Poetics of digital semiotic artwork: Experiment#1

The above work of digital semiotic art is its own title; overdetermined and overly fluid at the same time, it retains its redolence while being mentioned as at home in the poetics of the )wlbirdbet. Albert Gedraitis©Dec29,2k5 on OmniGrapple, Grab, GraphicConverter, Firefox, MacOSX3.9, iMac(summer2000), 6.5gigabytes, 350Herz.

Xyba, your visual

Comment: Christmas Greeting

A marvellous visual - it spoke right to my heart. At my-group blog, refWrite, I "purloined" a Christianbooks.com email shoppingletter visual. I can't help but ask - you know, the way the concentrated focus in the light and in the quickly deepened shadows radiating out, we see hints of faces and terrain. And then again the focus: we feel welcomed into the adoration of our Lord Jesus when He was born, pouring out His deity (but not His Godhood-Trinit, which He perichoretically transformed when He (which theology brings under the category "Pre-Creation Pre-Cosmic Christ") because of perichoresis, God transformed from a Pre-Incarnation moment, followed by a Post-Incarnation moment which perdured perhaps some thirty-three years - in becoming human/God UNMIXED! a person of flesh and blood and subject to all the frailties flesh is heir to, but always the dangling mystery of what else there was about Him.

-- [This thawt is troo to the Gifted Meta-metaphor: In the beginning is the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Who is this? who is said to be "the Word"? - why, just look in the basket in the barnyard. There he radiates gloriously, blindingly if you look directly into the light. And again, there's that lite-motif in this visual! ] --


and marked with gender, height, weight, body hair - colour, kink, distribution, eyebrows, beard - facial features, not necessarily without flaws as tho judgeable in the same manner as moderns do in making aesthetics-judgements of Michelangelo's /David, or /Diskobolos. That blindingly radiating Jesus Child in the feed-bin for the animals, we presume (but in this painting on the Net, I can't see any animals, for sure. Well, actually, in my case, I don't see any at all. But my eyes these years ....

Thank you too for the "caption" - yegads!. the verse is the same as on my-group's refWrite blog entry. Anyway, Xyba, sir or madame or miss, a glorious visual you post for this very day's blog entry!

Posted by: Politicarp at December 25, 2005 04:00 AM

Legs, and Diabetes in the retina, and Photographic Portraiture

I missed two doctor's appointments today
- warning signals of imminent total collapse
of internal personal psychic organization.

Well, if I have to limp thru the holy days
to the Feast Day of the Nativity, then
I shall limp. But crawl I will not do, will
not crawl. Limit set; boundary fixed between
diverse psychic energies that all become
volatile at once thru the Autumnal Procession
from Sterling's death by lite-ning ten days
into October and Ruth's death by pills and
plastic bag, Mom whisked herself away
at the end of the first week of November.

I get some chance to recoup myself, draw
my psychic energies into the corral
of organized emotional order. So hard to do,
so hard even to think adequately.

This is the way
I should like to go, if I become debilitated
but not yet dead.



But I must let go of my Christmas and enter
into the Christmas that the Church tries to
re-center from the shops and gifts, to the rites
of memory and true presence of the Incarnate
θηεο (theos, in Greek) Deus (Latin) Dios (Spanish)
God in English, YHWH in the ancient prevowel
Hebrew writing of the Bible.

I missed two doctor's appointments today, and
the Photo ID specialist who parachutes into
the Woodgren Community Centre to click the camera
and produce a legal-tender picture of you, but
I have to present my birth certificate, when
I have no birth certificate to present.

I was born July 30, 1940 in Wilkes-Barre,
Pennsylvania, USA, so I was always told
growing up. Here I am, all too apparent to myself,
but an undocumented person because I reached
sixty-five years of age
without proper documentation.

Feeling better. I didn't get to this doctor, or
that, to a photo-opportunity that would demand
to see my non-existent birth certificate, but
I did get to write a poem. Of sorts.

The day feels guilty

The day feels guilty

Oops! Freudian slip.
I meant to write
The day feels easy.
And it does.

I'm no longer fretting
about the leg doctor's
appointment I missed.
That was Monday
at ten-thirty am (o'clock).

I'm no longer anxious
about the logjam in
the bureaucracies -
juggling Louise
the immigration person
at the NDP provinicial
riding office (Marily Churley,
MPP) and Johanna at the NDP
Federal riding office
(Jack Layton, MP), and
Evadne at Disability.

Actually I was sent
by Evadne to Woodgreen
Community Center. where
an official Photo ID specialist
rides in once a week, tomorrow
Friday, one pm to two-thirty.

Worry about tomorrow?
"Sufficient unto the day is
the evil thereof."
Or, I could opt for
"showers of blessings" and
"a balm in Gilead."

But the Woodgreen phone
receptionist said
I had to bring a birth certificate.
Which I no longer have. I'm
an undocumented person, and
Disablity is banging me around
until I dissolve into utter incoherence.
I grasp the Co-Inherence! the Mercy!

My blogs on refWrite
yesterday (Wednesday) and
probably the day before
{Tuesday)
were just terribly written.

Guilt? Who me?
Well, it's not as bad
as feeling guility for your
Mother's death.

Jingle bells, jingle bells,
jingle all the way down
to the bottom of the pit
of guilt and at the bottom
put your feet soldily on
the stone beneath you
in the well - and push
and paddle your way
to the surface.

Merry Christmas!

CSM continues to lead mass media in poetry

Here are some recent poems published by the Christian Science Monitor. In his December 8column, "American Life in Poetry," Ted Kooser (US Poet Laureate) presents a poem by J. Lorraine Brown, "Tintype on the Pond" (1925). In the same edition (but not Kooser's column), M. Kelly Lombardi's "Tuscany Light" appears. A bit ... frail. Mary Lou Healy's "December Passage" (December 9) is stronger. - Anaximaximum

cummings and goings - un hommage

cummings and goings

(with apologies to e e)



today
mud-lucious
puddle-wonderful

things
appearing

to be

far and wee
now
near and free

balloonmen coming
snowmen going

look-
the lame
the marbled
the pirated
the queer
come dancing and whistling

balloons purpled, blued, reddened
held high
let's let them go and watch them/we rise

and we the goat-footed
know the truth

there is no such thing as spring
only forsythia and gasoline


BarbaraVallette©2004

tSa dillydally day

After the doctor, it's a dillydally day.

Cold clear day, brite blue sky.

Trite, but breathtakingly so.

Soul-chilling chill thru all my wrappings,

thru the tuque, thru the gloves leather-lined,

thru the scarf a dark green with a tartan plaid

printed on one side of the wool,

and my Great Coat made of synthetics for NorthWest Territories,

chill rite down to the bone.

Just a beautiful dillydally day.

Art: Movies: The (K)ni(gh)tes of the South Bronx - un hommage to a fine flick!

The Knites of the South Bronx is a beauty of a movie that I saw tonite as I blogged. Well, I half-watched it twice, as they're running it again, back to back, an instant re-run on A&E (don't know if the A&E TV channel is Canadian-broadcast only, or does the channel come out of the States into my Rogers DigitalTV Terminal (which I use for free, except I pay for Fox News Channel ... so I'm continuing to blonguage the movie*, writing it up while I'm half-watchin The (K)Ni(gh)tes a second time around, right now as I compose this very blog for the poets, poem-lovers, and poem-livers ,,, composing a blog entry ... even, I do ostentatiously hope,,,,,,,, for some among the pro litcrits and movie watchers/thinkers (even "film studies" inhabitants, no less) - who may come to this blog for the poetry. By the way do you have a poem you think belongs published on this blog of poetry? Barbara Vallette re-wrote for the purpose of un hommage an e. e. cummings original, honouring her inspiration; we're going to publish digitally the poem for her and him. Ms Valette aka Swanfreak will be a making her début here (first off it will be with this cummings-hommage, bearing a copyright mark and all). Hear me, Babbs? But à propos this very moment, do you have a choice, short piece of poetic-prose or stanza'd verse or free verse of movie-writing of your own composition, dear readers all, a movie-writing that I may be interested in publishing rite hear on Anaximanximum? If so, let's parlay, chez my "semiotics" email address "at" - you might know, "mac.com" period.

The Knites learn to play chess, tawt to play by a longterm substitute teacher (an ex-executive Richard Nathan - played by star actor, Tim Danson in an urbane, gentlemanly role based on a truel life-story).

However, it's the elementary-school class that is the leading star of this show, including in its number a kindergartener who comes to his older sister's 4th Grade class with Mr Nathan, because kindergarten ends eah day when the sister's class with this Mr Nathan, is still in session. As things turn out, this normal boy otherwise, also happens to be an unpretentious math-prodigy. He leads the way almost by accident, all the 4th Graders + 1, together are in the leading role as a unit, the true protagonist. The Knites: It's a lyrical good-for-everybody movie, great-hearted and child-centered. Very convincing in that respect. The Knites begin to compete in Chess matches with other elementary schools. And the plot flows inevitably to its positive conclusion with only the most fringeal tragic elements / moments (thus, technically in litgenre-theory, the film's plot is a comedy). The kid-actors are brilliant! not over-dramatized!, and convincing as distinct characters within the strength of the collective identity and protagonisme; the movie is a marvel of characterization.

What an art-pleasurely work! Rated: good for kids and adults too.

Now I'm gonna Preview this blog entry, Publish it, and View online the product, the poem - an attempt to produce a poetic review of a great movie for you. - Anaximaximum

There's yet another layer, of course: the play upon the inner-semiotic riches of HTML (HyperText Markup Language) that gives the computer-screen reader the si(gh)te of bold, italics, underline, "quote marks" and

blockquotes, and all the further other semiotica, phenomena related to fonts and punctuations, English orthography accompanied by purposeful mispelling, which along with the variables just listed are part of the textual poem's playground. -Anax [Here the blockquote endeth.]

* blonguage? should the spelling be "blongwich"? The latter is closer to the Owlbirdbet spelling, for sure.

This blog entry is being cross-posted in poetry-blog Anaximaximum and also in Writtles, an Owlhoot website hosted at dotMac, and devoted to reformational-philosophical semiotics in practice, as well as in the theory thereof, far more popularly-accessible than is any typical academic paper. Movie credits, pans, and praises are accessible here, and an eviscerated version of this review has been posted on the same site by by my sometimes amenuensis, Semiotics. But it takes a few days to get approval. - Anax

Novembroidery

I'm holding onto, hanging onto

vapours of the month just faded away

Can I actually say the name aloud.

I will it: November

I say it aloud: I command me,

I demand -

Whitman said, "me, myself, and I;"

Olthuis took it up as a founding idea

of his philosophical anthropology

pour une science d'éthique reformationelle

- me do it.

I do

This is the month, this novembroideried
passage of days, every year

She died between November 6 and 7,

somewhere inbetween.

She took lots of sleeping pills.
She put a see-thru plastic bag over her head, a tint of blue,

veiled

and laid herself out in full decorum,

true to her fastidious aesthetic of simplicity,

now an aesthetic of dieing by her own willing it.

"She should have died hereafter,

there would have been

a time for such a thawt." Who said it?

Ruth Eleanor Balchunas Gedraitis,
rest in the peace, your son Albert

Albert Gedraitis copyright
Monday, December 5, 2005

Robert Browning float-up from Andrea del Sarto

Ah, but a man's reach
should exceed his grasp,

Or what's a heaven for?

- Robert Browning (1812-1869), Andrea del Sarto, lines 97-98a (1855).