Sunday, January 28, 2007

Dual Cyclone (Denmark's Holiest Mountain)


Don Q.,

You demand from me, not so much writing, but a unique theory of writing. How quickly you account for the extraordinary circumstances of my mechanical expressions. It's true: I have my own path. Where is yours? Is it in your theorization of the very approach that apprehends thee? Without having ever met Don Q., his very acephalia demonstrates the fundamental irrelevance of the writing subject in the manufacture of the epistolary product. The involvement of the author in any of these lustful ejaculations, either yours or mine, have rendered the production of communication between us discretionary. Have we never interrogated the process through which this contact came about? Is its end (by which I mean its goal, rather than its closer) never to be confused with an explicatory origin? Or are we predisposed to continually plucking ourselves from an unplugged motherboard tube, virtually vestigual, defecatorily defective? It's funny how somethings remain - but it isn't true that things don't change. Don't banish the ghost if she isn't sad!

You almost fulfill my satiric fantasies of improving my speculative knowledge. However, you are correct: I have no care for memory. Even less care for garments. You, a man of binaries, should understand that even a genius from the most classical of classical academies occassionaly places his mind on autopilot in order to follow a remote-controlled navigation-system of mechanical procedures. The clothing you mention in metaphor require just such a stitch. We form the establishing shot between the close of one scene and the beginning of another, but only in the interest of involuntary constraints into which we invest our spirit energies on the false promise of compound interest.

I must free myself from this trap and can only do so by carrying on with Mr. Mesmer. We have been working with scenes from my past. Automatic writing always turns to drawing. I started out creating postmortem imagine of Sancho Plasm - as you describe him, he seems a man learning how to fall - but quickly turned to pondering the hedges and bushes and mountains of Denmark. I scribbled a poem:

the body of the holy mountain speaks to closed eyes
sees lips fly open

mouths and bullet teeth impinge
on assholes primed to bleed

I no longer recall what my drawings refer to - repressed events randomly, arbitrarily choses from a recombinant image dictionary whose axioms constitute a mathematical repertoire of starved recapitulations.

I sometimes dream that you have departed from the rational criteria of the coherent sentence and visited me here in Denmark. Together we commit syntax errors and function perfectly despite the absence of any poetic agency. We can joke and smoke and finally admit that all theoreticians are thoroughly demented. Including ourselves.

In these dreams I am always speaking to you through the hose of a grammophone. Based upon reflex, spitting symbols into the horn. You yodel a dialogue with me from the spinning black disc wobbling on the tray, a resultant document owing your existence to a microchip. The magic mountain sings with grace outside the window, and as I bend to switch off the machine you have already anticipated the surreal ironies of my scientific experiment. You telepath, you skew, you never leave. The conversation never ends, and as I wake, I know the snows of the holy mountains are at war with my electrons, despite the fact that my neurons remains with you.

Yours,

HamletMachine



Sunday, January 21, 2007

The Gertrudesteiniconization of Ehamlet



(-: Hamlet is left handed %-) Hamlet has been staring at a green screen for 15 hours straight :*) Hamlet is drunk [:] Hamlet is a robot 8-) Hamlet is wearing sunglasses B:-) Sunglasses on head ::-) Hamlet wears normal glasses B-) Hamlet wears horn-rimmed glasses 8:-) Hamlet is a little girl :-)-8 Hamlet is a Hamlet girl :-{) Hamlet has a mustache :-{} Hamlet wears lipstick {:-) Hamlet wears a toupee }:-( Toupee in an updraft :-[ Hamlet is a Vampire :-E Bucktoothed vampire :-F Bucktoothed vampire with one tooth missing :-7 Hamlet just made a wry statement :-* Hamlet just ate something sour :-)~ Hamlet drools :-~) Hamlet has a cold :'-( Hamlet is crying :'-) Hamlet is so happy, s/he is crying :-@ Hamlet is screaming :-# Hamlet wears braces :^) Hamlet has a broken nose :v) Hamlet has a broken nose, but it's the other way :_) Hamlet's nose is sliding off of his face :<) Hamlet is from an Ivy League School :-& Hamlet is tongue tied. =:-) Hamlet is a hosehead -:-) Hamlet is a punk rocker -:-( (real punk rockers don't Hamlet) :=) Hamlet has two noses +-:-) Hamlet is the Pope `:-) Hamlet shaved one of his eyebrows off this morning ,:-) Same thing...other side -I Hamlet is asleep -O Hamlet is yawning/snoring :-Q Hamlet is a smoker :-? Hamlet smokes a pipe O-) Megaton Man On Patrol! (or else, hamlet is a scuba diver) O :-) Hamlet is an angel (at heart, at least) :-P Nyahhhh! :-S Hamlet just made an incoherent statement :-D Hamlet is laughing (at you!) :-X Hamlet's lips are sealed :-C Hamlet is really bummed :-/ Hamlet is skeptical C=:-) Hamlet is a chef @= Hamlet is pro-nuclear war *<:-) Hamlet is wearing a Santa Claus Hat :-o Uh oh! (8-o It's Mr. Bill! *:o) And Bozo the Clown! 3:] Pet Hamlet 3:[ Mean Pet Hamlet E-:-) Hamlet is a Ham radio operator :-9 Hamlet is licking his/her lips %-6 Hamlet is braindead [:-) Hamlet is wearing a walkman (:I Hamlet is an egghead <:-I Hamlet is a dunce K:P Hamlet is a little kid with a propeller beanie @:-) Hamlet is wearing a turban :-0 No Yelling! (Quiet Lab) :-: Mutant Hamlet The invisible Hamlet .-) Hamlet only has one eye ,-) Ditto...but he's winking X-( Hamlet just died 8 :-) Hamlet is a wizard C=}>;*{)) Mega-Hamlet... A drunk, devilish chef with a toupee in an updraft, a mustache, and a double chin :-` Hamlet spitting out its chewing tobacco :-1 Hamlet bland face :-! " :-@ Hamlet face screaming :-# Hamlet face with bushy mustache :-$ Hamlet face with it's mouth wired shut :-% Hamlet banker :-6 Hamlet after eating something sour :^) Hamlet with pointy nose [righty] :-7 Hamlet after a wry statement :-* Hamlet after eating something bitter :-& Hamlet which is tongue-tied :-0 Hamlet orator (:-( unHamlety frowning (:-) Hamlet Hamlet-face ):-) " ):-( unHamlety Hamlet-face )8-) scuba Hamlet Hamlet-face =:-) Hamlet punk-rocker =:-( (real punk rockers don't Hamlet) :-q Hamlet trying to touch its tongue to its nose :-e disappointed Hamlet :-t cross Hamlet :-i semi-Hamlet :-o Hamlet singing national anthem :-p Hamlet sticking its tongue out (at you!) :-[ un-Hamlety blockhead :-] Hamlet blockhead :-{ Hamlet variation on a theme :-} ditto {:-) Hamlet with its hair parted in the middle }:-) Hamlet in an updraft :-a lefty Hamlet touching tongue to nose :-s Hamlet after a BIZARRE comment :-d lefty Hamlet razzing you g-) Hamlet with pince-nez glasses :-j left smiling Hamlet :-k beats me, looks like something, tho. :-: mutant Hamlet :-\ undecided Hamlet :- "have an ordinary day" Hamlet ;-) winking Hamlet :-<> midget Hamlet }:^#}) mega-Hamlet: updraft bushy-mustached pointy nosed Hamlet with a double-chin :-) ha ha ~~:-( net.flame -) hee hee O -) net.religion -D ho ho :-> hey hey 8 :-I net.unix-wizards :-( boo hoo :-I hmm E-:-I net.ham-radio :-O uh oh >:-I net.startrek :-P nyah nyah 3:o[ net.pets -P yuk :-} beard :-{ mustache :-# braces :-X bow tie :-Q smoker <:I dunce (:I Hamlet egghead @:I Hamlet turban 8-) Hamlet glasses B-) Hamlet horn-rims 8:-) Hamlet glasses on forehead :-8( Hamlet wearing condescending stare ;-) Hamlet wink >:-< Hamlet mad ---<--{(@ Hamlet wearing a Rose!

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Hamlet Dies


silence gets to me so i must write quickly. push my mush into the wind, the dust. you want me to stop lying, and yet it is precisely this imperative that renews and perpetuates my need to invent. in other words, i keep the country clean. feigned denmark, la mancha, worlds deranged on the heart of the bolus, the world. i am a landed immigrant in fiction, uncomfortably conformed to social security sentences. this no doubt explains why i have framed all of your envelopes, and burned all of your words.

does it matter who i am? of course it matters! but for now i am first name hamlet last name dead. help me if you must, kill me if you can.

yours,



hamlet "muerto" dead

psincidentally,

i've been fantasizing about kicking children. i once read a story by beckett, a story i've never rediscovered, despite my wealth of books. how much longer will it take before the world sees beckett relived on the front page of every daily news? beckett's texts, that is. the texts in which children receive kicks to the head. now, the truth pestilence is that my urge is connected to the narrative, the narrative to my urge. the latter presents a tenuous connection, it is true, and yet, i am wary of denying the responsibilty of inanimate letters for engendering ideas and actions. the way the bible pressed kafka to my knees. alas, oh well, selah. it's my fault, loving you so overnight child chains -

if only i could find that goddamn book.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Guidelines Established by the Legal System


Quixote Pancha, then. Oh dear.

I'll not drop the lies, nor the disguises. You give examples to substantiate your complaint, but nothing by way of definition. My false impressions and impostures could have been your school, but I see you have convinced yourself of the existence of a single path composed of singular, indistinguishable grains of complex singularity, and intend to walk unbidden by the mud you so often spoke of, back when we were fab.

If I tell you exactly the opposite of what I've told you before, will you accept me as a sort of friend? Or merely as a fiend? The chicken has teeth so that he may lie through them. No doubt in a prostate position, stretched out on the broad plain you intend to walk. Ancestors in the family plot appeal to thee, to be sustainable or admissable to the faulty direction in which your commendable heart lies. My psychic sense (developed as recently as yesterday by Maestro Mesmer) tells me your mother was confined to bed following your birth. You have also been bedridden. Other business must wait until I have a full deck of cards - at the moment I am casting from an incomplete deck (a deck of lies, made true only in the light of its completion). As such, I see you yielding without protest, and yet you are filled with contradiction and resistance. You refuse to take my insults lying down, but you should know that I read you and write you reclining on a sofa of unknown materials and mysterious origin. I do not care to stroke its velvet surface with any knowledge of its construction. For me, mere existence is enough. The fact that I can stretch myself upon it without falling to the ground pleases me beyond any need for certainty or authenticity of myself.

I consider hanging myself most days, with a rope as real as paradise. Class, education, homosexuality. They will peg me forever on all accounts in a slow decent. My energy, my vitality, points of certain negligence will carry my spirit foreward, my life amounting to little more than the killing that results from a drunk bowman. The family cusses him forever more, based on freezing him, sculpting him in the moment, regardless of the blameless before, the intractible after, and the legwork inbetween.

But I shall wait. Nero illuminated his garden with live Christians soaked in tar, and I soon hope to be treated to a similar spectacle. A live hypnotic show. In the castle. Living lamps gushing with invective. Justifiable homicide, decked out in Latin. The best language for lying lies down in its grave beside the Greek, distinct, like the noose, from paradise after the hanging.

If you must see me for who I really am, strip away with the spiral power of your eyes.



Yours,



Ham