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Ted Berrigan and America

June 20, 2008

Interview with Lorenz Gude 29th April 2002 on Ted Berrigan and America:

James: Can you tell me about how you met Ted Berrigan?

Lorenz: When I arrived at Columbia University in 1960 I met a fella named Tom Veitch who was a year older than me. Tom was very interested in literature and he and his brothers loved comic books. They were very talented and they drew all these comic books, Tom wrote the stories. I got a bit involved in that, well, I didn’t do anything, but I knew what was going on. Hell, I didn’t really know what I wanted to do; I was probably more interested in history than literature, but I began to meet some of Tom’s friends and develop some of my own. On my floor was a young fella from Oklahoma named Ron Padgett, who was sort of a classic westerner, really tall, skinny and wore cowboy boots, with pressed jeans pulled down over the top of them. He was very fastidious. Soon we became friends, and some of his friends started coming up from Oklahoma. One time his mother came up, and she came with a pistol in her suitcase. She was a petite little brunette, very spirited middle-aged lady and a lot of fun to be around, but she packed a pistol, which in New York will get you twenty years, though back in Oklahoma it just goes in your purse with your make-up. The father was a bail bondsman and Ron never went home after nine o’clock because after then if anyone came into the house you shot em’ first and asked questions later…

more here

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Superstudio

June 19, 2008

2006: Superstudio: an Australia wide student 48 hour competition. Winning design by James Quinton, Julius Welke, and Paul Empson.

Brief:
Cottesloe Beach Carpark
Finalists must demonstrate an architectural vision for the long term preservation of both the social and environmental fabric of the urban beach. Above all, however, entrants are encouraged to pursue their imaginations, and not only design but imagine proposals which heighten the experience of this threshold between built environment and sea.

Concept: The Involuntary Prisoners of Paradise: Back in the seventies, Rem Koolhaas borrowed an idea (of a linear city running directly through London) from a group of radical Italian Florentine architects called Superstudio. Here in 2006, we borrow from Koolhass’s Exodus or The Voluntary Prisoners of Architecture in our own ‘Superstudio’.

View Pdf here: super Best viewed by View-PageDisplay-Two-up.

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Out Of Chaos Comes A Lovable Order

June 11, 2008

Like flouting and fluttering planes
Gone with midnight a cool breeze
Remembrance quickly jumps
The superlative strength of millennia.

Twilight is complete
The streetlights have ignited
Stark looks in the corners of eyes
The silver chill drowning.

It’s a day & you are you
Eating lunch, tautologically inclined;
Shirt pockets full of debris
Entire continents

Where many lived, disappeared
There were periods when oranges
Had the power to overawe the sun,
The chunky rhythms of nostalgia…

No more waiting in this novella!
All the swings, slides & monkey bars
Catch an unselfconscious smile
(like a march-fly in the sticky

Subterfuge of a Venus flytrap
Producing the fructified arrangements
Highly suitable for toe jam) bumping along
Like hitchhikers in the back of a Ute.

Running hands across Spiky blades
the dream woman stands before me
arms in the air, lifting her jumper
slightly from jeans ― soft, pale skin;

Stupendous body, enormity of touch
Speaking to stay silent for the future
Two men made of water watch a man drown
In the cruellest ocean’s hacked foundation.

Why wrestle the channel corset?
There’s no destination.
We wander the fleshy rind of a gigantic pear,
Fascinated by nature’s fantastic, targetless volition.

Part Two

She turns slowly.

No longer apprehensive
That earth’s shell slices open
Welcoming the leaf
We comprehend chord sounds

Waist high in sunflowers
The ground does pirouettes
The Ferris wheel lets another off
The Ferris wheel lets another on.

Collisions at the train station
Lead to Eros
At an unknown address
Two wattlebirds attack a raven.

No human is observing.

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Death Near A River

May 22, 2008

Death near a river comes without warning
Invertebrates warring
Against the mistakes of the past
Sugar ants climb river gum bark
Stalks pick at grass
Workmen sing pa-rum-bum-bum-bum
Soft paper barks kill
The hop of the willy wag
The eucalyptus grandis shadow
The yellowed juncus
Or snapped sheoak
Death near a river comes without warning.

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Diaphanous

May 7, 2008

Duke of New Orleans
wake, rise, walk soon
black where water runs clear
(polish heath scrub vocal chords).

Upward facing dog descends
hard rock face, to slip momentarily
evokes more adrenaline than fear
broken leg rather than death.

Clear it is then
giving the I/eye
a chance to focus:

retinas rise
like Egyptian princess eyelashes

falling into the giving
sinewy branches
into what you see and have seen

say, not plummeting finches
nor blind bugs drawn to headlight
, , , not them.

Diaphanous, no truer diagnosis
dam walls and our future
, , , yes.

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The Future

April 12, 2008

Poetry, like everything else
relies on the future.
But when the words
back is turned
bulldozers break the law
wrecking watercourse banks.
Fines might prevent
future incidents, although
there’s always another ignorant.

Poetry, like everything else
relies on the future.
Running an empty fridge,
driving a V8, flying
around the world
attending climate change
conferences might save humanity
but for now, that part:
the shoreline of the estuary
and ecosystems down and up
stream, is forever fucked.
Repeat the lie
that makes it true.

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The Overland

March 10, 2008

The Overland

It’s the time of year
When all is pure white snow.
At the foot of Mt Oakleigh
Right out the front of New Pelion hut.

Wallabies and possums swap shifts
As the sun swaps with the stars.
Snow covers everything: the button grass
Plains, the camping platforms

The toilets, everything, except the flowing creek.
It’s Sunday, but for all I care it could be the middle of the week.
No dreams of my dead brother last night, but the night
Before that, and the night before that one nightmare,

And one happy dream where Justin was supervising me
And someone else working on a car. We started mucking
Around, Justin got annoyed but didn’t say anything
Until after work when we’re driving home in his kombi

I asked what was wrong and he explained, I said:
“We’re about to buy beer right?” He said ‘Yeah’
I asked: “what are you worried about?”
He said nothing and smiled.

Watching the melted snow flow, sun glistening
Move to bounce on the air, my face, the hut roof
A flock of some twenty currawongs fly fly from pine
To eucalypt to pine, their water heavy wings woop and the woop

Gets deeper in sound before the bird reaches the branch.
Snow falls to the ground before the snow can melt it.
A raven arrives from the direction of the icing sugar covered mud
cake of the mountain, as if it only just dropped in off the summit.

How long can the snow hold before it’s taken?
Thudding drops like falling autumn
or bodies lined up for execution
Tea tannin buttongrass sweating thoroughbred eucalypt trunks

Not one un-iced, not one not dropping ice. A plume of grey
Smoke rises beyond a natural cairn: I’ve been tricked
By this before, perhaps dark misty waterfall, the planet, a pipe smoking.

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Jumping Fish

March 7, 2008

Hi, click below to see the amazing jumping fish in the gordon inlet. I took 20 seconds of footage and a fish jumped, stood there for a while afterwards and no fish jumped: not camera shy.

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Subjectless

March 2, 2008

All inventions together
in robust obstinacy -

going to lay down.

These headline vases
Crack ululation.

You can road in newspaper
all my misspelt floors.

That robust abstinence singes
hairs on the arm —

hurts. Happiness. Friendship.
Mere words. I promise

myself ferocious alrightness
instead of asking; instead

of lying on a seesaw.
Newspapers never lie.

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Bremer

February 13, 2008

Dudes,

Here’s a run down of what I’ve been up to.

Working at the museum has been quite painless and somewhat rewarding. The museum has about 6000 items. From vintage holdens and triumphs to rabbit traps, to massive blacksmith forge blowers, to the nails they make out of the moulds. The museum is broken up into different buildings. One section of the museum is a series of rooms: a saddlery, a carpenter’s room and a blacksmiths room. Tomorrow I’ll complete the blacksmith’s room, bringing the 1200 odd items of the BS room and carpenters room to a close. It is hoped that by next Thursday, I would have finished the 500 odd items of the Saddlery to a close.

A normal day I ride 5 kms to the museum. I mark and measure as many items as I can before the owner comes down (he can see my bike from his kitchen). I might try to photograph them as well, but usually that has to wait until afterwards. When Max comes down and asks: ‘What do you know?’ And I respond with the question ‘How are you?’ and he answers: ‘No use bloody complaining’ we get into it.

Max’s great grandfather first settled here in the 1850s after travelling around the south west for a while. The majority of the collection, or, shall I say, the collection is built around many of the old/antiquated tools and relics that date before the 1900’s. It’s interesting to entertain touching something that someone relied upon 150 years ago, but you soon get over it.

With sheets of paper separated into lined categories of name, item number, description, marks, dates, materials, dimensions, condition, importance we fill out sheets and sheets of these things until either Max or I get bored of it. With the sheets of paper I return home, sit in front of the computer and enter all the information. I’m supposed to do supporting research on the net to fill out the descriptions, but thus far I haven’t had great access to the net and also I haven’t really had enough time. Each item takes about 10 minutes each, give or take 2 or 3 mins. Today I completed item number 1119. Also I’m trying to get through as many items at this stage so I can do the research when I return to Perth to maintain an income while studying.

The first two weeks I was really emotional. For me, being in a beautiful place can be quite calming, but it also has ambivalent undercurrents. I’ll be standing on the beach, walking along the estuary startling 40 or so massive black swans that leave the white back of their feathers in a swath of stirred water, or Ill be watching the silhouette of the wind turbine in front of a rising Cajun moon, strips of dark clouds across the front of it. Or ill be half cut riding my bike in pitch black down a hill as fast as I can, the wind of the southern ocean pushing me faster while shitting myself that kangaroos might jump out in front of me, drunk enough not to care.

hood point

Yeah these moments bring about great bliss, sometimes what I might even call pure bliss. Freedom and the giving in and the letting go. The physical release of the mental pushing against the deliberate and accidental hurt of the hurtful events of the world. Acceptance of loss and no longer sharing. Sharing the loss with a tiger snake as it slithers over the hot road. Sharing the loss in the gain of a few runs, or a group huddle of cricketers after someone has taken a catch they made harder for themselves but dropping it the first time and snaffling it the second. There’s no thought there, but it’s made all the more meaningful when you’ve had the chance to be genuine and sincere with one another hitherto.

Working at the museum has been good, getting back into using the computer to make money. I’ve been thinking about uni a lot; gearing myself up mentally for the discipline required. I going to try to not squander this year, which should set me up nicely for the final semester in 2009.