Artificial Memory: Volume II by Abigail Child

Artificial Memory: Volume II Reviews

• 
  M.W.P.M.

  Say again, in so many
  words: a Uniform aesthetic is
  on the way out. Running
  jokes of cuckoo alert. Piled
  up in repair. Say again:
  
  Invent yourself. They are cut
  Drink shops half the size
  and at least as popular.
  The scent of hard winters
  rise from the birches, the
  
  bay flat before you, book
  before that. Celsius itself degrades.
  Sentence / triangle / paragraph.
  We are the function, unadjusted
  Of protean locomotion prosthesis monitored
  
  In alphabets. I'm going - o
  paragraph sentencing purchase under a
  collapsed sky, ballet master's big
  teeth dramatically interpolating incipient copy
  with cellular samizdhat. Shop closed.
  
  With the rise of nationalism,
  social homogeneity increases. Brooking no
  delay, mention is made of
  washing powder, laundry, toilet soap,
  brushes for laundering, brooms, towels,
  
  inventions using master tapes, dubs
  of dubs of America, the
  tape. We are the future -
  a closure of loops. Bodiless
  fin de siecle, unbuilt in.
  
  It looks like a backdrop
  framed by roses and folk
  cloths fashioned by Monroe Vladik.
  There is no identifiable erasure
  tool. Occasional nirvana with service
  
  source. Teeth a way to
  class them. Colgate, Marlboro, Palmolive
  and Sony. Take notes: reidentifying
  again, un-built-in and
  again an attention pointing north
  
  where we are when we
  interrupt ourselves and on the
  right hand, a monastery and
  on the left, a space
  arranging agency. Un-built-in
  
  and again an attention looking
  for fast and reliable telecommunication,
  arterial thought, fresh fish buffet
  dinner. Soy. Construct a picture
  image. Artificially illuminate it. Read
  
  as pulpy or anthropomorphic. The
  problem - how to deal with
  foreign penetration. The solution - artificial
  insemination. Which reminds me of
  a story about pumpkin seeds
  
  and sex. Like a man
  with a woman: you put
  them in the oven. Viktor
  shakes his head. Jalousies still
  frozen by lilacs about to
  
  bloom communally. Things get in
  the way of ideas. That's
  the emptiness. The very word
  integration frightens now. Contaminated defaults,
  shovels of titanium, bonafide assumption
  
  strains. Employee is detained. Guard
  returns home opposing uncontrolled capital.
  A kind of improvised default
  to fill out frames to
  represent what's typical. Bonafide banana
  
  friend and books into smokes.
  Say again. The word for
  friend in Russian is other.
  A highly compromised I am
  not your ex-husband dialogue.
  
  Say something different. Revive our
  lethargy. Hold knife in both
  hands. Lenin and Stallone face
  off. Mortarize the present (hokey
  binary invokes wondering abstraction and
  
  arrogance of self-doubt) stuck
  between Primorskaya and darkening sky
  while women - marked as female -
  hold upright parsley, dill, scallion,
  peony, motorizing nutrients, lily
  
  of the valley against metallic
  world of ideology - a revolutionary
  force of nature to adjust
  cul de sac. A queue
  for nothing. While (second from
  
  right) Anna Karenina struggling to
  escape, falls back. Moscow's conceptualism
  advances to the viewer. Rain
  delays starter and medals walk
  around selling martyrs of the
  
  Great War, convivially flacked. Dogs
  too are selling well, on
  TV in lot position between
  narrowing weeds or privately at
  10am outside our windows.
  
  We locate rice and four
  kinds of sour cream: curdled,
  solid, chocolate and sweetened. What
  doesn't return? Post box broken
  washed socks. Qu'est que cest?
  
  Market supply. Apple juice pyramids,
  hard core kefir. Forget the
  Romanovs. Reference the nostalgia of
  memory is absolute. Skaters move
  through space lessening light. O
  
  zone who is green, unlink.
  Each subjob pursued as if
  needing it less. We think:
  is this what we want?
  Not to worry their future?
  
  while lumpenized farm children fire
  into alleyways, and people chalk
  swastikas on backsides of buildings.
  To inscribe a rage which
  is abrupt, obscure, crude, unabated.
  
  Savaging our pre-destination.
  
  
  
  
  
  Read the full text here:
  eclipsearchive.org