Stress, the state and verb - we all have felt it and rode it yet do we know what we're talking about? Indeed, can we - past Freud/Jung (psyche), load, and our sensual experience abiding its edge - locate it quite (or is it quite there at all)? Whatever it is, we find here an eddy of it among us in words - with a nod to Yoko Ono and David Peel's AMERIKA, their 1972 anthem (with John Lennon abroad), an excerpt of which closes this session.

Here after a long summer, and then some, break we strike to the heart of the matter of what the hell we are doing with this enterprise via the 1992 essay "Theory as Liberatory Practice" by bell hooks. Here's a link to the essay if you want to reach deeper: https://www.uwyo.edu/aded5050/5050unit12/theory%20as%20liberatory%20prac.pdf

The oath has been around, in numerous ways and at different levels of articulation, for a long time, and we will take ours in examining this verbal structure between us - ending now in a listen and look inside John Ashbery's poem "The Tennis Court Oath."

The oath has been around, in numerous ways and at different levels of articulation, for a long time, and we will take ours in examining this verbal structure between us - ending in a look inside John Ashbery's THE TENNIS COURT OATH.

The oath has been around, in numerous ways and at different levels of articulation, for a long time, and we will take ours in examining this verbal structure between us - ending in a look inside John Ashbery's THE TENNIS COURT OATH.

Here we waterlock on "Island" in this third in a series of sessions that seek to explore this geological state that has just as much applicability to our psychic experience as it does to our terrestrial one. We touch not only its linguistic evolution (and the mysterious, silent "s") but also its representations as a trope for a family of our experiences that may go back to the start of consciousness as we intuit it.

Here we waterlock on "Island" in this second in a series of sessions that seek to explore this geological state that has just as much applicability to our psychic experience as it does to our terrestrial one. We touch not only its linguistic evolution (and the mysterious, silent "s") but also its representations as a trope for a family of our experiences that may go back to the start of consciousness as we intuit it.

Here we waterlock on "Island" in a series of sessions that seek to explore this geological state that has just as much applicability to our psychic experience as it does to our terrestrial one. We touch not only its linguistic evolution (and the mysterious, silent "s") but also its representations as a trope for a family of our experiences that may go back to the start of consciousness as we intuit it.

Love, in all its zones, arguably remains the capstone emotion of our mortal journey, which in words - as we seek to prove - is infinite. In this "four-point-five," final number (note previous broadcasts, including a half broadcast combining "void" with the start of "love"), in a series of sessions, we seek among excursions to touch on as many as we are able and unable, from its classical taxonomy to our near-term obsession with its anticipation, making and sustenance.

Love, in all its zones, arguably remains the capstone emotion of our mortal journey, which in words - as we seek to prove - is infinite. In this "three-point-five" number (note previous broadcasts, including a half broadcast combining "void" with the start of "love"), in a series of sessions, we seek among excursions to touch on as many as we are able and unable, from its classical taxonomy to our near-term obsession with its anticipation, making and sustenance.

Love, in all its zones, arguably remains the capstone emotion of our mortal journey, which in words - as we seek to prove - is infinite. In this "one-point-five" number (note previous broadcasts, including a half combining "void" with the start of "love"), in a series of sessions, we seek among excursions to touch on as many as we are able and unable, from its classical taxonomy to our near-term obsession with its anticipation, making and sustenance.

Love, in all its zones, arguably remains the capstone emotion of our mortal journey, which in words - as we seek to prove - is infinite. In this "one-point-five" number (note previous broadcasts, including a half combining "void" with the start of "love"), in a series of sessions on love, we seek among excursions to touch on as many as we are able and unable, from its classical taxonomy to our near-term obsession with its anticipation, making and sustenance.

Here we combine the end of our perusal of "Void" (the third of a series of sessions in this non-domain) - pulling and pushing and stretching its application until it breaks into words, etc. - with the start of a series of sessions on the nature of "Love"(perhaps void's match).

Here we peruse "Void" (the second of a series of sessions in this non-domain), pulling and pushing and stretching its application until it breaks into words its physical, psychological and cosmic manifestation, with some salting of the metaphysical, to which the term seems to call.

Here we peruse the "Void" (the first of a series of sessions in this non-domain), pulling and pushing and stretching its application until it breaks into words its physical, psychological and cosmic manifestation, with some salting of the metaphysical, to which the term seems to call.

Here is another installment (no. 10) in our on-going examination of the poet, printer and radical William Blake's "Proverbs of Hell," a prose poem first published in THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL, written between the years 1798 and 1803. We look at the proverbs: "The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. The selfish smiling fool, & the sullen frowning fool, shall be both thought wise, that they may be a rod. What is now proved was once, only imagin'd." To note, in these sessions, we do a granular - and maybe even (in keeping with Blake) infinitely so - reading of this perfect articulation of things we're still working out.

Here is another installment (no. 11) in our on-going examination of the poet, printer and radical William Blake's "Proverbs of Hell," a prose poem first published in THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL, written between the years 1798 and 1803. We look at the proverbs: "The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit: watch the roots; the lion, the tyger, the horse, the elephant, watch the fruits. The cistern contains; the fountain overflows. One thought fills immensity." This session also includes a look at "Fowles in the Frith," an anonymous, short, lyric poem song of the Middle Ages. To note, in these sessions, we do a granular - and maybe even (in keeping with Blake) infinitely so - reading of this perfect articulation of things we're still working out. To note, this session ends with the definitive proof of the statement, "A thought is a void."

From March 2020 (read "pandemic start"), we here look into what is "adult," the word and state, touching on various views philosophical, psychological and personal. This session includes the reading and discussion of a number of poems: "This Be the Verse" by Philip Larkin; "The History of My Life" by John Ashbery; and "Market Day" by Jonas Meckas (translated by Vyt Bakaitis).

In this session we swerve from the text of William Blake's PROVERBS OF HELL to what news we may find of its shape in Bob Dylan's "I Contain Multitudes," the title and refrain of which is lifted from a line in Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself." We touch on these two guys, as well as Anne Frank, Emily Dickinson, Mr. Poe and Dr. Indiana Jones, as we seek to fathom as always the heart of the heart of the eternal dilemma.

Here is another installment (no. 8) in our on-going examination of the poet, printer and radical William Blake's "Proverbs of Hell," a prose poem first published in THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL, written between the years 1798 and 1803. We look at the proverbs: "Let man wear the fell of a lion, woman the fleece of a sheep." To note, in these sessions, we do a granular - and maybe even (in keeping with Blake) infinitely so - reading of this perfect articulation of things we're still working out.