home    /    listen    /    watch    /    know    /    read    /    cv    /    ask


from the manifesto of body, space, and language / excerpt from book in progress / 2020

“...I take the 7:00 AM train. The doors open. Life is bouncing around in there. More life is pushed in to bounce around. We all bouncing now. Tokyo metro: everyone is a beach ball at a concert, but at this concert there's only beach balls, and also there is no music.
    Outside, the city rains vertical against the train windows like free jazz. A baby crawls towards the closing train door—twice—proving that a certain type of entropy turns life into cartoons. I want to ask the baby—why did you do that?—but we both know the answer—because nothing funny was happening. It's an unspoken law of humor. I couldn't make it up if I wanted to—ask everyone laughing on the Marunouchi line to Tokyo station, 'cause they'll back me up. I must've laughed for 100 minutes ...”


“... By night the city turns into a vast pipe organ then drowns under its own weight. Then the cicadas. Sea of pulses. You better believe it. Sublimated noise. A gramophone dying in the distance is the sound of post-modernity. The Buddha is NOT at home. I flit under overpasses. My coming is heralded by pedal-powered lighting. Around the canals, under quadruple overpasses teeming with night-line intercity buses. Someone clears their throat into the gawa. All shapes come to pass. They emerge out of the void and pass me by through the fabric of night. People shadow the streets. People flicker in and out of existence. Then the hollowness of concrete. Then the ghosts (what is ghostly about ferroconcrete?) I become the music of rotation, of acceleration, of pendulum motions, of echo but never of answer. Anoyo. The world beyond.

3:00 A.M—just me and the pirouetting drunk salary men premiering their unrehearsed ballet.”

[read more]




little with / short nonfiction / published on the University of Alberta Faculty of Arts page / 2015 / Cécile E. Mactaggart Travel Awards for Narrative Writing recipient

“...Osdorperweg narrows upon me, humbled by hooligans on stolen bicycles and hipster Rembrandts driving lemons over limits. I coast behind the street kids as they veer, like us, darting sidelong between imagined obstacles and knocking loudly once, twice against the same thin glass pane of our bed and breakfast, startling your body from between blankets into upright home-sickness. I lean the bike at the door and try to take the key out of the tire lock. It's rusted shut. All things are under the weight of some other thing. Even under the weight of a thousand carnivorous atmospheres, a rabbit carcass can wear that smile, given days. .

[read more]




resonant frequencies: writing in a feedback loop / experimental essay / published by minor literature[s] / 2017

“...set up the conditions, invite in the chaos / you need only to flirt with destruction to create / writing is coping with the promise of explosion. / use language to hack other media / search for the perfect error. / yet the text need not remain in the machinistic, in the grid-like. / the grid is a playhouse. / we come there to ask questions. / what does substitution poetry look like? what does illicit poetry look like? what does eliminating poetry look like? what does miscommunicated poetry look like? what does flux poetry look like? what does roving cross-hair poetry look like? ...”

[read more]




unfilmable screenplay #1 (george lucas), #2 (james cameron), #3 (david lynch) / unfilmable screenplay / 2017

“...DARTH and MAUL stand at the edge of a vast greenscreen. Here, space is just a series of unconscious inferential processes that synthesize a hypothetical collection of objects and geometries. DARTH's eyeball drifts outward from his head as a TECH GUY fiddles with a KNOB. He is allotted a limited amount of character animations, so that he mismatches actions with the wrong objects.

CANNED LAUGHTER.

DARTH
You think it's easy being up here?

GEORGE LUCAS turns off all geometry markers, leaving DARTH and MAUL floating in a blind directionless hell. The only tropism present is an urge toward death, decay, and non-being. ...”

[read more]




Before The Cyborgs music features


Home