Wednesday, July 28, 2010
as our co-ordinates are magnetised, & as our exits have been seized
we have vanished, we heavy stones of destruction & light -
as our hands are not aristocratic, still less those of the market
we have come in utter sentiment, some small targeted acquiescence
the angle is fearsome, the order of the day is wretched hope
as your maps are out of commission, we visit you secretly
we circles of cancelled stars, we flying rags of brutal factory girls
would cover your face, would swallow in grace & molestation
George Osborne, god of love, we have spurned beauty
Thursday, July 08, 2010
One fragment is not, after all, visible.
The person falls to pieces, loses its breath. It passes over into something else, is nameless, no longer hears reproaches, fleeing its extension into its smallest dimension, fleeing its dispensability into nothingness - yet on reaching that smallest dimensionality, with a deep breath at having passed across, it recognises its indispensability in the whole.
Only since we have started using violence ourselves, has a realistic dialogue begun to develop, as the system is having to pull back its veil and speak.
Thus the atoms obey the logic of social groups, but so do works of art and philosophical systems, when they are analysed and broken up into their smallest parts.
The 'ancient' cinema was shooting one event from many points of view. The new one assembles one point of view from many events.
The word lives a double life . . . . this battle of worlds, this battle of two powers forever being waged in the word, produces the double life of language; two circles of flying stars.
In times of upheaval, fearful and fruitful, the evenings of the doomed classes coincide with the dawns of those that are rising. It is in these twilight periods that Minerva's owl sets out on her flights.
from Eisenstein, Brecht, Khlebnikov, Meinhoff