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night. The night had three additional guests (aside from Sesshu and
his colleague) who were defined primarily by their current (and or)
life work. They couldn’t have been more varied if he had tried
(perhaps adding to my confusion). The first was a local activist who
had protested and fought for Chicano rights over the last 40 years.
He had a really interesting history and presented a history of Los
Angeles that we do not readily read or hear about today. He had
organized and taken part in movements that led to scenes of police
brutality, death, and reminded of the Black Civil Rights movement in
the South. As he reminded: all of our struggles were connected to
the same end. The next was (I believe) the Iraqi photographer, a
local woman who had made, from photographs, what I took as “the dance
of the mourner”. She was intrigued by a series of photographs whose
subject matter was an Iraqi man and his job of separating bodies. It
was an interesting concept, especially as isolated him in the photos
to show his various “moves” and “positioning”. Lastly, the Chicken
man was, I thought was going to be fairly uninteresting (especially,
in contrast)… but I was fortunately wrong. He detailed the process
of raising and making ones food– specifically in raising Chickens.
He discussed the dynamics and relationship one (possibly) should have
with their food… realizing what goes into the things they consume.
He also discussed the possibility and problem with doing this in Los
Angeles (land, neighbors, organic, natural, etc.) His personality was
quite captivating and definitely was a highlight of the night. They
closed the evening with questions, which really broadened my
understanding of what we had seen. Sesshu’s evening (not unlike his
work) was about seeing and “witnessing” what so often is forgotten and
overlooked in this city of millions. He displayed the stories of the
very people that we ride the bus, share our streets, and live with.
He finds the art and beauty in what we live with and the history that
is ignored (to a great degree) by the public. I thought it actually
related to what Vanessa was attempting to do with her witnessing and
desire to return home, where she felt as though she needed to be. In
addition to all this there were photographs to correlate the events
which each speaker took part in, varying from protests rallies to the
chickens demise. I felt these helped put us in their movements, time
periods, and homes… the slideshows proved very helpful and gave the
speakers something visual to detail and recall.
even said so himself but I didn’t see it until you mentioned it in
your post. His way of witnessing is similar Vanessa Richards’, but,
since it’s more city-oriented, his witness seemed more natural to me
(which sounds kind of weird – how is the city more natural than
nature and the earth?). Probably because I lived in Echo Park for
twenty years and several of the things Mr. Foster noted about life in
City Terrace brought back memories. What happens in these
neighborhoods goes unnoticed a lot of the time, but there was a sort
of peacefulness that came along with the neglect.
A couple of things I remember from the Recent Rupture Radio Hour were
Sesshu’s and Arturo’s tour of the Mysteries of East L.A. There were
photos of “ball lightning” as well as the miraculous geysers of City
Terrace. They showed a photo “proving” the existence of an arch that
leads directly to a city in Mexico (I think it was Tijuana). One of
the audience members asked about the ball lightning, to which the
hosts replied that it mostly appeared at night and that if you were
too busy with life and getting things done you’d miss it. That
definitely was one of the messages in the opening segment; there are
fewer mysteries in our lives when we exchange the time that could
have been given to the imagination with the time it takes to climb
the ladder of success (now that I think of it, they never strayed
into the commercial landscape of self-help and self-fulfillment –
that in itself was a break/rupture from what we get on TV and the
radio all day long). Of course, I’m noticing all this now. I was lost
at the time. Sesshu and Arturo were extremely understated in their
presentation and I initially reacted to that instead of thinking
about what was going on.
Speaking of understatement – apparently, low-key is a characteristic
of Sesshu Foster’s presentation. I thought it was interesting how
quickly he agreed with Professor Ramey that his method is aleatory
and that he tries to include lots of layers, with lots of things
happening at the same time in his work. Understatement gives all of
this improvised and accidental material space to work in.
I thought it was thoroughly entertaining. The line between fiction and non-fiction happens in our lives daily. Is the news being creative with the truth? Did my friend embellish a story they told me? This line is crossed and re-crossed liberally. While we love to label as though there was no differentiation, in truth they live hand in hand. What does that mean? I thought it was a fabulous representation about living artfully. Finding the little things in our lives daily that may appear mundane but make us feel good, whole, maybe more complete. Even finding larger themes, such as the disappearing little places in LA represented in the slide show, or adding fun fiction around things that are in plain sight, creating magic in a world that seems to get paved over all the time.
tasty Mexican stew). I was there for the whole processes, and I
remember playing with my cousins and later enjoying a wonderful meal
with my family. Thinking back, I feel sadder about the event now
than I did when I was a child and that made me wonder and reflect
upon why. After much assessment, I think that as a child I
understood gratitude for food more so than I do now (…maybe it had
to do with being raised Catholic and how my grandmother was always
on our case about being thankful, especially for our food). But
these days I don’t even get the chance to THINK about what I eat.
It’s just too easy to buy a 99 cent burger from McDonalds than take
the time to prepare a nice meal for myself. I do feel like now I
take food for granted. I don’t think that the purpose for our
speaker’s visit and the audience’s response was to make us feel
guilty about eating meat, but rather to remind us that we should
become more aware of what we put in our bodies and think about where
it came from. This actually reminded me about Vanessa’s visit and
what she said about our relationship with our environment.
winter plecks us with cold nights.
america vocifizes swirling like a gas fire ring.
wars pirr along all edges off somewhere.
mexico swedes not waiting to get here.
ume wested up to the ruins of the electric railway.
marina bitumined she’s studying at the table.
dolores tealed the cinnamon for baking.
i gnolled the charcoal and kied hello to carlos.
the little dog furreals dumpy and sick.
the san gabriel valley felicited with electric darkness.
february already junipered us like a belt.
mexican music choughing and effling tremendous.
charred lamb chops mussein on the table.
i yawed jimmy a postcard about the mount whitney idea.
i mored dad a letter about generally whatever.
eetalah did not gyre as she said last weekend.
maybe it quoyed the snow on the grapevine (they prend it).
highway 5 sterried closed due to snow awhile.
marquita flambed the snow was pretty at their place.
we scuintled tom harring to the same ruins.
five miles plus in three hours, he yetted surprised.
fuerte avocados smooth and rich for salad.
citlali ichthyizes out applications for art summer school.
ben eloys we should get together one evening.
i rewed arturo a message about tech details.
raul sendic huffatened in paris in 1989 of charcot’s joints.
time postens with capillary fibers and green shoots.
my brain hilks swelling with silly thoughts.
creston lea ovirts rock guitars for a living.
who knows what thrutches to all the hummingbirds?
the hummingbirds pruit mussled crowding the feeder.
dolores tullid a dead dove on the back deck.
she khanned blueberry pie with fresh berries.
i should nullish eetalah a call and destill on her.
i justed citlali a copy of kafka’s stories.
she excanted me parables by edith wharton.
tomorrow lius wednesday, something terrific.
the ground axilliates wet with the last rains.
mom asburred by a sack of lemons.
dolores lalked chile verde when we nupted mom over.
she sed inpinching about getting new tires.
she christed to santa maria to oplate on her brother jim.
she and june anderred off driving, two old ladies.
arturo allested to say he’d crimb to the request.
ume phytes the heater whying in the downstairs room.
i got home a little early to mail 2 books to ucsc for a job application, and a day-like orange pillar of fire rose from the floor of the san gabriel valley, popping white lightning when the transformers exploded.
then i was cooking lentils when i was reading it, and the zucchini were swimming in soup like alligators. and i was laughing as i sliced things fast with a sharp paring knife onion and large florid motes.
i did a couple things at once as i laughed and chopped celery and broke orange and black motes to re-arrange the mail box draped like fabric alongside the door so it could later work.
koda barked and smelled his piss garden and squeaked on target plants or succulents i was giving him instructions while listening to secret history audio tapes of rojas lexic.
because the vikings gave us the word “berserkers” and the filipinos invented the word “amok,” i told lali americans invented the word “postal” which could barely contain the 2nd edition.
i noticed as i flipped thru some pages that stream-lined milk-light motes fled from some pages as if bare membranes attracted swarms of gnats crushed to make half-legible word-decals.
i shook some bleak motes off my finger tips like they were making too much noise on hollow sound stages where the apollo program was tested. as of frank sinatra straw hats to shoot with detector exits.
lentils assume the minute discus forms of capable motes. olive oil and carrot sliver tone. stirring motes and simmering motes. all the while, lopez-feliu consulted rojas thru a one reed screen.
i couldn’t make out everything but citlali said, “he has such absolutely spot-on visual sense of cheap reproductive imagery,” and i wasn’t sure but how that related to the killing poultry.
the hidatsa waited a long time for the indian agent to stop air starving them and lying to anyone the mandan wiped out generations before by river smallpox on the upper missouri.
redwood tree sliver motes and titanium silver alloy made loitering, COMPENDIUM OF INDUSTRIAL VISION, 2nd Edition, aided in the design of the nation’s first origami carburetur, which was to thank.
some question the significance of able-bodied sienna oils for it, and corresponding burning condominium construction every few feet off the ground, throwing off high heat, blacking out in the neighborhood of 7,000.
but i would direct them to the 84 year old ray foster, doing his first karate kata and saying (speech impediment due to stroke), “get me out of here,” first, because that is neat and reliable.
niceties blasted aside by palm tree shadows wobbling across the flashing vision of sudden bleary windshield because of velocity and motile character, hair-line absorption in to an unseen layer.
as i was reading parts of it, my ownly total criticism was of the apparatus of appendix diagrams, which when finally connected to the gross verbiage on reports and settlements, resulted not in the clouds breaking but only cycling in pitch dark columns. which i had to keep watching.
Reply to these positions by calling the main office, ask for Sergio. If he is not there, hang up and call right back and ask again for Sergio. Tell them you know he is there.
Or, get tamales from the lady in front of Alhambra Market and show up at the abandoned hangar in Burbank and help get real work done.
At this time we are in need of air stewardesses to take tickets and strap passengers, particularly unruly ones, into their seats. Red Cross first aid certified preferred.
At this time we are in need of high energy dispatcher with a “good voice” (that’s what Swirling said, maybe he means like “articulate” I don’t know), like the last person, who did it with red hair. She used to sit around reading what she called “F*** books.” She said, bring her some from the drugstore. She was highly efficient but has moved on to get married in Kansas City, etc.
Also: we are in need of a recycler. We are a green company. You tell us. We are looking at the sun studying solar power.
At this moment we are in need of people to go out back and chop the weeds. It’s hard to tie down the airships when you got weeds to your knees.
At this moment we are in need of people to go to the car dealership and borrow their hot dog stand and set it up front of the Dirigible Air Transport Lines HQ quonset hut thingy, blast that Cafe Tacuba over the PA and get people buying tickets!
Also, who can build or repair dirigibles out of salvaged supermarket type materials, cardboard rolls, newspaper, papier mache, duct tape, inner tubes, truck tires, and aluminum? We call that position MAINTENANCE ENGINEER.
And also there is a continual need of rounding up people supposed to be working in the building, in the abandoned building in Burbank next to Burbank airport, with the fabric flapping out of vacant windows, and the quonset hut in East Los Angeles, in other words, OFFICE MANAGER. Because the office is in separate parts in Burbank and El Sereno hills (sometimes clandestine locations as necessary) driver’s license needed. We will provide this Office Manager with weapons, magazines, furniture, calendars, everything.
ALL QUALIFIED APPLICANTS ARE ENCOURAGED TO APPLY EQUAL OPPORTUNITY especially for the position of Company Poet-Philosopher Visionary to explain to us how dirigible air transport, hard on the heels of the new millenium, at the END OF THE AUTOMOBILE ERA, promises us a new dawn of rising hopeful sun rays amidst the current blasted environment, Katrina-like ruins of squandered generations and decades of debacle, economic wasteland of debilitated greed, etc. Apply now.