by jenny holzer, 1983
[watch Holzer's television text]
poems by Linh Dinh:
we do points per game and shooting percentage, of course,
and steals and assists and yards per carry
and fumbles and sacks and penalty minutes.
we tally all of our punches because it's very important
that we quantify each moment of our murderous lives.
a man must be accountable for all of his thrill and fuckups.
we also do girls and countries but we don't do collateral damages.
Go Boo Hoo Hoo
“You’re a rich little white girl.
People don’t give a damn
About you. They only care about
The poor people, the minorities,
Those less fortunate. Go boo hoo hoo
To Daddy and buy some diamonds.
I’m sure you’ll wake up tomorrow
And feel like the million bucks
That’s stuck up your ass.”
the death of english
it stang me to sang of such thang:
this language, like all others, will be deep fried,
will die, then be reborn as another tongue
sloshed in too many mouths. what of
"that kiff joint has conked me on a dime?"
"them cedars, like quills, writing the ground?"
it's all japlish or ebonics, or perhaps Harold Bloom's
boneless hand fondling a feminist's thigh.
we all know that sculptors
enrich and litter this universe
with their masterpieces.
but what about writiers?
the filthy condos they build in out minds
are also picturesque. and yet
some of us would rather be an animal.
in nature films, the natives
are always shunted
from the viewfinder.
any stupid word, once printed,
will gain immediate authority.
although I am neither a famous athlete
nor a movie star nor a politician,
each day I scan a hundred newspapers
in a dozen languages, hoping
to find my name in print.
why do I do this?
maybe there's a mass murderer or a terrorist
with the same name as mine. or maybe
I've done something spectacualr without knowing it.
or maybe I've died recently without knowing it.
and besides, don't we all deserve to be in print?
"...a plausable mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit." -- Kurt Vonnetgut, 'Timequake'