Author Archives: dovrhy08

i- week 6 neurorev


[T]heory of mind has come to be a central concern for social brain theorists and a key element in their explanatory repertoire. One dimension has come to be termed mentalization—a kind of built-in intersubjectivity in human experience, perhaps shared with some other primates. Mentalization refers to the ‘largely automatic process by which we “read” the mental states of others’ and which helps us make predictions about their future actions.”                        —Neuro [145]



 Another fancy word for it


It seems the Noble Sciences

Have found what we call “Nwyvre”

In a seeming act of almost pure



The interweaving web of World

(though not the ‘world wide web’)

They say hides in everything

So all the little boys and girls

Don’t need to say anything


I suddenly hear Science sing.


The secret web within the planet—


No single one of us can plan it,

Not you alone or him or me.

Now ‘mentalize’ this, goddamnit,

It’s not just automatically.

i- week 6 synopsis

log synopsis based on journal entries made during this week

I’ve been spending most of my personal study time this week to the development of a French/English poem I’ve been trying to write, though I admit the whole point of it is just to show off how much French I know, which I’m discovering isn’t very much. I sat down in my room for almost 5 hours on Wednesday evening before dinner trying to get something good out. I’m still iffy on it so far, but I spent a couple hours clearing my head as much as I could, since I’ve been disappointing myself with everything that comes out. The title is either going to be “Je Suis Hier (I Am Yesterday),” or “C’etait (This was).” It’s about not being able to write and not doing anything with the talent I have, the subtle irony being that it is a very structured poem written in the styles of T.S. Eliot, Charles Baudelaire, and a slight taste of Dante, and written in two languages. In other words, it’s supposed to be a really, really elaborate, well-written poem about not being able to write good poetry.

in addition to those 5 non-consecutive hours on Wednesday, I read most of the rest of “Exercises in Style” in hopes that I would find a clue to how certain poetic/storytelling forms tell their stories differently. Nothing concrete yet, though I made a few observation notes. I’ll post some of my Calculated Poetics reflections on here if i find anything concrete. this reading and occasional note-taking was spread over three days, I believe Monday-Wednesday, and took a total of about 6 hours.

I-Reflections on calculated poetry 15/5/13

the idea of quantum poetics is a fascinating one, but I was having trouble thinking the idea through. Maybe it’s something to do with the uncertainty of a poet’s meaning–a poet says something, and you feel what they try to convey, but as soon as you try to rationally approach a well-written poem for the sake of its material element–the words–alone, it ceases to make sense to you. The millipede wonders how it’s able to coordinate its legs, and trips itself up immediately. This could, in a sense, be related to the “particalizing” of quantum waves; we measure it, and realize that it’s not really there, and that all measurement is uncertain.

Interesting. But I was having trouble articulating the thought. Then Jesse decided he had to steal my thunder. To paraphrase what he said in class on Wednesday: “A word can have infinite meaning–the moment you subjectively impose meaning on a given word, you particalize it.” This goes back to our Tuesday seminar about the total subjectivity of signifiers–the word “tree” could signify a Doug Fir, Oak, Birch, etc. yet the very specific phrase “the tree” is usually understood in context.

I’m intrigued–metaphorically speaking, how does a poetic “particle,” in the form of words and syntax, take shape according to its aesthetic “wave?” I reference back to the week 2 reading of Bringhurst, the chapter from “The Elements of Typographic Style.” He shares an interesting theory of the relation of certain patterns and how they stimulate our senses. Certain geometric patterns correspond with the spacing of words and the overall material presentation of a book. These patterns, which occur everywhere in Nature, are, for an indefinite number of reasons, pleasing to the eye. There is an entire web of correspondence here, from smells to the notes of musical intervals. Different patterns–of notes, of layouts, of any aesthetical presentation–evoke different emotions in different ways, depending on how the stimulus in question is perceived. I have a very strong feeling that the hippocampus is strongly associated with this whole process.

So basically, different styles of expression, such as those experimented with by Queneau, must evoke things differently. Thus they are, in a sense, certain means through which certain semantic/aesthetic (my use of those two words are arbitrary more often than not, though the difference is something I hope to further understand) “waves” can “particalize.”

Thanks to Jesse for triggering my neurons.

Rhys week 7 Neurorev





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A new voice speaks today.


You’ve been.

A different kind of character

Must play by different rules

Here there are no differences

The risks are high, no time for fools.

Too many machines to build and keep

Too many words to count our sheep

Too many buildings left to sweep—

This is the goal of the Collective

And if you are defective,

We’ll at least try to be receptive

But never self-reflective

The glorious ‘WE’ is holier than thou

So take your time to take a bow

Even if you cannot stand

The Great Collective needs you

You must donate your hands.

After all,

You long ago were Harnessed.

I-another Blake rev


Randomly stabbed in the back of the thigh

I wonder why she does not call to me instead

All these ghosts in sailboats

are the reason I have cried.


To me, she says “I’m almost there”

but she was always standing there

“Seize him? no reason”

and so my spirit died.


But I often tend to be overdramatic–

there are no monsters in the attic

I’m just a little hesitant

is all.

I- Blake response rev


If it pleaseth thee, I shall aid

as not much progress hath thee made

awakening thine “antiself,”

but gesturing toward an empty sky


Through the corner of thine eye,

watch the angels whisking by

and listen to the whispers

floating out from underneath their wings


Watch them dancing, watch them sing

and unto thee, they’ll comfort bring

then in my footsteps follow

if this is what you wish.


I find it hard to mystify

just from reading books–

I guess I have to realize

The sky is not as empty as it looks.



I is for Illumination

  is for ‘Illumination.’

Field Study Proposal

Questing the Grail–a continuation of C is for Ocean

In this Spring field study I will solidify my capability of semantic expression through the development of artistic form. I will compose a term paper based on my investigation of the lyrical forms employed by William Blake, Charles Baudelaire, and other inspiring poets. I will write poetry in response to the poems that evoke me the most, and, with the knowledge gained from this study, I will develop my own works of poetry. I will also be looking at the works of Kurt Cobain, as I work to develop a foundational understanding of expression and pursue it through public performance.

ABCs and 123s – weekly log and field notes

    Bachelardian Reverie


        Poetry Observed

        (embedded youtube or Vimeo video will go here)

        Term Paper Abstract

        Read full term paper




        I-week 5 log

        this is a synopsis from journal notes throughout the week. I spent about 4 hours a day on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and 2 hours on Saturday sifting through my massive new book, “The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake.” There’s a lot in there and it was hard to decide where to start and how to go about studying him. I guess what’s most striking to me is his flow of illumination–I don’t know what it is yet, but from the way he writes, I can tell he was in a state of reverie, or a shamanic trance state (all really the same) and that (important part) the words that come out in his poetry follow from that state; in other words, the material element of his poetry is secondary to the mode of consciousness through which they derived. This, I believe, is a crucial axiom of shamanic poetry and therefore, the Bardic tradition.

        Staples: that was easy!

        Writing (my first long poem, in some ways also my ACTUAL first language poem)


        Writing, writing

        I know not

        showing only what I’ve bought

        Make me fancy, make me fine,

        words only mask what we forgot.


        Tell me what the beauty sees–

        but restricted


        Never-ending story told,

        the Passion only felt

        How do you survive

        when you can only describe?

        –when the blow

        can’t be felt?


        And so quatrain one completes

        the story that somehow


        the purpose of the experience.

        Every page empty as a lonesome Journal.


        Yet so subtle.


        The trees shine on forever,

        leaves beautifully reflecting

        the sun. will it stop?



        We all know where this story will go.


        Fill the pages from head to toe,

        until the blaze of Carpal Tunnel

        Seizes your tools

        and you suddenly forget

        which way the wind blows.


        Continue on,


        until the softness that you sing

        surrounds and heals your broken wing

        don’t lose it–

        least you fall & break in half

        in attempt to describe

        a door.


        Language does what is easy–

        simple ticks, swishes, and curves–

        to convey the Immense–

        the love of a child

        and his brother. But prose alone

        will always be

        A product of this harmony;

        the sounds, the sights,


        –Just as they’ve always been

        But do they show?

        I don’t know,

        I don’t know,

        I don’t know.

        I see in my head

        what you wanna convey,

        But it was not mine–

        it’s in your life to stay.

        Every day, this happens to us.

        A Language of Adjectives.

        That is what we must undone.

        Dependence on the viewing screen,

        in front of men with sexless suits,

        flashing descriptions of beauty

        before their very eyes


        And they think they think no less of this

        of course, because their eyes

        are made of myst


        And we know of no other way to exist.

        should this language really BE?

        ticks and flicks and rambling lines

        can never stand the test of time.

        Where was I going?

        You won’t know,

        you sacred “El Magnifico”

        who thinks he can control the Earth

        –there is no place for you.


        I still can’t wrap my head around it–

        or won’t–

        Either way, we still betray

        what is Abounded

        so stealing thoughts is the best I can do,

        I state this plain and simple.

        With all the grandeur I could use

        to state my place

        and make you think me worthy,

        I won’t.

        I write only what I can

        About the state

        of the world,

        And expect you to not understand.


        Because you can’t.


        I see me change into a kite

        Fly away————–

        see soon what will come

        –and be done.

        I see dyslexia aplenty

        hurting the desk

        of mystery (black-cherry finish)


        where all the paper’s a jumbled mess

        that doesn’t exist in the first place

        Because this what-i-am is gold

        in a field of tin

        and completely