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The Many Plots of Mine Enemies

They design a toy that recreates the black-and-white drawings of Sol LeWitt. They plan to bury my ashes on the Moon. They plan to look for evidence of panspermia in the surveys of exoplanets. They photograph supernova remnant Puppis A. They use Egyptian hieroglyphs to retell the story of Mad Max: Fury Road. They make visual poetry by dog-earing the corners of books.

They generate a computer-composed score for the moment when Neil Armstrong set foot on the Moon. They use ferrofluids to create glyphs of visual poetry. They use an algorithm to make a score for the premiere of “4’33”” by John Cage. They showcase some ephemera from The Golden Wayzgoose. They make psychedelia by fiddling with the equations in a URL.

They translate the Arecibo Message into sound-poems.

They open a music store that sells nothing but white noise.

They design a toy that creates scores for string quartets, derived from the date of performance. They compose post-rock music, inspired by the life-cycle of stars. They conclude that, at most, 0.3% of the galaxies in the nearby cosmos host a Type III Kardashev civilization. They interview Doug Nufer about his use of constraints in poetry.

They paint astronauts.

They decode the math on whiteboards found in the game Portal 2. They review Testimony by Charles Reznikoff. They design a toy for finding the prime factors of numbers. They write a Russian palindrome about a starship that falls into a black hole. They make their living by composing messages for extraterrestrials. They describe their experience of being plagiarized.

They interview Jorge Luis Borges. They plan to be the first corporation to put a payload on the Moon. They explain the benefits of storing data in DNA. They draw two perfectly round, concentric circles. They describe the 26 dimensionless constants that set the parameters for the Known Universe. They discuss the mail art of Ray Johnson. They interview Jack Whitten. They design a toy for creating visual poetry readable by humans. They write a manifesto about “comics poetry”. They photograph Dione. They argue that there are many moral imperatives for spaceflight. They plan to search for lightsails, piloted by extraterrestrials in the vicinity of other stars.

They photograph the Wizard Nebula.

They write a book about poets who live in towers.

They interview Katie Holten about her translations of texts into trees. They use algorithms to translate numerous proteins into music. They interview Derek Beaulieu about his book Kern.

They write about postmodern decadence in the avant-garde of Canada.

They report that time-travellers from the 8th century have executed an archaeologist. They interview the librarian who curates the Jorge Luis Borges Collection. They map out their corporate plans for the colonization of the Known Universe. They argue that apes have entered their version of the Stone Age. They narrate, using only sample sentences from the New Oxford American Dictionary. They interview Craig Dworkin about No Medium. They list all their “Picks of the Day” from UbuWeb for 365 days. They publish a monograph about the literary heritage of Enoch Soames, the time-traveller. They compose an album of music, derived from the structure of proteins in various species of nightshade. They generate visual poetry for the door of a restroom. They ask for assistance in deciphering an incantatory inscription upon a swordblade. They describe the mathematic principles of layout in graphic designs for the page. They publish everyday a book of 100 randomized rectangles.

They show that music soon becomes noise in 1D-worlds, cannot exist in 2D-worlds, and works only in 3D-worlds.

They read Eunoia with small doses of snark. They publish randomized rectangles, a new one each day. They recount folklore about the “Janet” planes that fly to Area 51.

They compose a soundtrack for my digital journey through the holograms of the cosmos.

They discuss the “theology of rape” in ISIS. They trace the history of mankind’s desire to conquer the Moon. They discuss the conceptual literature of John Cage. They discuss the fungal horror of William Hope Hodgson. They reflect upon the death of Michael Brown. They teach you how to read the “Cosmic Call”.

They plan to search for evidence of extraterrestrial civilizations that have destroyed themselves. They discover a new pentagon that can tile an infinite plane. They discuss the best ways to use Von Neumann probes to colonize the galaxy. They discuss at length the “coddling” of the American mind.

They discuss their verse-novel in progress about the colonization of Mars. They collect lines of weird, harsh criticism, received by artists. They discuss the translation of the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey into a series of comic books by Jack Kirby. They integrate all the versions of the movie Dune by David Lynch into one saga. They suggest that Hoag’s Object might be a case of galactic engineering by a Type IV Kardashev civilization. They express concern about the inability of the “regressive-left” to oppose ISIS. They relate Farey sums to Ford circles. They discover a ring of nine gamma-ray bursts around a void, ten times larger than all known voids in the cosmos. They plan to build monuments that deter intrusions into the forbidden zones of plutonium waste. They translate the star Y Cam A into music. They calculate that the cosmos can still increase its planetary formation by more than tenfold. They propose to search for evidence of macroengineering by extraterrestrials. They design a toy that lets you write “choose-your-own-adventure” stories. They discuss the aesthetics of blankness in computer programs that have no code. They design a robot that vandalizes my favourite poem. They argue that only cyborg humans can conquer Outer Space. They show us that the surface of Mars is beautiful. They get inside the head of James Joyce by transcribing Ulysses into a notebook. They explore the visual poetry of axonometric maps for every tube-station in the Underground. They film a transit of the Earth by the Moon.

They plan to discuss what happens to art when it escapes its zoo.

They compose a lullaby out of the electromagnetic emissions from Enceladus. They write a poem by collating 88 slogans used to promote colleges. They dispute the calculations that permit you to build a time-machine with vortices of light. They create an online archive of poetry by African poets. They calculate that black holes can cause a collapse in the Higgs vacuum, thereby destroying the entire cosmos. They display the wreckage from the destroyed space shuttles Challenger and Columbia. They argue that some binary stars may consist of a stellivorous civilization devouring a sun. They use algorithms to determine whether or not a novel is likely to become a bestseller. They discuss the “twin insurgency” that threatens nation-states. They design a toy that simulates the experience of using a typewriter. They use photosynthesis to print images in the chlorophyll of leaves. They compose ambient music, inspired by the blue sunsets of Mars. They write a note in response to “call-out culture.” They propose to send a “starwisp” to Alpha Centauri. They determine the maximum distance at which the human eye can discern the flame of a candle. They think about the potential influence of Conceptualism upon the future poetry of Australia. They photograph the Milky Way over Uluru. They study civilizations, digitally simulated in computers.

I want them vaporized.

Their conceptual poetry is the new wave of American colonialism.

I hate conceptual art because it makes the body into a commodity, into an object, into source material.

I make poetry for people. They make poetry of people.

I reject their laziness.

They have no memory of what it feels like to be systemically erased. When does documentation and archive continue dehumanization? When does bearing witness become spectacle? An excellent and disturbing question: who deserves honor and discretion?

I’m exhausted at applauding their mediocrity while I strive for nothing but fucking EXCELLENCE.

I’m exhausted at being invisible. I’m exhausted with constantly supporting my own exclusion. I’m exhausted at having to pay tribute to their “mastery” in exchange for barely any visibility.

I want to spit on the floor.

I can imagine that time doesn’t exist—can you? It’s like a million times more difficult than finding or making alternative centers of knowledge production, but it’s not at all impossible. Institutions have only so much power as I give them.

So look: here it is.

My valuable work.

My real literature.

Posted 08/30/15
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