|366Satirical goat song #9 about nada + chindi + klizzie mine Us 5 = O dizzy us|
The shift is on. Panning full circle after 360, ...., 365, ... see the world by standing in 1 place + letting it revolve around U ... S.S. movement is w/in. Letting oursselfs be poSSESsed ... but 1st 1 must detach ... lose ego, let it go. Ergo not care bout all the day-to-day hypocrisy ... every 1 shouting all at once to be heard til it all becomes unjust noise ... just 1 in the herd never seen in the scene. Tune into the silence be tween, entwined ... tho the entire specked spectrum is already being used to broadcast, scarce real estate left to tune out. Broadway being our diagonal lifeline to this city ... 1-line to the 2, 3 if we're lucky.
abySS.mally getting into character w/o blooming ... dismally gazing back into the abyss feeding back on us, need to let go of journalistic + quotidian intent. Malls induce crowd-sourced grand mal seizures. Take (dis)information + nutrients absorbed + not just rehash or re-enact but recreate the initial conditions to allow for creation of RE: O-ring offerings. A narrative pliable enough to absorb avec digestif ... to allow for projection (a void low-hanging fruit) ... an empty vessel to be fulfilled ... w/ unlimited refills ... supersizing those already supersized. To not just drink kool-aid or pull strings but become 1 w/ Ulysses ... U as seen thru our brother's eYes. Simon SSEYs «our brothers' eyes ... yoUr brothers' I» ... w/ a capitol U. 7 days til Bloomsday. Roosting Riverside w/our vu over not the Liffy nor Thames but the Hudson.
Take a gander round our own backyard ... Pavlovian geese following the idea of wandering into fallow fields. Peregrination. Falcons circling overhead following instinct. Easier to meditate on the idea of nothing than nothing at all. «Nobody is killing me!» yelled the cyclops. Nobody et al. Better to say nada than to thump «nothing at all» over our heads. S-cape clinging to the underbellies of sheep. At the end of the day ... at the end of your life U realize the whole while it was in front of yoUr eyes, your ever-whetting beak. Not the carrot but the string it dangles from. Who was it said Bloom wouldn't + couldn't read Ulysses? It's all in the rhythm of the ride, to not jolt or derail from the devil in the details, remain on track, on skedeuule. Mole under the ⅁oP-trusting bible-thumpers + tear new wormholes in the current O, ssey, can U sea? I C yoUr nonsensical nickel + raise U fitty, fatty.
U listen, S. Grant ... this B where we're at ... done w/ the gatheRing ... all the catguts cullected + laid out using The Odyssey as itinerary ... but once U set out on yoUr journey nothing ever goes as planned ... or at least the best trips are such 1s ... + here we are w/ foiled plans, thankfully ungurneyed. Reflecting off a charded prism ... reflecking w/in to unchartered territory to deterritorialize ... to deconstruct our birthrite, rip out our oregons, turn ourselfs insite out. We could rehash what we've been reading or re-reading ... Nietzsche (The Birth of Tragedy for the 2nd time), Dostoevsky (Notes from Underground, on the subway, also 2nd reading) + [[there.]] by Lance Olsen ... but what's the point? We could rehash what we've been eating... a hotdog at Yankee stadium, sardines at Roberto's on Arthur Ave in The Bronx, pizza at Roberto's in Bushwick, Arctic char at Littleneck's near the Gowanus canal, our usual assorted sashimi at Takahachi or oysters at Mermaid Inn + batch after batch of homemade salsa, tomato-pepper soup w/ broth distilled from chicken roasted a few days before w/ bi-colored corn + poblanos ... all these books + food fed into us + regurgitated while running + spinning + sleeping + watching Nadal for the 9th time ... our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee ... all that matters is the end result, of what it gets rehashed into. Which is not [this] ... tho it could be [this] if we choose to include or quote [[this]] in the book object we are calling 'SSES" 'SSES" "SSEY' ...
The current thinking is that we might allocate space over the summer to aliquot + cullate ... now that mattereels have been gatherd + an outlien created ... to cull+curate an episode a week. As stated before, we've more or less completed the 1st book of 3 ... Telemachy + now we've embarked on The Odyssey ... the actual odyssey w/in The Odyssey, which is the middle 8 chapters. The plan is to dedicate each of the next 8 weeks to fleshing these out into holes to complete the whole mas o menos comme ci:
So, comme ça d'according to this timetable, next will be the week of Calypso. We will eat, drink + live Calypso as we gather this chapter ... but not listen to Calypso ... we'll plug our ears w/ beeswax (skipping ahead to #12) rather than listen to Day-O. We'll switch from rum to whiskey before partaking in Belafonte's Rum + Cola. We don't think of Maya Angelou or Vanessa Williams or Suzanne Vega when we think of Calypso ... or at least we'll try not to. Need to reprogram ourselves, take the island back by the horns ...
There is no definitive mapping to The Odyssey. The above map places Calypso's island of Ogygia at the straits of Gibraltar (which was also Joyce's natural choice... being that he equates Calypso w/ Molly Bloom + she was from Gibraltar). Other interpretations place Calypso's island south of Sicily or off the eastern shore of Spain. But we're getting ahead of ourselves, we haven't arrived in Calypso yet (or actually, the above mentioned chapter is when he finally leaves Calpyso ... after being help captive 10 years) ... the above is our geographic itinerary. Or if we align ourselves closer w/ Joyce we won't leave Dublin's city limits. Here's Nabokov's rendering of the Ulysses map:
The correlated Calypso chapter takes place between Bloom's home (7 Eccles Street in northwest Dublin) + the butcher (Dlugacz's) where he procures the pork kidney for Molly's breakfast (+ that Bloom also eats "with relish" tho he's Jewish or 1/2 so) ... but again, we are putting the cart before the horse ... or Descartes before the horse, cogito ergo sum ... i m cuz i think, yo.
The Birth of Tragedy is Nietzsche's 1st book ... seems he hadn't quite let loose at this point, somewhat reserved compared to his later borderline schizophrenic rants. More than anything it had us wanting to read the 2nd part of Schopenhauer's The World as Will and Representation, which we recently acquired realizing we'd only read part I.
Nietzsche said it, not us. And also:
In [[there.]] Lance Olsen says «:::: The first definition of the word experimental is of a witness: having actual or personal experience of anything.» ... true that. But—at least in a scientific sense—while 1 must be ever-cognizant of the observer in the experiment (as well as the ghost in the machine), at the same time 1 should refrain from interjecting personal bias (our personal preference anyway) ... 1 must remain detached + objective, practice restraint, if as self-imposed constraint. Have your crew tie U to the mast if need be.
The beauty of David Markson (who Olsen channels) is that he's all about every 1 x-cept hisself. If he does intervene into the stilted non-linear narrative it's usually as unnamed author .. removed in 3rd. We struggle w/ this ourselves ... in 'SSES" 'SSES" "SSEY' especially it's hard to detach since we have strong personal associations w/ the subject matter. The excessive quoting is something we also take as cautionary tale ... also overwhelmed with so much to fold-in, but it must come naturally in it's right place ... falling w/ gravity, not thrown or forced. Olsen also quotes the likes of Schopenhauer, which again only makes us want to read the original from the horse's mouth ... a good thing perhaps (being led to the water), but better in the context of a blog or taste-making tweet, not in the otherwise sacred pages of an original book object.
Sum SSEY the public at large (herein known as «Herd») no longer collects art + music + books ... altho Herd thinks they're getting something for nothing, Herd is being collected, herded ... turned into consumers even tho they never buy anything. A grand illusion ... «the greatest trick the devil pulled is convincing the world he didn't ∃xist» ... the wool over our eyes.
... nothing against the devil ... we (also the authors of Goat Rodeo) IDentify w/ any 1 having horns on their head. Chindi is devil in Navajo + Klizzie is goat ... chindi klizzie means «D-G» in Navajo code, to us D-G implies Deleuze + Guattari.
Baudelaire also said «Everything, alas, is an abyss—actions, desires, dreams, Words!» + as Nietzsche points out, tragedy literally means «goat song» in Greek.
Standing on the shoulders, riding the great goat ... still running like the eveready rabbit re-energzied.
... a clusterflock returning to a time of collective storytelling ... that existed before printing preSSES set the written word in stone. By participating the herd becoming hysterical, a slender man stabbing crackers on camping trips + leaking creepy elbow pasta out our ears. Or hedge fund goats released in blighted Detroit lots ... part of a short-selling urban farming experiment.
Always keep an eye on the back of your own backyard. Our backyard recently featured in the opening scene of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty ... except the bench Ben Stiller is sitting on on the 125th street platform is not normally there ... + the movie sucked.
This is where we catch the train south ... our lifeline to the rest of the island running down Broadway. We were standing on this platform when they were filming the scene below the tracks where Mitty rescues the 3-legged dog from the burning building. Our hood was also featured in the news a few days ago ... the projects on the other side of Broadway that the commuters above are facing were the target of a raid of suspected gang members, «which the police and prosecutors described as the largest such operation so far in the city.»
Manhattanville as our island ... Ogygia ... within the island of Manhattan. This is where we faithfully sit until next week ...
|> 367 > The ever-blooming Trouble w/ Being Born + ambitions to have none|