not a dancing bear

Copyright 1982-2017

06.04.16

The madmad

The madmad starts off all the days of speakers of Hiligaynon

madmad is a word for the state past the fever or lucid dream

madmad is the spectrum between sleeping and waking

madmad takes place wherever you are kind of just waking up

One recent morning I was in a madmad state thinking of madmad itself because my grandmother was on her last breaths and it was my grandmother’s doing, the verbing of the noun, she did that...verbing nouns left and right, alcolize your cut before your band-aiding Ding. That's me, Ding. Are you still madmading Lola would ask those mornings when I stayed with her...these days the word occurs via text if making early plans with my family. madmad ka pa? madmad pa ko. still madmading? We’d ask each other. I’d see a flash on my little screen...at some point it becomes a choice to stay in the madmad.

My favorite untranslateable
a word we know belongs to only us

feels a bit like rolling in mud
weighed down and up
the mud flood, Muddy Waters
Bed gravity before eventual verticality
the daydreaming before the day
madmadness mirage

DJ Rupture’s Mudd up on WFMU
one day he played Arthur Russell’s This Is How We Walk on the Moon.

Each tiny
tiny move is
moving,
is moving,
is moving me up

06.07.15

Greeting you a sweet early summer. Since last year's AASV walks, the revered maker of the scale model of our Solar System's passed, and the planets have been flown away from Corona. The restaurant that once hosted Uranus has been shut down for cocaine trafficking in Cassava boxes. We didn't know we'd endangered all our lives, beyond our shared run across the Long Island Expressway Asteroid Belt. Now there is an unreliable travelogue in the form of a Periplum that exists at Center For Book Arts til the end of June. More to come on a first walk in Flushing with the Explorers Club of Enrique de Malacca. An alphabet of trees.

In the meantime, "a window has another spelling."

08.16.14

Once I drew directional lines with edible ink onto Nilla wafers, arranged them on gridded fabric and then invited people to dip them in milk and eat them, the directional lines, north, south, east, west, dissolving into colors then eaten. Another time, I gave away square inch card stock, also with directional arrows, with the lines each pointing towards small infinity symbols. Distributable square inches, pocket friendly infinite expanse. Then I followed a compass towards its magnetic true north, only to find myself walking west on New York City's map, parallel to Central Park North. It seems I've played with what Lisa Robertson calls a "spatial synthetics" for a very long time, negotiating, hop-scotching over its everyday failures, to ultimately end up with a long engagement with a space in which direction is dissolved entirely; capital Outer Space.

So to me it is a fortuitous occasion that I was invited to be involved in something inspired by the Merry Melodies scene in which Bugs Bunny burrows his way to different locations on earth, a map in hand failing to get him to his destination, as he holds on to the instruction to "make a left turn at Albuquerque."