FROM HALF-LIFE, A POEM-LIKE THING   “every man is capable of showing his contempt for the cruelty and stupidity of the universe by making his own life a poem of incoherence and absurdity.” -Gabriel Brunt *                           *                           *                            *                           * I have nothing to say & I am saying it in a kind of field poetry From a position of openness to surrounding                                                 context Enveloped by a fine network of half-expressed thoughts & feelings an atmosphere of such suavity difficult to resist                                          almost w/out restraint He arrives, unexpected, and possesses a bare, wintry landscape, dotted w/ploughmen               plodding interminably behind scrawny oxen *                           *                           *                            *                           * The permanent condition of manufactured man constituted of the sordid, its diabolical                                            subtlety caught up forever in burning & immortal bizanteaten jaws of death Scattered along stations at the long end of the                                                                             spectrum things are always going wrong                      Naïve voluntarism obscures operation of dark                     forces *                           *                           *                            *                           * Continuously firing gorgeousness upon him she sprawled him down w/out even a smile, hacked his heart Later, weeping on top of the remains of her house bemoans obstacles to intimacy Helen: where necessity & beauty converge in the playpen of erotic devotion crisis heterotopias of deviation begin to function at full capacity *                           *                           *                            *                           * Writing in an obsolete medium of witness & documentation a “field of action” exhibiting aggression to an audience                                                                             concealing amidst its reflection of economic & class contradictions deconstructive death rays impelled by force grandiose, selfish & cold throughout those dismal days when the dead return to inhabit their former houses needing to express their tendency to view                                        experience through a lens of literary utility *                           *                           *                            *                           * Walking through streets filled w/ghosts of early boy-selves industrious, affable, having brain on fire Everything leads to whatever follows Bernouli’s Encyclopedia of Imaginary Diseases including a disdain for humanity as practiced an Olympian desire for perfection over power creating bridges between radical formalism and a vaudevillian social platform A strange state of mind, compounded                                     of shock, unnatural calm, and grief sharpened                           into anguish by the complete wreck of earthly good Party of animals / animals partying amidst hyperbolic self- imagining repudiates all notions of authorization emptiness w/a few things arising                                 in it Glorification of energetic stupidity a methodical tool designed to subvert expectations of bourgeois readers suspended in a doubt-like world There is no escape from heaven that large brothel called Aquitane, its hatred of everything that doesn’t relate to literature the proper setting for epic scale brain warfare among                                                                 poets codependent & entangled sadomasochistic perpetual institutionality of avant-garde practice the mania for phrases drying up the heart *                           *                           *                            *                           * “If anyone is sleepy let him go to sleep.” -John Cage Write as short as you can, in order of what matters, as if your parents are dead Your loneliness is a complex group dynamic to keep the mind alert but empty Practice: a syncretic poetics of ingenuity & invention, collage & palimpsest where music invades the sentence at the vulvic gateway to Archaos dreams leak and the dead return, but only if you love grim deeds & moral panic, that aridity required for the production of genius self-involved and unable to draw joy from the world its pitch, timbre, loudness, duration glorious penetralium locating us as part of an intensity not an instant lost / doing what must be done Women edge away from smell of hopelessness the fraudulent imposition of Eros over Ananke minor, deceptive & extended detournements / normal marital hatred Devote one’s life to beating one’s head against that wall collecting, hoarding and archiving laws & people ambitionless setting oneself up on verge of ruin a maggot on the corpse of its revisionist masters Narcissistic aversion to seeing oneself as permanently ill divination algebra connects holographic sense to useless primordial reality of soul Prepare for the next dumb blow barest inkling of joyful wisdom always overwhelmed by cheap / teenage nihilism *                           *                           *                            *                           * “If the mind is disciplined, the heart turns quickly from fear towards love.” -Meister Eckhart Sincerealism of the workless world of work seen through rectal eye of disorientation everything happening at once, heavy eyes & rain, thick head & ground-fog never thinking get some of that love Transcend! sensitivity to rejection leap over the wall of self after logos abstract rejection of epic encyclopaedism isomorphic speech-times closely correlated with higher whole-system productivity its typically ironic and tightly disciplined nature is breathtakingly beautiful “Just because it’s New Year’s Eve doesn’t make this is any way excusable.” 1 Guilt-ridden literary forensics your disturbing & conscious complicity in his long-anticipated breakdown talking too much bullshit, tapping feet, facial twitches, not looking directly into eyes when talking                                    shades of Duncan ‘63 Olson’s blazing sun fragmentary images a terminal moraine left behind by passage through conscious-ness Everything had been tried and he just couldn’t stand it any more 1 For Simon Thompson and Hardy Friedrich. _____ G.P. Lainsbury has been teaching at colleges and universities in northern British Columbia since 1995. He is the author of The Carver Chronotope: Inside the Life-World of Raymond Carver’s Fiction (Studies in Major Literary Authors, Volume 23. New York and London: Routledge, 2004); his poems, stories and articles have been published widely in journals across North America. Versions of North, a book of poems, was published by Caitlin Press in 2011.   Northern BC folio curated by Gillian Wigmore.