And what a dynamic, handsome object is a path! How precise the familiar hill paths remain for our muscular consciousness! When I relive dynamically the road that climbed the hill, I am quite sure that the road itself had muscles, or rather, counter-muscles.
A grey rock balances, stands and eventually falls into a mirrored rectangular prism.
A white rectangular slab continually leans and digs itself into dust.
Two flat metal sheets, resting upright, support a hollow white basin until they collapse and form a ground above which something grows.
"It is in the midst of the utterly ordinary, in the space where the dominant relations of production are tirelessly and relentlessly reproduced, that we must look for utopian and political aspirations to crystallize … To read everyday life, what Hegel called “the prose of the world,” is therefore to become engaged in the act of poiesis … It means … that we understand poiesis in the sense of a transformative or creative act."
— Paul Lefargue’s The Right to Be Lazy
"poems are bullshit unless they are
teeth or trees or lemons piled
on a step"
— Amiri Baraka (via markgmahoney)