r for the tree upswing
r for l tree where it might n ok for ex physi k for exmple."
ription tion to n ny, you might think h seems omplete - n omplete - n n h
n-imensione in the s imensione me of trees h mens there n es, n
geo ll this esi tion, tht of the semiotiis the twist per se the twist t
not nnihil- , nnihil- ut inform e-time is presene l gr s well it is
le, methe twist is me urvture in philosophisure of lo ture in philosophi
tlk of , lk of n energy-momentum s if one n energy-momentum oul se s
everything up into zero or one the
re ut never ree h the zero point there ies slow,
mentl nts of ment ginst noise, tuning lw inst noise, tuning is never
the sys pl is never the sme ys me g s tuning , , , ut neither is it
import ognition of the inheren erutting the "myth of eternking,
hes the temporl or m l or y the time one re sptie eing-humn, it l s omes
fiels of insom s of insription, however ins, ription, however n efine in
nities, inet le ipher- mong the hum e nothing left for us to o "
ontin nuomplete in nuity they're up , whi ity they're up h sons, ut
foofw zure, vi horeogrphy, zure, vieogrphy, phy n/ phy turing foofw
swy o y ily movement weight of reles, penis = hum les, penis =
ionysin ritutes the n rituls to o ls to y to everything from er, others
extensions ries of the ttoos, shveo rs, uts, h uts, ruises ir, s ruises
ls the oging, illness, sp ility ging, illness, spy's tot ging, illness,
spsms lity/vulner sms
ription horeogr ies ring simil llel strutures with l oper tures with
tions p e
sie, r y move towru s self-reflexivity e m ers' movements i.e. ' the
utening, et. , their own mus . , nother form of self- les remem nother
\ n lyst for rous\ rousl l t ers' eret nipples, penis - l t nipples,
spsms lity/vulner < horeogrphi > horeogrphi rition horeogr ity on wepp
s z into lf step
lf step /e lowere on re iny fternoon, y,
out the ook there st time. i ook there re no thrust ssk her re no thrust senes
there like th ere
there like th ere
out fter them
fter them n ppening on the hnnel
to h ng the nme on everything ng the n me on everything me on
lize sn h emti gener sent epistemology is virl, l,
ept ommon - o nson t not e-time there
wet her p re sokeeiling's , lls on i think the ltter, nothing rm tter,
thingies rn wling. n e hereffluvi the whimpering the mewling the
howling ries out to rying the murmuring ut most of ut most of ut most
of ll the howling the mewling the ll the howling the mewling the
ll the howling the mewling the the ll is in my slivn liv
thingies rn herr the whimpering the mewling the howling the rying
the rying the
rying the he ut most of ll the howling the mewling the whimpering n ll
the howling the mewling the whimpering n
ll ll
into existene loth shoul e
you know tht every oe t every oens, n hr you know th ors its hile ren,
on rm tter, nothing oult strophe, not s orrosion. long live the
ie tomorrow. is yours fu
murmuring ut most of ll the howling the mewling the whimpering ll is
effluvi e he whimpering nrying most of ll on wet flesh, it's spetre n
tre
ept for revivl groups it's the rumhorn or
l groups it's the rumhorn or is going out of existen rumhorn or e, ex
onf lly
iousness re . ut tht mz kes it interesting e
rhr for voi rmonihrom 1
h tune hrhrmoni lveless hromtune h hromtirh r for uku r for
uku
r for voie uku
uku r for voi ppens when _this_ stiks n ks
for wht ... t ...
t ... ... ... for wht i ... for wh t i sk you ... t i sk you ... sk
you ...
... for wht ...
t ... ... for wh
the results n n1
things t s towrlly the worl s howling pin
in s tow
if ry musi wing-room of the eighteenth-entury entury
entury 7 we're still living in the
in p
mily where i m > i see this refle ompoop" n on't nee you to hn
stumle towving your le towrre s vs i stum ksh sving not founksh s ving
not foun ving not foun
ry musi the remn l offering s if w not foun
the frme-ron te is 100 fps. n l 'temporl orers' in thrust
of the projetefr e there re thrust, nking in silent thrust, not to nking/un
events. l-worl ere e m ny spees ere s y
into ke v ount .
into ll of these re supple the speetor
of thrust in the projetor ry, tor ll of these tion the spee of originltere
up or slow own, le spee own, s i.e. n vry set in e s well.
hies, the film
night, upswing
(for esp-disk website)
some things on the music borne
i or so
avoidance of noise ,then how to schedule fury
or furious ,how to subtend silence
i don't want this thinking: that this is exploring instrument,
instrumentality ,nor a field ,subtended by fingers or mouth ,no more
than body
but the joist of particle physics ,muons on a sense of virtual
particles on another
(a b) (a, b) (a / b) (a : b) (a | b) (a f(a, b) b)
it is all resonance ,surprising ,metallic overtones ,ringing: i
remember just several sounds slowed into what seemed right even
then
foreign names touched by cultural illiteracy ,materials ,soundings,
emptied virtuosities
stringed, it is stringing ,perfect tautness ,resistance of parallel
field ,tension of endpoint separation ,tension of separation
i do not want to duplicate this ,i do not want to duplicate an other
something informing ,hypnagogic as if you might dream this ,an other
or dream an other this
but not tiring ,tirade ,more of a space of a sounding or what might be
'some of a sound'
of mewling ,howling ,whimpering ,murmuring ,seething ,then this amazing
release
neither to be where you have been nor will have gone there ,here is
one alone ,playing music ,playing music together
tending the wood ,nylon ,skin ,metal ,plastic ,catgut ,horsehair ,wax,
bamboo ,bone ,or tending the wires
the absence of metaphor ,wires ,no paralleling ,the difficulty
of absence ,no equivalence ,no identity ,just as everything else is,
or remains ,inert
sound of the obdurate ,sound of the inert
ii or so
learning to play these ,evenings or nights' mornings ,but with all
respect ,coaxing ,no world music ,no world but what ,are we brought,
to
here's an idea ,so i'll do it ,hear what happens ,when new ,then so
it is brought
always writing in silence ,always playing in silence ,playing silence,
listening silence ,enormous roiling ,slow extinction of the planet,
these last sounds ,instrument making ,them
she got up from the music ,he got down to the music,
he got up from the music ,she got down to the music
you'll be telling me specifically what you want to know,
i'll be telling you specifically what you want to know
allowing myself the courtesy of being-deaf,
allowing yourself my fingering you ,of being-sound & of mind & body
listing ,yayli tanbur ,ukulele ,cobza ,hasapi ,cura cumbus ,hegelung,
rababa ,electric saz ,valveless chromatic harmonica ,parlor guitar,
classical guitar ,alpine prime zither ,alpine elegy zither ,like the
emptying of names
unknown on my fault ,something else of shameful ,refusing abjection
in the moment when nail and steel ,flesh and wood ,collide
unknown ,everywhere i look ,unknown
iii or so
i'm not giving you what you want ,that is ,an entry into this sound,
some of an anecdote ,or at the very least, an explanation ,as in,
'you owe me an explanation'
i wouldn't know how to begin ,perhaps in eternal sorrow ,mourning,
every minute of the life
or the slightest peaks of joy
or stories about failure quantum-tunneled into music of unutterable
beauty ,or musics
or something about how these instruments came about ,what do i know
of their arrival ,or this i know ,their attraction for me ,sounding
of the world through them
fretless ,they are teaching me how to listen ,place each finger in its
rough exactitude
or fretted in narrowed intervals ,what might be ,for others ,or those
places of others ,a difference in this world
or numbers of worlds ,worlds without number ,over and over again,
desperately listening ,listening ,as if something might come about,
occur ,just by the sheer force of it
or the slow sweep of the bow as left hand fumbles for tone or tune,
begins its slower repetition ,rasa ,the savoring
iv or so
it is more you want ,more you ever want ,this savagery ,this lack
of mine ,of yours ,one more word ,phrase ,sound or tune ,book or text,
of book and of sound ,of tune and of text ,that will do it ,completion,
or suturing ,the fullness of the world ,fecundity, repleteness,
lathering ,or foam of planck mass ,length ,time ,of vacuum and an
energy ,of particle and fray
this savagery a savagery ,silence a quiescence, calmness ,the piercing
of things ,of some things ,on the music ,on the music borne
-----Original Message-----
From: Sid Shniad [mailto:shniad@sfu.ca]
Sent: Thursday, September 17, 2009 11:00 PM
Subject: A moment of silence on 9/11- Before I start this poem A MOMENT OF
SILENCE, BEFORE I START THIS POEM
Before I start this poem,
I'd like to ask you to join me
In a moment of silence
In honor of those who died in the World Trade Center and the
Pentagon last September 11th.
I would also like to ask you
To offer up a moment of silence
For all of those who have been harassed, imprisoned,
disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in retaliation for those strikes
For the victims in both Afghanistan and the U.S.
And if I could just add one more thing...
A full day of silence
For the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died at the
hands of U.S.-backed Israeli
forces over decades of occupation.
Six months of silence for the million and-a-half Iraqi people,
mostly children, who have died of
malnourishment or starvation as a result of an 11-year U.S.
embargo against the country.
Before I begin this poem,
Two months of silence for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa,
Where homeland security made them aliens in their own country.
Nine months of silence for the dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Where death rained down and peeled back every layer of
concrete, steel, earth and skin
And the survivors went on as if alive.
A year of silence for the millions of dead in Vietnam - a people,
not a war - for those who
know a thing or two about the scent of burning fuel, their
relatives' bones buried in it, their babies born of it.
A year of silence for the dead in Cambodia and Laos, victims of
a secret war ... ssssshhhhhhh...
Say nothing
we don't want them to learn that they are dead.
Two months of silence for the decades of dead in Colombia,
Whose names, like the corpses they once represented,
have piled up and slipped off our tongues.
Before I begin this poem.
An hour of silence for El Salvador ...
An afternoon of silence for Nicaragua ...
Two days of silence for the Guatemaltecos ...
None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living years.
45 seconds of silence for the 45 dead at Acteal, Chiapas
25 years of silence for the hundred million Africans who found
their graves far deeper in the ocean than any building could
poke into the sky.
There will be no DNA testing or dental records to identify their remains.
And for those who were strung and swung from the heights of
sycamore trees in the south, the north, the east, and the west...
100 years of silence...
For the hundreds of millions of Indigenous peoples from this half
of right here,
Whose land and lives were stolen,
In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek,
Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears.
Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the
refrigerator of our consciousness ...
So you want a moment of silence?
And we are all left speechless
Our tongues snatched from our mouths
Our eyes stapled shut
A moment of silence
And the poets have all been laid to rest
The drums disintegrating into dust.
Before I begin this poem,
You want a moment of silence
You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
And the rest of us hope to hell it won't be.
Not like it always has
been.
Because this is not a 9/11 poem.
This is a 9/10 poem,
It is a 9/9 poem,
A 9/8 poem,
A 9/7 poem
This is a 1492 poem.
This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be written.
And if this is a 9/11 poem, then:
This is a September 11th poem for Chile, 1971.
This is a September 12th poem for Steven Biko in South Africa, 1977.
This is a September 13th poem for the brothers at Attica Prison, New York,
1971.
This is a September 14th poem for Somalia, 1992.
This is a poem for every date that falls to the ground in ashes
This is a poem for the 110 stories that were never told
The 110 stories that history chose not to write in textbooks
The 110 stories that CNN, BBC, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.
This is a poem for interrupting this program.
And still you want a moment of silence for your dead?
We could give you lifetimes of empty:
The unmarked graves
The lost languages
The uprooted trees and histories
The dead stares on the faces of nameless children
Before I start this poem we could be silent forever
Or just long enough to hunger,
For the dust to bury us
And you would still ask us
For more of our silence.
If you want a moment of silence
Then stop the oil pumps
Turn off the engines and the televisions
Sink the cruise ships
Crash the stock markets
Unplug the marquee lights,
Delete the instant messages,
Derail the trains, the light rail transit.
If you want a moment of silence, put a brick through the window of Taco
Bell,
And pay the workers for wages lost.
Tear down the liquor stores,
The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses, the
Penthouses and the Playboys.
If you want a moment of silence,
Then take it
On Super Bowl Sunday,
The Fourth of July
During Dayton's 13 hour sale
Or the next time your white guilt fills the room where my beautiful
people have gathered.
You want a moment of silence
Then take it NOW,
Before this poem begins.
Here, in the echo of my voice,
In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,
In the space between bodies in embrace,
Here is your silence,
Take it.
But take it all...
Don't cut in line.
Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.
But we,
Tonight we will keep right on singing
For our dead.
By EMMANUEL ORTIZ , 11 Sep 2002
Emmanuel Ortiz is a third-generation Chicano/Puerto Rican/Irish-American
community organizer and spoken word poet residing in Minneapolis, MN. He
currently serves on the board of directors for the Minnesota Spoken Word
Association, and is the coordinator of Guerrilla Wordfare, a Twin
Cities-based grassroots project bringing together artists of color to
address socio-political issues and raise funds for progressive organizing in
communities of color through art as a tool of social change.