March 26th, 2013 / 2:55 pm
Craft Notes & Vicarious MFA



The Internet taught children to design themselves in a white space. Now, they are to create in that space. This burden. Laughter.

Appropriation was the first mimetic. The late remix, post-DJ culture of the 20whatevers sidevolved into a romance of the weird and origin-less. Repeat, offend, react. Horse eBooks, PT Cruiser, drugs, fetishes about whispering, shitting, looking into a new blank digital void. But it lasted only as long a generational breath. Weird Twitter rose and fell like a bird in a harsh wind.

Music had been like this, for a few years, when music production became free with any expensive computer. Was Nathan Williams not a sort of weird twitter, phased out of punk so as to appear totally original, freshly rancid, cultural buoyant? A few sub-genres had this playful weirdness, this digi-abstraction. It barely menaced the margins of culture, before liquifying.


The latest Twitter comme poetry technology is the word painting, the absurd poetry of quick vernacular, caddy, open-ended retorts.

Imagine that poetry could become a studio art.

Image an OS desktop as a studio, imagine your space to create. White walls, high ceilings, no mass or time.

Sit quietly and wait for a violent spasm of cool. It’s isn’t about why, or intentions, or impressing yourself.

You are the eCig champion truth sayer, deliciously distracted by sex, food, and malaise. You only speak when spoken through. This is gestural poetry. Enter the mood artist.

The New York Timeless has written lately about the primacy of mouth feel and corporate food art. Companies want to know about feelings. People want to have them. Poets will invent them, out of pure, lush incompetence. Casual compulsion. Gestural Poetry is flavorful because it cannot be focus grouped. Its political and economic inscrutability is excused; because it is the pure truth of now, the expressive selfness, uncompromising, whimsical in the old sense. Whim (v). Sip. Puff. Radically boring, with the kind of motion that means very little, to so many.

They are your words to ignore, to hold, to menace with attitude. Send it off to CMS.

We minted new pale blogs for an unfolding era of therapeutic screen breaks.






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