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Orishas, angels and ghosts all sing to this poet, instructing him in their art of verbal flight. By exploring these seeds, Alexander says that he has been able to invoke a passionate language that interweaves both the subjective and objective planes into what he understands to be a non-categorical state where the magic of Language assembles via an acrobatic motif. Creation at this level seems most akin to trance, Alexander says, where creation can be spontaneously summoned from any starting point, a refractive non-linear praxis where any element enacts the blaze of motion; it could start in a statement from Georg Cantor or a fecund notion from a West African sangoma.

Ed Roberson

Here, Alexander says, the imagination remains emptied of literal or contextual fact so that it is able to soar and maintain a cosmic purview. She currently lives in the Seattle area. Her research spans the history of the avant garde and its contemporary literary and artistic subcultures in parallel to science and the philosophy of language.

She is the author of three books, two of which have received major national awards, in addition to significant essay projects and digital and post-digital poems. She regularly visits scientific research centers, where she tours experiments, speaks with scientists, and gives poetry readings and talks. The Cry at Zero , a selection of his prose poems and critical essays, was published by Counterpath Press in Surrealism wants to make catastrophe speak.

As a musician, Joron plays the theremin, a gesture-activated electronic instrument, in various experimental and free-jazz ensembles. Eduardo Kac is internationally recognized for his telepresence and bio art. His visionary integration of robotics, biology and networking explores the fluidity of subject positions in the post-digital world. From his first experiments online in to his current convergence of the digital and the biological, Kac has always investigated the philosophical and political dimensions of communication processes.

Equally concerned with the aesthetic and the social aspects of verbal and non-verbal interaction, in his work Kac examines linguistic systems, dialogic exchanges, and interspecies communication. Kac merges multiple media and biological processes to create hybrids from the conventional operations of existing communications systems.

Kac first employed telerobotics in motivated by a desire to convert electronic space from a medium of representation to a medium for remote agency. He creates pieces in which actions carried out by Internet participants have direct physical manifestation in a remote gallery space. Often relying on the indefinite suspension of closure and the intervention of the participant, his work encourages dialogical interaction and confronts complex issues concerning identity, agency, responsibility, and the very possibility of communication.

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Kac has received many awards, including the Golden Nica Award, the most prestigious award in the field of media arts and the highest prize awarded by Ars Electronica. He lectures and publishes worldwide. Mark C. He obtained his Ph. And if our lines should sag and break Because of things you failed to make, That extra tank, that ship, that plane For which we waited all in vain. Will you then come to take the blame? For we, not you, must pay the cost, Of battles, you, not we, have lost.

I am an empty pew. I vote for the world as against God. I deny the Bible. I mock at the preached Word of God. I rail at Christian fellowship. I laugh at prayer. I break the Fourth Commandment; I am a witness to solemn vows broken. I advise men to eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. I join my voice with every atheist and rebel against human and divine law. I am a grave in the midst of the congregation.

Read my epitaph and be wise. I have nothing to do with tomorrow, My Savior will make that His care. I have nothing to do with tomorrow, Its burden then why should I share? Is there no other way, Oh God, Except through sorrow, pain and loss? To stamp Christ's likeness on my soul, No other way except the cross?

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And then a voice stills all my soul, That stilled the waves of Galilee, "Cans't thou not bear the furnace If midst the flames I walk with thee? I bore the cross, I know its weight, I drank the cup I hold for thee. Cans't thou not follow where I lead? I'll give thee strength, lean hard on Me. How terrible is this world! Behold, it openeth its mouth to swallow me up, and I have so little trust in Thee!

If it is in the strength of this world only that I must put my trust, all is over! O God!

by Rupert Brooke

Do this; Thou shouldest do this … Thou alone … for this is not my work, but Thine. I have nothing to do here, nothing to contend for with these great ones of the world!

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I should desire to see my days flow on peaceful and happy. But the cause is Thine … and it is a righteous and eternal cause. O Lord! Faithful and unchangeable God! In no man do I place my trust. It would be in vain! All that is of man is uncertain; all that cometh of man fails … O God! Thou canst not die! Thou hidest Thyself only!

Thou hast chosen me for this work. I know it well! And then a voice stills all my soul, As stilled the waves of Galilee. I bore the cross, I know its weight; I drank the cup I hold for thee. God hath not promised skies always blue, Flower—strewn pathways all our lives through; God hath not promised sun without rain, Joy without sorrow, peace without pain. God hath not promised we shall not know Toil and temptation, trouble and woe; He hath not told us we shall not bear Many a burden, many a care.

God hath not promised smooth roads and wide, Swift, easy travel, needing no guide; Never a mountain, rocky and steep, Never a river, turbid and deep.

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But God hath promised strength for the day, Rest for the laborer, light for the way, Grace for the trials, help from above, Unfailing sympathy, undying love. Out from the mine and the darkness, Out from the damp and the mold, Out from the fiery furnace, Cometh each grain of gold, Crushed into atoms and leveled Down to the humblest dust, With never a heart to pity, With never a hand to trust.

Under the press and the roller, Into the jaws of the mint, Stamped with the emblem of freedom With never a flaw or a dint; Oh! And stamped with the glorious image, Oh, beautiful coin of gold! I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall. Not my opinions may I speak; If so, my witness will be weak.

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That only must my message be If I shall bless humanity. I am not left to seek, forsooth, In learning's page to find the Truth, But here it is beneath my hand The Word which shall forever stand. Unalterable, enduring, sure Flows the Divine Fount fresh and pure. Knocking, knocking, who is there?