Monday, 27 March 2017

Sonnets are Impossible.

What are sonnets? We just don't know.

Currently trying to write one every day. Predictably I wrote a few then charged off into a few days and forgot to do my homework. Posting them here is an act of penitence, because only one of these is any good and the others are very pretentious. I promise to try harder. Sonnets are really difficult.

Saturday, 11 March 2017

Open Wide the Doors!

Still feeling quite baffled and fed up by the state of "avant garde(ism)". It's a really prevalent state of surrender. The art scenes are absolutely full of this surrender. As I said in a previous post a really clear marker of when things have already gone extremely wrong is the white box gallery space. I also wrote some time ago about the idea of making your poems more "Marxy". These are both methods of developing screens, kind of like the overuse of effects units, delay etc. Ways of abstracting what you are actually doing into forms that are not representative of your will, your desire or your expression. Of course that is, in part, a lie. It's a lie because these forms have become a part of your will. Your will has been abstracted from you and moved into the symbolic structure - the point of least resistance and there, in its special sound art studio with its little tape recorders, white borders, white listeners, smocks, fringes, thick set rims and fucking conversations. The little labels. I think the time has come for a lot of the people at the vanguard to admit that all they are doing is going to work. And yes, they are very undervalued and underpaid. This can often make people behave horribly towards others, it alienates people from their lives and so they become subject to their own enemy in an effort to survive in ways they cannot survive yet they have somehow been convinced that they can. Otherwise you've got to start smashing stuff. That smashing is not the cultured, rehearsed and carnivalesque smashing of the Western Black Bloc. It's a lot more intense, lived and destructive than that and it involves powerful and truthful propaganda, it involves intensive training and depends on guerilla ontology. In short, it is the avant garde, and it has the same name as its main enemy - the avant garde, the ones that police it. The strongest police forces are the ones that don't wear uniforms. That's not true. Look at their uniform. It sounds like drone music with occasional interspersed "text" and a little television screen in a white room. You're wearing it. I'm wearing it. It's very very difficult to take it off and who knows how horrible what might be underneath it actually is - removing every layer bit by bit. Loss of counter cultural hope. So hooray! Open wide the doors! I've been writing funding applications and this is where I end up. Really wound up and lost. Imagine how much we're enemies. The LD50 gallery in Dalston is one of a great many.

Thursday, 2 March 2017

Slack Against the Comittee


for Dolly Turing

The moon blushes from worship,
feeling sorry. Ten stories above
the cellar the committee meeting,
people are made to act out,

like lawyers of  precious old
time, & time is currency. Time,
the diurnal departure from life
forced and regulated, pressure valve

turned two quarters to left
airflow, the flume, the unbearable
leaking, traces of hair & skin left
quiet in the boardroom, because fuck

the boardroom, the ballots, proportionally
represented illuminations, each twenty
three by twenty three harmonic inches
basic in a self regulating unconscious

pattern. It's not on purpose. The force
of regulation is a jail the brain walks
in with good will hoping the
wall this time can stand for what,

Justice? A Just jail rising in its concrete
strength to support the weaker weight
of the tired body, the doors and windows
wide open. But they suck, They haven't

the power to slack even for a minute,
every slant is a tooth, albeit soft
& gracious & all the finance we could
dream of. The REM stops and tightens

blinkered, becomes another meeting
in the polystyrene conference hall; those
that meet well eat first the head down
sucker in structure, no moon to take
                                                           the whole the day off.