Showing posts with label david berridge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label david berridge. Show all posts
15/12/2011
5/12/11: WRITING: David Berridge
Unoccupied a like missing its face folded at back andf gaped from a crack on its upper corner running towards middle middle at its less than centre centre with no mark of or face but boarded browned textured cross markings behind glasses sheet un-occupied a like missing from its point or empty at its pointor empty at its point. faceless at front shine lack of shine through unoccupied agelessness a like missing its purpose as a front focus facelessness agelessness unoccupied a like missing; un- thing.
Folded as an un in an in un of as an un in an an as in an un may as un an as in a an an ain an ai in as an an ean un an ain as an in as i in an un un au au ae as a au in as un un as a fold in in an un foldean as an un fold in an un ai as a fold ai in an un ai of an unai ai owe ai un fold as un ai in an ai as a folded as un in ai ae fo fo fol foldain d’un in fold in fo’aned in a fold in aein as a folden as an ain foldain in an un foldain in aein as a foldaine as a foldrea as un ai in ai i in a folain in lain un lain ain aeon as un ai in aiin ae as foldaein ai I
its face folded,
or face of,
point face less,
focus face less;
focus face less; un-thing
Pearl roundabout, Manama, Bahrain, Summer Time. 2011. I cant cross the bridge theres hundreds of – public demonstration. Centre coundabout. Heat of the city three large sticks with a pearl Marques Discsussions Inshallah Torn Down State Power But on the once again
Demolished object. Telephone pole., AmendedDestroyed by Godzilla. Godzilla poses resplendent in mirror victory. The pole destroying causes a ripple effect across various municipal cardboard buildings. The artists impression is badly doubled, but conveys the narrative adequately enough. You need a big canvas to draw Godzilla. Its pray hard to tell if he is nude. Raw. The pole is at the centre of his gym.
3 D A Bb B E
Gym of Zilla pole . (x3)
Pole resplendent by
Tell his pray by artists
C# C B E A B
Ray across his canvas
It had the mechanism to lose itself from me and in the sense I am thinking it is its loss that is its demolition and as David says especially deliberately this corresponds to my blame or my guilt. It would fall off and then it would be in the balance, in my balance, would I or would I not demolish it? The demolition was out of my hand or literally from my hand, but my lack of care was my act of demolition. Feeling it heavy on my wrist and then gone when it would fall off, then feeling it restored, but in the end demolishing it, that is losing it without possibility of return
Unexpectedly, here is where I describe the object. It was a silver chain with a clasp that would open it into a wider chain without breaking it. The links were squarish, tough. It was a bracelet for a male wrist. To me it was a risk. It was a risk to wear it. Why wear something symbolic and with quote sentimental value if it could easily slip off
You chain it chain is not a word chain will not do. You you you you you you you you you you you you and so on you you you you you you you in a you all around my wrist to be read around like a rosary you widen to slip off
Still image will have 3 lives to me. Stage/life (1) (but it is not stage (1) for other viewers), envelope, nerves, shiny white, invitation to open, but it sits (good and bad) for a few days. Stage/life (2) out of envelope a list of things -memories -pains -joys.
Scan it, turn it over, Cover with fingers, peer. Sigh. Sometimes gd sometimes bad.
Movements of life jump off it, it tells stories.
Stage/life (3) It is torn. tiny pieces. Ensure name cannot be seen.
I see when looking at this object all those stages and how it may soon become another.
approach to the object defines situation of life. To some such object means nothing, some it boasts, some it kills.
mind genetical post-birth. Experience? or once born are we pre-grammed to approach such objects in one way?
Folded as an un in an in un of as an un in an an as in an un may as un an as in a an an ain an ai in as an an ean un an ain as an in as i in an un un au au ae as a au in as un un as a fold in in an un foldean as an un fold in an un ai as a fold ai in an un ai of an unai ai owe ai un fold as un ai in an ai as a folded as un in ai ae fo fo fol foldain d’un in fold in fo’aned in a fold in aein as a folden as an ain foldain in an un foldain in aein as a foldaine as a foldrea as un ai in ai i in a folain in lain un lain ain aeon as un ai in aiin ae as foldaein ai I
its face folded,
or face of,
point face less,
focus face less;
focus face less; un-thing
Pearl roundabout, Manama, Bahrain, Summer Time. 2011. I cant cross the bridge theres hundreds of – public demonstration. Centre coundabout. Heat of the city three large sticks with a pearl Marques Discsussions Inshallah Torn Down State Power But on the once again
Demolished object. Telephone pole., Amended
3 D A Bb B E
Gym of Zilla pole . (x3)
Pole resplendent by
Tell his pray by artists
C# C B E A B
Ray across his canvas
It had the mechanism to lose itself from me and in the sense I am thinking it is its loss that is its demolition and as David says especially deliberately this corresponds to my blame or my guilt. It would fall off and then it would be in the balance, in my balance, would I or would I not demolish it? The demolition was out of my hand or literally from my hand, but my lack of care was my act of demolition. Feeling it heavy on my wrist and then gone when it would fall off, then feeling it restored, but in the end demolishing it, that is losing it without possibility of return
Unexpectedly, here is where I describe the object. It was a silver chain with a clasp that would open it into a wider chain without breaking it. The links were squarish, tough. It was a bracelet for a male wrist. To me it was a risk. It was a risk to wear it. Why wear something symbolic and with quote sentimental value if it could easily slip off
You chain it chain is not a word chain will not do. You you you you you you you you you you you you and so on you you you you you you you in a you all around my wrist to be read around like a rosary you widen to slip off
Still image will have 3 lives to me. Stage/life (1) (but it is not stage (1) for other viewers), envelope, nerves, shiny white, invitation to open, but it sits (good and bad) for a few days. Stage/life (2) out of envelope a list of things -memories -pains -joys.
Scan it, turn it over, Cover with fingers, peer. Sigh. Sometimes gd sometimes bad.
Movements of life jump off it, it tells stories.
Stage/life (3) It is torn. tiny pieces. Ensure name cannot be seen.
I see when looking at this object all those stages and how it may soon become another.
approach to the object defines situation of life. To some such object means nothing, some it boasts, some it kills.
mind genetical post-birth. Experience? or once born are we pre-grammed to approach such objects in one way?
5/12/11: THINKING: David Berridge
Who is the poet in the bed?
so Kenneth Patchen had a bad back and was confined to bed he wrote in bed on a large board propped up on his knees wrote and drew ate book after book meal after meal the books returned people came to visit him in bed he was the poet in bed he was vegetarianism he was pacifism he was drawing his own invented animals and letter forms animal letter farms he was wasnt what America America
The very cuntish whore lies turning over answers in her head: too dirty, too raw, too cute, too lewd, too extra - kissings extra, too dull, too hard, She turns over in bed.
Well, the bed is the poet.
As he accepts me with his open arms
and his two angels (pillows)
supporting my head and torso,
I feel loved and nurtured
/But then, in my dreams - there's no poet. Just deep dark visions.
poet in the bed poet in the bed poet in the bed poet in the bed poet is the bed poet is the bed poet is the bed poet is the bed poet is he bed poet is he bed poet is he bedpoet is he bed poet is he bedpoet?
I thought I was alone. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? What was that you just said? I can't read..... Did you say something, please say something. (Rise) I forgot to feed the cats
Alan,
A glove puppet
Who allows you to
Say
Everything you thought you could never
Say.
One with an open link to a subconscious usually suppressed by humming and whirling of Organisation Enforcers LOL. Images become words and time distorted. Did the Bible get written this way, or were the mushrooms ultimately responsible? Let's ask Steve Jobs, or knock up an opinion poll.
The poet is the most beautiful yet shy man, I have ever met. We kissed at midnight and he is still in my bed at midday. Even his eyes are poetic. We saved each other last night and now my bed is our reward for hanging on.
Sleeping is very important, not just getting enough sleep but just sleeping, while lying down, in a bed.
The bed has been there as long as we can remember. Are there people sleeping in beds who are not poets? Unlikely. The poet in the bed is the same person who
so Kenneth Patchen had a bad back and was confined to bed he wrote in bed on a large board propped up on his knees wrote and drew ate book after book meal after meal the books returned people came to visit him in bed he was the poet in bed he was vegetarianism he was pacifism he was drawing his own invented animals and letter forms animal letter farms he was wasnt what America America
The very cuntish whore lies turning over answers in her head: too dirty, too raw, too cute, too lewd, too extra - kissings extra, too dull, too hard, She turns over in bed.
Well, the bed is the poet.
As he accepts me with his open arms
and his two angels (pillows)
supporting my head and torso,
I feel loved and nurtured
/But then, in my dreams - there's no poet. Just deep dark visions.
poet in the bed poet in the bed poet in the bed poet in the bed poet is the bed poet is the bed poet is the bed poet is the bed poet is he bed poet is he bed poet is he bedpoet is he bed poet is he bedpoet?
I thought I was alone. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? What was that you just said? I can't read..... Did you say something, please say something. (Rise) I forgot to feed the cats
Alan,
A glove puppet
Who allows you to
Say
Everything you thought you could never
Say.
One with an open link to a subconscious usually suppressed by humming and whirling of Organisation Enforcers LOL. Images become words and time distorted. Did the Bible get written this way, or were the mushrooms ultimately responsible? Let's ask Steve Jobs, or knock up an opinion poll.
The poet is the most beautiful yet shy man, I have ever met. We kissed at midnight and he is still in my bed at midday. Even his eyes are poetic. We saved each other last night and now my bed is our reward for hanging on.
Sleeping is very important, not just getting enough sleep but just sleeping, while lying down, in a bed.
The bed has been there as long as we can remember. Are there people sleeping in beds who are not poets? Unlikely. The poet in the bed is the same person who
22/11/2011
thinking: 05/12/2011
this month's question:
Who is the poet in the bed?
(bring along your reply - max 50 words)
Who is the poet in the bed?
(bring along your reply - max 50 words)
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