Tuesday, December 30, 2003

Just watched 'Boom'...found it quite watchable despite the doomsday reviews. Sort of like Gustad's first film, 'Bombay Boys'..it's a weird, wannabe noir, fun movie. And I am bored in my head. All activity seems to be with the express purpose of conscious movement. And it stops at that.

What if you and I were secret schizophrenics? What if we were to convert our fragmented lives into separate episodes of being and master the art of separating one from the other?What if we were 33,000 discrete lives?
And everything becomes the video game that it is with decentralized modes of control...variants of the same self in its multiple playgrounds but the plays take on lives of their own...

What's on your minds?
If only I were to be spared the pursuit of perfection, the nitpickery of lint and the fallacy of thought. Life would be oh-so-fine.

Tuesday, December 23, 2003

It's been a week and some. Done with my final papers and cruising through a four week vacation. So much that has been wrapped up and so much being unravelled. Never a dull moment is all I can say. Sometimes I wonder the rationale of seeking chaos...like worrying about having nothing to worry about.

It's not a worry right now, just a nagging thought and a constant cunning loop. Something's got to give. Famous last words...

Is it really worth the process of careful construction? Loops and patterns, are they the same thing?
Accountability is no fun at all. And we are governed by our crosses. I fortunately, have multiple choices of those. Ribbed, scented, handcrafted, tailored, designed and custom-made. What then shall be my deathwish of the week?

But have had a lovely weekend in New York and I so love the place. So bloody psychedelically alive. And I've been out walking and listening to music..on the streets, in the subway and in the village. And the music is what is ruining thought. The music, the beat and the promise of harmony. Distractions, deflections and disasters. Do they fall in line?

Back in Philly and heading out to Chicago in another ten days. And I am so broke. In every way possible.

Monday, December 08, 2003

The Garden

Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.

She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.

Ezra Pound, Lustra (1913-1915)
I am heteroglossia and sensorama and cyborg. I want to exist in multiple contexts without ever facing the responsibility of one intersecting the other. That then is the crux of all my earthly worries. Fragmentation.

Drops of glass and shards of rain,
Seeping into the skin inch by inch,
Doing away with the luxury of my disembodiment...

Living on borrowed time,
Loving via media worlds
Writing through stolen signs...

Existence by proxy...

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

Of what use is knowledge? How does it translate into the world? What degrees of impotence does it exhibit?

I am involved in the endless erudition of historicity, circumstance and situation. Sometimes, there is but a thin line between knowing and writing away. Do I exonerate when I explain? How do I know when to give the benefit of doubt?
And how long before my complicity translates into my own subjugation?

What goes around comes around...A victim is but an accomplice away.

Monday, December 01, 2003

Dead beat and nowhere to run. Every weekend meets its Monday...
Essays, papers, projects, presentations, annotations.

One down, three to go.
Catch me on the other side of the thirteenth!