Friday, November 13, 2009

The Conrad Preface

from joesph conrad's

TALE OF THE FORECASTLE

the preface 1897

"A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line. And art itself may be defined as a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, underlying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in its colours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and in the facts of life what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and essential—their one illuminating and convincing quality—the very truth of their existence. The artist, then, like the thinker or the scientist, seeks the truth and makes his appeal. Impressed by the aspect of the world the thinker plunges into ideas, the scientist into facts—whence, presently, emerging they make their appeal to those qualities of our being that fit us best for the hazardous enterprise of living. They speak authoritatively to our common-sense, to our intelligence, to our desire of peace or to our desire of unrest; not seldom to our prejudices, sometimes to our fears, often to our egoism—but always to our credulity. And their words are heard with reverence, for their concern is with weighty matters: with the cultivation of our minds and the proper care of our bodies, with the attainment of our ambitions, with the perfection of the means and the glorification of our precious aims.

It is otherwise with the artist.

Confronted by the same enigmatical spectacle the artist descends within himself, and in that lonely region of stress and strife, if he be deserving and fortunate, he finds the terms of his appeal. His appeal is made to our less obvious capacities: to that part of our nature which, because of the warlike conditions of existence, is necessarily kept out of sight within the more resisting and hard qualities—like the vulnerable body within a steel armour. His appeal is less loud, more profound, less distinct, more stirring—and sooner forgotten. Yet its effect endures forever. The changing wisdom of successive generations discards ideas, questions facts, demolishes theories. But the artist appeals to that part of our being which is not dependent on wisdom; to that in us which is a gift and not an acquisition—and, therefore, more permanently enduring. He speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense of pity, and beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of fellowship with all creation—and to the subtle but invincible conviction of solidarity that knits together the loneliness of innumerable hearts, to the solidarity in dreams, in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in fear, which binds men to each other, which binds together all humanity—the dead to the living and the living to the unborn."

Untitled by Mike Fabano

This is a new pen

but it is 4 years older

than when I got it.

It’s another October,

seems to be a fruitful

month, or at least

I’ve tricked myself

really well.

I’m finally in love again.

I only say “again” because

I don’t know what I’m

talking about.

Richard is home,

his chin is new and

we’re going to get lost later,

I hope we do(n’t) come home

again.



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more on mike: http://www.myspace.com/mikefabano

Short Cuts

ab
so
lute
more like an
instrument
than a
weapon

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Uhuh

i thought schools were good for me massah

waiting for o'hara with the ad men of athens

The first page.
The second line. Wait for it.
Yes ok.
here it comes, over the positioning lines:
i do not know.
following the subject, like this, is
- puts me off
like diogenes with
a lamp, pacing twice, exclaming movement! Scoundrels, move!
it's lonely in a
barrel alone with
my naked skin.
i even sent away my dog.
she'll eat better that way.
But the sun is so nice.
Please, some direction! I've
been trying to soak for
so long my pores are tired and full
and full
of black oil.
should i follow that
ink out
that spot out in concentric circles
out in ripples
- it puts me out
Or turn on the tv?
this isn't hbo
i don't fuck whores on peyote in the vegas desert;
but i paid for sex again
last week.
the internet and my
trusted right would have been
better.
Well,
Outward to that point in the near comings when
everything is on the line
and there's a bag of dope in front of
the addict.
and that's the choice?
i'm thinking about movement.

When the bible says Adam comes first, doesn't that fuck everything up from the start

I prefer
the window open
and the heat on
because I'm not paying for the
heat.
and i like the breeze.
the toilet seat up
and the toilet paper rolling
down.
trust me.
It is out of luxury that one sits down to piss.
The joint passed in a
clockwise rotation
and you need to lock
both deadbolts.
click, click. trust me.
One is unnerved when one can gain access to one's own
living corridors by the use of a push
and a metrocard.
an expired metrocard.
trust me.
leave me alone
and come on over
You've been here already
today?
I prefer
dark liquor please
but sometimes I do think
about drinkability.
One searches for another to look into
one's eyes and say everything
is going to be ok.
trust me.
you don't even have to look
into my eyes.
in fact,
don't.

time stamps in MY brain

A head of time