negative monsoon. from this every fabric moving around what it could not be not the films flickered like frogs cricketing or logs spiffling with geese afire the sky with flaming swallows. then the image was suddenly gone in a fluke spiral. cars up and down San Pablo Avenue late afternoon sun the simple scene of this circle of people of whom I remember only one other personally exactly, a poet now also removed from the direct access world, the poet Stephen Rodefer who introduced us there in that cloud somewhere ceaseless with heat lightening just this disjunctive place gapped over time wondering does someone remember me when I remember them until we close some eyes all of the eyes in the nerve of nets until who knows what stirs the cinders in the fire one last time passing the electron down the line
2 comments:
SchneemaNN - please hold onto the nn's
ooh, thanks, glad you pointed that out.
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