Sunday, May 31, 2009

My own take of what a feminist poet sounds like at Delirius Hem

I submitted a piece to Delirius Hem, - the movie seems to work better there today at least, focusing more of what 'she' sounds like...another sorta mary-festo here.

hatstuck snarls comments on Mina Loys 'mary-festo'

Mina Loy sitting on the lap of Djuana Barnes.

Hatstuck Snarls has a great long article about Mina Loy and her mary-festo (manifesto)
quote a bit here, but its very worth a read... "This lack of an “I” is an important feature of the “Feminist Manifesto.” Current scholarship surrounding the manifesto takes the presence of the manifesto’s narrator for granted, without discussing the absence of an “I” (or a “we”) or without attempting to discuss the position of the narrator herself. This is perhaps understandable in light of the narrator’s forceful tone, which itself seems to mark the speaker as a figure of authority, but, it remains important to note that the authority of this speaker comes into being simultaneously with the utterance of her many demands. This factor might be rooted in part in the fact that Loy’s narrator does not appear to be creating a social movement and thereby has no scaffolding or context, or other persons, backing her. But even this point is debatable, as the last lines of the manifesto reference the possibility of “an incalculable & wider social regeneration,” thus marking the manifesto as a revolutionary discourse meant to bring about social change through the reformation of consciousness. But just as this notion of regeneration marks the potential of reformulating consciousness as the narrator outlines, the limits of the narrator’s claims, which could also be read as evidence of their seeming visionary status, are reflected by the last lines of the manifesto, in which Loy orders women to detach themselves from the assumed impurity of sex, “Another great illusion that woman must use all her introspective clear-sightedness & unbiased bravery to destroy—for the sake of her self respect is the impurity of sex[.]” But after making this command, Loy’s narrator once again rejects her audience by rejecting their ability to follow through on her demands, “the realization in defiance of superstition that there is nothing impure in sex—except the mental attitude to it—will constitute an incalculable & wider social regeneration than it is possible for our generation to acquire” (Lost 156). While presumably Loy’s narrator turns her back on the audience once again because has managed to grasp the notion that “there is nothing impure in sex,” this sense of the narrator’s superiority is not able to maintain a stable presence throughout the manifesto.

Rachel Blau DuPlessis, as will be further discussed, examines the “Feminist Manifesto,” in relation to Loy’s Love Songs, in order to argue that “feminine consciousness is a specter haunting the poem” (“Seismic” 52)."

Post Modernism is finally dead Manifesto

click here

Quoting Nicolas Bourriaud's E-Fluxes article on the April show at the Tate Modern to see what we think ... what do we think?

Travel, cultural exchanges and examination of history are not merely fashionable themes, but markers of a profound evolution in our vision of the world and our way of inhabiting it.

More generally, our globalised perception calls for new types of representation: our daily lives are played out against a more enormous backdrop than ever before, and depend now on trans-national entities, short or long-distance journeys in a chaotic and teeming universe.

Many signs suggest that the historical period defined by postmodernism is coming to an end: multiculturalism and the discourse of identity is being overtaken by a planetary movement of creolisation; cultural relativism and deconstruction, substituted for modernist universalism, give us no weapons against the twofold threat of uniformity and mass culture and traditionalist, far-right, withdrawal.

The times seem propitious for the recomposition of a modernity in the present, reconfigured according to the specific context within which we live – crucially in the age of globalisation – understood in its economic, political and cultural aspects: an altermodernity.

If twentieth-century modernism was above all a western cultural phenomenon, altermodernity arises out of planetary negotiations, discussions between agents from different cultures. Stripped of a centre, it can only be polyglot. Altermodernity is characterised by translation, unlike the modernism of the twentieth century which spoke the abstract language of the colonial west, and postmodernism, which encloses artistic phenomena in origins and identities.

We are entering the era of universal subtitling, of generalised dubbing. Today's art explores the bonds that text and image weave between themselves. Artists traverse a cultural landscape saturated with signs, creating new pathways between multiple formats of expression and communication.

The artist becomes 'homo viator', the prototype of the contemporary traveller whose passage through signs and formats refers to a contemporary experience of mobility, travel and transpassing. This evolution can be seen in the way works are made: a new type of form is appearing, the journey-form, made of lines drawn both in space and time, materialising trajectories rather than destinations. The form of the work expresses a course, a wandering, rather than a fixed space-time.

Altermodern art is thus read as a hypertext; artists translate and transcode information from one format to another, and wander in geography as well as in history. This gives rise to practices which might be referred to as 'time-specific', in response to the 'site-specific' work of the 1960s. Flight-lines, translation programmes and chains of heterogeneous elements articulate each other. Our universe becomes a territory all dimensions of which may be travelled both in time and space.

The Tate Triennial 2009 presents itself as a collective discussion around this hypothesis of the end of postmodernism, and the emergence of a global altermodernity."

Nicolas Bourriaud

Pussipo, manifesto's mary-festos

Pussipo is a high-octane collective of 160 women poets who view poetry as an act of skilled knife-throwing. As founder Anne Boyer notes, “Pussipo is SUPPOSED to wreck you.” Pussipo’s members hail from across the U.S. and Canada, and all over here

These manifesto-mary-festos were so good I had to quote them
"Friday, October 13, 2006

Once again men fight over her. The Colonel stands in a gray industrial landscape. A squad of soldiers is ever warm and fluffy, but pussipo is a form of aircraft graffiti, mainly embellished or extravagant in insignia, and also a new Greece or Rome.

Pussipo is cyclical in nature, so it's not surprising that just as women are often misperceived by the military gaze, pussipo is expected to act, look, and be strategic equipment. If the job of pussipo is to predict reality, it is getting easier and easier to produce and distribute her neon breath.

Pussipo is SUPPOSED to wreck you. She is only for a strong blue-point snowshoe siamese cat. Pussipo is valuable when used this way: a nemesis or free download.

What "real pussipo" is or is not is the misconception that pussipo is not everywhere: in a snatch dada or our favorite stolen astronaut. She is thieves they sue in fantasy stories. She is later the teachers who were the team leaders who knelt in a chair.

BUT there is a problem. It was really, really hard to choose, rooted in telling you with words and engaged in just this. And in some kind of “sting operation” by the pussipo squad we haven't bothered to schedule our weekend plans.

Far too often, the captains of rabidity have been suspicious, convinced that unless pussipo is about or related to men taking a few milligrams of Valium she is a "worldly call to the bomb squad,” or a "product that takes a lot of education, practice, and mastery far from the bridge.”

No, a guerilla pussipo squad forever unveils her full gallery. After all, pussipo is one of the most primal means she has left of expression. Pussipo is substantially the same, but also a cultural biography for the expected story.

Finally, I was stunned by the media frenzy instead of the fewest scruples. The general message indeed appears to be: “A work of pussi is the promise of vernacular homolinguistic transations of a single source poem."
Posted by odalisqued at 12:51 PM 1 comments


the blanket

off a line – the thing that breaks

in a conversation is the

icing. With a cool eye

feverishly toward.

Pussipo pushes it off

the cuff/thigh. What you say

to mean in the average

auditorium. Pussidom features

a laquered fail-

better. Pussipo done

so(me) good this time.

The gals/gulls/galls is

the sound you.


Rightright // Now

Posted by D at 11:22 AM 0 comments
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Pussipo Manifesto
The bombs of empire are hived into my charred cinderella.

My cinderella is cathected onto a larval mass & icing drips into the mouth of Sir Squeals-a-lot, the piggie who fingers the levers of letters to his own advantage.

Milk pours out of the presses into the eager jaws of Sir Squeals-a-lot, and someone filters out the stringy ovaries lest they stick in his false teeth.

Let us examine the origins of our radical disease.

Pussipo says, A press is a cunt is a squeezebox full of letters. A hairy valentine, we eat social code and spit up a library.

Pussipo says, Convene in language attired in this century’s most stylish uterus. Let your mod ovaries dangle out of your eye-sockets to their fullest advantage.

Pussipo says, A poem is not a synecdoche for a pap smear. Or a cunt-riddled plush toy with an animatronic chatterbox.

Pusssipo says, Mind your falsies.

Look hard at the female of the species, at their cannibal wigs and zirconia-trimmed muzzleloaders, their coyless page of slits. You will now be page to their slits, a bag of meat with wings.

To the monkey in the pot de crème, welcome.

Press any tender button to continue.
Posted by Lara Glenum at 9:30 PM 1 comments

Pussipo will see you in the Underworld where “poetry in [that] tradition, [has been] self-slain, murdered by its own past strength.”

Pussipo emulate that child who vomits up her own materials in order to rid herself entirely of tainted skins. Pussipo do not try to rescue or retain our own materials, but jar them loosely in fermented mare’s milk and gasoline.

Pussipo rejoice in Western art and literature’s ascription of the rank corpse. In these glossy hides, Pussipo gain access to the Underworld and begin.

Pussipo will see you in the Underworld.

Pussipo do not fondle the reified detritus of the phallus encrusting the common chat. Instead, Pussipo proceed directly to the genital, slice open its purse, and carry its mucoid jargon to the Underworld. Pussipo place a pin in every accomplished lip.

Pussipo splice together those brief crags with our own historical organs. Thus Pussipo create gold-toothed cyborgs; part poem, part biologue. Entirely analogue.

Pussipo will see you in the Underworld where Pussipo will remake you with your own discarded fat cells, where Pussipo will poke out your faux god-eye and insert the thousand-chambered fly-eyes of the pussilarva.

Take heart.
Posted by D at 7:46 PM 0 comments
Labels: glossy hide"

Mez Breeze's mary-festo takes the cake

Mez offers ... "in terms of my own dispersed Multi-MARYfestos, try these links:
....both from 2001 + english translations at the bottom so scroll down:)

also an interview that encapsulates my personal wurk manifesto-like take from 2007:

more click here