r.i.p.

********

derek bailey
obituary
musics
my avantpop favorite

the apparition of these faces in the crowd, petals on a wet, black bough

*



All orthodox opinion - that is, today, "revolutionary" opinion either of the pure or the impure variety - is anti-man - wyndham lewis

"We reject a world where security against starvation is bought for the risk of death by boredom"

fury of intelligence baffled and shut in by a circumjacent stupidity - ep on wl


They didn't work; they managed to live without working to quite a large extent -- of course, they had to do something. To do horoscopes for race horses, I suppose, wasn't really work; in any case, I think it was fun to do it, and they didn't really work...
Later, the theory of situations was itself abandoned, little by little. And the journal itself became a political organ. They began to insult everyone. That was part of Debord's attitude, or it might have been part of his difficulties -- he split up with Michele Bernstein [in 1967]. I don't know, there were all kinds of circumstances that might have made him more polemical, more bitter, more violent. In the end, everything became oriented toward a kind of polemical violence. I think they ended up insulting just about everyone. And they also greatly exaggerated their role in May '68, after the fact.

* A hundred things are done today in the divine name of Youth, that if they showed their true colors would be seen by rights to belong rather to old age.
Almost anything that can be praised or advocated has been put to some disgusting use. There is no principle, however immaculate, that has not had its compromising manipulator.
* I feel most at home in the United States, not because it is intrinsically a more interesting country, but because no one really belongs there any more than I do. We are all there together in its wholly excellent vacuum.
* It is more comfortable for me, in the long run, to be rude than polite.
* No American worth his salt should go around looking for a root. I advance this in all modesty, as a not unreasonable opinion.

everythings better with nog

Happy Xmas (War is Over)

(Happy Xmas Kyoko
Happy Xmas Julian)

So this is Xmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Xmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young

A very Merry Xmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

And so this is Xmas (war is over)
For weak and for strong (if you want it)
For rich and the poor ones (war is over)
The world is so wrong (if you want it)
And so happy Xmas (war is over)
For black and for white (if you want it)
For yellow and red ones (war is over)
Let's stop all the fight (now)

A very Merry Xmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

And so this is Xmas (war is over)
And what have we done (if you want it)
Another year over (war is over)
A new one just begun (if you want it)
And so happy Xmas (war is over)
We hope you have fun (if you want it)
The near and the dear one (war is over)
The old and the young (now)

A very Merry Xmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

War is over, if you want it
War is over now

Happy Xmas

my saturday evening post

*

Norman Rockwell

10 Things I Do Every Day
by Ted Berrigan

wake up
smoke pot
see the cat
love my wife
think of Frank
eat lunch
make noises
sing songs
go out
dig the streets

go home for dinner
read the Post
make pee-pee
two kids
grin

read books
see my friends
get pissed-off
have a Pepsi
disappear

the caliphate of narnia shall rise again

*
take a onetime recrider. add some wildwind poetically important rides cross open canadian pastures. make it a language of the holy tongue and pass it on through living soul. flesh of the body made word. this guy made poetry out of the instruments of his soul in the way partch drew up his own instruments to remember his trampin days. we're all better off because of ("blues")...



yes my friends. america's full of excitement for buying things. the archaic insanity of avant gardes turned occult. so enjoy this 70s remix of Whitman's "Song of Myself" in its full on new world, throbbing guttural passionate rolling self.







and here's old bp reading it -- YOU MUST LISTEN TO POME POEM...

My Old Kentucky Home

*

Mark Todd - Captain America

Menden Hall Sobieski Gallery, Jan 2006

John Jacob Niles
I HAVE NOT STUDIED THE PHILOSOPHY...
I
I have not studied the philosophy of human love
Nor set a slide-rule on the yearnings of my heart,
But I have loved you well and very long
And taught my heart the way you'd have it go.

II
Release your hold on the wrong end of nothing
And grasp the quality of understanding the being.
The reality of being with very simple beings means
That though everything is nothing, nothing
Is indeed everything else.

III
Being a singer of song, what do I need
that I haven't got, needing so little?
Being a singer, I tune my very voice-notes,
Tune my voice-notes with the patient stars.

IV
If I only had the power to resist
The urge to write the legends of my life,
I might well have lived some unharmonized days
And died with my childish sins intact.


OH BELOVED ONE, IF I DIE WITH MUSIC IN MY MOUTH
Oh beloved one, if I die with music in my mouth
Choked as 'twer by the very sounds of heaven,
If I die with music in my mouth,
Remember that I have lived with it anon,
Have tuned my many strings to augment my voice
And offered song to raise your sagging spirit,
And subtly wedded word with intangible sound
To brush away frustration's bitter hand.
If I died with music in my mouth
Remember that I have lived with it anon.




BLACK IS THE COLOR OF MY TRUE LOVE'S HAIR

"'Black is The Color of My True Love's Hair' as sung here was composed between 1916 and 1921. I had come home from eastern Kentucky, singing this song to an entirely different tune--a tune not unlike the public-domain material employed even today. My father liked the lyrics, but thought the tune was downright terrible. So I wrote myself a new tune, ending it in a nice modal manner. My composition has since been "discovered" by many an aspiring folk-singer".

Black is the color of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rosy fair
The purest eyes and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon she stands

I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I'll write to you in a few short lines
I'll suffer death ten thousand times

I know my love and well she knows
I love the grass whereon she goes
If she on earth no more I see
My life will quickly fade away

A winter's past and the leaves are green
The time has past that we have seen
But still I hope the time will come
When you and I will be as one

Black is the color of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rosy fair
The purest eyes and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon she stands


"I WONDER AS I WANDER"
(season's greeatings)

"I Wonder As I Wander' grew out of three lines of music sung for me by a girl who called herself Annie Morgan. The place was Murphy, North Carolina, and the time was July, 1933. The Morgan family, revivalists all, were about to be ejected by the police, after having camped in the town square for some little time, cooking, washing, hanging their wash from the Confederate monument and generally conducting themselves in such a way as to be classed a public nuisance. Preacher Morgan and his wife pled poverty; they had to hold one more meeting in order to buy enough gas to get out of town. It was then that Annie Morgan came out--a tousled, unwashed blond, and very lovely. She sang the first three lines of the verse of 'I Wonder As I Wander'. At twenty-five cents a performance, I tried to get her to sing all the song. After eight tries, all of which are carefully recorded in my notes, I had only three lines of verse, a garbled fragment of melodic material--and a magnificent idea. With the writing of additional verses and the development of the original melodic material, 'I Wonder As I Wander' came into being. I sang it for five years in my concerts before it caught on. Since then, it has been sung by soloists and choral groups wherever the English language is spoken and sung."

I wonder as I wander out under the sky
How Jesus the Savior did come for to die
For poor on'ry people like you and like I
I wonder as I wander out under the sky.

When Mary birthed Jesus, 'twas in a cow's stall
With wise men and farmers and shepherds and all
But high from God's heaven, a star's light did fall
And the promise of ages it then did recall.
If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing
A star in the sky or a bird on a wing
Or all of God's angels in heav'n for to sing
He surely could have it, 'cause He was the King.

I wonder as I wander out under the sky
How Jesus the Savior did come for to die
For poor on'ry people like you and like I
I wonder as I wander out under the sky.

cities are for traffic

*

Traffic in Towns

A Leader
anonymous

Patient and steady with all he must bear,
Ready to meet every challenge with care,
Easy in manner, yet solid as steel,
Strong in his faith, refreshingly real.
Isn't afraid to propose what is bold,
Doesn't conform to the usual mould,
Eyes that have foresight, for hindsight won't do,
Never backs down when he sees what is true,
Tells it all straight, and means it all too.
Going forward and knowing he's right,
Even when doubted for why he would fight,
Over and over he makes his case clear,
Reaching to touch the ones who won't hear.
Growing in strength he won't be unnerved,
Ever assuring he'll stand by his word.
Wanting the world to join his firm stand,
Bracing for war, but praying for peace,
Using his power so evil will cease,
So much a leader and worthy of trust,
Here stands a man who will do what he must.

--------------

Keruouac meets the web

vacation-hours purchased in casinos between brass palm trees and brass pillars

*

Malick SidibéMerengue Dancer1964

In honor of monty cantsin and gustav metzger we should all have the chance to become Otabenga Jones and Associates...


three by steve dalachinsky


tylenol #3 w/ codeine
3 #3's melting my inflamed bone

& hopefully making bearable this unbearable pulse
of dying tooth falling into itself in the mouth of its creator
i stare stiffly at the brave lines of cocteau
that dance from adam's apple to masculine chin
turned shape smart doubling lines singular lips thick tongue's blunt blade
stuck question in torment of no answer
the teeth alone hurt nose drawn around itself
3D flattened sharpness inhaled with the blowing of another's breath
thru straws the eye held upward an overseeing dead flat beacon
projected from 2 quick unsure lines connected by 1 brave black dot
where i should rest no socket the eye itself its center
& my teeth still in their creator oval black & flat from which
is strung & swung 6 strong lines of suffering
swinging 6 small drops of 1 small drop of each at every end
connectly disconnected tears
eternal that they turn around & out but always inward turn again
return shed never dropped but always spinning flying flung
banderillas with no place to be planted
bullets from the soldier's bandeleer
with no place to be planted just turning always turning
to return like the child's bandelore wound up strung out
sprung back turning upward to somewhere for no reason

3 #3's & my mouth still in shock
this persistent untouchable yet unreachable pain
smooth drawn lines at the bottom of the left side
turning around themselves
bathed in the throat
radiating outward & returning to the root
with the nerve of a wreckless star
plunging thru its SOURCE.


The Submarine Kyrsk (for Marty Matz)

people walk along the garbage strewn shore like gulls
they have forgotten how to look for themselves

words vanish on water
fine polished stones in the palm of a great magician

the wind is vast yet concise
it shifts the current sideways
picks up just enough sand to thinly blanket my eyes
& plays with the feathers of birds
like a teasing older brother

only the clouds remain unmoved

a white gardenia in a blue bikini floats by
my wife sleeps powdered donut on a sheet
a fattening young man fondles his gorgeous girlfriend’s heart
kisses her navel disguising his desires


Patti Smith's Fingers
where are you from?
there is no distinction between your face
& mine
your veins strove for & been thinkin
call & the traces of unpolished resilience
in we both
i sit a table away from patti smith
outside the french café
the café’s open door is all that separates
conversations & plates
these late breakfasts we share—
across the street
a cat stares
at the shadows on the sunlit steps
all that separates it from them is the window
there is little distinction between her greying hair
thru the café glass & mine
fire backwards is easy but says nothing
her mouth nose eyes gestures smile
the work we put in the success we achieve
the way sugar seeps into the blood
& makes one worry as one slows
wire traces itself within various activities & choices
patti smith’s hand rests on her knee
we are all a few giant steps away from lose
the boy the girl
rubber bands what we inherit
or what we scattered on an oil stained street
her fingers move as she annunciates what to me is only silence
words without syllable or vowel
a postcard away from being delivered
the open door between us
as closed as any
cloud covered sun
can
get…….

people litter the shore like garbage
too heavy for the waves to carry
too lost & shameless to burrow beneath the sand like crabs
too large to fit into the mouths of gulls

they have forgotten how to know themselves

the magnified light of the sun
burns a whole in my chest
empty chest
where once a smooth polished stone lay -
now disappeared

like words
beneath
the ocean floor.


i saw him tuesday night w some of the boredoms and mats gustafsson. check him out at salon.

Art Strike 1977-1980 and other auto-destructive activities

Gustav Metzger

Auto-destructive art is primarily a form of public art for industrial societies.
Self-destructive painting, sculpture and construction is a total unity of idea, site, form, colour, method, and timing of the disintegrative process.

Auto-destructive art can be created with natural forces, traditional art techniques and technological techniques.

The amplified sound of the auto-destructive process can be an element of the total conception.

The artist may collaborate with scientists, engineers.

Self-destructive art can be machine produced and factory assembled.

Auto-destructive paintings, sculptures and constructions have a life time varying from a few moments to twenty years. When the disintegrative process is complete the work is to be removed from the site and scrapped.

Gustav Metzger - Auto-Destructive Art 4 November 1959

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Man In Regent Street is auto-destructive.
Rockets, nuclear weapons, are auto-destructive.

Auto-destructive art.

The drop drop dropping of HH bombs.

Not interested in ruins, (the picturesque)

Auto-destructive art re-enacts the obsession with destruction, the pummeling to which individuals and masses are subjected.Auto-destructive art mirrors the compulsive perfectionism of arms manufacture - polishing to destruction point.

Auto-destructive art is the transformation of technology into public art. The immense productive capacity, the chaos of capitalism and of Soviet communism, the co-existence of surplus and starvation; the increasing stock-piling of nuclear weapons - more than enough to destroy technological societies; the disintegrative effect of machinery and of life in vast built-up areas on the person,...

Auto-destructive art is art which contains within itself an agent which automatically leads to its destruction within a period of time not to exceed twenty years. Other forms of auto-destructive art involve manual manipulation. There are forms of auto-destructive art where the artist has a tight control over the nature and timing of the disintegrative process, and there are other forms where the artist's control is slight.

Materials and techniques used in creating auto-destructive art include: Acid, Adhesives, Ballistics, Canvas, Clay, Combustion, Compression, Concrete, Corrosion, Cybernetics, Drop, Elasticity, Electricity, Electrolysis, Feed-Back, Glass, Heat, Human Energy, Ice, Jet, Light, Load, Mass-production, Metal, Motion Picture, Natural Forces, Nuclear Energy, Paint, Paper, Photography, Plaster, Plastics, Pressure, Radiation, Sand, Solar Energy, Sound, Steam, Stress, Terra-cotta, Vibration, Water, Welding, Wire, Wood.

Gustav Metzger - Manifesto Auto-Destructive Art (10 March 1960)

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Each visible fact absolutely expresses its reality.
Certain machine produced forms are the most perfect forms of our period.

In the evenings some of the finest works of art produced now are dumped on the streets of Soho.

Auto creative art is art of change, growth movement.

Auto-destructive art and auto creative art aim at the integration of art with the advances of science and technology. The immediate objective is the creation, with the aid of computers, of works of art whose movements are programmed and include "self-regulation". The spectator, by means of electronic devices can have a direct bearing on the action of these works.

Auto-destructive art is an attack on capitalist values and the drive to nuclear annihilation.

Gustav Metzger - Auto Destructive Art Machine Auto Creative Art (23 June 1961)

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An artist who painted hydrochloric acid onto a canvas so that eventually the painting was entirely eaten away, as 'an attack on art dealers and collectors who manipulate modern art for profit', was never going to climb the art world career ladder. Gustav Metzger's invisibility to all but a small circle is the consequence of his lifelong commitment to politically confrontational art and scorn for the showcase of the commercial gallery.
His family perished in the Holocaust, and his early experiences fuelled his political ideas and enduring opposition to the barbarity and destruction of the capitalist system. Metzger's CND activities have put him in jail and his subversive art events have resulted in prosecution.
His career might best be descibed in three sections: 'Auto-Creative Art', 'Auto-Destructive Art' (expressions of the potential for creativity and the drive to destruction in the 20th century) as well as his latter-day body of work begun in his seventies known as 'Historic Photographs'. These are a series of installations which powerfully engage the spectator in a physical and psychic relation to press images of momentous or tragic events from the last 50 years of history.
In the first set are examples of 'Auto-Creative Art' - mesmerisingly beautiful liquid crystal light projections first made in the 1960s. The middle section comprises the models and documents of 'Auto-Destructive Art' in which Metzger developed an 'aesthetic of revulsion', where self-destruction was built in to the art as a mirror of a system careering towards annihilation.

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In honor of the publication of Metzger: History on History