BIO
Lewis LaCook makes things. He is a programmer/poet. He likes unstable objects. He doesn't eat enough. Send him all your money.
a longer spare moment
None of the poets in the ninth circle had eyes. I was
climbing a ladder into descending a staircase,
watching the spokes on the wheel forward it to some
professors in the Library Science Dept. Among the dust
of books, lightly glimmering as if moths had in this
very room shed their resistance to earthliness, I get
a longer spare moment. Asking us to try and reclaim
back our imaginations, our minds, our souls, the
missing of orb-shapes in a blistering white matters
like clots maim when, manic with fissures, I work in a
space here of relative confusion, consuming what could
be light but only (I find just when it's in my mouth,
just before the ultimatum swallows) turns out to be
every page created in an edition of 30 copies by the
contributors and then gathered and bound (every 30
contributors). Jesse, I am interested in this project
being a collective result, though I myself sit here by
myself, selfless and pre-determined. The
dematerialization of contents, as well as the
monitoring of bodies and places; there is no
distance, only proximity, and sitting near you as I do
too often to jog with memory through Tralfalgar Square
(I enjoyed these four poems quite a bit, and would
like to publish "Orphans" and "The Siege" in the
January issue of a newly sprung year, caught near the
hub of the bicycle where your hand spits damage on the
grain), I really love Basquiat, and dubuffet - in fact
I've been rereading Dubuffet's 'Asphyxiating Culture',
it always cheers me up that someone else distrusted
Institutions like I do.
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
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climbing a ladder into descending a staircase,
watching the spokes on the wheel forward it to some
professors in the Library Science Dept. Among the dust
of books, lightly glimmering as if moths had in this
very room shed their resistance to earthliness, I get
a longer spare moment. Asking us to try and reclaim
back our imaginations, our minds, our souls, the
missing of orb-shapes in a blistering white matters
like clots maim when, manic with fissures, I work in a
space here of relative confusion, consuming what could
be light but only (I find just when it's in my mouth,
just before the ultimatum swallows) turns out to be
every page created in an edition of 30 copies by the
contributors and then gathered and bound (every 30
contributors). Jesse, I am interested in this project
being a collective result, though I myself sit here by
myself, selfless and pre-determined. The
dematerialization of contents, as well as the
monitoring of bodies and places; there is no
distance, only proximity, and sitting near you as I do
too often to jog with memory through Tralfalgar Square
(I enjoyed these four poems quite a bit, and would
like to publish "Orphans" and "The Siege" in the
January issue of a newly sprung year, caught near the
hub of the bicycle where your hand spits damage on the
grain), I really love Basquiat, and dubuffet - in fact
I've been rereading Dubuffet's 'Asphyxiating Culture',
it always cheers me up that someone else distrusted
Institutions like I do.
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
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"I think today may be more amber,"
Today's golden with engineering, Brad says to Brittany
over the covers, who plows through the dark like a
rifle's antique fin evoking erect series' retention
with impacted capacities. "Sky's like an antique paper
or the skin of old plants meshing with horizontal
nodes."
Today, it shoulde be noted, loads into a new browser
window via javascript popup advertising; ineffective
as it may be, and regardless of function rs(n,u,w,h)
{
remote = window.open(u, n, 'width=' + w + ',height='
+ h +',resizable=yes,scrollbars=yes');
if (remote != null) {
if (remote.opener == null)
remote.opener = self;
window.name = 'myYahooRoot';
remote.location.href = u;
}. Maybe there's blood in your mouth, which commends
with hooks the waters and their skimming over: Brad
and Brittany asleep, eyelids pressed like petals on
the white box truck foaming, we got the whole of the
sun nozzled in our vegetation outside, he whispers to
her rustily over an older skin of ferns brushing
japanese calligraphy, maybe there's blond in your
month of modes spilling lipid dreams.
body { color:#000000; background:#ffffff;
font-family:frutiger,arial,helvetica; font-size:10pt;}
body A { color:#000000; }
My body is no color of notepad stretched, she
mentions in passing a sport utility vehicle primed
with a powerful bomb slammed into an Israeli bus at
rush hour here this afternoon, and once more we're as
naked and as soft as new skin ready for puncture going
to work. "I think today may be more amber," you gasp,
the engine and transmission of the vehicle carrying
the explosives lay some 50 yards from the bus, by a
left leg severed below the knee.
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
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Y! Web Hosting - Let the expert host your web site
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over the covers, who plows through the dark like a
rifle's antique fin evoking erect series' retention
with impacted capacities. "Sky's like an antique paper
or the skin of old plants meshing with horizontal
nodes."
Today, it shoulde be noted, loads into a new browser
window via javascript popup advertising; ineffective
as it may be, and regardless of function rs(n,u,w,h)
{
remote = window.open(u, n, 'width=' + w + ',height='
+ h +',resizable=yes,scrollbars=yes');
if (remote != null) {
if (remote.opener == null)
remote.opener = self;
window.name = 'myYahooRoot';
remote.location.href = u;
}. Maybe there's blood in your mouth, which commends
with hooks the waters and their skimming over: Brad
and Brittany asleep, eyelids pressed like petals on
the white box truck foaming, we got the whole of the
sun nozzled in our vegetation outside, he whispers to
her rustily over an older skin of ferns brushing
japanese calligraphy, maybe there's blond in your
month of modes spilling lipid dreams.
body { color:#000000; background:#ffffff;
font-family:frutiger,arial,helvetica; font-size:10pt;}
body A { color:#000000; }
My body is no color of notepad stretched, she
mentions in passing a sport utility vehicle primed
with a powerful bomb slammed into an Israeli bus at
rush hour here this afternoon, and once more we're as
naked and as soft as new skin ready for puncture going
to work. "I think today may be more amber," you gasp,
the engine and transmission of the vehicle carrying
the explosives lay some 50 yards from the bus, by a
left leg severed below the knee.
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
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http://webhosting.yahoo.com/
SNIPE
You rise from some new serum contrived from some new
raining in
love with the volume of self in the midst. You rise
with some
blunt stomach with faded grails and such world
breaking and your
eye slides down a rifle's scope to limn variable
pressure on
restaurant overcrowding. Shoulder-to-shoulder we
gesture and
carry our blood down the blacktop away from roads just
unfinished. Further and faster we sabotage these
razors that
spackle in gumdrop our televised detournment.
The marksman: uncommunistic, lying in lyric
waiting for no
struggle of frontal blown. I must have awakened in the
shell of
new winter, measuring the frosts that jangle in my
hair against
the freezerburn on lyrical basilisk receipts. What
world there is
when she aims low across the street is sucked like
tequila down
to salt lemon lining for the roads away from blocking
off traffic
forever. Airplanes muscle the first tones of Eno
through a sky
unfounded and growling with sepsis.
The marks on the raindrop: the muzzle on the
rifle: the
finality of stabbing disco: where will we walk unaimed
for now?
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Y! Web Hosting - Let the expert host your web site
http://webhosting.yahoo.com/
raining in
love with the volume of self in the midst. You rise
with some
blunt stomach with faded grails and such world
breaking and your
eye slides down a rifle's scope to limn variable
pressure on
restaurant overcrowding. Shoulder-to-shoulder we
gesture and
carry our blood down the blacktop away from roads just
unfinished. Further and faster we sabotage these
razors that
spackle in gumdrop our televised detournment.
The marksman: uncommunistic, lying in lyric
waiting for no
struggle of frontal blown. I must have awakened in the
shell of
new winter, measuring the frosts that jangle in my
hair against
the freezerburn on lyrical basilisk receipts. What
world there is
when she aims low across the street is sucked like
tequila down
to salt lemon lining for the roads away from blocking
off traffic
forever. Airplanes muscle the first tones of Eno
through a sky
unfounded and growling with sepsis.
The marks on the raindrop: the muzzle on the
rifle: the
finality of stabbing disco: where will we walk unaimed
for now?
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
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Y! Web Hosting - Let the expert host your web site
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ON ROSEMARIE WALDROP'S LAWN
The first pressings of my hair start in the game of
rain. Once
you move one chip to the right, hoping to second-guess
what first-
off wills itself florid in masks, a reversal waits
behind the
slamming of limpid doors. As predicted, the sound
quality in
these early recordings leaves something desirable on
your bedside
table. Last night I stroke you deeper, pinning you to
the
softness of your own overgrown flesh; we harvest
celibacy in a
garden of lapping pauses, such and so many of the
tongues of
silences cracking our names like walnuts on the shelves.
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Y! Web Hosting - Let the expert host your web site
http://webhosting.yahoo.com/
rain. Once
you move one chip to the right, hoping to second-guess
what first-
off wills itself florid in masks, a reversal waits
behind the
slamming of limpid doors. As predicted, the sound
quality in
these early recordings leaves something desirable on
your bedside
table. Last night I stroke you deeper, pinning you to
the
softness of your own overgrown flesh; we harvest
celibacy in a
garden of lapping pauses, such and so many of the
tongues of
silences cracking our names like walnuts on the shelves.
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
__________________________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Y! Web Hosting - Let the expert host your web site
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Re: Re: Maine Statement on Digital Poetry
> rock on, jim!!!
===i've enjoyed some of your work in the past, brian...but i tend to shy away from discussions of "digital poetry"....for one thing, said discussions tend to revolve around a few key and uninnovative workers (much like the above-ground underground of langpo!)...i agree w/ jim...be more adventurous....i'd like to see poetry merge w/ net art, would love to see a poetry that operates with variables, one that relies less on mouseOvers and more on the inherent variability of computer=mediated works...thus far, i've seen damn little of it (& none on arras...though i've seen things i do admire there)...
bliss
l
10.21.2002
Re: Maine Statement on Digital Poetry
"Jim Andrews" <jim@vispo.com>
You are quite conservative in what you yourself wish to create and call poetry, Brian, and will not acknowledge as poetry work that doesn't go to school with you in some Ivy League cocktail party jacket pipe smoking notion of poetry among uboyids. If you're going to be young and talented, be a little more adventurous and keep your critical manacles away from work that scares you. I'm tired of your haughty insistence on the supremacy of poemy poems.
ja
===i've enjoyed some of your work in the past, brian...but i tend to shy away from discussions of "digital poetry"....for one thing, said discussions tend to revolve around a few key and uninnovative workers (much like the above-ground underground of langpo!)...i agree w/ jim...be more adventurous....i'd like to see poetry merge w/ net art, would love to see a poetry that operates with variables, one that relies less on mouseOvers and more on the inherent variability of computer=mediated works...thus far, i've seen damn little of it (& none on arras...though i've seen things i do admire there)...
bliss
l
10.21.2002
Re: Maine Statement on Digital Poetry
"Jim Andrews" <jim@vispo.com>
You are quite conservative in what you yourself wish to create and call poetry, Brian, and will not acknowledge as poetry work that doesn't go to school with you in some Ivy League cocktail party jacket pipe smoking notion of poetry among uboyids. If you're going to be young and talented, be a little more adventurous and keep your critical manacles away from work that scares you. I'm tired of your haughty insistence on the supremacy of poemy poems.
ja