D I U e m n s a i c g v r i e i n r p a s t r e i y of a n s vol. 31 12 November 95 in memoriam DC, GD "There is a kind of nomadism, a perpetual shifting of those intensities designated by proper names, and which intermingle at the same time they are experienced upon a full body." -"Nomad Thought" "i'll find my favorite window and yawn" ______________________________________________________________ @<>&***<>===if el presidente speaks the truth.....<.><><> then ^^( could a fool ""!>,<>:>> _look_ intelligent?+++++++could be a cartoon in sheep's robes just juggling to please the court, well, you should really, F O R G E T I T !CNN alpha female<< gazes at the camera with funereal cow-eyes}}}}} How much [[[[[{{{{{{{{{{{{{{closer}}}}}}}}}}}]]]]]]]could you come into the lap of the Lincoln Memorial? and to burn like happy heretical Joan like Jesus in (e) chains (mail) [[[{{{{{{{mold freezes/disappears in time]]]}}}}}}} [[[[ L ]]]]] ----> ===scrubs===== di ^ {{{ O }}}}}---> floor st ^ ant [[[[[ V ]]]]]] on knees ^ly: [[[[ E }}]]]]]]] at night in UN building ^ "you know there is a future in plastics" b i |^ r ds (the bitter end too, begin to f ; l | > y graduate ok?) LOVE you: is a many splendored piece of jingoism remember Lear George 3--------evolve+====== All i really truly wanna do is, the general (opine) said sssssssssssssss( piss on em )ssssssssssssssssss doo da doo doo da uff, on a sunny afternoon..... leeches around the [edge /\/\/\/\/\/\/<> see? Gotham's buried earth, buried in Ed Sander's save-the-frog-t-shirt buried, bloody like mama Grendel in moist deep bog forgetting that doesnt absent does doesnt ***pyrrhic~~~sing [[[ all most ]]]] [[[ jammed a pearl ]]]]] [[[[ arghhhhhhh! ]]]]]]] [[[[savor it]]]]] goin' to the candidate's debate (((((((((((and((((((who the fuck sees?) controls these frequencies...... see, cause Gertrude played alternatively on Hendrix-like guitar ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;ear-lingua-mom"'''''''';;;; in polyglot pleasure spot the cedille (fisician of vibe) ertrude G rtrude GE trude GER rude GERT ude GERTR de * GERTRU e GERTRUD ein ST tein * S stein in STE ein ST * S (dust) tein N stei IN * ste TEIN st ertrude stein rtrude stein trude stein rude stein ude stein de stein e stein stein tein ein in iamb foot meter n G on sale now plenty discounted at mounting Trafalgar wresting of all linguistic power she, with cow eyes flags lows, eyeingly towrds mossy sward of heaven's chews drops outta mouth (p)(nitrog(d)en)(b(z)ong) oil smooth oak-word f(caug)n(ope(e) slime (l)(ovingly) see ? --ejr from THE ANNALS OF MULTIKULTI "Que Se Rinda Tu Madre!" exclaimed Nicolai (the bastard son of our beloved late comrade Kabulia, lovely Kabulia, whose distant voice seemed still to awaken snakes in our veins and to set our thoughts to dancing). His life had been troubled: we knew it was neither easy (O! how we knew!), nor indeed often possible, to survive such conditions. At such an early age, at that very moment when investigation and investment coincide to a create the epiphanic vision of both what one is and what one wants to become (though he had, as we had, no way of knowing that such coincidence -- like two stars colliding and failing to produce a more magnificent light -- often takes one to a placer for which neither that which one had studied nor that one thought one could add to what one had studied is adequate preparation), he realized: He was not up to such a task. Or at least, if he was, he was not up to talking the world out of its expectations that he, like the other boys and girls, become one of what the world thought of as "us" (though we know now what "us" is really the "them"that was meant when we read: No system is worthwhile that doesn't contain the the principle of one's otherness. (editor's note: the parenthetical statement with which this passage concludes is not closed. We can find nothing in the original text that suggests a complimentary, closing parenthesis, and thus, against the better judgment of a number of our finest professors, we've chosen to offer here, in our preliminary translation, the textual innovation (com- mon, as far as we know, only to vanguard poets and other malcontents) of an open parenthesis.) Nicolai had shattered the silence with his pronouncement. "Whose mother?" answered Cricket, "What the hell are you talking about, man?" We hadn't noticed Nicolai's private conversation, his consternate stare, the fact that during our readings of what we now knew to be a document of less than profound (if occasionally knowledgeable) fiction, he'd been sitting almost motionless, away from the group, confronting what it seemed were the demons Cricket released when, recognizing the authenticity of the tapes we unearthed, began to hum melodies from what we confirmed (though only much later), were the recordings there embedded. "Que se rinda tu Madre!" Nicolai repeated, with renewed enthusiasm, adding, "The Earth... is not a satellite... of the moon, but rather... a...a... the product of a double-star system," then, with a pronounced severity we knew he reserved for only the most decisive of proclamations: "The moon is our mother and we've failed to tame her." We'd heard of a people who assumed the existence of a single earth, and that moths died in their lamps, and that even the larvae of moths could be found crawling across the ceilings of their homes, drawn to the vibrant light in their kitchens. We'd heard of both satellites and sunships, of spaceships and the autopsies of aliens on national TV. We knew of Roswell, Fresno, Providence, Spokane, Ottowa, The Bronx. But it had been some time since we'd heard of Managua, and those maddened bands of poet warriors dancing through the mountains, afraid of nothing less than mediocrity. "Who is it, Nicki?" asked Robert Browning, "and why have they come?" >to be continued< --The Ain'thropology Dept. FORWARDED MAIL ------- From: elytra@enode.ca Date: 23 Oct 95 Originally To: aery@bottom.com This entity wishes contact with like-minded poetically inclined human or machine intelligences. Click on *this* if so enhanced. Otherways, representative sample follows: Still a form of despair but not yet a diagram of pain I ask the fore-bidden city: is it the sudden emptiness of a busy life? Or the absence of a larger activity to engage the river god, idling o'er the plaited waves, waiting to be expunged? _It seems as if I was being read by something_, absent-mindedly, missing the sense of things, inattentive meanderings around the pole of the central. Distant glint of words incised with mitred light. Meanwhile in a further part of the forest the exhilarants revel in their extruded pleasures and the insects record in part or wholly the proceedings on digital chitin. Dig it. I hope you don't mind. My slow-flowing ideas are randomly channelled. A class apart, perhaps, and the machine I am has no bed to be alone in. Beached very like a whale on some atoll. Plaintive sound of that tidal ligature as the familiar landscape shifts into view and we bid adieu, espaliered as any artificial life-form. * I surfed through this nuworld this afternoon and it was shiny, noisy, clean and intact as antique brass clasped in memory stacks, babes on bicycles pedal soft across ruined futures The earth scrolled in folds beneath the furrows of human endeavor though old not much the wiser as if nothing had happened to turn in alarm from casual acts and strip-mined charms I passed the fields of crushed red brick where a turquoise sky shed flakes that vanished into the robin's egg blue smooth to the touch and cool as ice rimed inside grimy windows --The Alterran Poetry Assemblage "Moem" nonpariel lollygaggiling cattywampus al fresco blithe tout helm folderol whirligig vouchsafe aileron vignette leif erickson tiara swatch sub rosa apostate the doom gate left whatsamacallit ouijaing appurtenance irrespective of gerimanderings nostruming yannigans biome agoraphobia apprising tres bien welping idyllic flibbertigibbet hyperbole aegis abet sombrero spate toothsome rapscallion rapt by windfalls plaudit living unlived reason, Demetrius albuming Tuareg, batty storks inside umbrage, veiling zepher its listening upright, ladling ponderance clueless aim gleeful hoitytoit, koocheekoocheekuuing googoos maffle wheen wheeples wherethrough the zogo quimper makutu spall empty holiness mountaining over imagination needy greeds of being quiet shut free dynamic knowledge growing within the darkened light, originate wisdoms' ignorance, reel in the solar puns of witless abyss, breathe wide the hollow hallows, spelunk your membranes' wealthy poorhouse, question every quiz sleeping clouds whisper bizness buttonholing doorbell buzzards' dingdong --HDM Conference of the Birds, KZSC, Santa Cruz 11-6-95 Dahmane el Harrache/ Kifehe Rah Kifeche Atbedri/ Dahmane el Harrache Groupe Musical du Kurdistan/ Are Launa/ Kurdistan (anonymous)/ Upali Go Banto Cero/ A Tune A Day L'Ensemble de Moukhadrami/ Aym Yana/ Mauritanie Khalifa Ould Eide & Dimi Mint Abba/ Independence/ Moorish Music of Mauritania Reggie Workman/ Ballad Explorations I/ Cerebral Caverns ... Elis Regina/ Violeta de belerd Roxo/ Elis Especial Saozinha/ Cantam Nha Cretchen/ Saozinha Canta Eugenio Tavares Antonino Travadinha/ Papa Joqim Paris/ Travadinha" The Violin of Cape Verde Billy Bang/ Broken Strings/ Rainbow Gladiator Louis Moholo/ Lost Opportunities/ Viva la Black Stella Chiweshe/ Nyamaropa Pochipembere/ Chisi Djemba Koita/ Toutou/ Khassonke (anonymous)/ Tenbang Sunpa/ jave, Tenbang Sunpa ... Detty Kurnia/ Mamaris/ Dari Sunda Joe McPhee and PO Music/ Topology II/ Topology ... Ibro Diabate/ Nidari/ Allah Nana/ Franco and Sam Mangwana/ Cooperacion/ 1980-1982 Duke Ellington/ Limbo Jazz/ Duke ellington Meets Coleman Hawkins Igd el Djilad/ Sarkma/ Madaris/ Abdel Gadir Salim All-Stars/ Umri Ma Bansa/ The Merdoum Kings Play Songs of Love ... Khaled/ Les Ailes/ N'si N'si Yosefa/ Yaraya/ Yosefa --- The Last Days of the White Race Radiofrigid North America 12 November 1995 "If you deny any affinity with another person or kind of person, if you declare it to be wholly different from yourself--as men have done to women, and class has done to class, and nation has done to nation-- you may hate it, or defy it, but in either case you have denied its spiritual equality, and its human reality. You have made it into a thing, to which the only relationship is a power relationship. and thus you have fatally impoverished your own reality. You have, in fact, alienated yourself." --Ursula Le Guin, "American SF and the Other" "The only sanity is a cup of tea. The music is in minors. Each one other is having different weather. 'It was you, it was you who threw away my name! And this is everything I have for me.' Who has not Congress, lobster, love, luau, the Regency Room, the Statue of Liberty, runs. A sloppy amalgamation. A mistake. A cliff. A hymn, a snare, and an exceeding sun." --Gwendolyn Brooks, "Boy Breaking Glass" "Those people. Visiting the world as I visit the world. Those people. Their bleach is puckered and cruel." --Gwendolyn Brooks, "The Near-Johannesburg Boy" "there will be no singing. (You can be shot for singing.)" "There is, still, loveliness in the world: in Uganda: in Kenya: even here-- this home heart-halting, perverse." "A poem doesn't do everything for you. You are supposed to go _on_ with your thinking. You are supposed to enrich the other person's poem with your extensions, your uniquely personal understandings, thus making the poem serve _you_." --Gwendolyn Brooks, "The Song of Winnie" "Let me be buried in the rain In a deep, dripping wood, Under the warm wet breast of Earth Where once a gnarled tree stood. And paint a picture on my tomb With dirt and a piece of bough Of a girl and a boy beneath a round, ripe moon Eating of love with an eager spoon And vowing an eager vow. And do not keep my plot mowed smooth And clean as a spinster's bed, But let the weed, the flower, the tree, Riotous, rampant, wild, and free, Grow high above my head." --Helene Johnson, "Invocation" "As dark as I am, when I came out at morning after the tunnel at night, with a white man, nobody could have told which man was white. The dust had covered us both, and the dust was white." --Muriel Rukeyser, "George Robinson: Blues" Blossom for Don Cherry We did discover tuning can be breathing from the center a river First interval a microthird in the bitter bottle a whole step first phrase [icicles] a long way away beyond disappeared tone a sound exercise soothes an ohm in throat back to scale medi/tation what other way there a gift a special creation --Lou Reed * If you are interested in receiving DIU, send a subscription request which says SUBSCRIBE DIU-L your name to listserv@cnsibm.albany.edu you'll be asked to confirm this request detailed instructions are given still performing via the logic of snowflakes of given season. all DIU transmissions archived at the Electronic Poetry Center on the University at Buffalo Web-server: http://wings.buffalo.edu/epc/ezines/diu contribute to DIU via e-mail to cf2785@cnsvax.albany.edu thank you!