the melding of diamonds into cereal globes, tallow on the chests of the filigree cancels, the blocks spun nude / I hate I love / the plurals that stew in glances emetic
Directly: great poets and writers, many of whom I talk about or quote in this blog. Language is amazing. I’m also directly inspired the by media of blogging itself—I like actually having my stuff read and the interaction.
Indirectly: the great mystery of life, God, love, melancholy, awesome music (electronic genres of any kind), academics and education, the dangerous paradoxes of postmodernism, and a dash of ego.
spark plug cologne/ all over death star
They say automatic fire isn’t and
nothing green in the snow sprouts
anything, excepting the clank and
sting of M1 clips
Styling over the flat
in glance machine. Shown over and over again,
the wobbles balance.
Just how American is the heat lamp,
defecting ants in his New York apartment?
They want just a photograph.
Do they look happy? Candidly, they
couldn’t figure it before
scrubbing the blank, however true.
The balding river reflects in his tomb,
is sitting. Slack suits adjust—yes,
everyone is dying for a bit of toast.
What are some academic lit or poetry journals based on the west coast?
I’ve been writing poems lately that put a new twist on a pair of (for me) old and reliable forms, namely, the Minimalist Instagram project and good-ol’ automatic writing. It’s a simple concept: write a line or half a line using a seed text (in the style of the Instagram and Bibliomancy project), then write a line or half a line in an automatic, semi-automatic or improvisational mode. These two processes occur alternately, but in general, the automatist strands should not be conceived in the “context” of the poem’s evolving shape. The automatic language may, however, deliberately continue and finish phrases syntactically (and vice versa). For example, in this poem I wrote “He engineered a strange,” then flipped to a random phrase in my source text, The Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke and got “loneliness.” Then I continued, “from the waist up, / part of the order…” then to the book for _”a pure sound.” Etc, generating the next several lines (italics are Rilke):
that should plunge into temptation
but tenses the bourgeoisie and
holds up the huge doors.
Instantly the paintings all around you
knock my sad theme
in several ways…
Proceed accordingly until you feel satisfied. Revise lightly, mostly punctuation. Embrace dissonance.
A word about the automatic writing. I’ve been thinking lately about the poets (Spicer, Mac Low, Coolidge, Perelman) who turn their mind into metaphorical radio tuners that listen to a “voice” in their head that is really the clamor of modern experience. Often this entails an artificial form of stimulation, like the Grand Piano project or other forms of “automatic listening.” The source is not conscious but neither is it subjective or expressive, in the sense of issuing from the writer’s ego. A fragmented, incoherent conversation is going on in the background noise of all our lives, and these poets attempt to record it. Something like this is what’s going on my microdreams. After a while, the “flow” of this voice gets easier to channel and becomes the touch-point for automatic writing. I’m sure some writers will know what I’m talking about. Anyone who is improvisational in any way also has a point of contact. Use this sense of “automatic” writing when writing for this project.
That’s it. Submit the results. Have fun.
All the half and half poems.