"wrestling mat, sternal retractor, skeet, saltwater pearl, cast self-lubricating curl bar, cotton socks, binding straps, titanium ice screw, carabiners, two laser disc players, and two laser discs"

"Vito Acconci in his 10-Point Plan for Video maps out four possible strategies for video-mediated performance and the resulting audience relationships: “build myself up: viewer as believer” (referring to Undertone), “tear myself away: viewer as witness” (Air Time), “take you in: viewer as partner” (Theme Song), “give myself over: viewer as surrogate” (Command Performance). "

aside from the generalized despair and ennui, i'm fine thanks

I’m still trying to understand the blog form. Am working at it’s possible to not front in a flat space. Or the object as other than indicating/advertising apparatus. Which would be making the space porous, but I'm not so sure this is about comment boxes or link streams. A portal is a portal if it deepens the space.

this form allows you to stop anywhere and begin again anywhere It's all contingency and evaporation. it's news. which surely is news to no one but me. so the static elements are the parts most porous, they don't disintegrate, they remain. so tone remains. but not speech. to continue this thought, tomorrow, according to this form, is to erase it.

I swam a lot yesterday and this morning. into the pool, out of the pool. it’s a nice measure. then back into the pool.

last night I sat in the window of a café ‘in town’, in the little downtown, watching all the people coming by. so many young people, it really is a college town. I am just old enough to call the younger people ‘young people’. two pretty girls, one very especially pretty with dark brown curling hair light skin dark eyes, dark brown cat-eye glasses, lots of mascara, light orange lip gloss, black patent leather sandals, patent leather handbag with metal snap-clasp tucked into her chair, just on the other side of the window from me, playing chess. I thought, all the men I’ve ever crushed on would want this girl, so, not for that reason alone, but for myself also, I was fascinated. or i was fascinated so i invented my desire as theirs. am I covetous or desirous? I can never tell. both. her clean hands, her mouth, the way she lit and smoked a merit ultra. on her upper left arm, three thin white scars. all the girls her age & style of suffering were into ‘cutting’ when they were teenagers. she was just this style, but coming ahead of it in the coolest possible luminous & kind of sultry, salty way. not a tan blond in four-inch braided wedges like most of the other girls passing by. all her skin looked touchable—I think that was the thing about her. she was cool, but the opposite of untouchable, all reserve and invitation.

"(Poems have sex in uncomfortable places.)"

that's jack kimball @ tykes on

i will agree and further, as poetry's fucking in incompossible means, ways, & paces [& places]

click to play

thanks due

to Michael Nicoloff, who reminded me that a computer is a MACHINE with an on/off switch

poets going away

[click to play]

i sent kate upstairs to see this; she responds with this.

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I ride in the free car share every weekday morning. I walk two blocks down my street to a gas station where people and cars line up together. Three people makes a carpool, meaning faster access to the bridge and no tolls; everyone wins.

There are several usual approaches to the bridge from my car-share pickup spot and I have come to categorize driver personality and temperament based on choice of approach. No route is significantly or consistently faster or slower than any other, although sometimes one approach will bypass traffic whereas another one will not—but it’s not clear by pattern over my months of car-sharing which will be better on any particular morning based on what set of circumstance.

The most obvious and direct route to the 580 westbound toward San Francisco from Oakland is a right turn out of the gas station onto Grand, a right turn onto 27th, a right turn onto Harrison and a left onto the 580 ramp—this person has a lot of faith in the formal structures of the social to best provide fast no thinking timely arrival to the workplace, they believe this will always be the best way, it’s direct, and probably no one has ever shown them another route.

The less obvious but more popular method is for those who like to feel they’re the wiser, sneaking past others and getting ahead in a cutting sharp corners kind of way. They're in a hurry, they're fast, they're me-first. It's not unusual for a bossy passenger to enlighten a driver by directing them this way. It involves a double right out of the gas station up Perkins, & a couple of zigs & zags up and down some hills past a lot of apartment complexes, which residential streets then turn you out at exactly the same Harrison Street on-ramp the first method gets you to.These drivers show the same faith in main-highway mechanistics as the first group. They do shave about 40 seconds off their drive--as long as there aren’t too many other cars taking the back-door right onto Harrison at the same time.

The silliest way is to backtrack east on Grand to the Grand Avenue 580 entrance. The morning commute is not a go-east-in-order-to-get-west practice. These people need divorce lawyers.

There’s the straight shot, all-the-way-down-Grand-Avenue approach. It's grittier the further west you go on Grand, more abandoned, more dilapidated, more industrial, more shopping carts lying on their sides, more pedestrians likely to be enduring grueling hardship in their daily lives when it comes to those little luxuries we all take for granted, you know, the eating and sleeping kind. You have to deal with stoplights but not so much with other drivers. You take a Hwy 80 onramp straight onto the toll plaza. [Because this is my own favored route, I'm ill-equipped to comment on personality displays. Anyone care to diagnose?]

This brings me to the rarest and until today my least favorite of all methods of getting onto the San Francisco Bay Bridge heading west into the city. This one mimics the Grand-Avenue-all-the-way, but just a few blocks before the Grand Ave under/over pass swing onto the bridge the driver will suddenly make a left onto a wide quiet signless treeless mostly carless street, and drive a long long way through [south? west? southwest?] Oakland, finally arriving at the 880 north. The thing about this approach is that you have absolutely no indicators of the degree of bridge traffic, or accidents, or anarchy, or anything, not anywhere along the route, there's no sense of anyone rushing or even moving, and when you get up onto the 880 you're not only right on top of the maze and the toll booths, but you slide along next to and past all the other backed up traffic in your own private Hwy 880 carpool lane, right until and through the toll plaza. This driver is patient, stubborn, sure, doesn't have to see to know, has lots of faith, moves at a steady pace, and feels triumphant winning the game at the very last. They're the ones you want to fuck and love on, for sure.

last night

one tall, one small, no [a.k.a. "French"] goodbye, the bodies of two I love best in all the world, moving fast away from but towards something, how lucky the something they're coming towards! even if it's just their own empty apartment.

Kate reading from ms. German Sonnets for Ted Berrigan, exciting to hear lyric generosity of the namesake through this very unlike line, fractured then restored all the way other.

No decent photos of Maggie but the video is coming.

encounter is terrible distress, that's the nature of it.
why would we think to want it another way?

"There's no story in Dallas," Godard just said in Room 666, "Sometimes that's what I like about Dallas."