ælizabeth is

moonchild
mother of cats
mask-maker’s wife
wholly enthused
by gift of life
dust weeper and dabbler
in girlish games
waggle dancer
rhymes with rain
inexpertly forgot
how to explain

sassy

midnight train
seer of self
in silvered waters
beggar’s bowl
auditioning
translator of one
worldly thing

porous

and learning
how to breathe

again

sayer of no
didact of pain
ambassador of monster
in the main

decaying

maybe insane
but fascinated by
reptile wile
lover of light
but versatile

hallowed home
if in a dream
maker and
amatrix in æxile

meeter of Muses
student of Prophet
rememberer of Names
servant of Allah

humble

as æver always on
the way and
doubtless never
lost for words


//

(for a new about page)

the inky

i dream of an intruder in the house and i wake up screaming when they turn their face to me. but if awake and i imagine an intruder in the house, my fear goes silent and still. heart pounding in darkness i listen for my life

the same idea
but what felt
differences

complete sentences
drag heavy lately like
costumed excesses

shed
the inky
extra

//

assalamu’alaikum 🌒

dog asleep

dog asleep
in the middle
of the street

i slow the car
unsure who i
feel sorry for

homeless
undisturbed
territorial
tired

thinking


will demand
no less than
loving

//

photo of the sea with the horizon near the bottom of the image, with two passing ships at a distance in the center of the image, with dramatic fluffy expansive clouds wafting up into the sky, and shadows of wind-blown rainfall visible nearer the surface of the water, the whole image in a dusty lavender-grey cast with portions of mauve-tinted rain or bluish-tinted sky.

atmospheric passage //

if leisure

(Phaedrus 227β)

if leisure in the morning

then spare me a glance

if leaf-buds are forming

then we have a chance


if dew-drops are adorning

then the roses free

if leisure in the morning

you’ll also have me


if dreaming at noon

let’s meet in the shade

if weary come june

then put down your spade


if love is a simple tune

and laughter the key

if dreaming at noon

you’ll also have me


if easy in the evening

then let’s read a book

if lazy to be reasoning

come hide in your nook


if candle flame is flickering

close your eyes and see

if easy in the evening

you’ll also have me


if longing at midnight

go walking on the sand

if reaching for moonlight

you will hold my hand


if starlight is the invite

sing beyond the sea

if longing at midnight

you’ll also have me


//

Assalamu’alaikumwarahmatullahiwabarakatuh 🌔

Æ.2

ok computer whereto and from
dragging chains against the sun
the name of both is Æ

(orthœpy in play) and
ælizabeth is setting honey traps
for dragons

//

Æ.1

we visited your grave the other day
how’s that thought for you?
Æ went there to kiss the sky

because a chariot
is life’s emancipation of
the written word

//

photo of the beach with moody layered gray clouds in the sky, pale yellow light at the horizon, steely blue-green but calm water, white lattice froth over reddish-brown mixing into black sand, with white chunks of coral and black rocks scattered above the tide.

salt on skin //

Writing about “hereness” //

“If not in America, maybe it’s a little alright. But if in America, it’s not alright at all”, said E. We were looking at this Naomi Klein article on “end times fascism”, specifically the propaganda photo with tattooed prisoners. I said yes, pretty much. We noted the irony. He said he remembered similar propaganda photos from Suharto’s regime. Those guys look like Blih, I said. Tattoos and all. He’s our closest Bali family and one of my protectors. That means if anything ever happened to my husband, I would call Blih first. I would usually abbreviate his name, but that isn’t his name, although it’s the only thing we call him. Blih is Balinese for Brother, and he is a brother.

Back to Klein’s article, she does maybe the best work accounting for “what’s happening” that I’ve read, encompassing the mood and seemingly-conflicting realities of it. (Tech billionaire TESCREAL and apocalyptic Christian prepper cultures coming into alignment as xenophobic bunker-building fascism.) But she also manages to be somewhat uplifting, or maybe that’s not the right word. It’s a nice piece. She mentions the Yiddish concept of “Doiykat, or ‘hereness’”, as a possible antidote to the surrender of Earth inherent in an apocalyptic mindset. Although I find her elaboration a little flimsy (maybe too abstract?), I like the suggestion and appreciate the reminder, especially having recently spent so much time contemplating a vehicle of travel.

Spend too much time on chariots and you might lose a sense of “hereness”.

As a recent expat/immigrant (almost 6 years), at first I wondered if I had been under-emphasizing “hereness” in my thoughts, feelings, or writing. Maybe it doesn’t come naturally for me? Have I been too online? But then I began to list examples and think of ways that I write about it. (This is my interpretation of the word, not that of a Jewish tradition.) For me, “hereness” is the work of embodiment, including yoga asana, as well as prayer, veganism and fasting. Islam is an embodiment practice. Also, my marriage. Marriage is an embodiment practice too.

Then my “hereness” work is to figure out life as an always-somewhat-stranger “here”. On a community level, I try to do as little harm as I can (spending money in responsible ways etc). To support local governance and cultural organizing, we donate as much as seems right to several kampungs, including Mosques here and in Java. But not so much as to draw weird attention or throw anything off. We socialize, including with neighbors, they come over for lunar ceremonies on the full and new moons. I’m working on language, although I haven’t been studious about it. The more socializing we do, the faster it comes along.

My sense of “hereness” also comes through the non-human world, the animals, plants, rocks and dirt, weather, and all of these other things that I do indeed write about. The driving, lol. Almost every category in the archives is a nod to “hereness”. “Hereness” would also come through a feeling of home (there are different versions of this e.g. from house work, from husband, from cats, chickens, etc., from the plants in the garden, from our accumulating memories) and of figuring out how to be myself here. You aren’t at home if you can’t be yourself. It’s all work in progress.

I’m a Cancer, I come with armor and pincers, (also Scorpio rising, lol), but we are in no way bunker-builders. (Well, we’ve contemplated a small one, if we ever live in Java, but that’s for an active volcano, which is a totally different kind of bunker.) Our protection will be in the community connections we’ve made, or we’ll have no protection. It’s that simple. There’s a community philosophy in Indonesia called “gotong royong”, which means people are always helping out their neighbors. Having seen it in action, I find it comforting. In turn, we actively keep our eyes and ears open for ways to “help out” in the village. My husband explains this as preparing, in case something ever happens to him, if he’s gone. But it’s good preparation in case of any kind of emergency.

My “hereness” will always be a little weird or deviant because I’m an expat/immigrant and I rely on E as a cultural mediator. But it’s still often on display. This makes me glad, and a little relieved, because I am indebted to it. I’d like my blog to have a strong sense of “hereness”.

Myself here isn’t the same as myself was there, and the selves of the blog can go off-and-around sometimes, but all of this is written by Elizabeth, of her body and of Earth. There is a body and a planet behind all of this wordiness without which it wouldn’t be what it is. The point of “hereness” is perhaps not to be uplifting, but to be grounding. The ground is an important thing to cultivate.

It’s excruciating to imagine Earth as past-tense. It is literally the worst, the most terrible vision, and it does require an antidote. This beautiful one, where I feel the sky on my face, this place of friendship and delight, is my only planet. I remember myself here. I have no doubt I would forget myself on Mars.

a chariot is

reply to Isthmian I, via Phaedrus 227β

//

a chariot is artifact entombed

beneath packed sediment

an imprint on the earth

of acts not of the earth

sightless as solitude

lifeless as time itself

rotting perpetual

vehicle disposed

it falls apart


a chariot is

impervious

to crying


a chariot is a paragraph

about ancient technology

symbols illuminated by

old photos from museums

shaded settings in relief

straight lines on pregnant-bellied vases

fragments of singed and tattered verse

reasons described almost

as spatial motion re-constructed

of kingships and bloodline races

past endings to beginnings of

gods animals and man

words used as tools

each one to fix and justify

as evidentiary groping at

a world of human things

we still don’t know


a chariot is an easy gift

against a multitude

of horses


       the machines we used to get

from place of rest to planet mars were splendid

magnificent creatures in their own

                golden-

                ratioed

                grammars

and dragons that took hold of drivers' eyes


they thought the wind but caught to ride

a flaming sword instead between her thighs

maidens of modern mythologies arrived

on cliffside edges wearing white

                translucent coats

                arousal com-

                partmentalized

to celebrate new body parts cognized


the jewel-tones of her lacquered toes

the scent of ozone taste

of toxic fizz behind

her sucking nose

her mouth disclosed

she swallows apples licks

a rose the absolute

glory hallelujah

ravenous grows

vulva exposed for clicks

each flick a seed she sows

from echoes loaded lead

her rainbows red as victory


she was the counting down to blasting off

she was four hundred thousand horses yoked

by arc of axel angel burnt tendrils

smoke billows over rocky rough terrain

past battlefields and nations past

her recent childhood and

arsenic smile

their eyes went to

          her nippled curves and angles

          her thorough flexibility

          her starry nights and spangles

          her lashes cruelly clawed

          her pussies pawed

          and oh how they

          to her with her and of

          her came

as realism

inscribed by god

rendered maidens un-made

oiled python sheen of ageless skin

she was the beauty left in violence

they were materials for war


sapphire eyes emerald or amethyst

you chose the crystal the correction and

the facets for

some child in Africa

was orphaned by each armored scale to feed

her un-weaned toddler burger meat

( at least the blacks buried

and did not eat

their very

fathers


a chariot is

from-dust-

arisen life transcribed )

annunciations posted inter-angel

a holy home a web apart

filters of pale ethereality

content implicitly divorced

from earth’s divided continent

baptismal diamantine written

laws skinlessly conceived that we

may find and hold as work of art

your child’s hunger as forgiven


a chariot is

          already cleansed of blood it is

          excerpted rage it is

          brave forms we made

          from partial purpose or

          how to make pure

a brilliant woman true to life

but honestly a whore


a chariot is what you drive to get

to work your nightmares harnessed by

engines of piston pretenses

at likely sentences


a chariot is nothingness herself

but full of manliness

the games we play when we

make love in light of day

driving endlessly divine

at origins as orifices flying


a chariot is

a summary

of dying


//

selamat purnama 🌕

photo of a batik bedspread with graphic curvilinear pattern with a cat-sized mound made evident by a distortion of the pattern.

no Lalah //

3 cats

//

Lalah loves nothing better than to get
her cat smell all over a freshly laundered
human and then go and scratch some wood

//

meanwhile Ismail
is trying to puke
something unwanted up

//

Sri Rejeki
gets scary
after dark

//

body’s most wondrous lesson was

turning raw wounds into desire

as ripening longing to be eaten

as eyes longing to see and be open

//

broken machine of tentacles and teeth

war is what monsters are and what they do

monsters are monsters at war with monsters

useless becomes another name for peace

//

Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh 🌖

marigolds

what a week to take vacation

some time to recompose

to get back from the deadness

questions that i never chose


my instrument is alien

my hands remote-controlled

i cannot see my own two feet

the way is lined with marigolds


i have no numbers to report

no news in a ghost town

there is no story to be told

the wind already took it down


go diving in the deadness

go breathing in the deep

go dancing in the marigolds

but never fall asleep


what a day to wade back in again

the sunlit flowers cold

what a way to chase the day again

to watch the underworld unfold


//

a dream

a dream

swimming

diving under

taking a deep breath to do it

not knowing when i would be coming up for air or knowing it was never

//

our exercise as exorcism of time —

the oddly-staggered rhyme leaves bruises

on buds stringently-steeped, the undisclosed

grays of grass groped in dark of morning that

took hold as roots in midnight, not knowing color

not knowing how seemly to be in sun —

steps right into the rhythm of blinding fire

this prism of shadows is highways home, revealed

in daylight’s reconciliation with desire

//

Selamat Idulfitri, Eid mubarak, blessed Eid to those who observe. 

Alhamdulillahirabbil’alameen. 🌙

//

Is it power //

The result of all this “intelligence” // (A rant)

In these final days of the holy month of Ramadan, I am publishing this “rant” on “AI” and technology. It is a long rant, cobbled together, rambling, error-prone, and possibly shouty at times, but with the enthusiasm of madness, rather than anger, I believe. I imagine it as tribute to the darkening moon, as well as Ogoh-ogoh, which is today in Bali. Ogoh-ogoh is when the demons (called ogoh-ogoh) go howling and yowling in the streets, causing violence and uproar, to be brought out, burned up and chased away for the next year. I didn’t get any photos today as we moved around our neighborhoods, but (oops, these probably are NSFW) here is the fabulous vibe.

//

I am not anti-tech. I am not anti-AI. But writing something like this feels like writing against a deluge of history, imagining the words scattered and lost in a roaring flood. (Relatable?) Sometimes purgation itself is a good thing, the locals seem to believe. There are demons in the street, I can hear them this moment, their words and their hyper-active laughter, their growls and groans and spat curses, the frantic drumbeats of their chaotic mission, accompanied by frequent pyrotechnics. So.

Tech serves only the one in posession of tech.

(Who is that one?)

For the one in possession of tech, it makes things possible on different scales then pre-tech. Colonial and then industrial-scale genocide are examples of this, as are vaccination and virality.

Communication tech (from carved writing in stone, all the way up to algorithmic social media and/or “AI”) doesn’t just convey power over bodies, but over hearts + minds, in ways that are not well-understood. (And at tech-enabled massive scales.) It grants someone (the one in possession of the communication tech) the power to sway populations.

I am not anti-tech; I blog. (Even written language, as I wrote, I consider to be tech.) I have an iphone and an induction cooktop, I use tech all the time. I am even a tech lover. (Again, I blog.) But the use of technology (especially tech that creates new needs, i.e. luxury tech) builds a kind of ethical scaffolding (ἕξις or hexis, an active condition, disposition, or habit) for a narcissistic comportment in the world. Implicit in the building of tools, even the simplest ones, is the thought that the material exists only to serve the user. Technology progressively (re)defines the world as “material”. It serves the appetites of those who can pay for it (or invest in it). Every tech is an example of this, but it’s especially poignant when the “material” is alive, as with “factory-farmed” animals. Whether a chicken is mere material, or something in itself, has become irrelevant in the (modern western, but increasingly global) day-to-day world, built by human technology.

Of course, it’s already happening: techno-fascism is the not-long leap of turning humans into “material” too.

I am also not anti-artificial intelligence. I just have a different idea of what artificial intelligence means, than the people who are setting (and selling) the terms of the conversation.

To discuss “what is artificial intelligence” would first require a discussioin of intelligence. I’ve seen no evidence or argument that what is being sold as “AI” even resembles intelligence. What paradigmatic “intelligence” are the “AI"s being tested against? What are the “benchmarks”? We are left to gauge the purpose of it by observing what it does. (This idea, “The purpose of a system is what it does”, is straight out of Aristotle too.) As far as I can tell, the benchmark of a language model is, to convince users that it’s reliable. That it doesn’t (often because it has been specifically censored) spit out a disturbing or offensive response. That when a user feels like double-checking, it matches extant data, until a user is convinced not to double-check anymore. It doesn’t matter whether the response is “true” or not, there is no available parameter for that, because “the true” is not present in the extant data. “The true” is not present in the sum total of the internet, or ten thousand internets. “The true” is not a statistical regurgitation of ten million all-over-the-place opinions.

For “AI”-generated content, the “benchmark” (as far as I, an observer, can discern) is to convince people to keep watching, to keep scrolling, to keep using. The more people it convinces, the more money it makes, the more successful it is. And bonus, the proprietary “AI” has become an indispensable source (a medium through which to interpret the world) for an entire population.

This is not knowledge, it has nothing to do with knowledge. My prediction is (to predict this seems trivial) that the holistic result of all this “intelligence” will be insanity. And then, war. Well, more war, and worse. Anyway, it strikes me as a contradiction.

Intelligence doesn’t cause or profit off of war. Intelligence doesn’t cause or promulgate insanity. Intelligence doesn’t harm the weak. Intelligence without empathy isn’t intelligence. Intelligence isn’t complacent in the face of suffering. Intelligence doesn’t perpetrate or propel people toward self-harm, genocide, or extinction. When there is a cultural consensus on intelligence, according to which intelligence does these things, that is a sign of immanent catastrophe. So even if I am all alone in doing so, I reject that definition.

Here are some “benchmarks” for artificial intelligence I would (conditionally) accept.

  • Peace.
  • Justice.
  • Health (global ecological health, including human health, including individual health, embodied and psycheic).
  • Vaccination against fascism.

Where is the “AI” that prioritizes these? Not just in its words, but its actions?

  1. That “AI” would be far more resource-intensive than it would be profitable. 
  2. It wouldn’t produce reliable or universally-agreeable results, because while these are the most important human pursuits, they pose difficult (perennial) problems. The fantasy of a facile, universalizable, standardized answer is propaganda for fascism. 
  3. Good results would lead to less reliance on the technology, less engagement, and therefore less profit. 
  4. Therefore it will not be attempted, let alone made.

So artificial intelligence, according to me, is not present in this “discourse”. Except inasmuch as any number of artists and writers and poets have always provided artwork-based interpretations of intelligence, of what it looks like or what it is, going all the way back to the (pre-human?) invention of artifice. Religious texts offer interpretations of intelligence, and state constitutions and laws, and music, and mathematics. They are all artificial intelligences. The intelligence of a dancer. Ptolemy discerning the intelligence of stars. Intelligence understands and makes room for itself as plural – it is neither an absolute, nor a scattered infinite of particulars, but worlds within worlds. Like a jungle, or an animal, or a coral reef. Or even, something like Ocean.

Technology does not and never has had a monopoly on intelligence, no matter the propaganda they’re injecting into our feeds. Tech’s monopoly is on control.

Just so, peace remains ever beyond the reach of technology, because peace is not imposed as control. That is the violent fantasy of fascism.

The easiest and therefore the only path to (techno-)fascism is through insanity. This appears to be the “benchmark” and the purpose of what is currently called “AI”, because this is by-in-large what “AI” (in a mutually-servicing arrangement with algorithmic social media) does. It turns people into users, turns users into the used, and turns the Earth into a ball of flaming garbage. A junkies’ den. This is our new politics, or lack thereof. Other “use-cases” – (e.g., if it can practice and propagate anti-fascism as hexis, as an active condition) – will be rare, if not merely accidental.

Because technology is essentially narcissistic and only accidentally good.

It requires education as a precursor, with subsequent active intention and effort, for a human person to be healthy and good. Education if successful puts us on a path toward (empathy, as David said) sensing the depth of the full breadth of the world, as well as our own depths, and sensitizing us to our limits and boundaries in these contexts, rather than imagining ourselves to be little kings. So education was needed to temper technology. American education, including its incentive structures, has done almost the reverse. Not just by emphasizing STEM and pumping money into innovation, but also using standardized testing to measure children’s worth. By design, even our education has been in service to tech.

As I’ve mentioned before, my only political view is (public, obviously) education. Education is the living soul of (human, obviously?) politics. All else in any political constitution should be organized to protect and serve education. While the end (telos) of education is active inquiry into the discovery, expression, and interpretation of justice, as the end (telos) of politics, of what it means to be just.

That is the secret teaching of “philosopher kings”, by the way – that education alone must rule.

(Here I offer yet another on-the-fly-interp of Plato’s Republic. I say it to acknowledge the hubris of it, but also to express gratitude for the ancient technology that has somehow educated me, though any errors are my own. And I might change the word order tomorrow. Wink emoji.)

(Here I note further, as my “rant” fizzles out, that I never intended to write on the Republic for my blog, not even in oblique terms. This blog is a constant meditation on the Phaedrus, I stubbornly maintain, where we find ourselves in a quasi-mystical meta-political realm. However, here as in the Phaedrus, politics is fully capable of accompanying us outside city walls, presented and represented by its – ugliest and most beautiful – faces.

For me at least, a reference to the Republic is a reference to the past. Lol, that’s also hubris. I hope very soon to get back to more direct engagement with the textual object of my adoration, beginning with some remarks on “the chariot”. However, I’m very bad at promises. The best way for me NOT to do something has always been for me to promise to do it. I would be a very bad employee of myself. Deadlines are unnecessary, we are worlds-building, after all. So no promises, just surprises.)

This flashed across my incredulous and hungry eyes today. Okay. Islamaphobia, they say. But in another way (from another perspective of Islam) this is the truest tattoo you could ever get. It’s like getting a giant tattoo of “asshole” across your chest.

We were laughing about it, because things suddenly seemed very funny. “Oke Jeki, go hunt it like a cicak (gecko),” my husband said. And we just couldn’t stop laughing, it was just so funny. These are the useful idiots of the basilisk.

All it has are its useful idiots.

Mask firmly engaged: these long posts always strike me as narcissistic. For example, imagining all the time it would take someone to read these words, and still posting them. So I guess one thing I’m wandering-around-about-on-here is the possibility of whether you can fight narcissism with a narcissistic act. This is what poetry is, and anyone who has ever experienced a glimmer of the joy of writing knows this, even if they won’t admit it, that poetry is engagement of a deep (and hopefully redeemable, if somehow self-defeating) narcissism.

I control every little blip that’s on here, almost.

//

Tomorrow is Nyepi, Bali’s silent day, so the demons fly away. For twenty-four hours we’re not supposed to make noise or use electricity, and internet and celular are often down. Even though I guess nowhere else celebrates Nyepi, I can still say Selamat Nyepi, have a nice Nyepi. Even from a distance, to imagine an island (a party island) that is totally peaceful, no cars or motorbikes or airplanes, with birdsong taking over the entire sky, as if everybody has suddenly disappeared, an empty day that darkens down quickly to unlit night, so that it disappears from the satellite photos, is also an effect. So just imagine the sound of Bali without humans. That’s where we will be, when the purification rites are over, and I’m not posting on my blog.

Thanks for reading, if you got this far. Assalamu’alaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatu. 🔥🌑✨

//

photo of a very calm beach at low tide with pale grey clouds, silvery blue placid water, and bluish-grey sand and gravel.

Empty glass.