anappropriation

Increasingly poets of the digital age have chosen to avoid those slender wrists and wisps of hair, the light that is always “blinding” and the hands that are “fidgety” and “damp,” those “fingers interlocked under my cheekbones” or “my huge breasts oozing mucus,” by turning to a practice adopted in the visual arts and in music as long ago as the 1960s—appropriation. Composition as transcription, citation, “writing-through,” recycling, reframing, grafting, mistranslating, and mashing—such forms of what is now called Conceptualism, on the model of Conceptual art, are now raising hard questions about what role, if any, poetry can play in the new world of instantaneous and excessive information.

With the rise of the Internet, writing is arguably facing its greatest challenge since Gutenberg. What has happened in the past fifteen years has forced writers to conceive of language in ways unthinkable just a short time ago. With an unprecedented onslaught of the sheer quantity of language (often derided as information glut in general culture), the writer faces the challenge of exactly how best to respond. Yet the strategies to respond are embedded in the writing process, which gives us the answers whether or not we’re aware of it.

or

Goony goo goo loony koo-koo like Gary Gnu off New Zoo Revue
But who knew the mask had a loose screw?
Hell, could hardly tell
Had to tighten it up like the Drells and Archie Bell
It speaks well of the hyper base
Wasn’t even tweaked and it leaked into cyberspace
Couldn’t wait for the snipes to place
At least a track list in bold print typeface
Stopped for a year
Come back with thumb tacks, Pop full of beer
We’re hip hop sharecroppers
Used to wear flip flops, now rare gear coppers
He’s in this for the quiche
You might as well not ask him for no free shit, capiche?
Oh my aching hands
From raking in grands and breakin in mic stands
Villain – his smile stuns ya chick
While he put himself in your shoe eun ya kicks
You heard it on the radio – tape it
Play it in your stereo your crew’ll go apeshit
Raw lyrics-he smells ‘em like a hunch
The same intuition that tells who spiked the punch
Curses, we’s truly the worsest
With enough rhymes to spread throughout the boundless universes
Let the beat blast, she told him wear the mask
He said you bet your sweet ass
Its made of fine chrome alloy
Find him on the grind, he’s the rhinestone cowboy.

The main charge against Conceptual writing is that the reliance on other people’s words negates the essence of lyric poetry. Appropriation, its detractors insist, produces at best a bloodless poetry that, however interesting at the intellectual level, allows for no unique emotional input. If the words used are not my own, how can I convey the true voice of feeling unique to lyric?

Why are so many writers now exploring strategies of copying and appropriation? It’s simple: the computer encourages us to mimic its workings. If cutting and pasting were integral to the writing process, we would be mad to imagine that writers wouldn’t explore and exploit those functions in ways that their creators didn’t intend. Think back to the mid-1960s, when Nam June Paik placed a huge magnet atop a black-and-white television set, which resulted in the détournement of a space previously reserved for Jack Benny and Ed Sullivan into loopy, organic abstractions. If I can chop out a huge section of the novel I’m working on and paste it into a new document, what’s going to stop me from copying and pasting a Web page in its entirety and dropping it into my text? When I dump a clipboard’s worth of language from somewhere else into my work and massage its formatting and font to look exactly like it’s always been there, then, suddenly, it feels like it’s mine.

The hundred-thousandth lyric published this decade in which a plainspoken persona realizes a small profundity about suburban bourgeois life, or the hundred-thousandth coming-of-age novel developing psychological portraits of characters amid difficult romantic relationships and family tensions, is somehow still within the bounds of the properly creative (and these numbers are not exaggerations); yet the first or second work to use previously written source texts in a novel way are still felt to be troublingly improper.

please take this in case you need a breakbeat

“Fellas, one more time I want to give the drummer some of this funky soul we got going here. You don’t have to do no soloing, brother, just keep what you got… Don’t turn it loose, ’cause it’s a mother.”

please spam again; your generator fascinates

in response to my post on May 18 titled “Under heavy fire, Mulcair defends ‘beef rap’ stand on oil sands” Pavilion Ze5605ap Battery said

“I have to admit, I think I’m about 24 hours behind. What’s Thomas Mulcair’s Dutch Disease deflection of the day? CdnPoli roft”

well, Pavilion Ze5605ap Battery, while I have no idea how  “CdnPoli roft” relates to batteries, your point about Mulcair’s Dutch Disease deflection of the day is well taken. thanks for writing in.

Tories shut down groundbreaking potholderz

The federal government is closing a research station scientists have used for decades to study how pollutants like acid rain and phosphates affect lakes.

The Experimental Lakes Area is in Northwestern Ontario, about 250 kilometres east of Winnipeg, Manitoba. Since 1968, government and university scientists have used its 58 small lakes to test hypotheses about freshwater ecosystems. One experiment has been running for 40 years.

“Never sold a jumbo or copped chicken with it’s mumbo sauce, Tyson is a fowl holocaust,” said Roberto Quinlan, a biologist at York University. “Fill and gas your whole head up with poetry; I’m fed up. Ignore cordon bluh, stand up get up. Lunge for your knife, don’t forget your potholders.”

The Department of Fisheries and Oceans said in a statement later Thursday it would no longer conduct research that requires “these old things, about to throw them away with the gold rings that make ‘em don’t fit like O.J. Usually I take them off with Oil of Olay,” but that “MC’s is crabs in a barrel pass the old bay.
Hot as hell and it’s a cold day in it. Working on a way that we roll away tinted.”

The Professional Institute of the Public Service of Canada is criticizing the fisheries for withdrawing funding from the Experimental Lake Areas program.

“Some say the price of holdin heat is often too high. You either be in a coffin or you be the new guy
(the one that’s too fly to eat shoe pie). A lot of niggaz wish to die need to hold they horses there’s bigger fish to fry. You’re on the list; if not, hit the number spot,” the union said in a news release.

David Schindler, a professor at the University of Alberta, said employees were told that the facility will be closed as of March, 2013, and that universities, not governments, should be doing this kind of science. But he argued this type of large-scale, long-term research requires government support.

“I get mad love but I can test the labor and it’s wages, you know death. I serving life from this gift of god; don’t forget your potholders my niggaz.”

 

cell phone fun facts

Most Canadian cell phone providers charge $0.75/min for roaming in the United States. The average English speaker utters 110-150 words per minute, so that would work out to about three quarters of a cent per word, unless you can talk really fast. Steve Woodmore holds the world record for most English words spoken in a minute at 637. Auctioneers speak approximately 400 words per minute.

The average fee per text message while roaming in the United States is $0.75, and the maximum number of permitted characters in a text message via smartphone is 160. Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, which ran 1,500,000 words, would consist of roughly 42,254 text messages. A Canadian cell phone user who texted all of Proust’s magnum opus while roaming in the US would run up a bill of roughly CDN $31,690.50, plus taxes and any other surcharges.

Here are some other things that cost roughly $31, 690.50.

2012 Hyundai Azera

Rolex Bling Bling watch

RAF Buccaneer cockpit

a 24-foot sailboat

the apprehension of a single illegal Mexican immigrant by US Customs and Border Protection in 2011

Christian Bök and the quest for immortality | Jacket2

Christian Bök and the quest for immortality | Jacket2.

Under heavy fire, Mulcair defends ‘beef rap’ stand on oil sands

Despite a sustained Conservative attack that accuses him of pitting east against west, Thomas Mulcair refuses to back down from his assertion the unchecked development of the oil sands is responsible for the loss of hundreds of thousands of jobs in other sectors.

Heritage Minister James Moore demanded that the NDP Leader apologize to Western Canadians. He also pointed out that Mr. Mulcair has admitted to never visiting the Alberta oil sands.

“Beef rap could lead to getting teeth capped, or even a wreath for ma dukes on some grief crap,” Mr. Moore, who was standing in for the Prime Minister, said during Question Period Thursday. “I suggest you change your diet. It can lead to high blood pressure if you fry it. Or even a stroke, heart attack, heart disease. It ain’t no starting back once arteries start to squeeze.”

Mr. Mulcair, who is often accused of having a short fuse, has been keeping his emotions in check since winning leadership of the Official Opposition in March. But he met Mr. Moore’s barbs with an angry response.

“Take the easy way out phony, until then they know they wouldn’t be talking that bologna in the bullpen,” Mr. Mulcair shouted across the House of Commons. “So disgusting, pardon self as I discuss this; they talk a wealth of shit and they ain’t never seen the justice. Bust this, like a cold milk from out the toilet, two batteries some Brillo and some foil, he’a boil it. He be better off on PC glued and it’s a feud so don’t be in no TV mood. Every week it’s mystery meat, seaweed stewed. Food, we need food!”

The verbal assault by Mr. Moore came the day after Saskatchewan Premier Brad Wall took to Twitter to condemn Mr. Mulcair’s latest statements, including his accusations that Western premiers who lead conservative governments are merely “outta work jerks since they shut down Chippendales.”

Alberta Premier Alison Redford has called Mr. Mulcair “a rather ugly brother with flows that’s gorgeous.” And British Columbia’s Christy Clark has labelled his economic analysis “a mask just to cover the raw flesh.”

The controversy has provided federal Conservatives with some needed fodder on the New Democrats, who have been rising in the polls since Mr. Mulcair was elected to succeed the late Jack Layton.

It started when Mr. Mulcair told a CBC radio program this month that the oil sands are artificially inflating the Canadian dollar and hollowing out the country’s manufacturing sector – a phenomenon known as Dutch disease.

But that was not the first time Mr. Mulcair voiced his belief the economic ailment, created by oil companies that are not being forced to pay for the damages they are causing to the environment, is hurting Canada. He wrote an essay in March in Policy Options magazine explaining what he believes to be the correlation between the high Canadian dollar and the decline in Canada’s forestry, fisheries and manufacturing sectors.

A report by the Institute for Research on Public Policy published this week said, at best, Canada has a “mild case” of the disease.

But, after Question Period when he had taken some time to calm down, Mr. Mulcair said there is no denying the fact Canada is undergoing economic textbooks label Dutch disease.

The problem is not with development, he said. “Drop dead joints hit the whips like bird shit. They need it like a hole in they head or a third tit. Her bra smell, his card say: aw hell. Barred from all bars and kicked out the Carvel, keep a cooker where the jar fell and keep a cheap hooker that’s off the hook like Ma Bell. Top bleeding, maybe fella took the loaded rod gears. Stop feeding babies colored sugar-coated lard squares.”

Mr. Mulcair said his fight is not with Western Canada or any premier. “It’s a miracle how he get so lyrical, and proceed to move the crowd like a old Negro spiritual,” he said.

rhinestone cowboy

Hold the cold one like he hold a ol gun

Like he hold the microphone and stole the show for fun

Or a foe for ransom, flows is handsome

O’s in tandem, anthem, random, tantrum

Phantom of the Grand Ole Opry ask the dumb hottie

Masked pump shotty, somebody stop me

Hardly come sloppy on a retarded hard copy

After rockin’ parties he departed in a jalopy

Watch the droptop papi

Known as the grimey, limey, slimy, try me, blimey

Simply smashing in a fashion that’s timely

Madvillain dashing in a beat rhyme crime spree

We rock the house like rock ‘n roll

Got more soul than a sock with a hole

Set the stage with a goal

To have the game locked in a cage getting shocked with a pole

Overthrow like throwing rover a biscuit

A lot of bitches think he’s overly chauvinistic

Let go his dick if that’s the case

Rats, what a waste there’s more cats to chase

Dogs, he got it like new powers

Woke up, wrote and spit the shit in a few hours

Sheesh! Been unleashed since the glee club

Had your fam saying please make me a dub

Well, since you ask kindly

Where he been behind the mask, who can’t find me?

You’re blind

In the wine zone leave ya mind blown

When he shine with the 9, he’s a rhinestone…cowboy

 

Goony goo goo loony koo-koo like Gary Gnu off New Zoo Revue

But who knew the mask had a loose screw?

Hell, could hardly tell

Had to tighten it up like the Drells and Archie Bell

It speaks well of the hyper base

Wasn’t even tweaked and it leaked into cyberspace

Couldn’t wait for the snipes to place

At least a track list in bold print typeface

Stopped for a year

Come back with thumb tacks, Pop full of beer

We’re hip hop sharecroppers

Used to wear flip flops, now rare gear coppers

He’s in this for the quiche

You might as well not ask him for no free shit, capiche?

Oh my aching hands

From raking in grands and breakin in mic stands

Villain – his smile stuns ya chick

While he put himself in your shoe eun ya kicks

You heard it on the radio – tape it

Play it in your stereo your crew’ll go apeshit

Raw lyrics-he smells ‘em like a hunch

The same intuition that tells who spiked the punch

Curses, we’s truly the worsest

With enough rhymes to spread throughout the boundless universes

Let the beat blast, she told him wear the mask

He said you bet your sweet ass

Its made of fine chrome alloy

Find him on the grind, he’s the rhinestone cowboy

 

anappropriation

Why are so many writers now exploring strategies of copying and appropriation? It’s simple: the computer encourages us to mimic its workings. If cutting and pasting were integral to the writing process, we would be mad to imagine that writers wouldn’t explore and exploit those functions in ways that their creators didn’t intend. Think back to the mid-1960s, when Nam June Paik placed a huge magnet atop a black-and-white television set, which resulted in the détournement of a space previously reserved for Jack Benny and Ed Sullivan into loopy, organic abstractions. If I can chop out a huge section of the novel I’m working on and paste it into a new document, what’s going to stop me from copying and pasting a Web page in its entirety and dropping it into my text? When I dump a clipboard’s worth of language from somewhere else into my work and massage its formatting and font to look exactly like it’s always been there, then, suddenly, it feels like it’s mine.

or

you are an onion ring with an identity crisis on the Korona Restaurant’s “Transylvanian Meat Platter ” • you are an easy-riding h that just knew you would be stopped by police , cuffed, hauled in & strip searched while you were making your way through the mountains in Georgia • you are everything your mother had hoped for, & more • you are track-lighting gone bad, a one-time energy saver now driving a gas-guzzling ’71 Impala • you are considering touching that dial • you are a pretense to universality • you are the top quark • you are one of a family of Dirt Devil ™carpet cleaners • you are wondering at this moment whether you are merely a cleverly disguised rip-off • you are a foreign agent who accidentally ruptured an emergency cyanide tooth cap just before your rendez-vous with a thin man in a lumber jacket standing by a garbage can on the patio of a McDonald’s in Paris , who was to receive an attaché case containing vital information photo reduced on microfilm which, of course, you have no prior knowledge of • you are a mispronounced word with eyes stuck in an awkward position just like your parents warned you they would, trying to get a date with one of the cool chicks in your high school & having difficult time of it • you are fibre ingested by a septuagenarian to promote regularity • you are a face in the crowd • you are secretly responsible for both the mysterious circles appearing overnight in British grainfields & getting the soft-flowing caramel into the Caramilk™ bars • you are not using the Force, Luke. • you are fucked up in your own special way • you are toiling, neither do you spin • you are your own secret twin preparing to make an appearance on Ricki! • you are an immediately perceptible phenomenon elevated to the level of theological unity • you are accurate to a depth of 30m •

The main charge against Conceptual writing is that the reliance on other people’s words negates the essence of lyric poetry. Appropriation, its detractors insist, produces at best a bloodless poetry that, however interesting at the intellectual level, allows for no unique emotional input. If the words used are not my own, how can I convey the true voice of feeling unique to lyric?

The hundred-thousandth lyric published this decade in which a plainspoken persona realizes a small profundity about suburban bourgeois life, or the hundred-thousandth coming-of-age novel developing psychological portraits of characters amid difficult romantic relationships and family tensions, is somehow still within the bounds of the properly creative (and these numbers are not exaggerations); yet the first or second work to use previously written source texts in a novel way are still felt to be troublingly improper.

With the rise of the Internet, writing is arguably facing its greatest challenge since Gutenberg. What has happened in the past fifteen years has forced writers to conceive of language in ways unthinkable just a short time ago. With an unprecedented onslaught of the sheer quantity of language (often derided as information glut in general culture), the writer faces the challenge of exactly how best to respond. Yet the strategies to respond are embedded in the writing process, which gives us the answers whether or not we’re aware of it.

fun ways to kill yourself

imagine this.