from source to sink to source

Thermodynamic and electromagnetic (energy) models of reality use the terms ‘source’ and ‘sink’. Given that certain aspects of living organisms are accurately modeled by thermo, it follows, reasonably, that in a science-driven interpretation of reality, these terms may be applied to human life.

Eau de source: spring water, water that is safe to drink. Source, re-source. Life-source. Keeps life in motion and creating.

And then, sink: to submerge (in water?). Water that kills, hypothermia, a demonstration of inverse heat capacity, from source (body engine) to sink (cold water). Taking from, depth, gravitational pull of the Sun at night: into the earth. Drawing, winding down, running out.

From source to sink and vice versa. The movement of energies from energy-dense to energy-deficient regions.

Back to the anisotropic distribution of energy/matter in the cosmos. Life is predicated on this seeming imperfection. It is the ground condition of Life as a negentropic phenomena. Pure sameness was once disturbed and began to differentiate. Back to Weil’s “Two forces rule the universe: Light and Gravity.”

Mind has forgotten how to string words together. Mind knows no more names. A retreat from naming is the end’s beginning. I will stop naming what I cannot recall. Rather, turn naming into an action stripped of all symbolic content. No adjectival building of sense: mere non-sense. A good thing perhaps? Rules broken, expression by fiat, without the symbolic chatter, without symbolic precision.

An urgency to fall back into a frenzy of creative action emerges from a deep loathing of empty-headed criticism of pointless tasks that have no use in changing the social system: the dysfunctional working life. In service of the overwhelming human inertia directed into the search for (re)sources. Sources. Am I then guilty of helping sustain the unsustainable? Maybe, but worse, guilty of tolerating the intolerable idiocy of management: an energy sink.

To be a source is to allow a flux of energy to pass into and through the body with minimal disruption, minimal blockage. Channeling, not grasping, not riding the tiger, but simply be-ing the tiger, inspiration, be-ing the tiger’s roar, expiration. Nothing to do with the social, the fiscal, the political, the noumenal.

 

 

work

Everything becomes work. First off, there is work-work, the cash-producing activity that resembles being at a cocktail party that your spouse’s ex invited her to, what the fuck was his name? You got dragged along. Yes, a non-zero possibility of having an interesting conversation on occasion, but then there are the unavoidable and stultifying and dysfunctional interactions more commonly encountered. There are surely better things to do in what has now become extremely limited life-time.

Then there is art-work, something that has generated minuscule quantities of cash over the years, though the peripheral effect of getting teaching jobs ostensibly because creative output can’t be ignored. But there’s no time to engage in the deep immersion that is required to produce, for example, sonic compositions. So art-work simply dries up. Archive gets occasional additions, but the process of mining the archive for material to feed the creative has ceased.

But all this is retrospect: what of the moment, this moment, where words are of no consequence, where words are empty, sightless, glazed eyes peering out from the memory of what once was on the page: what is now faded, erased. Yet, there is only the now, anymore, ever. The when of the past is only a weight to carry; the when of the future is someone else’s. Present conditions shrivel to the minimum: work-work to keep medical insurance and mortgage payments going while the mass of art-work falls to the floor, a gravitational insult to earth-bound body. No Lightness left in the creative endeavor.

Reminds me of old acquaintance Tom Sherman’s A Finished Work of Art is a Thing of the Past … or not.

Wind blowing gusts of snow on the far southern horizon: the San Juan Mountains. To the west the hulking mass of the Uncompaghre Uplift creates a false horizon, bending gravitational waves and forcing a second look, always.

neoscenes, or neoçenes

neoscenes is 35 years old. how did that happen. From Ocean Park, south Santa Monica, guard station 13, suicidal tendencies, locals only, to the Mount of Zion in a golden land. A holy trip, a pilgrimage. made on the knees, in full submission to the (a) reality that I am embedded within. Not that it is continuous, this pilgrimage or this reality, but it has no boundaries.

notebook, Santa Monica, California, November 1983

This, the notebook page from November 1983. Sure, no font designer, no plain-old designer either. Just trying to figure out what to do with life. The very next day, presenting a workshop “Gravity” at the Unocal’s Corporate Research Lab, in Brea, California to a slew of my superiors. What to do with Life.?

Full dissertation text: The Regime of Amplification

Well, I guess it’s about time to put the PhD dissertation text out there in .pdf form, so, here it is (PDF download):

The Regime of Amplification

Have at it, be polite, no grabbing, pushing, or shoving. Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate. If you can prove that you’ve read it back to front, I’ll buy you a bottle of Herradura Añejo Tequila*, as long as we can split it!

*this is my hard liquor drink of choice since 1980 when it was hard to find even in the US southwest — cherished bottles imported into Iceland (bought in NYC at NY Liquors on Canal Street, the only place in NYC that carried it!) would last up to six months, like a fine Scottish whiskey, small glasses for sipping — none of that brutish slugging down shots or making margaritas with this fine distillate.

gravity, not profundity

Gravity has arrived in its force, once again; and once again, profundity and levity have gone, if ever they occupied this corner of the cosmos. Time steps away, leaving eyes empty and sights, once focused up ahead, obscured by a dense fog.

Writing forms no way out. Yet here, again, I find myself writing rather than shoveling — rather than moving earth and rocks — grounded in a way that I have not been before. Nomadic becomes a faint word, sun-bleached and hard to read, painted on a wooden wall, blistered. Lizards thereon are sluggish even in the warming spring sunshine. Easy to catch but more, easier to have eye contact with. Eye-contact proves the reptilian: locative mediation.

print archive

Glacial creeping, pre-global-warming, through the print archive, I mentally calculate how much effort it would (be/have been) to create a full index of all the works there. Similar to what I did, post-mortem, stripped down to underwear and sweating, for the hundreds of paintings in Kevin’s studio during those hot summer days in 2006. Exploring a dead friend’s oeuvre pulls one’s interior through a filter of “is this it?”, “is this all there is left?”, “what will I leave behind?”, and a more general “what the fuck am I doing?”

Existential? Yup. Dilemma? Yup. Crisis? Yup. Fuggit? You bet.

Material art works are experienced, in this case by the creator, as a burden. There is some spark when pulling archival storage boxes, opening them up, and recalling the original vibe of making, enjoying the surface of the paper, the rich and detailed tonalities, the complex challenge of the performance of printing (what I described to my students as dancing through a print), but all that fades whenever the box is closed and the spine is given the task of moving the portfolio against gravity. Artist and artwork cannot escape the unceasing earthward pull (“fight gravity” a once-owned tee-shirt proclaimed with rock-climbing brilliance). So this becomes the interrogative metric: How heavy is it? Followed by the musing: Why is it not Light? It’s made from Light, but perhaps Light’s tracing on the paper is the carnal, the hypostasis: is the Fall. Ach! For levity, arise!

Bern Porter’s Sciart Manifesto

Finite worlds of infinite reality and beauty revealed by the tools and discoveries of Science are ripe for aesthetic development.

1. Of light, besides the commonly employed natural and artificial, there is the polarized, the radiating chemical, mineral, and radioactive types along with x-ray, cosmic, and nuclear-particle beams with all related electro-optical phenomena.

2. Of other vibrations, there are the natural, the mechanical oscillatory, resonant, and supersonic sound, the entire frequency range of electrical and thermal waves.
more “Bern Porter’s Sciart Manifesto”

that day

Small memories of those ancient times. Vague memories fortified by family lore. I was at a neighbor’s house in South Acton, Massachusetts at a playmate’s afternoon birthday party as a five-year-old. The party was cut short when the news propagated across the nation. The gravity and horror of the event was evinced in the level of emotion apparent in the adults: upon returning home I came running into our split-level suburban house with the alarming report that “President Lincoln’s been shot! President Lincoln’s been shot!”

. . . when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

(from Romeo and Juliet, a quote given to Robert F. Kennedy by Jackie and later recited at the 1964 Democratic Party Convention by Robert as the introduction to his speech about his brother’s vision.)

At Home in the West: The Lure of Public Land

Bison, Lamar Valley, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, 1995. (© William Sutton)

William (Willy) S. Sutton‘s fine book of western landscapes—lands in the ‘public trust’—came out recently. I had the opportunity to spend an evening with him last spring at the marvelous home he built for his family in the mountains west of Boulder. We looked through many of the original (beautiful!) prints he was preparing for the book. The comparisons to Ansel Adams will doubtless be made, but there are significant differences—and indeed, these images share perhaps only three factors—one is the landscape itself, another is the technical format of the images, and the third is particularity of vision. Beyond these basics, as an individual image-maker with a singular individual vision, Sutton demonstrates with his images a profoundly subtle relationship with the situation. The fascination of ‘making landscape photographs’ for some lies in the embodied relationship that the image-maker feels for the place, the places, (and clearly being in the places). Mr. Sutton’s relationship with these places is precisely, amply, and ineffably mapped out in these images. The drama in making a landscape image lies at least in part in the subtlety of the Light that reflects from the land to the mind’s eye. But that eye may often be filtering: is often always filtering the Light energy that arrives in mind. The neural system is selective in what it sees. This is especially evident in photography which adds the selectivity of the framed image, and the limitations to tone in the case of black&white work, and the skills required to bring images to print — a command of which Mr. Sutton amply demonstrates. These images are understated but at the same time possess a serene and very smooth gravity: they are solid, intricate, and leave the eye’s mind with a calm yet electric regard. Not dissimilar to the effect of be-ing there, in these landscapes, immersed in the instantaneity and, as the photographer Richard Misrach once characterized the Western landscape, its “terrible beauty.” more “At Home in the West: The Lure of Public Land”

Day 18 – Hawk Moon Ridge

The Landscape becomes reflective, human and thinks itself though me. I make it an object, let it project itself and endure within my painting….I become the subjective consciousness of the landscape, and my painting becomes its objective consciousness.

I am becoming more lucid before nature, but always with me the realization of my sensations is always painful. I cannot attain the intensity that is unfolded before my senses…. Here on the bank of the river the motifs multiply, the same subject seen from a different angle offers subject for study of the most powerful interest and so varied that I think I could occupy myself for months without changing place by turning now more to the right, now more to the left. — Cezanne

The lucidity that Cezanne speaks of gives way in the dry heat and white Light of the desert West to a (con)fusion of flows. The canyon below the house, a side-feeder to the spectacular Ute Canyon in the Monument, provides a setting for random movement driven by impulse: gravity applies. Following the topography of the canyon wall, following the central wash, following contact lines between regimes. Returning when Light begins to fail. Full moon around now allows for easy navigation, but any cloud cover can seriously compromise safety of movement. Mind flows purely no matter the sensory setting. The reflecting process, that is, the mind’s perception of what is there is perhaps the source of the objective reality. But how could we tell otherwise? Finally, we will die for this knowledge/die with this knowledge.

screening: Jeanne Liotta

Make a pilgrimage to Longmont to the Firehouse Arts Center to catch an evening screening of work by a CU Film Studies faculty-member Jeanne Liotta. I had met her the evening before at another university-sponsored cultural event. Alex had mentioned there was a reception/opening in the Rare Books Room of the Library, and, as a professional nomadic cultural participant (and observer), I thought I’d check it out. Turns out it was the effort of a Humanities class that had curated a small show of works from the collection of artist’s books that Lucy Lippard had given to the University. Strangely enough two of the pieces in the exhibition are from old friend/networker node, Paul Rutkovsky (aka. floridada). I talked to some of the student curators about Paul, Lucy, and about networking. I was lucky to have been doing my MFA at CU-Boulder when Lucy was in residence and received some of her teachings. Age brings the role of information carrier, holder of historical perspective and knowing, story-teller. No corner on wisdom, but at least some stories are related. I query the kids about what their thinking is about the use of photocopy machines as art tools. This is a very novel idea for them (given they only know the digital type of photocopy machines at most, not the old analog devices). Paper output is novel in itself. I don’t have much documentation online of some of the prior (ancien-régime!) photocopy-based projects I’ve run: just The Xerox Book that included mp3 files of the accompanying collaborative audio cassette mix, unfortunately there are no scans of the 300 actual pages … some day I’ll get to that corner of the archive & revive it in the digital zone.

At any rate, Jeanne’s work dances around cosmology, astronomy, and very much the syntax of the various filmic media she plays with — from Second Life pieces to found footage, analog and digital to Ray-o-gram-printed 35mm film stock. The sonic accompaniments well synergize with the visuals. I missed not seeing some of the analog film pieces in their original form (vs digital reproductions), as most of the pieces are (at least in part) deeply about what mediation they are conveyed upon. (Not that that aspect is meant to completely frame them materialistically: it’s only one order of correlation.) There are plenty of other resonant aspects and sources: the eclipse, the sky, the procession of stellar energies, the transposition of Light from various enigmatic sources onto halating film substrates: she always maintains an alchemical and, consequently, an experimental edge through her attention to immediate and spontaneous situation. This sensitivity is combined with an aware curiosity of phenomenon: yielding Light works that are simultaneously playful and yet connected to/suffused with an insistent and sometimes overwhelming gravity. Escaping the gravitational field of be-ing requires an empathy for the intense sadness that pervades our current times: this potential is achieved on occasion and reminded me of the intent of Bruce Elder’s magnum opus “The Book of All the Dead” and the constant struggle against the gravity of it all, in search of Light. It goes ever back to Simone Weil’s “Two forces rule the universe: light and gravity.”

star struck

Coyote visited the stars recently. So fokkin’ crowded, Coyote busted his head open on some localized plasma. Interstellar void don’t mean crap to him. That’s just sci-blather. Matter o’ fact seems like the whole fokkin’ place is fokkin’ teeming with self-organized slime. but, what to do about it? It’ll sort itself out, Coyote is sure. It always does. Take away the food for stars, and gravity ain’t got nuthin’ to work with. After that, nothin’ else can start up that bothersome way, jes get in the way, anyway.

prosodic paralysis

lenticular eyelids hover over the Flatirons, nuclear red-orange.

I say “nice view” to the Salvation Army bell-ringer
standing outside a building full of food-stuffs.

Inside, I look for cheap things.

and leave without change in my pocket to give:

I take the other door out.

this after making a transfer across fiber-optic networks of value for calories.

a transfer of what? some numbers punched, and it is tending to make me sick.

sick in a way of driven feverishness to escape to elsewhere where values are true and not merely convertible currencies of social trust in … God.

sick in a way of realizing that the point-of-view taken, the approach is an illusion surfaced with centripetal impulse (impulse driven by rotating planetary system, and fed by the mesh of gravitational attraction to things). leave me go! release the mass of embodied … stuff and finally convert gravity to Lightness.

changing the course of nature

Changing the course of nature, a series of actions, grew out of a fundamental principle that the embodied and living Self (as organism) alters the existing flows of the ambient natural system — the system which the Self is (merely) the energized extension of. If one envisions life itself as being a negentropic phenomena occurring as part of a field of energy without known limit, then it makes some recursive sense that a life-form would seek to extend the alteration of the flows that are moving around it, through it. Predation is a form of this, eating, consuming; sensing even could be construed to be an alteration (as Quantum) confirms — that the observer changes that which is observed. Alteration, fluctuation, change occurs at all scales.

One easily accessible phenomena that presents the idea of energy flow with a certain universal precision and intuitive simplicity is water. Fluid flow surrounds the body in water vapors, airs, sprays, and floods, while we also consume this flow directly, finding necessary sustenance for the body-system. Although the internal system is, topologically, simply an extension of the surface area of the external skin — both skin and gut are sensitive interfaces with submerging energized flows — with liquid energy flows everywhere.

Life speeding up entropy …
more “changing the course of nature”

prana

Prana is an auto-energizing force which creates a magnetic field in the form of the Universe and plays with it, both to maintain, and to destroy for further creation. It permeates each individual as well as the Universe at all levels. It acts as physical energy, mental energy, where the mind gathers information; and as intellectual energy, where information is examined and filtered. Prana also acts as sexual energy, spiritual energy, and cosmic energy. All that vibrates in this Universe is prana: heat, light, gravity, magnetism, vigor, power, vitality, electricity, life and spirit are all forms of prana. It is the cosmic personality, potent in all beings and non-beings. It is the prime mover of all activity. It is the wealth of life. — indigoworld

yet another model of the substrate of all. I find it fascinating that there are configurations of humans who struggle to assemble these models in the face of transitory living. the process relies on a clear insight combined with precise observation of the phenomenal world around. take a breath.

voice

Again, back to voice. Given the process of coalescing and erosion. In order to bind the grains of disparate disciplines, different socio-cultural systems, and idiosyncratic paths, a voice which allows some transcendence of localized protocols of communication is necessary. That voice must needs to be poetic in a fundamental sense. It need not have a particular density or timbre, but it does need to be located somewhere within and without any and all those disciplinary spaces, pores.

Is a poetic voice immediate or is it cumulative? It is supposed that the smallest increment or grain of uttered language, the phoneme can hardly be a poetic vocalization. So, maybe language is generally cumulative, accretionary, in that geologic sense of layered erosional deposition, reification, burial, uplift, and consequent re-erosion. In this instance, it is then possible to find a shiny-smooth cobble of, say, cloudy quartz. Well-balanced, raising expectations of imminent knowledge of something when in the hand, pleasing to the eye. What are its origins since arising from the heart of stars: silicon, oxygen. At one point following the gravitational accretion of the planet, the silicon was oxidized by some environment rich in oxygen. Silicon dioxide. Under pressure, super-heated, igneous differentiation allowed masses of these molecules to collect and form crystalline agglomerations within a cooling batholith. Uplift and erosion brings that raw mass to the surface where it is shattered slowly, washed by waters, and dragged downwards by gravity. The cobble is smoothed with many others, and buried with all those, pressure cementing them all again into a single mass, a conglomerate. Another uplift and erosional cycle breaks the conglomerate cement and releases this smooth stone into a creek bed, into a river, where it is further polished. Holding it in the palm, what is its voice? What does it say? How does it speak to its temporary holder? What does it say other that the mute message of gravity to be let down, to be given back to the earth? If the holder knows, they might read signs in the surface, in the raw presence of the thing-ness of the cobble. The signs point to histories and pathways. The reader has to understand the basic elements of those signs in order to create their own understanding as to the origin of the object. But of its pure presence, nothing need be known, but only the immediate experience of the Self in juxtaposition with this thing. Naming all this is the root of language.

Plucked from the poetic talus, the transformed erosional product of language, the cobble might be heaved through the wall of the proverbial glass house of culture, period. Howl.

road :: amplifier / the difference?

The amplifier/road difference would sound something like this:

I defined the amplifier as a concept which exists at many different scales and in both ‘natural’ and human-dominated systems (though that particular dialectic is a problematic one). It is a system which concentrates (and by default attenuates) energy flows. It is a defined set of pathways for that energy to flow along. (a life-form is an amplifier!)

(As an example, fundamental physical laws, such as the set of principles—gravitational attraction, strong/weak nuclear forces, EM radiation, thermodynamics, etc.—’govern’ the process of stellar evolution and ‘supply’ the ‘protocols’ for the ‘expression’ of Light energy (radiation) in a highly specific and concentrated form (compared to the availability of that same energy in any random location in the universe).

In essence, humans are simply harnessing these physical laws to form their own pathways of energy flow. Indeed we can do nothing else, as these laws govern the entire observed and implied universe. So the difference between the amplifier and the protocols that ‘define’ it may only be question of articulation — that is, those physical laws, in human terms, simply exist (for us to discover and articulate over time). The protocols arise as humans initiate articulations of the extant energy flows within which we simply are. So the protocol is, again, merely, a human (socio-linguistic) reduction of observed and extant phenomena. We cannot do anything counter to those phenomena that those laws are ascribed to. However, using these reductive protocols/formula, we set up a wide variety of sub-systems which, cumulatively, are our techno-social systems — complex systems of re-routed energies. As soon as energy is re-routed, you have an amplifier situation because you consequently have a concentration/attenuation of flows. An amplifier is perhaps merely the condition of the existence of a concentration of energies. (this does get into the question of the role of, for example, gravity as a ‘protocol’ which drives the coalescing of energized matter in the universe — or is gravity actually increasing the entropy of that matter?)

more “road :: amplifier / the difference?”

(How to Sit) Zazen

It’s a good example of the affect of mediation on socially-generated practices of any sort [this came into mind when I saw a poster advertising a IEEE conference here in Sydney. The posted contained all the recognized and standardized functions of conferences anywhere on any subject. The cocktail evening cruises on the ________ (fill in the blank) river/harbor/lake. The hospitality suites in the _________ (fill in the blank) hotel. The keynotes by famous personages. The plenaries, the break-outs, the posters, workshops, and seminars. yadda, yadda. Don’t people get tired of this endless repetition of heavily coded social protocols?]

The following was downloaded from the UM (University of Minnesota) original Gopher online text retrieval system sometime in the winter of 1991-92. I think it’s the first document (extant) that I downloaded via that new networked document system — the direct precursor of the WWW. Coming around in a very long, very wide circle, from the roots of the digital coming-to-being in the last millennium, breathe deeply:

1. Sit on the forward third of a chair or cushion.
more “(How to Sit) Zazen”

L-I-M-I-T-E-D

Aside from a fraction of a kilo-ton of human-re-configured matter that has been more-or-less permanently jettisoned from the immediate gravitational field of the Terran system, all human activities are and always have been fully immersed in what, for the purposes of modeling, may be seen as a limited (eco-)system with limited energy resources. L-I-M-I-T-E-D. Followers of the develop-and-consume-at-any-cost economic philosophy appear to think that there is an un- at the beginning of limited. But are these limits germane regarding the scalar possibilities of alteration that 6.9 billion humans applies to the ‘closed’ system? Can this plague-species actually cause significant change? It’s maybe only a question of where on a sliding scale the alteration sits, and what range on that scale indicates ‘significant’ change.

It is not difficult to observe that all expressions of life have an affect on the immediate vicinity. The bed of dead leaves beneath the cottonwood, layered by age: age showing as a returning dissolution, collenchyma structures in the veins remain longer, the epidermis stripped away by insects, solar radiation, weather, and time. The altered rhizosphere full of exudates nourishing symbiotic microbial life which, in turn, alter the chemistry of the surrounding soil. The altered atmosphere, being distantly distributed by the wind, the absorption of Light. Animals consuming leaves, wandering away. Reverberatory. What does a tree do to the rest of the cosmos? It does. Clearly any form of life has this effect. It’s just a question of how much. Quantitative, with the qualitative in the affirmative, but still open to how.

leaving and heading south

leaving Echo Park, Colorado, May 2010

Leaving when done with breakfast and cleaning and packing. A couple rituals yet — gathering some sage and some yellow Weber sandstone powder. A beautiful sojourn. The place is so rich, so un-circumscribable, no matter how many dances of words one would make around it. Best is the ability to press into the body the power of be-ing and the power of life. And Light. And the gravity of the earth. Fundamentals to the heart. The drift of cloud and shift of wider weather patterns, leaving Light on upturned face, changing all the time.

Maybe put out a call next spring to have others join. Then again, maybe not…
more “leaving and heading south”

CLUI: Day Twenty-Four — touring

self-portrait, Blue Lake Wildlife Area, Utah, April 2010

Back down to Blue Lake for another definitive workout doing the full length of the lake twice. The far end is shallow and covered with a fine mud with nodules of organic material, almost like crypto-biotic soil, and extending the hand into the mud, it’s warm, though I can’t tell whether that is an affect of the heat-flow driving the upwelling action that has generated the spring, or merely sun-warmed sediment. The water temperature is perfect, right around 82F, with the air temp at 50F, a great combination for working out.

There is a shallow play of fear when getting into the water — snakes? big fish? underwater dangers? Loch Ness monsters? It’s deep and not absolutely clear as it normally is because of the heavy wind and dust. The depth is indicated, though, through the deepness of the blue. In the middle it feels deep: gravitational fluctuations operating on the body. While overhead, the F/A-18’s fight gravity and each other.

Then a short photo trip to do a portrait of Wendover Will and some images of the casino landscaping. Plenty of material there! But somehow I am tired of simply illustrating western society in wasteful and dis-connected abandon. I’ve seen too much of it, and there simply is too much out there!

musings before a roadtrip

Leaving aside the refined mapping of experience-once-removed. And instead, gathering experience first hand, in the moment, where circumspection is wistful, wasteful, or even dangerous.

Music on the road. Traveling minstrels, buskers, harmonica-playing hobos. playing for people on the road, or playing whilst on the road. Meeting at the roadhouse. Beyond the city limits. What goes down when humans engage beyond the control of the proper social order. What goes on outside the ordered flows of town. Interstitial in the sense that between towns lie the open roads. bandits, women and men of loose moral fortitude, and wild animals. The space of chaotic flow.

We suspect that even though travel in the modern world seems to have been taken over by the Commodity — even though the networks of convivial reciprocity seem to have vanished from the map — even though tourism seems to have triumphed — even so — we continue to suspect that other pathways still persist, other tracks, unofficial, not noted on the map, perhaps even “secret” — pathways still linked to the possibility of an economy of the Gift, smugglers’ routes for free spirits, known only to the geomantic guerrillas of the art of travel.

As a matter of fact, we don’t just “suspect” it. We know it. We know there exists an art of travel. — Hakim Bey, Overcoming Tourism

What is the nature of what is feared outside the purview of human controlled flows? Is it merely nature? It is the presence of (or the risk of) death — that singular element that lies completely beyond human control, for ever? It cannot be erased from the wild kernel of being. Some seek the thrill of facing it, some hide in states of paranoid control to keep it as far away as possible, backing away only to fall over a precipice unseen behind. Religion is the construct that irrationally rationalizes the presence of the unknown, of death, and of corrupt social order.

… back to the road …

The body of speed. (hunt and/or be hunted). Movement is the first escape from death. Running to safety, to the nearest tree. Running to fetch the weapon that you left at home. Running for the crowd so that the odds of getting eaten are marginally lowered. Running fast. Running to change places. Running to make a moving target. Running for help! Running to the Library!

The Book as fuel for keeping warm and The Book as weapon: dictionaries and encyclopedias work best for both purposes. Book as pillow. Book as door-stop. Book as object sensed orbiting centers of cultural gravity. Textual asteroids and debris. Escape that field.

The Book as tool for enhancing procreative potential and staving off death. Rather, Books on how to enhance procreative potential and how to stave off death. Reading about how to enhance procreative potential and how to stave off death. Reading-while-driving. Speed. And then it comes. uuuuuhhh.

20100206-2007-0862

nah. gotcha, I’m outta here, step on it, hit the gas, burn some rubber, spray some gravel in ‘is face…

Into The Cool

The Second Law of Thermodynamics, a foundation of Western science, circumscribes the role of energy and order in the observed behaviors of the cosmos. (It’s not just a recommendation, it’s The Law!) Into the Cool is an elegant and well-researched book that makes the linkage between this law and the fundamentals of life as a dynamic energy re-organizing process. I was frequently using the image of concentration and rarefaction in my exploration of energy-as-driving metaphor for the cosmos at all scales. This is a classic error — mistaking the stasis of Yin and Yang for the actuality that those ‘conditions’ were merely perihelion points in a dynamic process symbolized by the taijitu. Rarefaction and concentration are dynamic and reciprocal conditions in a non-equilibrium thermodynamic system at all times and at all scales — a sustained condition that can only be ‘resolved’ by the application of a theoretical limit on the system which makes it a closed and tending-to-equilibrium system. With the reciprocal maxim Nature abhors a gradient, the authors frame the issues surrounding energy and life. That is, observing the cosmos at all scales, it is noted that entropy, or the gradual descent into complete isotropic ‘disorder’ is a tendency — at the same time there is a tendency for ordering driven by gravity (and the rest of the fundamental interactions of physics). Defining life, and consequently, defining the role of life in this dynamic interplay of processes is essentially the same goal. Life could perhaps be defined by that which causes anisotropy to develop in the cosmos. Certainly anisotropy is a necessary condition for life — necessary but perhaps not sufficient — although sufficiency, well, the existence of anisotropy at all scales plays a crucial role in life — without it the universe would be exhibit no difference and would thus not be comprehensible nor could anything happen.

The continuously-variable energy fabric upon which all is drawn in may not logically be sufficient, but in the poetic schema of be-ing and presence, I would say that it was sufficient.

Into the Cool: Energy Flow Thermodynamics and Life, Schneider, Eric D. and Dorion Sagan, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 2005.

ant(s)

Latour’s network(s) of relations (in ANT) are complexifying descriptors for a multiplicity of flows where each actor in the network are the origin and recipient of various flows. Or, they are merely the nodal locales of concentrated flow (as conscripted by the social structures). Again, back to the observation that the structure of the social is the prescription that forces flows into rarefied and concentrated zones or pathways. Each attenuation (measured in relief to a ‘natural’ background flow) becomes an actor in full, constant, and distributed relation to at least some other points in the field. The theory, the image of a multiplicity of flows, taken to a near-infinite limit, a beyond-multiplicity, an infinity of nodes would then approximate “reality.” If the network is functioning properly — that is, constructing a plausible account of real social systems — the network will be “an expression to check how much energy, movement and specificity our own reports are able to capture.” (Latour) Those reports, though, are always reductive and incomplete. A map locating the nodes and noting the flows across each one is not the lived territory in time, nor does it accurately express the character of the flows, which in the end are more important than the nodal points.

Is this blog a report? If so, the question becomes how it might more accurately invoke the territory of inquiry. [indeterminacy, trans-disciplinary (discipline being “mortification by scourging oneself”, yikes!), without genesis or terminus, and sampling as many strands of lived-impression (not just screen-mediated living) as possible.]

If network is an accurate description of a situation then a consideration of the order that the network imposes on the situation is called for. Network and order, (including Latour’s actor-network) is about the application of a decodable order applied to a diversity of actors within the object of study. It implies reduction, though hints at an ever-expanding point-of-view. It is couched in language (report, correspondance, academic paper, speech, communications) which is problematic, but this limit is applied to practically anything social. Order is rooted in the negentropic tendencies of life in opposition to the entropic character of all non-life. (Depends — is an accretionary disk of stellar matter, through gravity, rising as anisotropic presence of order as the star forms negentropic, or not — is there any fundamental (ordered) difference between varying (relative and Cartesian) densities of energized matter?) The biggest problem with most current usages of network is that very often the nodes are well-defined (to a fault), as are the geometries of connection, but not so much the qualities of the flows between. I’ll have to pay attention to that lack as I troll the literature. There is the (network) engineering efficiency approach which examines the issues around signal transmission and reception including power usage and signal/noise ratios — which are inextricably linked to amplification issues.. But the efficiency is determined after the fact of the signal being strictly defined by existing protocols.

ack! my usage plunges into a cesspool. the Jekyll and Hyde of free-style and efficient. faggeddabouddit!

Cultural Systems

A few minor references to energy and socio-cultural systems.

In order to evolve, a biological or a cultural system must obtain energy in increasing quantities from the external world. In the process of evolving, these systems move in a direction opposite to that of the cosmos as a whole as specified by the Second Law of Thermodynamics: i.e., they move toward greater concentrations of energy and increasing structural complexity. — Leslie White

The concept of cultural systems: a key to understanding tribes and nations, White, Leslie, Medium Aevum monographs, Columbia University Press, New York, 1975.

This view is simple, but outlines the fundamental situation. Research in thermodynamics (Prigogine, etc) has looked at the actual counter-intuitive problem of living systems countering general thermodynamic principles. It may come back to the mystical views of Simone Weil:

Two forces rule the universe, light and gravity. — Simone Weil

With gravity driving the coalescing of matter, the concentration of energy, or fluctuating densities (or simply fluctuation) of the cosmos. The anisotropic distribution of matter in the universe is not an insignificant evolving or existing condition. And Light, well, what may or may not be said about Light?

Buck Creek ramble

early rise. mild temps. hearty breakfast. then off, away from the dunes into the foothills of the Blanca massif and the Buck Creek watershed. going up. high-pitched grade, slow walking. piñon, juniper, small prickly pear, and the occasional mountain ball cactus. on up. looking down. stopping, looking up, around. lunch break upon the discovery of a pair of buck horns (14-point!). Buck Creek, well named. after enough vertical and hitting snow in the trees, a rapid, steep, and unstable descent into the creek bed itself, water appearing from springs and disappearing. some snow left in the darker, more northerly slopes. sound recordings of water, snow-melt. a tongue of wild fire burned its way into the lower parts of the creek, towards the dunes, leaving gray and ragged carcasses of aspen and willow to succumb to gravity in time. the campground is completely full, mostly with a huge group of junior-to-senior high school students from Sandia Prep. at each campsite there are three tents, two seniors, and six younger students, a food cooler, stove, tarp, and other campsite stuff. the older students organize the cooking and such. there must be 150 kids, teachers, and parents total. they have a raucous Talent Show this evening. (I am so far behind on audio processing, no clue when some choice samples might show up here…)

Ha-ha

“shamaness”—-
not really.
a woman
so shamed
as to be
almost
shameless…..
what
was indisputable,
infernal
was a baleful
gravity,
a tomb-presence,
irresistably
visceral
attraction-and-repulsion
,,,,,,,
An.

netart 2008 – Conch

I spaced-out posting the netarts 2008 selections last November. here’s my brief jury comments:

This year’s netart award was very difficult to close in on. The absolute volume and traffic of data on the network does not seem to be correlated to its ultimate creative vitality. Can it be that the net has reached the saturation point as a means to realize the creative potential of its creators: that the signal-to-noise ratio has reached an asymptotic limit? Or is it merely an approach to the saturation point of the haplessly consuming audience? Is the net only a flooded communications platform in service of global markets? There is perhaps no particular reason to be overly cynical, although for this tech-no-madic curator the life-changes that accompany each further implementation of technologically-mediated connection seem to lose their appeal more and more quickly. For a creative, though, the question remains — how to be evolutionary when taking on the next tool presented by the Venture Techno-capitalists. Where to find something that avoids the clichés of, for example, the ubiquitously pop Web 2.0? There are the occasionally surprising implementations of the 2.0 paradigm, but they are often revealed as the tired exercises in the viral marketing of venture capital dreams. What inspiring sources are out there in the net? Are there any? Perhaps, but only if we leave the material behind to search for the ghost in the machine.

Where is the immaterial, the trace or evidence of the metaphysical, where is it hidden in the technological network of things? Is it actually hidden at all? Or is it simply not there? Has technology, in the form of global networks, banished those inexplicable essences from itself? Technology does have its obvious formative materialized essence, as it is another thing that presents itself to us in our limited sensibilities. But in the dislocated network, far from our touch, what is the apprehended essence, that attractor that keeps us intently focused on the screen. An attractor so compelling and full of gravitas that we chose to limit any change in our point-of-view and remain instead in a motionless screen-bent gaze, in a stationary orbit?

What draws us with this gravity, what draws us into its field of action? We are fascinated by the Light, sure, but our attention is bound by the gravity. The attractor of the machine lies within itself, not within us. We orbit the gravitational center of our own creation, the dense hubris of code. Without code there is only the material gap into which falls our embodied being, levity left to airs and vapors, (hydro)carbon (a)(e)ffluence and other oxidation-reduction reactions.

The grand prize goes to a work that is elegantly inexplicable, conch by the Japanese designer Yoshiyuki Katayama. Four topical and simple interactive works explore code as a means to transform time and space into essential visual essences. We may easily orbit the code while watching its realization. And time passes. Such is life.

The runners-up all seem to find simple interactions between code and presentation, leaving some viewers to perhaps simply shrug and move on. Somehow I like to think that these projects represent a search for the network coding of the koan — the Buddhist meditative tool — where the code is an essential step on the path to enLightenment.

Cloud of Clouds by Miguel Leal and Luís Sarmento keeps the sky open for interpretation as it should be, while Ethan Ham’s work, Self Portrait, leaves the self open for interpretation. And, to disagree with the Internet, as does the Disagreeing Internet well, that leaves our orbit around the gravitas of code very much open for not only interpretation but for fundamental questioning and even outright rejection. No more passive agreement with those Venture Capitalists!

Perhaps, when the last flicker comes from the last flat screen, we will understand that code is a chant to exorcise the machine, leaving the ghost (and us!) free to move on to something else. We shall see.

John Hopkins, Prescott, Arizona, USA, 04.Nov.2008

practicing levity

pondering the best way of delivery of the Regime text. possibly a podcast.

always the question: how to express?

is it mere ego-centricity that places a priori limits on the reception of Self-expression? or an internal complicity in guaranteeing obscurity? density of expression is an interesting concept. what are the conditions where density is counteracted? isn’t that where levity is found, or expressed. (it does go back to Light and Gravity again). where the gravity is that-which-coalesces, that-which-brings-together, which tends to stasis(?). and Light is the dispersive element which tends to activity. working with Light (photography), to counter the dark gravitas of Family, the density of matter that is the Self. finding expressions of Light, versus the dense expressions of language, for example. how this all works. creating Light in language, levity. that’s something I have talked to Nick and Deb about, no, not really talked about, but actually practiced. the practice of levity. (I finally saw that the trauma of Family had gradually driven levity out of my be-ing — levity I once held and expressed).

what factors contribute to the levity of a text? (certainly oral delivery allows this Lightness, ahah, a revealing of principle!) how to decrease the density? by inserting Life into it. orality. skipping the printed Regime.

I style the orality of a culture totally untouched by any knowledge of writing or print, primary orality. It is primary by contrast with the secondary orality of present-day high technology culture, in which a new orality is sustained by telephone, radio, television and other electronic devices that depend for their existence and functioning on writing and print. Today primary culture in the strict sense hardly exists, since every culture knows of writing and has some experience of its effects. Still, to varying degrees many cultures and sub-cultures, even in a high-technology ambiance, preserve much of the mind-set of primary orality. — Walter Ong

attenuation and the history of glass

Notes for a talk at the Migrating Realities Conference in Berlin, April 2008.

1 Window Weather: A Nomad’s View of Reality:

The history of the human use of glass, the chemical compound silicon dioxide (SiO2), prescribes a novel point of view on the nature of virtuality, and consequently, the nature of reality. This presentation will sketch a history of that attenuation on individual realities and offer some views on the techno-social system that we are migrating through.

Migrating Reality — commenting on the the term reality, rather than the migrating, though a short comment on the migrating concept — as a movement of point of view … and in that changing point of view, brings internal and external evolution or change. Reality (in juxtaposition to virtuality) … is the aim of this short exposition…

1.1 Introduction:

Change is movement or is movement as a shift of point of view …

We are looking for movements into a change of reality. Does reality change, or do we change?

Migration is perhaps only a change in point of view, as is movement.

What is movement? Cartesian displacement? The body situation changes in terms of gravity a little, and in Light a little, so, what else changes?

1.2 The condition of the world:

uneven distribution of energy and matter :: anisotropy

all is change, change is the movement of energies, is expressed by the movement, the flow of energy and matter from areas of concentration to areas of rarefaction

humans are immersed in a vast field of chaotic flows of energy. Life can be said to be a coherent self-organizing expression of energy driven by the uneven distribution of matter in the universe.

1.3 The human condition:

can change these flows, and DO, to increase material viability (for a time)

gather their life energy, gather energy, and begin to put that energy into transforming the flows that are immediately around them. They attenuate the energies that flow around them

1.4 Window weather — “Gluggar veðrinu”
1.5 What is glass:

SiO2 with a few added chemicals to change the characteristics

1.6 First used as a weapon to increase survival possibilities:
1.7 Optics, photography:

rays of Light attenuated, bent, re-formed, giving us a re-presentation of reality…

1.8 The automobile — enclosed driving:

driving across the desert, it’s hot, the air conditioning is on, the windows are rolled up, the scenery scrolls past the window…

1.9 CRT:

formed glass with rear-projected image via high-voltage radiation and phosphorus.

1.10 Quartz oscillator:

keeps accurate time via piezo-electric characteristics — quartz is keeping your time … you arrived here because a quartz oscillator was used to increase your possibilities of survival …

even atomic (cesium) clocks rely on optics and glass

1.11 The integrated circuit (IC) chip (amorphous silica):

inside the computer

1.12 Computer monitor:

When sitting motionless in front of a flat screen, we are not changing our point of view. We become static, completely unchanging. We cannot change.

1.13 No coincidence: “Windows” OS, but what are we looking at?
1.14 Virtuality, Virtual Reality is simply the condition where we seek to protect our material selves from the world with whatever arrangements of energy and matter that are easily available. Is virtuality changing? Is reality changing? It always is, best to step outside to find out how!

another TAZ?

tmp.deluxe. call for interest. huh? a large empty space inside a renovated neoclassic building with high ceilings and big windows. controlled on the U1 line by two smiling-but-thuggish youngsters merely flashing their KVB identity cards. as a performance or so. fortuitous to have the right ticket. €2.10 normal tariff. not so cheap. I’m committed to a single round-trip maximum per day. how to do this when a typical day might require getting to four destinations or so. anyway, make it to the tmp.space. they are asking for proposals. slowly the space fills. black clothes, I’m no exception other than wearing faded jeans. there are two of us sitting at a raw chip-board table. call for interest. two large stacks of bluish-white A4 paper, two glass ash trays, one with a few pens cradled in it, one empty. the ubiquitous stench of cigarettes. why is that smell the quintessence of stale? somebody changes the music — electronica for death-metal or so. conversations trip along and don’t seem to get through the aesthetic miasma that is anchored in the stacks of paper and the ashtrays. following the reasoning, following the line. and attempting to insert energy into the situation. having seen and been seen. and a child in a pink t-shirt wanders around. Papa! Papa! making space-testing sounds. to locate herself in the space. doing this, she locates all other receivers in themselves. placing them in the stiff reserve of their aesthetic opinions which they trade in measures, lubricated by wine. locative media while Rome Burns. or is this an exaggeration? more “another TAZ?”

high

attenuated transitions, on the same route taken two months previous almost to the day. across the Central Valley, and the ascent of the Sierras. not too crowded for a Saturday around peak season. so much drier than two months ago. most creeks in Yosemite are dry washes. fill the 10 gallon bladder with water from the high-pressure spigot at the east end of the Tioga grade. fill the water bottles and the 2.5 gallon tank as well. and drink a good fill. cold, damn good water. courtesy the Donner Electric Company. there are two spigots, another man is filling a large bladder in the back of his SUV. when I’m done, a pickup pulls up, the guy mouthing “get outta the way!” to me as I get into the cab of my truck. contorting my mouth into a variety of shapes, without using any particular language or vocabulary, I then smile and slowly pull away, waving. on down the road, south on 395 past Mono Lake, being passed by cars moving at excess of 80 mph most of the time. going backwards whilst going forward. one sedan passes. I vaguely notice the occupants. fifteen minutes later a tableau reveals itself. several cars parked on either side of the road, and that same sedan flipped over in the median, a group of people milling around. the D200 records several shots as I pass, transcendent. to Bishop. from Bishop one heads a bit south then east into the White Mountains on a very steep and twisted paved road which ends up in the Deep Springs Valley passing the mythological Deep Springs College. about half-way to the College is the turn-off into the Bristlecone Pine Wilderness area. a 40-mile trek on a bad dirt road. to the locked gate. tooling along, following the principle that wash-board surfaces are best negotiated as such a speed where the tires only have contact with the wave peaks, not the troughs, you get a smooth ride. while filed at the back of mind, another maxim taught/learned during the School of Mines summer field camp — “driving on a dirt road is like driving on ball bearings.” suddenly that mushy feeling with handling. hmmm. slow down. damn. a flat. the fourth this summer. good thing yesterday I had replaced the previous spare which had a 3-inch slash from an unknown source. the current flat tire has a similar gash. changing it as fast as possible, damnation, get covered with the fine pale beige dust. twiLight somewhere shortly off, and another 25 miles to go before getting to the locked-gate/trailhead. I had to think hard whether to continue without a spare or turn around and get back to paved life. with a uncertain heart, I went ahead, trundling along at no more than 5 mph. well, at least it gives a nice view of the passing scenery. consequently, I didn’t get to the gate until well after sunset. there were a couple other cars. there was a hard breeze blowing though with the air around 4% relative humidity, it didn’t feel as cold as it actually was, but it was plunging fast. the daily fluctuation can easily be 40 degrees F (30 C). ground cloth (a heavy black plastic sheet), three back-packing sleeping pads, the wool poncho from Colombia, bivouac sack, down sleeping bag, sheet sack, pillow, down vest, and fleece jacket. after a quick dinner of re-heated pasta from the night before, I crawl in, leaving a small slit to watch the stars through. only just warm enough. over-tired from the drive and the altitude, stunned awake by the stellar intensity, hardly sleep, catching a few scattered Perseids. I’ve not seen stars like this in years. this particular location, aside from the modest amount of air pollution from the rest of California to the west, is as dark as can be found in the lower 48 states. that and being up at high altitude. the stars were not positioned as in a dome of sky. rather, they appeared without perspective, nor were they simply pasted, flat on a black background. they appeared full and with depth and an obvious shading of dark matter obscuring the center of the Milky Way. enough overall Light to see easily. I had the feeling of plunging forward into them, clearly manifest as a space, a cosmos that I was floating into, chill wind flushing any illusions of being on a planet. flying despite the gravity of the chunk of rock pressing against my back.

the party’s over

beds empty and so the party slowly ends, folks departing reluctantly from orbit around the Manor and each other. remarkable to participate in such a once-in-a-lifetime event. something bittersweet, not to return to the same time and place, ever, again. and while each Cartesian moment is never repeated, ever, there are some that more charged than others with the enlivened energy of life movement. the last three days were such times. an amazing constellation of people of all ages and sorts. and the constellation assembled by the Light and gravity of this one person. how that is. how that kind of dynamic evolves through a life lived in some completeness and open-heartedness. I make a long sonic redux of the four days:

(00:55:14, stereo audio, 106 mb)

made a series of group portraits as people departed the temporary manor-home. not catagoric, but it included a fair number of folks. still getting used to the Nikon, and becoming handicapped without bifocals. and cannot rely on the auto-focus device. but the eye enjoys the process.

food? leftovers did not include the main courses and deserts, all of which were delicious, thanks to Tanya (for directing the kitchen for dinner (for 45) on Friday — a fantastic chicken curry), and Duncan (dinner (for 75!) on Saturday — venison, mushroom gravy, gratin Dauphinoix, red cabbage, various green things, and truffle torte with raspberry sauce).

the gift of attention

in the days preceding the material frenzy that so characterizes the holiday in the consuming world, I ponder my own relation to the holiday. what could be nicer than receiving a gift? something usable in the course of survival or something completely use-less except for the aesthetic energy it slow-releases to the eye or ear over time. or something that touches on the architecture of the relationship of giver to receiver.

for me the highest gift in the sped-up road-warrior world of 21st century amurika would be the gift of attention. now, I’m not talking about the obsessively sought attention of media-to-star, the ego-centric attraction of appearances, of shiny and slick surfaces, of painted-over cardboard facades, of glimmering particles that exert the false-attraction of material desires. nor the gloming and needy self-centered-ness that requires vampiric sustenance.

but more the binary and reciprocated exchange of attentive presence where the floating self might turn full-faced to the other and in Light and in Gravity — making Light, making Gravity — the two beings take up temporary residence in each others field-of-attraction and field-of-reflection. this is the gift of life, lived life-time shared. attentively shared, focused, concentrated. a gift without value, except for the value of life-time passed. a commodity in limited supply for each, such as the Moirae decree. no higher value of gift except for the giving of life to save a life.

but what is the essence of this gift of attention? in the exchange, sharing of life-time, the self is open, and in that open-ness, adsorbs the be-ing of the other. in this, the self is changed, evolves, realizes the absolute character of other-ness, and what a precious gift it is — to provide the opportunity of change. and between this change, and the apprehension of difference, occurring in an unstable space of the not-knowing, creative spark flashes. and we become more than we previously were.

gravity waves

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mantis

Waking up before any sunrise, anywhere. No western peaks aglow, just purple sky. No alarm necessary. No people seen, heard, until back onto the strip of asphalt that bisects the desert here. Dry washes elaborately choreographed through culverts and under bridges. Twenty miles of the Interstate is under re-construction because stormwaters have washed out the bridge pilings. The intensity of Pacific storms is ever-increasing. Current damage from the winter of 2005. Same time as when the only gas line feeding Arizona from California refineries was washed out. Seems that everywhere one drives in the US these days, roads are in pretty poor condition, infrastructure failing.

Following on: the numbing drive from Barstow, over Tehachapi, onto a side-road to Arvin, across the valley to Interstate 5, and on to another side road that goes through the Kettleman Hills, following the San Andreas fault. Ages ago, I did a re-analysis of the Kettleman Dome structure from an integrated gravity/seismic point-of-view for UnoCal—a beginners project just to see what kind of skills I had with integrating surveys and data interpretation in general. There are small pumpjacks every 100 yards or so. Praying mantises worshiping the ultimate god. A classic post-wildcat scenario without the wooden derricks. Feed my vehicle.

child in the woods

gathering impressions from Barry Lopez from his collection of essays “Crossing Open Ground” and recalling the desires to aid the imprinting of the natural world on the child’s sensitive nature. in order for those impressions to guide the evolution and understanding of the inter-connectedness of human life and all that which is beyond the power of humans to erase or destroy completely.

The most moving look I ever saw from a child in the woods was on a mud bar by the footprints of a heron. We were on our knees, making handprints beside the footprints. You could feel the creek vibrating in the silt and sand. The sun beat down heavily on our hair. Our shoes were soaking wet. The look said: I did not know until now that I needed someone much older to confirm this, the feeling I have of life here. I can now grow older, knowing it need never be lost.

The quickest door to open in the woods for a child is the one that leads to the smallest room, by knowing the name each thing is called. The door that leads to the cathedral is marked by a hesitancy to speak at all, rather to encourage by example a sharpness of the senses. If one speaks it should only be to say, as well as one can, how wonderfully all this fits in together, to indicate what a long, fierce peace can derive from this knowledge. — Barry Lopez, from “Children in the Woods”

Loki has decided not to come to the US this coming summer. it will be the first time I have had a summer off, and the first time he hasn’t been with me for the summer since he was 2 years old. it will make for a long short summer. he feels the gravity of teen-age friendships drawing him away from prospects of hours in heat-filled places, driving, walking, hanging out. looking at clouds, thunderstorms, rocks, and wind devils.

aurora borealis

Nina sees a project through from a distant beginning to a colorful end, or at least to a plateau, a stopping-point with AuroraLive — a collaborative live/online project happening on 05 February – tomorrow! I recall back to 1998 when she and Stephen Kovats visited Tornio when I was teaching there – on their way to the Sodankylä Geophysical Observatory for consultations. the aurora borealis is a scintillating visual experience. catching the eye at unexpected moments, mind cannot first untangle the electromagnetic information that the darkened sky is swirling, and neck immediately gets a crink between the cold and the angle of view. unlike the dark-sky spectacle Lyrids in temperate June or the Persieds in warm August — too damn cold to lie down and watch the aurora usually. needful of dark warmth, no Lights, back to earthen gravity floor and face to the eye-soaking mesmerizations. once I saw them in Arizona. as this is a darksky place, especially to the north, on the rim of the horizon, a glow where no far city plasma should be. I discounted the vision until confirmed later. at the latitude of Casablanca. a reminder of polar lives.

start: time:money:energy

lines of the hand, with the skin thinning, turning to trapezoidal textures that shimmer differently than they used to do. cool tonight, here at altitude, in the dry west, when the sun goes, warmth goes as well. remembering the nights in the desert, so many times. no matter the heat of the day, the night gives the heat back to the darkness of the sky. only in deep summer, is there more heat delivered than can be reflected away, so that only at the null hour, a time before dawn, does the air loosen itself of the burden of heat. but as soon as fall comes, with a couple days of cloud cover, the night air is an empty chill. more “start: time:money:energy”

gravity

a classic Arizona evening. air cooling rapidly, sky running a burnished spectrum from burnt orange to blue-white silver, clouds reversing the shades so that at zenith cloud and sky become one, for a moment. full moon rising over Mingus Mountain. dogs barking in the neighborhood, a rabbit comes running on the cool western downwind to sit right in front of me in the twiLight. Venus is the first planetary orb to show, followed by Jupiter, 13 degrees behind on the ecliptic. and while the precise placement of these masses constructs a field of influence on every body external, leaving the internal point of self unaffected, it is not revealed easily to the eye, used to watching fast-containing media flows. astrophysics talks about gravity. and so it is, a pseudo-science of invisible attractions. drawing bodies nearer or into slingshot close approaches which accelerate one in an altered trajectory onwards and leave the other spinning more slowly. while the sun provides life energy to press upwards with body presence, for a time, resisting that sagging force. there is no contradiction between science and spirit — the contradiction arises only in the naming of things. science believing that its system of naming, so clean and internally consistent, is superior to others, but each system of naming believes this. science is no different. faith in one, truth in the other, reality in a third. just down to words. (and the surprise that Babylon brought to humans — how could language be corruptible?)

Unocal memories

Reflecting on parallel universes, light musings surround the controversy that today ceased rumbling around CNOOC (Chinese National Offshore Oil Company) and Unocal (Union Oil of California). Back when I worked for Unocal in the early 1980’s, it is hard to imagine any other response than hearty guffaws to the suggestion that in 20 years the US oil concern would be up for auction with Chinese buyers out-bidding Chevron. No longer in contact with any of my colleagues from those days, I would be curious to hear their situations, if, indeed, they still are employed by the firm. Times change the conditions of the market. Unocal has been an acquisition target since the early 80’s when I was there — when the infamous Texas oilman T. Boone Pickens was in hot pursuit of the company, such that the board tried to sink the company into multi-billion debt to make it less attractive. It is a different time indeed when a Chinese company, 70%-owned by the Chinese government, makes an aggressive bid to acquire a legacy US corporation. And on top of that, a company dealing with the major strategic resource of the developed world of the 21st century. No wonder Washington hawks are screaming! After watching the entire Cspan-aired Senate hearings on this precise merger, I was astonished at the lack of intelligence in the expressions of the ‘experts’ called in by the Senate. So little understanding of the movement and evolution and change of power in a dynamic world. Fighting or resisting inevitable power shifts is for the naive who cling to temporal power under highly conventional paradigms. It is clear that China is rising, and the US perhaps falling — in the broad sense. the empty cup tends to fullness, the full cup tends to emptiness. Rather than deal with the realities of socio-political evolution, the Washington power-brokers cling to an out-dated and very static worldview. Few seems to get Sun Tzu.

But how is it, these men and women who populate a corporate landscape, how do they live? Remembering back to the instance of going on a executive retreat to an exclusive resort in Ojai, north of LA, for a 4-day review of Unocal’s status in the oil business. My task was to present at an informal seminar an overview of state-of-the-art technology and applications for gravity and magnetic in petroleum exploration. Golf was on the schedule for a majority of the older execs, their bonding exercise. Open bar helped with that. I got the feeling that everything simply went along a certain and safe pathway to the intended goal of regular paychecks which were fed into mortgages, car payments, and very short vacation splurges (only 10 days of holiday per year for the first 5 years). Like a corral to tame the wild engineering student broncos. At the end of my briefing on the Colombia Llanos project, I showed a series of slides including portraits of the local peasants, the landscape, and the on-the-ground operation. It was very quiet when I was showing images of the people.

I have always maintained that my departure from the Big Oil scene was in no way an altruistic choice. this despite an early radicalization which included studying “The Communist Manifesto” in 7th grade — a fact that classmate Russ Werner picked up. he was the funniest kid in the junior high school, and the best cartoonist as well. he left a note in my yearbook addressed to the Pinko Commie Rat. no, that predilection did not factor in, though I can point to Roger Steffens program on KCRW, where I was a volunteer-member, The Reggae Beat brought the vibes of the Rastafarian belief system into high relief with guests the likes of Bob Marley, Alton Ellis, and Peter Tosh. If music can radicalize, it did. Bob Marley speaks as powerfully as any German philosopher! Jah Rastafari Makonnen! not to mention programs like “Alma del Barrrio” on KXLU “schizo-radio on the Left.”

I also recall, when living off of Lincoln and Ocean, taking a long slow look at a Roland Jupiter 8 keyboard, running around $1200 at the time, now I really wonder what would have happened if I had bought that rather than a Nakamichi tape deck, a used 6’2″ twin-fin swallowtail surfboard, and a Fiat Spyder.

No, leaping from the Big Oil gravy train was merely the next step. on the eve of departure, the actual handing in a letter of resignation to Dennis Mett, the director of International Exploration, there was the huge Mombasa project that came up. For six months after I left, I would get occasional phone calls from Bill Sax, the VP of the International Division, asking if I wanted to continue working for Unocal and go to Africa for a couple months to oversee a mag survey from offshore up into the Great Rift Valley. By that time I was on another trajectory completely. Not nearly as lucrative, but somewhat more soul-satisfying.

Chief executives, who themselves own few shares of their companies, have no more feeling for the average stockholder than they do for baboons in Africa. — T. Boone Pickens

dis-orientation

the immediate sensation of walking in the desert is that of dis-orientation, not as though the earth is not located in gravitational alignment with the body, but just that local principles of verticality and level are distorted by the radiating fields of each feature of the landscape. the barrel cactus making a vortex, the Joshua Tree making a rushing multiplicity of whorls that snake through the air in frozen torment. the Saguaro, massive, rakes the moving air with so many spiny teeth that there is a rush not so different from that through the branches of a live oak, in the fall when the leaves are stuck in crinkled brown misery, waiting for some winter storm to end it all.

I stumble slowly in random directions. stopping every few minutes to examine some thing, no, some tableau, of intricate intensity. first it is the flowers, the huge ones on some of the smaller barrel cactus, the color of which cannot be mapped on a spectral scale. it is beyond red, crimson, scarlet, and carnelian together. then the small yellow-orange poppies, scattered widely, punctuating, defining vertices. then there are the rest of the flowers, purple, white, yellow, spectral and brilliant, defining scale. then the variety of cacti. birds, seldom actually seen, unlike the red-tailed hawk that signaled the place to stop for the night. but there is plenty of song throughout the air. stone and earth given from volcanism, basalts and pyroclastics, with rare SiO2 thermal depositions. what looks like a man-chipped white quartz flake in one stream bed. nothing else of interest locally. one wash has some standing water alive with insects and larva in the water. butterflies and hornets, wasps drinking. water seeming fresh, but another week and it will be gone. for the rest of the 4 months until the monsoon brings an occasional flash-flood. then the sky, with a patterned layer of high-altitude clouds coming from a NW low pressure, bringing something from the Pacific. not rain, but only the dimness of vapor sun Light. something of a relief here in the day, at night, keeping the land-warmth in a bit. I walk for perhaps four hours, stopping frequently, in an outward spiral from the space-vehicle that brought me here. seeing it on occasion, far off and small, alien. near it’s track. forward advance was halted by a hill a bit too steep and rutted and graveled to gain traction. the powerful urge to buy a 4×4 Tacoma nags at my hydrocarbon-nurtured soul. the soul born of the road-trip. a extravagant luxury in the near future. and only a strange memory for the next generation. grabbing food, bedding, tents, stoves, chairs, axe, bug-repellent, sun-screen, and some good friends, and head out, some where. topping the tank off at the last outpost.

with the clouds, Phoenix announces itself 120 miles away with a malevolent reddish glow reaching up about 15 degrees from the southeast horizon between two mesas. it brightens while I watch Jupiter, led by its four main satellites, pulling it like a globular puppet on invisible strings up the ecliptic plane. the two main tropic bands easily visible, the spot not apparent. (more images)

For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worth-while challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. — Carlos Castenada

last meal

The AGIS workshop ends with the thunderous rabbling-rumble of loud knuckles on desktops. Frieder later remarks on the enthusiasm judged from the volume that reached his office. I tell the participants that I have to record this social phenomena sometime as it is … different … a particular culture-specific way of applause-feedback-energy! Starting with a mid-morning breakfast, I am surprised that the discussion continues unabated right up to 1600 today. Last year there was an exhausted fizzle after the Thursday happening, so that Friday was a few closing comments and some debriefing, a collective lunch at one long table in the Mensa, and then departures. Matter of fact, I think I took an evening train to Kiel to C&S’s place to catch a plane to Helsinki a day or so later. Cycles. Orbits, gravity. This year, an equivalent level of energy, different forms. Students here actively engage their desire for ideas and relevant pathways.

trilobites

oh, dang, sleeping in the back of the pickup. plenty of room, but my back just can’t handle it anymore. tossing and turning, trying to find the combination of padding underneath, from available materials, to compensate for the flatness. always this way on the first night of camping. now breakfast, it’s windy, so, writing here instead of getting out and putzing around. trying to read and determine the location of the geological photos I got online compared to where I am now.

articulate or inarticulate trilobite (genus Olenellus or Dicellomus) hunting. first gotta find the local outcropping of the Chambless limestone, then trace down in the stratigraphic sequence to the bottom of that. or, figure out where the Zabriskie Quartzite is and trace upwards to several tens of feet of thinly inter-bedded quartz sandstone, shale, and limestone stringers. the Latham Shale is not ridge-forming or resistant to erosion, so it is found by default, identifying the two sequences that respectively over- or under-lie it to determine it’s location. a trained geologist can identify the rock types, but that information is no longer resident in my head in large or intact quantities, so, it’ll be haphazard. I have a few possible locations in mind, looking at the mountain directly above the wash, along with an old mine site which I want to check out.

inexperience and lack of sleep makes the surface seem rougher than it is. standing upright is an acquired skill, hiking is an acquired skill, and bush-whacking, the art of hiking off-trail, is no trivial extension of both those. here in the desert it is made somewhat easier by lack of vegetation and a clear view of possible objectives, but that fact does not make the scrambling across the surface and the constant calculation and re-calculation of optimal pathway any less processor-intensive. that and the fight to staying upright against the effects of gravity.

but. after a day of making two long hikes, it is possible to stand on an uneven talus slope and make a visual traverse without starting to fall over. the body beginning to adapt to the situation. a heavy climb up the stratigraphic column. no trilobites, but I did locate some nice samples of horizontal burrow structures — most likely the Latham Shale, but otherwise, it was difficult to figure out where in the column I was. the non-conformal contacts between several formations are not smooth, flat-lying, or revealed by the surface topography and have absolutely random strike and dip (zip and stroke we called in CSM daze). so, while making an ascent and some traverses, I was jumping through many different samples. of course, my geologic knowledge of the area is extremely limited, with no petrology lab background or even background reading except for the one field-trip document from Rick Miller at SDSU.

Hafnarborg

a trip to Hafnarfjördur to the city exhibition space yesterday, Hafnarborg to see the show that Valgerdur organized and put up with a couple of print maker colleagues. the Italian artist, Paolo Ciampini’s work shows much skill in a variety of mark-making techniques, but with a few exceptions, the subject seems banal, with the work in the larger gallery upstairs far out-stripping the rest in the lower gallery. of Valgerdur’s installation: the visceral quality of the hanging substrate suggests the various accretions of time on skin, while the sonic background sustains the viewer’s motion in relation to the object fields. the slabs of black basalt ground the embodied self as it moves through the Cartesian space while the etched basalt pebbles exert a field of visual gravity — enabling a kind of orbiting passage through the psychic space — good feng shui! Deborah Cornell’s work complements the overall show, although there is an overtly cerebral — with definitive Amurikan elements — where art is posed in opposition to competing (academic) “fields of inquiry” — in this case, big, bad science.

today is of travel and movement, starting late in the day and ending up much later, in the early morning. but arriving in Trondheim with only minor inconveniences.

Venus küsst die Sonne

gravity vortices spinning out from solar-venusian intersection draws me along, trailing, but engaged at high altitude. als kleiner dunkler Punkt vor der Sonne vorbei. a tracer.

after a nice afternoon re-connecting with Simon, listening to a whole slew of new sonic impressions since the last time we crossed paths long around about a decade ago across on the other side of Germany. decades that include the age of The Wall, a mark largely erased from the Berlin landscape. only a quick glimpse down the Unter den Linden to the Brandenburger Tor. can’t see anything, the linden trees obscuring most except the spinning Daimler-Chrysler ikon.

thinking that this place would be a nice landing zone. with energy that is picking up, focusing. but it would also be necessary for it to be a humanely warm place. no solo mio.

Day and night sounds on Goslarer Platz outside Wolfgang’s flat are urban and rural at the same time.

Pynchon

dinner with Steffi, Christian, Petra and Jan (along with Lynn the turntablist).

Pynchon crosses my path. long time since Gravity’s Rainbow. but Vineland strikes at the Steve Kurtz vs US gov’t affair that regurgitates into view from the belly of the beast. stepping into a swirling nightmare with only mine-shaft black facing up ahead. all future painted over with a slathering mix of carbon and steel, not to mention the shank-boot stamping on fingers and face. thank you taxpayer dollars. not a shred of romance, or even optimism except in some ethereal winding of ideology that transcends this life. leaves the corruption of state in its own self-made hell.

She had to switch cars again before she got to L.A., then took the bus out to a bank branch on mid-Wilshire where she had once providentially stashed a packet of documents that would now give her a choice among identities, paid cash on Western Avenue for a ’66 Plymouth Fury, bought a wig at a place across the street, went into a certain ladies’ gas-station toilet on Olympic legendary in the dopers’ community, and emerged a different, less noticeable person. The car radio, tuned to KFWB, was playing the Doors’ “People Are Strange (When You’re a Stranger)” as she injected herself into the slow lane of the eastbound freeway and settled in, hating to let go of any of it, Banning, the dinosaurs, the Palm Springs turnoff, Indio, across the Mojave, to be redreamed in colors pale but intense, with unnaturally fine sand blowing in plumes across the sun, baby-blue shadows in the folds of the dunes, a pinkish sky — holding on, letting go, re-dreaming each night stop the less easterly places she’d been in all day, coming slowly unstuck, leaving for the United States, trying not to get emotional but still hanging on the rear view mirror’s single tale of receedings and vanishing points as we hang on looks our lovers give. — Thomas Pynchon, Vineland

on the way

days alternate: hiding on the island, and going to meet folks. wandering to the ferry through the ice-fog. while meeting Sanna in Café Succés on Korkeavourenkatu, Visa sees me and drops in. on my first visit to Finland, in 1994, and then in early 1995, when I did a gig at Media Lab, I stayed in what was his printing studio, around the corner from the café. to save money on the Nordplus teaching exchange, I had a tea and wienari (a cinnamon and glazed pseudo-spiral of pastry dough with a berry jam center) for breakfast. earl gray. bergamot. it was enough to carry me until the institutional lunch at the university which packed belly with the standard fare. pea soup with ham on Thursdays. all across the country. anyway, it’s my favorite café in Helsinki, they have the largest and best wienari in town, made on the premises fresh daily. there is a constant level of coming and going, intimate meetings, where old lovers can have tea and conversation that drifts through all the subjects that once were whispered with entwined and humid breath in nights of late spring, no longer dark in these latitudes. tulips on the table are chosen with a color to match the only dressy shirt available, and time is mapped in eyes and souls. nothing changed, and only the future is left. the past is past. dialogue after dialogue. one, another, another, yet another. life spent in this vocal dance. and occasionally in the Lighter dance of embodied soul, where corporeal centers of gravity press close and don’t need calculus to predict a potent trajectory.

if only. on the edge of the seat, looking onto the eyes. averting when the intensity of that looking is too much. trying to see heart behind glassy lens. but, after awhile, nothing to do but be. effort for this is neither rewarded nor punished, only just tolerated. better to stay in the moment, forget past and future. be an oracle for the self. and when wandering back slowly to the island, Lightly entwined for warmth, words slowly pressed from the atmosphere, silence filled with iced breath. first some tea to warm hands, then rearranging the furniture, pushing beds together.

the issue is, on this residency, what exactly to do? or not to do?? some things are done already.