2013 Screening Log

202 total. T = watched in theater, DP = digitally projected either at Coco’s, Dean’s studio, or Konrad’s. I’ve written about some of these various places. Obviously I completely lost my habit of taking notes on whatever I watched, but I got a lot better at my reading log at least.

2701 – 01/02/2013 – The Complete Secret History of the Entire Planet Earth – Tooth [16mm]

2702 – 01/02/2013 – Swamp – Nancy Holt & Robert Smithson

2703 – 01/02/2013 – Asphalt Pour & Glue Pour – Robert Fiore

2704 – 01/02/2013 – Monolake – Robert Smithson & Nancy Holt

2705 – 01/02/2013 – Spiral Jetty – Robert Smithson

2706 – 01/05/2013 – The Women – George Cukor

2707 – 01/08/2013 – Tristana – Luis Bunuel T

2708 – 01/08/2013 – Blues Eyes of the Broken Doll – Carlos Aured

2709 – 01/08/2013 – And Then There Were None – Peter Collinson

2710 – 01/09/2013 – Despair – R.W. Fassbinder DP

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Mostly of the second half of the year once I started my (no-longer) new job, notes on things to read or look up, listen to, watch, notes towards projects, writing, etc:

  • Jalal Toufic re: Last Year at Marienbad
  • Look for record of Singapore Sling screening at a YBCA series?
  • Cutris Hasselbring, “Tux is Traitor” (album: “Number Stations”)
  • Book on history of (performative) magic?
  • Notes toward audio piece: talk freely of erotic fantasies (in seriousness), cut into reading of more formal poem
  • interject dialog [into poem] via Bernard Noel
  • [Claude] Royet-Journoud’s–“Shall we escape analogy” in Le Renversement
  • watch more JEAN PAINLEVE
  • make a bound copy of [Paul Auster’s translation of] duBouchet’s The Uninhibited
  • a film/play/performance about the death of a horse – c.f. Bokanowski / Greenaway / Schroeter
  • literalize the idea of “hunting the void”
  • printing transparencies on laser printer?
  • Roubaud’s ∈ in English?
  • doors are as important as hallways/tunnels/corridors/tubes
  • corps/texte » “cortex” » body/text [cf. Brossard]
  • XXX XXXX XX XXXXXXXXXX XXXXX as manuscript title [I’m actually going to use this so it’s hidden for now]
  • “secrecy is dislocation, severed place, topological severing” (Masciandro, 82)
  • “objects for spiritual use” by allesandro mendini
  • read bruno munari’s books
  • Gaetano Pesce, “Project for an Underground City in the Age of Great Contaminations” (Klaus Zaugg, 1972)


  • a fascination with erotic machines
  • “I believe in eroticism a lot,” said Duchamp
  • “a murder in a park is different to a murder in a cathedral”
  • “the flow of the cosmos merges allegorically in order to be released in bodily desecration” (on Nitsch’s Oedipus Rex)
  • in absence, eroticism lingers
  • maze as execution chamber
  • “He is not a person, but rather an impersonal seductive power” –Roger LaPorte on Don Juan
  • “the Church of the Death of God” c.f. Klossowski
  • the desire to encounter one’s own corpse
  • ‘atheological verticalism’ like Dante
  • “For instance, Bataille chooses to focus his attention on the baboon’s anus long after the initial encounter in London; in this way the ‘solar anus’ continues to serve as a catalyst for ‘the dislocation of thought’ leading to self-loss.” York, pg 12 fn50 (& last few paragraphs of essay are worth noting)
  • “of violence & elevation”
  • “EXCAVATE VOIDS: Investigate the hollow spaces of the text, the gaps between the lines, the silences between the words. Seek not exquisite corpses but disquieting cuts. ” (Allen S Weiss)
  • “the paradoxical attempt to represent an ineffable aspect of existence”
  • “the subject who speaks has just vanished”
  • “to expose himself to the absence of her gaze”
  • fiction w/ anonymous characters (whispers)


  • secret game in the garden
  • misread a greeting card that says “you are so special” as “you are so spectral”
  • read Hemingway’s FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS [as parallel text to STORY OF THE EYE]
  • ask Norma about CURTAINS magazine
  • Derrida – “La doublé séance” in DISSEMINATION, on Sollers’ NOMBRES and Mallarmé’s LE LIVRE
  • Poe – Gordon Pym
  • Duras – Abahn, Sabana, David
  • “ritualistic re-enactment of plot events”
  • DENIS ROCHE, Dans le maison du Sphinx
  • “fictions” that pursue the search for the “unknown”
  • “white chamber” » chambre blanche
  • “dad’s secret harddrive” » erotic narrative device :: there must be a secret which is complex
  • eros » erosion
  • the power of erotism to “present nervous tension, de-figuration”
  • re-read Bataille’s THE JESUVE
  • Ian Hamilton Finlay, “Strong Path/Little Sparta” in Scotland (garden)
  • Jean-Claude Montel
  • Pasolini, The Divine Mimesis
  • minimalist poetry article [re: poetry vs philosophy] w/r/t Laruelle’s experimental texts
  • Robert Smithson, The Eliminator
  • Jean-Marie Gleize
  • re-read Hermann Nitsch’s “the lamb”
  • Eugene Savitzkaya
  • [Denis] Hollier, “La nuit américaine”
  • Foucault, “Preface to Transgression”
  • Denis Hollier’s intro to GUILTY, “A Tale of Unsatisfied Desire”
  • JSTOR search Bataille articles published since 2010

I imagine there is shit misspelled throughout, that’s what happens when you (I) scribble stuff down.

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7. 247 D

(from James Lee Byars – The Perfect Moment, Instituto Valenciano de Arte Moderno)

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and still the houses all feel alien

the exploratory energy all feels gone right now. like i’m waiting for something to lift me up as if anybody but Me could be responsible for that. really feeling not ok today, series of events via conversation with dean weakened me… nothing that is his fault. i spend so much time convincing myself that i’m invincible and can do whatever i want that when something penetrates, unexpectedly, i crumble and wish for a cave to crawl into. i am never as sure of myself as i let on. it’s unfortunate, really.

a day in retail where i spent the morning cursing the fact that in this culture i can’t take a ‘mental health day’ because you can’t take time off and even if you could it would just mean that your paycheck will be less than it needs to be two weeks from now. it’s all so exhausting, really. i’m throwing myself back into the french poetry from the 60s 70s 80s what else is new but i’m more focused now, things seem to be making more sense; like i’m finally able to move past awe and start to feel.

watching a movie a night because i can’t make myself work. on what needs to be worked on. so tired and not. mom & brother visited san francisco and for the first time ever somebody in my family met someone i love. the initial shock subsided so quickly & things went well that i didn’t even have a moment to process how monumental of an event had occurred. sometimes things should be so easy, and they are. other times they are not.

i want to swim under the sun in a river, feel rocks and sand under my feet. san francisco i love you but you are changing into something that neither me nor anyone who i love can navigate. i guess it always happens this way.

it’s as if i feel so utterly alone but that is wrong. like i want to say “i’m sorry” but i’m not sure who it needs to be said to other than myself. capitalism is making me forget to take care of myself in ways that are essential. fruits & vegetables, stretching my body, accurate rest. instead a machine moving forward. waiting for something without being able to articulate what that something is.

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the late (as in “as of”)

my time, lately, has been posited in a dedicated splitting, that is to say, a fragmentation: 1/4th of my head is dedicated to working my new job–another retail position, but really not so bad, and paying slightly better than the last. the primary difference, and thusly dedication, comes via a new shifting in hours: wake up at 6 or 6:30 everyday is forcing me to entirely reconsider my schedule. another 1/4th of my head is dedicated to house hunting. dean and i will mostly like be living together in oakland by the end of the year . . . at least, once we iron out all these kinks. i’m both thrilled and terrified–not terrified of living with dean, but terrified by what a relocation would entail. a third 1/4th dedicated to sleeping, of course, in relation to adjusting into new schedule, and the final 1/4th is me trying to get Work (that is, what i call work, the work that is important to me) done, whenever i can. writing, new art ideas, book ideas–things that always circle around my head. there aren’t enough hours in the day, this is nothing new.

planning on re-doing both the solar▲luxuriance & the impossible void website (the latter which REALLY needs it) as soon as i have the time–when, who knows when that will be!–my list of things to get done is never ending, but really, it helps me to focus.

there’s always an issue with money, but i’m trying to push further to ‘dealing'; like i have this idea that if i focus on my body, spending money on food will become less of a priority–i’m nowhere near to the realm of where eating significantly less would impact my health, nor is it likely i ever will be; but i’d like to shape the body (that is: my body–depersonalization runs deep) into something new, something i can use in new ways. i want to shape the voice and the body into a desiring-machine for performance. not that i have all the venues… anyway.

i’m reading at city lights in jack kerouac alley on sunday, august 4th–arguably the ‘highest profile’ reading i’ve ever done, and also the first reading my mother will be at, as her and my brother will be visiting from illinois while it occurs. we’ll see what happens. need to figure out a way to approach material without feeling like i have to censor myself.

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Andre du Bouchet, translated by Paul Auster

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Forbidden Fictions / Nohow On

I have some books sitting by my desk that are only sitting here because I need to transcribe some passages from them before they go either back onto my shelf or into my “to sell”pile.


  • homosexual French writers: Tony Duvert, Jean Demélier, Renaud Camus and Dominique Fernandez
  • On Story of O:

    Admittedly, the letter O also suggests the sex object that the character consents to become: the possession of Sir Stephen, whose mark is branded on her body. Yet, her aspiration to self-effacement seems to have a quasi-religious motivation which comes from within rather than from outside herself. The desire to erase her conventional identity, to achieve the neutrality of a being without a specific polarity, a being existing in every sense ‘entre la vie et la mort’ (‘between life and death’), dictates her behaviour towards herself as well as towards others. ‘In manus tuas, Domine,’ O silently says to her lover, expressing a kind of spiritual death wish. For the writer, this is a widespread fantasy, resembling religious devotion:


    [Women] want to be possessed, possessed completely, until death. what one seeks is to be killed. What else does the believer seek but to lose herself in God. It seems to me to be the height of ecstasy to have onself killed by someone one loves. I cannot think otherwise.


  • On Duvert’s Récidive:

    And when you go from train to train and from station to station in search of something which disappeared long ago, which is perhaps somewhere else, some time later, or which was here, just a minute ago, or which doesn’t exist, you don’t see anything any more, you forget what you were looking for, unless it’s one train or another, you live your life in a corridor.

    Such changes in time and space construct a world which is virtual, not real, a world of desire rather than fulfilment, in which the subject’s identity drifts between the insecurities and anxieties of adolescent desires and a predatory adult sexuality, between the perspective of a 15-year-old boy and those of his older lovers. It is a highly subjective perspective, hedged around by the admission of its own limitations, often doubtful, contradictory, playing on the reader’s own needs to fantasise and underlining the discontinuous nature of homosexual identity.
        This prvileging of the plural and the fragmented undermines the binary structures of heterosexuality and its exclusivity, and it also serves in Récidive to blur the boundaries between adolescence and adulthood, aiding and abetting the evasion of responsibility.

  • For a detailed discussion of the ‘Guyotat Affair,’ see Harrison, Circles of Censorship, pp. 174-80
  • André Pieyre de Mandiargues, Le Déordre de la mémoire: Entretiens avec Francine Mallet (Paris: Gallimard, 1975) pp. 174-75. Mandiargues called this list his modern ‘Enfer’, a reference to the collection of books of the same name, considered unsuitable for public consumption, mainly on the grounds of their obscenity, and set up by the Bibliothèque Nationale in 1874.


  • “Riveted to some detail of the desert the eye fills with tears. Imagination at wit’s end spreads its sad wings. Gone she hears one night the sea as if afar. Plucks up her long skirt to make better haste and discovers her boots and stockings to the calf. Tears. Last example the flagstone before her door that by dint by dint her little weight has grooved. Tears.” (56)
  • “Such–such fiasco that folly takes a hand. Such bits and scraps. Seen no matter how and said as seen. Dread of black. Of white. Of void. Let her vanish. And the rest. For good. And the sun. Last rays. And the moon. And Venus. Nothing left by black sky. White earth. Or inversely. No more sky or earth. Finished high and low. Nothing but black and white. Everywhere no matter where. But black. Void. Nothing else. contemplate that. Not another word. Home at last. Gently gently.” (66)
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It’s my birthday soon. I turn 27 which I like because it’s a cube. I’ve been kind of depressed lately, but in weird ways I guess. I’ve been thinking about how I wanted to start blogging again, more casually, on an actual blog. I like Bett’s motivating force of blogging daily, no matter what. Seems like a very good focus. I installed the WordPress app on my phone, but my server is fucked up and the way I upload images to this blog is problematic, and since I mostly hate typing anything on my phone (and would probably just be posting photos to here from it), seems unlikely I will be using the app that often.

Anyway. I had really intense dreams last night. Heavy architecture, fantastic. Labyrinthine, always. Architecture in the Real World is rarely anything but disappointing. Tunnels, wandering. Here’s what I clunked out into notepad this morning, typos & all for the sake of posterity:

first dream involved there beying a gay spa at the library, primarily men, i took annalise to it, there was some committee meeting happening while i was in the hot tub, went to leave and put on my shoes, ended up in some weird control panel run by asians with tiny dogs monitoring the whole event. back at home i still had no food to eat, listened to the audio of second rate disco porn on my laptop, didn’t want to watch it because i feared getting a hard-on while pooping

second dream i was skating, on nice leather roller skates, in a seemingly abandoned house–which was huge. set back off the street by about 20-30 feet, there was a path leading to the place, and i somehow had received access. i told someone that he should shoot his movie there but then neglected to give him the information. i was skating and it was amazing, huge walls, multiple levels, sloping walls even, and then a construction worker showed up to work on it and i was like “oh i’m just skating, do you mind if i keep skating?” and he was like “of course not,”–and as it seemed like they were only working on the front part of the structure, this was no problematic. i kept skating and sufficiently enjoying myself, until i skated into parts of the house that had new objects where formerly there was only empty space, i skated more until i realized that i was in a larger house that a family had just started to move into, that the abandoned house/shack thing connected, via a system of tunnels that had the size and shape of normal rooms, to a larger house that people were actually moving into. i managed to avoid running into people until a child saw me, laughed, and i tried to get back to the abandoned part of the structure as quickly as possible, confused that i was only encountering spaces i had never before seen.

So busy lately. Making a zine/chapbook a month that you not only have to write, but also design, layout, print & assemble takes far more time than one would expect (go figure).

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