A poem for Nissan, and an everyday reminder. . . . → Continue reading: where grass can never be called straw
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It’s been a long while since I’ve shared any audio experiments. I can’t/won’t admit to any creativity on my part for the material I mix aside from my recognition of something delightful in the juxtaposition. Such was the case this evening when visiting an old blog page of Rachel Barenblat and was surprised . . . → Continue reading: Velveteen Rabbi Mix 
Petru Moldovan writes, “Idel notices that in “Ghet ha-Îemot,” Abulafia had used for the first time the gematria combination: Elohim = ha-Teva. To Abulafia, Elohim is the act of Creation, and not its agent, as this name is the same with nature, and the gematria combination should not be understood as a simple linguistic pun, but as a way of considering the identity of nature with the divine, just as Maimonides had suggested it in the “Guide.” . . . → Continue reading: Great Nature and the Gematria of Elohim 
At 161st Street and Grand Concourse in the Bronx, there is a highly ornate fountain named Lorelei located in a rather lonely park dedicated to dead poets. Inscribed at the base of Lorelei is the name and visage of a man — once upon a time, Germany’s favorite Romantic poet. Hitler tried his best to . . . → Continue reading: With Heine at Lorelei 
In the film Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971), after Willy Wonka (Gene Wilder) proudly describes that in his lickable wallpaper “The snozberries taste like snozberries!”, an exasperated Veruca Salt snidely objects, “Snozberries? Who ever heard of a snozberry?” Willy Wonka grabs her mouth and explains “We are the music makers, and We are . . . → Continue reading: We are the music makers 
Ten years ago I was in Philadelphia and excited to learn that Emergency Broadcast Network (or EBN for short), an art music/video project would be touring with dj Spooky providing live mixed visuals and even performing their own set. I had first seen their work in college in the mid 90s, probably on a friend’s . . . → Continue reading: More on Emergency Broadcast Network Yochanan Lavie, who regularly reads and comments over at failedmessiah.com, recently shared this poem inspired in general by the sickness and evil near the root of Aaron Rubashkin’s animal slaughtering and meat processing factory in Postville, Iowa, and specifically by Rubashkin’s use of PR flacks, paid industry “representatives,” and the Orthodox establishment to shill for . . . → Continue reading: Jeer at them In the House that Emma Built There are two chambers One looks upon the other And the other looks outward A turntable spins ye-ye A darkness sleeps in fits A cat speaks in Mandarin and the walls, last forever A man is hidden under the boards While the window glares on its curtains All lines . . . → Continue reading: The House that Emma Built In the beginning, there were seven kings One created a kingdom of earth and became suffused with it. One created a kingdom of one and hid himself in it. One created a kingdom of love and filled it with two and a challenge to entice them. One created a kingdom without number and became lost . . . → Continue reading: Seven Kings hello blog, welcome back me. One year later and I’m still in Baton Rouge and working with my planning team, now an order of magnitude larger. Plans out the door include the City of Port Allen Annexation Plan and the Comprehensive Coastal Protection and Restoration Master Plan for Louisiana. To reprise, I came down here . . . → Continue reading: one year later Inspired by Borges’ 14 kinds of animals catalogued in “a certain Chinese encyclopedia, The Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge,” here are 14 kinds of people those mistaken for bigfoot those who are asleep government workers nameless ones those who exist only in dreams women with cats seafaring ones those who are crying that cannot be . . . → Continue reading: More from the Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge her voice soft like honey seeps into me i can feel intonations resonating in my ears sweeten the harsh world with your lavender voice caressing my pen torturing my fingers write i must write for you and you alone Jennifer Wickboldt wrote the poem above, one of many available sprawled over old tripod user pages. . . . → Continue reading: Jennifer Wickboldt |
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