Plagiarism File (#7)
Thinking beyond a move in the wrong direction?
How many words evolve into a teaching about how to write?
I'm satisfied that American English constructs pedagogy, aesthetic schema. But it's the life that makes someone a teacher.
Again, , am I moving in the wrong direction?
Dead poets, why do certain names come to mind, and others?
One can spectulate that these strategies -- not just in Poetics -- decreased what could be called "feedback," as if poems were no longer understood as executed into a living, palpable world, but were, rather, some myriad proliferating discourse concerning a text stream unresponsive to "outside."
A pious avant-garde and its traditions had settled in, and naturally the artist against the gray scales of the given could find no place.
Plagiarism File (#6)
Melissa, a first-year student at the University of Maryland, stared desirously at the text now before her.
"Control," she thought, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard.
In so thinking she had silently named what her teacher, two miles and twenty minutes away, had earlier that week assumed in front of her and her peers.
"Control C," she thought again, and then did so.
Minutes later, with windows opened like variously cascading dominoes, she pasted herself into a corner, never to look back.
Her fingers trembled, but that was the least of her problems. She had loved (if differently) before, but this was the real thing, she could feel it, and the vespers whispered trillfully as if in an erratic state of despond.
"Not right," she thought still. "There are other ways. Or am I just weak? And is this the nothing-to-it that Kim [her first-rate and 'bestest' peer] promised yesterday in classifying sins of this order. I mean,” and here Melissa felt somehow altered, transformed, “what is it that makes the one who writes likewise the one who must be written? Where is that written, I'd like to know."
Knowing was indeed the all of it, the utopian post-partum into which, if lucky, she would disappear of a fortnight, post-submission, post-grading. Her teacher, a meek designer post-doc with a penchant for Fluxus and fan-zines, had made it clear: ...tolerate...your own...but...not... -- clear to the teacher but not, Melissa now realized, to her.
The work had begun, in short. The work of tantalizing in the wake of temptation. That later, after a "tear-filled" session with Professor Clemens (for that was his chosen name), she would be asked to (a) rewrite, (b) take a "C" in the course, and (c) pronounce her guilt before a sea of incoming students -- seemed less than relevant to Melissa now. The windows, now prescient with darkened text (the fruit of her move), beckoned with the hearty call of the moose-hunter who nonetheless knows the kill is beyond him [sic].
Melissa woke up.
"Stop it," she said aloud. "And stop your silly second guessing. As if I were the only one doing this, or had invented this thing in the first place." She was pointing at the screen, but she meant the whole thing, the machine, the datalink, the system, the dean's office.
"I'm just GOING for it, after all," she said finally, hushing herself, for Sasha in the other room would surely rat if she knew what Melissa was doing right now in the quiet of the Maryland midnight.
And she (Melissa) was doing it gladly, without remorse, tickled in fact by the sensation of something new, something poignantly beyond, something grand in the grandest of schemes.
The world, backlit, came together in an instant, and all futures held no trump.
Plagiarism File (#5)
There is no easy way to think through this idea of having someone else overhear you in your effort to think past them. So, in the absence of a recognizable formula or chemical breakdown, I proceed as if from the standpoint of right and privilege, though that is hardly the best way to go about things.
A literal or figurative breach or, somehow, both.
Consider that the propertied in American letters have never once sold either themselves or their documentarian neighbors short on the sheer amount of lettric property they might claim in the principled erection of monuments to cultural capital.
That sense -- of holding on or holding onto holdings -- begins in the inspired realm of being self-same in one's demeanor, of having consummated the liberal adventure of truth-speak against the dominant fiction, which propagates losers.
A brief review: LexisNexis. An even briefer view: education.
Which is not to say that, barring geological disaster via low-level nuclear fallout, a new epoch does not assert itself in the infolding of powerful ideas (original or otherwise). Simply, who can know, or cares to ask?
No, there is not a corporate solution to the problem of liberal democracy. Okay, rather: there is no corporate solution to the gardener's dilemma of having to free the beans to climb their respective poles while still keeping the pumpkin vines trained in the right direction. Historical materials are greedy for posting.
In defense of the Internet: You cannot call something a "personal desktop" and then expect people to pay rent on it.
Causes include: "desperation," "academic culture," "family," and the "speed" at which society works these days. Imagine the president of the united states getting an "F" for faulty citations. Imagine.
The story always begins in reference to its ending -- the beginning (once) always implicates an ending (a time) -- and there are reasons to believe that in the softly corroding days that mark the end of the age of progress, the same might hold true for knowledge: words and ideas begin in reference to their ending, their subsequent absorption, their 'ingestion' in the largely salvageable rhetoric of classical rhetoric.
The lines one must cross to write a sensical sentence are fat with stolen references.
I like what you are saying.
Plagiarism File (#4)
PLAGIARISM GOOD, COMMUNISM BAD.
Plagiarism File (#3)
I know I must not appropriate the words of the other.
On the other hand, that's what we always do, anyways.
I'd like to borrow words, think them in my own terms, make them mine while respecting their absolute difference.
You may tell me, and perhaps correctly, that I am about to quote something else, that it does not have anything to do with you, "yes and no".
But this is not how I wish I did not wish she did read it, here.
But to her with her, as if It weren't me (because it isn't), but here, being me, in these words, I'd like to.
But how can we stay alive when there's the danger. How can I return if when you're far away from me you have nothing palpable to help me recall in the here and now the touch of infinity, wrapped up in the intangible absence, how can we continue to live? How keep ourselves absorbed once again in language? From being embodied as mourning to speak to each so that we can embrace. I am surely remembering you. But so much has been said of us, that separates.
Plagiarism File (#2)
sort of a sad song of perpetually interrupted time -- poetry is invariably comparative -- TIMEX -- at the end of the act the rehearsal ended temporarily -- an addiction -- can never find the right candle to fit the right holder -- official and unofficial histories that vie with one another -- remembering nothing of what i read in last Sunday's NYTimes -- an appeal to lower order thinking -- i think there's nothing worse than writing a sentence and calling it new -- you have to know that in our current "hysteria" over proprietary language use and the institutional training of young minds for success in the marketplace the world's leading detection service "roots out" suspicious cases by combing the web for "high value words" -- Melissa, which is not her name, promised she would never do it again -- "You're an android," he said to the harness bull. "Like Miss Luft." -- waiting for the rinse cycle to end, see the light -- managerial strategies in higher education -- eloping with the gardener -- instances of hate crimes, on the rise, speak to a larger problem of all around basic hate -- software now enlisted in the man's drive to rid the world -- detection, as a form of prevention, is just another word for preemptive strike -- take Duke -- i can imagine lesser crimes; then again, i can operate a buzz saw -- Neither one a trance really -- the world (all 3 of them) is better off untranslated -- an effort to make literary minded friends visible across great distances, including those typically reserved for the new student center -- stress injury = computer's revenge on writers -- learn to distinguish distinctive prose styles, for the specialized is common to those who specialize -- an electric dream decanter -- like tears in rain, or integer
Plagiarism File (#1)
Translation thinks another culture-language is going to consist of colonialism. But the inherited ideology is very dangerous. We need to show not how a first tongue is a second one, but how the attitude of a translator would be modified.
Remembering one space,
each feeling I look back. That
moment. I told a story and
I got drunk on my anger, etc.
Many pictures emerge,
Every moment has a disclosure,
a destiny and quality all its own.The
genuinely experienced future gaps
between your private
When uttered the heart is crucial to understanding what's wrong with a term like Silliman's shorthand - especially in work by people. A couple found in the new Antennae, deserve some mention. When the question put to poetics was no less than a copy of talk up here. So, if ideas in thingness, how to compose a thing (itself - and)? As this was a preoccupation of Schwitters, others I trust would fall under my generation to harness the difficulty of that question.