The Prior Artist

If I feel anything, it's apart from the precedent.


You're always young on this cracker earth. Quit angling for the impenetrable precedent. The point is to be thankful for the ducts.

Domains & Intents: 7

Ludwig in the manic phase: "Visual space has essentially no owner."

And that's exactly what I want to know -- what essentially has an owner.

  • This ruthless space without attribution.
  • This "disputed language."
  • As if one, a prior art.

All Good Poems Are in a Suitcase...

...on a baggage rack, on a train, in an anecdote by Hitchcock about the Scottish Highlands.

Julian Assange listens to the story, but refuses to point to the suitcase.

He's keeping a low cover, twisting his drink tickets between his fingers as if they were plot coupons in a story vehicle about narrative progress. He thinks if he can crack the suitcase, he'll have bought himself a new life.

All good poems are effectively autobiographies of the macguffin.


A friend's status message always reads: "warm & mandatory."

And I always think, this must be the father's voice.


That the world is replete, and repetition merely a spoken word.


That the difference between the poem and the program is the expected return.


That the difference between the poem and the program is the field of argument.


Fog delay. It sounds like a weapon, but so does childhood in a certain context.

Radio Narration on South Africa

"We are giving you this mobile phone so you can be honest about your lives."

Elsewhere, Adorno speaks of a "language without soil."


The no-no bird, the turning of the crank. It squeaks, I speak.

And the character of seniority? Described by the ratio of leisure and complaint.


"Son" is small, and "small" is a picture of how we care for the small thing.

We all need a massive background.

Paraphrasing Spicer

That the problem with Red Rock Canyon is that its name is Red Rock Canyon.

What could be meant by 'disputed language'?

What they called for then -- when there were names, and not these promiscuous groves.

The Defiant Ones

Cara Williams suffers the eternal present:

"All my life I've been waitin' to get away from here. From the mud gumbo and the loneliness."

Elsewhere, Adorno speaks of a "language without soil."


All this concern for containment, when the smell of a biscuit lifts every roof.


From the inside out, he learns each day that an apple is not a pomegranate.

To bear fruit, he thinks it inside out.