OK.
Moving on.
So this is a book called Pink Waves.
And this is an example of an extreme edge of translation
that I refer to in my Say Translation is
Art where I do what I call a micro-translation
of the syntax.
There are source texts that are from Adam Pendleton's poem,
"Black Dada," which he has a source text for which
is Ron Silliman's "Ketjack."
And then there's one other source text
which is Waveform by Amber DiPietra and Denise Leto.
And so it's a book that I wrote in performance.
It's a book that is in a loose ABA sonata form.
So there are musical influences that
went into the writing of it.
It's a funky book too.
It's a book length poem.
So I'm going to read the last section of the middle B
section.
But I can't find the beginning of it.
Here we go.
So I'm dropping you right in the middle of the book.
So don't feel bad if you don't understand.
I guess that goes for anything that I might be reading.
You can feel bad for other reasons,
but don't feel bad for not understanding.
I feel bad about a lot of things.
"Eight.
Do you think that if I brought you more and more endless
blue green ovals, then far below the surface,
you could jam an entire shark following
the manatee into your body, and you could translate that
into this touch, that blow, and linger in a truer deep?
Variate gate me.
You don't have to eat it.
Art is there.
It is.
I adore you.
I was wrong.
If I say something, I will still be wrong.
So I learned to hang with it.
I miss you.
I fall and brush the dirty sidewalk off my sleeve.
In 2019, private equity investor Victor Lance Vescovo
traveled 11 kilometers into the depths of the Mariana Trench
and saw some shrimp, a spoon worm, a pink snailfish,
as well as the sharp edges of a man-made object.
In 1967, Solanas self-published her SCUM Manifesto
and sold mimeographed copies on the street.
Sol LeWitt's 'Paragraphs on Conceptual Art'
were published in Artforum.
The shoelaces of audience members who identify as such
are covertly tied together.
And when they try to run out of fear,
that is when they see the light.
I respect the need for bicycles and bathrooms,
but suspect the voice of an external traducer, contest
the outcome.
The wrongness still lurks.
Yesterday, I wrote a letter to which
I received a response in the form of a call
and response, called to conduct experiments in joy.
A slip of concentration in the predicate vicinity
is cause for a public lapse, crashing one wave
after another.
The solitude of my resistant pitch gestures
towards commitments that merit utopian amorous manifestations.
Nétop means friend in Wopanaak.
Pengyou means friend in Chinese.
Mindful how you wield that word.
Frogs die easily in sites of abundance.
Erode in Kusano Shinpei's Iwaki is covered in frog kill.
I need to enter the blue space between whatever
measures of time the body requires to reassemble itself.
A quiet neck is often mismeasured
as discomfort, which is indifferent to the noise
of the world.
Anyone who enters can witness my quiet protest.
I release it into the space and upwards a little.
Empirical narrator turns up the volume,
up against the ambition, the criminal, the acclamation.
A woman lies down in the middle of the central aching pasture
from which she cannot get up.
Avant garde poet Takagai Hiroya wailing at the edge
of the ocean in Post-3.11 Japan.
I need the slightly eroded quicksand moat
to protect us all, to protect us all.
Sitting on the banks of a new book,
I abolish your notion of beauty.
The sound must never impose itself over the images
or override or shout down.
Conceptual artists do not march.
They do not have feet and legs, not in that way.
I do not claim Black Dada, but I know
that certain uses of the word love is a trap.
Would I be a writer without those who opened up space?
The Black Dada Reader is a collage
by Adam Pendleton in the form of a book.
Internal findings undulate in super slow motion
beneath the bedroom window.
In 1960, the poem became a function.
The desk is positioned at the wrong height.
These goals are a great carrier of stillness.
Back in the dirt, bring a flower when you visit in case
the rest is unintelligible.
She was a proxy for finite differences.
She happened at once.
She radioed.
That bright light where your aesthetics bullies my politics.
I am willing to describe you over and over again
until you return.
Not unlike an apology for the atrocities of the American War.
A passing moment reveals itself to have been nothing, nothing,
nothing, nothing.
If empire maps onto bodies, then which limb is your nation?
Emancipatory and reactionary figures are allowed to coexist.
Drowning people die quietly while others make noise.
Women marched in 2017 in pink hats and not in pink hats.
In 1969, Sirhan Sirhan shot Bobby Kennedy.
No, that was '68.
Earth sonata in the kitchen, earth sonata in the shower.
Hard to come by a room of my own, but I do need some money.
Destruction is only an opportunity
to build and rebuild, refusal to participate in your version
of understanding.
I don't need to own your words, or for that matter, mine.
If you do not want to be implicated, then get out now.
Yes, you can.
What I fail to embody can be dispersed and refurbished.
That dark alley where my politics beats up
your aesthetics.
Since when is discernment the right thing to desire?
I propose an evasion of inordinately large demands.
The grand narrative collapses under its own weight.
I take a kick in the mouth for you, over and over again.
The scalpel is sharp, use discretion when cutting.
My facility when it arm wrestles with your facility.
I let you mortar, muzzle, celebrate, and hate me.
Speaking into a space where one is illegible.
If time drops here, my function is to bewilder it.
Any alerts on the table must answer to the desk.
I have solved for x.
Recall, this too, is joy.
It appears I have made a fine mess of things
on timescales comparable to human lifetimes.
I can't metric you no matter how much I try.
Reflex is the new register upon which we vote,
the formal struggle of a vertical field of grass.
Your transfiguration, too controlling for me.
The tree of the shade of the leaf of the fall.
How will I locate expansiveness in touch?
The on point rhythms of partial identities.
No two bodies occupy pink the same way.
That's just the way you love, by thinking.
Back in the dirt, all the loves I have loved.
Back in the dirt, naively rooting around.
I don't need your fleabag scuttlebutt.
What is globally fluid?
Just think, just think.
The extent that we need another dollar.
I let you fall here like an intimate leaf.
And I will share this room with you.
I don't need to be at odds with myself.
The steady abiding, the deaf gain, how can I make this wave
speak?
For you, my friend, a little discount.
You, you, you, night, you, you.
Do you know what I fail like?
A fullness and mouth for two, a breakdown of the criterion,
destabilize this publication.
Earth sonata sung by a beetle.
The desk is a spatial deadline.
No music without friendship.
Illegible man, irreversible man, I need you to see it, want it.
Poppycock aperture power.
Do you want more protection?
Now I'm at odds with myself.
We want to make noise, incontinental embodiment.
You, you, you, you, you, fire.
Performance never dies.
Alone over my dead fire.
Mariana Roa Oliva is going away.
Lipstick transmission light.
Black Dada is not mine.
Solitude of my pitch.
No, and no, don't die.
I need an explanation.
Pulmonata kidney of, kick in my mouth, no normalized anger,
Bert confabulation.
What about dinner?
Gravitational light.
Best case light beam.
You were elegy fight.
Evacuate this text.
Seed of control.
Line, hold to it.
Fish or cigarettes?
Do you like it?
Prohibitive light.
Do you hear it?
The defiance.
We ate them.
Time capsule.
So do I love.
Light in haste.
No language.
Are you here?
Black Dada, no landfill, bed of fog.
Is it here?
Refuge."
Thank you.