Tuesday, November 11, 2008

In My Craft Of Celluloid

I like the accidents, the ephemeral events, things you catch out of the corner of your eye. And I like art that's polyreferential.

I was a kid who could read words he couldn't pronounce. Running in and out of rooms where poetry was recited, I thought Pound said "hang it all, Robert Browing, there can be but one bordello," and Thomas said "in my craft of celluloid."

I don't believe in explaining anything. I sent my friend Michael a picture of himself with his mouth sewn up after he explained himself to Art Forum.

I'm interested in what's going on at other hives, including the Great American Hive that has always managed to find a place for ants like me. But it's the record of this hive I care about.

We were talking about adding a bathroom to our house this winter. And we were wondering why, if we're in a recession, the cost of doing that doesn't seem to be going down.

3 comments:

Decidere said...

Cause hope is up. Build during despair, destroy during exhuberance.

Cypher Blueman said...

Indifference duals with ecstasy. Billy a winner, decidere too. But another beat them to it.


THE INDIFFERENT.
by John Donne


I CAN love both fair and brown ;
Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays ;
Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays ;
Her whom the country form'd, and whom the town ;
Her who believes, and her who tries ;
Her who still weeps with spongy eyes,
And her who is dry cork, and never cries.
I can love her, and her, and you, and you ;
I can love any, so she be not true.

Will no other vice content you ?
Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers ?
Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others ?
Or doth a fear that men are true torment you ?
O we are not, be not you so ;
Let me—and do you—twenty know ;
Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go.
Must I, who came to travel thorough you,
Grow your fix'd subject, because you are true ?

Venus heard me sigh this song ;
And by love's sweetest part, variety, she swore,
She heard not this till now ; and that it should be so no more.
She went, examined, and return'd ere long,
And said, "Alas ! some two or three
Poor heretics in love there be,
Which think to stablish dangerous constancy.
But I have told them, 'Since you will be true,
You shall be true to them who're false to you.' "

Jacob Freeze said...

Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the Devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee;
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear
No where
Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet:
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two or three.