Category Archives: Eastern Michigan University
Cut-up of Elizabeth Cowie’s essay “Rear Window Ethics” draft.
Desiring demands a fascination tangled with anticipation overlooking a back which time enters in
time becomes us between levels and notes to find verisimilitude, which provides contrast achieving perfect suspense.
The castration blinds one signaling denouement while love follows spatialization which produces referentiality before mastering desire by transformed repetitions to understand contrast in someone voluptuous
holding something glamorous invokes excitement within the window of desire implying a world to experience as being a blind glass to the self.
The camera realizes the romantic violence of cuts with material accompanied by a convention like flowers but then enjoying self-consciousness and breakfast. Nevertheless, desire declares tomorrow that’s phallic, rich, and seduced to imagined lengths in reversals of want, assuming desire is ‘castration’ hidden outside conversation
(narrative begins with mirroring, framing, love—revealing a room and him which noted his drives to want suspense instead of jumping in Lisa’s musical window)
Pleasure is a Rear Window, a mere requirement that introduces understanding in disempowerment to acknowledge her gaze while dancing draws phallic themes (brings our unconscious) localized in loneliness (now noises) referred to as close-up dangers opposed by narrative objects to see, not to be seen, while the gaze is limited, called sensuality, wheels of disempowerment (enclosed in everyone)
celebrated looking as exterior to ourselves to suddenly reverse this large want score its connotations paralleling pleasure in two lonelyhearts. Love closely, kiss quickly, and come swooping around a door
showing such different mannerisms behind a half-lit window where pleasure eats under a body to be explored, recognized, between curiosity and burial
adjoining in recognition of opposition beginning as doubt transformed in the anxiety of creation revealed as sounds mirroring boundaries—
Here love me all firm back into being contrasting pleasures or characters to the opposite window
so if lack is extensions in phones pointing to romance, here the dilemma offered is reversals of potent lonelyhearts.
After Air
We open air be-
ing but memories as we
lapsed into rubble.
I name the universe and
sing while you are in some part
We who are and were
lost—we happened and so we
created the flaws
against another error
for posed listening. We are
documents in for
making a frame to be err-
or out of work for
good. We are subject matter
among other things in for
relating to tics
able of only presence
of tics to be a
chance to induce more still,
needing more form to write in
detail, as the facts
relied on whenever we
would like to be ex-
amined. The task is the is-
sue in forming speech, thought—We
said we had to touch
like morning laughter yet I
have to return to
the next time if you can trans-
late which is other that pre-
ceded the floods. How
ever, this can be a mess,
make a last prayer.
Look to where the frame has been
inept or faulty. Sing and
lull sense in water.
We authored to perform our
form quietly—(what
was yours?)—who is the person?
Who was mentioned should remain
that, but I don’t know
the story, its politics.
The evidence is
mixing between a picture
that carries a mistake, desire
the need for words now
suitable for speech. This is
forgetting as means
to get out. Nevertheless,
time set from some violent
sign to transform in
ways as well as form one hand
on the other. There
is vulnerability.
Nonetheless, enter in while
questioning can long
something within attention.
What is being said?
We are passing disaster
after disaster in speech
more influenced by
visuals. There is something
in a sign of some
hesitation and how it
will be marketed. There are
no differences.
I has been attacked and I
appropriate I
enough to look for you now.
I form air, error attacks.
A body has been
more important in error—
form security
in our capacity to
address changes in our cur-
rent, it only falls
into lacks of English and
other marvels. I
see only reality
as I am not in it, as
far as speech is. I
can say there is no single
me. I may ignore
them, and even distort them
somehow. We appropriate
time to see where we
are—suddenness losing. I
feel vulnerable
in her kind attacks in this
reality. We land, make sure
we press some unful-
filled urgent action and re-
late to a ship, a
devastating reach in a
small individual to
engage in air, spring
with each disaster concealed
in bodies contained
in bags. In every layer
we still lack, do not know the words
we author—meaning
smearing (alive or dead?)—if
I’m material,
I’ll be other specific
to a method. I want to
remember you be-
yond that moment outlined in
morning. (Put names here
if they exist). I rely
on paper to claim an act
for flooding not suit-
able to a closed fist. I
press you quickly in
form as sense is a busi-
ness closed among close-knit cells—
and more language, too,
is hard—part of the problem
is in our language.
I branch over with error
already indicated.
There is some need to
share, need to author ourselves.
I did not stem from
a name to create a se-
duction, although I stand, like
you. Sometimes I am
more and less. I am formed—I
am not sure I am
quite this—yet I form along
lines to fracture oversight.
You spread clear over
logical materials,
say outside my a-
bility to explode—hard.
There is not everything
here, but we believe
there is an awful lot more
to branch onto. I
was materials to be
collected, the error with
participating
within forces affected
in the outside. The
other is more than other—
go on and on and on to
reach it. We want world
over a moment, a fact
we have not enough
sight evolving our vulner-
abilities, but there is
an awful lot more
to long. I am. Here and there,
I’m written after
rage expanding against the
other refused by its public.
But this was and is
historical as we are
living, spilling each
other’s blood in the past air
opening where the future
can make nothing hap-
pen. Well, come and attack just
a little bit more
and press everything under
still air. I cannot create
some level of some
home. Let me—as if to kill
would release prayer,
not this world (either with us
or with error) and leave a
space for here (either
with us or our fictitious
state that can’t defend
you or your goods). Here I mar-
ginalize or believe what
I am…nothing. I
rely on blood out of place
and outside here how
beautiful speech is a vul-
nerability—this need
to look back, we error
of our air. I implement
or intended
when wrote intended when I
don’t know air. The signals are
mixed and I would probe
that area and find her
in air as released
when I cannot be present
(I mean here—for example—
etc). Where
does this resistance go, who
refuses even if
it was empty, if it is
full of people. Strange the acts
being carried out
by so-called immediate
sooner, relations
between a number of ears.
There’s no question that error
has created sense,
some want to separate, to
connect ones that ought
to separate more air. A
word air raised one scene of the
disaster. Air a
lie, some want to be willing
to address her in
terms of air. What’s left between
urges to submit—support?
I am beginning
far from being the error
invented. I am
its body to revita-
lize the wound, make a locale,
but I’m uneasy
about the unity of
air. I do not know
everything and I’ll give you
a little of the center
not removed from want.
I don’t know who I am in
her. I’m a number
of different people. I’m
wondering if error to
make little lives will
ever wake the fact always
denied this sense to
represent ‘air’ now as the
winds are direct, calling air
as air even when
suicide fulfills its claim
against origin
to divorce—by conversion
to I—to reject results
acceleration
of a new tragedy. Air
more different here.
Pick one and make that person
author this time up in air.
Let me be in this
new position, yet I can’t
when a disaster
strikes or is and was lost through
language, pretty language to
be the fact to make
some immediate
future in present
of its triviality.
As if it has a presence
present everywhere,
that does not mean it’s widespread
but can’t be only
that—as if I am in air—
I am air, a name, as well
as a lump. I want
to say the thing that needs some
air to be done to
remember where we are—
raid against error spilling
still blood in public
places now a grave open
to all at all times
to operate in air. Of
course, you strike me and that’s good
because there’s nothing
negative to think about
when we step into
all of that rotating air.
Hopefully we will stay air—
open—or remain
to be immediate, small.
A celebration
in an explosion of what’s
known as peace formed after a
bearded person could
enter without being a
name with the presence
of other times where traffic
is slow in a body and
before exploding
in a random way. I’m not
sure I understand
what I am but I press you.
What is going on outside?
What is going on
Now you have the present in
all thought. Now there is
a lot that takes place within
sight to place urgent needs in
an aggressive way.
Outside the explosion thought
it inside but it
had nothing to sorrow for
the fall of the public claimed
by mud. Explosion
killed thirty others praying
of what was each ot-
her of air. So we favored
sight with the power to call
attention to the
land, lack with it, something
frustrating sense and
leaves a big hole in what we
should be doing. I am air—
always possible
within air—open air. Air gat-
hered us today and
someone was privileged to
think. You still so vibrant on
different levels—
Wash the things I lack, sometimes
a lack of branches,
a lack of airs and embers.
Note: insist on the act to
be the name to branch
out with all the rudeness to
explode the market.
I talk about you through o-
mission. I am fortunate
air, a long name, but
it is called less. In this room
we were looking at
the cost of mistakes. We have
a new number program and
pieces of burdens,
a gap being collected,
a culture of thrift
to think about and come back
in writing. I know a loud
minute rarely a-
rises to create speci-
fic figures. (Of course,
I was different mosques to
enter) or maybe full of
a shadow to tear down
(or not). Imagine: a mosque
in a soul present
meaning outside in a flood,
a little plenty. “Bravo”
has been absent for
10 years, a little cost in
fire, attacks being
spent sense to perform the whole
business of a question.
Somewhere around air.
Please pose a more severe world.
Could you describe err-
or in global entity?
and so on. It is the wild
as we think beyond
what’s happening now, what
what happened. I long
events spilling history
to be associated
like sins, some silence.
I trespass every instance
in all origin
of experience which
had a failure in most hearts
of me. It seems this
does not rise to the level
to fall and disin-
tegrate into areas.
So this has to continue
to be worse before
it gets better. I know we
are not enough—we
are a world, which may not be
able to give more because
of what has gone on
causes a break in our weak
spots to exploit some
possibility breaking
a fact like polluted blood
while listening to
little air or slim shoulders
forbidden in black
water. What are we going
to do about it? ignore
our brains and figure
the best way to use drones, to
use special forces
with air, very generous
with the time. Air being you
evolving nature
of the sign. I am error,
homegrown, in some way
connected here in English
now complicated. Who is
an American
any way? And who is as
definite as air?
I am not sure yet or how
important it is. We press
and reach to someone
in air in an attempt to
mend air with some slim
reach to mend something at the
beginning and I am here
(Note: This is the result of an erasure of the document “Ten Years After 9/11: A Report from the 9/11 Commission Chairmen” and an erasure of translated letters of Osama Bin Laden. I then transcribed them and framed the documents into this renga.)
still exhausting a place
I AIN’T GOT A HOME ANYMORE
to say that name is an extension
So one of us builds the other
adds the mysterious strobe lights
The design has disappeared
from the Milky Way
just like yesterday
Screw it, who cares
LOVE ME, LOVE
ME SAY THAT YOU LOVE
ME. FOOL ME
FOOL ME
GO ON &
FOOL ME.
still trying to exhaust a place
What ruins are visible
on my face today
where it once
was forgotten
(the inventor of the bike)
the dish, Riki
I want to see your darkness, dear
golden greensky bluegrass
around you, ugly mug,
great day. Gourmet
adventures, leads me to
hope I am
closed off,
ugly. Great
day’s gourmet tree town sound
around you There’s something
beautiful in my mouth
like a tomorrow
that allows us
to bounce off
of each other
to some unearthed gems
like there is a tomorrow
You have a good sense
of style. Can you tell me a little more
about that Pussy
Riot, fragrant world, drowning
in grain, local food.
excerpt from attempting to exhaust a place
Pick your own apples. Please
and
dare I gently kiss
October,
this isn’t the first time we’ve touched
with experimentation
and—today—
a unique sound. Fragrant world employing
a momentum from dark squeals
and
—lips that you can’t place
leading you closer
to some crazy
something you may or may not want
to find ‘only in America.’
What is that cliché?
Sank you
with goodies for special interest
in a song like
‘In Love’ makes drowning
in grain an understated pleasure,
lets swagger slip in.
She’s more adventurous in bed
than health care
after hours and
the known moons must remain open
for you to receive any
or all of the rewards
which will be credited to
a fourth dimension beyond jeans. Don’t say a thing about
How I Lost My Body
unless
there is a sudden surge of rain
or shine
and laughter,
smoking on the balcony, love
is strange when lit up
like mistakes but basically
good. We believe there’s a
manual crammed with footnotes,
parenthetical asides
of love’s end come
to light, and I
could go on
and on but
there is only so much
time and I
have many things to forget
I’m everything…sometimes
A bomb converted a city under
railways of clothing and pleasure. Perhaps
continuous, unavoidable as a creature, alive
through lack of simplicity and light
I’m everything you consider biblical, sometimes
something good depending on the skies
this moment. We’re all the logical
marriages of breath made after love
of gold, a round force to
imagine unlimited. Tell me there’s room
for a future, a spirit beginning
something to share, to construct, explore
and expand our needs situated in
astronomical wetness and longing a location.
The Wild Paraphernelia
We, vigorous, form one general statement that love
of rapture is inanimate when unspecified, meaning
longing the wild paraphernalia of experience
—breath becoming air known above likeable skies—
something good screaming with
a present concept of rejuvenation.
Alas! saliva perceived a town—something other
to name, whatnot, arrange things and christen
to a cohesiveness. This is immersion.
Put in something logical, alive, various. Repeat,
bite that noun—perfection. Don’t take
this as a thingamabob being pleasant existence.
There’s craving progress when
desire forms a rhythm under a person.