6/20/11

Tammurriata Nera


American espresso,
damme 'o dollaro ca vaco 'e pressa
sinò vene 'a pulisse,
mette 'e mmane addò vò isse.
Aieressera a piazza Dante
'o stommaco mio era vacante,
si nun era p''o contrabbando,
ì' mò già stevo 'o campusanto.

6/16/11

And what's special about this poem?

We feel vexed, bereft here—me, the present red letter revel’s jerked nerves emcee,
frets dejectedly
by the lectern.
These eyes weep, fetch the Kleenex.
Yes, the
news seems,
he’ll flee when the present semester ends—the welsher. Well then, bye-bye.
When he pressed the news, we were left speechless. We were perplexed—he’s never been neglected here; we felt, ‘hey, the entente’s there; he’ll never defect, he’s tethered here.’ He’s tested the rest, we’re the best.  Whether he even deserves better, we never knew. Everett
—she’s Mrs. N—
the perky, pretty
reel expert,
expressed the very
essence we feel—
she screeched, “Emergency. He left here, flew there. He’s Penn’s prey. Get help! He’s restless!” “Penn?,” we reply.  “He’s demented!  Why Penn??” We felt he’d reject the tendered berth.  Ken yen’ll be meted, ends’ll meet; he’ll envy Penn’s green, yet he’ll dwell here. We were tense, yet serene.  Nevertheless, when he recklessly reneged the Fletcher J. terms,
we beseeched,
“Never!”—
The cheek!
The nerve!
The heresy!
Me’n’L.B., clenched teethed, were peeved.  “He’ll wreck the dept.,” she tersely yelled.  Then, we went berserk, felt preempted. We were nettled, we spewed resentment. Therese de V. felt we needed revenge. He’s the enemy!  We’ll peg the legs, let’s set cement feet, we’ll geld—well, let’s heckle the feller.  We’ll get Mel—then he’ll enter the ferment.  Let’s be clever.  Heck, he deserves these jeers—when the dept. meets, he’s never reserved—even when he knew he’d be elsewhere next term.
Well, next September he’ll smell evergreen scents, trek Penn settlements—
where he’ll see deer pelts pegged by beer-belly rednecks—beefy men, they bend the knee when Steelers legends’re present; they’re the dregs, they elect Specter, prefer Veep Cheney—
Penn, where even
the preppy
men reek
brewery stench;
they’re lechers,
they feel well-heeled wenches’re prey, the men’s peckers swell when they lewdly leer the sweetly hemmed dresses, the lengthy tresses. Yet he’ll pretend Penn’s Eden, ever the jewel.  Then,
by next December,
when degrees
get severe there,
he’ll see he erred
when he deserted
the clement west,
where the verdt
secretes Jekel red—
the Fletcher J’s decreed med—
he’ll freeze when he gets dressed, regret the wet sleet, the fevers he’ll get; he’ll be feeble, never get better—he’ll be wretched, he’ll seethe, he’ll feel gypped, yet pretend he’s the Pere’s merry elf. He’ll envy Westchester’s swelter, where the nymphets dress sleeveless.

The N+7 Machine

The N+7 Machine 

N+0

This is a kind of poetry which produces neither the semantic nor the aesthetic sense of its elements, words for example, through the traditional formation of linear and grammatically ordered contexts, but which insists upon visual and surface connectives. So it is not the awareness of words following one after the other that is its primary constructive principle, but perception of their togetherness. The word is not used primarily as an intentional carrier of meaning. Beyond that it is used as a material element of construction in such a way that meaning and structure reciprocally express and determine each other. Simultaneity of the semantic and aesthetic functions of words occurs on the basis of simultaneous exploitation of all the material dimensions of the linguistic elements which, of course, can also appear to be broken up into syllables, sounds, morphemes or letters to express the aesthetic dependence of the language upon their analytical and syntactical possibilities. In this sense it is the constructive principle of concrete poetry alone which uncovers the material wealth of language.

N+11

This is a kipper of pole which produces neither the semantic nor the affix sepulchre of its elms, workmen for excommunicate, through the traditional fossil of linear and grammatically ordered contracts, but which insists upon visual and surrealist connectives. So it is not the baby of workmen foot one after the other that is its printer constructive prisoner, but performer of their togetherness. The workman is not used primarily as an intentional cartridge of medallist. Beyond that it is used as a mattock elm of container in such a weathercock that medallist and stuff reciprocally extra and determine each other. Simultaneity of the semantic and affix furs of workmen occurs on the bather of simultaneous exposure of all the mattock dinosaurs of the linguistic elms which, of cove, can also appear to be broken up into syndromes, sovereigns, morphemes or liars to extra the affix depth of the larva upon their analytical and syntactical postmarks. In this sepulchre it is the constructive prisoner of conduct pole alone which uncovers the mattock wedding of larva.

6/13/11

Powers of the Mandelbulb, A Tail of Six Iterations


Language is a Virus

Paradise is exactly like
Where you are right now
Only much much better.

Paradise
Is exactly like
Where you are right now
Only much much
Better.

I saw this guy on the train
And he seemed to gave gotten stuck
In one of those abstract trances.
And he was going: "Ugh...Ugh...Ugh..."

And Fred said:
"I think he's in some kind of pain.
I think it's a pain cry."
And I said: "Pain cry?
Then language is a virus."

Language!  It's a virus!
Language!  It's a virus!

Well I was talking to a friend
And I was saying:
I wanted you.
And I was looking for you.
But I couldn't find you.  I couldn't find you.
And he said: Hey!
Are you talking to me?
Or are you just practicing
For one of those performances of yours?
Huh?

Language!  It's a virus!
Language!  It's a virus!

He said: I had to write that letter to your mother.
And I had to tell the judge that it was you.
And I had to sell the car and go to Florida.
Because that's just my way of saying                 (It's a charm.)
That I love you.  And I                              (It's a job.)
Had to call you at the crack of dawn                 (Why?)
And list the times that I've been wrong.
Cause that's just my way of saying
That I'm sorry.                                      (It's a job.)

Language!  It's a virus!
Language!  It's a virus!

Paradise
Is exactly like
Where you are right now
Only much much                                       (It's a shipwreck,)
Better.                                              (It's a job.)

You know?  I don't believe there's such
a thing as TV.  I mean -
They just keep showing you
The same pictures over and over.
And when they talk they just make sounds
That more or less synch up
With their lips.
That's what I think!

Language!  It's a virus!
Language!  It's a virus!
Language!  It's a virus!

Well I dreamed there was an island
That rose up from the sea.
And everybody on the island
Was somebody from TV.
And there was a beautiful view
But nobody could see.
Cause everybody on the island
Was saying: Look at me! Look at me!
            Look at me! Look at me!

Because they all lived on an island
That rose up from the sea.
And everybody on the island
Was somebody from TV.
And there was a beautiful view
But nobody could see.
Cause everybody on the island
Was saying: Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!
            Look at me! Look at me! Why?

Paradise is exactly like
Where you are right now
Only much much better.

6/11/11

Emergent Patterns in Dance Improvisation and Choreography

Emergent Patterns in Dance Improvisation and Choreography, by Ivar Hagendoorn



Abstract: In a traditional choreography a choreographer determines the motions of a dancer or a group of dancers. Information theory shows that there is a limit to the complexity that can be created in any given amount of time. This is true even when building on previous work, since movements and their interactions have to be communicated to the dancers. When creating a group work, choreographers circumvent this problem by focusing either on the movements of individual dancers (giving rise to intricate movements but within a simple spatiotemporal organization) or on the overall structure (intricate patterns but simple movements) or by creating room for the dancers to fill in part of the movements. Complexity theory offers a different paradigm towards the generation of enticing patterns. Flocks of birds or schools of fish for instance are considered ‘beautiful’ but lack a central governing agent. Computer simulations show that a few simple rules can give rise to the emergence of the kind of patterns seen in flocks or swarms. In these models individual agents are represented by dots or equivalent shapes. To be of use to choreography and to be implemented on or rather with dancers, some additional rules will therefore have to be introduced. A number of possible rules are presented, which were extracted from ‘real life’ experiments with dancers. The current framework for modeling flocking behavior, based on local interactions between single agents, will be extended to include more general forms of interaction. Dancers may for instance perceive the global structure they form, e.g. a line or a cluster, and then put that knowledge to creative use according to some pre-established rules, e.g. if there is a line, form a circle or if there is a cluster spread out in all directions. Some of these rules may be applied back to other complex systems. The present paper is also an invitation to complexity theorists working in different fields to contribute additional rules and ideas.



http://www.ivarhagendoorn.com/

meditation no. 608


Meditation no. 509


Anais 002

Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.


Toribashi


6/5/11

Anais 001

Bijou felt heavy and drowsy, but not unconscious. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she could not make the effort to open her eyes. But she felt her dress so lightly lifted that she could not be certain. It could have been a breeze. Lifted by a breeze. No human touch. The air was lifting her skirt it seemed, and exposing her silk-clad legs. Where the stockings ended, she felt a light touch. As if a feather had been brushed against her skin. The touch was so light that it was as if the skin had a thousand tiny eyes and the touch had lifted their eyelids, and light and heat fell upon them, waves, currents, vibrations of response. Each tiny cell instead of contracting at the touch, expanded and became twice as sensitive. She never moved. Her deepest fear was that the hand should stop, grow timid, withdraw. She wanted to move, so as to place a leg a little more sideways, separate from the other so that the fingers could reach the inner skin which was more sensitive than the skin of the thighs.

6/1/11


 
Ἦ τοι μὲν πρώτιστα Χάος γένετ᾽, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα
Γαῖ᾽ εὐρύστερνος, πάντων ἕδος ἀσφαλὲς αἰεὶ
[ἀθανάτων, οἳ ἔχουσι κάρη νιφόεντος Ὀλύμπου,
Τάρταρά τ᾽ ἠερόεντα μυχῷ χθονὸς εὐρυοδείης,]
ἠδ᾽ Ἔρος, ὃς κάλλιστος ἐν ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι,                                                                       120
λυσιμελής, πάντων δὲ θεῶν πάντων τ᾽ ἀνθρώπων
δάμναται ἐν στήθεσσι νόον καὶ ἐπίφρονα βουλήν.
Ἐκ Χάεος δ᾽ Ἔρεβός τε μέλαινά τε Νὺξ ἐγένοντο·
Νυκτὸς δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ Αἰθήρ τε καὶ Ἡμέρη ἐξεγένοντο,
οὓς τέκε κυσαμένη Ἐρέβει φιλότητι μιγεῖσα.                                                                         125
Γαῖα δέ τοι πρῶτον μὲν ἐγείνατο ἶσον ἑ᾽ αὐτῇ
Οὐρανὸν ἀστερόενθ᾽, ἵνα μιν περὶ πάντα καλύπτοι,
ὄφρ᾽ εἴη μακάρεσσι θεοῖς ἕδος ἀσφαλὲς αἰεί.

Sorrow and Misery


Ἔρως ἀνίκατε μάχαν, Ἔρως, ὃς ἐν κτήμασι πίπτεις,
ὃς ἐν μαλακαῖς παρειαῖς νεάνιδος ἐννυχεύεις,
φοιτᾷς δ᾽ ὑπερπόντιος ἔν τ᾽ ἀγρονόμοις αὐλαῖς·   
καί σ᾽ οὔτ᾽ ἀθανάτων φύξιμος οὐδεὶς
οὔθ᾽ ἁμερίων σέ γ᾽ ἀνθρώπων. ὁ δ᾽ ἔχων μέμηνεν.                                 
σὺ καὶ δικαίων ἀδίκους φρένας παρασπᾷς ἐπὶ λώβᾳ,
σὺ καὶ τόδε νεῖκος ἀνδρῶν ξύναιμον ἔχεις ταράξας·
νικᾷ δ᾽ ἐναργὴς βλεφάρων ἵμερος εὐλέκτρου    
νύμφας, τῶν μεγάλων πάρεδρος ἐν ἀρχαῖς
θεσμῶν. ἄμαχος γὰρ ἐμπαίζει θεὸς, Ἀφροδίτα.