Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Thursday, December 2, 2010

where does what go

beauty queen nefertiti up the nial gueen,
and the Icenordic viking warior,
resolute to her side
 a golden claf slughtered, naked
 amonst the war lords
 of another day

she came to be in a bluesky dream
with the cotton colouds white so clean
pillows lost aloft
amongst
the kansa fileds of
golden honey wheat, hat fileds goldne crust honey sun bucket
 laughing under a blue linolium horizon
and she smiles and teh whole sky line is whited with shiny white love
sounds liek a high laugh in love
 sings along with teh nigh sky fashin gin her brainy box eyes
 out foxing the farm boy
 who chasing her

Monday, November 29, 2010

The United what of America?

It has been frequently noted that many corporations exceed nation states in GDP. It has been less frequently noted that some also exceed them in population (employees).
But it is odd that the comparison hasn't been taken further. Since so many live in the state of the corporation, let us take the comparison seriously and ask the following question. What kind of states are giant corporations?
In comparing countries, after the easy observations of population size and GDP, it is usual to compare the system of government, the major power groupings and the civic freedoms available to their populations.
The corporation as a nation state has the following properties:
  • Suffrage (the right to vote) does not exist except for land holders ("share holders") and even there voting power is in proportion to land ownership.
  • All executive power flows from a central committee. Female representation is almost unknown.
  • There is no division of powers. There is no forth estate. There are no juries and innocence is not presumed.
  • Failure to submit to any order can result in instant exile.
  • There is no freedom of speech. There is no right of association. Love is forbidden without state approval.
  • The economy is centrally planned.
  • There is pervasive surveillance of movement and electronic communication.
  • The society is heavily regulated and this regulation is enforced, to the degree many employees are told when, where and how many times a day they can goto the toilet.
  • There is almost no transparency and something like the FOIA is unimaginable.
  • The state has one party. Opposition groups (unions) are banned, surveilled or marginalized whenever and wherever possible.
These large multinationals, despite having a GDP and population comparable to Belgium, Denmark or New Zealand have nothing like their quality of civic freedoms. Internally they mirror the most pernicious aspects of the 1960s Soviet. This even more striking when the civilising laws of region the company operates in are weak (e.g West Pupua or South Korea). There one can see the behavior of these new states clearly, unobscured by their surroundings.
If small business and non-profits are eliminated from the US, then what's left? Some kind of federation of Communist states.
A United Soviet of America.

from:
http://web.archive.org/web/20071020051936/http://iq.org/#TheUnitedwhatofAmerica?

After Thought

naturalselection.org.nz/archive/3/3.6_Dan_Arps.pdf

Friday, November 19, 2010

Dear Douglas Wright

I am engaged with your work I love it. I think it is time we make non dancers dance. Let the untrained be experts. Feelings over form, form following universal flow. You live in Aukland, I Welly, but I think mutually if we had full scale data projections, streaming skpye video, I think it could possible scrape something together, to quote my way of process, I 've seen documentry's of you working recently and it seems like you build on pieces of form.... I could be wrong.. what am i suggesting.. A Piece Choreographed by you on my body, where I will soar sore translucent.

I'd really appreciate your time, if you would consider this. It could be part of a series of activities that we can all master so should master things to do... Art, Theatre... etc...

info on me is on the net, or ask here.

BEST

Love

Tao WElls

Saturday, November 13, 2010

What do you know of my thoughts?

Could my bad manners be designed to chastise you foolishness, can my standing at attention in full
uniform and a gun, have me agreeing with your orders to shoot and kill once you and I are on the battlefield, Won't I simply shoot you, the barking one to achieve perfect peace. Could my bad manners mean that in reflection if asked I can tell a good story, one as real and as coherent as the very forms of history we now so called "base" our lives upon, such grand statements like freedom. I could let you know exactly how that goes, where that principle lies at this second, where it is being defined and by who and what definitions, who it suits and who it does not. OF COurse you already know, but kicking art out as you do, you don't have the moral human courage to face even this, in your intellectual life you tossed out art, like a good platonic, Pavlovian, dog like you'll wait for a bone. Carrot. What ever passes as some one oking what Daddy never paid any attention to.. your dreams.. So that's what is worth all this bother, your unresolved issues with your father. Grow up a little by trying not to see you Dad as such an enemy and that perhaps he's just doing the best he can with what he's got, which like you is a mess, you can barely contain, let alone be able with. Sure the outter wear is smooth you get use to it, yours is even taken on a hue lately  but fuck so what, any smuck can buy a bently they all drive on the same apocalyptic drivel your dribbling right now into your finger sticks writing this as you read it, ha got you sucker, Never knew politics could be this fun.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Once you've Delivered

Famous fantasy finality scenes
nuts nots knoting clots of subterfuge

random selection selling not so together programes of tired old
weather beaten brows, silicon chiped shoulders worn from the perpetual shove of the wheal
No, these were not the kind to assume responsibility for life to be life and not death.

These were the very agents of cause that could only antagonise the appearances of things to die
when in fact they are only ever strong. A governing eye is what shepards us all to conform, The shepard of course assuming the guise of the wolf.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

machine guns towers & timeclocks

  
I feel gypped by dunces
as if reality were the property
of little men
with luck and a headstart,
and I sit in the cold
wondering about purple flowers
along a fence
while the rest of them            
stack gold          
and Cadillacs and         
ladyfriends,         
I wonder about palmleaves          
and gravestones          
and the preciousness of a          
cocoon-like sleep;         
to be a lizard would be          
bad enough     
to be scalding in the sun         
would be bad enough          
but not so bad        
as being built up to          
Man-size and Man-life          
and not wanting the          
game, not wanting         
machineguns and towers and          
timeclocks,          
not wanting a carwash         
a toothpull     
a wristwatch, cufflinks          
a pocket radio         
tweezers and cotton          
a cabinet full of iodine,          
not wanting cocktail parties          
a front lawn          
sing-togethers       
new shoes, Christmas presents          
life insurance, Newsweek          
162 baseball games         
a vacation in Bermuda.        
not wanting not wanting,         
and I judge the purple flowers       
better off than I        
the lizard better off          
the dark green hose      
the ever grass         
the trees the birds,        
the cats dreaming in the butter         
sun are         
better off than         
I, getting into this old coat now        
feeling for my cigarettes          
car keys          
a roadmap back,          
going out          
down the walk          
like a man to be executed        
walking toward it    
surely,        
going into it         
without guards          
driving toward it          
racing at it        
70 miles per hour,        
jockeying        
cussing         
dropping ashes       
deadly ashes of every          
deadly thing        
burning,         
the caterpillar knows less         
horror         
the armies of ants are         
braver          
the kiss of a snake          
less ravenous,          
I only want the sky          
to burn me more and more          
burn me out          
so that the sun begins at          
6 in the morning          
and goes past midnight          
like a drunken door always open,          
I drive toward it          
not wanting it          
getting it getting it         
as the cat stretches
yawns
and rolls over into         
another dream.  

Charles Bukowski

Saturday, October 2, 2010

t/wo fa/t s/isters.mov

nil ned doll

Every Sigh is Architecture, a hastily gathered structure on a plain beneath a crushing weight

come round now
to my back yard

The sigh of lying on the Ground.
released under the warmth
pools under the eye lids
closed then open
to the sounds entering the
eye tips the eye lids of
feelings fingers
into the on tray
Radius of the dilated pupil
directing brightness glow reality
lie in the green grass
spy on the laughter next
door

I try for the every
word
the letter formed here
to mirror the bones of
myself rolling through space from
bed to the day and back
again, cartwheel slave to no
market, this architecture is
people like without a planet
to exploit

My Ancestors were more Rock
than ocean, my mineral
are fed ancestor dust and
I eat them, Vitamin B complex,
Fish oil, Ok so I am of the
sea creatures that arrived
in the water molecule that arrived
here from another system galaxy
dimension, but lived here
till now in various guises story
sequences, now its this one:

I gave birth to myself as
a poet, one who finds self
worth through words whose writing
is a means of containing and
occupying an emotion Whose threat
danger or simple overwhelmingness
renders us a threat danger or
overwhelmed - I was in my Pen
Pals flat in Jersey, with her sister
after returning from the island
off the coast of France. I
hadn't seen her for many years
and she while still young had
mellowed in her eccentricity and vigor
under the welfare of induced dreams
shattering under romantic unrequited,
a gaze to pure. I had met
her at an Art Class I had
attended because of my brother.
He'd been living in Phily
with my parents for some years
and had blossomed as an
unusual and creative talent.
Visiting, I had gone along on
what was a field trip to the collection
dare say the pantheon
Calders' in a collaseum of
classic battles between the civic
duty of capital and its private
duty pleasures. Walking the streets
in the afternoon, I had to
stop in my tracks as we
huddled herded around the
Bronze Moore where a box
structure at its feet had
been erected and inhabited
by the love of my life,
A homeless person.

taking photographs of these
structures, numerous, plentiful
in scale and design,
I went about my business
only to notice a young
starlet who'd taken to talking
to the people, the woman who
wrote her own
script.
She was a wonder, a site
to behold ad I did that
night suck her soft titties
for an hour or so in a
park lying on my back
on the ground, so nice and
lost I was to the dark,
How open she was to my
sucking how giggles fed
my simple need.
Now years later stuck in a
Room with her and her sister
I found myself yearning to
fuck all this up and
to not play the system, to
rewrite the play - I'd suggest
we all sleep together me and
her sister, her sister and me,
not together I think i had tack,
it could have been funny, hideous
but for the tack, but I'd
find I was out, down next
by the tracks, home I'd
escaped. Lost I was not,
I knew what I wanted and
it was what pleasant harmony
wasn't not, it was the rule
of scope a law of bounty
spawned in the aspect of
not unwillingly learning that
nothing everything dies, so note
the new ever splurge of
memory melting into the sausage
of new names

Before I left I had
out my little note book and
to it I threw myself -
Alas I wrote what was by
then the first thing I could
muster. Each words plucked
with a bear claw into the
salmon rushing at night.