Friday, September 10, 2004

Manifesto of the Anti-Real

1. Art is neither a form of consolation nor a butler to hegemonies. Even in its most discreet moments, art explodes.

2. The Anti-Real does not deny the Real.[1] The Anti-Real knows that everything is in annihilation in the Sublime. The Anti-Real is that which seeks to manifest itself through the secret side-door to the Sublime rather than through the mock world of realism.

3. Realism is the bordello of those who would have their perceptions affirmed rather than dilated. When the door of fascism is opened, Realism will be seen lounging like a whore in its inner sanctum.

4. The Apocalypse is a way of thinking. Only the Apocalyptic clock announces from atop the grotesque pile of refuse, 'The Kingdom of Heaven is now.'

5. Irony is not a device. It is a state of being.

6. To be Anti-Real is not to be Surreal. The achievement of Surrealism lies in displacing correspondences, in the poem not arriving. In the Anti-Real, all assumptions are disabled, too, with one difference: the Anti-Real displaces causal logic with a totalizing logic of violence.

7. ‘Defile! Defile!’ shriek the Obliterati as they vandalize the museum of language.

8. Sentimentality is a form of exploitation, a connivance with official lies. Hang sentimentality on the gallows of Emergency.

[1] Even though the Real does not exist.


Blogger cal clements said...

i was reeling just the other day as i was considering how the REAL exists only as a zero. this REAL is the ANTI-REAL. the REAL is ANTI-REAL because we notice it only as it evaporates (as condensation fogs the glass) or when it makes us stumble (as does a wrinkle in a carpet). when the REAL has been suitably reduced to rubble, due to our vast layerings of attention, we find it again by building a little cabin (called the ANTI-REAL), and in this shabby hovel we light a little lamp (called SENTIMENTALITY) in order to push back the shadows of the REAL. certainly it is ironic that our SENTIMENT explodes the sediment of the REAL in a way that no amounts of dynamite could muster: anarchy of a poem, terrorism of a rhyme, protest of domestic bliss. this is the ironic lifestyle of a knowing, calculated ignorance.

September 30, 2004 at 6:34 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think the time for manifestos has past. Lara Glenum who is such a good poet does not need a manifesto! yer word are already doing the job of a working programme. but then perhaps I a French reader and someone from the 'that side of descartes' am wrong.
YOur poetry, and the poetry of Sheila Murphy are the poetry I read.

February 24, 2005 at 2:59 AM  
Blogger Neil said...

I like the simplicity and clarity of your writing. It's directness and your use of analogies of food to sculpt your poems in 'The Hounds Of No'. Reminds me of the painter Archimboldo and the animator Jan Swankmajer. Your descriptions of the body have a visceral quality and absurd surreality of C. Beafheart music I feel. I leave this comment here also because you have turned off the comments on your other blog? The Manifesto and the Anti-Real being opposites makes your whole post surreal. The real is only shooting ghosts really. Once reality raisies it's ugly head, off it is shot! No contest.

May 11, 2005 at 10:18 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Typical nonsense.

October 23, 2005 at 2:29 PM  
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