Portrait of a Generous Genius

Robert Reid-Pharr in the afterward to Samuel R. Delany’s Phallos (2013)

One of the clearest markers of genius, one of the signs that a creative intellectual has unveiled some mode of thought or action that is at once elegant, productive, disruptive, and dangerous is the presence of an abundance of generosity.

He continues

Refusing to maintain the fictions of the so-called commonsense, his practice is both deconstructive and pedagogical. Like a magician who reveals the card tucked up his sleeve or the rabbit hidden inside an old-fashioned hat’s secret compartments, the genius is first and foremost an iconoclast. His work is to force us to recognize that even our most cherished structures might be (must be?) dismantled. This is why when we encounter such individuals we are often so quick to either dismiss or ridicule them. In their efforts to disclose profound insights and novel techniques they strip away the “invisibility” of established forms and practices.

The masculine gendering makes it clear we are talking about him, you know — him.

And so for day 2281
12.03.2013

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Body as Technology

Quill Christie-Peters in a posting at Tea and Bannock posits a decolonizing relationship with the body that taps into connection with ancestors. She likens the body to a technology.

My body, you have always been the ceremony to transform pain into creation, the gathering place of all our ancestors and spirit kin. My body. Our oldest Anishinaabeg technology. My body. Our oldest Anishinaabeg technology.

https://teaandbannock.com/2018/04/28/decolonial-love-letters-to-our-bodies-gwen-benaway-and-quill-christie-peters/

This may at first sound odd if one doesn’t buy into Indigenous spirituality. But place it against this bit from Steven Shapiro about the discourses of the sexed body (he is contrasting Delany with Bataille).

For Delany, in contrast, sexual extremity is conceived not as a rupturing of the self, but as its continual metamorphosis — or better (to use a word from Gilbert Simondon and Bernard Stiegler) as its transindividuation, its becoming-with-others. For Delany, sex is a continual, and never-to-be-concluded, exploration of the intensities and extensities of the flesh. Sexual acts involve a whole range and series of bodily pleasures, and an activation of the body’s previously unknown potentialities. These actions, and the potentialities they unleash, connect people more intensely to one another, and to the world as a whole. Far from involving a shattering of the ego, these actions help to define, and also to change, the contours of an evanescent “self” that does not pre-exist them: a self that has certain persisting efforts and obsessions, to be sure, but that is also open to the warmth and openness of contact with others, as well as to the vagaries of time and chance and Muddle.

Steven Shaviro
“Ars Vitae: Delany’s Philosophical Fable”
Essay appended to Phallos by Samuel R. Delany

The space of the ancestors in decolonial theory might be likened to a “preindividuated milieu”. But this is but a beginning.

And so for day 2280
11.03.2013

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Border Patterns

Pretext, a quotation from Ronald Johnson A Line of Poetry, A Row of Trees

“Four Orphic Poems & A Song”

[…]

IV

[…]

‘Patterns

are temporary boundaries’, the moving countries

where nothing

is seen in isolation.

[…]

Intertext, some source finding thanks to John Latta

Johnson’s line “Patterns are temporary boundaries” is seemingly out of the writings of the Hungarian art theorist Gyorgy Kepes in The New Landscape in Art and Science (1956): “although we see it as an entity—unified, distinct from its surroundings—a pattern in nature is a temporary boundary that both separates and connects the past and the future of the processes that trace it. . . . Patterns are the meeting points of actions. Noun and verb must be seen as one: process in pattern, pattern in process . . .”

POSTED BY JOHN LATTA AT 7:26 AM TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2012

http://isola-di-rifiuti.blogspot.com/2012/12/notebook-ronald-johnson-walt-whitman.html

Witness, Four Orphic Poems appeared in Poetry July 1964; the lines that interest us are broken by a page break

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=104&issue=4&page=17

‘Patterns

[page break]

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=104&issue=4&page=18

are temporary boundaries’, the moving countries

where nothing
is seen in isolation.

Isolations necessary for connections.

And so for day 2279
10.03.2013

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Solar Path Tree Ring

Ronald Johnson
The Shrubberies

slice, read rings of time
ourselves slight circlet
clamped immemorial bark
growing outward into dark
set ecliptic embowered
rooted embroidered light

Note “ecliptic” appears in several instances throughout The Shrubberies. Notably: “welcome, precise ecliptic eye”.

And we blink like a tree forms rings.

And so for day 2278
09.03.2013

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Mindful Mindworks

Antonin Artaud “Le théâtre et la peste” Le théâtre et son double sets up a brilliant parallel between the brain and lungs.

La seconde remarque est que les deux seuls organes réellement atteints et lésés par la peste : le cerveau et les poumons, se trouvent être tous deux sous la dépendance directe de la conscience et de la volonté. On peut s’empêcher de respirer ou de penser, on peut précipiter sa respiration, la rythmer à son gré, la rendre à volonté consciente ou inconsciente, introduire un équilibre entre les deux sortes de respirations ; l’automatique, qui est sous le commandement direct du grand sympathique, et l’autre, qui obéit aux réflexes redevenus conscients du cerveau.

On peut également précipiter, ralentir et rythmer sa pensée. On peut réglementer le jeu inconscient de l’esprit.

Speed up, slow down. Adjust the rhythm. Of thought. Regulate the play not of the unconscious but the unconscious play of the mind.

As aptly put by Mary Caroline Richards (translator):

The second observation is that the only two organs really affected and injured by the plague, the brain and the lungs, are both directly dependent upon the consciousness and the will. We can keep ourselves from breathing or from thinking, can speed up our respiration, give it any rhythm we choose, make it conscious or unconscious at will, introduce a balance between two kinds of breathing: the automatic, which is under the direct control of the sympathetic nervous system, and the other, which is subject to those reflexes of the brain which have once again become conscious.

We can similarly accelerate, retard, and give an arbitrary rhythm to our thinking—can regulate the unconscious play of the mind.

Regulate — not regiment.

And so for day 2277
08.03.2013

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You Them Him

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson
This Accident of Being Lost
“Circles Upon Circles”

A lyrical moment reined in by reality check…

I see a couple approaching you, and I hang back and wait. I look out onto Ball Lake and disappear the cottages, the docks, the manufactured beaches and waterfront. I imagine just two people in a canoe, with un-fancy sticks from the bush, knocking rice into the boat. I imagine my arms circling, circles upon circles. I hear the grains hitting the bottom of the boat. I hear the wind. I see ducks and geese sitting and eating and smiling because they showed us this first and they remember. There is nothing more gentle than this — nothing is killed, nothing is pierced, nothing stolen, nothing is picked even. I sing the song the old one taught me, even though he can only remember the first two lines. It’s repetitive and you’ll get lost in the canter. I suppose that’s why it is a ricing song. Actually it’s the only ricing song we have left.

The attention shifts back to that couple…

You’re still talking to the couple and I wonder what’s taking so long. I know you hate idle chit-chat. Your people recount the weather report and the news as a way of connecting without adding a single interesting thought to their tell. It’s boring as fuck for me and I wear noise-cancelling headphones in public so I can’t hear it. The kids are already in the backseat, plugged into their ipods, lost in screen. I walk by and I hear, I thought only the Indians did that. The sun spotlights his camo jacket and ball cap, and her faded high-waist jeans, her perm, her tennis shoes, their pride at living rurally instead of in the city. I turn and say, “What makes you think I’m not an Indian?” and I keep walking, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

Note the shift between “you” and “him”. With everything going on in this brief passage it is easy to miss. It wrenches the reader from the position of addressee to mere interlocutor. Roman Jakobson shifters. Émile Benveniste on pronouns.

“Them” as a “then” >>> you then him

A rupture in time and community.

And so for day 2276
07.03.2013

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Gravity Levity

Ronald Johnson
A Line of Poetry, A Row of Trees
“Four Orphic Poems & A Song”

Newton
— it is said — did not show the cause of an apple falling,

only the similitude between the apple

& the stars.

Stellar — the shortening lines — a sort of free fall for the mind.

And so for day 2275
06.03.2013

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SCRATCHING IN CAPS

ALL THE TEXT IN THIS BOOK (CLOUDS RUNNING IN) IS IN UPPER CASE INCLUDING THE COPYRIGHT NOTICE. IT TAKES A WHILE BUT THE READER ADAPTS. THE FINGER GLIDES. THE LACK OF PUNCTUATION INVITES US TO RE-EXAMINE THE BORDERS.

“A BLANKET MAP” IS A POEM WITH THREE GUIDING IMAGES: THE MAP, THE CAT, THE ENCOUNTER OF CAT AND MAP.

ART IS TERRITORY
THESE ASSEMBLIES OF THINGS
COLLECTED FROM MY WORLD
LIFTED FROM YOURS AND REWORKED
UNTIL THEY HAVE A PLACE IN MINE

AND NOW THE CAT IS INTRODUCED

NO LESS A STATEMENT THAN THE CAT
FACE RUBBING SCENT MARK
MIGHT FEEL GOOD
MIGHT FLATTER
PURR MIGHT PLEASE

AND THE CONCLUSION SPEAKS TO AN ENCOUNTER BETWEEN BLANKET AND CAT

DON’T BE FOOLED
THIS ABOUT TURF
THESE BLOODY PAWPRINTS
I STITCH ACROSS OUR SHARED QUILT

AND SO THE SPEAKING VOICE AND CAT ARE ONE THANKS TO POET KIM SHUCK.

And so for day 2274
05.03.2013

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Skateboard Trail

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson
This Accident of Being Lost

“caribou ghosts & untold stories” (p, 33)

caribou ghosts & untold stories
bad timing
& smashed hearts

“travel to me now” (p. 47)

tell me stories about caribou & skateboards
fill my silence with pretty words

I like how over the course of many pages skateboards come to stand in for untold stories — no knowing where that might lead — and the ghostly caribou take on flesh…

And so for day 2273
04.03.2013

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The Specifics of Universal Grammar

You gotta love the cheek.

The man asks me,
  ”Do you speak Cherokee?”
But it’s all I ever speak,
The end goal of several generations of a
smuggling project.
We’ve slipped the barriers,
Evaded border guards.
I smile,
“Always”.

The ending of “Smuggling Cherokee” in the book of the same title by Kim Shuck.

A take on the power of naming.

And so for day 2272
03.03.2013

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