The following account of genius bassist Charles Mingus' eviction sparks in me more delirium than fury. Productive delirium because it makes me want to breach my own associations with something more accurate, or to collapse footage into them, or to redistribute these associations across new territory, thus altering that territory so that I may remain, in tact. The clip sent me on a journey into a new idiom, the hyper-poem, or a (hyper)poetics that addresses the grotesque amount of unaccounted for information on the Internet by uniting phrases within a poem with 'hyperlinks' until the overlap becomes so senseless, sharp, and impacted that a chaotically lucid call and response emerges which I treat like an index of associations or an archive or a map/amp of thought into phrasal action. Part of reading these poems is engaging their multifarious links and biases. Eventually they will evolve into soundpieces that function as an amalgam of the text and the indexing. Language is both vivified and emptied by the process of writing and sounding out these poems, words humbled by the editorial, meta-ethereal desire behind them. For example: A clean black man in a numb cadillac driving down the rent
The Earliest Hyper Poetics (A Rent Poem)
(Song of Concern) /(Critics like Cities)
The hippest branch of ritual or fame yields to the built in dangers of comfort.
It's not stealing to see a cane break from a city slum or finesse the sugar from a barren shore
The brutality of closeness is that we are not meant to climb into the same joke about the gainless celebration of pitch or the radical archive sitting uncollected and literal in your
lap that sip which brings you laughing to the next duty or rule so fast did it ever happen Even drastic camouflaged maps of the tenements that have landed in fancy burntbrick buildings do not consider the most meaningful and prude attempts at shield
all around me Enclosure shortcut to being in a moment is to being in an Alan Lomax tune about tenure the clowns and count me his round humming counting money cake punch and sage beneath my houseshoes and braiding together the keep we've made a reassortment of ourselves called witnesses showing up as critical to your showing you up This is the fun and the damage and the movement and the planed, inevitable I can't anymore and so I pretend not to want something in order to have it and I'm cool and I'm more black lonely and this is my kind gathering around the calendar to make a home in numbers you heard recited from an auction where they might have sold all your things right then if you hadn't installed this moment in their panel like land
The Earliest Hyper Poetics (A Rent Poem)
(Song of Concern) /(Critics like Cities)
The hippest branch of ritual or fame yields to the built in dangers of comfort.
It's not stealing to see a cane break from a city slum or finesse the sugar from a barren shore
The brutality of closeness is that we are not meant to climb into the same joke about the gainless celebration of pitch or the radical archive sitting uncollected and literal in your
lap that sip which brings you laughing to the next duty or rule so fast did it ever happen Even drastic camouflaged maps of the tenements that have landed in fancy burntbrick buildings do not consider the most meaningful and prude attempts at shield
all around me Enclosure shortcut to being in a moment is to being in an Alan Lomax tune about tenure the clowns and count me his round humming counting money cake punch and sage beneath my houseshoes and braiding together the keep we've made a reassortment of ourselves called witnesses showing up as critical to your showing you up This is the fun and the damage and the movement and the planed, inevitable I can't anymore and so I pretend not to want something in order to have it and I'm cool and I'm more black lonely and this is my kind gathering around the calendar to make a home in numbers you heard recited from an auction where they might have sold all your things right then if you hadn't installed this moment in their panel like land
