VV(11): Outside the Pattern

[Terrance]

Dave Monroe wrote:
> 
> "Stencil fell outside the pattern." (V., Ch. 8, Sec. iv, p. 225)
> 
> Okay ...
> 
> "I write four times here, around painting."
> 
> Jacques Derrida, The Truth in Painting (Trans. Geoff Bennington and Ian
> McLeod.  Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1987), p. 9 ...
> 
> "Our understanding of ... the experience engendered by television
> programming in general can be considerably expanded if we draw on Foucault's
> notion of the heterotopia.  The best metaphor for the heterotopia is
> provided by that complex and strange yet simple and familiar object, the
> mirror: a 'virtual space' underneath the surface; a place that puts me 'over
> there, where I am not,' in a kind of 'shadow that gives my own visibility to
> myself.'  It is a place both of ultimate reality and ultimate unreality:
> '{I]t makes this place that I occupy at the moment when I look at myself in
> the glass at once absolutely real, connected with all the space that
> surrounds it, and absolutely unreal, since in order to be perceived it has
> to pass through this virtual point which is over there.'  And, finally, most
> significantly, it is a place where 'all the other real sites that can be
> found within the culture, are simultaneously represented, contested, and
> inverted.  Places of this kind are outside of all places, even though it may
> be possible to indicate their location in reality' (Foucault 1986, 24).
> Quite obviously, our experience of television is heterotopic ...."
> 
> Michael Thomas Carroll, Popular Modernity in America: Experience,
> Technology, Mythohistory (Albany: SUNY Press, 2000), p. 23, citing Michel
> Foucault, "Of Other Spaces," Diacritics 16.1 (Spring 1986): 22-7 ...
> 
> "'I dream of a great glass sphere, hollow and very high and far
> away ... the colonists have learned to do without air, it's
> vacuum inside and out [....] Inside the colony, the handful of men have a
> frosty appearance, hardly solid, no more alive than memories,
> nothing to touch ... only their remote images, black and white
> film-images, grained, broken year after hoarfrost year out in the
> white latitudes, in empty colony, with only infrequent visits from
> the accidental, like me ..." (GR, p. 723)
> 
> "The screen is a dim page spread before us, white and silent.  The film has
> broken, or a projector bulb has burned out. It was difficult even for us old
> fans who've always been at the movies (haven't we?) to tell which before the
> darkness swept in." (GR, p. 760)
> 
> Hm ...
> 
> "it's enough to say: abyss and satire of the abyss" (Derrida, The Truth in
> Painting, p. 17)
> 
> Something like that ...
> 
> _________________________________________________________________
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Also see: The Fifth Elegy, Rilke

http://home.i1.net/~paladin/paladin/poetry/longer/duino005.html


Except that WE accept preterition, and sing,
accept this Earthly infection and death
no transformation is possible
no poetic redemption, no I am bends the string
in praise. 

Weissmann/Blicero's & Rilke's 5th Elegy
They are all Men.
The way back Complicated, 
at the mercy of Language.
Chances of falling so shining and deep. 
This is no Gravity free Angelic Realm. 
Gravity!
Gravity rules all the way out to the cold sphere,
there is always the danger of falling. 
Gravity!
The all Male community has a Frosty appearance, nothing to
touch.
Kelippoth! 
Hardly solid, no more alive than memories.
Black and white.
Film!
Into exile forever. 


Banishment!
Homesick, they are not space men
but men of Earth.
Out there they are all Men, 
their fate a Banishment from preterition,
from Earth, from Nature, from death,
a Phantom prison, a Death Kingdom  at the mercy of  Words, 
their fate far worse than Destiny had allotted.

Liberation? 
They yearn only to be as Rilke's wanderers
savagely wrung out by a never satisfied will,
how it would wring them, bend them, and twist them, 
swing them and fling them and catch them again, 
and how they would fall as if through oiled slippery air,
and land on the threadbare carpet, worn constantly thinner
by their perpetual leaping on a carpet that is lost
in infinite space. 

They yearn to be Preterite!
But no! 
Blicero/Weissmann crossed the uncrossable wall, 
The Rocket-Structure infected their dreams
They wanted to dive between the worlds, 
to fall, to turn, reach and swing on journeys curved
through the shining, 
through the winter nights of space,
dreaming of rendezvous, 
of cosmic trapeze acts carried on in loneliness, 
in sterile Grace, in certain knowledge that 
no on would be watching, that loved ones had been lost
forever....


But Blicero was Whispering a story.