feeling the drift: a psychogeographer in a GPS world

 

Under the 2nd Street Bridge (The George Clark Memorial Bridge), Louisville, KY. This was designed by Ralph Mojeski and was completed in 1929.  This arch, not far from the Belle of Louisville's berth, was maybe designed to welcome river passenger's to the city, most likely passengers from the Fall Cities Ferry & Transit Co.1 , which operated in 1929 (until the bridge opened).

Tourism, human circulation considered as consumption ... is fundamentally nothing more than the leisure of going to see what has become banal. - Guy Debord

That moment when you discover there's a language for the thing you do naturally, have always done naturally. Sometimes when I tell people I've not had the chance to travel internationally, the reactions vary from genuine surprise (which I always appreciate) to vaguely patronizing pity.  It's not that I don't feel like I'm missing something. But I figure the international world will be there when the wind kicks up in that direction. There's a shit ton of intention to most people's notion of travel. The destination creates the reason for the trip, which has been mine over the last few years. There's nothing wrong with this, anymore than there's anything wrong with the notion of travel as a vacation (i.e., a temporary separation from one's normal life -- which isn't necessarily tourism but is often reduced to it). But as I've written about before, neither of those spheres of travel have been my natural modality.

My travel, though has always been more of a drift. Yes, it may have been precipitated by some external event... but the act of being in motion has always been at the heart of my travels. This gives me the opportunity slow down and see things that get missed in flyovers. 

And there's a word for that: drift. In French, the term is dérive. 

Fountain of Mary Mother of God - St. John Vianney, Louisville, KY This was a girl's Catholic School it's closure in 2008. There is a large Vietnamese population in the Beechmont, the city's most ethnically diverse neighborhood. The mass here is still performed in Vietnamese and French. I always stop when I have occasion to walk by it, say a Hail, Mary, and ask for a blessing. 

Travel for me generally means to drift, usually with only a loose notion of where I'm going. It's been this way ever since I was a kid and learned to ride a bike.  And while it took me a long time to become aware of it, the motion was always more important than the destination.

Roadside memorial, Woodlawn Ave. Louisville KY. It's visited and maintained regularly. I've seen these along the road to memorialize deaths in automobile accidents. This memorializes a boy who was murdered at this location.

I've been walking around a lot lately. We only have one car, and I've been a mostly foot and public transit traveler for some time, now. I like walking, though sometimes it just plain hurts. Before the pandemic, I could walk 8 or 10 miles at a clip with very little problems. I'm working my way back to that, because I want to walk much longer distances than 8 or 10 miles. Walking brings the world down to size, allows me to drift and focus on whatever holds my attention. Walking is also a good meditative practice for me. 

Nine years ago, I took my first long walk along a stretch of Route 66. I was in worse shape then than I am now. I walk slow, and it takes me longer than the Google Maps average to get from abstract point to abstract point. But that walk taught me (among many other things) that I kinda LIKE being out and on foot... albeit out and on foot and slightly more knowledgeable. So I'm practicing in the place I live: Louisville. 

Wanted Posters left from last summer's protests over the murder of Breonna Taylor.
The skate park on Clay Ave. near River Rd. #sayhername

Louisville is a savage, sad, and beautiful city. It has a lot of history -- a large portion of which the city tends to ignore, which is still visible in the architecture that revisionists and gentrifiers haven't gotten around to erasing yet.  This adds a certain amount of urgency to my explorations, maybe. I want to see the parts the city planners want to erase in the name of tourism, gentrification, and cultural homogenization: the blanding of all that's rough and lovely and fraught and full of memory. 

Display on 4th Street downtown. This is as close as Louisville ... and America in general, it seems... gets to embracing social change: as something remembered, not as something experienced.

This town has rhythm to it
th trains n planes and river drums
summers storm and winters hum 
(Strawberry Lane)

If the point of travel is to take in experience and allow it to change you, certainly world travel will do that. Hell, getting out you old hometown for more than a tourist excursion will do that. Ultimately, it's about truly OBSERVING the world and in doing so, constantly rethinking your own place in it. And there's no reason to start with where you are... surrounded by all the places and things you only THINK you've seen.

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1 Bates, Alan L., et al. “Falls Cities Ferries: A Note.” Indiana Magazine of History, vol. 95, no. 3, 1999, pp. 255–283. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/27792175. Accessed 13 Apr. 2021.

Drift: deleted posts

 

This was back when I still believed going to meetings, secret or otherwise, could change the world: at one such meeting, I once offered up the idea of creating a non-digital communication network. This could mean a lot of things, of course. It could mean drops in pre-arranged places. It could be a hand to hand messages. There are other options, but the general idea was to create a alternative network in the event that internet and cell signals were blocked. This was not so far outside the pale in the post-democracy century. Not then and not now. 

Even so, my suggestion was greeted with derision. I was laughed at and dismissed as being out of touch. One especially catty child who had just gotten done being very excited about their amazon.com purchased body armor made a crack about me needing to get back to typewriter and evening paper.

"As if there's still an evening edition," said I.

Flyers posted to wooden poles were the standard public bulletin board long before listservs and the social media beast that grew out of them. Mimeographed -- then photo copied flyers for concerts, rallies, political statements, layered upon one another in a tapestry of all that was happening outside the prevue of the newspaper classifieds no one could afford. 

Another key component of this pre-digital communicative tapestry was the stapler, which was first patented in February 1879 by George McGill. The stapler as we think of it -- the four way paper stapler -- came into existence in 1941. The precursor to the modern staple was called into being by King Louis XV in 1866 after wanting a better way to tack papers together. The first actual stapler was then created, but then later patented by McGill then put into production by a man named Gould.  The term staple originates from the late 13th century Old English stapol -- which means post or pillar. All this is just to point out that from its very creation, the staple was an innovation designed to further communication... and certainly, on a linguistic level, the staple and the wood pole have more than a passing relation.

The stapled flyer eventually came under assault by utility companies, Home Owner Associations, gentrifiers and others who strive for a planned and ordered society in which everyone mows their yards with perfect synchronicity. It's now illegal in most places -- and strongly discouraged in the rest -- to post signs on public or private property (cough cough utility company property cough cough). 

Futurists contend that we now have this great massive beast-bitch on a leash, social media. Bands don't need flyers. Just set up an Event! And while there's been no study about which method is more effective, long-time labor organizers and musicians have told me there was a larger turn out with flyers than they ever get with Events. And any social media marketer will tell you -- if they're being honest -- that the most you can expect from posting an Event about your event is 1/3 attendance ... and that's from among the ones who affirm that they are "Going." The return on Facebook ads is even lower -- no matter what Facebook tries to sell you. 

So then, what about the communicative tapestry? Well it's all digital, for one, which really only lends the illusion that it's less chaotic. Thanks to predictive algorithms, you're pretty much only likely to see more of the same on your social media feeds. Whatever you looked at yesterday, last week, last month... that's what you're looking at today, tomorrow, next month, and next year. It only changes when you actively change it by changing search terms or by liking different things.  So the tapestry is more like dental floss... you get waxed and mint flavored until you decide to try unwaxed or unflavored. It's peanut butter. It's like every other product we buy or use... including in the way that we use or purchase is then collected and rendered and used to predict (and hence) subtly change our behavior. 

But it DOES have that curb appeal we're supposed to strive for. No muss no fuss. All straight lines and simple connections on discrete and personal hand held digital doorways. Like my first ex-wife told me before we divorced, what it looks like on the outside is all that matters... right? 

I wonder what they'll say when the digital ware is worn, not carried and the ads pop up as we walk by someplace the fine-tuned algorithm informs us is like something we've liked or been to before. I guess there's always the "Opt Out" option... or is there? 

self: know : self : pretend / OR not having the proper wardrobe

 

"Sunshine Through the Rain" from Dreams, by Kurosawa (1990)

self-knowl·edge

/ˈˌself ˈnäləj/

noun

noun: self-knowledge

understanding of oneself or one's own motives or character. (from Oxford Languages)

Self-knowledge is a component of the self or, more accurately, the self-concept. It is the knowledge of oneself and one's properties and the desire to seek such knowledge that guide the development of the self-concept, even if that concept is flawed.- Wikipedia

Fire Sermon Redux: Revisiting T.S. Eliot

"For once I myself saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the boys said to her 'Sibyl, what do you want?' she replied, 'I want to die.'" Petronius, Satyricon. In the original draft, he used a quote from Heart of Darkness: Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision - he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath - 'The horror! The horror!'

The first time I read The Waste Land was in an undergraduate literature class. I was maybe 20 years old. I remember being awed by the poem's language and scope, and by the sense of loss that seeped in between every chewy, tactile word. And although I'd been writing poetry on the sly for almost 10 years at that point, it had never occurred to me that a poem could do... all that. I never credit myself with genius; I've known genius writers so I know the difference; and really, Mostly I plod along and stumble over things that I end up playing with on the page. And since I learned most of what I knew about history from cartoons and literature ...  (maybe not) surprisingly little in class ... up to that point, it was the first I'd read about the world after World War I. I had a young man's view of history -- namely, anything that happened before my birth, whether it was the Revolutionary War or Vietnam -- was OLD. I tried expressing this to the professor, Ron Morrison, once in a conference, and I think both my absolute rubism and my exasperation at needing more put him off. 

My love for T.S. Eliot's poetry has always been at odds with some of the politics people read in his work. It's unavoidable, I suppose. The Waste Land  is a deeply socio-political poem and he was, towards the end of his life, a notoriously conservative Tory. His early association with Ezra Pound -- who was saved from the rope for supporting  Hitler and Mussolini only because he was found psychologically unfit to stand trial for treason -- hasn't helped. 

And while I don't have to agree with a poet's politics to like their poetry, it's difficult to overlook the literary company Eliot kept. In an time when there's a lot of talk about cultural appropriation, revisiting T.S. Eliot is like trying to keep your footing in a mudslide.  Yes, he  borrowed (or stole, depending on how deep your reading into decolonialization is) from a cross-section of every culture that white Europeans have historically colonized or attempted to colonize.  It's necessary to recognize that -- in spite of the debt I feel I owe to his poetry. Overlooking it because he's dead or because he's been categorized as one of "the greats" by those who feel like they have the ability to offer up such an opinion doesn't help anyone, including Eliot.

  
I've been reading around in an anthology edited by Edward Hirsch and Eavan Boland, The Making of  a Sonnet and was surprised to come across the first stanza of the "The Fire Sermon."

from poetryarchive.org

Granted, I hadn't read it in a long time, but I lived in "The Fire Sermon" for a long, long time, both on and off the page. The form and focus of my Expedition Notes was inspired by it in many ways. So reading it as a sonnet rather than a stanza surprised me. It shook me out of a long established context. And while I'm grateful to Boland and Hirsch for bringing this back to me and for providing another context, I'm not sure it's a sonnet in the traditional sense. 

Then again, sonnets don't have to be traditional anymore. And thank God for that. 

Various critics have argued that the sense loss in The Waste Land is the poetic version of the idiot's guide to nationalism.  But in 2011, Pouneh Saeedi argued that rather than embracing nationalism, The Waste Land seeks to unify seemingly disparate and false dualities. 

Now I like that idea: Eliot as man looking for a unifying principle, the poet's version of The Theory of Everything.  I'm still sifting that one through the brain box, but I like it. And while I'm not sure that 14 lines alone makes a sonnet, it did make me want to take a stab at one: 

 

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On Bashō / acquiring of new knowledge: Field Notes

Rereading Bashō is always a pleasure / a great reminder of what made me return to a notion of poetry pared down. The flower itself // the moon itself.

Simple things: coffee. A bit of breakfast. remembering to focus on the now. This unfolding moment. Remember for later: Amelia off to daycare in the early morning. Stella as a mother. So odd and so beautiful watching the grand odometer click over /watching the generations urge forward.

Like to stand in back of Stella and Adam's house on this small rectangle of concrete outside the gate to their backyard and watch this tree. I wish I was better at dendrology / the science of tree identifation /. I'm better at home in Kentucky. I think it's a white oak / had to look it up on Google. Asked Stella if she knew what it was / she didn't. 

Told her I just like knowing things / she asked me what I did before Google. I said I found a library / an encyclopedia / someone who knew more than me. She laughed / told me she didn't have time for all that.