I’ve been writing a series of poems called Da Fugue Zone. One of DFZ’s threads is the experience of being deskilled. Another thread is disgust with capitalism. Another thread is how capital is just fine at coopting forms of resistance. Another thread is word goofs, metonymic chains, pleasurable intuition, and light refracting in the broken glass of the day. And here we are writing a blog post about it. Everyday stuff! Anyway, the point is: End Capitalism Now! is the title of Elderly’s super-massive most recent issue and some of these poems are there. There’s a rad load of stuff in here. Some things that stuck in a first browse (& which bring me back to the larger poem — )
Anselm Berrigan’s handwriting
from avery r young’s “so say(s) de blk creative to de blk capitalis(t)”
“i can be an undertaker
if I wanna make money luv(r)
from CA Conrad’s “Corona Daze 21”
“who are these men show us their goddamned faces”
from CA Conrad’s “Corona Daze 29”
I held my breath often
last week trying to get
a relative out of jail in
another state before
the virus made its
way down the
Eric Mesmer’s “Enisled”
fluvial , chthonic—
( gin, tonic–)
frag from fractal—
not a bucket
but a shovel
James Yeary, “Caveman Sententia.” James Yeary’s titles have always made me laugh.
Jennifer Karmin & Bernadette Mayer’s “Are We There Yet?”
are you writing then?
or just going haywire hoping
to end with a verifiable commitment?
oh dear, what would gertrude stein do?
survival is a form of repetition
oh dear, what would machiavelli do?
is that a fresh pasta from brooklyn?
i’m sorry i have so many husbands i’ll try
& be better, have fewer, in another life, you can
watch it on t.v.,
Lara Durback, “Recent Phases”
I rather like the 6 foot rule. I like the agreements. I see my own body lying on the ground, because I am almost 6 feet tall I see this fractal of myself radiating around myself.
I was too scared to go out all the time right before this, pre-prepared. The desperation of people surrounding me on my commute next to people at work who didn’t seem to care about any of it, some people who would call 311 number to take care of dog shit. And meanwhile everyone steps in the shit, waiting for someone in authority to clean it up.
Everyone was touching your items all over the world, it always felt like terror to me, so many people scrambling to deliver to the sedentary.
Lindsey Boldt starts TWO POEMS TOWARDS FULL COMMUNISM with “Can u shit / w/o a coffee.”
“What capital wants is to read you / & know what you are & this is not the greatest suffering / but it should be refused with the other sufferings”
Ryan Eckes’ “Memo From Labor” from his book
Zach Haber’s “Man’s Law” begins “Heart vomit heart.”
Trying to say to my son it gets less lonely as I get older. I say
I am more comfortable. He knows I’m lying.