I came across this truly interesting blog, future of the book. I'll be keeping tabs on it. The latest post is on the 'networked book'. Much food for thought.
Belatedly, wanting to acknowledge the passing of Jackson Mac Low last week. There's an obituary at The New York Times and here's more info on Mac Low .
The poem below is from his series of Light Poems.
1ST LIGHT POEM: FOR IRIS -- 10 JUNE 1962
The light of a student-lamp
sapphire light
shimmer
the light of a smoking-lamp
Light from the Magellanic Clouds
the light of a Nernst lamp
the light of a naphtha-lamp
light from meteorites
Evanescent light
ether
the light of an electric lamp
extra light
Citrine light
kineographic light
the light of a Kitson lamp
kindly light
Ice light
irradiation
ignition
altar light
The light of a spotlight
a sunbeam
sunrise
solar light
Mustard-oil light
...
As well as taking part in events at the Sydney Writers Festival next week, I'll also be doing a quite different gig in Sydney on Saturday 22 May, at the Carriageworks. I will be part of some readings organised by The Red Room , at an event called TEDx, which is taking place in Sydney at CarriageWorks on Saturday 22 May 2010 and featuring, as the website claims, a selection of Australia's leading visionaries and storytellers showcasing their Ideas Worth Spreading LIVE to a group of thinkers ... as well as ONLINE to the world at large"." It's part of something called TED which is described as "a small nonprofit devoted to Ideas Worth Spreading. It started out (in 1984) as a conference bringing together people from three worlds: Technology, Entertainment, Design" . As for the poetry part it will include Johanna Featherstone from the Red Room making a presentation about the role of poetry in Australian society. To complement Johanna's talk will be rea...
Every so often I have my hair 'done'. It's a luxury, a kind of time-out. Two hours or more to think and dream along different streams. A public kind of dreaming, especially on a Thursday evening, when it's crowded. I get to read fashion magazines. I am far from the type for these. I could not wear the clothes featured, nor put on the shoes or contemplate the make up nor the diet fantasies proposed and propelled along their pages. It is all wonderfully alien, yet territory for thinking. My hairdresser, Sam, gives me decent coffee, maybe a small Greek biscuit from the cake shop across the way. I don't talk much. The staff and other customers gossip around me and there's a lot of laughing and screeching. This is both comforting and friendly, but also exclusive. Or, as I realise, it's me who excludes. That I have nothing to say into this. But that isn't the point for me. This time, and I wonder if it will stick, I think of ways in which I might need to chang...
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