Sunday, November 16, 2014

XVIII. Tirer les plans sur la comète




XVIII. Tirer les plans sur la comète

Searching the ticket vendor's clubbed fingers in the petty cash—Toward a matinee that speaks
To us—Handed the stubs by the same wrenching the sound-proof curtain that instead kindles primal orders
Traversed end-to-end under the rose of explosion-proof aisle lights, as the real boat procession at Philae
Recognizing ourselves; again, through what was, relayed through Depression cast plaster expanded from non-extant theaters—After this evening’s newscasts
Of coat-hanger turns, for an oblique landing on the outward silex of comet P67—Onward, to Kundera's Identity (1997)
Where the surest gaze isolates, writhes, draws sustenance, to endure transits of Alien (1979) and Bonnie and Clyde (1967)—

What we thought to create here, steeps into a space where the gull wings rise, and Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
Forge an acquaintance—He stoops to bypass the Ford’s ignition lock, and she throws on something before her closet's bespoke
Residence where cotyledons germinate up to the eaves—Never mind the cocoons, the chestbusters, the identity
Decried by Mother in the letters of the gene’s coding strand; they were stashed in the unmentionables, and their far-flung order
Ruled the streets—Isis screens for a rare actinomycete hiding in plain sight within her consort’s trees, to vouchsafe the Opener-of-the-ways, and all new arrivals at Philae
Champollion signified from Rosetta’s seven Demotic-Coptic equivalents—Birth houses of the Nubian goddesses, mammisi as subverted newscasts

Of Trajan’s second century kiosk with papyrus capitals—Without revealing the Southern wall's name, Isis runs green in expectation; to bring Osiris around again, as it is done with lesser spells of media newscasts—
The Barrow gang snap with the Texas Ranger wherein Clyde Barrow finally sees himself, and then as Bonnie and Clyde (1967)—
In ballad meter decided by painted tin tiles and Anchor hocking salt and pepper—During the comet’s 12-hour day, Philae
Receives an hour and a half of daylight, where the correspondent submits a signal, to a neurotoxic fibril, or fiber optic, and speaks
Of interests in their literacies picking up at the rates of change—In her milk-white signature, Isis thought identity
Laid in whorls of the human finger; the reflection, while remaining acoustically transparent, in the falcon’s eye she made herself—Her, the preposition above, always above, the unchanged ordering

Lunar rilles, which on Earth contain kimberlite, arranged as the thermoset plastics on this ship ordering
Diamond's C6 carbon-chair units in three dimensions—If, to lighten the valise, Bonnie turns her windup shepherdess at the moment Clyde’s shades spring a lens—Using off-color bars from an emergency newscast
Tonight’s theme is Graham Sutherland’s glades; a tree of all budding clades and probabilities, an abundant treetop canopy filled with bees singing—The identity
Watches winding it into a thorn cross; as a mount for shrike prey, the bare-nailed foreclosure reporting its former occupants rounds, with ordnance courtesy of Bonnie and Clyde (1967)—
Reconstructed on higher ground by photogrammetry, an unspecified name disturbs the nuptials every tenth calendar day at Philae,
Over moonlit brocades of black ice, and a clean copy of Claude Lévi-Strauss’s The Other Face of the Moon (1979-2001), an active judgment speaks

From the bath, and is obliged to an anonymous sender bantering as oneself—This opening into life that speaks
Of its tenuous grasp; making it precious and more circumspect—Gaston Bachelard’s house allows one to dream in peace (1958); alleviating this tendency to order
As each focused chromophore in the antibiotic strain, rifamycin (1967), produces serosanguinous false-sweats—Isis elected not to share this with Thoth, the compulsive scribe, where the first cataract isolated Philae
Cultivating space between daily lives—The machine with a phallic head exits through the hatch, and newcasts
Go unwatched—Safest paths are through evasions we create, not until Rilke’s angel entering her room / (remember) was the cause that startled her (1902), by any moon phase available from StarDate;  any day, records were being kept, the pre-Chaldean, or from 1951—From Identity (1998) Then the camera pulls back and we see the body entire, lying on a small bed: it is a baby—Roy Thornton; serving a five-year stretch, heard of the death of his wife, of Bonnie and Clyde (May 23, 1934)


From an ambush in Bienville Parish, thought she strayed from childlessness—The birds taking off speak to us, who were once inured, reviewing Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
From home—Newscasts hone in on Rosetta's OSIRIS wide-angle camera, while the solar panels on Philae
Reengage the drill bit to the core obsession exceeding a decade—Magnitudes on the order of Identity (1998) were resettled, beyond the LAMP solution stacks, and the fitting we mercifully turn on, above our heads.

7 comments:

Σφιγξ said...

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2015/03/20/science/space/rosetta-comet-photos.html?_r=0

Σφιγξ said...

"[...] where in department store cameras watch you, where people constantly jostle you, where a person cannot even make love without being quizzed the next day by researchers and poll-takers ('Where do you make love?' 'How many times a week?' 'With or without a condom?'), how is it possible that someone could slip out of surveillance and disappear without a trace? Yes, she certainly does know that program with its terrifying title, Lost to Sight, the only program that undoes her with its genuineness, its sadness, as if an intervention from some other realm has forced television to give up all its frivolity; in grave tones, the host appeals to the audience to come forward with any evidence that could help find the missing person. At the end of the program they show pictures, one after the other, of all the Lost of Sight people discussed in previous programs; some have been unfindable for as long as eleven years.

She imagines losing Jean-Marc that way someday. Never knowing, reduced to imagining anything and everything. She could not even kill herself, because suicide would be a betrayal, a refusal to wait, a loss of patience. She would be condemned to live until the end of her days in unrelenting horror."

Linda Asher's translation of Milan Kundera's Identité (1998)

Σφιγξ said...

Par-is / Par Ys

https://www.christies.com/img/LotImages/2018/PAR/2018_PAR_16169_0107_000(ithell_colquhoun_la_cathedrale_engloutie093452).jpg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVMGwPDP-Yk

Σφιγξ said...

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/mysterious-planet-like-objects-in-the-orion-nebula-are-baffling-astronomers-180983005/

Exercise 91.

Σφιγξ said...

The trip to the processor in Lexington was interesting.

Found in hunting and gathering mode:

https://images.app.goo.gl/sZ1efwR2xLG7QbJZ9

Σφιγξ said...

When I think of the last line, the light fitting above our heads, I think of this:

https://whitney.org/collection/works/9204

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kodachrome

Σφιγξ said...

https://books.google.com/books?id=3uv3iRGXjH4C&pg=PA81&dq=photographing+red&hl=en&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&source=gb_mobile_search&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjxxeOczpCGAxUpvokEHde6BxU4ChDoAXoECAYQAw#v=onepage&q=photographing%20red&f=false

https://photography-colleges.com/national-geographic-and-photography/