Occupy Something Beautiful: One and 1/2 Years Later

        intenstified interactions with the site in Wilda
              an earth re-entry program            step by toe-hold upon
   axis mundi -- x & y skewed, inverted, held up to outer space, hovering just above grass --
sounds the earth plays as if i were the needle in it's groove, it's grove, it's grave -- opening to
  go on hands and knees grappling with amygdla and enigma (mole-hills,
             vast arrays, to escape insularity
         by echo-location of endless variety

the work within the realm of Vision reflected in the quivering hand rendering the 
Occupy Something Video Set

Occupy Something Beautiful and Absorb It, a personal political action

Occupy Something Beautiful and Absorb It (video link)

This is a video, a poor one, indeed, and a rich one all the same: document of a personal political action, a step I had to take to re-access how I am living. Several captures of bio-luminosity. photographic, somatic, pigments pressed into paper. The drawings I am currently working evolve from the process of using all sensory data to "depict" the synergy of the situation. The drawings are therefore neither wholly abstract nor strictly representational in the traditional visual sense of representation. I am extending into specific locations an aspect of visual art work begun in Berlin and Liege, Belgium and first presented as "Anatomies of the Invisible," in which I attempted to draw the inside of my own organism without breaking my own bodily surfaces. Just as the human body is a complex of systems that connect and involve one another with great subtlety, so I see in the forest also a deeply interwoven ecological system where the orders and appearances that seem accidental reveal themselves to be driven by intentions that are not my own but which can become part of my intentionality if I permit that to happen. The drawings therefore occasionally seem to represent recognizable species of animals and plants but they also generate mutations, mutant forms, forms in which one can catch glimpses of intermediary species that could have been or might yet be. In doing so, I am engaging in a different form of creativity, one involving the hidden processes of what I tend to call "the perfect mess".  More on thart later...

further imagery deriving from this action :

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10201202953220510.1073741832.1371170944&type=3

My work seems increasingly devoted to using the internet (somehow) to open up a means to local synergies by permitting access to reflection of minute, constant, observable structural change from a naturalist perspective described very effectively by Peter Warshall in his inspiring recent talk, just before his death. How late I am to come to this amazing person and what a pity he is already gone before I could thank him. The lecture is called Enchanted by the Sun.

Enchanted by the Sun

I pay particular attention to the relationship between perception and creation, reception and production.

I have published some thoughts and reflections about the idea of the microcosmic and macrocosmic systems inter-dependance in this my own weekly report video, starting at the 16 minute mark.

Saturday Night at the Villa dei Misteri, Week 4

Yaje, is the name I have recently learned for a kind of intelligence dwelling in the forest, access to which is permitted, I find, not only through drinking the Ayahuasca concoctions, but through localized meditation and observation: it is the place or space where you can start to feel the interconnections between all things, all events. I hope you get a chance to go there and meet with interested and innneresting unknowns.

Sojourner by Lee Foust, reviewed by me

I've had the pleasure of reading some of these tales, poems and rants repeatedly over the years and watching them amass here and finally be published is a great relief in that a voice releases itself in many voices and the opportunity emerges for everyone to find them in one place opening up into many places and yet held within one's firm grasp as the ride throws you back and forth. It's the grasp of the many idioms here, not alone the languages, that feels along the borders of cities and meets you inside their crumbling and struggling human fortresses, the lapidary leaping over many walls, the scrapes with junkies, the search for homes, the foreigner inside the self, and the nooks in which loves are found, destroyed, scattered, pieced back together, never ever to be whole again, but humanly capable of taking the next step, after all. "Ash Wednesday" comes first to mind as a frightening, erudite sociological horror story about both cultural alienation and rivalry set in some nearly Medieval Venetian snare that symbolizes all too cannily contemporary intrigue. It would take too long to comment on the many other texts and their fascinating temporal oneiric convolutions and deflective humorism so I prefer to cite the opener I have here to hand. "I dreamed I lay in an opium den in the Mission District/of San Francisco last night, drinking a bottle of Scotch/I fell asleep and was awakened/by a belligerent gang of teenagers spoiling for a fight/Instead of fighting/I threw a roll of sourdough bread onto Valencia Street/An ugly water glass fell over and smashed/all of my delicate and beautiful champagne and martini glasses/Then I had to pay up and go home." Such are the illusions of traveling, not to mention of being seduced by the dream of living, abroad, anywhere, when one has to continually deal with catching the bus back to the bed inside one's own head. Think about it: one persons "abroad" is another person's home. Then you take that trip from which you never can return. -JG

                                                         to get your own copy

                               http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17341502-sojourner

"respect": jeff gburek & tetuzi akiyama. cd published by spectropol records, seattle, usa

this panel gives the full text I was unable to fit into the cd design

"respect", jeff gburek & tetuzi akiyama

listen at link below to the full album

                            http://spectropolrecords.bandcamp.com/album/respect

"the watermark" cd by jeff gburek (that's me).

created this stretched version of one of the original cd cover paintings

just to be updatish

cd reviews

and paypal buylink

below

http://www.futurevessel.com/orphansound/projects/the-watermark/

Codex Seraphinianus

http://www.archive.org/details/Codex-Seraphinianus

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