Had to go missing here for a few days and get some work done though not much ever really gets done, as in, with any finality. It just seems to circulate and maybe once in a while something is actually completed, that is, where it doesn't need attention again. Rather, things get done partially and are set aside because of interruptions and then a thing is perhaps picked up again a few days later, or sometimes a few months later, or once in a while, never. I'd rather things at work get done. The kind of things?--paperwork: reports, research for reports, letters about reports, the kinds of things that when you think about the value of life generally, and then more specifically, your own life, the kinds of things that really make for regret: why did I spend so much time on inconsequential reports when there is so much more of value in life, and it is finite, at least to this particular consciousness?--is the question. And why should it matter whether I write reports or ruminate in writing on a blog? Aren't these things similar, afterall? Thus the value distinctions I want to make here between differing kinds of written things and the energy I regret devoting to reports is really only one more illusion. Sure: just keep talk-writing...
chris at
10:57 PM
|
Tuesday, March 04, 2003
Today's poem for a day:
Here is an assemblage poem I worked on/put together today quoting out of some of Ezra's ideas written in his creative writing textbook, the *ABC of Reading* as conflated with the trope of Yao Ming, basketball star for the Houston Rockets:
**Yao Ming's ABC of Reading**
by chris murray
"As it were, you start on a sphere... you must keep on
until you have seen it from all sides.--Ezra Pound
Warning: gloom and solemnity are entirely out of place
in even the most rigorous study of art.
Spoken basketball is noise divided up into a system
of grunts, hisses, etc.
They call it 'articulate' game.
Play is literal : breathing, inspirational.
'Articulate' means the noise is zoned:
The legal number of free throws in a classic hexameter varies.
We have an approximate agreement
about the different noises represented by
a,b,c,d, etc.
Dante says: a canzone is basketball set to music.
I don't know any better point to start from.
One definition of beauty is:
aptness to purpose.
Coming round
to the starting point:
Basketball is a means of communication.
To charge basketball with meaning to the utmost degree:
I. throwing the object (fixed or moving) onto the visual
II. inducing emotional correlations by the sound and rhythm of play
III. inducing both of the effects by stimulating the associations
(intellectual or emotional) that have remained in the forward's
consciousness in relation to the actual ball or plays.
Incompetence will show in the use of too many
words.
chris at
11:04 PM
|
chris at
4:56 PM
|
write to me at
ariadnesquestion@netscape.net
chris at
4:55 PM
|
Kriti!! Write to me about writing and India
luv you!
chris at
4:53 PM
|
hey mario!!! so great to see you :):)
chris at
3:44 PM
|
hey mario!!! how yu?
chris at
3:43 PM
|
still messing around and trying things out
chris at
2:45 AM
|
I had to change the blogname: someone else has a website called the TeXas Files with a really *don't mess with texas* kind of poem on it. lovely work, indeed, as dave letterman might say. and oh, yes, let me do some shoulds here: I should have googled before going ahead with that name but ah well, 'nuff said. this'll be Tex Files instead.
chris at
2:33 AM
|
Here's to everything and everyone in your personal Texas doing well.
p.s.
oh! it's not quite manana nor even hasta yet:
send feedback to
ariadnesquestion@netscape.net
chris at
12:33 AM
|
Monday, March 03, 2003
hasta manana mis amigos
chris at
11:38 PM
|
here's a poem for a day:
***Tornado-Alley-Day Parade (for Randy)***
by chris murray
Raise the sky blue
umbrella. Find the neon
see-through
mac in the U-Haul trailer
and bring your Bugs Bunny flip
flops. First we'll write our names
in it, then wipe a spring's worth
of Texas dust off our windshield.
Soon it will be raining light
rain and possibility. Even the wild
goldfish are used to it here:
rain hungry thick
ribbons, paintbrush orange, swimming
figure 8s, hoping the sky will rain bread
once more out of a speckled above where
Witnesses & recruiters,
phone book distributors,
have been at the doors again
wafting old lily of the valley promises,
cathedral boom & kingdom come
with navy-blue voice-overs--
cliche and commitments
to end-of-the-world visions.
Just tell them:
we've already had some
& we're busy rising
all the time from what's dead
or coming & going on
or is just the past.
Then bring the bread crumbs
and find your camouflage
tackle box. Thread the collapsible
poles with new line. Load the red--
so much depends on a--
car. We'll find a road--
they have so many of them here.
chris at
11:33 PM
|
phone books i can take or leave but dogs i definitely like though not when they all bark together on the same street.
chris at
11:19 PM
|
when i moved here from arizona (and new york before that) i found texas full of phone books: four times a year whether or not you want one a phone book is delivered to your door, and they are like bricks, man--really you could build a house out of them if you don't mind having to look at multiples of the ambulance-chasing-lawyer-glossy on the back cover, complete with *his* family and dog named Waco. good thing these phone books don't come with audio, too: then you'd have to listen to Waco bark all the time, too. that would be in addition to the neighbors' dogs--yes, plural. everyone here has dogs and many phone books.
chris at
11:14 PM
|
welcome to the place where Xfiles and Texas can live happily ever after as long as i can type fast enough (not)
chris at
11:03 PM
|
oh, i see. you have to order it around, push buttons, click on its things.
chris at
11:02 PM
|
hmmm. figuring this out.
chris at
10:58 PM
|
Okay, here we go. I already lost one posting, don't know where it went but it didn't show up here where it was supposed to be. This is testing mode then.
