28 June 2007

Po-Mo Essay Generator

Behold! the Post-Modernism Essay Generator, the secret tool used by thousands of professors working in publish-or-perish institutions.

More than once while doing time at Pepsi State University I realized the 'critical' texts I was reading were absolute schlock... structurally coherent, yes, but that was where it ended. And now I know how those texts were written.

09 June 2007

Cool Words

or Aeon Iota

A cool word is abscond, I said
to which Stephen responded with timepiece

Yes, an oxymoronic compound, I wrote
and we thought about this

02 February 2007

IKEA Job Interview




For those who've ever purchased from IKEA, you'll understand this better than most. The most ironic thing about IKEA products is that I've never needed to consult with their assembly instructions (very easy to assemble), yet they come in more languages than you can imagine.

18 January 2007

Charles Baudelaire:
Two De Profundis Poems


DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI

O my sole love, I pray thee pity me
From out this dark gulf where my poor heart lies,
A barren world hemmed in by leaden skies
Where horror flies at night, and blasphemy.

For half the year the sickly sun is seen,
The other half thick night lies on the land,
A country bleaker than the polar strand;
No beasts, no brooks, nor any shred of green.

There never was a horror which surpassed
This icy sun's cold cruelty, and this vast
Night like primaeval Chaos; would I were

Like the dumb brutes, who in a secret lair
Lie wrapt in stupid slumber for a space...
Time creeps at so burdensome a pace.

(translation by Sir John Squire)


OBSESSION

You forests, like cathedrals, are my dread :
You roar like organs. Our curst hearts, like cells
Where death forever rattles on the bed,
Echo your de Profundis as it swells.

My spirit hates you, Ocean ! sees and loathes
Its tumults in your own. Of men defeated
The bitter laugh, that's full of sobs and oaths,
Is in your own tremendously repeated.

How you would please me, Night ! without your stars
Which speak a foreign dialect, that jars
On one who seeks the void, the black, the bare.

Yet even your darkest shade a canvas forms
Whereron my eye must multiply in swarms
Familiar looks of shapes no longer there.

(translation by Roy Campbell)