Monthly Archives: March 2013

Be Acquainted with ɯɨʂɗɵɱ…

How do we make her acquaintance?
Sometimes we need someone to introduce us to her.
We all want wisdom. We all need wisdom.
The unwise do not know the extent to which they lack wisdom…

I am in love with wisdom. But she is capricious and has spurned my advances, often when I needed her the most. I think we are finally working it out (Wisdom & I), thus far into eternity; I acknowledge that she is out of my league, and in acknowledgement of this she turns my way every once in a while and allows me to glimpse her transcendent beauty.

I wish I could have more of her, but I would probably ruin the whole thing.
Come to think of it, too much wisdom almost ruined King Solomon himself…

Receive my instruction, and not silver,
And knowledge rather than choice gold;
For wisdom is better than rubies,
And all the things one may desire cannot be compared with her.

Proverbs 8:10,11 [NKJV]

 I wisdom dwell with prudence,
and find out knowledge of witty inventions.

Proverbs 8:12 [KJV]

This by way way of introduction to some upcoming posts about someone dear to my heart – a beautiful being named ɯɨʂɗɵɱ.

Notes on the original Beatles song:

The Beatles’ 1968 stay in Rishikesh was originally scheduled to last for three months. Predictably, Ringo and his wife Maureen were the first to leave, after ten days, citing the “holiday camp” atmosphere, the spiciness of the food, the excessive insects and the stifling midday temperatures. Well, it was India, after all—what exactly did they expect, if not deathly spicy cuisine, mosquitos, bedbugs and interminable heat? If they wanted bland food and cool weather, they should have stayed in Liverpool, awash in bangers and mash to “fill the gap.” Paul McCartney and Jane Asher bailed out a month later, pleading homesickness. John and Cynthia and George and Patti, however, persevered, with John and George writing many songs which would later appear on the White Album. Indeed, most of the thirty-plus songs on that disc were composed in the Maharishi’s ashram. “Dear Prudence,” for one, was written for Mia Farrow’s sister, who was so intent on spiritual advancement that it was delegated to John and George to get her to “come out to play” after her three weeks of meditative seclusion in her chalet.

from: Stripping the Gurus

Waters of March / Aguas de março

É pau, é pedra / é o fim do caminho
É um resto de toco / é um pouco sozinho

É um caco de vidro / é a vida, é o sol
É a noite, é a morte / é um laço, é o anzol

É peroba do campo / é o nó da madeira
Caingá, candeia / é o Matita Pereira

É madeira de vento / tombo da ribanceira
É o mistério profundo / é o queira ou não queira

É o vento ventando / é o fim da ladeira
É a viga, é o vão / festa da cumeeira

É a chuva chovendo / é conversa ribeira
Das águas de março / é o fim da canseira

É o pé, é o chão / é a marcha estradeira
Passarinho na mão / pedra de atiradeira

É uma ave no céu / é uma ave no chão
É um regato, é uma fonte / é um pedaço de pão

É o fundo do poço / é o fim do caminho
No rosto o desgosto / é um pouco sozinho

A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road
it’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone

It’s a sliver of glass, it is life, it’s the sun
it is night, it is death, it’s a trap, it’s a gun

The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
the knot in the wood, the song of a thrush

The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
a scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

It’s the wind blowing free, it’s the end of the slope
it’s a beam, it’s a void, it’s a hunch, it’s a hope

And the river bank talks / of the waters of March
it’s the end of the strain, it’s the joy in your heart

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
the beat of the road, a slingshot’s stone

A fish, a flash, a silvery glow, a fight, a bet –
the range of the bow

The bed of the well, the end of the line
the dismay in the face, it’s a loss, it’s a find

A spear, a spike, a point, a nail, a drip, a drop –
the end of the tale

A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
the shot of a gun in the dead of the night

A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump
it’s a girl, it’s a rhyme, it’s a cold, it’s the mumps

The plan of the house, the body in bed
and the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud

Afloat, adrift, a flight, a wing, a hawk, a quail
the promise of spring

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
it’s the promise of life / it’s the joy in your heart…

É um passo, é uma ponte,
é um sapo, é uma rã
É um belo horizonte,
é uma febre terçã

São as águas de março
fechando o verão
É a promessa de vida
no teu coração

É pau, é pedra,
é o fim do caminho
É um resto de toco,
é um pouco sozinho

É um caco de vidro,
é a vida, é o sol
É a noite, é a morte,
é um laço, é o anzol

São as águas de março
fechando o verão
É a promessa de vida
no teu coração

Discursos Narrativos en la Taza…

More post-modernist textual analysis SOUTH of the BORDER
(so finish your Margarita and put on your progressive academic sombrero).
I must get this stuff out of my system before we move on to Ethiopia & Wisdom Literature…

In this next Muneclips analysis we discern clearly the bio-eliminative motif in “Hola Amiguitos”, a clarion call to feminine empowerment and an unrestrained attack on patriarchal privilege, in the context of child-literacy and bodily cleanliness. The narrator participates in her awareness of social marginalization with the schoolchildren she addresses. The toilet is introduced as an archetypal beacon of hope and a call for the economically marginalized to throw off their oppression through the constructive praxis of self-awareness in metacognition.  The repeated affirmation siempre uso el jabon [“I always use soap”] may be seen on multiple levels; not only as an act of resistance to the strategies of the patriarchal oppression-machine but also as an autonomous act of rupture with the unwashed (read: un-empowered) status quo. The paradigmatic sign emblazoned on the chest of the narrator affirms this liberation of the hearer as a member of the potentially disruptive forces who are able to fabricate new radicalized identities through conscious elimination of both external and internal uncleanness. The text then moves beyond the toilet to exalt the matriarchal order and call the other/the child to a new order of shared awareness  in solidarity.  The recurring symbolism of the toilet must be understood as simultaneously both a tool of statist striated regimentation but also as nomadic technology to be acquired by the  disenfranchised other as a means to negotiated consensus through power-sharing.

Also – I would like the side of guacamole and some more chips with my order por favor…

Beyond Patriarchy: Heteroglossic Disjunctures

Today’s textual deconstruction features Pato patito, a revolutionary text when properly interpreted as a call to  dislocation and abandonment of rigidified, striated civil/state space for the nomadic production of new identities.

Here we see the narrator as feminine change-agent celebrating an amphibious disjuncture: a duck in the desert (who is actually a human syntagmatically representing the amorphous concept “Duck” as commodified fabrication) dancing to a cumbia. The narrative  supersedes linguistic ontology by transcending norms of codification [“quar-a-qua-quack / quar-a-qua-quack“] and expanding the linguistic prototype  into pure glossolalia,  bringing the orthoglossic/heteroglossic antithesis to a new level of possibility.  This polylectic paradigm embedded in meta-linguistic narrative is juxtaposed to the worn-out wagon, a symbol of the obsolete orthodoxies which now lie abandoned in the cultural hinterlands – that is to say, in the defunct and abandoned social-control strategies of the patriarchal state which once reigned unquestioned. Ultra as well as trans sexual politics are affirmed and simultaneously rendered ridiculous in the duck-protagonist’s reverse codpiece, clearly symbolizing sexual synthesis as well as a booty-call to decentralized polymorphous perversity.  More to follow when I get my doctorate…