aglimpseof 13’s primary source text is the Journal of Multiple I’s , a collage text made of poems, tweets, articles and journals by poets, writers and sound artists, and also some artworks by visual artists and performers. In order of appearance (starting from wed_09) they are: Antonin Artaud, Julia Cohen, Eve Couturier, Julia Chiang, Kathy Acker, Gertrude Stein, Nicole Brossard, xTx, Susan Sontag, David Jhave Johnston, Luna Miguel, Amy Gerstler, Claire Fontaine, Akasegawa Genpei, Derek Mong, Hiromi Itō, Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, Ashley Obscura. Please click SOURCES for detailed information about each entry of the Journal. There are some disparate phrases too.

SOURCE TEXT I: The Journal Of Multiple I’s edited by Dimitra Ioannou


· the poem Multiplicity by Matina L. Stamatakis is linked to the words “The journal of multiple I’s.”

· the artwork TEXTiLE by Matina L. Stamatakis is linked to the words “The journal of multiple I’s.”

· the digital drawing What? by Michalis Zacharias is linked to the words “private 

· the artwork Contemplation by Amalia Vekri is linked to the words “blueberry,” “owls,” and “time.”

· the artwork Taking Ariel For Granted by Nana Sachini is linked to the words “I prefer my graves to be metaphorical.”

· the artwork Reader Without Book by Asako Masunouchi is linked to the words “Reader without book.”

· the prose poem People Staring at Menus by Amanda Ackerman is linked to the words “sterilization, “seawater,” “people are well disciplined from.”

· the photo The Way Out by Aris Michalopoulos is linked to the words “The way out.”

· the prose poem In Pursuit of a Bird by Yoko Danno is linked to the words “owls,” “brain.”

· the prose poem fri-01 by Sophie Mayer is linked to the words “Why I despise my self so in my dreams? I fear I have never used my body. (My dreams tell me…).”

· the prose poem See What It’s Like In The Morning by Ed Garland is linked to the words “I devoured a bird,” “there is no ‘me’ to speak of.”

· the photograph The Ocean Neither Rises nor Falls by Panayiotis Lamprou is linked to the words “the οcean neither rises nor falls.”

· the drawing and text Leviathan by Victoria Deliyianni is linked to the word “flesh.”

· the artwork Dimitris Ioannou by Dimitris Ioannou is linked to the words “The rainbow in the brain.”

SOURCE TEXT II: The poem “Multiplicity” by Matina L. Stamatakis.


· the photograph To Do With Wild Growth Into Itself by Brett Skarbakka is linked to the words “To do with wild growth into itself.”



private rituals


All things touch me only insofar as they affect my flesh, insofar as they coincide with it, and only at that point where they arouse my flesh, not beyond.

The pie in my face, still blueberry
I think.


I prefer my graves to be metaphorical.


I saw

a menu with plat du jour suggestions of banalities: memory loss, stutter on selected words, sentence minced so fine it has neither beginning nor end, punctuation of digitized effects, random phenomena, it isn’t whom or what I think I see, reference points slipping away, anonymous role, de-indentification, de-territorialization, or try it with this spelling: “sterilization,” arm pull-ups without a gym bar, mono-color blue flat screen without signal, bodies crawling along a rail, to live happy, let’s live hidden, virtual line, mythomania in the world of references, slipping lies, two hands saying: I’m coming, wait, don’t move, I’ll be right back, reader without a book, flat voices, no sequential chronology, entryways and multiple exits included.


Julia Chiang, The Way Out, 2012. Eric Firestone Gallery.
Julia Chiang, The Way Out, 2012. Eric Firestone Gallery.


I want to return to my birth.
There is no such thing.
I want to return to my birth.
.a birthday was added..


It’s late. Imagine imagination like a mother tongue that has just had its first orgasm.
Unnerving, isn’t it?

Owls screech in my throat.


Yesterday I Cut Myself With Blood and Watched It Leave My Body and All I Could Do Is Agree

Let go.
Let go.
Really go.


Why do I despise myself so in my dreams?
I fear I have never used my body. (My dreams tell me…)


i try to live my life as if anyone cld read my inbox, steal my phone, hack my server, read my bookmarks, have my job & maybe take my life.



I dreamt that I caught
flying sparrows.

their little round bellies
with an index finger.

their gray legs
to clean off the sand.

I devoured a bird
on its last song.

On its last attempt
to fly,

it caressed my stomach.


I’m a festival of cells.


Claire Fontaine, Gather In Multiple Groups, 2011. Metro Pictures.
Claire Fontaine, Gather In Multiple Groups, 2011. Metro Pictures.


In the depths of night
So as not to be suspected by anyone
With a scalpel, one by one
Under the swimming beach’s shower
Careful not to do them any harm
I cut off the cells of my body.
My consciousness evaporated bit by bit
And the ocean expressionlessly welcomes in
The little seawater that runs off.
Even with me added to the ocean
The ocean neither rises nor falls.
And I am in there, but
There is no ‘me’ to speak of.
I wonder if you understand.
I am in there, but
There is no ‘me’ to speak of.

But I was just a bit mistaken.

The error of
A too proper
Illiterate virgin.
With too careful preparation
I chose night
And so my becoming seawater and joining with the ocean
Was suspected by no one.
Humans are well disciplined from the time of birth,
Are busy growing up, so
Only while swimming in the sea, is there an ocean.
I mistook the other’s flesh.

Flesh prefers the ocean to humans.



The Somatosensory Cortex.

The sound of teeth rubbing together: “nerves.”


I began to discover the names of things, that is not discover the names but discover the things the things to see the things to look at and in doing so I had of course to name them not to give them new names but to see that I could find out how to know that they were there by their names or by replacing their names. And how was I to do so. They had their names and naturally I called them by the names they had and in doing so having begun looking at them I called them by their names with passion and that made poetry.


Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, Mot Caché, 1978.


I would like to quietly make love to the sun. Trade in all thought for luminosity. Dip my tired little self into void at the center of time.

kisses like bullets, soap-flavored kisses, kisses from lips that feel like wet calf’s- brains.

on the clit of the galactic pussy.

The rainbow in the brain.