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This is my Missive: 05.10

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This is my Missive. Sunday, May 23, 2010. Now I will do nothing but listen,. To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat,. Gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals. I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,. I hear all sounds running together,. Combined, fused or following. All the Records previous to this. Past peoples who yet thrive in my present. A morning in inman, books to my body. Each morning the...

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This is my Missive: 12.08

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This is my Missive. Saturday, December 13, 2008. A Chat with Jennifer. What should i do when i graduate? Travel the world, sample exotic foods and wine, recite poetry to beautiful women, skydive, buy a small plot of land with a vineyard. That sounds about right. It’s a cash problem. I'm no trust fund baby. Make lots of money. Get rich quick. Then do the above. How do i get rich quick? Um, become a pimp. Actually, you know what occurred to me today? What occurred to you today? To a trust fund baby? Yeah, ...

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This is my Missive: February 26

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This is my Missive. Thursday, February 26, 2009. This vast earth carries the burden. Of countless scabs buried in its skin. Here I am in a premature spring. Scraping them from the surface. In gravel fields and flowerbeds. With a disposition for fracturing. I put my ear to the till. Left wondering, what world is this. Where magma and tempering water. Spring forth from its crust? Thursday, February 26, 2009. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile.

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This is my Missive: 03.08

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This is my Missive. Sunday, March 30, 2008. What to do after graduation. Room for a truck. Place for a fire. Some sort of past. Center for Documentary Studies. The government/the foreign service. This will be my next posting. Sunday, March 30, 2008. Wednesday, March 05, 2008. Read his interview in the Believer. Dave Hickey: I'll see you on the sixth tray. Wednesday, March 05, 2008. I remember napping in a Chicago hotel one afternoon in spring. Because the weather was warm, I opened the window and cou...

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This is my Missive: 03.09

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This is my Missive. Friday, March 06, 2009. I like brothy soup. Friday, March 06, 2009. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). View my complete profile.

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The Half Life Deposit: March 2008

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The Half Life Deposit. Monday, March 31, 2008. The lesson learned from an education in architecture. Diagrams are useless. they are generally bullshit. Monday, March 17, 2008. 1 Reflections on Bergson. 1 REFLECTIONS ON BERGSON. Bergson writes that “we involuntarily fix at a point in space each of the moments which we count, and it is only on this condition that the abstract units come to form in sum.” In this way, spatial ideas become placeholders for lost moments. Therefore,. D this is the essence of ar...

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The Half Life Deposit: April 2008

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The Half Life Deposit. Tuesday, April 22, 2008. Two from Octavio Paz. West Turns East at the End of History" in New Politics Quarterly, Spring 1992. Since Parmenides our world has been one of neat and sharp distinctions between what is and what isn’t. The being is not the no-being. This first uprootedness—because it was a pulling out of. West possible but also, one that rendered virtually illegal any attempt to embed the human being upon any other principles. E historia México: FCE, 1994, pp. 116-117.

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The Half Life Deposit: 1. Reflections on Bergson

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The Half Life Deposit. Monday, March 17, 2008. 1 Reflections on Bergson. 1 REFLECTIONS ON BERGSON. Bergson writes that “we involuntarily fix at a point in space each of the moments which we count, and it is only on this condition that the abstract units come to form in sum.” In this way, spatial ideas become placeholders for lost moments. Therefore,. A a point in time accompanies the collection of all items or signs toward a sum. B the moment in time is forever lost and irretrievable once it passes.

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This is my Missive: Finally your home

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This is my Missive. Sunday, October 18, 2009. Finally your home has changed. It has been coming with a limp. A long conveyance of moving soil. It was an immense creature with no eyes. Trucking like a glacial till across the land. Blanketed and abandoned in blossoming white. It came like the erosion of the beach heads. Without violence but impossible to relent. There was a place then that is now. The meadow in your first letters. You think about this transition. It comes to you in small creatures.

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This is my Missive: 11.08

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This is my Missive. Wednesday, November 12, 2008. Poem regarding Enric Miralles. If it weren't obscured by other things in the world. What we would see over the water. Is a bull thrashing from the shore. Pulled to the tesselated surfaces of the water. Confined to limbs and horns. Though its points are gathered from the burning bodies. Of spheres set apart, distended along empty lines. Between them light travels for thousands of years. Here on the sea, we measure the myth. Wednesday, November 12, 2008.