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Interface Issue 09
{begin}
inter\face 9
Winter 1994
inter\face is:
--------------
Its saying continually / in process...a _call_ -ing,
or ping, perhaps...a wonder (-ing, out loud) . a node
(a nest (in this language niche...[anew] conversation
mode (abode
a dreaming awake (of a familiar place
djd
***********************************************************************
Contributors:
-------------
Ellen White
David Joseph Dowker
Stacy Tartar
Justin T McHale
Lenore Weiss
Ayli Lapkoff
Benjamin H. Henry
***********************************************************************
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----------------------------------------
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-----------------
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-------
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----
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America On Line:
----------------
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Select: Palmtop Paperbacks
Select: Electronic Articles and Newsletters
***********************************************************************
Ellen White
ewrook@nysfirm.org
------------------
Voicegrade Lines
----------------
Do you know that sometimes I am masturbating
when we're talking on the phone?
'Sometimes, when we talk, he said, on the phone'
(I try out the lines)
'I am masturbating. ' (No)
'I'm masturbating.' (No)
'I masturbate. Did you know?'
They say that hate it when I use the phone
They say that hate it when I'm saying 'things'
'Testicles' Like 'testicles'
Considerings in the car Mall mutterings
'Sometimes when we're on the phone'
He said He didn't ask
/: Whisper /: Open up your lips
(to continue click text area)
'On the phone'
He said 'Is anybody listening?'
/: Whisper whisper /: Thing /: Whose thing
'Did you know I masturbate'
he said
'Sometimes when we're talking on the phone?'
You have such clean and soapy hair
Tomato soupy soapy hair
We'll kissed and made up you'll be glad to know
Someone was deleted
Acknowledging your call
This is your calling
Channel whisper
Chatting whisper
/: You're on
/: On you
He said 'Is anybody reading'
(N)onstop Q(uit)
'Not at work'
Your hair Your lips
'Not when I'm sick'
When I pick up
The loudest dial
tone
'Sometimes I masturbate when I talk on the phone'
(T)esticles
I'm right here honey
I'm right here
'Sometimes' /:pick it up 'goes where?'
=======================================================================
David Joseph Dowker
david.dowker@canrem.com
-----------------------
_from_ MACHINE LANGUAGE
-----------------------
main (frame
shift / intension _trans-humanize_ . nexus: functional
identity . define ALTERNATE EGO POSITION ((the image
is organism; global, intercranial . the Giant
Aperiodic Crystal))
origin: outside
the system, the Signature
encoded in the double
helix, the twist is
36 degrees, the covalent
backbone is a chain of
beads (10 nucleotide pairs per
revolution) the message
to be translated by way of
the 3 into 4 x 4 x 4 = 64,
the number of
the penetralium, hidden
dragon
procedure NO-THING . the id-entity
((our simulacrum, androgyne
monogene . "He do the machine
in different voices"))
terminus: the river
map, of the blood
and environs, parts
as yet unknown, mundane
terrain, operant neural
pattern, the screen is
made out of words,
the machine is
man,
the projection
*
THE NUMBER WHICH DOES NOT EXIST
as such,
a dissonance
in the valence of
absence
from the heart of a statue
extracted
g o l d e n
sun hung low
(wing caught
morning
's rising
) glow
through
grey
cloud
s e c t i o n
the colour of that
vacuum
cleaner,
o converter, her
shoulder, refrigerator
sounds like crickets, catalytic
making noise upon
*
what signs exchanged in darkness, crossed
and uncrossed, folded and furrowed, flashed
back and forth with mirrors or magnetic
tape: sparks across the gap, a handful of
that radical moisture drowned as so many
voices, from Olduvai to the water's edge
*
"To the Lady of the Labyrinth,
a jar of honey."
Here,
in Her hive-shaped
ghosthouse, hewn
from a hollow, huddled
in the heat of
the sweet dark heart
of Her, a humming
in neural circuits,
harmonics cluster
around a single flower,
hung-up on Her
absence, lack
of a thread to
the argument. She
pours honey in my ear,
combs sparks from Her
amber hair and says,
"The double axe is
a butterfly."
*
in thrall to
the cult of Her
verdant
inertia,
virtual chlorophyll
immersion program,
neural
foliage
in fever blossoms,
photons
strobe
through the leaves,
deciduous
_dream
machine_ these
c e l l s
rejoice in
Her cunning
lingual
sub-
version,
She
hypostasizes,
gorgeously
ascendant
as the azure
will attest
*
SOLITUDE PASSAGE
Plant life or subliminal cocoon.
Refuge in dissolution. Pools
of empty musing, space between spaces, lace
of the infinite.
Radiometer
spins in the infra-sun. Insect motor
ticks sentient rhythm.
Dream pulse domain...light-force within
leaf-green veins...suggestive of butterfly
wing gradient.
The tree frog barks
and the fractals bloom.
Imagine: A-space...the n-cube . a room in what would be
a perfect blue chunk of sky. Birds fly through this
hypothetical absence. Fuzzy logic clouds to sleep upon
as if solid air.
Now here. Node to node. Cathode rays embrace.
Explicit lyricism. Beryl in the golden Loom
...coded calls to the O-zone.
Glisten.
*
Command _illumination_
from a handful of chattering
micro-chips.
Shift/click
on the dragon
icon.
Enter inter/linear.
Computer-generated Satori patterns. Cellular automata swarm
through auricular corridors. Retinal windows dilate.
Geodesic blue hydrangea . opulent globular clusters . amassed
efflorescence . (space burgeons forth) . enormous amaryllis
. crimson hibiscus with ornate proboscis
Survival essentials
_green eyes
of Gaia_.
Totem program run
_mammals_
from the arboreal dawn in Gondwana
to the stars.
=======================================================================
Stacy Tartar
Stacy.Tartar@launchpad.unc.edu
232 N. Kingshighway #616
St. Louis Mo 63108-1248
(314)367-4425
-------------
POOL, JUNE
----------
I fried. Literally fried. Son of a bitch!
10 seconds made everything tight, crisp.
Youth and age in the same blazing sizzle--Wow!
Existential.
I am here, said my skin to the sun.
You have travelled 9,000,000,000 miles
And reached the outer edges of me.
Cool.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PIG GENERATION
------------------
"Dead baby boomers," said he.
"That's funny!" said she.
"But not so funny it isn't subtle," she slipped in carefully.
"Nothing subtle here!" he cried--
"Dead! Dead! Dead! Pennies stuffed inside their eyes!"
"Potato Eyes fried," she replied,
"Denied the prize."
And they sighed. Then put on their boxing gloves.
"Dead baby boomers," he recried--
"Road kill, fecal matter freeze dried--"
"Softly," she complied, "we must not put them to the test."
Now lay that shit to rest. Don't fuck with generation X.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
FAT MRS. RILEY
--------------
Stupid girl, posing--
Melon-headed pony--
Bursting your sides.
Flexing, reflexing torso
Man-killing back muscle bicep tri-curl
Stretching.
Who built you to be so imposing?
Some guy--
Some capitalist--
Some guilder from the dust age
In his mother-rage.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
EVERYWHERE STIFFS
-----------------
Local news, cop-plots invade daydreams,
Gun down stiffs at Dairy Queens.
Every day my mind composes scenes,
Mayhem, murder, piercing screams.
Everywhere stiffs.
Midday park, the
Yellow sky not dark,
Singing larks--then--
Saber-toothed slice
And dead 'neath bark!
Everywhere stiffs.
Rush hour highway driving back,
Sudden hit, snipe atttack!
Veering, skidding, head-on smack,
Exploding mushroom, metal flack,
And fourteen killed, right on track.
Everywhere stiffs.
Market, waiting there on line,
Shiver shoots up-down your spine!
Man in front reveals the sign for
Stick-up, panic, terror-blind.
Everywhere stiffs.
Paranoia, maybe true.
Maybe you're a victim, too.
Or it may be that you will see
A victim
Of me.
Everywhere stiffs.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
HER MOTHER, HERSELF
(Rites of Spring)
-----------------
Green launched--
Jet feet--
Pumping arms--
Flowing hair--
And yellow breeze--
Young--freed--this is no tease--
This--is--easy--
And she keeps on leaving her.
HELPLESS--MINDLESS--EARTHED AND OUT OF BREATH--
THIRTYSOMETHING PALPATATIONS--
She needn't answer--the answer is no--
BLINDED--TANGLED--AWKWARD--TRIPPING--PANICKED--
WANTS TO CRY--NO ONE HELPS--
Herself--new person among people.
=======================================================================
Justin T McHale
jmchale@mason1.gmu.edu
----------------------
ice lulls
---------
time has slowed
a car cracks ice as it passes along the road
depth
viscidity
a car cracks ice as it passes along the road
icicle drips
a car passes (sound: a mighty maw pounded to silence)
the diverse logic of the moon embedded here
a car passes (sound: rationality shredded)
body of ice twitches
a car passes (sound: void ravages lip of air)
the rate of slush
here: the concealment the congestion the gratuity the longing to
loneliness the irrelevancy the rectitude the passing the castration the
concoction the notion the narrative the individual the connotation the
insolence the caution the conscience the circuity the circumference the
additional the longitudinal the careful the dishes the diary the drowning
the parchment the control the catering the coke the dice the dowager
the double-bind
a car passes (a singularity goes down in blue flames)
a crystallized tree
a car passes
subterranean
trapped between the dream of sara and the moment you felt the rain
a car passes
a car passes
a car passes
=======================================================================
Lenore Weiss
lenka@well.sf.ca.us
-------------------
Lenore Weiss is a poet and novelist lusting after a Power Macintosh.
She works in her other life as the editor of the employee newsletter
for the City of Oakland.
Flowerwinkles
-------------
Plant blossoms outside your house
To tame the wild children of broken noses
Who come like hamsters nibbling at your doubt
In gigglebytes up the porch step wearing jumburritos
And cellophane candy wrappers, crinkling them;
French fry spears and play blood splatter,
There's the horn honk, who's a venture success
On the street where it's money and cars that matter.
Give them sweet bouquets as a childhoos reminder
Not to grow up so quickly they forget
How a daisy is a love finger,
Or the honeysuckle a hummingbird's golden trumpet,
Or how, in encapsulated format, they are the seedlings
Of worldwide peace.
=======================================================================
Ayli Lapkoff
av841@freenet.carleton.CA
-------------------------
CIRCLES
-------
I am left fragile as eggshells
When my paint has gone sour, like milk
Drunk before my nightly jailbird escape
A jailbreak back into prison
I am bald in this tower with no doors
Only a window nestled high between clouds
Or pillow, or illusions made of glass
-Enough of gold and feathers
I speak of punishable uncomitted crimes
And stars that turn around themselves
And circles that embrace each other
So close that they merge and spiral
Cannot end, cannot start
Dream not of each other
Dream only of each other.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
SWEET
-----
Silence creeps into my body
And I'm bleeding poetry once again
All over the cherry blossoms
Light as snow
White as snow
Crushed beneath my feet
And this is sugar-quiet.
=======================================================================
Benjamin H. Henry
bh4781@cnsunix.albany.edu
-------------------------
Dreamwork Notes
(two poems of Pierre Joris and Poetics)
---------------------------------------
DREAMS not representation
(but) in magic realms
speaking language not yours
(in)corporate [...] into what you write
as poetry as a discourse
Knowing weather it is a human
THE UNDERWORLD: dragged
through displacements and oddities
looking for that unique thing of the true I
NO POINT IN TIME: [adaption to/thru knowledge]
when you're dead, they tell you so
and you live an ordinary life
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I dreampt the news today
spent my arms alongside
contained within, encased
but drawn away
Supple mitent/latent?
in a vault
the computer
disturbance in the form of disruptance, literal
to purcha(n)ce
talk about you
through "the true eye" [focault]
=======================================================================
Call for Work
Women on the Net(work)
inter\face Electronic Literary Magazine
VOICES
Voices to the left
to the right
near
and far
rise up and be numbered.
Resurrect the voices past and present,
those lost from constant screaming,
those buried in layers of silence.
Summon them to rise as phoenixes
and proclaim
"I am woman." I, am woman.
--Tanya Manning
"Women on the Net(work)" is the focus for inter\face's tenth
issue (coming Spring 1995). This issue is especially dedicated to
providing women writers an electronic forum for the multiplicity of
their voices. Metaphorically the title "Women on the Net(work) stands
for the magazine operating as a net to catch the multiplicity of writings
by women that may typically go unknown.
The search for subjects and forms of discourse are unrestricted.
Whether you write in a "technological/mechanical" voice or
"renaissance/romantic" style, we're interested. Whether your poems or
stories are of topical relevance to politics or race relations, women's
rights or women's magic, sexual orientation or erotica, or anything
unmentioned, we want you to contribute your work.
The criteria for this issue is simple. To preserve the writer's
integrity and promote the writer as publisher, editing of content is
minimal. In the spirit of accepting "contributions" as opposed to
"submissions," we believe in your right as a writer to say whatever
you want to say in the way you want to say it. However, we do ask of
you to limit for publishing fairness your contributions to three separate
pieces. Please send your entries no later than February 14, 1995 to
interfac@cnsunix.albanu.edu. For more information, please contact
Tanya Manning at TM5498@cnsvax.albany.edu.
***********************************************************************
inter\face 9
Winter 1994/95
"The `censor' protects our central system of values, as it does our
physical nervous system by simply cooling off the onset of experience
a great deal. For many people, this cooling system brings on a lifelong
state of psychic *rigor mortis,* or of somnambulism, particularly
observable in periods of new technology." [Marshall McLuhan,
_Understanding Media_]
***********************************************************************
Please distribute this document freely only in its entirety with both
the header and this footer information. For information on specific
pieces contained in inter\face, please contact the individual authors
or interfac@cnsunix.albany.edu. Brought to you by HUB Press, Albany.
========================================================================
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