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andrew zawacki blue hour press 2009

Blue Hour Press • 1709 8th St • Tuscaloosa, AL 35401 • © 2009 Andrew Zawacki. All rights reserved.


andrew zawacki


: 01

The vista comes back back -ward, minus words or weather outside the display: edges toward the present as the pause is cancelled, crenellated reels releasing the icons & their cryptic, posthumous code, a linear of dull dimension choreographed to laughter & to lifelikenesslessness

: 02

Unconcern with everything but

care for every thing: digraph & lesion, a hy -phen of ivory stone, spanning the mirrored, the memoir canal, the wind & where it would come from, warm where it once awayed, & waiting at the vaporetto & turning in tune with a turbulent world: left is right, right left —as in: how little footage, lesser future is

: 03

By this rakish twilight, with its xeroxed veneer, a closeup veers & loses its locale: to focus is locus -lapsed needlework, the fogged & weft-knit knot & null, a piece of floe in the Genovese gray & gravel -level undertow : the way shorebirds at a distance lease their color before their shape & then are lost—accents from a province out of colloquy & sunlit corners & the cold

: 04

Thru weathered glass & firebreak, like a Lego-brick heart with an artery blocked, the halyard of rerecording is severed again: a voiceover over -dubbed, weirding the airwaves with warble & offal: -ish, -esque, -y, -ic

: 05

A still shot soaked in a vascular lake, a tectonic x-ray of I without I: be grass that bristles, thistles to thresh, a thresh -old of hunger & linger & thirst, or a powhite blur off center, off camera, verging on Renaissance, portraiture red : to rewind the living daylights, & the dead

: 06

Viewfinder in the vehicle— motion picture, moving car—turning thru a tunnel thru a tunnel, as a sadness is drawn with the tide’s drawl, peregrine & pebble s’ ebb, thrawn by the weight of so much water thrashing —how many throes— & whispers at you to swear it until, worn, it wear -s you -r inside -s inside out—

: 07

What rough-cut lumièresthétique, what merry-goround of the camcorder’s gaze: subfusc & wrought by the image, fumed by a flashcube burnt by the view : klieg lights thru a window write a window on the wall

: 08

The sun a disco ball, a bulb, clouds a lean-to with least to lean against: Aleppo pine & olive groves in a passage of helical scan, cypresses ranging a craggy cliff as if butcher’s twine were all that held them back: a swimmer caught on handheld, her body beneath the surface writhes to learn: water, like her, goes counter to the current’s pull & in conjunction with

: 09

The radiosilent, kinescope eye, at large in some Uffizi of the laddered, folding heart: a love erased on vhs, the flecks still flicker decay, on a vdt with a tube blown, black inside the box —each shadow throws a shadow of its own

: 10

Black ice seared to the corduroy road —vincadyed by a solstice moon made aphrodisiac— ace coming down the river down below

: 11

Luster across the floorboards, on the other side of the cloister door—turn the flood, the spot light on: you can’t see it because it ’s there

Clips from this project have previously appeared in Bombay Gin, Cannot Exist, Eleven Eleven, and Ping • Pong, as well as in the limited-edition letterpress pamphlet Videotape, designed and printed by Particular Press. Screen captures are from The City, a 1939 documentary by Ralph Steiner and Willard Van Dyke.


A chapbook by Andrew Zawacki.

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