Hello.

Those bricks, that room, that desk and laquered linoleum, that faded denim, that wrinkled linen, those flesh etchings and peppered streaks, that voice, that lesson, that eye, your pain.


Goodbye, by Robert Creeley

Now I recognize
it was always me
like a camera
set to expose

itself to a picture
or a pipe
through which the water
might run

or a chicken
dead for dinner
or a plan
inside the head

of a dead man.
Nothing so wrong
when one considered
how it all began.

It was Zukofsky's
"Born very young into a world
already very old..."
The century was well along

when I came in
and now that it's ending,
I realize it won't
be long.

But couldn't it all have been
a little nicer,
as my mother'd say. Did it
have to kill everything in sight,

did right always have to be so wrong?
I know this body is impatient.
I know I constitute only a meager voice and mind.
Yet I loved, I love.

I want no sentimentality.
I want no more than home.

My dark teacher

An English major at the University of Buffalo in 1980, I ended up dropping his class because attending was like licking vanilla ice cream sprinkled with glass shards from a razor blade.

Here, Robert Creeley describes his collected works, and collected works in general, noting that their autobiographical nature and piecing together creates a larger story. Again, I am reminded of blogging:

"I remember Allen Ginsberg saying of my Collected Poems, 'Who would have thought such little poems would make such a big book!' I was surprised too. So there is always that new perspective, so to speak—any shift in context and format is bound to change one's sense of things. I know that reading Williams's Paterson as it appeared, book by book, was quite different from reading the whole work "collected" and published as a single volume.

"I miss in obvious ways the intensity and specificness a particular book can have at a particular time for all concerned—Pieces [Creeley's book of poems published by Scribner in 1969], for example. At the same time one is able to recognize in a collection such as Just in Time the pattern of a life lived, the curve of that aspect of time. For me especially the "autobiographical" is a significant element, and the collection of several books into one lets one track it more simply."

If Cixous were writing about blogging, she might write this...

"I think that the relationships between people are either completely pointless and meaningless, or creative, passionate and thus demand effort, real work through which they create things. In this way, they complete thought processes and become the light."



-Helene Cixous

Conversation with Helene Cixous

Here.

"All people, poets and writers with whom I have established a relationship which weaves connections between us - they are all already determined in their antagonistic critical attitude toward their beginnings and family and national milieu. They are all deconstructionists, to use Derida's term. They are all rebels, though they might be pacifists; in some way, they are all fighters. Those are people who do not comply. There it is! And who, at the same time, are not powerless. And that is very important. They are not people whose whole value system could be defined as isolation in some aggressive position. They do not accept in life things that prevent love, as well as all orders and laws. Those are the people who resist law that is order. Because, in fact, their hope or their actions are oriented toward that which stands for greater quality of life, humanity, intelligence. Each of these persons, I have encountered in time and in texts with their special characteristics, passing through what I call a desert, deserts. Passing through almost empty spaces, and recognizing them suddenly, as light, while they were searching through what I was also searching."


....And this is what I feel in the space between posts. What I feel for you.

écriture féminine

Hélène Cixous on the definition of écriture féminine

"It is impossible to define a feminine practice of writing, and this is an impossibility that will remain, for this practice can never be theorized, enclosed, encoded, coded -- which doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. But it will always surpass the discourse that regulates the phallocentric system: it does and will take place in areas other than those subordinated to philosophical-theoretical domination. It will be conceived of only by subjects who are breakers of automatisms, by peripheral figures that no authority can ever subjugate."

It will be conceived of only by subjects who are breakers of automatisms...
...by peripheral figures that no authority can ever subjugate.

Cixous Says...

Quotes from Helene Cixous, the post-modern mistress of voice:

Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.
-- "The Laugh of the Medusa"

Writing: as if I had the urge to go on enjoying, to feel full, to push, to feel the force of my muscles, and my harmony, to be pregnant and at the same time to give myself the joys of parturition, the joys of both the mother and the child. To give birth to myself and to nurse myself, too. Life summons life. Pleasure seeks renewal.
-- "Coming to Writing"

Myth ends up having our hides. Logos opens up its great maw and swallows us whole.
--"Coming to Writing"

I haven't been writing lately.

If writing doesn't tire you out, you're not writing. If writing doesn't wake you up, you're not writing. If you're not reading every day, you're not writing. If you don't yell at yourself sometime during the act, you're not writing. If you don't yell at someone you love during the act, you're not writing. If you don't feel a burning in your lungs, you haven't said anything. If you don't feel an ache in your temple, you haven't thought hard enough. If you think of it as writing instead of offering your friends an idea as a gift, you're on the wrong track. If your voice is affected, you're not being honest. If you use your readers to trap an enemy, you're guilty as sin. If you think you set the rules, you're wrong.

Dervala

Sometimes you read a post that you know you'll reference again, in quiet moments when you think back on what tasted so good to read last year, or a decade earlier, when we have online anthologies of the best blog posts, and Over Newfoundland, from Dervala, will be there. Good fortune and God speed good lady.

Country or Cult?

Oh my. Oh dear. How'd I miss this? Wow. Uh huh. Puzzle pieces coming together now..

Let's see, where are we all moving?


HINT: Not Here.

Martha 2.0

Try to find a press release on her site. Good luck. However, with the news about Martha Stewart's "Guilty on All Counts" verdict, I thought I'd help MSO out with some pro-bono work updating their current FAQs to reflect the new twist to her brand. It's the least I can do.


MOST FREQUENTLY ASKED
QUESTIONS ABOUT MARTHA

Q: When is Martha's birthday?

A: Martha's birthday is August 3. She will have served two months in federal prison by her next birthday, and we'll be having a nationwide contest to mark Martha's special day. Our "Bake a File in a Cake!" contest will award two lucky contestants one conjugal visit each with Martha on the weekend of their choice. To enter, video tape your recipe for baking a file into a layer or angel cake and send it to MSO. Winners will be judged on originality, taste, and length of tongue.

Q: Does Martha have a particular fragrance she wears?

A: Martha has several favorite perfumes. She often wears Fracas by Robert Piguet and Flowers by Antonia. We have exciting news on the fragrance front--Martha will be launching her own perfume brand early next year! The preliminary round of testing on Martha's patented new fragrance -- "Prison Bitch Paradise" -- is expected to be complete this fall. Prison Bitch will be available online and in major retail locations by Christmas. Ho, Ho, Ho.

Q: I love Martha's hair. Who is her hairdresser?

A: Martha's hair has been styled by Eva Scrivo, Eva Scrivo Salon, 632 Hudson Street (between Jane & Horatio), New York, NY 10014; 212-677-7315. However, she plans to adopt a more, uh, conservative cut this summer as she turns cutting and styling over to Bashida, The Nubian Queen of Cell Block 34.

Q: What is Martha's heritage, and where are her parents from?

A: Currently, no living relatives claim relationship to the home-design star.

Q: How many pets does Martha have, what breeds are they and what are their names?

A: Martha adores her household full of pets. She has four chow chow dogs (Zu-zu, Paw-Paw, Chin Chin, and Empress Wu) and seven Himalayan cats (Teeny, Weeny, Mozart, Vivaldi, Verdi, Berlioz, and Bartok). Martha is anticipating adopting several new pets next year--deals are in the work for her to have the company of an abandoned pussy named Sunshine and a gerbil named Bitey when Stewart relocates to her new home in June.

Jack of no trades: Things google thinks i know about

Vicodin

Quitting

Atlanta Casket Manufacturers (O.M.G.!)

Strep Tonsilitis

Oh well. 1 out of 4 ain't bad.

Caskets?

the day i thought i'd hear myself say this...

Howard's right. Mikey Powell's site does look like a 16 year old's blog.

six reasons

orkut thoughts for the day

1) I'm starting to see thumbnail-size faces of people I've never met in my dreams. These are frozen people--they don't move or change expression. They are the postage stamp people of my unconscious.

2) Is anyone from Sweeden not in an open relationship?

You Always Have Other Options / YAHOO

And we here at allied suggest you use them.

Thanks to Sheila and J.D. for breaking the news to us.

Have you played today?

I know, it's early (here in the U.S. anyhow). But make sure you take some time out to play today. Not to exercise or grab a latte, not to fax a form or attend a meeting. Those are all good things. Doing them is a good thing. But, take some time out to play. Okay?

Stewart Martha Stewart

Oh, and P.S.

This seems to be an apt place to put a link to Stewart's relationship-based computing presentation. Go watch it. "Don't build applications. Build context for interactions." Nice.

And News about new Flickr features. Dig it--communities can be indexed by Google with the group admin's say-so. Wait until the blog-lovers features hit the street. saweeeet.

Leave your pins at home.

Stewart used his camera phone to take some cool photos of a cool exhibit of balloons as social networks visualized from infest.

kinda makes me wanna sing...

Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon
Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon
We could float among the stars together, you and I
For we can fly we can fly

Up, up and away
My beautiful, my beautiful balloon
The world's a nicer place in my beautiful balloon
It wears a nicer face in my beautiful balloon
We can sing a song and sail along the silver sky
For we can fly we can fly

Up, up and away
My beautiful, my beautiful balloon
Suspended under a twilight canopy
We'll search the clouds for a star to guide us
If by some chance you find yourself loving me
We'll find a cloud to hide us
We'll keep the moon beside us
Love is waiting there in my beautiful balloon
Way up in the air in my beautiful balloon
If you'll hold my hand we'll chase your dream across the sky
For we can fly we can fly

Up, up and away
My beautiful, my beautiful balloon
Balloon...
Up, up, and away.....

Pop Ups and Spam - Another kinda cat in da hat.

Do you like
pop-ups and spam?

I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
pop-ups and spam.

Would you like them
Here or there?

I would not like them
here or there.
I would not like them
anywhere.
I do not like
pop-ups and spam.
I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.

Would you like your
johnson long?
Would you like a
12-inch schlong?

I do not like my
johnson long.
I do not like a
12-inch schlong.

I do not like them
here or there.
I do not like them
anywhere.
I do not like pop-ups and spam.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Need Viagra
for your willy?
Spurt like Niagra
Make her silly?

Not like Viagra
Not like Niagra.
Not for my willy.
Not make her silly.
I would not click them here or there.
I would not click them anywhere.
I would not click pop-ups and spam.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Would you? Could you?
in your car?
Read them! Read them!
Here they are.

I would not,
could not,
in my car.

You may like them.
with wifi.
You may like them
on the sly.

I would not, could not with wifi.
I would not, could not on the sly.
Not in my car! Don't make me lie.

I do not like my cheating spouse.
I do not want a refinanced house.
I do not like my credit card debt.
I do not want to make a bet.
I do not like them here or there
I do not like them anywhere.
I do not like pop ups and spam.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

A train! A train!
A train! A train!
Could you, would you
on a train?

Not on a train! Not in my car!
Not at starbucks! Not for horny Asian fucks!
I would not, could not, on the sly.
I could not, would not, with a guy.
I will not click them with a mouse.
I will not click them in my house.
I will not click them here or there.
I will not click them anywhere.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Say!
With wet lesbian housewives?
In your future lives!
Would you for brand new kitchen knives?

I would not, could not,
with wet lesbian housewives.

Would you, could you,
for Vicodin?

I would not, could not, for Vicodin.
Not with wet housewives. Not in future lives,
Not on the sly, Not with a guy.
I do not like them, Sam, you see.
Not from starbucks. Not with horny Asian fucks.
Not from my house, Not with a cheating spouse.
I will not click them here or there.
I do not like them anywhere!

You do not like
pop-ups and spam?

I do not
like them,
Sam-I-am.

Could you, would you,
with a goat?

I would not,
could not.
with a goat!

Would you, could you,
with a bloke?

I could not, would not, with a bloke.
I will not, will not, with a goat.
I will not have barnyard fun.
I will not have it til I cum.
Not on the sly! Not with a guy!
Not in my car! Don't make me lie!

I do not like your anal probes.
I do not like humping ear lobes.
I will not click them in a house.
I will not click them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them ANYWHERE!

I do not like
pop ups
and spam!

I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.

You do not like them.
SO you say.
Try them! Try them!
And you may.
Try them and you may I say.

Sam!
If you will let me be,
I will try them.
You will see.

Say!
I like pop ups and spam!
I do!! I like them, Sam-I-am!
And I would do it in a boat!
And I would do it with a goat...
And I will screw it in the rain.
And in the dark. And on a train.
And in a car. And up a tree.
They are so good, so good, you see!

So I will eat wet lesbian housewives.
And I will eat them with kitchen knives.
And I will eat them in my house.
And I will eat them with a mouse.
And I will eat them here and there.
Say! I will eat them ANYWHERE!

I do so like
pop-ups and spam!
Thank you!
Thank you,
Sam-I-am!

I'm not talking just to hear myself talk, ya'll.

Dan lost Prince

Dan lost a good old dog over the weekend. I love the pictures of Prince. And Dan's post about missing his friend more than he thought he would.

We have a 12 year old sweetie named Diva. She doesn't see so well anymore. You start to see time pass so quickly in the eyes of an old dog.

Halley needs a "good wife" robot

And I want one too.

Holy! No wonder everybody drank themselves to sleep.

Listen what the man said

I've been thinking about this a lot the past few days.



"Within a few years, thousands of quality news, entertainment, and information sources will spring up on the Internet, each serving a highly specific community of interest. Around many of these micro-media, a web of intercommunicating micromarkets will emerge in a band of spectrum invisible to conventional marketing. The stars of this new medium are just now emerging. Don't think Dan Rather, think Chaucer. Cervantes. Think Dante. Don't think Jerry Springer, think Rabelais and Shakespeare. Don't think George W., think Winston C. Don't think Oprah, think the Oracle at Delphi.

"Human beings have always discovered magic and magnificence within themselves. It wasn't created by media marketeers--they just saw an opportunity to make a killing. The magic was there all along. It still is."

--Chris Locke, Gonzo Marketing, 2001.

Simply Glorious

Shelley and Emily on voice and betrayal.

And so the next generation's crop of poets and artists, their themes of love and betrayal, emerge here. See it in Shelley's post?

Splendid.

building out da blogroll

adding some orkut friends, new and old, to the blogroll, one bloggie at a time. arrggh. How hard would it be for them to let me set my OWN preferences for my friends list? Instead of showing the email field in my long list, let me say I want to see the URLs. At least that would save me two clicks to get the URL to paste into my blogroll.

And yes I know about blogrolling.com. And yes, I will be giving in to automated maintenance of my blogroll one day soon. Always a romantic, I enjoy building it by hand. But maintaining it? I suck at that.

Retainer, no brainer

So I signed one client on retainer finally. It is a relief having the pressure off. Enough regular dough to survive. And since it's a little over half time, enough extra time to take on other work, or to spend time thinking about what to do during those extra hours, which, in my case, could manage to fill those extra hours up.

Almost a year after my Ketchum divorce, I've found some normalcy. Some regularity. As in, I'm not hustling every single day. And I can't quite get used to it. Once we stop racing for our lives, slow down and walk for a mile, it's hard to see a good reason to pick up the pace again.

Anyway, I don't know how long I'll be at the current arrangement, but between having been retained, and the extra projects floating in, I may be able to make a dent in my upcoming t*a*x* bill, which I don't even want to think about.

So. ladeda. Should be happy. ladeeda. yowsa yowsa.

and so forth.

Orkut's down right now.

Flickr's up.

If I haven't answered your V-mail yet, please don't hate me.

If I haven't answered your email yet, please don't hate me.

More from "can't cut us a break day": Dumb women get horny quicker.

Researchers say that Viagra doesn't work for smart women.

"Men consistently get erections in the presence of naked women and want to have sex. With women, things depend on a myriad of factors." Dr Boolel added that "the brain is the crucial sexual organ in a woman".

I.... I.... I... um.... Can I just say.... that.... uh....

never mind.

And in other health news...

Women, on the other hand, deal with workplace stupidity by drinking themselves to death. Only "executives" though.

Executive women were three times more likely to be problem drinkers, writes researcher Jenny Head, PhD, an epidemiologist with the University College of London.

and

"This combination of putting in a lot of effort at work but receiving low rewards in terms of being valued, income, and promotion seems to be a potent risk factor," she explains.

Shhh. If you listen really hard, you can hear the lady VPs at the 666 Corporation rushing into the restroom to stuf this article into the sanitary-product disposal bins.

You trying to give me a heart attack?

Well this article pisses me off. Go to page two and look at a couple of the survey questions:

Hostile people will agree with statements such as: "I have often met people who were supposed to be experts who were no better than me," or "I frequently have worked under people who arrange things so they get all the credit."

I would have wanted to sock somebody in the solar plexis after reading those stupid fucking questions. How about IT'S TRUE AND IT MAKES ME CRAZY, and I'm not even a man. And while I'm at it, thanks for the condescending "Temper Tantrum" headline.

...and they wonder.

menstrual cramps in my knee

[[men click off to read JOHO.]]

What I did to my knee, I'm not sure. I cleaned today--I think that was it. And I'm being very bad about footwear, now that I'm addicted to cluncky clogs that make me several inches taller than theh 5'5 or so I am. But that means when you bend down to pick up (it had to be) 250 pieces of crap on the floors of this house, you're actually (I'm actually, I would have to say in group) bending lower than you would (I would), or even could, because the soles of your (my) clogs are like four inches above the ground (sea level).

So I think that had something to do with it.

I don't mind. I guess. But it HURTS SO BAD! I am not sure what one does to one's knee (my knee) by stooping down to reach lower than one is tall (I am), but if you can figure it out, and if you're a man, and if you've had this knee problem, then you know what it's like for your wife and/or girlfriend when she has her period, because it feels just like this, except expanded it up the thighs to the abdomen (abdomint, jenna calls it) and lower back.

So now we can all relate nicely to my pain, and advil isn't working.

Just doin what I do

doo bee doo bee dooooo.

Halley on being a mom

Lovely, Halley.

If Orkut and Flickr got hitched

Flickr needs the substantial, more-frequently-posted-to groups from Orkut. {Orkut's got the community juice}
Orkut needs Flickr's media sharing and chat. {Flickr's got the real-time juice}
Orkut needs Flickr's easy, sweet, UI and smart-smart Stewart. {Flickr's got Stewart}
Flickr needs more of Orkut's mature members and resources. {Orkut's got some big-wig members}

Shall we push this definition of marriage thing to the limit?

Make that One Phone Call Count

Adam, from Orkut Penitentiary. Yeah. Sure. They all say, "I didn't do it!"

Happy to drink in his words

Jonathon has returned with a wonderful post about everything. He sounds ready. And it's good to have him home.

Your Blue-Eyed Christ

The literal first thought that ran through my mind when I watched the trailer for The Passion of the Christ was: Wow, everyone looks so white. Especially Christ.

That's rather odd.

So I haven't gone. Yet. Because I'm not sure if I can get past Gibson's Catholic context, or his blue-eyed, stringy-haired Christ.

The images, the history, the words, the Word, are pretty powerful already, without dolby surround sound. No?

My $114 tooth

Did I tell you I got my chipped tooth fixed? Yep, I did. No shots required, just drilling and blowdrying and bonding some white tooth like stuff onto the chipped part and VOILA--rough gnarled edge gone. Modern dentistry, what a thing.

When I was young we had a sadistic dentist. I know everyone thinks they had a sadistic dentist. But we did. He never used novocaine. Didn't believe in it. Too expensive. I was 22 before I ever had a dental procedure that didn't involve excruciating pain.

The thing is, when my dad was dying he needed a lot of dental work, as his illness destroyed him piece by piece. Dr. Sadist treated my dad for free, knowing that we were in trouble as a young family with a dying head of household. After my dad died, Dr. Sadist continued to work with my mom to see we got the dental care we needed.

May I remind you, there's no free lunch?

Dr. Sadist would walk into the room, I remember his smile and smell, and he would fast as lightning bop me over the head with what felt like a rubber mallet. It was some kind of dental tool with a big, black, rubber ball on the end of it. I'd always know the bop was coming, and the older I got, the swifter and sneakier he'd get in his quest to surprise me with the bop.

"BOP!" he'd exclaim. I'd giggle, a reflex not unlike Pavlov's dogs, me associating the coming pain with a mixture of familiarity and fear.

I think I had six or seven cavities filled from the age 6 to 22. Maybe more. Each drilling would begin with a bop in the head with his rubber mallet and a promise to stop if it hurt too-too much.

"Be brave--it won't take long," he'd say. "It will hurt, but it will be over fast. And if it hurts VERY VERY bad, tell me and I'll stop."

I was brave for 10 years. I never complained as my tooth pulp submitted to the metal drill. Just gripped the arms of the chair and "offered it up to God."

We offered a lot up in those days.

Around 16, during one particularly deep filling, I couldn't take it anymore. It hurt so badly I saw stars. No matter how deeply I dug my finger nails into the vinyl arm rests, I couldn't dissociate. There was no place to go.

"If it's hurting too bad, tell me and I'll stop," he offered above the noise of the drill.

I counted. 1-2-3-4, oh God, 5-6-7....

"Stogggrrp. Preaaassee Stoggglp!" I couldn't take it.

He didn't.

"Stoggrrppp!!!"

He wouldn't.

"I'm almost done," he offered with a smile.

I nearly lost consciousness--not from the pain, but from the violation. He'd promised for all of those years he would stop. And when I finally needed him to, after 10 years of mining in my mouth, he wouldn't.

I struggled, he got more firm in his drilling, and then I submitted.

When he was done, I was crying.

"You said you would stop!"

"I did? Well I was nearly done."

All I had wanted was a reprieve from the pain.

Isn't that all we ever want?

My favorite part of visiting Dr. Sadist was that his office was right next door to Doughnuts Delight, the best of all doughnut stores in Rochester. Even though I couldn't chew after a filling, my mom always took me next door after my ordeal so I could pick out my favorite, either a chocolate cruller, or a chocolate cream filled, to eat later.

Doesn't take a psychological genius to figure out where the numbing joy of sweets began for me.

And so it went. For 16 years, until I got "my own" dentist.

I still remember them asking me if I had ever had any reactions to novocaine.

"What's that?" I asked.

They looked at the fillings in my mouth.

"You've never had novocaine?"

"No."

We stared at one another, puzzled.

I got my first shot that day, and called everyone who would listen after my appointment to tell them how much it didn't hurt.

No one really got it.

Good Golly Miss Molly!

Letter to an alpha male?

Found it at All About George.