Monday, November 29, 2004

The Cut-Up Method of Brion Gysin

by William S. Burroughs


At a surrealist rally in the 1920s Tristan Tzara the man from nowhere proposed to create a poem on the spot by pulling words out of a hat. A riot ensued wrecked the theater. AndrÈ Breton expelled Tristan Tzara from the movement and grounded the cut-ups on the Freudian couch.

In the summer of 1959 Brion Gysin painter and writer cut newspaper articles into sections and rearranged the sections at random. Minutes to Go resulted from this initial cut-up experiment. Minutes to Go contains unedited unchanged cut ups emerging as quite coherent and meaningful prose. The cut-up method brings to writers the collage, which has been used by painters for fifty years. And used by the moving and still camera. In fact all street shots from movie or still cameras are by the unpredictable factors of passers by and juxtaposition cut-ups. And photographers will tell you that often their best shots are accidents . . . writers will tell you the same. The best writing seems to be done almost by accident but writers until the cut-up method was made explicitó all writing is in fact cut ups. I will return to this pointóhad no way to produce the accident of spontaneity. You can not will spontaneity. But you can introduce the unpredictable spontaneous factor with a pair of scissors.

The method is simple. Here is one way to do it. Take a page. Like this page. Now cut down the middle and cross the middle. You have four sections: 1 2 3 4 . . . one two three four. Now rearrange the sections placing section four with section one and section two with section three. And you have a new page. Sometimes it says much the same thing. Sometimes something quite differentócutting up political speeches is an interesting exerciseóin any case you will find that it says something and something quite definite. Take any poet or writer you fancy. Here, say, or poems you have read over many times. The words have lost meaning and life through years of repetition. Now take the poem and type out selected passages. Fill a page with excerpts. Now cut the page. You have a new poem. As many poems as you like. As many Shakespeare Rimbaud poems as you like. Tristan Tzara said: ìPoetry is for everyone.î And AndrÈ Breton called him a cop and expelled him from the movement. Say it again: ìPoetry is for everyone.î Poetry is a place and it is free to all cut up Rimbaud and you are in Rimbaude is a Rimbaud poem cut up.

Visit of memories. Only your dance and your voice house. On the suburban air improbable desertions ... all harmonic pine for strife.

The great skies are open. Candor of vapor and tent spitting blood laugh and drunken penance.

Promenade of wine perfume opens slow bottle.

The great skies are open. Supreme bugle burning flesh children to mist.

Cut-ups are for everyone. Anybody can make cut ups. It is experimental in the sense of being something to do. Right here write now. Not something to talk and argue about. Greek philosophers assumed logically that an object twice as heavy as another object would fall twice as fast. It did not occur to them to push the two objects off the table and see how they fall. Cut the words and see how they fall.

Shakespeare Rimbaud live in their words. Cut the word lines and you will hear their voices. Cut-ups often come through as code messages with special meaning for the cutter. Table tapping? Perhaps. Certainly an improvement on the usual deplorable performance of contacted poets through a medium. Rimbaud announces himself, to be followed by some excruciatingly bad poetry. Cutting Rimbaud and you are assured of good poetry at least if not personal appearance.

All writing is in fact cut-ups. A collage of words read heard overhead. What else? Use of scissors renders the process explicit and subject to extension and variation. Clear classical prose can be composed entirely of rearranged cut-ups. Cutting and rearranging a page of written words introduces a new dimension into writing enabling the writer to turn images in cinematic variation. Images shift sense under the scissors smell images to sound sight to sound sound to kinesthetic. This is where Rimbaud was going with his color of vowels. And his ìsystematic derangement of the senses.î The place of mescaline hallucination: seeing colors tasting sounds smelling forms.

The cut-ups can be applied to other fields than writing. Dr Neumann in his Theory of Games and Economic Behavior introduces the cut-up method of random action into game and military strategy: assume that the worst has happened and act accordingly. If your strategy is at some point determined . . . by random factor your opponent will gain no advantage from knowing your strategy since he can not predict the move. The cut-up method could be used to advantage in processing scientific data. How many discoveries have been made by accident? We can not produce accidents to order. The cut-ups could add new dimension to films. Cut gambling scene in with a thousand gambling scenes all times and places. Cut back. Cut streets of the world. Cut and rearrange the word and image in films. There is no reason to accept a second-rate product when you can have the best. And the best is there for all. ìPoetry is for everyoneî . . .

Now here are the preceding two paragraphs cut into four sections and rearranged:

ALL WRITING IS IN FACT CUT-UPS OF GAMES AND ECONOMIC BEHAVIOR OVERHEARD? WHAT ELSE? ASSUME THAT THE WORST HAS HAPPENED EXPLICIT AND SUBJECT TO STRATEGY IS AT SOME POINT CLASSICAL PROSE. CUTTING AND REARRANGING FACTOR YOUR OPPONENT WILL GAIN INTRODUCES A NEW DIMENSION YOUR STRATEGY. HOW MANY DISCOVERIES SOUND TO KINESTHETIC? WE CAN NOW PRODUCE ACCIDENT TO HIS COLOR OF VOWELS. AND NEW DIMENSION TO FILMS CUT THE SENSES. THE PLACE OF SAND. GAMBLING SCENES ALL TIMES COLORS TASTING SOUNDS SMELL STREETS OF THE WORLD. WHEN YOU CAN HAVE THE BEST ALL: ìPOETRY IS FOR EVERYONEî DR NEUMANN IN A COLLAGE OF WORDS READ HEARD INTRODUCED THE CUT-UP SCISSORS RENDERS THE PROCESS GAME AND MILITARY STRATEGY, VARIATION CLEAR AND ACT ACCORDINGLY. IF YOU POSED ENTIRELY OF REARRANGED CUT DETERMINED BY RANDOM A PAGE OF WRITTEN WORDS NO ADVANTAGE FROM KNOWING INTO WRITER PREDICT THE MOVE. THE CUT VARIATION IMAGES SHIFT SENSE ADVANTAGE IN PROCESSING TO SOUND SIGHT TO SOUND. HAVE BEEN MADE BY ACCIDENT IS WHERE RIMBAUD WAS GOING WITH ORDER THE CUT-UPS COULD ìSYSTEMATIC DERANGEMENTî OF THE GAMBLING SCENE IN WITH A TEA HALLUCINATION: SEEING AND PLACES. CUT BACK. CUT FORMS. REARRANGE THE WORD AND IMAGE TO OTHER FIELDS THAN WRITING.

Friday, November 26, 2004

'Landscape with the Fall of Icarus' and insprirations


(click pic once, then again to enlarge)
Landscape with the Fall of Icarus
by Brueghel, Pieter
c. 1558
Oil on canvas, mounted on wood
73.5 x 112 cm
Musees royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels

-----

Landscape With The Fall Of Icarus
by William Carlos Williams

According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring

a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry

of the year was
awake tingling
near

the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself

sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax

unsignificantly
off the coast
there was

a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

---


Musée des Beaux Arts
by W. H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.



Wednesday, November 24, 2004

More Duerer



Portrait of Duerer's Mother
by Albrecht Druerer
1514
Charcoal on paper
41 x 30 cm
Kupferstichkabinett, Berlin Posted by Hello

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

cain't sleep

4 hours sleep out of 53 hours...I'm gonna try now. Fuck!

slow witted losing health

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Taipei 101 and pal RJB


Green monstrosities Posted by Hello

Seven Cardinal Sins


Seven Cardinal Sins
by Otto Dix


Ranked in order of severity (worst sins listed first) as per Dante's Divine Comedy (in the Purgatorio), the seven deadly sins are:

  • pride (vanity) — a desire to be important or attractive to others or excessive love of self (holding self out of proper position toward God or fellows; Dante's definition was "love of self perverted to hatred and contempt for one's neighbor")
  • envy (jealousy); resentment of others for their possessions (Dante: "Love of one's own good perverted to a desire to deprive other men of theirs")
  • wrath (anger) — inappropriate (unrighteous) feelings of hatred, revenge or even denial, as well as punitive desires outside of justice (Dante's description was "love of justice perverted to revenge and spite")
laziness is condemned because:
  • others have to work harder
  • it is disadvantageous for oneself, because useful work does not get done
  • an equilibrium: one does not produce much, but one does not need much either (in Dante's theology, sloth is the "failure to love God with all one's heart, all one's mind, and all one's soul" - specific examples including laziness, cowardice, lack of imagination, complacency, and irresponsibility)
  • avarice (covetousness, greed) — a desire to possess more than one has need or use for (or, according to Dante, "excessive love of money and power")
  • gluttony — wasting of food, either through overindulgence in food, drink or intoxicants, misplaced desire for food for its sensuality, or withholding food from the needy ("excessive love of pleasure" was Dante's rendering)
  • lust — unlawful sexual desire, such as desiring sex with a person one is not married to.; fornication (Dante's criterion was "excessive love of others," thereby detracting from the love due God). It should be noted that in some lists of the Seven Deadly Sins, lust is replaced with luxuria or luxury.

source:


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_deadly_sins

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W. H. Auden



"My face looks like a wedding-cake left out in the rain."

- W. H. Auden Posted by Hello

Thursday, November 18, 2004

b.m. interp.

We are nothing more than the corporeal materialization of every interaction we have ever been involved in. In body, as mental giants such as Hardy, Mendel, Darwin, and Jung supposed, we are simply accurate summations and particular recipes of our kin; the current accumulation of their blood, joys and sorrows. We are minor symbols of time and represent a singular, atomic, pinnacle of our ancestry. Our mind on the other hand, while it shares many elements with our ancestral past and cannot escape this tether, is more absolutely influenced by our own lifetime’s interactions. That is to say, our mind is not predominantly influenced by an ancestrally concentric source. Our mind brings thought yet these thoughts are neither free nor willful rather they are incredibly intricate, lawful, solutions. Thoughts are a lifetime’s worth of both amalgamated and singular reflexes; the memory and influence of different people, places, incidents, which are continually joining or colliding throughout our existence. The more purposive and rational the thought seems, the more surreptitious the reflex is; a reflex of a reflex of a reflex-- almost to the point of infinity—but not quite. Every vibration has its source. Still, the vibrations and the sources are innumerable and the question of finding a core source is an inquiry I should leave to the more spiritually sound and/or intellectually hopeful.

There is something overly-humbling and somewhat sinister in suggesting that we are merely bundles of reflexes and learned traits as Skinner suggested, yet the more I think on it the more I’m convinced I become. Interpretation is colored by previous interpretations, just as the color of your love is always discolored by the hue of your previous loves. The essence of life is imitation and conglomeration. Still I suppose we might be able to change certain perceptions by actively interpreting interactions as objectively as we can-- but I presume most of us are too experienced for such Godlike feats.

One more thing, I can tell you that somehow my current ideas are propelling me away from my former atheist-tinged agnosticism and towards the recognition of there being an existing Deity or Creator or core source.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Eavesdroppin' Let Down



Some might call me an eavesdropper but it’s not like I’m listening in all of the time. The truth is I’m usually focused on something else and my attention must be sucked in by a few mystifying words or an interesting bit of dialogue before any concentrated mischievousness goes down. Usually I first hear an unprocessed and muffled conversation, then the cued wonder-words, then-- then the engrossing play. This particular episode starts with a loud and excited Troy sitting in his room with Fran. Fran, sharing the room with Troy, is lying on their bed relaxing before the scheduled action-movie at 9:30 pm. An unspectacular conversation had been going on for an unknown amount of time because as I mentioned earlier I was paying no attention to it; I was merely doing my own thing in the living room---about 15 feet away from the scene. So, following the old cliché ‘I was sitting there minding my own business’, half-watching a crappy, hi-tech looking, British documentary on Killer Creatures (conniving wasps disguised as ants, malevolent jellyfish, and the like) when suddenly Troy’s deafening words focused and become clear to me, “Wait, you said I can do anything I want!” he confronted Fran. That’s all he needed to say because from that point on I was tuned into their conversation like the uncouth eavesdropper you know I am. Fran sounded groggy, perhaps her face was partially covered, “Yeah, but not that.” Troy announced “But that’s not-- you-- you’re contradicting yourself because I wanna do this one thing”. An urgent Fran replied “Yeah but not that one thing”. Troy was becoming more frenzied and with a fierce bravado explained, “Yeah, but that’s not—that’s not fair because what I really want to do is fart!”

Fuck, what a let down! I had put my moral integrity on the line to hear some lofty dramatics and instead I got a manic Troy farcically demanding his right to fart. I’d been set up. And to think that their play began so strongly.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

Go to bed. - Willamene

I've been having a really hard time trying to sleep--can't seem to try and can't seem to sleep. Keep seeing shit, weird shit. out of the corner of my eye I see cats paws pawing under the door to my room--we don't have cats. I was working on a strictly formulaic poem; something that's pretty rigid and difficult for a lazy asshole like me. I was going right at it, writing a line, erasing it, writing, erasing, etc..for nearly two and a half hours; I wasn't even scratching the surface, it was all bullshit. But its not that it really mattered as it was more just killing time. Still I stopped writing, somewhat angry that I sucked so much, and my brain wasn't functioning nearly well enough to bring out anything anything anything.

As I stopped, I sorta tranced out for a while.

Moments later I zoned back into the page and someone had written, "Go to bed." on the screen. I did it, I must have, but I have no memory of it. Maybe it was my gaurdian angel and witch woman "
Willamene."

his real piss


diamonds like sapphires ! Posted by Hello

ettaiwan


Trox is always at his computer. http://www.ettaiwan.com is dryin him out but laying the financial groundwork to a dark and glorious future.

Yes, here's a crappy photoshop job that expresses my photoshopped concern and envy. Click on it for more details.

Friday, November 12, 2004

found/seen some Albrecht Duerer


Portrait of Michael Wolgemut
by Albrecht Duerer
1516
Oil and tempera on panel
29 x 27 cm
Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg
---

I saw some art on-line by Albrecht Duerer, I really love his stuff, his portraits especially--so rich. Says he didn't like doing portraits. It always weirds me out when really great artists dismiss their best stuff so often and praise the lackluster. I mean, I guess they should know right?

I want one of his portraits up here... I have no money. Hundreds of thousands? Millions? iich.
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Sunday, November 07, 2004

have no fun the dancer

I have a hard time pretending to be having fun. Dancing to really bad drum and bass shit is especially hard for me to fake. Goos and Cheub can do it so they do. I wish I could. It looks like fun. Last night I gave it a good try but it felt wrong; wrong at a very basic level, like my soul was hurting, sneering at me for even trying it. I stopped dancing and stood in the corner drinking 175NT bottled water. Like the dunce, I watched and envied and despised. The sacrifice of dancing to all-out bullshit seems like too big a price to pay for a morsel of social glory. I used to be able to though, that’s what’s especially unsettling. I used to dance like all the gregarious yo-yos. But now I dunno if I’m too vain and insecure or what but I can’t/wont/cain’t (hard a).

Thursday, November 04, 2004

I like America and America likes Me



photograph by
Joseph Beuys
---


I saw this photo many years ago and luckily enough I've stumbled upon it again. Yesm, lucky.
What's behind the blaket?

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Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Mosquitoes

I went to bed at 1:15am and it took about 15 minutes to start feelin' sleepy. I thought I had finally reached the moment of sleep but sure enough and right on cue a mosquitoe zzeez by my ear. Sometimes, usually if they wake me out of sleep I'll try a few times in a dark to smash'em, I'll just wait until I hear them by my ear and then I'll whack myself in the face with my hand, a few times I've been lucky enough to have instantly pressed them to death on my face, but mostly they just laugh at me because I'm just repeatedly hitting myself. More often though I flick on the light switch, rise out of bed and stare at the roof, trying to discriminate between the 2 dimensional dead ones pasted and the 3 dimensional live ones waiting. After hunting for an average time of 5 minutes I hone in and destroy it, squishing it with my "Travelers Health Booklet"--somehwhere in it it has a chapter dedicated to mosquitoes. Usually I can trail the little bastard in flight, as long as I keep her against a white background, something like my roof or walls but in order to do this I have to squat and waddle(sock dink flappin) to maintain a low enough perspective. When the skeeters are thinkin' strategically they zig-zag between the highest and lowest points of the room, and hover near dark backdrops-- my clothes on the floor and the clutter on my desk--still, I've only been foiled about 6% of the time; if I remain patient they die. My philosophy has changed, I used to be 'live and let live' but the mosquitoes must die--every one. Since I've arrived I've had no less than 5 actively itchy mosquitoe bites on my body at all times. The backside of the knees and the achilles region seem to be the worst places for itchin'. The knuckles and the temple, they're pretty bad too. By the 4th round I was low on energy and close to sleep; I could feel the sleep, I might have even been asleep for a minute, but then the 5th round begins begins and instead of the bell being rung I get the high buzz of mosquitoe by my ear and well, it enrages me. Now I can no longer sleep, I will not sleep! It's impossible! The mosquitoes must die--every one! This is genuine rage! Unbelievable! Up for 3 hours 8 minutes...mosquitoes everywhere, I can't see them, where the fuck are they, AHHH! MOM!