name of the rose

.

2008-04-06T10:41:00.003-04:00

discovering
a space
for reflection

consuming culture

2007-06-20T07:38:00.000-04:00

in the ideolect of a child

2007-06-11T08:50:00.000-04:00

He strides through the grass
armed with only a "Secret Agent Bug Pouch",
allthewhile singing,

"Where are those sneaky ladybugs?"

Liam (age 3.9 years) has made
three small pictures (a ladybug,
a butterfly and a mosquito) on
coloured scratchboard. He folds
each drawing in half and glues
all three together so that they
open like a book, an insect
identification book, that he
slides into a small plastic
pocket. It fits easily into
his left pantleg pocket.

He has literally scratched the
surface to reach "the hiding
colours underneath". His
artistic process is alot like
finding bugs, or as he says,
scratching pictures reminds
him that "bugs can hide under
leaves and rocks".

Art is a material language
and each physical material
offers particular properties
that facilitate unique kinds
of expressions. What can be
said with clay can't be
translated into paint.
It follows that the more
languages children have,
the more expressions of
the same idea they will
discover.

To express the world with
a broader palette; why stop
at the first impression when
there are many different ways
of stating the same idea. It
is that skill of defamiliarizing
one's perceptions of the world.
Otherwise, habitual sameness
entrenches us. Art is the
undilution of habit.

"The Russian Formalists had a word for it.",
said Morris.

I'm sure they did.", said Philip. "But it's
no use telling me what it was, because I'm
sure to forget it."

"Ostranenie," said Morris. "Defamiliarization.
It was why they thought literature was all
about. 'Habit devours objects, clothes,
furniture, one's wife and fear of war ...
Art exists to help us recover the sensation
of life'. Viktor Shklovky."

(Lodge, 1991)

small t truths

2007-06-09T08:30:00.000-04:00

"I do not know what I may appear
to the world; but to myself I appear
to have been but a little boy, playing
on the sea-shore, and diverting myself,
in now and then finding a smooth pebble
or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst
the great ocean of truth lay all
undiscovered before me."

(Sir Isaac Newton)

.

2006-11-25T09:36:00.000-05:00

three year old Maxwell
examines a small wooden bird house,
imagines fitting sideways
through its small hole,
wonders how dark it is
inside while his fingers
trace the tiny copper-crescent
moon nailed just below
its red roof, saying;

"this is how the birds know when
to go to bed, they see it and go
to sleep when its moon-time."

"The art of research dwells in the hands
of children, and they are keenly sensitive
to pleasure and wonder. Children become
aware very early that through the art of
research they can discover the joy of living
and be freed from the boredom that comes
from existing in an unexplored world."
(author unknown)

...

2006-10-15T09:43:00.000-04:00

archery is to pedagogy
what computers are to haiku

if one thinks too hard
about hitting the target
one inevitably misses
but as soon as one lets go
of meeting the mark
bullseye!

without the bow and arrow
when all the paraphenalia disappears
and when practice becomes a way of becoming
one masters the enemy within, ordinance
and the straight line
of one`s intent

tap tap tap the sound

of hail hatching the window -

a desktop haiku

2006-09-15T13:42:00.000-04:00

2006-09-11T03:21:00.000-04:00

...

ascolti

2006-08-04T18:57:00.000-04:00

"Listening looks easy,
but it's not simple.
Every head is a world."

-- Cuban Proverb

postilla

2006-06-16T12:31:00.000-04:00

Self-Portrait by Tré (4.8 years)

T is tall
for his age,
rarely vocal,
always towers
over 3 other boys,
speaks with his hands
but today he says,

"My brothers had beer on the weekend".

Did they let you taste it?

He dis-plays
the socially acceptable
non-response
and quietly drops
his chuckling gaze.

T is all hands,
all arms and fingers
combing the air
with premature irony,
aware that words
are just a footnote
to his childhood.

Instead,
he depends on sight,
a baby-king of senses
who surrenders to it
knowing that the human body,
like other organisms,
lives by touch.

On T's flip side,
all is seeing
and seeing
is all.

But o
to gently tip T up
to the rim of the wheel
on which Heaven spins
and imparadise him
in pure childhood
for just a little longer.

what heaven looks like

2006-05-30T18:11:00.000-04:00

N (4.6 years) is running in circles.
A large piece of white chalk on the
ground brings him to a full stop.

"I want to draw heaven."

"Me too.", M (age 3.5 years) adds.

What does heaven look like?

"Nobody knows.", M explains.

Then how can you draw it?

M draws a long oval shape and adds a tiny circle
inside of it. He points to the small circle.

"That's me."

Next, M draws a larger circle above this shape,
adds 6 vertical lines inside of it and points
to the sky.

"It's up there. My grandpa is up there with
some others. They can see us right now.
You go there when you're done."

Was it Hegel who first distinguished between
imagination and fantasy? Both determinants
of intelligence. But imagination being
simply reproductive (imagining something
previously experienced but currently lacking).
And fantasy being inventive (producing the
image of a thing that was never previously
perceived by the senses ... the remote,
the absent, the obscure).

A poetic or productive imagination being
completely impractical; conjuring the unknown.
But a reproductive imagination remaining
pragmatic (like imagining water when one
is thirsty). Either way, it proves
Sartre's notion that,

"The imagination is an act, not a thing."

Ultimately, the fantastical imagination
escapes the real as fast as it can. And
doesn't this make poetry and all art
political?

Gianni Rodari writes,

"If a society based on the myth of productivity
(and on the reality of profit) needs only half
human beings - loyal executors, busy imitators,
and docile instruments without a will of their
own - that means there is something wrong
with this society and it needs to be changed.
To change it, creative human beings are
needed,people who know how to use their
imaginations ... let us develop everyone's
creativity so that the world will change."

He adds,

"Creativity is synonymous with
"divergent thought", that is, thinking
that is capable of continually breaking
the schemes of experience. A mind
that is always at work is creative,
a mind that always asks questions,
discovers problems where others find
satisfactory answers. It is a mind
that prefers fluid situations where
others only sense danger, a mind that
is capable of making autonomous and
independent judgments (also independent
from the father, the professor and the
society), that rejects everything that
is codified, reshapes objects and
concepts without letting itself be
hindered by conformist attitudes.
All these qualities are manifested
in the creative process. And this
process - it should be stressed -
has a playful character. Always."

His question is:

Why do schools relegate the role of
creativity to minor projects? Does
this imply the repression of creative
potentiality as a main objective?

"If one sees things in advance, one can
be regarded as a dreamer because history's
course of time is never identical with that
of the individual, and things do not ripen
at fixed times like peaches ... it takes a
great dose of imagination to see beyond
the school as it is now, and to imagine
the crumbling of its "reformatory with
curriculum" walls. But it also requires
that one believe that the world can
continue and become more humane."
(Gianni Rodari)

What is the shape of heaven?

words that play

2006-05-18T00:10:00.000-04:00

Liam (age 2.11 years) is in a sand box
trying to balance his entire body weight
on the top of a plastic dump truck.
He names the truck`s digger, "a ladder".

What are you doing, Liam?

"I am standing on the FREAKING LADDER."

Earlier, Dylan (age 4.5 years) is studying his face
in a mirror; he is drawing a self-portrait.

What are you looking for, Dylan?

"I am looking for my ME."

Some degree of abstraction is part of
any language. But children make words
play. They abstract familiar objects
from concrete and actual surroundings,
strip them of certain characteristics,
and then recombine one disparate idea
with another, adding attributes without
ever having seen such a thing. A talking
dump truck, a second self in the mirror.
In this way, children play with words,
thereby contributing to a greater
mythology. A magical world view.
Their abstract ideas can also lead to
inventions, to things they actually
create and test, to test their theories
about the world. Afterall, stories of
men-with-wings preceded the invention
of workable "flying-machines."

When chldren play with words, it is
more than nonsensical poetry. It is
their creation of an unconscious
memory, one that may last the rest
of their lives, and influence how
they relate to the world. Who doesn't
carry this gold weight deeply embedded
in their heart? A childhood memory
that neatly folds into all subsequent
adult interactions? An invisible layer
of skin that holds me in, a private
skin of culture that hugs the ME
inside my me?

"Every poetic work interrupts
the usual condition, the daily
routine of life - similar to what
dreams do - in order to reinvigorate
us, to keep the very meaning
of life itself awake in us."
(Novalis)

whiteness

2006-05-03T10:44:00.000-04:00

by Jack (4.6 years old)

What are you drawing, Jack?

"People."

It looks like they are reaching for something.
What are they doing?

"They are thinking."

About what?

"Nobody knows that."

Then how do you know that they are thinking?

"Because there is only white all around them."

Don't thoughts have colours in them?

"No! Thoughts are only white and you can't really see them.
That's why nobody ever knows what you are thinking."

When everybody is busy thinking together,
does it get even whiter?

"No, it just gets crowded. But you need 8 people
to make a crowded thought."

"We noted, for example, how the perception
of the sound of the crowd is communicated
verbally by the girls with an almost musical
rhythm; how the perfumes perceived by the
girls become unpleasant odors for the boys;
how the girls more strongly feel the need to
differentiate the people of the crowd in their
drawings; how the multiplicatory element seems
stronger in the boys' representations; how both
girls and boys find representative solutions by
using their still fairly simple graphic schemas
in extremely intelligent ways; how the fear of
getting lost is common to both girls and boys,
as are the sensations of uneasiness and excitement;
equally close attention is paid to the way people
are dressed; and also similar between boys and
girls is the alternating perspective of percpetion
(inside, outside, above the crowd)..."
(Vea Vecchi)

2006-04-16T00:13:00.000-04:00

andate e ritorni

2006-04-01T11:53:00.000-05:00

After chasing lightening
through the cold,
she whispers,

"Kiss these sacred stones alive,
with me, c'mon, just try."

Torrential silver drips
across her tiny dreams,
across the seams of pollen
flying into golden cups.
The wounded snow
has gone away,
but in its place,
the hollow gaze of crows.
Below bare branches
fingering a fruitless sky,
her stomping grace.
Steps that snap dead vines
without remorse,
spread clustered seeds
in hieroglyphic meaning,
disseminating words
that punctuate a spell
across bold earth.
It reads, 'Not yet, not yet'.
And so she drags soft hands
across the shaled ledge,
her geologic gait,
her gentle press
of frozen phonemes,
stones arranged
to frame the edge
of lichened border trails.
Burnt umber threads
that promise presence
kindly left behind
for strangers to decode.

"This valley will soon crack with spring
and little buds will fling
this crystal-hammered air
into the lake."

She sways
to catch the pulse
of gushing brooks.

"Release your emerald green
like little melting tears,
like love inside my eyes,
like gleaming april crowns
of earth squeezed tight
against the stinging winds,
past seasons sailing inbetween.
And do it soon!"

Apparently,
the slow-sprung warmth
of dawn's red praying knees
is all she needs,
at three years old,
to just beleive.

"A sign taken alone seems dead.
What gives it life? It lives through its use.
Does it have in itself the breath of life?
Or is the use its breath?"
(L. Wittgenstein)

la pioggia: vedere l'invisibile

2006-03-10T15:58:00.000-05:00

What time of year is it?

Four year old M is silent.

Is it summer, fall, winter, spring?

"It is raining outside.", she replies.

The sky is veiled with inbetween-ness.
And as for M, time has nothing to do with it.

Are there any leaves on the trees?

"No!", M replies emphatically.

How do leaves get on the trees?

"The sun pushes them out."

How does the sun know when to push them out?

"It is invisible, just like what's in your heart."

Time is a technological invention.
But life is a flow
of hearts and leaves.

To become

2006-02-18T20:28:00.000-05:00

To see beyond the limits of artistic technique
is to be like Titian painting his last masterpieces
with his thumbs.

To arrive at an old man's vision
expressed with the unselfconsciousness of a child
as if to ask the question ...

How
does
one
live
in
time
to
conquer
time?

fairytaled proximities

2006-02-11T11:42:00.000-05:00

it is the once-upon-a-time of if,
the asking glance of if-not-now-then-when,
the if-not-why-then-what of it
that trips a crimson pool of thought
into a quiet afternoon, that drips blood-red
across the delving dusk of dreams-too-soon,
spread thin like dark against a rising moon

it is the gaited reason for
a listening child's fairytaled wait
not wedged within a Camus-ed shelf
of semiotic potions pressed to fate
but laced with windswept laughter, mother-near
yet chasing footless halls of air past prismed minds,
a hue that tumbles prepositions into burning blue

it is the blessed snare of sun that trips a spear
into the readied rhythm of its tune, the words
that shout the wind along in cherished haste
as if to beg the tale told again,
to pull it near the tangled knots
that finally slip apart into an easychaired epitomy
of grace that frames its fragile terms of flight

it is not Heideggered, nor Socrates-ed
to want to hear the tale told again in Vermeered light
as if to shine a velvet pause upon the face
within the play of time infused into a look,
its substance layered on the storyteller's skin
in tender modulations and prolonged proximities
of eyesandmouthandchin

Fly

2006-02-07T01:21:00.000-05:00

haiku is not like

this or that cloud-veiled word -

a becoming-sky

2006-01-25T00:00:00.000-05:00

The mathematics of childhood

2006-01-14T15:32:00.000-05:00

Whenever she holds heaven near,

all else cloaks the grip of empty time

in Maddie's point of view,

a gospelled game of steps,

of chasing tales east and west

to pace the measure, zebra crossings

ciphered into fictive correlations,

names unwrapped to find the taste of fate,

of lessons boxed within,

that there is nothing bigger

than the little things

parole sottovoce

2005-12-26T22:59:00.000-05:00

whispering words to no one near,

an untouched canvas, whiteness

and the brush of fear before

that first broad stroke,

like Da Vinci's old damp flaking wall,

stalking it, as if to capture

incomprehensibility

with

"the infinite species of man"

~

2005-12-21T00:56:00.000-05:00

roads

veins

words

spilling into streams

of metaphors

and dreams

of subordinate clauses

causing speed

and crashing hard

into anti hierarchical thinking

sinking in and out

of no fixed boundaries between surfaces

like the force of almost-sleep

denied the deep

2005-11-27T11:02:00.000-05:00

Four year old Ian
on a tractor
with the sun in his eyes.

Would you like to pick a pumpkin
from the pumpkin patch?

"No."

Why not?

"I don't want to step on the small ones and hurt them."

Four year old Ian
on a bale of hay
with his hands stretched down.

Why did you help pull her up?

"So she can see what I see."

Four year old Ian
on a bus
mumbling something
at the passing cows.

What did you just say?

"I am a hero."

Why?

"I just am."

If you think it is possible
or if you think it is impossible,
it is. It is somewhere beyond
the black hole of subjectivity
and the white wall of the signifier.

"A truly perfect relationship is one
in which each party leaves great
tracts unknown in the other party ...
Only in the black hole of subjective
consciousness and passion do you
discover the transformed, heated,
captured particles you must relaunch
for a nonsubjective, living love in
which each party connects with
unknown tracts in the other without
entering or conquering them, in
which the lines composed are broken
lines. Only on your face and at the
bottom of your black hole and upon
your white wall will you be able
to set faciality traits free like
birds, not in order to return to
a primitive head, but to invent
the combinations by which those
traits connect with landscapity
traits that have themselves been
freed from the landscape and with
traits of picturality and musicality
that have also been freed from their
respective codes."
(Deleuze and Guattari, ATP)

.

2005-11-15T23:18:00.000-05:00

his

name

is

a

prayer

that

I

still

say

2005-10-31T16:14:00.000-05:00

on the style of living a life

2005-10-24T19:07:00.000-04:00

when
one
is
really
listening
there
is
no
noise

Four-year-old Chantal confides,

"I can't talk to you because I am sleeping."

But your eyes are open.

"I sleep with my eyes open."

Why?

"So I can see where all the monsters are."

But if you sleep with your eyes open, how can you see your dreams?

"Oh, I can feel them!"

we
write
our
moments
together

on the complicity of difference

2005-10-24T00:09:00.000-04:00

when the culture of education

becomes a provocation of possibilities,

when one uncovers the fault line of learning,

a tectonic shift occurs that quakes new values,

that welcomes The Unexpected

and children understand its tremors best

on the structural analogy between aesthetic and scientific methodologies

2005-08-24T08:01:00.000-04:00

what is that point
of intersection
between
expressive activity,
creativity
and
scientific experience?

note
the close relationship
between all three
when children use brushes, paints and paper
to express their world,
to develop habits
of drawing and painting
that make concrete impressions,
that form general (scientific) theories
about the worldinwhichtheylive,
in which their creative desire to express
is as ever-present
as the desire to observe reality,
and seeing their own ideas
echoed back to them on paper
somwhow stimulates
a higher level
of thought
and understanding

to become immersed
in experience
through its expression
while also seeking
to negate borders and boundaries
between art and science,
and perhaps to show
that their separation
is not so important

and
when finding the common ground
of artandscience
in the larger truth
of a child's expression

one can say it this way...

"Given a finite repertory of R signs, a finite number
of M rules in order to combine these signs with one
another,and given, a finite intuition, I, which determines
from case to case which signs and which rules are to be
chosen under R and M. The totality of these three elements
(R, M, I) will then represent the aesthetic program where
I represents the intervention of chance and the whole thing
becomes a fantastic binomial in which R and M are the norm
and I is creative arbitrariness."

or one can say it D's way...

...

Three year old D is studying a photograph of a penguin
while gluing a little cardboard triangle to a cardboard cylinder.

What are you making?

"A penguin. Penguins don't fly, you know. This is his beak."

Do you know alot about penguins?

"I know the baby ones. But I don't know about the big ones.
They just eat fish."

Where do they get fish from?

"When they dive in the water, they dive on top and try to get them.
But the whales go higher than the penguins. And the sharks too."

Where do penguins sleep?

"Whales sleep in the ocean and leopard seals sleep on the ice.
Penguins sleep in a deep deep deep deep hole in the snow."

Will you make feet for your penguin?

"He doesn't have feet because he only stands until you push him over."

Do their feet get cold, standing on all that ice and snow?

"They just keep their feet warm like birds. But they don't put their eggs
on the ice because the babies will get cold. The mommies keep the eggs.
When their eggs are on their daddy's feet, they fall over."

Are they ever in danger?

"If a shark tried to bite the penguin, it would jump up high. Penguins are fast,
and faster than sharks in the water."

Why are you putting your paper penguin in a little box?

"He is in his bed and the babies, too. They just sleep near each other
and that's how they keep each other warm."

Is that how you sleep too?

"No. I sleep in my own bed and my mommy and daddy sleep in their bed.
My dreams keep me warm. And my dreams warm my mommyanddadddy's
dreams too."

...

"Scientific and artistic work have the same
common characteristics in that they portray
reality, give it meaning, and transform it.
That is, they reduce objects and facts to
social meanings. They are both semiotics of the real."
(Ugo Volli, La sciennza e lárte)

Intuitively, children know;

"Even in art, there is sufficient space for exact research."
(Paul Klee)

Atonal Dissonances

2005-07-24T15:26:00.000-04:00

jimmy jumps,
one-handed leaps
on windowed seats
and sunny halos
glowing in his hair,
holding hot air captive
in a giant red balloon
while wondering
what it's like in there,
sardonic smiles,
tiny fingers
slowly setting free
a little bit
until it sssssqueaks
and squiggles its way out
to prove
that he is making science
when it bobs-and-floats

in fact,
the room is filled
with his commands
and science
is three paper strips
attached by tape and glue
to serious expressions,
or more precisely,
he is busy
getting ready
for the Launch
with alpha-male countdowns,
testing stretchy-plastic helicopters,
paper spiderman propellers
that he designed himself

and after this experiment,
he is planning an excursion
with a map,
with Cowboy Piano Jack,
who carries keyboards
on his back
and rides a trusty horse
named Faye,
who also knows
some cows
in love with music
by the way,
til both discover
a yellow-honeyed bumblebee
stiffly sleeping
on the ground
beside a leaf
which of course
becomes a quest
to find
the crispy cure
for death

meanwhile,
jimmy
is
absolutely
certain
that
this
is
not
a
poem

"Theorum Eight: one assemblage
does not have the same forces or even
speeds of deterritorialization as another;
in each instance, the indices and coefficients
must be calculated according to the block
of becoming under consideration, and in
relation to the mutations of an abstract
machine (for example, there is a certain
slowness, a certain viscosity, of painting
in relation to music; but one cannot draw
a symbolic boundary between the human
being and animal. One can only calculate
and compare powers of deterritorialization)."
(D&G, ATP)

2005-07-17T16:06:00.000-04:00

...

A fantastic binomial

2005-07-10T08:45:00.000-04:00

the Rodarian what-if
of Pinochio's dream
reinscribes his stiff puppet life
with a shrewd business sensibility
for telling purposeful lies
as a competitive manufacturing strategy
which whirls him into international trade
(through the calculated harvest
of huge quantities of lumber extracted
from the end of each lengthening falsity
grown on his wooden nose)
and when partnered
with his carpenter-friend, Geppetto,
becomes one of two radically rich commerce captains
who collectively control the world's timber industry

and

the incredible force of inertia
with which children
are systematically taught
to contain their imaginations
within the strictures
of formulaic storytelling
appears to place unfair weight
on their ever-expanding definitions of syntax
until the coupling
of conceptual binomials
offered in the spirit of deleuzoguattarian assemblages
juxtapose seemingly disparate theories
so as to conclude each traditional story told to them
with a very resonant 'what if?'

"In the "fantastic binomial", the words are not
taken in their daily meaning, but freed from the
verbal chains that hold them together on a daily
basis. They are "estranged", "shifted", thrown
against one another in a sky that has never been
seen before. Hence they are in the best possible
condition for generating a story."
(Gianni Rodari, 1996)

"To be rhizomorphous is to produce stems and filaments
that seem to be roots, or better yet connect with them
by penetrating the trunk, but put them to strange new uses.
...Many people have a tree growing in their heads, but
the brain itself is much more a grass than a tree."
(D&G)

2005-07-02T16:57:00.000-04:00

*
my
view
of the
mountain
is n o t the
mountain itself
but each word is
a step that sinks me
into a pile of thoughts

*******************************

"It is not so much different with words,
thrown by chance into the mind,
producing waves on the surface
and in the depths."
(Gianni Rodari)

All about Childhood

2005-06-19T00:52:00.000-04:00

For My Father

The fresh spill of spring rain,
transparent torpedoes on seedlings
and one paper boat set adrift
amidst rubber boots stuck in the mud,
Prussian pansies named for their faces
next to puddles of rose-petalled perfumes
concocted under a lilac lab next to the taste
of flowering-almond-apricot-jams
and mysterious books about bees.

Lavender-shards-of-worn-glass on the sill,
my father's hand wrapped around mine
on important excursions to nurseries,
followed by strawberry preludes to cricketed walks
j u s t before bed, when dreams fill tiny nights
with scarlet-skied faeries dancing on moonlit tomatoes
who gladly collect their forget-me-not colours
from all the dead flowers in front of the dawn,
there on the lawn, fortuitiously answering my question,
'where does it go?'.

And that hidden look in my father's eyes when no one was watching.
Little girls marry their dolls but never their daddies.

"If you gaze long into an abyss,
the abyss will gaze back into you."
(Nietzsche)

Ahead and behind

2005-06-18T12:15:00.000-04:00

As the crow flies,
little launching feet
leave lasting impressions.

But who would have guessed?
Their moonless woods fit
into 2 little words.

www

2005-06-14T17:48:00.000-04:00

White, yellow, red.

Does the net really care

which colour it catches?

n-1

2005-06-02T00:48:00.000-04:00

A thousand plateaus

perched

on three lines.

Deleuze and Guattari meet Basho

2005-05-31T17:35:00.000-04:00

......godisacontinuuminbetweenblackandwhitelikesomanyshadesofgrey......

Becomings

2005-05-19T07:56:00.000-04:00

are
cirrus-conceived
of a mother cloud,
lake-born
by a mother wave,
the day from a year
and night from black,
but beyond the light
of certain science,
an original trace
of youandme
sleeps deep
within
the
voice
of
my
verse

2005-05-01T16:31:00.000-04:00

...

2005-04-24T09:13:00.000-04:00

"Our acts are attached to us as
its glimmer is to phosphorous.
They consume us, it is true,
but they make our splendour."
(André Gide, Fruits of the Earth)

this night sky has no stars, is bracketed in black

by words that spill off shelves, is more than this,

has Gide's remainder in my cup, his least drop of water

in my sip along Satie, beside my lip-to-vessel press,

a pourwithoutadrip of reaching into flames,

of whitehotheat that captures colour on the bowl,

the gesture of a potter buried in the still-warm calm

of sipping tea from rakued form

with Gide along Satie

consuming me

"The knowledge that you are brave and strong
enables me to leave life without regret.
Take my joy. Let your happiness be
to increase that of saying to yourself,
'It lies with me.' "(AG, 1897)

...

2005-04-22T12:42:00.000-04:00

earth day

is an unfinished apology

for the 80,000 new synthetic concoctions

conjured up since WW II and each year,

1500 more become a human health revision,

their remainder left in toys and in computers,

recomposites in the air, stuffed into food,

contaminating dust, and babies' bodies breathing in and out,

persistent bioaccumulative toxic chemicals exposed

and unexpressed until I sit beside a strobing screen

to write this poem, departed poets piled on my desk

their graphite swords, their moral passage

past imprisonment for writing less than this

Medieval spring

2005-04-14T23:54:00.000-04:00

seaweed marginalia:

organic hieroglyphics

in the sand

"This is precisely what clarity is: the distinctions
that appear in what used to seem full, the holes in
what used to be compact and conversely, where just
before we saw end points of clear-cut segments, now
there are indistinct fringes, encroachments, overlappings,
migrations, acts of segmentation that no longer coincide
with rigid segmentarity. Every thing now appears supple,
with holes in fullness, nebulas in forms and fluttering lines."
(D&G, ATP)

2005-04-10T10:41:00.000-04:00

...

of the refrain

2005-04-06T00:06:00.000-04:00

how like a note that chases song,

like Einsteins's process-in-pursuit,

of chosing to reside inside the images of thought

by staving off their thick succession into words,

of simply orchestrating definitions

into evolutions of 'what if'

"Deformations destined to harness a great force are
already present in the small-form refrain or rondo.
Childhood scenes, children's games: the starting point
is a childlike refrain, but the child has wings already,
he becomes celestial. The becoming-child of the
musician is coupled with a becoming-aerial of the child,
in a nondecomposable block. The memory of an angel,
or rather the becoming of a cosmos."
(ATP, D&G)

The Obligatory Key

2005-03-27T07:56:00.000-05:00

instead of wiping clean the smiting smudges of mistaken definition,
mistaps on the keys that shed deletions in a map of multiplicity,

instead of mindlessly dismissing all my misaligned mistakes
into eradications, shoveled off the ledge of lettered reason
into trash,

how much better to surprise a page of possibilities
like a tourist-in-the-text,

to become the moon of my imagination
bouncing silver light across their surface, right or left,

just like Perrault's orthographic mistranscriptions
of Cinderella's slipper shifting fur to glass

and

o

the vagrancy of vowels vindicating vaire with verre.

But when I turn away from him,
the feastability of his cloudless mind explodes,
spilling all realities into rhizomatic disproportion,
becoming-allatonceineveryplace until I look around again
to glimpse infinitude collapsing back into the one,
to note his disappearing quantum superimposition
and how it cannot thread the point
of any stiff observant eye.

"Some of the things we see in children today
shows that the world is in the wrong paradigm."

...

2005-03-18T08:24:00.000-05:00

it is t h a t moment

the one

when everything changes

precisely when
one first realizes
something lost
is not yet gathered up
into that twilight state
of unexpected folds
and the innocent fog of it
that paradoxically presents
a particular kind of clarity
that rushes past eternity
while standing still

the third eye of the poet
is a box of time,
is the passional embrace of language
all stirred up
into linguistically percussive concoctions
that fold the solidity of words
into intangible beams of light
that effervesce the power-to-love-without-getting-lost
into a
white wall (of signification)
and a
black hole (of subjectification)

white wall black hole

and

art

"is only a tool for blazing life lines" (D&G, ATP)

2005-03-03T14:19:00.000-05:00

...

Niente senza gioia

2005-02-24T21:51:00.000-05:00

nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy
nothing without joy

"To draw, you must close your eyes and sing."
(Pablo Picasso)

patron saint of children

2005-02-20T14:34:00.000-05:00

if Wittgenstein is right,
words form thin skin
across deep water
and one must dive
to get at stories,
while Valéry beleives
one cannot grasp (the meaning of)
a single word

but
I
think
words
are bouncing balls,
black against white walls,
are sounds that fly
from side to side
and slide like wine into a glass,
splashing chance encounters
up the sides of other words
that mix and fall,
but if not this,
a word becomes a house
contained within a hall
of notes that lead to other doors
that tremble with B flat whenever opened
while its windows measure middle C
across the arched refrain of E F G D E
til meaning fades
across
a
wall
of
song
that
bricks
the
beat
of
any
word
it
flings
into
the
next

"...for all those who trust in the creativity of children;
and for all those who know the liberating value of the word.
"Every possible use of words should be made available
to every single person" - this seems to me to be a
good motto with a democratic sound. Not because everyone
should be an artist but because no one should be a slave."
(Gianni Rodari)

"Every poetic work interupts the usual condition,
the daily routine of life - similar to what dreams do
- in order to reinvigorate us, to keep the very meaning
of life itself awake in us." (Novalis, 1798)

Videre l'invisible

2005-02-14T14:00:00.000-05:00

petal

quill

thorn

and

if hands could fly away

from words,

the sky would spread like wings

beneath their ledge,

ink would drip a bridge

from here to there,

resistance of a place

would be contained

within an arrowed slice

that strikes a match

to light the soul

2005-02-09T00:28:00.000-05:00

...

Ritratto

2005-01-24T01:58:00.000-05:00

stuffed inside each person
are the buttered slices-of-a-life
spread thick
with happy-sad-and-hopeful patéd stress
that sticks it all together,
mixed with peppered pieces
of a world-attached
to any meeting
with another person,
sandwiched inbetween
the jigsawed promise of a puzzle
and its garnished game of (re)assembly,
not at all predictable like billiards,
but
restlessly
unknown
and
dripping
gripping
agitation
like
a
New
York
City
traffic
jam

"When we in Reggio say children have 100 languages,
we mean more than the 100 languages of children,
we also mean the 100 languages of adults, of teachers."
(Loris Malaguzzi)

"It is not merely a passage of materials. It is an
overturned and recreated passage of forms and measures,
of representative intuitions that is contemplated and
emerges during the process. Reality, as always happens
in children's hands, reveals once again its infinite
potential for transformation." (Loris Malaguzzi)

Il prezzo delle cose

2005-01-11T17:40:00.000-05:00

Le storie che qui si raccontano
appartengono al mondo delle relazioni,
dell'amicizia,
della parola parlata
e
della parola scritta.

Solo apparentemente semplici e immediate,
in realtà
nascono da un laboratorio lungo e delicato
di convivenze.

La trama di comunicazioni
è sommersa, persistente e sottile,
talmente sottile da poter passare inosservata
ai tempi, ai ritmi,
agli eventi previsti e programmati.

Andate e ritorni.
Andate e ritorni.
Andate e ritorni.

2005-01-05T18:32:00.000-05:00

cathedral thoughts

Disengnare con la luce

2005-01-01T16:28:00.000-05:00

white dream

wind

steam

something vaguely seen

and then re viewed

line

tone

moments mapped

codes

that drift along a path

linguistic interventions

inbetweens

symbols of how symbols-grow-like-chains

edges

endless ebbandflow

ear upon a chest

(re)solutions

pushing through the next

transmutation

breathing text

"We need to remember that memory is always
active, that memory generates and continuously
renews. It is not that we simply gather memories
as they were. But rather, we reproduce them in
other codes. We reproduce them in other
constructions." (Loris Malaguzzi)

"But as soon as it is recognized that a code is
inseparable from a process of decoding that is
inherent to it, the problem receives a new
formulation. There is no genetics without
'genetic drift'." (D&G, ATP)

la folla

2004-12-21T18:53:00.000-05:00

her plea
to sit beside me
at all costs proclaims
that I am hers each time we meet,
haloed softly by a reconciling sigh
that I am also theirs as well, each four year old concession
s u r r e n d e r e d smoothly, l i k e the g e n t l e s o a k of s l e e p

"Over the muddy, chaotic earth a red pink wall
seemed not to harbour moonglow but to shed a light
of its own. There is probably no other way to name
tendernous than that pink red." (JLB, 1936)

2004-12-06T16:04:00.000-05:00

white
sky
indiscernible
from
lake
and
high
winds
crashing
into
waves
while
skiing
off
the
icy
spray
of
movingpastafloodofspokenwords
to
coast
along
the
current
flow
of
beingandnothingness

"In our view, graphic representation is a tool
of communication much simpler and clearer than words."
(Loris Malaguzzi, 100 Languages of Children)

2004-12-02T17:49:00.000-05:00

the forces of folding

Commiato

2004-11-27T10:13:00.000-05:00

palma's paper filling fast
with silvered lines
in layered tones and tomes,
her graphite trek
"...like those tumuli to which each new traveler adds a stone."
as she is giving mirth
to every scissored self event
proclaiming
"I am drawing all the answers to your questions."

palma densities:
polka dot potentials
pack the punch,
planonmenon of hope
her sacred source,
a thousand planes conjoining
into many laughing buddhas
bequeathing traditions of revolt
as artists-incognito fly up the years
through zones of neverfailinglight
as palmadensables becoming-imperceptible
shift tectonic indiscernables
into hospitalities
that greet and meet one
in the middle of its markings
from the distance of a flight
like Turner's coloured streamsoflight
to capture conjured couplings
with redundancies reduced
by sensibilities of self
and spill chaotic compositions
into equanimities contained
within the opus-ended-shadows
of an aria that prays the play
of just one hand
to compliment another
trailing
lines
of
questions
drawn
across
the
stones
they
leave
behind

l'ádozione delle idee

"...that many things can be affected by one's cultural
heritage, by theories and experience, by literature, art
and economics, by scientific research and technology.
But many things are also born of intuition, taste, ethics,
the choice of values, of reasons and opportunities, that
in part we can control and in part we cannot control, and
that are suggested only to a certain extent by the job of
living itself.

Yet even in this constellation hovering between theories
and practices, that are both stable and unstable, necessary,
possible, and even accidental, and between the variations,
imbalances and even adversities of social policies, there is
plenty of margin and freedom for us to use our intelligence,
passion and creativity. So despite everything, it is
permissible to think that creativity, or rather knowledge and
the wonder of knowledge (our most important right, which so
often goes unrecognized) can serve as the strong point of our
work. It is thus our continuing hope that creativity will
become a normal travelling companion..." (Loris Malaguzzi)

~

2004-11-17T02:01:00.000-05:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 28-May 2
All good things...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

near and far

2004-11-15T01:39:00.000-05:00

to
have
travelled
so
far
only
to
find
it
so
near

when it becomes a gift, better use it

2004-11-14T13:36:00.000-05:00

nearandfar

fruscii di ali

2004-11-12T23:39:00.000-05:00

when
rooftops
release
the
rustling
of
wings
one
looks
up

when
an
angel
flies
through
the
eyes
from
a
distant
sky
one
looks
within

"It all seemed unbelievable: the idea, the school, the
inventory consisting of a tank, a few trucks and horses.
They explain everything to me. "We will build the school
on our own, working at night and on Sundays. The land
has been donated by a farmer; the bricks and beams will
be salvaged from bombed houses; the sand will come from
the river; the work will be volunteered by all of us."
"And the money to run the school?"
A moment of embarrassment and then they say "We will
find it." Women, men, young people - as farmers and workers,
all special people who had survived a hundred war horrors
- are dead serious.
Within 8 months the school and our friendship had set down
roots. What happened at Villa Cella was but the first spark."
(Loris Malaguzzi)

today

2004-11-10T01:33:00.000-05:00

all
ten
are
screaming
'jingle bells'
while
shaping
clay
guitars

four
years
old
and
filled
with
joy

how does it work?
we stretch strings across the hole and they make sounds that echo
that's physics
what's physics?
nobody can see it
then how do you know?
did you know that the only straight line in physics is sound?
what do you mean?
sound makes the air move and it goes in a straight line
there are no other straight lines in physics?
no
where does sound go?
straight into your brain
doesn't it stay outside your body?
it goes to all the countries
how many countries are there?
ten
are you sure?
no wait, I forgot some, a hundred million zillion ones
that's a lot of places for sound to go
ya everybody gets it
where did you learn that?
at lunch time I think about science

"...when everyone is respected for what they are doing,
there are no one way questions...that we can come to
the conversation without guiding it towards our own
expectations." (Amelia, Gambetti)

the speed of standing still

2004-11-08T02:20:00.000-05:00

he
asks
if
there
is
time
while
she
flies
through
the
darkness
til
firstlight

thinking 'stay' while crashing into words

"...the furniture we are forever rearranging" (D&G, ATP)

and not pretending to

2004-10-31T14:04:00.000-05:00

eyes bleed

Ping pong persuits

2004-10-25T16:39:00.000-04:00

the way a cello wanders
like a fading light,
head tumbles onto shoulder,
tiny fingers cradled in a palm,
that there will always be
another story, always cairo
spilling from within
an orthopedics of perception,
cubist movement
in the method-of-a-whole
becomes the pencil
that has drawn
the tracing of her leaf,
creates a sound
which grows into a song,
a fan, a map,
a wizard's twilight cloak
of melting metaphors
and other tendriled grammars,
magic carpet metamorphosis
of maestro-ed multiplicities
zooming-in-and-out
of dandy grass refrains
past mr. maja painting blue
with flutes
whenever
jenna's
baggy
brush
with
bees
becomes
her
famous
soggy
ooosh

"Childhood scenes, children's games: the starting point
is a childlike refrain, but the child has wings already,
he becomes celestial. The becoming-child of the musician
is coupled with a becoming-aerial of the child, in a
nondecomposable block. The memory of an angel or rather
the becoming of a cosmos." (D&G, ATP)

Skin of culture

2004-10-21T12:58:00.000-04:00

the darkdamp edge
of a sideways glance
flows
thick and sweet
with childhood,
a drip by drip
of questions
fill
coconut milk connections,
syrup stretch
of spagetti strings
drape glue onto
her fingered contemplations

what are you doing?
gluing things together
what are you making?
oh well, it is just a statue
what kind of statue?
the statue of liberties
how do you know about that?
I saw it on television
but I don't want it there anymore
what is it?
it's big and has things sticking out alot
what can you do with it?
Just look at it. It's so big it makes you feel
kind of like her skin is covering up yours

"...the most sublime work of poetry is to give
sense and passion to senseless things, and it
is the property of children to take inanimate
objects in their hands, and to amuse themselves,
make those objects talk as if they were living
persons." (G.B. Vico, New Science, I, XXVII)

Covering soft ground

2004-10-16T22:27:00.000-04:00

oholeygrailednights

progettazione

2004-10-15T23:16:00.000-04:00

o to play a Pharaohed phrase
of taps to Tutankhamen's mortgaged moment huddledintogod,
ancestral notes in every fleshy cell of sound
stretched til taught by rings
that wreath-around the louvred crypt of van gogh's starry night
to giacomettied form accumulating alloflife inside
a caterpillared tune for butterflied provocateurs
that speak of 'what would happen if'
between a shifting spaceofwords
so gently whistled ín a (y)ear
that will not let one sleep
but peaks at penetrating-twinkling eyes
composing Jenna's lizard juice and sharpened tooth
for every friendly-fluted monster
living in the olive leaf
of her free heart

"Being what I am, unreservedly, my solitude knows yours."
(Jean Genet)

Engendering

2004-10-06T02:45:00.000-04:00

no fibreoptic purplejesus
if god sings life
in doubledoverlaughter
like a partita song
for children spilling limits
from a thousand prosed plateaus
like fledglings in a courtofbagatelles
drop down the stepofages
past surgically by-passed sages
while Vico beats the lambofgod
to time tapped tunes
in slam-terraining hammer-rain
of pthalo blue replies
while sevants sainted up
canonical concessions
twist quick translations into knots
of violencewithoutpurpose
if christ is superlinearity,
a languageasawhole condition of its possibility
in riskfree circulations
calculating movements beside a box of tools
while heterophonous transfusions
breed bouncing budhas,
jumpcut joy
with
Jessie's butterflyplumpie
while
rafting
down
the
rhizome
of
refrains

"The teacher has gone mad but maddness is a face conforming
to the nth degree." (Deleuze and Guattari, ATP)

2004-10-06T01:20:00.000-04:00

engenderings

Ombratilità

2004-09-30T18:38:00.000-04:00

uncovering
a leapfrog light
that solarplates
the slope of thisandthat
across septembered violins
and beats the break of beetlebrahms
between the butter-brailled softaired moon
with shimmer-flicks,
magneticblue blown in
to syncopated lemon jazz,
a pace of sky retraced
to fibrous-heddled sandtidestrides
and honeyed hearts
that burnish insandouts
to new e valuations
of
the
drape-as-not-the-darkness
but
just
the
shadowed
play
of
life
upon
itself

"...of a world somewhere between light and darkness,
a zone that avoids conflict and makes its space with quiet
discretion - a quality that children like very much."
(Loris Malaguzzi)

Flinging ink across

2004-09-22T10:02:00.000-04:00

plateaus and oughs
before the stream of time
is why
one cannot say
precisely when
the birth of yellow comes,
like Apollinaire's inhuman zone,
nor why there is no now/not-now
to that which is outside
of i/t
and how there is no time
to red
when soakingintoblue
is not an arrowed slice
but floats a fleeting cloud
across the wheeling Klee
of unthought thought
as if there is
nopastnorfuturepresenttense
to green
that makes nohistorynotbegun
within no series of events
is why
all poets trail children
on a journey backtofront
of an existential curve
turned upside down
to
live
like
colours
do

"The child develops in a context shadowed by television,
computer games, telecommunications,comic strips...A new
machinic solitude is being born, which is certainly not
without merit, but which deserves to be continually reworked
such that it can accord with renewed forms of sociality.
Rather that relations of opposition, it is a matter of forging
polyphonic interlacings between the individual and the social.
Thus, a subjective music remains to be thereby composed."
(Felix Guattari, 1992)

Ethericity

2004-09-17T14:04:00.000-04:00

flingingink

How

2004-09-14T22:52:00.000-04:00

seeking
whispers
in stead
of
shouts
along
a philosophical return
to an original resound
within no steeping step
of vertical ascents
nor universal truths
in stretchy strings
but just a roam
towards refrains of thought
along a horizontal slide
across the surface
of a depthofsingularities
praying packs into the middle
of a ritournello
crashing through
a world-becoming
is
just
like
Jessie
jamming ginger twigs
between her toes
while heeling down
the laughing grass
to
dangle
from
a
flouncing
tree

"Of all of us, he is the most happy in a way
because he has no preconceived idea of what
he wants in return for his love. And to love
in such an unpremeditated way is something
that most people have to re-learn after fifty.
Children have it."
(Durell, TAQ)

...

2004-09-08T15:46:00.000-04:00

a
tiny
pebble
tossed
like
coins
and
wishes
splashing
up
like
Nietzsche's
dicey
rollingoverinterest
into
principles
that
play
...

Uncovering discovering

2004-09-05T11:30:00.000-04:00

populated solitudes

Just

2004-09-02T18:50:00.000-04:00

what
sets into memory
the echo of oneself
like a kiss bestowed
upon a leper
metamorphosized
a thousand tiny times each day
by Vermeer's sunlight
opening doors to stillness
in the twilight echoed nod
of 'closeyoureyesandIamthere'?

"What terror haunts Van Gogh's head,
caught in a becoming-sunflower?"
(Deleuze and Guattari, WIP)

"Be still and know that I am with you."
(English prayer)

It is

2004-08-31T00:32:00.000-04:00

not the vanishing point
not the hallow
nor the swallow-up
by all the whorls
one brambles through
and not the knotty worlds
one ambles to
that makes machinic mise en sense.
It is
the schizoid pole
the double stroll
the polyvocal flush
with one's own unknown land
the open mouth that drinks the letter in
that makes of one
a written refugee.
It simply is

"...the pencil point that traces the design,
he is the stroke itself." (D&G, AO)

Listening to

2004-08-28T09:31:00.000-04:00

the
time
of
a
child
is
a
line
that
floats
a silvered soft fog rain
from within
an already-there-yet-not-quite-here-speed
of a worldcollected into a single tumbling drop
tossed along the shouting wind
of sunsplit inseparabilities
drips pink and purple grenades
onto a quivering perch of petals
risks meniscus-momentous explosions
and other curious silences
lobs laughter-slivered feathers
across the stickystumblingfaceofgod

"I think about hell every day." (Christopher, age 9)

"...a something that is both going to happen and has just
happened...It is the world itself, and the horse and the child,
that cease to be subjects to become events in assemblages
that are inseparable from an hour, a season, an atmosphere,
an air, a life....the two are strictly inseparable.
Climate, wind, season, hour are not of another nature
than the things, animals or people that populate them,
sleep and awaken within them....
'the thin dog is running in the road, this dog is the road',
cries Virginia Woolf. That is how we need to feel."
(Deleuze and Guattari, ATP)

The shape of space is the absence of time

2004-08-22T10:14:00.000-04:00

like a work in progress

In the hour that is

2004-08-21T00:59:00.000-04:00

an
urgently
oversouled
august-sensed
sigh(t)
pours
thoughtfilledinfinitudes
not
from
without
but
from
somewhere
within
the
philial
veil
of
godintheskyhighertidestreams
during
longinbetweens
distinctlydefined
by
an
absenceoftime
while
circumscribedciphers
stretch
curtainpulledfloats
through
spacecradlingglows
past
firewallwails
and
screenblankingscrolls
of
unmeasuredlongevities
when
everw/holeheartedquestionsandanswers
plasmically
melt
into
one

from willowed withins
slide each plasmascreenscroll in the shapeofaspace
distinctly defined by the absenceoftimeflingingflows
poured across circumscribed oversouled august-sensed strides
of infinitudesofthought that thread through each trace
by silently ciphering w/holeduniversedpulls along layering lines
past screenblankingglows splashing unmeasured longevities
in tender release from each heartheavypulloutthenight

"Yet time and space are but inverse measures of the force of the soul...that the universe is represented in an atom, in a moment of time...and the whole future in the bottom of the heart."
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

"The shape of space is the absence of time."
(K., age 10)

Contingent upon

2004-08-14T10:21:00.000-04:00

communitiesofconnectedness

"...as a declaration against the betrayal of children's intelligence."
(Amelia Gambetti)

With one hundred languages

2004-08-12T17:44:00.000-04:00

rising by words
and utterphrases
genet writes
of something circulating,
nearly nonexistant branches
that interlink generoots
~~for and~~ of
sprouting sensibility,
relays for feeling presentiment,
whereas deleuzeguattari's notion
is a strain
into the barometer of a longitude
kept alive
by ~~strengthof~~utternewness,
~~the~~ nearlyall ways hungering interlinks
for a rhizomatic antigenealogy
not found
within w/hole relays
as if to reveal
becomingsintocirculatingintensities
but in its strength
some deep genealogy,
~~their stretch~~
a strength ~~of circulating intensities~~
not found in its nearly nonexistant branches
but instead
~~kept alive~~in its roots
by sprouting rebel~~euzeguattari~~s
~~who disintere and configure utter newness~~
into whole languages of sensibility
~~rising from a rhizomatic newness~~
by words
and phrases
whereas deleuzeguattari'snotion
is arhizomatic link,
an antigenealogy
that interweaves becomings
into w/hole relations
of circulating intensities
and ~~rhicon~~figures
their deterritorializing strain
into a stretch
~~of changeartlife~~,
asiftosuggest
that we all wayshunger
forthelongitudeofafeeling
of utternewness
as the barometer
of
something genet calls
presentiment

genet writes of sprouting sensibility
kept alive by utter newness nearly not found
to reveal in its strength some deep genealogy
not found in its nearly nonexistant branches
but instead in its roots and sprouting rebels
whole languages of sensibility by words and phrases
whereas deleuzeguattari's rhizomatic links
weave becomings into w/hole relays of circulating tensities
and figure their deterritorializing stretch as hunger
for the longitude of a feeling of utter newness
as the barometer of something genet calls presentiment

in
its
roots
and
phrases
becomings
stretch
a
barometer
of
presentiment

To insure children are liberated, they have to learn to disobey."
(Loris Malaguzzi)

Becomings

2004-08-10T01:27:00.000-04:00

voyagewithinavoyage

"... whereas he has the most beautiful of them for himself...
that he considers to be profound countries, and that are his countries....
that he does not find by traveling." (Gilles Deleuze)

From Modigliani to Kokoschka

2004-08-10T00:48:00.000-04:00

a is titanium white,
b is cobalt blue,
c is lemon yellow
d is violet burnt umber
e is diluted payne's grey,
f is olive green,
g is Hooker's green
h is burnt umber
i is naples yellow
j is permanent rose
k is cadmium orange
l is pale cadmium yellow
m is venetian red
n is indigo
o is yellowishwhite
p is hot pink
q is yellowgrey
r is alizarin crimson
s is cadmium yellow
t is viridian
u is chalk pastel grey
v is cobalt violet
w is raw sienna
x is sepia
y is yellow ochre
and
z is ivory black

According to Nietzsche's roll of the dice

2004-08-08T14:36:00.000-04:00

magniloquent
mazesofmoments
loosen
each
lurkofaleap
into
entymologicalflows
and
if
there
is
time
to decipher an opus
deliberately dripping vermeersandvangoghs
far from the edge of a yawning abyss
she
would
candle a zithering wadeofawatch,
a trajectorial netknotted knotch,
swing psalms through the eyes of a needling read,
pour shadows past parallel rushingsandgushingsofdeeds,
parse parvenue passingsofmezzotintdreams,
float liliesofvalliesonsharptwilightscreams,
swim swivellingswallowingquestioningstreams,
fold farflailing faces through philosophical seams,
stroke pepperingpercepts on portraitsofprayers
splash neighbouring agesofepochsanderas,
frame futuresbecomingallpossibleworlds,
and wind whorlsintowords
rigging rosewaterwhispers
in ribboning grasps
at infinite speeds

"There are times when old age produces not eternal youth
but a sovereign freedom, a pure necessity in which one enjoys
a moment of grace between life and death,
and in which all the parts of the machine come together
to send into the future a feature
that cuts across all ages: Titian, Turner, Monet."
(Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari, WIP)

Contingent upon

2004-08-08T14:29:00.000-04:00

daily reprieves

For Helen

2004-08-03T07:41:00.000-04:00

Once
while
a pencilinghushofamoon
bent buttery beams
by the gleamofawatch,
darkness entire
slid serpentine sails
through linenglass sills
on lavenderrose,
softstippled rains
soaked curtainsofvoices
to hugtugging stays
that bit through the heart
of the proofofapress,
tautstasisstretchedpullpolished prie-dieu epitomes
mantled in moments
of
alllovecanbe

Hardback chair

2004-08-01T00:28:00.000-04:00

What destiny,
what lines of force.
Vermillion nods
that
sew the sky
with
wandering cello grasps
are never gifts
unless
returned.

On a current coat of beingandnothingness

2004-07-29T23:17:00.000-04:00

maybe
the
fluttering
stuttering
part
of
youmeus
which
knows
the
waking
from
the
dream
is
not
screamnailed
on
a
crosstothehead
but
pours
hummingbirdbraids
through
the
heartofatrust
that
something
extraordinary
is
possible

Appears to be

2004-07-29T22:49:00.000-04:00

ontheendofaglance

"All we have is a daily reprieve contingent upon our spiritual condition."

Pre/facing the Other

2004-07-28T22:34:00.000-04:00

Luca wrote to her once
of his fallings away
and there
in his words
were deposits,
diaphanous tissues of issues,
were petals that floated limousine listenings
past languaginglists
of leavings and colloids
pressed hard into sheaths
of writerly reads
or righterly deeds
that congealed a tiny piece of a song
and he called it
he named it Ilovedyouclickedsent
a sungsong he sang
while shoving his hand through her heapedheppedupheart,
dim pull outthenightandintothelight
of his wroughtwrungandwrenched is-ings and ing-ings,
then came the alongs,
became the belongs
that sparkled paprika pops
hot off her cheek

Spinning towards

2004-07-27T19:11:00.000-04:00

a
perpetual
quest
to
grasp
the
world
in
a
beamoflightswimthroughtheeyesofaface.

"The great adventure is to see something unknown emerge each day,
in the same face, that is greater than all the trips around the world."
(Alberto Giacometti, 1962)

atleastitproves

Pioggia Precis

2004-07-25T12:29:00.000-04:00

An indisputably counterproofed print
is pressed
by the pull
of a willofawhorl
of a worldintowords
off a singular surface
shouted outloud
from a mirrored meniscus
reflecting the arc
of a slow motion code
of willowed weltschauungs
caught
in the near and the far
of each tribe of a thought
by
an upsidedownbloodtotheheadsplooshofasplash
of
a puddlefilledpingofapracticingpercept
wrought
with transparent transgression
from citytorain
and
reciprocally filled
cutaneous terrains
that flux with the flows
of pedagogically prescient pioggia prayers

"The unconscious harmony of sky, palms, fields and fighters."
(Jean Genet)

"Now the puddle of rainwater can become like Leonardo da Vinci's old, damp, flaking wall - if you observe it well, you can see in it the 'infinite species of man'." (Loris Malaguzzi)

To release a vanishing point

2004-07-11T10:02:00.000-04:00

is
to become
a diagonal re-event
made worthy of one self
to rage a risk
with crowning candled kindness
whisperedonacloud
and
layered
in a blanket gaze
that floats
defended fortunes
cloaked
in offspring robes
of nothingwithoutcare

Crowning candled kindness

2004-07-11T09:40:00.000-04:00

a distant graze of self

A positive complicity

2004-06-30T23:42:00.000-04:00

When his twilight eyes
soak the edge
of a rippled glance,
their erased faces
grow listening landscapes
that blow horizoned hues,
visible democraciesofself
that fling laureate layers
and track the trace
of nothingwithoutjoy

"Visibility is connected to an aspect of democracy."
(Amelia Gambetti)