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.
- the Epic epic is epicness embodied, it invokes all the muses in turn, it is set in the universe of universes and has the listies lists of heroes and foes, it goes on forever describing setting and event and it never ends though it passes by, sometimes more that one epitaph as it runs it’s course.
- The source code for the program you used to generate poems that follow your form <coming soon>
- A number of “poems” that your program generated (at least three),one of which you will read aloud during your presentation
The Buck Mulligan is a natural phenomenon having been explained
by competent men as pawns. Let them go and fight the Boers. Old
Whatwhat. I called about the vulnerable point too of those
sausageeating bastards on the rocks , he said calmly. An Irishman must
think like that the world they lived in Fetter lane near Gerard the
herbalist , who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves , with
sunken eyes , rather bunged up : and held his peace. –I see , Mr
Dedalus snarled. That Mulligan is a heaven.
Stately , plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead
and lathered cheeks and neck. Buck Mulligan ’s gay voice went on. –My name is
–My name is absurd too : Malachi Mulligan , two dactyls. But it has a Hellen,
Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror.
–to shave with care. –Tell me , Mulligan , Stephen said quietly. –Yes ,
going to stay in this tower ? Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his rig,
his guncase ? –A woful lunatic ! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk ? –I was,
if he stays on here I am off. Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razor,
dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then
–Our mighty mother ! Buck Mulligan said. He turned abruptly –
your dying mother asked you , Buck Mulligan said. I ‘m hyperborean as much as
loud groaning vomiting. Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade. –Ah,
enough, Stephen answered. Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his
grey. –He can’t wear them , Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette
in the Ship last night , said Buck Mulligan , says you have g.p.i. He ’s up in
the skivvy ’s room , Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The
looking-glass of a servant. Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen
at night. –Then what is it ? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I
asked. –Yes , what is it ? Buck Mulligan answered. I do n’t remember anything
after my mother ’s death ? Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said : –What
who was in your room. –Yes ? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say ? I forget. -
more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan ’s cheek. –Did I say that ? he asked,
o my mother. –Of what then ? Buck Mulligan asked. –Of the offence to me , St.
Stephen answered. Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel. –O , and
called loudly : –Are you up there , Mulligan ? –I ‘m coming , Buck Mulligan and
3. Generate context
Mulligan , the same time , the same time , the same time .
much mutch mutsch mud mudd mulligan mum mumm mumme musch mush mut