20080606

re: memgetting :for

I wish I could remember how my personality formed.

I wish I could remember why I wrote that.

I wish I could remember the name of the astrologer who wrote an excellent study of the natal charts of the children murdered at Dunblane.

I wish I could remember that flute tune.

I wish I could remember what it is I'm holding.

I wish I could remember more about the Other Side.

I wish I could remember all the questions he asked me at my interview that I now know are illegal to ask.

I wish I could remember where I put my sandpaper-making machine.

I wish I could remember to read more frequently.

I wish I could remember all the fun stuff that happened at the psych ward.

I wish I could remember the exact moment- pinpoint the moment between not knowing about rock & roll and suddenly being consumed by it.

I wish I could rememeber where I found this link.

I wish I could remember my first ejaculation, but I can't remember at all.

I wish I could remember the exact quote as it was a lot better than my description.

I wish I could remember the tip of my tongue starting with 'd' and rhyming with constructivist.

I wish I could remember the conceptual maxim that the first step is to un-art ourselves, avoid all esthetic roles and give up all references to being artists of any kind whatsoever.

I wish I could remember what each of us said or how we said it.

I wish I could remember the name of that namelessness from a couple of years ago, it was fucking epic... Epic.

I wish I could remember something especially Delphic or brilliant.

I wish I could remember the bugger's non de plume because I am sure he went on to rule some valuable part of the digital world.

I wish I could remember that split second of epiphany.

I wish I could remember what I was thinking, but I wasn't really thinking.

I wish I could remember that translation similar to Shakespeare's 'the isle is full of strange noises'.

I wish I could remember exactly what the deal was.

I wish I could remember more of the good times and
less of the bad.

I wish I could remember his tag so I could give him much respect.

I wish I could remember where that cliché came from.

I wish I could remember everything I've ever learned.

I wish I could remember more about how he could tell by the glow of coals that the heat was right, just how long the broken ends needed to be in the fire, how to hammer the shaft into one square piece so it would fit inside the sleeve and tempering of the steel so it would never snap again.

I wish I could remember more than a vague montage of images.

I wish I could remember my first visit to the cinema.

I wish I could remember more of what was in those notebooks.

I wish I could remember the first time I happened to pair the Spanish Red Riojo with a Torano Cameroon.

I wish I could remember what I asked or said that triggered that response.

I wish I could remember my wish.

I wish I could remember who it was who made huge strides against phlogiston by demonstrating that a horse-turned spindle could generate unlimited amounts of heat, which proved that the heat wasn't coming from phlogiston in the spindle itself - that's always struck me as a good one too.

I wish I could remember what was going on in my life at that point.

I wish I could remember how I got there so I could give you directions.

I wish I could remember what it was so I could smoke some more of it.

I wish I could remember who it was who said 'life envies film'.

I wish I could remember, but I got myself so far away from this world that I did not live one whole day in it for years.

I wish I could remember where gdog posted some cool shit about love.

I wish I could rememeber if I turned the coffee pot off this morning.

I wish I could remember what happens between lives.

I wish I could remember where I read it because it was one of those seminal experiences.

I wish I could remember what the preceding line was.

I wish I could remember the name of that movie because I think it was a true story.

I wish I could remember where I left that link to the awesome anti-pirating video from the 80's, ' Don't Copy That Floppy'!

I wish I could remember when the horse-drawn milk floats became electric.

I wish I could remember what I said in 1993, but I'm sure I didn't offer to pay money.

I wish I could remember which product it was that was advertised by picturing it next to all the stuff it was designed to replace.

I wish I could remember where I left my spectacles.

I wish I could remember from which book I stole, rehashed and peddled the wisdom you see here.

I wish I could remember his exact words so I could have them like engraved on my forehead or something.

I wish I could remember how I learned to read.

I wish I could remember to leave a pencil by the phone.

I wish I could remember more about it, but I seem to recall it being connected to a prophecy about July 7, 1977.

I wish I could remember the name of the place in Chinatown that served me soup with steel wool in it.

I wish I could remember what they were going to call it but it was such a piece of work I expunged it from my brain.

I wish I could remember the rest of the quote, but it is something like the aeroplane is the invention of the devil.

I wish I could remember how to get to that beautiful
cross-reference.

I wish I could remember the specific syntactical issues of my own rusty programming languages as precisely as you do.

I wish I could remember more of her answer but when she was talking directly to me I was feeling far too self-conscious to listen to what she was saying.

I wish I could remember where I have seen this etymology discussed.

I wish I could remember all of my supernatural dreams.

I wish I could remember when I started to feel like myself again.

I wish I could remember which site I copied this from.

I wish I could remember to brush up on my medical terminology before I go crafting these obscene similies.

I wish I could remember the genesis details about those elegant formal arrangements of letterforms in 'The Complete Shit' which was incantatory and obsessed with the relationship between the excremental, the sacramental and the language that was estheticized in the Gesammelte Werke books.

I wish I could remember more than the short bits and shadowy figures.

I wish I could remember my complete answer to the fetish question.

I wish I could remember the name of that powder I used to eat all the time as a kid.

I wish I could remember what dynamic binding meant.

I wish I could remember what was running through my head at that moment, but the truth is that there was no time.

I wish I could remember to use 'thunder mug' more often in regular conversation.

I wish I could remember why I'm bothering to read this shit.

I wish I could remember who refers to love as 'sweet misery'.

I wish I could remember more details but at the moment I'm fucked up.

I wish I could remember how this wasn't written.

4 commenti:

autho unknowd ha detto...

(I can't remember if anything bloggable happened this week.)

I want to forget about spelling, but I think it would be good for me to learn the complete meanings for the things I learned to spell.

I want to forget about this country and people as soon as possible.

I want to forget about half of my life, maybe more.

I want to forget about social responsibility and political consciousness.

I want to forget about the pending withdrawals and return to the previous page.

I want to forget about cultural identity for a while and be accepted into every community.

I want to forget about everything ugly this world has to offer.

I want to forget about those comments.

I want to forget about the past and close my eyes to the atrocities occuring each day.

I want to forget about the 401k and stock options and weep over van Goghs in Amsterdam and sip coffee in Viennese cafes.

I want to forget about this entire mess.

I want to forget about concrete and bitumen and tall buildings.

I want to forget about the criminal justice system so that I can recover and be okay.

I want to forget about the real world and all of those occasionally misspelled bulletins underneath.

I want to forget about everything and everyone.

I want to forget about all this wretched doubt and walk forever.

I want to forget about you, just like you forgot about me.

I want to forget about this body, let it recede into implicit knowledge.

I want to forget about my day at work and escape from the harsh reality of life and chick lit is an easy way to do this.

I want to forget about the past and look to the future.

I want to forget about the prereduction because while it seems perfectly clear to me that nonunitary evolution does happen in an open system, I am not convinced that it takes this form.

I want to forget about queues in the banks.

I want to forget about it and not to be reminded.

I want to forget about everything else and be swept away in the moment.

I want to forget about the cult of the eyeless quest until chapter 3.

I want to forget about it because when I think of it I have difficulty sleeping and it upsets me very much.

I want to forget about that trailer park completely.

I want to forget about my efforts in scriptwriting and filmmaking, and be nothing else than a gardener.

I want to forget about what's been said and done before.

I want to forget about my balding scalp and protruding belly.

I want to forget about the fact when I try to ignore them and deny them, that they always do something big to get my attention.

I want to forget about all that, now that I've turned my life around and have started a career in the lucrative spamming business.

I want to forget about this clown as soon as he leaves office.

I want to forget about the mount and concentrate on catching photons.

I want to forget about studying, learning and remebering.

I want to forget about these people who need something from me.

I want to forget about getting the engine running and skip to the drive.

I want to forget about goals, tasks, and timelines.

I want to forget about the pencil, I want to think of the drawing.

I want to forget about all the stupid images I used to want to put out with myself, or what I wanted people to think of me.

I want to forget about anthropology and open an art gallery down town.

I want to forget about the other part, the irresolvable, irreconcilable cognitive dissonance that it seems I can never ever get over.

I want to forget about this cliquey dance group crap.

I want to forget about expectations and obligations and fade into nothingness.

Antoine Roquentin ha detto...

nothingness
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nothingness
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nothingnes
nothingne
nothingn
nothing
nothin
nothi
noth
not
not
not
not
not
not
not
not
no
no
no
no
no
no
no
knowingness.

"Human-reality is free because it is not enough. It is free because it is perpetually wrenched away from itself and because it has been separated by a nothingness from what it is and from what it will be."

Cannibale ha detto...

I wish I could forget my ABC's.

SUICIDE

a b c d e f
g h i j k l
m n o p q r
s t u v w
x y z


-Louis Aragon
1920



To launch a manifesto you have to want: A.B. & C., and fulminate against 1, 2, & 3,

work yourself up and sharpen you wings to conquer and circulate lower and upper case As, Bs & Cs, sign, shout, swear, organise prose into a form that is absolutely and irrefutably obvious, prove its ne plus ultra and maintain that novelty resembles life in the same way as the latest apparition of a harlot proves the essence of God. His existence had already been proved by the accordion, the landscape and soft words. * To impose one's A.B.C. is only natural - and therefore regrettable. Everyone does it in the form of a crystalbluff-madonna, or a monetary system, or pharmaceutical preparations, a naked leg being the invitation to an ardent and sterile Spring. The love of novelty is a pleasant sort of cross, it's evidence of a naive don't-give-a-damn attitude, a passing, positive, sign without rhyme or reason. But this need is out of date, too. By giving art the impetus of supreme simplicity - novelty - we are being human and true in relation to innocent pleasures; impulsive and vibrant n order to crucify boredom. At the lighted crossroads, alert, attentive, lying in wait for years, in the forest. * I am writing a manifesto and there's nothing I want, and yet I'm saying certain things, and in principle I am against manifestos, as I am against principles (quantifying measures of the moral value of every phrase - too easy; approximation was invested by the impressionists). *

I'm writing this manifesto to show that you can perform contrary actions at the same time, in one single, fresh breath; I am against action; as for continual contradiction, and affirmation too, I am neither for nor against them, and I won't explain myself because I hate common sense.

DADA - this is a word that throws up ideas so that they can be shot down; every bourgeois is a little playwright, who invents different subjects and who, instead of situating suitable characters on the level of his own intelligence, like chrysalises on chairs, tries to find causes or objects (according to whichever psychoanalytic method he practices) to give weight to his plot, a talking and self-defining story. *

Every spectator is a plotter, if he tries to explain a word (to know!) From his padded refuge of serpentine complications, he allows his instincts to be manipulated. Whence the sorrows of conjugal life.

To be plain: The amusement of redbellies in the mills of empty skulls.



- DADA DOES NOT MEAN ANYTHING


DADA is our intensity: it erects inconsequential bayonets and the Sumatral head of German babies; Dada is life with neither bedroom slippers nor parallels; it is against and for unity and definately against the future; we are wise enough to know that our brains are going to become flabby cushions, that our anti dogmatism is as exclusive as a civil servant, and that we cry liberty but are not free; a severe necessity with entire discipline nor morals and that we spit on humanity.

DADA remains within the framework of European weaknesses, it's still shit, but from now on we want to shit in different colours so as to adorn the zoo of art with all the flags of all the consulates.

We are circus ringmasters and we can be found whistling amongst the winds of fairgrounds, in convents, prostitutions, theatres, realities, feelings, restaurants, ohoho, bang bang.

We declare that the motor car is a feeling that has cosseted us quite enough in the dilatoriness of its abstractions, as have transatlantic liners, noises and ideas. And while we put on a show of being facile, we are actually searching for the central essence of things, and are pleased if we can hide it; we have no wish to count the windows of the marvellous elite, for DADA doesn't exist for anyone, and we want everyone to understand this. This is Dada's balcony, I assure you. From there you can hear all the military marches, and come down cleaving the air like a seraph landing in a public baths to piss and understand the parable.

DADA is neither madness, nor wisdom, nor irony, look at me, dear bourgeois.

Art used to be a game of nuts in May, children would go gathering words that had a final ring, then they would exude, shout out the verse, and dress it up in dolls' bootees, and the verse became a queen in order to die a little, and the queen became a sardine, and the children ran hither and you, unseen... Then came the great ambassadors of feeling, who yelled historically in chorus:

Psychology Psychology hee hee

Science Science Science

Long live France

We are not naive

We are successive

We are exclusive

We are not simpletons

and we are perfectly capable of an intelligent discussion.

Be we, DADA, don't agree with them, for art isn't serious, I assure you, and if we reveal the crime so as to show that we are learned denunciators, it's to please you, dear audience, I assure you, and I adore you.

I assure you: there is no beginning, and we are not afraid; we aren't sentimental. We are like a raging wind that rips up the clothes of clouds and prayers, we are preparing the great spectacle of disaster, conflagration and decomposition. Preparing to put an end to mourning, and to replace tears by sirens spreading from one continent to another. Clarions of intense joy, bereft of that poisonous sadness. * DADA is the mark of abstraction; publicity and business are also poetic elements.

I destroy the drawers of the brain, and those of social organisation: to sow demoralisation everywhere, and throw heaven's hand into hell, hell's eyes into heaven, to reinstate the fertile wheel of a universal circus in the Powers of reality, and the fantasy of every individual.

A philosophical questions: from which angle to start looking at life, god, ideas, or anything else. Everything we look at is false. I don't think the relative result is any more important than the choice of patisserie or cherries for dessert. The way people have of looking hurriedly at things from the opposite point of view, so as to impose their opinions indirectly, is called dialectic, in other words, heads I wind and tails you lose, dressed up to look scholarly.



If I shout:

Ideal, Ideal, Ideal

Knowledge, Knowledge, Knowledge

Boomboom, Boomboom, Boomboom

Art is putting itself to sleep to bring about the birth of a new world "ART" - a parrot word - replaced by DADA, PLESIOSAURUS, or handkerchief



The talent THAT CAN BE LEARNT turn the poet into an ironmonger TODAY criticism balances doesn't throw up any resemblances



Hypertrophic painters hyperaestheticised and hypnotised by the hyacinths of the muezzins of hypocritical appearance



CONSOLIDATE THE EXACT HARVEST OF CALCULATION



HYPODROME OF IMMORTAL GUARANTEES: There is no importance there is neither transparence nor appearance



MUSICIANS SMASH YOUR BLIND INSTRUMENTS on the stage



The BAZOOKA is only for my understanding. I write because it's natural like I piss like I'm pissed

qissqiss


Is the alphabet the cause of the suicide, or the form the suicide takes?



preamble = sardanapalus

one = suitcase

woman = women

trousers = water

if = moustache

2 = three

stick = perhaps

after = sightreading

irritant = emerald

vice = screw

october = periscope

nerve = -->
or all this drawn together in any old savory, soapy, brusque or definitive order - drawn by lot - is alive.

It is thus that over and above the vigilant spirit of the clergyman built at the corner of every road, be it animal, vegetable, imaginable or organic, everything is the same as everything that is not the same. Even if I didn't believe it, it's the truth of the fact that I've put it on paper - because it's a lie that I have FIXED like a butterfly on a hat.

Lies circulate - welcome Mister Opportune and Mister Convenient: I arrest them - they're turning into the truth.

Thus DADA takes on the job of the two-wheeled cops and of undercover morality.

Everyone (at a certain moment) was sound in mind and body.

Repeat this 30 times.

I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


I consider myself very likeable.


howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

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howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

howl howl howl howl howl howl howl howl

- still considers himself very likeable.


reply to a questionnaire:
(meaning remains null and void)

The definition: "A proverb is a proverb", or: "A very proverby proverb." The dada proverb is the result of a multi-faceted sonority which comes out of all mouths with the force of inertia and with conviction of tone, but which alights with the tranquillity of time on wine. The motivating force behind the popular proverb is observation and experience, that of the dadaist proverb is a spontaneous concentration which penetrates in the guise of the former and may achieve the same degree and result: the little collective madness of a sonorous pleasure.

The work has wings, it takes its place amongst the elements of existence.

Isn't it enough to say: Rimbaud + Lautreamont + Jarry: the surety and most complex expression of French art? I don't think anyone will ever mange to put the most cosmic-diverse writers into pigeon-holes. Their richness, which belongs to the great apparitions and events of nature, their cosmic diversity, their supreme power of expressing the inexplicable simultaneously, without previous logical discussion, by severe and intuitive necessity, place them above all classification and formulae.

Rimbaud + Lautreamont + Jarry
Lautreamont + Jarry + Rimbaud
Jarry + Rimbaud + Lautreamont

Dada is applicable to everything, and yet it is nothing, it is the point where yes and no meet, not solemnly in the castles of human philosophies, but quite simple on street corners like dogs and grasshoppers.

Dada is applicable to everything, and yet it is nothing, it is the point where yes and no meet, not solemnly in the castles of human philosophies, but quite simple on street corners like dogs and grasshoppers.

Dada is applicable to everything, and yet it is nothing, it is the point where yes and no meet, not solemnly in the castles of human philosophies, but quite simple on street corners like dogs and grasshoppers.

Dada is applicable to everything, and yet it is nothing, it is the point where yes and no meet, not solemnly in the castles of human philosophies, but quite simple on street corners like dogs and grasshoppers.

©
Fumm bô wô fa
©
Fumm bô wô fa
©
Fumm bô wô fa
©
[Not for analog nor digital copying, diffusion, reproduction, transformation in whole or in partwithout the explicit authorization of the author]

richard mutt (theblindman) ha detto...

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