Att'n NYC peeps:

Zinc Bar Talk/Reading Series Presents:

Sunday Nov. 14th @ Zinc Bar, 7 PM (90 W. Houston St., corner of LaGuardia Pl)
Albert Flynn de Silva & Mark Lamoureux


Albert Flynn DeSilver's recent work has appeared in New American Writing, Volt, The Canary, Crowd, and soon, an Anthology of Bay Area Poetry published by Faux Press. There is also a new book "Some Nature" published mysteriously by something called "The Non-Existent Press." You have to wear a special helmet to read the book (sold separately).


As for the talk, I plan on talking about "Emptiness & Form in Poetry" (still thinking of a good long & pretentious title) and reading a bit from "(a) chiasmus" this new work written around Richard Serra's "Torqued Ellipses." I'll probably go back and forth between talk and poem. Does this sound ok??

***

Mark Lamoureux descended from ordinary earthmen. During adolescence, he developed certain preternatural abilities enabling his works to appear in such places as Jubilat, Fulcrum, Shampoo, Carve, Can We Have Our Ball Back?, and others. His appearance may be hideous to ordinary humans, but in his heart he is the managing editor of Fulcrum Annual. Together with Ugly Duckling Presse he unleashed a chapbook, City/Temple in the fall of 2003 and 29 Cheeseburgers with Pressed Wafer in the winter of 2004.


"I will be adumbrating the life & work of Wilhelm Reich as they relate to a selection of work from my own Astrometry Organon. I will be reading from Reich's work & my own."

I guess the rat-bastard has already gotten to work on his plan for public schools in the U.S.

In case you were wondering,here is a chart depticting the red/blue to IQ ratio of our once-proud "Nation."

Nothing else to say about this.

Today is a black day. Worse than 9/11; the loss of life will be greater and the damage to this country will be greater.

Condolences to everyone as we mourn the next 4 years of our lives.

C'mon New Englanders, let's join my Quebecois ancestors and fucking seceed...

Anybody who knows me well enough knows of my intense disdain for The New Yorker, but I was shocked today to look at the cover of my boss's copy and find that I really, really love the cover. A perfect illustration of modern pathos/lonliness, breathtaking in every aspect. Upon looking inside at the illustrator I see...Of course!...It's Adrian Tomine of Optic Nerve fame, which was a brilliant comic and he is a brilliant comics artist.

Be sure to take a look at the New Yorker cover for this week. Better yet, tear off the cover and throw the rest of the flaccid and irrelevant waste of glossy paper away.

Attempting to maintain a veneer of calm and composure, though I feel periodically short of breath, panicked. Trying to remain optimistic. Unsure how anybody can be thinking about anything else today apart from this election. Well, anybody in the U.S. at least. Though I suppose if I lived elsewhere I would be concerned with the results given that the entire fate of the world part of the mix. The cycle of violence spills into other countries as we have seen with the Madrid Bombing and the hostages in Iraq, etc. etc. Thus the rest of the world is involved. If only the rest of the world shared our prerogative or hubris for monitoring the elections of other countries. I would feel better with a 3rd party monitoring these elections. The conditions of the last one were certainly such that the U.S. would have intervened, had it been happening on someone else's soil.

If you can think of a deity, pray to it.

Good news for any Bush supporters who cross my path in the next 32 hours.

There are a couple of narrative sections in Astrometry Organon which provide a kind of skeletal framework or context of the rest of the stuff. This is one of them, my own retelling of the Perseus/Andromeda/Cetus myth.

MENKAR




Said beauty shackled by 

	maternal hubris, a blithe

flicker in the great dark

	creature's eye as

gorged on ruin it lumbered 

	toward she splayed

on rocks, unabashed, as tho

	the matriarch can't know

what beauty's for, or even 

	chains, for that matter for what

are chains but mute reminders

	of the terror of circumstance,

what horror or what folly

	or coy indifference of she

who took the base beast between her

	lips, real horrorshow, & that

happy demon who curdled &

	with a shrug snapped those

same chains, & there on those

	rocks she felt the kiss

of the suckers on the small of her 

	back as the razed lands wept

for the spoils of arrogance

	& then the one hotter than said

nereids heaved the whole muddle 

	away under the rocking 

of that negator, liberator 

	never a father's kin, a karma

lumberer, what beauty knows

	is how trite conflict melts

in the crucible of a red sigh 

	& the creature knew what

beauty knows, who knew naught

	but struggle now naught

but love, the 2 of them there

	like a fuming reactor as it

is said the parched land would be renewed

	by those groans, transgression

erased by beauty & its double

	entwined on porous rock, until

Perseus, prig, came with blows

	of his father's father's 

father's sword: pretty jock

	darling of Athena who cleaved

the purring beast in 2 &

	so she savage beauty let fall

the bruised tentacle

	from between her breasts

& took her place with him though in

	her slept still the seed of the Other &

slept beside him who belonged 

	to the land & its wars 

& she who belonged to no-one 

	& the ghost of the monster 

who belonged to her & to the porous

	stones & the screaming waves

of the sea.

A shadow of things to come.

It's not the terrorists we should fear on election day, it's the incumbent administration...