we can’t be in love at once:
that’s a real quantum state
weird matter inwardness
no care if we know it or not
if we’re quantum physicists
or blind guides in despair
its exclusion principle works
no calculation needs
the world to arrange itself
we’re so anti-symmetric
though we would not say
spans of fingers measure
convex curves of skin
on reticulates of veins
these are quantum jokes,
tears and dots, draining
estuaries of blood map genes
many quantum traps await us
between eyebrows and nose
kinds of singlet, doublet states
but no real pair of us remains
*Editor’s Pick on The Unrorean (vol. XV, issue 2, Farmington, 2016)
«If anyone spams you on the right account, just spam his back.»
Rejection sampling is an elementary technique to sample a random variable, based on the idea of uniformly sampling from under the graph of its density function.
With this in mind, I have thought of randomly sampling from the rejectionwiki database, slightly changing sentences here and there, for them to fit into the different contexts and properly reply to the huge amount of requests of buying stuff, subscribing to journals, taking part in events etc. I daily receive.
Never turning the other cheek may be nothing but a joke.
thank you for sending me this outstanding picture of the trees getting bare in Boston which I read with interest, together with the funny joke between (more…)
August 17, 1962: Peter Fechter was shot while trying to make his bid for freedom. He bled to death in agony right behind the Wall in Zimmerstraße near Checkpoint Charlie.
Walled in, death
by wall and concrete,
neither too tall, nor thick
but an empty zone
open to the appointed
West. The last jump,
the spark long since kept
lit against the spying
of the dark, (more…)
Most parts of the Wall were pre-fabricated segments, originally designed for other kind of buildings. It was never seen as the wall of a house, though.
An almost invisible thread
had guided crowds for years.
Rushing out from shelters
and bunkers, they gathered
here to eavesdrop winds
and western whispers
behind the wall. The firm
back of the winter’s hand
halted them all before it.
It didn’t upturn the hourglass,
nor did it shake and clean
its clogged throat.
The days were dust,
the dust that was their house.
Now none dares to speak to
those who’ve chosen to forget.
And we all go with them.
Dead men only speak
a language of regret.
As early as November of 1961, skilled and unskilled workers were practically employed around the clock to reinforce the first generation Wall under the command of construction engineers and the guns of guards on duty. There were actually four generations of the Berlin Wall.
Let this wall hide the wall that stands behind
the wall of itself. Feed another stone into
the wall, another word fed into the silence
that walls up the emptied rooms of the dead.
Most of the wall is centered about ourselves:
it’s up to us to believe it falls down in the end
Take the U-Bahn line 6 (direction Tegel-Alt Mariendorf), or the S-Bahn line 3 (direction Wannsee-Friedrichstraße) or the S-Bahn line 2 (direction Lichtenrade-Frohnau). At Kochstraße the conductor will say on the mic: “Kochstraße – letzter Bahnhof in den Westsektoren, letzter Bahnhof in den Westsektoren!”. The train will proceed slowly then under the wall, reducing speed (without stopping) through Stadtmitte and Französische Straße station, that has been closed and kept in half-dark since 13 August 1961. Rdt police officers control the passage of the train until it arrives at Friedrichstraße, the frontier station. The atmosphere is quite unreal there, for it’s unusual to cross an underground frontier to move from one place to another within the same State. You’ll immediately notice the quite impressive coming and going and especially the huge number of old people, retired women and men, who are for one day calling on their relatives living in West Berlin.
All you have to do now is to follow the Grenzübergangstelle and stand in a queue at the Andere Staaten gate waiting for your turn.
Being there no later than 10 o’clock is a good trick not to be standing too long.
Archie Shepp is blowing through his sax. I’ve been a jazz collector for years and this music leads me to wakefulness. Perhaps too much genius in it? Too much fire in the flame? My nerves go bad or perhaps too good. My childhood home smiles in the background, but I’m sitting up in the plain light and the old map is sharp: Berlin was split. The thick postwar wall was not an implausible invention, not only a death sentence put off, nor did it barely mark the trench between two opposite ideologies. It drew a rough circle around (more…)
In 1990 a group of artists began squatting in a former department store due to be demolished. Today the squat is in all the guide books, and a constant flow of tourists circulate around the multi-storey building.
Errata: Capitalism Kills Art
Corrige: Art fulfils Capitalism
I shake my head. Dead days lie ahead of us at the trial.
We would wander aimlessly long after the shutters were up, unable to work or sleep. We had hardly spoken in years.
As she disappeared, after sitting with me on a pavement around Alexander Platz overnight, I must have discovered what wall jumpers felt like – who knows from what heights fallen. No shelter. No heaven. All books and papers burnt, all lines broken, all nails cut, all suspects confessed (more…)