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Communications & External Affairs

Kit Robinson

Kit Robinson This poetic trace was used in:
Poem 9: Love in the archive
Poem 12: Mirror
Poem 35: Learning machines

The following short text – up through the seventh sentence of the second paragraph – was written by me during a group writing exercise as part of a workshop I conducted at Woodland Pattern Book Center in Milwaukee on April 18, 2009. The exercise, based on the “Brat Guts” experiment of 1976, required workshop participants to take turns reading aloud at random from source texts while others wrote. The goal was to incorporate the vocabularies of the recited text into one’s writing while generating whatever new syntax was necessary to produce new sentences given the impossibility of keeping up. At the end of the exercise each participant read his or her new text aloud.
In reviewing my text, and making a few changes here and there, I found that I liked it more than I expected to, and that it actually fits fairly well into the mode in which I am now working.  I also discovered that it is unfinished.  The second paragraph – up to “the recording industry” – was written during a different exercise.  It is a translation of the first paragraph, using random semantic alternatives while more or less duplicating syntax. As I thought about your project, I decided to complete the translation and proceeded to do so.
You are welcome to use any part of the following.

Words from Woodland Pattern
Flying, skimming, skipping, pursued by fishes, alone of all tuna, in the midst of tropical waters, a motorless plane, no muscles. Flying like a bat. The road lined with lights. A rubble of stone darkened. The turf mouse. Among the eternal rain, I found an old, blasted time, a restless bird shape. Photos are great materials for the publishing world. A Lincoln Town Car is not unusual. Stuff White People Like – a witty idea of content. They sell traditional bookstores into cheeseburger or pumpkin pie. The groundhog goes out and sees the formal dress of the occasion at the last check-up – today nobody bothers. The sun is commonly termed the twelfth point. English towns and cities occurred to him. In 1908, emptiness was the root cause. Self here is the implied mental comfort that regards extraneous qualities such as the next moment. If one had no separate identity, no one would be likely to have theories. He tries to find irony. Westerners in the temperature must be frank. The men, worse, had killed them body and soul. How to get through torture: light is in us. Friendship: a Braille typewriter. The creature is difficult. There is no light in the rainbow. Gold can’t be found anywhere. The ring and the cloud made a plaited meadow. Entrance along the road of blood.

Walking, thudding, bumping, a lot of good it does, crowded into the observatory, chasing toucans, above arctic wastes, a ghastly flat, no skin. Walking like a ball. The sidewalk lined with darkness. A pile of rocks brightened. The field elephant, alongside a temporary snowstorm. You lost your new, silent space, a serene animal profile. Records are typical commodities of the recording industry. A Jefferson nickel is unfashionable. Things black gods don’t like – a sluggish practice of form. They buy websites via fries with that shake. The sky dog comes in and hears the casual speech of the everyday at the first operation – then everybody spaces. The moon is expressly cast a monthly line. Fresh tomatoes and citrons present themselves to her inspection. In 2008, fullness was the branch effect. Otherwise there is the explicit physical pain that blocks out intrinsic mass like the previous eon. If you don’t eat meat, everyone will think you do. She looks for iron. East coasters can fry up in the heat. The women, even better, would birth them, part and parcel. How to add to pleasure: sound is all around you. Love: a Morse piano. The human is easy. There is no sound in an echo. Silver can be traded for space. The bracelet and the wave wove corn rows. Exit through the gate of water.