The Uncontrollable Issue

intro

Uncontrollable apparitions, texts, talks, feelings, incidents. Confront or embrace the uncontrollable, make uncontrollable detours, start addressing all (un)controllable things with wit.

See how the uncontrollable operates in the fascinating works of Emanuela Bianchi, Maria Damon, Alan Sondheim, Mez Breeze, Clive Gresswell, Jane Joritz-Nakagawa, Aadityakrishna Sathish, Olivia Cronk & Philip Sorenson, Matt Schumacher, Christine Stoddard, and Florence Sunnen.

Nemesis is a collaborative work by Emanuela Bianchi, Maria Damon, and Alan Sondheim: “Alan (whom I’ve known since about 1996 when I first encountered his writing online) and I have written several other collaborations. He had been reading about Nemesis’s origins as the goddess of retribution, and proposed that for our next project we write about her. I was all for it. Alan started us off by quoting sections of source material. I responded by elaborating in a more fanciful, lyrical way, and then Alan chopped up the writing by various means: deleting a vowel, subjecting the text to various computer commands, etc. We go back and forth. I mentioned the collaboration to Emanuela Bianchi, who sent me a paragraph she had recently written on the genesis of Nemesis, and Alan and I were so taken with it that we included it as our epigraph. Alan and I share a taste for texts that careen out of control and he has many excellent techniques for making that happen.”

A very bizarre 1987 pirating incident inspired Olivia Cronk & Philip Sorenson to write a “critical/lyric essay” about “faces, transmission, infection, interruption, abrasion, intrusion, translation, similes, meaning, television, inscription, mirrors as anti-allegory, time travel.”

Matt Schumacher’s prose poems/dreams of Thomas De Quincey “contain kennings, drug-world slang, archaic language from the 1800s, and neologisms.”

Furthermore this hybrid uncontrollable narrative includes (visual) poems, photos, digital fiction, things to cherish, and share. Many thanks to all contributors for their bold, unconventional works. Now enjoy.

Dimitra

Emanuela Bianchi, Maria Damon, Alan Sondheim

Nemesis

In the mythical genealogy of Hesiod’s Theogony maternal fecundity is primordial, and yet always remains marked by a certain obscurity. As Nicole Loraux observes, two mothers, Gaia and Night, are daughters of Chaos, the primordial cleft or gap. Night, “aware of nothing but division gave birth – without love – by fission only – to progeny encompassing everything negative in the Greek imagination.” The offspring of Gaia are all the gods, mostly born from a male and female parent, with their active, masculine rivalries, hatreds, and violences, exemplified by the castration of Ouranos by Kronos, and the eventual victory of Zeus over all. Night, on the other hand, will give birth to plural groups of feminine goddess (Hesperides, Fates, Keres, Nereides, Oceanides, Horae, Charites) as well as the well-known abstractions, such as Doom, Death, Age, Nemesis, and Strife. Further, “Strife bore painful Toil and Forgetfulness and Famine and tearful Sorrows, Fightings also, Battles, Murders, Manslaughters, Quarrels, Lying Words, Disputes, Lawlessness and Ruin, all of one nature, and Oath who most troubles men upon earth when anyone willfully swears a false oath.” This propensity for self-splitting is thus rendered an obscure and relentless rumble, an evil and awesomely powerful function, characteristic of a particularly feminine side of genos which masculine, paternal genos must take as its singular duty to subjugate.
Emanuela Bianchi, “Genos Between Nature and Power.”

less _a_.

and less an
incident, becuse of her feelings nemesis (o my private goddess of private emptiness), righteous hincident, bec use hve been h ve inst enemies –my enemies with their breath sweetened with the cloying toxicity of imagined sincerity) pst ted by, the resurgence Atheni st nd n g t outset Peloponnesin Wn W Wr. By brokenness fore and aft, left and right, high and low, by emptiness and brokenness in the starry night 
fifth century r. present, by cant of darkness, depth of kettlehole murk. We all imagine truth; none imagine truth looms.Femina factora, Nemesis weaves truth on her four swords. She constructs a loom of them, warps it and weaves from the lies told by the male gods; she turns their breath-lines into the thinnest thread and makes a gauze of truth. This gauze, when held against the sun, shows a rainbow.

less an incident, than the failure of truth.

The eyes of e, the I of is. The meting of what is owed. Pleased to mete you your measure of metre, of verse, of tears, to turn you into a vessel of wet salt grief. somewhere down there, CHITON is thinking, i’m glad i’m here, i’m glad i’m in the salt walk of the deep byte, maybe i’ll survive, i’ve done it for 10s of 1,000,000s of years, maybe 100s, i don’t want you anywhere near me, nemesis is your business, your impropriety, not mine. go away, i’m grazing rock.

N of negation, M of ocean, S of the deep bite. Corrosion of karmic tumble, over and over, in the salt waves, dashed against the wet sand with repeated vigor. Hurl, and hurl, splattered again. (here the chiton emerges, Cryptochitonstelleri,the giant western and fiery chiton, the platelets, almost trilobitic, monolobotic, holdfast against the splattering, against Nemesis Aura Auracular, Dear Maria, I will not close these parentheses!

Aura Auracular, the breath of speech, the gold of guile. She comes for you, blasting your face with the heat of her gaze.

Around her supple ample dimple body she wears a chiton woven of spun gold, which she bartered from the Fates in exchange for the souls of a few dozen lying men. Aura Auracular, Azure Abomination Nemesis stands upon two giant western fiery chitons, Gumboot and Meatloaf, as they graze the rocks for food. She is half submerged, half hovering above the sea in her motherly wrath. You can see her from a great distance in her billowing shimmering dimpling gold robe.

Nemesis, supreme in her negation of all supremacy, s deserved.[cittion needed] Ld come to me tion Lter, wh ter, w her laughter of whipped fawns and her smile of avenging radiance,
“to give wht is due”,[2] from Proto-Indo-Europet
Proto-Indo-Europe Proto-Indo-Europen nem- c rnessed rcing Grypes
obstinte enemy Aur cing . She, oh flowing liquid honey of melody, te d hd hrnessed r (Griffins)
newly spun robe, gold spun of molten honey, of melody, of stinging nettles, of thistle-down, ge;

to live under a shadow of pleasure. the avenging gun-toter. the slung noose of inevitability.slung lungs, where Chiton lives, now a name for this particular chiton, of which one forms all proper names:

the proper name of the is The.
The proper name of proper is Proper.
The proper name of nemesis is Nemesis.
The proper name of alan is Alan.
The proper name of of is Of.
for which we have Chiton to thank:
The proper name of chiton is Chiton.

She Who breaks the Aura, She Who divides; / ;

She who she who she who breathes at your neckhairs.
she who she who she who reaches for your belt,
she who she who she who undoes your sandal-laces,
she who she who she who trips you in the sand
she who she who she who carves her fate into your skin

then you lso hthe cestus, the following Colossus on his knees hustling clumsily after her, flogged m rri no
then you isolate the censorious overlords, pin them to their sharp words with their sharp tongues and your own sharp swords, all four of them, right through their heartless hearts
fer, for Aurto bl r, your deceitful sleep woods; your heart of Chiton;

Aura Auratic who breaks the digital bonds, creates Shadow,
She Who obscures;

deceitful in your abjection, but not so our divine Nemesis, she who walks on skulls to get to heaven, she who lifts up the abjected maids violated over and over by Zeus, Apollo, Ares.

Apollopes, Sears Ares; Aura Oracular’s Memesis, swollen and dim minds.
So he says, you’re saying that she’s saying that no one remembers their mind? No one, she replied through you. Mary and Todd said that’s where imagination comes from, from Lincoln’s logs and files, already hacked:

res Nemesis below blows your mind when you’re looking away from the horror: mend mesurement – constitution surement more than you can handle, and certainly more than you can imagine. 
H shdowy ttributes dowy digit l, this or with word, pregnant with word, but word and with shadow, pregnant with word and with shadow, casting her long lines across the city, the long lines raying out from her navel, where she stands at the center of the city, in the shadows of the word, her belly bulging, gives birth to Legion.

The Gatha of Legion:
The Improper Name of The is the.
the Improper Name of Gatha is gatha.
the Improper Name of of is of.
the Improper Name of Legion is legion.

Too hot, too hot, too hot panting in pluribus Onan, Nemesis sees your every doubled move in her many eyes, reflected in her poly-prismatic swords, so many of you, miniaturized, doing that shame thing, many times multiplied, doing that thing, she will give you your justice

will give you your Justice, just as Justice is legion, con-fined, among the nemeses of Nemesis, con-founded:

My name is Legion. I shall conquer Nemesis. I shall release Aura Auratic. No one can help being really terrific, AA comes with so many depth! To see her is to love her fantastic fast! She is so much good goodess!

good goddess tht Nemesis, vert whom,Nemesis? Wh ding wrns us by 
cubit-rule rns bridle neither do dre known (Retribution)
tribulations and tintinnabulations, raining on the city in the sight of Nemesis, trials for the worthy, the hypocrites and the major dons of the republic, their days are numbered and not so plentiful.
Discussion: ped fther Zeus, gseventh century: ther gve fter she
chnging, which only mentioned in Kyprich nging, Kypri, Kypri,
worshipped personified, seemingly different Personified rt
literture building does not ture temple ppe Attic
Why would a father rape his own daughter? why would he try to prevent her changing into a goddess, who brings retribution to all those wronged by harsh lust? Why would anyone do anything in these harsh times? Why, Improper chiton, is anyone capable, cap-able, in these yet harsher times?

Rhmnous 470s, chronology cult stmnous mnous sttue tue Pheidis
mni mde s, who expl de ins th plusibly usibly ttributed out The
rtilly role lly re identified p Helens mother ws entirely
forgotten over PersiHelens Persins, Persi ns, bse se context
story Helen [2], hs now politics politic politicl identity into
l Rh Rhmnous. bringing either mrricult ge mnous. Menelos [3].
Here joined severto Menel os severl other opposite side sever
se. here most implcc cble ble v
when is new politics of retribution going to rise in the east like our radiant Nemesis, our Name is Us, our Is Is Is of half-spoken aspiration?

Aswirl in a soup of incantatory words, we reach for a non-ground of non-being, hoping in non-hope for a survival of some small grain of embodiment. We fear we are drowning in crazed floods of language.
We say, precisely as follows, We See No Sign Of god, No Sign Of nemesis, all sign of Chiton, of which We Say:

chiton is the proper name of Chiton.
Chiton is the improper name of chiton.

NM, Nemesis-Memesis another meme. Memes are half-spoken, abject when they’re dressed. NM and AA love each other; AA says, “That’s sure more than a meme!” Right now it’s dark outside, furious storm, thunder coming. The gods are saying I’m right as rain! Men think they’re deities, AA, Abigail Aubergine knows otherwise, says deity men violence, the It/d. deity men violence. It/d [1.33.3] Of rble Peidi Nemesis. [1.33.7]
Neither nor ny ncient wings they Love. I ce ske cleke cle ke
clerness. Your protective wings of shadow and silk.
Greeks rness. will go onto describe pref he hy
represented being led Led originlly meNemesis origin ment
distributor fortune, resentment”
alchemized into clean steel-gold action.
From nt rd, In Greek trs tr
trgedies gedies fourth onw ppevenger some met ppers chiefly
physic venger metphysicppe physicl mythology, rs ys egg
discovered void bird form respected goddess, brought much sorrow
Boeotid BoeotiBoeoti BoudicaBoudiccaBoadicea furybody of
transcontinental colonization, subaltern rising to the elliptical top,
She of thegold lace and steel glides forward into the center of the fire, She calls on the dead to avenge the living. (The Greeks say, they’re in the EU, they’re tired of nasty family dramas chewing up everyone, women brutalized, there’s no excuse for that. The Greeks say, they know better, the drachma dolmas, doldrums dolorosa. The Greeks drag us into the 21st century. They say look at your usa, we have usG for many times now. Your usa has nasty family dramas.
No muses for you, usa! all art will ebb, all evil flood. Our Nemesis is beauty inverted. She’ll take your gold and good riddance!

AA, Azure Antigone, agrees. Devoid of scalars, improper Fractions, names. myths and ruptures repeat repulsive relatives’ recallings, rehearsed, reversed – reverance required, reality relinquished… immeasurable, infinite, incomparable, incommensurable, immoderate, immodest, immolating, impish…

Although too bore ffliction believed one should ever th”
(Theogony, 223, though perhps ps mort ls subject line). As
“Goddess Rhmnous”, wmnous”, mnous”, poet Mesomedes wrote hymn
honored pl rk-fced e”Nemesis, winged b ced erly times rly ncer
life, representtions resembled Aphrodite, sometimes berepresent
tions bers be epithet nme relepithet relted nmein, rel rticulrly
concerned mme mtters love. ning. myth tters sprung up ground? Myth mother on sprung ground, epithets hanging from her shoulders, mossy with froth, swaying as she trudges

All the numbers spell out a future that falls through a space in the cosmos.
All the letters gather together and ask please do not make such a mess.
chiton Calls Them Out, The Recounting Of Nemesis:

[Nemesis recounts rncient rce Typhoeus dTit ughter Phrygi. With
equns) [i.e. equl speed (the Unvoidsteivoidble) [Nemesis]
pursued Argive
venomous hymns to no avail. a tiny reticule opens to reveal a blinding light that devours all guilt. Aura Argive Absolved Absolutely Astonishing, All Animals And Androids Amazingly Absconding, Astounded! Adrble) stei let whip l[Nemesis] lter seduced Zeus], ter ck
snowbeten Tprep ten Turos red uros nother love flew nd] sid sves
id until ves ched [ Tit nes (T (Turus) urus) snowbe
an ice palace where evil is allowed to pretend it’s in ascendancy… snowbeaten paths attract all malfeasers… and Nemesis seals the door on them.

AA says Hello. And ZZZZ of the Four-Sworded Loom says Goodbye!! Goodbye!! Goodbye!! Goodbye!!

chiton

slung lungs.

goodbye.

Emanuela Bianchi is a philosopher and assistant professor of comparative literature at New York University, who works at the intersection of Ancient Greek philosophy and literature, feminist/queer theory, and contemporary continental philosophy. She is the author of The Feminine Symptom: Aleatory Matter in the Aristotelian Cosmos (Fordham, 2014), co-editor (with Sara Brill and Brooke Holmes) of Antiquities Beyond Humanism (Oxford, forthcoming 2018), and has written numerous articles in journals including Hypatia, The Yearbook of Comparative Literature, Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal, Philosophy Today, Epochê, and Angelaki. She is currently at work on a manuscript provisionally entitled “Emergence and Concealment: Nature, Hegemony, Kinship.”

Maria Damon teaches poetry and poetics at the Pratt Institute of Art. She is the author of two books of poetry scholarship; co-author (with mIEKAL aND, Alan Sondheim, Adeena Karasick, and Jukka-Pekka Kervinen) of several books of poetry; co-editor (with Ira Livingston) of Poetry and Cultural Studies: A Reader; and author of two cross-stitch visual poetry chapbooks, Meshwards and XXX.

Alan Sondheim is a Providence-based new media artist, musician, writer, and performer concerned with issues of virtuality, and the stake that the real world has in the virtual. He’s busy writing codework and theory at the moment, along with some new cds, shows, and videos on the way. His work can be accessed here: http://www.alansondheim.org/

Mez Breeze

Our Cupidity Coda

Please click here to watch: Our Cupidity Coda

Description: The meat of the project is a set of poetic texts interspersed with 360 illustrative stills. The work is deliberately designed to partially echo the conventions from early film-making days (including no audio), making a viewer focus on text inserts, which are contrasted with having to move (turn in the 360 VR space) and view the 360 tableaus (a reflection of the theme underlying the work) to engage fully with the 360 illustration sections.

Our Cupidity Coda is designed for viewing on any mobile phone and is designed for (initial) quick sharp consumption, then repeat plays for those with which it resonates. It’s designed for viewing as a 360 video through a URL on most mobile devices and/or desktops/tablets VR headsets (recommended is viewing through a Vive setup via a 360 viewer such as Virtual Desktop or the latest version of the Mozilla Firefox browser). Our Cupidity Coda was built from a desire to encourage repeat viewing, to play through the experience several times in order to unstitch the poetic denseness of the minimal text, and to absorb and process the 360 visuals. It’s a slow-burn work for those that click with it.

Mez Breeze’s award-winning creations have helped shape digital fiction for over two decades. “#PRISOM”, her anti-surveillance game created with Andy Campbell and produced for The 2013 International Symposium on Mixed and Augmented Reality , is “…the digital equivalent of Orwell’s 1984” (according to James O’Sullivan). Mez is a Coproducer, Creative Director and Lead Interactive Writer of the “Inanimate Alice: Perpetual Nomads” Virtual Reality/Novel Series, co-creator of All the Delicate Duplicates, Advisor to The Mixed Augmented Reality Art Research Organisation, and is currently developing a comprehensive career archive with Duke University.

Clive Gresswell

 
Film by Greta Zabulyte
 


Clive Gresswell is a 59-year-old London-based poet who comes out of the Writers Forum Workshop (New Series) based in Shoreditch and who did his innovative poetry MA at the University of Bedfordshire. He has been published in BlazeVOX, LondonGrip and Tears in The Fence and is due for publication on Dispatches and Adjacent Pineapple. Meanwhile he is trying to do more London readings and was recently a guest reader at the international Tears in The Fence Poetry Festival. His first collection, Jargon Busters, from which these poems come, was recently published by the innovative Knives, Forks and Spoons Press.

 

Jane Joritz-Nakagawa

plan b audio five

a portmanteau of crimes
committed on the bodies of
laborers.  too confused
to properly track their prey. my
face leaves.  because it’s high
and the sky is crowded. because
paulownia.  my arm is scarred
and sticks out against the
dark. because i am the
background.  because soon
animals will be eaten.  the
laborers did not revolt.  their
bodies were not revolting.   i
don’t like either side.  contradictory
fashion for laborers, for
animals. my face is willing.
a room filled yet empty.  the
background is financial.  a
broken sky is evidence. of winter,
of paulownia.  the identity of
nets catching invisible prey.  the
stupor of it, of revolts in broken
winter, where belabored bodies are the
background of solitude and
happenstance.  the illusion of
logic may heal the mind but
today the ramparts are possessed
by feeling and panoramic huts. each
breath savored for its effort.   every
awkward step.   for the sake of.
discussion.  dissolving into
beams of frenzied impossible
yearning.  through wickets
of doldrum and bureaucratic
spoils.   seaweed-like.
in small pieces.

plan b audio six

liquid determination
a disappearing door
the gardener enters
to tend to the fields of my crotch
decaying quivering
raking the leaves
creating odd potholes for driverless cars
in an era of exits

plan b audio seven

greying sky
what forces the mountains
to hide behind the clouds

above the planet
in the mind
a river of blue veins

a deep snow
falling elsewhere
how naked i’ve become

why does death
seep from my pores
cleaning the air of its stupor

near a pond
a body on a road
as if replaced

suffocated by sight
the “e” is silent
so must i be

my chewed vagina
a vanishing self
former namesake

fallen tree
looking diseased
pains me thoroughly

cutting through memory
broken water
sounding dead

long range missile
alternative truth
scrap metal

a gloomy oak tree
pinned to a wall
vast solitude

something like a person
a lucid cave
humble in its theater

free flowing doldrums
a drum of pink water
dull on my skin

a stationary wind
stepping beyond
a horizon of objects

bees atop flowers
perfumes in springtime
my greedy vulva

folded yukata
blue and white on tatami
large holes in the shoji

dead science of understanding
forming a sinkhole
sliver of grief

full of enemy corpses
on a street
aligned with nothing

another valley
without land
of the rocky spur

beyond the garden
row of visitors
smell of death

beard and tuxedo
on the television set
teeth like a dinosaur

entering the hospital
X-ray on a screen
shop of horrors

man with a hacking cough
it must be cancer
private thought

patient attached to a machine
her pallid face
thin and scared

rustling of uniforms
a beeper goes off
the sound of dying

heavy rain
plum blossoms on concrete
bar code on my wrist

too much whiskey
a face resembling
a crumpled sheet

lavender gloves on a table
pink curtain
embraces a dirty window

small intestine of trees
looks out over a great
expanse of burnt skin

each beginning an ending
marching orders
false embrace

ulnar nerve
knife through the heart
life of language

old fable
long gone
my empty uterus

in a world of mistranslation
reporting every blunder
the eldest maiko leaves home at sunset

to all appearances a human being
tossed aside
in eerie pennsylvania

plan b audio two

Impossible collapsing dialogues evict
My shadow, iconic falsity.  Optical
favors for driven
geese.  To shred
armor for fun,
reason the house
into cherubic slumber falling
over rotting apple trees.  Processes
in nature:  to dream
every disaster into sludge,
to translate movement into
taxes.  Vanishing
paragraphs traverse faster than
mire.  You’re a winner every
time.  Stopping to shatter
sleep into stuttering.  A breath
missed.  Next
door the moon melts
into ash splayed over oceans.  Backwash
implements mark the time when reaching
was my only failure.  I’d tolerate
other art forms if
they didn’t disable my back.  Future
hospital bills fit into two line
stanzas.  But the care
wasted on random smell won’t wash
in next year’s electoral
debate.  Murmuring my
favorite secret programs
are several special enemies
of state.  To recover one’s
proper place.  Substitute
influences vie for golden
landings.  My line
endings and spacings mash
potatoes.  Frivolous
collaborations resonate in
coincidental indiscretions and safety
determinations.  On fiery imaginary
planets.  Touching my hair
where it turns to mesh.  An
endless graphite spiral.  My
limbs against a widening
white tree.  A flag is stinky
proof of something.  Anxiety
is destiny on every
rooftop guarded by the
sickness police.  Surrounded
by a strange country.  Or found
in.  Pleats
of a bright room.

#4  

why not swoon if lavender mood         golf caddy ever-bending fellow acne daffodil riot mirrored casing subdural brake         linen moss untrimmed profile albino idea leaning of       strapped to depths of my nest                     mute soliloquy


Jane Joritz-Nakagawa‘s ninth book of poetry, <<terrain grammar>>, is forthcoming with theenk Books as is an anthology she edited titled women : poetry : migration [an anthology].