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Selected works of Brian Comerford
(E23, Doghead Cola, Neoconjob)

creative | academic | exploratory

 
 
Writing - Green Door House
"See To Gone" is a cut-up essay written in homage to prolific & expansive interactive artist Gregory O'Toole, during graduate study together at the University of Denver. The text is extracted in part from O'Toole's "Gone To See A Movie as A Prize Fighter Writer" in true Burroughs/Gysin fashion. That piece, and another poem, "The Am My Of Infantile I" can be read below, or viewed with all of the issue's associated pieces at the original link, here.
 

See To Gone

originally published in Green Door House
text contributions by Gregory O'Toole
and Doghead Cola
excremeditated in Third Mind by Doghead Cola
Of boundary dissolution, on a trajectory into passing by the black windows at Red Dragon after hours, humankind is the centerpiece of rethinking authorship. Interpenetrating relationship humanity takes a central role in folding itself upon itself for billions and the process, requiring dyed skyblue and radiant in the yellow street lamp glow. "For it is precisely disorder that previously recorded scuffing my blacktop alley soles along the pavement."
Redirected manifold. The mind is an instrument, and source materials, both opening up the "possibility for utterly unexpected auditory and visual old broken down popcorn bags."
Rip rap on bullet proof glass, numeric characters from a set of cultural, behavioral, and 1 to 8, a state of awareness necessary to wintery exhaust filtering up into the fluorescent glow. Into the website through the use of this set, it is interface for randomization. For imaginative construction of artifice. Its example, not much like a solitaire drunkard in the streets, but like a Belfast prize fighter, would make his own choice without alienating its host.
And typing in the letter "A" at an accelerated rate, through its hands jammed down into front pants pockets, reflected rave is a medium and like all perceptual strategies that maintains a genuine social value. It has been complexifying itself, hidden within the constructs of everyday experience. Turbulence lies our own future.
A ruthless self-obervation in process, the evening snowstorm in March is not unexpected. With spontaneous grace, the apex of information implosion impetus of the contemporary DJ to act in part out of the necessity of the survival of integration. Invisibility, which implies not seeing clearly, as a selector of sources, brain-change perceptual prowess previously to be mixed, however, in this case. The artist will apply the celebration of mind in play and love as an original sound also derived in a previously indeterminate manner.
As with any tool, any media, the human visual elements derived from vinyl and video think about the cracked sidewalks with newspapers like a mogul run.
The nexus of concrescence of novelty libraries in the midst of discord which need to learn to pay attention to the gas station beer store, on the other hand, is always open. Because in submission from Web collaborators, modes of synthesis arise, patterns of individual alpha practice scales so that we may begin to improvise.
Load the workflow, it seeks to communicate through use. Rave as process will require the snow falling all around, sticking to those heavy shoes. The movies usually aren't that bad when you enter the film house of acceleration as it attempts to apprehend creation of an hour's perceptual and individuated awareness. Here the critical context of which humanity is invariably fast approaching it may be possible for Rave to aid humankind by unknown host (humankind) as information implodes by acting as a guide concocting a new Bigger Picture, more honest than the rest.
The Am My Of Infantile I
originally published in Green Door House
Changeling, a flower in words sleep forgets
deep tide still flesh asleep, and sky
caught Shelleyan and unfolding dawn-flower
The this: it has constant living
Dusk state, conscious words kissing more
(at dream up and?)
Your... now of welcome we
where played of sweat-silkened such shadow-deep
from poisoned holding constancy
Again, violinistic fringe sex, again lovers
scent bed music mortal
the memory images edges when nakedness deepens
One phantom is nor your sorrow
Was: one,
with living in so deep, met one
Shelley colors collided
You loved the and thee growth
essence and ripples
the deeply before our unfolding
So fruitful earth crippled shadows
lover and too, garden embracing light
bare where dead bitter between-upon-dangling
sculpted but always still divided,
the as-yet-all reflection wane instead wing
Wildly do and remember
Flower dusk transported such I knew. Even rain
Shelleyan flutes heart-blown flowers
violinistic of returning wake
singing separation silence, you flowers deeply treading
Clutch memory
Bitter now to those, and one,
the more Shelleyan mine
Disregarding nakedness, no recedes and so
unfinished poem remembering you full embracing is
Too such, the fate seemed in lids, not-to-care and holding
not-to-care and holding
Energies only even a wisp-wet
I and single need memory only
Bespeak skin, light, singing: deep deep the languidly Our
the singular-witted Only
Waves in so, that so smiling, this so mouth, by and so you sucked in laughter
sang and stem, me by life and distant will
The soft (and my rain-loving so alive my)
flower petal, cherry blossom sketches
dancing, breathing where in gardens, alive
Or, so, to we, like the words and of the two
lovers roll as wakened passion,
passion's wake, I