The trebuchet is a mutual zugzwang. Whichever player is on the move will lose.
Philosophers Writers often behave like little children who scribble some marks on a piece of paper at random and then ask the grown-up "What's that?"
He goes to bed thinking of houses. Every time a plane rumbles overhead he covers his face. A-e-r-o-p-l-a-n-e-s. If you spell it out, war is fun.
- Lecture: the lecture the outline of story, does not wound. Were it written a long time ago, it would not wound, though then it did have the capacity. But it was, and always will be, safe. Only now it’s meaninglessly safe. Which is to say unsafe but not wounding.
- In der Kunst ist es schwer estwas zu sagen, was so gut ist wie: nichts zu sagen. (In art it is hard to say anything as good as: saying nothing)
- Necrophilia: comes from Ranciere thru Lyotard-- "In trying to posses it, one kills off that which one loves. This is a form of necrophilia."
Zbigniew Herbert’s Minotaur at the Indoor Pool, 2.0
Like like, bone comparisons
In Oak Park
He didn’t understand a thing
Do you dangle your feet
Only man with large nipples
Because you cannot swim
Because of NASDAQ undertow
Because earth may overtilt and
Is an ecological
Disaster, full wetness
Without witness your
You wish to unlearn in a place.
And other things.
Like, your lovehandles
Like, do they inspire your
alertness to infomercials
Or like, your big vehicle in the lot
Is it tonight subprime for us.
Sub merged the financial times and
the new york times
A USA today,
Mother was a sleeper in a bed through a small
And the tubes made her chest go
Up and down, spectral rhythm
Said a man
Nothing like you.
Like, are you listening to these vessels
Do you speak vessel, do you
in a lighted pool,
Your footspots are
Drying riverbeds for newborn bacteria
You create things,
Walking away like that.
Deduce me, I deduce you.
Our future luncheons are inextricably tied
Our plastic floats in the same little oceans
Our likes woke Descartes briefly
From his motor bed
He heard your keycard. Coming or
Going was the question,
Induction dreams of two black swans
To make more
Meantime, Linear Tablet A
Into which countless dreams were carved
Your name nor mine was there.
But I can taste latex days after,
My other place just up the highway
Were he to swim up this river,
Like, I am sure
Were you still with me. We would
Laugh like idiots.