"Far from creating a mood of dread, the power failure created a mood of euphoria. An almost cosmic joy swept over all the darkened cities. Why people felt that way may never be answered."
Robert Smithson, 'Entropy and the New Monuments', 1966.
Friday, 29 January 2010
The Road to Passaic
Parts 1-4:
on the number 30 bus of the Inter-City Transportation Co.
anonymous tins of food wimpled softly
the ashes of the late world wimpled softly
the tarp wimpled softly
a set of tracks suddenly appeared and wimpled softly
like something trying to preserve heat
like the last host of christendom
like certain frescoes
a set of tracks appeared and wimpled softly
I pulled the buzzer-cord and got off
that ashen scabland wimpled softly
*
the sky a sensitive stain of sweat
the bridge an enormous photograph of wood and steel
the river an enormous movie film
in the glassy air of New Jersey
a good business in STONE, BITUMINOUS, SAND and CEMENT
Passaic seems full of “holes”, he said.
The boy didn’t answer.
*
I walked down a parking lot
that monumental parking lot
like a grieving mother with a lamp
all that existed were millions of grains of sand
trembling like ground-foxes in their cover,
like shoppers in the commissaries of hell
the future is “out of date” and “old fashioned”
such futures are found in grade B Utopian films
and a paperback called The Road by Cormac McCarthy
*
In those first years Robert Smithson was so rich in color. He sharpened a quill in the smokestacks and the 1968 Firebirds and the barrows heaped with shoddy so it would be possible to see how was made oceans, mountains, New Jersey peopled with realistic waxworks of raw meat. When he rose and turned to go back the tarp was lit from within. The ashes of the late world wimpled softly, like squid ink uncoiling.
on the number 30 bus of the Inter-City Transportation Co.
anonymous tins of food wimpled softly
the ashes of the late world wimpled softly
the tarp wimpled softly
a set of tracks suddenly appeared and wimpled softly
like something trying to preserve heat
like the last host of christendom
like certain frescoes
a set of tracks appeared and wimpled softly
I pulled the buzzer-cord and got off
that ashen scabland wimpled softly
*
the sky a sensitive stain of sweat
the bridge an enormous photograph of wood and steel
the river an enormous movie film
in the glassy air of New Jersey
a good business in STONE, BITUMINOUS, SAND and CEMENT
Passaic seems full of “holes”, he said.
The boy didn’t answer.
*
I walked down a parking lot
that monumental parking lot
like a grieving mother with a lamp
all that existed were millions of grains of sand
trembling like ground-foxes in their cover,
like shoppers in the commissaries of hell
the future is “out of date” and “old fashioned”
such futures are found in grade B Utopian films
and a paperback called The Road by Cormac McCarthy
*
In those first years Robert Smithson was so rich in color. He sharpened a quill in the smokestacks and the 1968 Firebirds and the barrows heaped with shoddy so it would be possible to see how was made oceans, mountains, New Jersey peopled with realistic waxworks of raw meat. When he rose and turned to go back the tarp was lit from within. The ashes of the late world wimpled softly, like squid ink uncoiling.
Thursday, 28 January 2010
BEEP AFTER EVERY NUMBER 98765(4321)BEEPS God's agent, in the swimming pool to sketch broken arch of London Bridge the BEEP ruins of St. Paul's, to sketch exactly as Victorian Englishmen987659876598765 sketched some died in the abhorrent whiteness those of polo necks for Rome. I pick them off next to t BEEP he sudden fuzz down the blower the commercial warehouse is (4321) Cannon Street Station, brand-ne BEEP w in 1873 of a sanatorium, of a prison but here I imagined 987659876598765 with the cast-iron piers of the red tomato and BEEP a green, I double agent, I replace the tired estate agent, I biological agent, I sits on a anti-caking agent, agent-agent-agent. This machine can actually rather rise see the difference bet BEEP ween a Shot tomato. Some. I can't find the numbered divisibility nor money nor love I am free agent. Some feedback territory. Hungry. Went to the hotel and stole the sheets. Found BEEP some The cathedral-like ruin sugar. I 98765 had a bridge rusting away in the tidal ooze I BEEP had a nurse but she had broken her ruin ankle. Fished the last ever bird.
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
Heston: wrong
"You finally, really did it. You MANIACS! You BLEW IT UP! Aw, damn you! GOD DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!"
Gustav Dore, The New Zealander, 1873
"He sits on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's, exactly as Victorian Englishmen sketched those of ancient Rome. The cathedral-like ruin next to the commercial warehouse is Cannon Street Station, brand-new in 1873 but here imagined with the cast-iron piers of the bridge rusting away in the tidal ooze."- Christopher Woodward, In Ruins (London: Vintage, 2001), 1-2.
[Abi, I will email you a copy of this image for the collage - J]
Thursday, 21 January 2010
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
i am the last man alive
Hungry. Went to the hotel and stole the sheets.
Found some sugar. The hotel had a nurse but she
had broken her ankle. Fished in the swimming
pool. Shot the last ever bird.
Found some sugar. The hotel had a nurse but she
had broken her ankle. Fished in the swimming
pool. Shot the last ever bird.
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