losing my edge


thick midnight breath
weighs heavily
presses thickened skin
damply, thickly

and lcd soundsystem
is losing his edge, of affect
bc some fucking kids and their
footsteps (steps (steps)
are chasing him into the future

(but they're actually really nice…)

damp base cleft
stamped bass clef(f(f)
to the lowly rumbling rhythms

bass rhythm elastic
slow wave edge ride to
wavelength frequency

base string strung,

footfalls fallow
thumb's edge listless
presses thickened skin
gently, thinly




imago garden

no  (no    (no        (no)

earth-bound echo
plainfully so.
Spring runoff savoured,
poetically though…(t).
Scorched burning swollen
to quicken the slow
lavaglass coolant to sweet
honeyed flow turns
scorched amber pendant
worn slenderly so.
Butterscotch trace
of thirst afterglow. Sewn from afar
to each moneyed row (by row  (by row)
moulted, hardened

mon santos

* * *

(part of "mon santos! my farmville is burning!" [2011], by department of biological flow)

The Plasticity of Process

(abstract submitted to the "duration [before and] after media" conference, hosted by ocad university)

Amsterdam Surf

The Plasticity of Process: Intuition as Method in Research-Creation

Sean Smith and Barbara Fornssler
European Graduate School
Department of Biological Flow


"One might as well discourse on the subject of the cocoon from which the butterfly is to emerge, and claim that a fluttering, changing, living butterfly finds its raison d'être and fulfillment in the immutability of its shell. On the contrary, let us unfasten the cocoon, awaken the chrysalis; let us restore to movement its mobility, to change its fluidity, to time its duration." (Bergson, The Creative Mind, p.17)

In contrast to the rational intellect and spatialization of time that currently characterizes Western metaphysics, philosopher Henri Bergson proposes the continual flow of time that is duration, with intuition its proper method of knowing. In seeking to account for change and becoming, Bergson foreshadows the "minor" science of Deleuze and Guattari some decades later. This "hydraulic" model of minor science becomes the initial condition of possibility for a project of research-creation by the Department of Biological Flow titled "Walking is In(di)visible." Beginning with a surf on the waves of pedestrian gait in urban space, we have attempted to develop a number of interrelated processes to a state at which they have just ceased to be fragile enough for one's imagination to take over and build upon their frameworks. Rather than each artwork in the cluster standing as a discrete point from which a trajectory may be neatly considered in retrospect, "Walking is In(di)visible" emerges as a continual folding of past praxis into present process while drawing future questioning into an expressive now. In presenting works from this series we seek to open a dialogue with Bergson's notions of duration and intuition, engaging themes of the everyday gesture, folding density, the plasticity of craft, and the politics of consent.

forest girl

Hanna - Once Upon A Time

rhythms in search of
one another switch, hit
the cyborg unfaithful
as a memory weaves around
the gentle wrist of
a memory of
a friendship
(of a memory)
unremembered to
a future tension of things.

she whispers
don't follow me
but what use are words
or trees
when my voice is already
faltering anyways.

neurotypical re-port


true story. eye i was there to witness it.

i'm sitting by the edge of a pond that runs along a tiny urban park trail, trying to remember things, trying to think anew. a small group of autistic children arrives in my vicinity, shepherded by two teachers, here for a learning experience in one of the few snatches of protected wetland nestled within the heart of the city. they mill about, looking, touching, chattering, listening. the two teachers skillfully keep the young children safe from falling into the water while managing to weave every spoken opening into an opportunity for engagement and discussion.

one of the children begins pointing excitedly towards the sky, somewhere behind me. the teacher cannot follow the gesture and moves over to where the child is standing, wanting to see what seems to be apparent only from a particular point of view. and then the young autistic child shows the neurotypical the wave within the clouds — the obvious wave. surprised by this discovery, the teacher offers praise.

"it's a tidal wave," the young child continues, perceiving not only a form within the wisps of water vapour but its intensity. the moment moves on.

"where are the animals?" another child wonders aloud at rhythmic intervals. the small birds flitting about — red-winged blackbird here, swallow there — don't seem to be of much animal interest, nor do the insects, nor for that matter us humans. but the animals of interest are most certainly absent this morning, and i feel disappointed on their behalf.

by this time the tidal wave has dissipated into a fading whiteness across the sky.

about ten minutes later a pair of ducks — mallard and drake — come gliding out of the wooded area to alight on the surface of the pond. ripples form. they swim around a bit before coming to a tentative rest some distance apart, one leg-deep in water at the edge of a tiny island, the other staying dry on a wooden stump that just protrudes the surface in the middle of the pond. they spend time cleaning themselves, ruffling at feathers, preening, and occasionally glancing in each other's direction.

the children were long gone by this point, but they would have loved you two.

though perhaps not for long. there were too many other things that would have captivated their attention on this day, too many other curiosities to consider. you would have only been a fleeting memory, tucked away in the folds of the body — some future potential that might allow one to perceive the intensity of a wave where nobody else is looking.