L I t T e R |
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It is as though in removing its mask the landscape shows on its face an expression one recognizes but is unable to immediately place. |
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Somewhere, a garage door goes down. Thus, a fiction begins. Clouds gather, disperse. Let this suffice as a working formula for working a formula: what I’m coming to terms with – repetition’s liberating constraint. What occurs in the courtly world has little currency to those taking up arms against it. What I’m coming to terms with builds that which contains the components to construct an evolving sense of entropy. The grand narrative the end of narratives had had had had no grandiose ending. It is as though in removing its mask the landscape shows on its face an expression one recognizes but is unable to immediately place. |
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The first option is to rattle the world in its frame. The second frames the world in its rattle. Between them, an amplifier without its instrument. This is not a metaphor. Each paragraph requires the participants to reposition themselves. From up here, I can make out the action as if it were taking space. Several ants beelining back to headquarters. Reportage lacks ideology as painting lacks performance. Some of these statements are false, including the present example. If one were to take transgression as one’s starting point, then it would be limitation that throws one satisfyingly out of joint. |
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The problem of doing justice to sun coming over the hills, morning light accentuating dust on a bureau’s surface, then becoming surface, as one collects tha vagrant thoughts of last night’s proposition for tomorrow into a tenuous plan for today’s action, a course to be followed for its familiarity, for the comfort of greeting again that particular tree, trinkets arranged on a neighbor’s lawn, the same attempt to decode graffiti on the back of a stop sign, rather than the difficulty of inundating one’s self in an alien landscape, which, with its stultifying complexity of surplus imagery, forces one to simultaneously recognize and reject textual symmetry. |
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Noah Eli Gordon, “Novel Pictorial Noise”, (pub. Harper Perennial, 2007). |
… such that the only relevant plane remaining is constituted entirely by the hue of the grass – the ground over which anyone which to approach must pass. |
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