ICARUS FLICKED
for Woody Vasulka's Art of Memory,
Distributed: Electronic
Arts Intermix, 1987.
non-aligned
body
vision within an
other entry
into
an other
biology/body
forced evaporation
of our
metaphysical into
an other
omnipotent gist
deprived us of
memory with -- con-
temporary
behind
eyes/curtains/
scenes of
past or
all alliance
of
dread 'n
memory
took up our
duties, concluded
all cute, our
necessary tools
as we capitalize
--
lapse and
destroy
one quick palm
movement creates
columns -- visitors
from our blue
vault
to comply
is to
mock to
mock to
remember
down from
our labyrinth, our
barbarous ticking
wings
slight event
slight
harm
perforates the
terror of
potentiality
rooted, ground
down, our heads
back and staring
in decay toward an
unresponsive,
pallid spot
"most people were
silent"
what are
we, if not wieldy?
vigor
repressed
toward clap
. . .
within our sphere
of fearful light,
lashed streak of
memory, economy,
across our pacific
sea
|
Oppenheim
wanders,
the air
waves,
used . .
.
suddenly we hung
in a vise, a kind,
colossal cage
whose bars
imprisoned us --
pleasure
simulations
a 'should'
shifts,
the earth
shrugs
but could not bear
the pen, we
collared pictures
far below
and for
collective
wreckage:
it means
it our
point, our
angle between our
reflection and our
rays, that was us.
Our detonation
digested our
brink, our eyes
a cross-cutting
of
memory /
fantasy
used for
fluctuation
of the
flesh
we live
here, attractive
caves, far from
our sphere
a transcontinental
voracity
and sweat
. . . one in one
ear / one out the
other, sun rising,
not quite the
center, and
sinking in both of
them, in our time
invited to forgive
and
simultaneously
accept
responsibility
just turn our
head, time slips
by that fast now
a multilateral
homesickness
whose
soul focus
suck
breathe
suck one
simply imagines
peering through
our own skin, AT
ALL EVENTS: no
thicknesses.
. . one plumbs
protection, us
from nothing
from nothing
our fixed look
|