What is a poet? Are we discussing the possible, plausible and integral
process of philosophic thought in action, i.e. art as Deleuze proposed?
Tenor of D/G exegis finds a text that disarms one with its multiple
perspectives and releases a new introspection of work already achieved.
Poets perhaps issue sensations of closed worlds and magical break-outs
or else confinement - Yeats gyres etc. I personally achieved the
position of solitude as a half-truth in a real dilemma. There are lies
in my poems that are like theatrical excursions - but the important
thing is to remain true as a person so that prose communications are
valid thoughts, and I endure as a human being whose freedom is the
Larousse definition of anarchy - harmless to others but, pp Neruda trans
A. Reid
"let us forget one who is hurt,
who feeds on a single set-back;
the trees above leave open
a half-circle criss-crossed"
These discussions could be art-forms in themselves if we respect
communication but as follows I protest somemore about the status of
these lists as I find them.
What is the consequence of e-mail on these D/G lists is people are just
flinging up reactions? The cynic reads appeals for "help me" wondering
what help for what purpose? Does someone just want to feel good, abuse
a few rituals of convention or think - think about what? Does feminism
or Masumi bashing, or truth wallows EXIST ON THE LEVEL OF THINKING? The
solitude of some men/women won't be disturbed by these beating about the
bush. - and if solitude is incarceration surely these flip, spontaneous
raps hardly console anyone. Feminism
has receded sufficiently into history to recount hard knocks with wry
amusement - except that the antipathy of men has certainly been aroused
- and wasn't that the problem that feminism was supposed to counteract.
The unfortunate butch, the happy feline, the delirious nympho, maybe
have all published and feel they have achieved their existence beyond
the penetrating glance of discernment of those in situ. but when and
will anyone here record new ideas about women and their
sons/daughters/Relationship/friend/stress/ or parturition and need for
bonds. Sitting here with a new baby the solitary woman looks up,
perhaps, at a friend; the infant almost blind, gasping for milk, grasps,
with a survivors clench, the finger of the knotted fist that lifts
him/her up. Where am I? Is philosophy a game, a perspective on life, a
creative purpose, a learning curve or only an academic exercise. Prof.
Stivale's good will and true concern is abused, his bibliographies
encounter "lazy" readers and maybe sadly go ignored. TMB's poetic shaft
on non-violence may not be analysed it seems with the respect and care
it merits and Unleesh input, who will unleash: Excellent - "do we see
at different rates of perception?" Instead Catholic fish in shols pass
by, blasts on matriarchi shake the roof tiles and e-mail becomes a
vehicle of personal riposte and ricochet, castenades of cackles, lubly.
Baudelaire's contempt for women is contempt for the civilisation which
they thoughtlessly accept. He has no contempt for certain women or the
myth of women's strength he cherished. D/G are socialists analysing and
creating channels for both understanding and behaviour. (The text is
always in the present tense.) Readers cannot be stereotyped and
everyone has their very own interpretation of history. If John Pippus
is to lead any one to think about the Afro-American may be he could work
on his e-mail text as an art-form - because a blast is a blast not a
masculine quality. I detest racialism but unless I break through the
barriers in some way such a declaration is not helpful to anyone - who
cares what I detest? Neither the warning that can be absorbed from
authors about matriarchy - or contemplation of the Janus ( a temple we
can no longer close in peace-time) focusing on the animus of betrayal in
silence after anything,; yes, aeons of angry indictments, despairing
images.
To contemplate woman/becoming: Is a woman ever a woman except in
biological contrasts? Woman/becoming may be an egg, the hermetic egg
suspended in perpetual reverberation of contact with man. A mental
contact that is reciprocal and not sexual except as a musical notation
that could occur (example - Shostakovich.) Have you now a hammer in
hand? Are you confused? Is it to be the mind of man/becoming and
woman/becoming that emerges as a collaboration in fact as art, a
creative duo, PERHAPS? What else are we lookin for? Sexual experience
can not be shared but thought can? Can we ask questions that we respond
to as elucidations? The extreme nature of Artaud's text is, among other
things, the use of the concept of god, a monster, who awaits the
innocence of experience, and, if in imitation man/woman become
god/monster they develop extended beliefs of a fantastic nature.
Metaphoric snake slides, scientific ladders. I read to observe
knowledge - I communicate to hope for affirmation that we know we are
alive. I detest human cruelty, but acknowledge Derrida's observation
of the analysis that is disguised by entertainment for fear of hurting,
as a stopgap measure, in real life. But as a writer the "I" is other -
perhaps insight into you or a metamorphosis into sentences that have an
organic life. My shock scree, that conceals me shelters others perhaps
- am I paternal/maternal/fraternal or friend. Strength that becomes and
image of gazes, a pose of rest - or a wood beetles orofice in the bole
of a tree! Regards.
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