3N Plus

Brenda Laurel
Computers as Theatre – Second Edition

Side Bar page 83

At first, we thought simply to build a game […] But as we began conceptualizing the game, we realized that we were actually building a world; material in that particular game arose from construction about the environment and characters that was larger than the content of the game itself.

Laurel’s report suggests to me that world and narratives and games arise from acts of narration which are ways of constructing.

Narrativity -- Narration -- World, Game or Narrative
Narrativity = Potential
Narration = Production
World, Game, Narrative = Product

Decoupling narration from narrative (discourse still gives rise to story but it also can result in world or game) … narrativity is the potential for formulating sequences from semiotic material (it need not be verbal); narration is the production of sequences and their recombination; narrative, world and game are products of acts of narration (thought through an expansive notion of manipulating sequences). This conceptualizing of the relations build upon earlier efforts.

And so for day 2835

Posted in Reading, Storytelling | Leave a comment

Rolled Not Folded

John Ota
“Gamble House Kitchen”
The Kitchen: A journey through history in search of the perfect design

Stacked underneath the end counters are wide drawers containing tablecloths rolled to prevent creasing. I make a note of this excellent tip.

And so for day 3116

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

In Search of a Hen

Antonella Anedda
Pindar Says the Poet Must Guard the Apples of the Muses
translated by Patrizio Ceccagnoli & Susan Stewart

Let’s get to work, I say to myself.
I throw the fish in the oil
and watching them fry I think of what the poet must do
as guardian of apples, about those Muses.
Clearly, the dragon is irrelevant,
if anything, we need a hen,
the creature that hatches the egg of verses:
white for the void, yellow for the words.

And so for day 3115

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

In and With Fragments and a Few Nots

Bahar Orang
Where Things Touch: A Meditation on Beauty

To engage ethically with Sappho’s poems is to love fragments, to love in fragments, with no totalizing category, no interest in a lost whole, no disdain for flaws.

I like how a series of negations follows the valourization of fragments.

And so for day 3114

Posted in Poetry, Reading | Tagged | Leave a comment

Cento Stub

Distinguish […] tiptoe from whisper

becoming a river again

Conyer Clayton
We Shed Our Skin Like Dynamite
[p. 22] and [p. 91]

And so for day 3113

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

Discursive Dislocations

Leo Bersani
“Representation and Its Discontents”
in Allegory and Representation ed. Stephen Greenblatt (150-151).

Sexuality would be that which is intolerable to the structured self.

[… commentary on Jean Laplanche Life and Death in Psychoanalysis … ]

Sexuality would be desire satisfied as a disruption or destabilization of the self. It would therefore not be originally an exchange of intensities between individuals, but rather a condition of broken negotiations with the world.


An imitative sympathy is crucial to our ability to learn, and in the context of a more general epistemological investigation, one might speculate about the effects on our presumed knowledge of the world of a learning process that destabilizes the relations between subject and object and transforms the world into an excessive, sexualizing psychic expenditure.

And so for day 3112

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Winter Haiku

Summer solstice reading:
Liz Howard, “Archaeology”
The Capillano Review

I enter your book and someone laughs
A pile of sentences to bring in for the winter

Winter solstice reading:
After Luke Bedford:

icy fog

Lines from THE FOG by Luke Bradford

icy fog blankets
the rambling dusk of
the campgrounds

A truly captivating image … campgrounds / rambling dusk / fog blankets

And so for day 3111

Posted in Poetry, Translations | Tagged | Leave a comment

Buttered Asphalt

Khashayar Mohammadi
Me, You, Then Snow

The figure of asphalt reappears through out the book and forms a ribbon of associations.

my brain buttered to asphalt

we paved a new path to the mind

and listen to the gentle static
of car tires on wet asphalt
a motorway behind every window

with asphalt crackling
hidden from sight
but ever present

And so for day 3110

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

Beyond Ending

David Rakoff
Love, Dishonor, Marry, Die, Cherish, Perish
with illustrations by Seth

Accomplished on many fronts: a novel in verse.

A novel weaving the delicate impingement of characters across plot lines, little tricks of narration fostering in the reader a knowingness about connections…

One of the stories tells of the making of a picture, the picture then is found years later by a character in an unrelated plot line. Aside from the provenance, there is the illustration of said picture: you turn the page and you are in the position of the character viewing the picture. The mimicry works as a majestic if subdued finale. It is the book’s magic that the reader experiences both a reckoning with time’s passage and a moment lifted out of time.

There was just so much Now that the picture encapsed In the shot, this despite more than six-decades elapsed.

And so for day 3109

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Interlacing the Being of Boys

Out of a much longer erotic poem, these lines jump like an epigram.

It was a finger that inched forward—
then a hand fully clasped—fingers interlaced.
Then a kiss. A blush. We were just boys.

Stephen S Mills
“How We Became Sluts”


Placed in my reading beside these quoted lines (witness to the ephemeral from elsewhere):

We hardly perceive a fraction of our living
  there was a new tenderness touching my cheek
    and then you died

Lisa Robertson
“The Tiny Notebooks of Night”

And so for day 3108

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

Parental Guidance

Rated PG for elements of exaggerated meanness and ridicule, and for some mild language

Motion Picture Association of America Rating for Matilda

The movie based on the novel by Roald Dahl has indeed not only exaggerated meanness but also lots and lots of it.

And so for day 3107

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment