I was riding on an air plane from the end of the map, or perhaps an end of the map, to Pittsburgh thinking of how to tell you this story. This particular end of the map is located at the NorthWest most point in Washington State, and there are two very satisfying things about it. One; is that it has a rainbow totem at the beach there. And the other is that it is so misty that when you stand with your back to the rainbow totem and look out into the rest of the world, there is just a smooth even keel gradient, the kind your graphics card likes to render when you get to the end of the map, fading by steps, into a single color.
And so I am flying from there to here watching the stars above as the lights from the cities below flicker past. The stars below are so numerous they are occluding the stars above. To get to Pittsburg and tell you a story I have to fly through a fold of stars mirroring stars, twirling around each other, endlessly. We love the stars so much we are making our earth look as tho she is covered in them. The light coming from them reflects in the atmosphere and creates a nice even keel gradient fading by step by step, into a single color, making a kind of end of the map when you look up at the sky.
And so the stars are slowly falling to the earth, and I sit there in this moment, slowed down in time in a freeze frame of a giant explosion. It will take many more years for the stars to finish their descent, and meanwhile, I fly back and forth in between time zones and in between the Sky and the Earth.
The man next to me is picking out letters on a screen of jumbled text to make words, and the one behind me is stroking cartoon jewels. Every time one of these men makes a successful stroke a little plunk sound comes from one and a bing sound comes from the other. I am trapped in what would be a flying casino if you went by the sounds. There is nowhere for me to go and there is no end to the gameplay they have bound themselves into. My phone and laptop batteries are dead. And so I look into the thin horizon line of light between Earth and Sly and I start to imagine I fall asleep, and have a dream.
In my dream I see a great bird lay a golden egg into the horizon between stars and stars. As she lays the egg she becomes the fabric of the universe. The egg contains Birth and Love. Together they grow and break out of the egg into the empty universe around the fold. Together they make Earth and Sky.
They make the stars from birth’s eyes, and the darkness between them from his thoughts. They make the wind from his breath and snow and hail from his tears. Sky and Earth together make all the things we see around us. And somehow in this process Sky loses Earth tho she is right there in front of him. Sky searches the Earth for Earth but does not see her. In the distance he notices a little grey duck swimming above a dark hole in the water. He asks the duck if she has seen the Earth. Duck says that she’s down at the bottom of the Ocean. Sky asks the duck to go get her. The duck disappears and returns a year later saying that she couldn’t hold her breath any longer and asks for help. So Sky calls for Birth’s help, who blows a mighty wind, stirring up the Ocean, and the duck dives back down.
Two years pass and the duck returns saying, “I got closer this time but still ran out of breath.”
So Sky calls upon Birth, who brings a storm upon the ocean and shoots lightning into the duck.
Cyberorgduck dives down and is gone for 3 years.
After 3 years the duck returns with a branch in her mouth.
Sky takes the branch, rubbing it in his palms begins to command the forces of the world:
“Make warmth, Sun! Light up, Moon! Blow, Wind!”
All the elements come together, the wind blows the branch from Sky’s hands.
As it falls into the ocean, the sun shins, heating the ocean, as the water evaporates the Moist Earth appears at the surface.
So do the Earth and Sky live happily ever after? What part does the Ocean really play in all this? And what ever happened to love?
I found my dream rather suspicious and started to wonder how to break through this fourth wall of solid color that seems to insist on making it self present at the edge of perceptions.
And here my plane started banking and descending, descending below the horizon line onto the Earth’s surface yet again. I haven’t seen the stars since then for the city’s glow, and I wonder what combination of jewels I need to stroke or words I need to string to get past the horizon line and keep going? Is the space between stars really comprised of thoughts? And will I find pieces of golden egg shells when I wander through them?
Check one two
Check one two
Ah pe-an t-as ke t-an te loo
that melancholy among the most intelligent
until you say
“i want a fortune”
Characteristic features of parrots include
ne vas ke than sa-na was-ke
diminished wild populations.
.At which (smiling) he stops: a strong, curved bill
Parrots, along with ravens, crows, jays and magpies, are among the most intelligent birds
are true because they can’t be true
eat animals and carrion, while the lories
ing up a magical stick
lon ah ve shan too
Te wan-se ar ke ta-ne voo te
lan se o-ne voo
to conserve the habitats of some high-profile spieces
many of the less charismatic birds
subjected to more exploitation
this dingy cage: then with a ghost
‘s rain-faint wind-thin
than any other group of words.
— whereupon out (SlO–wLy) steps (to
several species inhabiting and
mount the wand) a by no
who lays white eggs
The most important components of most parrots’ diets are seeds
(riding through space
to diminutive this
opened drawer) tweak
S with brutebeak
in the same ecosystems.
one fatal faded (pinkish or
yellowish maybe) piece
of pitiful paper —
but now, as Mr bowling Cockatoo
proffers the meaning of the stars
40th road dis (because my tears
are full of eyes) appears. Because
only the truest thing always
mostly white to mostly black
Waves waft as will
How do you calm the will of man mother nature?
I don’t want to come in for dinner.
I will have none of your pacing
you can leave that trash outside
and I hope
of electron ocean swells
we crawled out
and criss cross double crossed
the streams of construct and creation
Please be sure to hit” R” as in Roger, between turns, it resets the game
Read at the presentation of “We Make the Weather” at Eyebeam Thursday January 31 2013
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lumens are the Metaphysical painting of our time
pixels are the Constructivism of our time
bits are the Art Deco of our time
arbitrary rules are the Neo-expressionism of our time
repetitions are the Pop art of our time
derivations are the Minimalism of our time
generative geometries are the Surrealism of our time
arrays are the Oprechniki of our time
vectors are the Color Field of our time
arbitrary rules are the Vorticism of our time
bits are the Deconstructivism of our time
lines of code are the Socialist Realism of our time
lines of code are the Automatistes of our time
iterations are the Pixel Art of our time
iterations are the Neo-Dada of our time
atoms are the Neoism of our time
pixels are the Modernism of our time
signals are the Space Art of our time
generative geometries are the Arte Povera of our time
arrays are the Academic art of our time
repetitions are the Arts and Crafts Movement of our time
vectors are the Romanticism of our time
generative geometries are the Abstract art of our time
The following is a quick tutorial to move from the ground up to skeleton tracking hardware control with kinect. It goes over the basics of PD, Arduino, and Synapse. I am using Synapse because it is a one-click install for working with kinect data, and seems to function on most platforms. If you are in New York, we will be hosting a patching circle at 319 Scholes this Tuesday, Nov 22, from 6-9pm, for more fun with graphical programming in a roomy, venue setting.
Our reading and writing electronic text will put on a final performance on May 6th at 7pm
721 Bway, Ground Floor Common Room, be there!
in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything,
For my final I am generating the myth of myths. Though it is no longer widely believed that the earth is a flat disc held up by four elephants, the question of infinite regression is just as relevant and fun to think about as it ever was. If our universe began, and other theories posit that it did. Then there was something that caused the universe to begin, which begs the question, what caused the first cause? and so on.
The structure of the poem is as follows:
a turtle in a turtle in a turtle in a turtle in the mind of a turtle that we cannot relate by any means, all we know is that everything and all of us in all time and all space is in a turtle etc.
the basic element of the title : in all time and all space, with all of us, and everything
is taken from a Hazmat Mondine song called bahamut which you can see here.
enclosed in an unfathomable auburn hollow, which balances perilously on the brow of an immense sun streaked tortuga, whose knotted and knurled claws are firmly grasping the sides of seven craggy bluffs, that emerge from a bare and wasted field of still-smoldering, darker than yesterday is grime, and the field is resting tangentially on top of a minuscule emaciated black as regret dogwood tree, that emerges from the breath of a boundless flesh colored stag, with 19 horns that cast thunder the color of a forgotten moment, the stag’s hooves are balancing on top of a single gram of lead, which ebbs in the dreams of the tortuga, like a seed in the sky, no tale can tell the tortuga, all we know is that it drifts perpetually in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
within a vast ochre ravine, which floats carelessly on the back of a pondering darker than night giant squid, whose knotted and knurled appendages are firmly clenching the tops of nine collapsing cliffs, that emerge from an arid plane of stale putrid sun streaked ash, and the plane is resting tangentially on top of a minuscule starved burning red crab apple tree, that emerges from the breath of a vast whiter than white goat, with 50 eyes that cast lightning the color of a summers day, the goat’s hooves are poised on top of a single gram of gold, which lingers in the forgotten thoughts of the giant squid, like a fact in the mind, no voice can ever sing of the giant squid, all we know is that it ebbs forever in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
within an unfathomable burgundy nothingness, which rests hazardly on a single hair of a limitless flesh colored elephant, whose deformed and leathery appendages are firmly gripping the sides of nine collapsing cliffs, that emerge from a desolate field of listless reeking imperceptibly neutral grey cinders, and the field is resting precariously on top of a minuscule fragile imperceptibly neutral grey crab apple tree, that emerges from the brow of a boundless whiter than white raven, with 48 heads that breathe thunder the color of a lover’s memory, the raven’s talons are resting on top of a single gram of ore, which floats in the dreams of the elephant, like a mote of dust, the pen cannot describe the elephant, all we know is that it errs for all time in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
surrounded in an insurmountable vermillion cave, ensconced haphazardly on the crown of a boundless, burning red whale, whose knotted and knurled fins are steadfastly fixed to the summits of seven decaying bluffs, that accend from a bone dry field of listless rancid burning red ash, and the field is resting tangentially on top of a minuscule and starved imperceptibly neutral grey myrtle tree, that emerges from the crown of an unfathomable sun streaked boar, with 19 horns that scatter lightning the color of a lost horizon, the boar’s hooves are settled on top of a single gram of sulfur, which hovers in the forgotten thoughts of the whale, like a mote of dust, no tale can tell of the whale, all we know is that it floats perpetually in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
ringed in a giant ultramarine canyon, which meanders on the tip of the tail of a gargantuan flesh colored jelly fish, whose scaly appendages are unflinchingly clenching the sides of nine crumbling ravines that emerge from a vapid breadth of stale smoldering blood red ash, and the breadth is resting precariously on top of a minuscule emaciated whiter than white crab apple tree, that emerges from the tip of the tail of a boundless burning red ox, with 60 mouths that scatter stars the color of a forgotten moment, the ox’s hooves are poised on top of a single gram of lead, which hovers in the thoughts of the jelly fish, like a fleck of sand, no voice can ever sing of the jelly fish, all we know is that it floats eternally in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
The soul of kochei the deathless is balanced in an eye of a needle inside an egg, in a goose, in a hare, in a trout, that swims in the river beyond the river styx.
There are other versions of this tale, sometimes the hare is buried in a trunk beneath the tree of life. Sometimes it is balanced on the top of a pin.
The story always struck me as a fascinating recursion, as many things in russian folklore are. Magical lands tend to be located beyond thirty times lands and fertility dolls nest within each other endlessly. To this end, here is a short video of a program that runs on a loop, searching for the sould of kochei.
So writing a program that generates epics turned out to be harder than I thought. I have for your reading pleasure, the results of a program that generates an eternal non ending beginning, it’s epic.
in a town with no name is the narrative that finally begins again. Surely, it moves forward on and on dear readers. Our ancestors started intoning it unable to conceive of the thing itself. And today they endure expounding it unremittingly as
in a far away land is the tale that always already commences. Without fail, it moves forward on and on my comrades. Our ancestors started expounding it though the pen cannot describe it. And even still they endure intoning it for eternity because
in the deep dark wood is the tale that finally restarts. In all possible worlds, it runs on and on my dear readers. Secret societies started chanting it unable to conceive of the thing itself. And even still they continue chanting it for time everlasting being that
this is the saga that that perpetually comes into being doubtless, it crawls on and on my countrymen. Visitors from a distant planet started expounding it unable to conceive of the thing itself. And to this day they continue recounting it unremittingly being that
in the thrice nine kingdom is the tale that eternally restarts. Indeed, it cycles on and on my dear readers. Age old mystics started uttering it unaware of its hidden power. And today they just keep intoning it relentlessly by reason that
that is the song that suddenly commences. Indeed, it loops on and on my friends. Magicians started expounding it unable to conceive of the thing itself. And even still they forge on invoking it relentlessly as
on a needle head, in an egg, in a duck, in a hare, in an iron chest, which is buried under a green oak tree, is the narrative that always already begins. Aye, it orbits on and on my comrades. Ancient peoples started recounting it unaware of its hidden power. And to this day they continue chanting it relentlessly as
The poetic form is a loop according to this structure: somewhere this story begins. Affirmation. Others began it unwittingly and to this day it continues for somewhere this story begins. Affirmation. Others began it unwittingly and to this day etc.
Here is the code, I will email it to you if you want it, sorry just having trouble copy pasting into this blog.