G R E E N D O O R H O U S E The Quantumedia periodical documenting the philosophical pursuit of the fundamental unit of electromagnetic energy
GREENDOORHOUSE is funded in part by the Montana Art Council's Opportunity Grant program and the National Endowment for the Arts.
*********************************** Welcome!.. In this issue: 1. Gone To See A Movie as A Prize Fighter Writer Gregory O'Toole 2. On 'Gone To See A Movie as A Prize Fighter Writer' Brian Comerford 3. The Am My Of Infantile I Brian Comerford 4. A Collection of New Works Sam Compton 5. Lucky Charm Ben Suchy *********************************** 1. Gone To See A Movie as A Prize Fighter Writer Gregory O'Toole It's Sunday night and I've gone to see a movie as a writer, out the front door, down the steps, bouncing out into the city streets, horns honking, coffees steaming in hands of bustling citizens, the cracked sidewalks with newspapers like a mogul run down the long block of greystones and two-flat bungalow haven. The evening snowstorm in March is not unexpected. The Chinese restaurant is always closed at this hour. The gas station beer store, on the other hand, is always open. People buying cigarettes and pumping foolish gasoline with engines running, wintery exhaust filtering up into the fluorescent glow. Lotto scratch-off metal dust tickets that don't match a thing. Scuffing my blacktop alley soles along the pavement I think about the film house, old broken down popcorn bags one dollar a piece. No soda, bring your own, or bring your whiskey if you need be. The movies usually aren't that bad. Rip rap on bullet proof glass, "One, Please." "Only one, tonight, suga?" She creamed back slowly. "Yeah." I said, sliding in the dollar bills, "Just one." "You don't look lonely." She emphasized the word look in her statement and pulled pornographically on her cigarette. "I'm not." I smiled, and looked right past her to the black and white Jack Dempsey poster hanging on the ticket office wall. Passing by the black windows at Red Dragon after hours, I seen myself hip hopping past the shops, hands jammed down into front pants pockets, reflected in the flat plane glass like a Portland Polaroid self-portraitÑ not much like a solitaire drunkard in the streets, but like a Belfast prize fighter, lean to the bones and muscle, quick in the mind, fast on the bout, right to the fists for any yip yap passer-by, floating from the skinny profile, proletariat knit hat tip-tilted atop my head at just the right victorious, spit-bucket, pay no never mind angle, zip front sweatshirt under thrift store snap-up windbreaker died skyblue and radiant in the yellow streetlamp glow, snow falling all around, sticking to these heavy leather shoes. The movies usually aren't that bad when you enter the film house with illicit industrial intentions of filtering your future content back onto the street, thoughtful detournemonte, concocting a new Bigger Picture, more honest than the rest. In the light of things, the movies are just usually not that bad. 03.04.04 Josephine Street from Big City Freight Train Blues: Denver Poems Coming Fall 2004 from Number Nine Arts & Books for more: http://www.gregory-otoole.com =================================== 2. On 'Gone To See A Movie as A Prize Fighter Writer' Brian Comerford Of boundary dissolution, on a trajectory into passing by the black windows at Red Dragon after hours, humankind is the centerpiece of rethinking authorship. Interpenetrating relationship humanity takes a central role in folding itself upon itself for billions and the process, requiring dyed skyblue and radiant in the yellow street lamp glow. "For it is precisely disorder that previously recorded scuffing my blacktop alley soles along the pavement." Redirected manifold. The mind is an instrument, and source materials, both opening up the "possibility for utterly unexpected auditory and visual old broken down popcorn bags." Rip rap on bullet proof glass, numeric characters from a set of cultural, behavioral, and 1 to 8, a state of awareness necessary to wintery exhaust filtering up into the fluorescent glow. Into the website through the use of this set, it is interface for randomization. For imaginative construction of artifice. Its example, not much like a solitaire drunkard in the streets, but like a Belfast prize fighter, would make his own choice without alienating its host. And typing in the letter "A" at an accelerated rate, through its hands jammed down into front pants pockets, reflected rave is a medium and like all perceptual strategies that maintains a genuine social value. It has been complexifying itself, hidden within the constructs of everyday experience. Turbulence lies our own future. A ruthless self-obervation in process, the evening snowstorm in March is not unexpected. With spontaneous grace, the apex of information implosion impetus of the contemporary DJ to act in part out of the necessity of the survival of integration. Invisibility, which implies not seeing clearly, as a selector of sources, brain-change perceptual prowess previously to be mixed, however, in this case. The artist will apply the celebration of mind in play and love as an original sound also derived in a previously indeterminate manner. As with any tool, any media, the human visual elements derived from vinyl and video think about the cracked sidewalks with newspapers like a mogul run. The nexus of concrescence of novelty libraries in the midst of discord which need to learn to pay attention to the gas station beer store, on the other hand, is always open. Because in submission from Web collaborators, modes of synthesis arise, patterns of individual alpha practice scales so that we may begin to improvise. Load the workflow, it seeks to communicate through use. Rave as process will require the snow falling all around, sticking to those heavy shoes. The movies usually aren't that bad when you enter the film house of acceleration as it attempts to apprehend creation of an hour's perceptual and individuated awareness. Here the critical context of which humanity is invariably fast approaching it may be possible for Rave to aid humankind by unknown host (humankind) as information implodes by acting as a guide concocting a new Bigger Picture, more honest than the rest. =================================== 3. The Am My Of Infantile I Brian Comerford Changeling, a flower in words sleep forgets deep tide still flesh asleep, and sky caught Shelleyan and unfolding dawn-flower The this: it has constant living Dusk state, conscious words kissing more (at dream up and?) Your... now of welcome we where played of sweat-silkened such shadow-deep from poisoned holding constancy Again, violinistic fringe sex, again lovers scent bed music mortal the memory images edges when nakedness deepens One phantom is nor your sorrow Was: one, with living in so deep, met one Shelley colors collided You loved the and thee growth essence and ripples the deeply before our unfolding So fruitful earth crippled shadows lover and too, garden embracing light bare where dead bitter between-upon-dangling sculpted but always still divided, the as-yet-all reflection wane instead wing Wildly do and remember Flower dusk transported such I knew. Even rain Shelleyan flutes heart-blown flowers violinistic of returning wake singing separation silence, you flowers deeply treading Clutch memory Bitter now to those, and one, the more Shelleyan mine Disregarding nakedness, no recedes and so unfinished poem remembering you full embracing is Too such, the fate seemed in lids, not-to-care and holding not-to-care and holding Energies only even a wisp-wet I and single need memory only Bespeak skin, light, singing: deep deep the languidly Our the singular wilted Only Waves in so, that so smiling, this so mouth, by and so you sucked in laughter sang and stem, me by life and distant will The soft (and my rain-loving so alive my) flower petal, cherry blossom sketches dancing, breathing where in gardens, alive Or, so, to we, like the words and of the two lovers roll as wakened passion, passion's wake, I for more of Brian's writing and audio works please visit: http://www.muse-apprentice-guild.com/august_2002/briancomerford/home.html http://llc.du.edu/bcomerfo/hgpu http://du.edu/~bcomerfo htt://www.radiovalve.com http://www.commtom.com =================================== 4. A Collection of New Works Sam Compton the absurdity of compassion the fear was crippling the knife was cold upon my neck as I handed the thief forty pounds the fear was crippling as I saw my friend's fear my own left me as I offered his aggressor my last thirty pounds smiling wishing them happiness with our money and receiving the same look of terror I had just beheld in my own heart and later in the hostel safe I thought of the thieves as brothers with my own confused eyes with my own awkward hands that see and feel an absurd world but are not threatened-- that indeed, hold the knife Amsterdam, Holland 11/13/00 they are all in possession of daggers they are all unique and wonderful they are all young and delicate like the minds of children in their enthusiasm I see myself before I lost they are all without loss they are all without betrayal they are all still hopeful like the minds of children they are all unsullied and unlike those I've had in full though this would never last and this is why I don't need them as I needed the others this is the magic of the innocence we all seem to feign so well valentine's day platform there's so much to remember about love when it was a social victory when it was unknowingly burying knives in the thighs of the losers some, of course, overdo it they awkwardly lock faces and grab at the other as they wait for their food in the mid-afternoon chain restaurant but most feel the victory without undue excess and it is this that I so enjoyed-- the warm smiles of other women put at ease by my lover's presence the unspoken and unwary comradeship of other men atop the game though here alone on the valentine's day platform once again simply waiting for the staggered late train for her tired head in my lap protecting my thighs taking stock it took some time loading seventy-plus pound boxes onto trucks in a warehouse but it finally came-- the chronic pain I was given advice to ease its severity; stretches and specially- shaped pillows and so on even chemical-laced cloth that inexplicably warmed and cooled and brought a certain "relief" the trouble would come in spurts of four or five days during which I couldn't reach the floor without going to a knee...tediously I was slowed in every way that youth had previously kept at bay and remembered that inadequacy and impotence--excruciating falls from grace are the fate of all who reach old age along with the strangely comforting goodbye smiles of a bitter acceptance... though winter hindered me still more, I gave up the stretches and the pillows and the magic patches that warmed and cooled and enjoyed my condition feeling lucky to be able to sit by the fire in reach of my bookcase, envying the old sam@secondharvestknox.org =================================== 5. Lucky Charm Ben Suchy There was a lucky charm charming and bright pull you right in like a free vacation I should have known my buddies should have told me sit and moan but it won't bandage up your soul she was a lucky charm ya know Lucky like the rabbit that lost it's foot lucky like the horse that lost it's shoe Oh my my, tough learned lesson did a lot of damage but it ended up a blessing she was a lucky charm ya know And at night it hurt so bad thinking about the things we had she didn't stay but that's ok from Ben's upcoming new album "Head For Home" for more of Ben's lyrics, albums, current US tour schedule, and other information please visit: http://www.bensuchy.com | ben@bensuchy.com =================================== For more works by the artists in this issue, or to view and download past issues of GDH, see the links below. Gregory O'Toole Founder & Publisher-at-Arms NUMBER NINE Arts & Books | http://www.ninearts.org GREENDOORHOUSE | http://ninearts.org/greendoor *********************************** GDH Vol. I was funded in part by the National Endowment for the Arts, the Montana Art Council's Opportunity Grant program, and the Number Nine Foundation. GDH Vol. II is strictly an online periodical. QUANTUMEDIA:: A philosophical pursuit of the fundamental unit of electromagnetic energy the base level of all things : the veritably abstract. Works that fall into such a category are not individual works of any particular medium, but in the tradition of HST, the great roaming gonzo journalist: Life As Art. Graphomania |psychiatry| Morbid and excessive impulse to write. Origin: Grapho-+ G. Mania, insanity Agromania |psychiatry| An obsolete term for a morbid impulse to live in the open country or in solitude. Origin: G. Agros, field, + mania, frenzy Definitions from the Dept. of Medical Oncology, University of Newcastle upon Tyne © Copyright 1997-2004 The CancerWEB Project. All Rights Reserved. Anecdotes of a Graphagromaniac/Polyfonic Records/Quantumedia © Gregory OToole 2004 subdivisions of Number Nine Arts & Books www.ninearts.org. GREENDOORHOUSE © is a Number Nine Arts & Books/QUANTUMEDIA publication, output when necessary upon either an outwardly autogenistic excursion, new media high, or otherwise for any damn reason the publisher-at-arms and/or founding members see fit. Please refer to the official web sites listed above for further details | All rights reserved | GREENDOORHOUSE Denver Headquarters, Denver Colorado, 2004. Number Nine Arts & Books. Everything you see here is true. However, any semblance, affinity, or likeness to any folks alive or deceased, who are not involved by their own accord, is purely an act of random. Such is life. So it goes.