1

An art is creating inspiration
the blank page of esoteria.
Narcissus unfolds his lust
for examination

He wonders why now, he
cannot touch his reflection?

If he reflects his reflection
by a waterless prism
maybe his aforementioned flower
would be more pluckable?


*

The camera's eye, the novel
An eye by another's eye
would conquer a whole world of limitations

backed by legislations, the
squeeze and squash could rely
upon an eye for an eye
an automated artist

Spinning fanciful near realities
academic truths
a scuppered soul breathed
into an artificial arene.

*

"chance" "remedy" "malaise" "mechanize" "image"
"daughter" "histoire" emphasize cr ate
imp icit " ember cache r depl y Literature
late p rt Ts lev r ""p] ti he
8bject
ECR676iTuTT&Re ""abso ity fqeiCkred
sacjed
ACDENic sic s ck
"£ "
IO
I need a new art movement
Sappho? Morgan?

I feel his armour rushingthrough tangles of trees

I need a new art movementSappho? Morgan?

I feel his armour rushingthrough tangles of trees

(A big pay cheque would

make my poem a film)

Mordred, son of a sorcerer

and sorceress

Maddened by spells and evil.

He rises when the king is

sick and the land is as barren

as artificiality.

Once we have driven for miles,

when due New York weather

in pepper-clouded English skies

we catch the spell of a rainbow

bold, visible yet, quite impossible.

Before the Sun sets deep red

like in oriental skies

our rainbows appear, momentarily

Orange white and green

As if the "yellow brick road"

lead (by some strange apparition)

East, East and further still!

Fish out of Water

All at Sea

Vespers (59)

dreams left off mid-breath remain mid-
night
I sentence myself to living home
the what we called the woods
where small animals
and you could hear birds betray their own
unhappiness projected by young
minds at the window
gathered at the double-paned
glass barrier
(let us pray)

the sorting room remained unsorted,
still, the levity attached
itself to shadows
and the wind brought low
each branch

golden were the syllables that lingered
now I have a body that belongs
to my maternal line
my heart is safe by virtue
of its placement amid
branches casting shadows
this small experience rides low
within the psyche

within the psyche are these marks
made by chalk purporting
to be everlasting
glyphs make good on urgency
once splintered into these discrete
thoughts

we repeat ourselves when we have said
precisely nothing
to each other and ourselves

esion = reflected urban noise

urban noise blended
to personal
perfection

moa lisa turns a new lief

Vespers (58)

I told her yes I worship.
Yes I practice.
Yes I walk I practice
walking and I pray.

I told her beyond light
against the outer eye
that I am sure we each walk as we pray,
that night is a receptacle for whispers.
That we can hear them
and say nothing back.
Nothing past our generosity
applied to pathways
full of sparkling cinders.

Vespers (57)

Let us
practice

prayer.

Delirious soldiers
fall.

To save
us.

Failing.

Souls imperiled
venture

beyond stasis.

No matter
stark

enough to
gainshare.

Words give
breath

a reason
to

portray in
sync

with other
things.

Ideas
negate

craft.
While motivation

obvious enough
drifts.

Mere penury
insufficient

as pulse
infrastructs

a byline.
Curve

ball embodies
sounds-

like
cinders framed.

small
in retrospect.

4 Faces

Here, the female form acts as a medium for emotional expression and ideas. All images are digital art, using an original photograph (self portrait) by Miss Boux

The female form also allows an "automatic aesthetic" that inspires, or acts as a generating force far artistic expression. For me, it is always difficult to justify a divide between popular/commercial and high/serious art. Here, I am being somewhat didactic, in the sense that I am trying to express my knowledge of both traditional and digital art forms in these pictures. Hopefully, this informs others about the possibilities of digital art and it's links to traditional art forms. I also hope that it exemplifies the fact that commercial art forms and high art forms are currently, in constant flux and it is virtually impossible to apply any kind of value system to new art forms. Indeed a crafts person may use far higher levels of technical skill than a contemporary, conceptual artist. Unfortunately, the powers that be cannot keep up with contemporary experiments in the arts, and therefore they hold on to outdated value-judgements that exclude many, with ever more voracity.

Simon

Happy spamiversary! Spam reaches 30

On May 3 1978, Gary Thuerk, a marketer at the now-defunct computer firm Digital Equipment Corporation, sent an email to 393 users of Arpanet, the US government-run computer network that eventually became the internet. It was the first spam email ever.

Election time is coming, so our Heads of State are interested in your opinion. Please respond wise to the poll.

Collect the great bonus for immediate respondents! ; Your spam-tax 2008 can be forfeited*.

Happy spamiversary! Spam reaches 30
	Yes, I consume material SPAM
	No, spam is produced by the Chinese secret service to brainwash the free world
	Yes, spam is an act of God because the internet is blasphemous
	No, spam expresses opinions and provides information. Spam should be treated as free speech under the First Amendment of the Constitution
	Yes, I trust my government let them decide what should be filtered as spam and what not
	No, I am from outer space, please explain why canned SPAM can not be beamed accross the internet
= see results =

*) Only valid for participants with a trackable IP address.



84049655

Otoliths 9

Otoliths issue nine is live.

This issue marks the beginning of Otoliths' third year, & once again contains a great variety of text & visual work. This issue is dedicated to Rochelle Ratner, who passed away on March 31st.

In this issue are Rochelle Ratner, harry k stammer, Adam Fieled, Bill Drennan, David-Baptiste Chirot, Joel Chace, Michael Farrell, Reed Altemus, Andrew Lundwall, Douglas Barbour & Sheila E. Murphy, William Doreski, Duane Locke, Stu Hatton, Joe Balaz, Jeff Harrison, Raymond Farr, Esa Mäkijärvi, Bobbi Lurie, Julian Jason Haladyn, Simon Perchik, Suzanne Grazyna, Eileen R. Tabios, Diana Magallón & Jeff Crouch, Jeff Crouch & Matina L. Stamatakis, Thomas Lowe Taylor, Glenn R. Frantz, Angela Genusa, Randy Thurman, Philip Byron Oakes, Mark Cunningham, Geof Huth, Andrew Topel & Jim Leftwich & John M. Bennett, John M. Bennett, John M. Bennett & Luigino Solamito & Sheila E. Murphy, John M. Bennett & Scott MacLeod, Scott MacLeod, Robert Gauldie, Adam Strauss, Marcia Arrieta, Elizabeth Kate Switaj, William Allegrezza, Ernesto Priego, Ed Schenk, Irving Weiss, Mary Kasimor, Christopher Major, Derek Owens, Paul Siegell, Daniel f Bradley, Daniel Morris, Steve Timm, Mary Ellen Derwis, Thomas Fink, Louise Landes Levi, Toni Simon, Martin Edmond & Kirsten Kaschock.

Otholith issue 9

no crunching

psychonaut 853

i own your
_dreams and
thrive
who
are you
to say ^no

?

image stilled @ Robodock 2007

-

Thank you to Miss Boux for letting me use her fantastic self-portrait in this picture.

Simon

Vespers (56) - for Tommy Murphy

My brother is in town, my brother's visiting,
night smooths across itself, each
conversation filled with pivotal
arrangements, each a sweet
young policy, and God,
awake now, offers summer at a time
when whispers offer to remake an afternoon
into another breeze with / without light.

My brother, once hinged to insomniatic living
I have claimed, redeems a light I keep
inventing. I am home because he's in my home.
I am awake to the involuntary / voluntary
happiness that he evokes.
It is in syllables that we find blessings
full of color, full of pleasure, filled with
flights that lift us to first heaven
as response to better ways of finding
a redemptive pause in this
form of an informal daylight
that amounts to nightfall, too, a state
of generous circumference of tulips
in the already pretty yard.

My brother transcends inference. When he is here,
the story is already in our cells, and I retell it
for the language that he understands. We need no words.
We love them anyway, for we are wearing these
ingenious sentiments along
with ways of life that blend with all eternity.
There are intentions that remunerate
the flight from quiet and the presence
of unplanned eternity.
We find enough to locate depth
within no depth at all.
That anyone who had a mind
to have recited would have found
in syllables, in threads, in practiced
answers to inform our happiness.