…we are unable to have directly complete knowledge of reality, there is nothing for us but arbitrarily to construct a reality, to suppose that things are happening after a certain fashion. This provides us with an outline, a concept or framework of concepts. With this, as through a “sight,” we then look at the…
Fracture Ellen Bass When the grizzly cubs were caught, collared, and taken away— relocated they call it— their mother ran back and forth on the road screaming. Brutal sound. Torn from her lungs. Her heart, twisted knot, hot blood rivering to the twenty-six pounding bones of her feet. Just weeks before I watched a…
Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write your self. Your body must be heard. Only then will the immense resources of the unconscious spring forth. p. 880 To write and thus to forge for herself the anti-logos weapon. To become at will the taker and initiator, for…
The mother, too, is a metaphor. It is necessary and sufficient that the best of herself be given to woman by another woman for her to be able to love herself and return in love the body that was “born” to her. Touch me, caress me, you the living no-name, give me my self…
The world does not seek to have more existence, nor does it seek to persist in its existence. On the contrary, it is looking for the most spiritual way to escape reality. Through thought, the world is looking for what could lead to its own loss. The absolute rule of symbolic exchange: is to…
Daytona 500 by Kayleb Rae Candrilli Where we’re from, we know ballet as Dale Earnhardt gliding through the traffic of Daytona; we know dance as our hands moving across a table of drunk Miller Lites. This is universal because I say it is. When my mother called me Kayleb for the first time, I remembered…
Everyone has ideas, even more than they need. What matters is the poetic singularity of analysis. Only this spirituality of language can justify writing. Not a critical objectivity of ideas. There will never be a solution to the contradiction of ideas, except inside language itself, in the energy and fortune (happiness) of language. Radical…
The morning is paradisical. Even if that is a made-up word… There are no words for adequate description of a fine mid-summer’s morning. My good fortune is to be aware, to engage with my senses the warmth of light streaming from the sun, illuminating the streets, sidewalk, the backdrop bed of black eyed susans…
A sultry Sunday afternoon, and here I am at Starbucks, moving words on this screen, like pieces on a chessboard. Yesterday evening was spent at Henry Maier Festival Park, Milwaukee for Summerfest. Summerfest bills itself as the worlds largest music festival. As a marketing ploy, I suppose the outsized claim works. The site is…
It has been argued in detail, by Guy Debord that the 20th century West is a Society of the Spectacle. There is little doubt that the information received by the eye, vision, has always been a pivot point for finding food and shelter necessary to life, and for self preservation. The rabbits that come…
