SpaceCollective: fishingpoet

SpaceCollective: fishingpoet http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet Wed, 09 Apr 2008 08:57:12 +0000 http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet en Getting dirt under our fingernails http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3690/Getting-dirt-under-our-fingernails http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3690/Getting-dirt-under-our-fingernails Wed, 09 Apr 2008 08:57:12 +0000 fishingpoet 3690 The state of our species... I wonder, in the end, what statement is being made, or difference forged, or truth realized through the collective intelligence, insight, creativity and hypothesizing happening here. Are we preaching to the choir? Are we simply sharing in sympathetic circles? Is our commentary inherently exclusive? Recent conversation around the quality/relevance/value of the information being added to the body of work that is Space Collective asks and tries to answer the question. The intensity and focus of initial posts vs. what seems to be fatigue as the months lumber on. What does immediate, mass dissemination of this information accomplish? What does it say about us as a culture...species? There's talk of malaise and disenchantment. There's the wholehearted, if only virtual, interest and exploration into the capacity/potential/value of a society that exists solely online. Humankind exists in billions of small universes... each with the potential to overlap... concentric circles from pebbles dropped on opposite sides of a calm pond. When I mentioned sympathetic circles above, I wasn't necessarily speaking of like-mindedness in individual opinion/attitude/experience, but rather like-mindedness in the fact that there is a collective comfort and confidence in the sharing of those opinions/attitudes/experiences in an online setting. The phenomenon of electronic culture is growing and garnering more and more clout as a viable and arguably vital part of our society/culture (I'm old enough to remember when typing classes were a requirement in school and half the class still had to use traditional typewriters). But what about face-to-face discourse? What about the marches and demonstrations from our not-so-distant past? The collective and most often undeniable voice of flesh and blood? Is it enough to simply record our opinions/attitudes/experiences here? To make them available to an audience (in reality, a thoughtful minority) for study and debate that stays-put in an exclusive medium (after all, invites are extended to those we feel would add to the conversation..we knowingly,or unknowingly, protect our space)? At what point does our intelligent and socially and culturally (and even politically) valuable discourse turn to involve/influence the leadership and policy of the real world (I'll point to the <a href="http://www.ted.com" target="_blank">TED conference</a>)? Is there a bigger picture? Will we ultimately leverage our applied thought to bring about social or environmental change? Will we illuminate the dire situation of millions suffering human rights injustices? Will we help to simply open peoples eyes to a greater and more dynamic appreciation of creativity? This may very well not be the platform for any of these things. And that's absolutely fine. But if we believe enough in our own merit to publish our thoughts for the world to see...and to challenge those of others respectfully, intelligently and with great passion...if we believe in change, in the idea that an individual voice can be heard on a global stage... there is a need...a requirement...to get dirt under one's fingernails (as I have been discussing with <a href="http://spacecollective.org/awindow" target="_blank">awindow</a> recently), a need for intention and intelligence to defined art (or even this historical electronic record) as "true." What truth are we looking to put forth about our species and its state here? Is it enough to simply define it? http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3690/Getting-dirt-under-our-fingernails ONE. MANY. http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3630/ONE-MANY http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3630/ONE-MANY Mon, 31 Mar 2008 07:25:46 +0000 fishingpoet 3630 When I say— (the sun sets on a field of blue to orange-red) it has nothing to do with— (thin fingers of smoke rise from refugee chimneys) (tired heart, clutching threadbare rest) http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3630/ONE-MANY CHANNELS http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3629/CHANNELS http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3629/CHANNELS Mon, 31 Mar 2008 07:12:28 +0000 fishingpoet 3629 The lake is half frozen & the geese & swans can’t make up their minds. Everything has gained a transitory aura & its tough to pin down exactly which habits should rise from ancient genetic patterns until the beard-frost leaves the surface. Their feet are leathery— the cold does not phase them. http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3629/CHANNELS 1st MANASSAS http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3628/1st-MANASSAS http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3628/1st-MANASSAS Mon, 31 Mar 2008 07:10:41 +0000 fishingpoet 3628 Drums started the boys west to this field from Washington. War to them was a three-month enlistment, a bright uniform & a chance to carry a musket. Senators, Congressmen, their wives & children, packed baskets with lunches & followed to watch the show. Almost a century & a half has passed. Somehow my visit seems forced, disrespectful. I walk through the field, burnt umber by a dry summer & the changing season, toward three oaks that would only have been saplings when the battle started on this hill— much like the boys whose spirits are still here. My foot step snaps a fallen branch. Starlings lift from the oaks then settle again. http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3628/1st-MANASSAS THIS DEPLOYMENT http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3627/THIS-DEPLOYMENT http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3627/THIS-DEPLOYMENT Mon, 31 Mar 2008 07:09:11 +0000 fishingpoet 3627 I most are kids can’t grow a mustache where they’re going, bullets won’t care jumpy ghosts who know nothing about conflict except what a fist feels like after a school dance argument ready to be heroes boots, BDUs & guns leaving gym bleachers like a slow parade watch the families say good-bye with tearful fuck yous & hearts spilling on the polished wood floor II passing on barely audible steps like long-standing bets with their fathers dead ten years now buckets of ash in their chests smothering these hawk-eyes for the not-quite-right quick-study marksmen knowing only diplomatic decay kevlar, tightly laced boots & a full magazine patrol for their lives pray in half empty canteens that the hand of god finds its rest here III they want to write home everything’s OK no worries miss you small home-front hope really only that much to offer it registers in their periphery small muzzle flash out of a tragic panorama just a puff of smoke-spark click pop before lying down mute heroes IV they fall into formation draped in proud uniformity red white & blue promised land as far as the tarmac can see listen as the echoes snap to attention listen as the cadence is called their march continuing on http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/3627/THIS-DEPLOYMENT CALL & RESPONSE http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2792/CALL-RESPONSE http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2792/CALL-RESPONSE Wed, 09 Jan 2008 09:45:58 +0000 fishingpoet 2792 <img src="http://spacecollective.org/userdata/e3sVgQc6/1199900803/Calling.jpg" border="0" width="" height="" class="padTopBot"> how is it we can understand when speaking speaking speaking filling space fragile reed volumes remain in the silence between thoughts http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2792/CALL-RESPONSE COHESION http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2648/COHESION http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2648/COHESION Thu, 03 Jan 2008 13:41:55 +0000 fishingpoet 2648 These words are breath on a cold morning drawn through the throat of the blood-gilled trout— the belly becomes white, becomes the belly of a cloud front tumbling over snow capped mountains. It doesn’t matter the hows or whys rather that there is nothing else at this moment & everything else from now on. The sun learns existence from the movement of shadows away from it. Opposition & survival. This is existence— the stuff that sticks like hydrogen atoms to each other. This is explosiveness— the twisting of words like so much cording, the absoluteness of the braid lengthening to keep ships held fast to pilings pushed into the bedrock under the water of a harbor sloshing against the starboard side & foaming upward at the gulls feathering the northern wind until they dive for minnows. http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2648/COHESION BLACKBIRDS IN THE K-MART PARKING LOT http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2614/BLACKBIRDS-IN-THE-KMART-PARKING-LOT http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2614/BLACKBIRDS-IN-THE-KMART-PARKING-LOT Wed, 02 Jan 2008 12:46:06 +0000 fishingpoet 2614 I’ve seen more lately. I imagine some K-Mart shopper tossing nonchalantly the plastic wrapper from a pack of menthols into the air while walking away from the automatic doors. Before it reaches the ground some chemical or biblical shift has occurred, creating conglomerates of cells for feathers, knobby legs & feet, beady eyes & a voice like a car crash. Once it touches down, blows under a mini-van & a pick-up, the miracle of life flexes inside of it & suddenly there is the back-end of the bird & one foot. The bird is huge coming out of such a small piece of plastic. Now the other foot, the mid-section, neck & yes, a mean-ass beak. The blackbird shines, clean as black on white, pecks a couple times at its old womb & flies off. http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2614/BLACKBIRDS-IN-THE-KMART-PARKING-LOT HYPOTHESIS http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2613/HYPOTHESIS http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2613/HYPOTHESIS Wed, 02 Jan 2008 12:44:07 +0000 fishingpoet 2613 One population becomes destructive & the weight of necessity becomes evident. Bottlenecks bursting at their seams— this our lineage & history. The poplars will bend under their perfect weight— the weight of ten billion eons. They look on with faces bright from attention— resolute & randomly tittering in the blue mid-air. http://spacecollective.org/fishingpoet/2613/HYPOTHESIS