Saturday, December 30, 2017
I'd made plans to meet you in Bar Noir
on 18th, you were there; we drank. What
happened after that, in the Logan Square
flat, is that in defrocking you knocked over
an antique lamp bequeathed to me by my
aunt in Mahopac. Serendipity, I thought,
stunned then into silence by your bedroom
elan. Outside, a sultry night simmered; this
night of all nights, scattered green glass littered
my bedroom floor, & I finally got taken, past
liquor, to what eternity was only in your mouth-
as though you'd jumped from a forest scene
(ferns, redwoods), a world of pagan magic,
into a scene still undulant with possibilities-
Saturday, December 16, 2017
To follow up on yesterday's piece, these two Apps/Sonnets Argotist Online reproduction pages, here and here, which feature British Library Wayback pages as captured by archive.is, bring to (it would seem) an apogee or crowning peak the ideals I have set out here for solidity/durability in poetry/literature web pages in general. Many thanks to all the operating systems, including The Argotist Online, behind them.
Friday, December 15, 2017
Over the summer, I laid down what for me are some general guidelines as regards the ranking of web pages: looking for solidity, durability, potential permanence. The page I ranked highest is the British Library Wayback version of my Argotist Online Apps/Sonnets page. Here's an interesting twist: when a British Library Wayback page is captured by archive.is, with the British Library insignia stitched into it, as is the case here with two Disturb the Universe essays, On the Necessity of Bad Reviews and Century XX after Four Quartets, it adds up to another potential "fortress" configuration, prestige and solidity both accounted for.
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Monday, December 11, 2017
Friday, December 8, 2017
Some upgrades and improvements to the appearance of Opera Bufa, and all its ancillary channels/expressions, online: here, in refined form, is Laura Goldstein's summer '08 Loyola University syllabus (English 271), which features two days on Opera Bufa and a third with me reading/lecturing to the class, which included Stacy Blair. Here, also, is Ms. Blair's term paper for the class on Opera Bufa. Lastly, a piece I wrote for a later (2013) edition of Opera Bufa, which relates the story of the book's genesis in Aughts Philadelphia and Chicago.
P.S. Another syllabus of interest from the late Aughts.
Sunday, November 26, 2017
This image, by Irene Koronas, accompanies my poem Swiss Army Knife in the web-journal X-Peri, which went up last night. The multi-media angle X-Peri are exploring is an interesting one, and I recommend those watching to explore the whole journal; the clash/clang of words and images is unique.
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Salvaged, also, from the Wayback Machine: this 2006 page from Anny Ballardini's Fieralingue (specifically, from the Poets' Corner section of the journal), featuring the poem later known as Pigs and Planes, which I also read at the MLA Off-Site reading in Philly that December.
Monday, November 20, 2017
I did this interview with Anny Ballardini in 2006, as editor of P.F.S. Post, and for a graduate project she was doing at the University of New Orleans. I've now retrieved it. Thanks, Anny!
Friday, November 17, 2017
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
With other things which have manifested, gratefully, on Doc Player, I now have sites (or, as I call them, Meat Sites) set in place for Posit alone, and for Rising in Scorpio. Many thanks to those who aided us in uploading the pdfs to the site...
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
Someone was nice enough to re-publish the Posit Trilogy Argotist E-Books pdf on Doc Player. I noticed that Doc Player embeds are rather sturdy looking, more so than embeds from Scribd, Calameo, and the like. So, I took Art Recess 6, which was Nick Gruberg's Free School blog back in the day, and transformed it into a solid shrine for the Posit Trilogy pdf. As to what might happen to Art Recess 6-as-Posit Trilogy shrine over a long period of time- seems interesting to me. I've never made an entire site from one text before. How to insure traffic? If I can get a reasonable amount of traffic on there at least some of the time, Art Recess 6 may stand as my proudest Blogger moment yet. We'll see...
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Reb Livingston's No Tell Motel was off the air for a considerable duration of time. It is now back on the air, with archives intact. Five poems from When You Bit... are included: Big Black Car, Back of a Car, Blue Monday, Framed, and Sunny Afternoon. Thanks, Reb!
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Her money, she repeats to herself, connects her
to the whole world. She still sashays into
Joan Shepp on Walnut, even if she can't
buy anything. The fabrics, the cuts of the
dresses- this is who she is.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she
knows she's been tossed like a rogue piece
of fabric, & the hands that cut her have made
her inelegant. To handle this cloth with dishrag
hands, is to wade knee-deep into the darkness
of the suburbs, frozen like jell-o around her.
Under the Knife
A razor was placed on a table outside-
someone handed it in. From that moment
forward, everyone at this Starbucks (the
staff) were considered under the knife.
They were all young enough to be my
kids, and they all got hit before we could
make any arrests. I still get my coffee there
every day- the replacements are (as usual)
the same kids all over again. The point (for
me) is that this is a far uglier world than most
people believe it to be. The older you get, the harder it is to take.
Monday, November 6, 2017
Monday, October 30, 2017
When Terry trooped down that staircase
into the bowels of the Theater Building,
on the fringes of North Halls, I noticed
he (it seemed) felt nothing. For me, it was like
a plunge into empty nothingness, some
infernal realm of inversions; several
times I almost fainted. The Black Box
theater space was always crowded on
those Thursday nights, not far from
midnight, where Terry reigned as secret
Outlaw Playwrights king- officious, daring,
beneficent or malign, as the mood took him;
& as Justine Caskey traipsed past me in the line,
vulpine teeth glistening in the fluorescence-
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
Another one from the tool shed: WebCite is an archiving site which offers sturdy durability, and also the ability to hinge page to page. This As/Is page from 2016 on WebCite, hinged to an Otoliths page from '17, makes the case for "hinges" (as this, also, does) as some of the more true gems possible to produce from the tools we have around now. Inter-plays between web pages, both inter-relational and interstitial, are another wave of the future, and fertile food for thought as Net archiving progresses through the century. Tri-hinges, anyone?
Friday, October 13, 2017
The State College townie kids, bound
to Happy Valley, got their kicks where
they found them, gave off an air of
ennui shot with doom (human life
having granted them no escape valve),
yet were accommodating to me. On
what it means to look around a small
town, and know that it is everything to you,
encompasses all you are, Lords over you
confining curses: to trip with these kids was
to understand these limitations, the magic
& the agony. Lisa smirked, skinny in her boots,
hair cut short but for the one fringe over
her left eye, & passed me water for the E high-
Lisa- after twenty years, the bathroom,
you remember, in The Coffee Cellar,
was all black, with a wide mirror.
Stoned, I dragged you (sweet sixteen) in there
to see if I could kiss you, wrapped in
black leather pants; you banged in
two-inch-high boots, tawny hair-fringe
there, over your eye. I got the kiss; we ambled
out hand in hand; wound up back in
again. You made me vow to you
something I can't remember. How
townie girls talked- I'd nod, get lost.
But the womb-space was complete-
we were safe, ascendant into space, hopeless-
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
So, you had me on your chopping
block that day; the City Hall court
yard blazed with summer heat. We
were over, that was it. You wanted,
you said, some order & discipline in
your life. Chinatown simmered under
our feet; I looked (futilely) for a GO
board; you bought some incense. You
turned quickly, I tried to kiss you; you
resisted; it was close. Two brains tried
to coalesce into one, about love & us.
Epochs passed; I've got order & discipline
right here, in these lines, Ruth. I trust
you understand. Much of the rest is dust.
Thursday, September 21, 2017
As we head towards Halloween again, and with the new e-book in circulation, I am left to reflect on what it means to live/work through a transitional time. Some home truths seem to be both stark and Halloween-ish; television, print media, popular culture are all bottoming out on an atrocious level of thoughtlessness and mediocrity. The vacuity of what's "around," in all these contexts, is breathtaking. Meanwhile, the world created from, and out of, the Internet, while it has to have some of the earmarks on the century XX world, has set in place the possibility that those with the brains and gumption to do so can forge their own worlds, universes, contexts. Is it that stark in 2017: the Internet set against the rest of America, or the rest of the world? I am given to wonder because, as the Halloween skull you see here being flown at 1521 Fayette Street in Conshohocken, the contrasts are so stark, so deathly. If we are moving towards an era in which online universes win more of the time against the hollowed-out stuff, you can bet the plebeian sector of humanity won't be particularly happy about it; they'd gladly stay in century XX forever. But the individualistic portion of humanity, who dare to live beneath the surface and develop their cognitive capacities, will have a much easier time finding outlets for creative self-expression. That seems to me to be more important; even if the "skull" hovering around the endeavor, which suggests rancor and even physical violence, has to be flown, because between those of my kith and kin and the plebes it must, it seems, be never-the-twain.
Monday, September 18, 2017
Sunday, September 17, 2017
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
The Posit Trilogy was released September 9, 2017, as an Argotist E-Book. Posit, the first third of the Trilogy, was written in December/January '06/'07 in my Logan Square apartment in Center City Philadelphia, and released as a Dusie chap on June 9, 2007. The second and third portions of the Trilogy (Deposit and Re-Posit) were initially drafted here, at Volo Coffeehouse, on Main Street, Manayunk, in late August 2013. I re-drafted them earlier this year. Volo resembles the Last Drop in Center City Philadelphia very specifically; the high, coffered ceiling, large bay window facade, and general ambiance of all things indie, avant, and Bohemian distinguish it. I happened to be reading Augustine's Confessions as I drafted Deposit and Re-Posit; I also happened to be wearing all my Carnaby Street/Urban Outfitter's gear from the Aughts. And carrying a cigarette case. The coffee was super-potent.
Saturday, September 9, 2017
The new Adam Fieled Argotist Online E-Book is The Posit Trilogy. Many thanks to Jeffrey Side.
"The Posit Trilogy initiates a cycle, and then repeats it twice: a kind of Father, Son, Holy Ghost structure around the poet's quest to achieve self-hood, through analysis of different kinds of subjectivity (visionary, practical), explorations of dreams (consciousness creating its own kinds of matrixes and mazes to wander around in), and attempted resonances with the American city of Philadelphia (birthplace of America, enchanted by history, architecture, hidden depths, and interstitial, subterranean structures). The cycles that constitute The Posit Trilogy ricochet back and forth, with an eye towards creating a poetic landscape individual, idiosyncratic, and loopy enough to stimulate any human brain receptive to its advances."
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
Mike Land & I dropped acid in Logan
Square, danced down to the Drop,
spaced out in the dank basement;
sashayed over to Jen Cho's first floor
apartment on Lombard Street, where
she held court, partying with her U of
Delaware "green" buddies; & huffed some
hash on top of the acid. Mike sat in an
armchair, rocking. Erin, Jen's chum,
sent me purple signals, but Mike had to be
wheeled out of there. Jen's was a floor to
crash on, for Erin & I later. I got my news.
Over at the Drop, Erin's geeks had our number-
I woke Mike up to hear the code: two plugs.
Friday, September 1, 2017
The born-in-the-90s generation are in an interesting position. Because the era we happen to be living through is a transitional one, they will not have the problem my generation was forced to work around- of being stuck in a crawl-space, with a rapacious, monomaniacal system of information dissemination dictating what our economy should be to us. We had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide- everyone was more-or-less forced to experience the same events, catastrophes, uprisings, and conflagrations at the same time. Kids born in the 90s can, via the Internet especially, take their pick of what to believe, what to experience, what to study, what to internalize, and who to trust. The popular entertainment 'biz, important for kids, does happen to be in a huge slump now; but the Net offers a variety of alternatives, so that as the brighter, more inquiring kids develop their own "routes," their brains can expand in whatever direction happens to appeal to them at any given moment.
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
As an archiving tool, archive.fo presents some distinct advantages, some distinct disadvantages. Pages generated by archive.is tend to be rock solid, and the archive.is servers are pretty solid too. The main disadvantage, as I see it, is about prestige. Archive.is can be employed as an archiving tool by anyone, at any time, for any reason. As such, the idea of adjudication, of a page judged by a serious authority to have or embody worthiness, for some solid reason, in the world, does not come into play here. Lowly pages receive the same treatment loftier pages receive. Thus, the rock solid pages generated by archive.is must accrue prestige based on an original source. This chips away at the kind of consummate package deal we are looking for in our quest for the perfect webpage; the page which has all bases covered, as the saying goes.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Saturday, August 19, 2017
It's been a summer of computer raunch for me: from my hard-drive breaking down in June (many thanks to the masterminds at Silvertek in Broomall for assistance) to online operating systems breaking down. That's something about American life in 2017: computer issues will have you begging for mercy. Especially if, as is the case for me, your sturdy desktop set-up is your home, office, and den. As I continue my experiments with webpage archiving and preservation, I do now have a nominee for the most perfect Philly Free School webpage, the most solid all-the-way-round: the British Library version of my Argotist Online Apps/Sonnets page. The last capture, here, is from July 1, 2017 (and its initial twin is from February 15.) Once you have a well-rounded, solid webpage set in place, it is helpful to realize that it can't be truly perfect until a solid portal-page, which also must needs be highly prominent and visible, is set in place. Hidden gems are the way of the Net, but chip away at the aura of the "consummate" which I want pages like this to have. For now, a bunch of portal-way entrances on Blogger (including this one) will have to do for the page I've linked here. Also the attendant solidity quid pro quo is massive: the British Library Wayback Machine is tightly wound, compressed, compacted the right way to achieve maximum durability for its pages; yet the pages will not (as computer heads know) show up in searches on major search engines. So, the vision quest continues.
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
That September night we followed our
party back to a twin near City Hall, under
an aegis which was not for us, & which
included our enemies, dirt & grime came
down, settled on our backs. Now, I blame
a sense of excess which was just the Aughts;
I got used to knowing a step up on a Philly
ladder could be a step down. They were
snorting coke in a room upstairs at this
party, and, it was rumored, playing Russian
Roulette. The pistol (I saw) had a silencer on it.
I looked up, from the landing, at a greasy light.
September heat cast an eerie glow of nowhere-
someone pushed past me to join the affair.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
The UK blog Eyewear has adopted a rather tumultuous approach to what stays and what goes, conservation/preservation, over a long period of time. Most of what I had on Eyewear as of '13/'14 is now erased. Yet, Eyewear is being archived by both the British Library and the Internet Archive Wayback Machines; and this page, from 2008, which contains my poetic apostrophe to Dawn Ananda Hulton, is here completely intact.
Friday, August 11, 2017
Over a long period of time, I've noticed that having a large body of work online, in different/disparate disciplines (and representing interests, also, other than my own), creates what I call a ricochet matrix. An environment is generated out of different parts of a kind of organism here, so that when one constituent form held by the ricochet matrix changes in any way, expands or contracts, all the parts respond. Some of the ricochets held within the matrix structure flirt with the unlikely or absurd; por ejemplo, "Brown Eyes Like His" on Soundclick against the Kant-related pdfs on Internet Archive against the Sonnets/Apps on The Argotist Online against Abby's "The Walls Have Ears." The larger matrix structure, which both creates and constitutes the environment around/for everything I do online, is the architecture in Conshohocken, the Philly 'burbs, and in Philadelphia itself. Like a computer, a substantial architectural construct has inbuilt a kind of sentience, and interacts in a semi-sentient way with the world around it. Thus, King of Prussia, Gulph Mills, and Conshohocken are continually poured into my brain as ricochets against the smaller/larger environment of our online matrix as it develops, to nurture (as environment) other brains to remain expansive, too.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Friday, August 4, 2017
Computers, like architecture, I can still get mystical about. The big hang-up for me, as one playing the lit game (online and elsewhere), is this: the pursuit of the perfect webpage. Take it for granted, given the context, that I mean webpages related to poetry and literature. So, pilgrim-like, I have gone, and continue to go, in pursuit of the perfect webpage, and begin to get Tron'd out, as I realize, as most serious computer heads realize, that both webpages and the insides of computers are at least semi-sentient. Tron, a feature-length motion picture, was not as far-fetched as may have been supposed. So, if you have an almost perfect webpage established, it can be worked, trained, groomed, and unleashed all over again, if you can master the right stretch, compress, and archiving tricks; as though, of course, it were a child eager to perform, ready to learn. And all the warped proportions and strange juxtapositions of the architecture in King of Prussia are mirrored inside a hard drive used to push the human brain forward the right way.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
As someone who semi-actively watches the yearly planetary ephemeris, and likes studying the zodiac archetypes and other elements of astrology though I don't think natal charts work literally that much anymore, I used to dread the last decante of Libra (Libra-Gemini). This decante informs my twelfth house; house of self-undoing, self-destruction, confinement, blind spots, and unforeseen nightmares. I've been learning a new lesson this summer: that the last degrees of Libra which inhabit my twelfth house can also bequeath peace, rest, tranquility, self-transcendence, and, dare I say it, fun. June 3/4, when the print edition of Otoliths 44 arrived in the mail, were the two best days I've had in Conshohocken since I arrived here in '12; and today, also, has been a barn-burner in terms of transmuting possible twelfth house snafus into a liberated sense of living in a world that still has in it boundlessness, heft, eternity. My theory is this: the twelfth house starts to be fun when you've earned enough good karma with the universe to make it that way, through staying innocent of moral atrocities and travesties of all kind, and, more importantly, through using your brain the right way.
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Last month, for a rather random reason, I managed to make it over to King of Prussia. King of Prussia, and the King of Prussia mall, are always fun for me, both because I like to gawk at the architecture and because I like to indulge in Nineties nostalgia. My semester breaks home from PSU in '94, '95, and '96, I would drive around KOP doing various errands, not necessarily realizing that the architecture was casting a potent spell on my imagination, which it was. KOP looks like it was imported from outer space (and/or the moon), and yet so much of it is so gracefully melded to what mother nature has to offer that it appears entirely organic. Many Philly 'burbs are magical that way; Conshohocken is. The ride from Bridgeport to Conshohocken is another stunning "on the moon" one. If you have wheels, highly recommended.
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
A sign of the times and the Zeitgeist: now that the British online journal Nth Position is offline, we find the key Fieled Nth Position page preserved on two different Wayback Machines, the British Library wayback and the archive.org. This 2006 page is mostly notable to me for containing "debbie jaffe" from Beams. Now, you won't ever get the Ur-page again, but can always come here and get the post-Ur-page, as Blogger ricochets become more distinct/useful, if you so desire. Cheers!
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
In La Tazza, a coffee shop in Manayunk,
a stairway led you stiffly into a high-ceiling'd,
Spartan, red-painted basement, where I
wound up with Chris one autumn night
in '97. How Jeremy's group picked us up
I don't know, but we all wound up in an
apartment on Main Street. Everyone was
wearing army jackets; Jeremy was uncharacteristically
quiet. He had already lost control of his
cabal, & blew in the wind. The poems lay,
then, wrapped in a dossier-like presentation,
at Villanova, among other secret files; as they
lay, also, in Jeremy's brain, as tokens that
he once cared to be a real army trooper.
Thursday, July 13, 2017
A quirk has emerged from a plethora of music industry websites featuring chart rankings: sometimes poetry gets ranked, too. Poetry mp3s now have the capacity, from PennSound (sans rankings), Soundclick (including rankings) and elsewhere, to travel far and wide, and deliver or not deliver goods to receptive spoken word heads. On the hearthis.at site, the Ode on Jazz, taped on April 5, 2004 at a Live at the Writers House show at KWH on the Penn campus (later broadcast on WXPN), reached #7 in the "Other" category chart. A nifty reminder that the excitement, thrills/spills of the music business are now available to other kinds of artists, who may not write to the tune of Casey Kasem, but don't mind doing business with the dude when he comes a-callin'.
P.S. At one point, I had a #1 ranked poetry page on Reverbnation, also.
P.S.S. Clean (Live in Brooklyn) has a monster ranking of sorts on Jamendo.
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
If by 40 you do not believe in other worlds, above and beyond the world/context of the human race on earth, you can look forward to a pretty paltry existence. Aleister Crowley clearly believed in the existence of other worlds; in Book of the Law, he seems to be channeling one of them. What I find interesting in the book, as the manifestation of a channeling exercise, is the way/manner in which Crowley wrestles with his voices. The first voice is a female voice, and a caressing one (Nuit). With Nuit, Crowley seems simpatico. The second and third voices, Hadit and Horus, are male, imposing, phallic presences. With Hadit and Horus, Crowley not only wrestles with their phallic impositions, it is difficult to tell in the text if Crowley is "clear channeling," or deliberately mangling what may have been being transmitted through the airwaves on those two April afternoons. Why was Crowley quarreling with his voices? The answer seems to be clear: Hadit and Horus espouse a form of spiritual elitism and classicism, against the intercession of plebeians/the plebeian, which Crowley, not wanting to alienate a potential audience, finds distasteful. It is a theory I have that, literary/occult acumen aside, Crowley as an individual may have been less remarkable than has been commonly supposed. His aims in the world were conventional ones, and he craved conventional success. Maybe. It is just that, when you read Books II and III, when you are hearing Hadit and Horus and when you are hearing Crowley disputing with or rebuking them is a point of some interest, Neo-Romantic interest/transcendentalism intended.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Monday, July 3, 2017
Saturday, July 1, 2017
Friday, June 30, 2017
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
As an addendum to yesterday's post about Crowley's The Book of the Law, I want to make something clear about the text. Both Crowley's intro to the text and his postscript are written rather gauchely. Because, in the postscript, Crowley inappropriately suggests that the book should not be studied, for fear of the life of the individual who might study it, he comes across as rather a histrionic adolescent; or, as we see here, The Fool. The Fool on the Hill does, indeed, have a problem; through fooling around with states of non-being and nothingness, while trying to seem to himself like a substantial individual, a something, as it were, on the surface, the Fool has reduced himself to a Zero-state. As he plummets off the cliff, he is a reminder not to be half-assed, where Nothing/Something dichotomies are concerned. Crowley could have used this reminder. Those who will study The Book of the Law, for its literary excellence, will just have to deal with an author unwilling to handle what he has created, and who is more than willing to play the fool.
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
There is the big chunk of Crowley's Book of the Law which reads to me as superior poetry; then, there is the dictum which in many circles has become a commonplace: Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Crowley remarks, in his introduction, that Do what thou wilt constitutes a simple code of conduct; which implies that what is being signified is a simple Do what you want. Thus, the bastardization of Crowley into Satanic, adolescent cults and orders, mostly undeserved, is due partly to Crowley's own negligence; because there is another, richer way of reading Do what thou wilt. The way I have always chosen to read the dictum, Will (Thelema, in the text) is something, an individual essence, which must be divined for through processes of arduous spiritual labor and eventual catharsis. To "do one's will," one first has to know one's will thoroughly. The process of learning one's own will involves not only introspection but awareness of all levels and gradations of positive and negative Otherness; how the individual must stand in relation to the rest of the (complex, contradictory) human race. Not simple stuff. Just as Love is the law, love under will can only be the manifestation of internalizing complex realities and assimilating them over long periods of time. For the love to be there, under one's will, it must be directed concretely; you must be loving something or someone; and it is impossible to love everyone and everything.
P.S. This piece, on Crowley's novels Moonchild and Diary of a Drug Fiend, appeared on the British blog Eyewear in 2013.
Monday, June 26, 2017
The line in the title poem of Posit (I posit/no boundary/between us) is one I'd like to parse, in reference to what Neo-Romanticism is meant to be in the humanities world in 2017. If looked at objectively, an argument could be made that Modern art, post-modern art, and Deconstructionist literary theory are all largely constituted by a succession of boundaries, and a succession of boundaries effect. In other words, the works of art, and the texts, are a game and a gambit against both intimacy, and the possibility of intimacy, between reader/viewer and creator. Deconstructionism configures intimacy as naive, as both an intention and a possibility, largely through the perceived obtrusion of the arbitrary into language and linguistic significations. Modernity and post-modernity lean heavily on alienation tactics and irony motifs. To get a little Wilde, the importance of being earnest is lost. Yet Deconstructionism must withstand its own contradictions; as Roland Barthes enumerates how we might be seduced by texts, it must be understood that what is seductive in textuality is, in itself, the possibility of writer/reader intimacy; and that intimacy can only be a viable possibility if what is arbitrary in language and balanced and offset by what in language and linguistic symbolization is purposeful (as Wordsworth would have it), and penetrant into the psyche of those who read and experience the text. In other words, scruples aside, language works.
Art works, too. Neo-Romanticism is, in fact, predicated on a belief in the efficacy of aesthetic symbolization, and (specifically), the positing of no boundary between creator and viewer/reader. Neo-Romanticism, on a primordial level (sprung, perhaps, from a ricochet to Philadelphia's buildings), believes in itself, and believes in its audience. Why the Dusie chap Posit, which ten years ago was ricocheting across the country for the first time, was more a statement of intention than I at first perhaps perceived, is because I failed to grasp the underpinnings of the work itself (and of The Posit Trilogy which came later) in regards to the primordial compact I unconsciously projected onto it, as I created it; a self-regulated, self-sustaining world of good faith, good intentions, and genial good will towards whoever might choose to read the text. The Neo-Romanticism which was born out of Aughts Philadelphia does, in fact, attempt to take the first person singular and make it genial again. There cannot be a "you," a second person singular, without an "I"; and the significance of poetry's primordial perspective, an "I" addressing a "you," is that it becomes a Heideggerian sheltering device against what might corrupt it from without. The succession of boundaries effect embedded in Modern and post-modern art, the creation of more and more vast distances between reader/viewer and creator, is not an effect Neo-Romanticism finds interesting. Formality is another issue, and off the table here; but, suffice it to say, formality creates the inherent genial good will of a rich relationship to history and histories, continuity of consciousness over long stretches of time. Formality adds levels of richness, rather than impoverishment.
Friday, June 23, 2017
Monday, June 19, 2017
On page 125 of this document is what amounts to an invitation to understand both Philadelphia itself, and what the cultural composition of Philadelphia in the Aughts was. It also reveals something about what I purport to be Philly's sun sign (Gemini), and the more unfortunate dimensions of Geminian postures and behaviors- trash-talk, double talk, slander, insecurity, and evasion. The party who penned this screed wants to be forgotten what I cannot forget- at a certain point, the olive branch was specifically offered FROM the Philly Free School to this posse. They seemed to accept. It's just that, over the rest of the Aughts, some of my forward momentum in Philadelphia was specifically blocked off by their cruelty, childishness, and unwillingness to respect others. Having a choice between adult-level dignity and infantile posturing, I witnessed them usually making the more unfortunate choice. Yet, a good fight can be an interesting spectacle, Artaudian or not, and all this rivalry and trash-talk heightened the perspective that the Philly cultural scene gave off a good amount of light/heat. Go figure.