i had a vision of a valley of ripe corn, god?

by Rafael Galiñanes

Uncouth failing faces
A thoroughly throughful window
Lemons paling green
And motionless, crisp

(the wind,
what a yawnful beast
gnashing yellow and seething
the heart’s chatter.)

Four canopies sentinel each post
As this expression gets drafted
So life-like-ly.

To wage huge vagrant strawberries
From the path, and call it mournfully
a job later.

It’s a business, farming solemn
Fucks, refusing to fuck in anger’s tired hands
And smelling of hay like
A new born horse, watching how the hours
Go by?

Palidez a fondo , llena de atraveses
de los limones de la ventana de las caras
salvaje que falla verde e inmóvil,

(el viento, el qué masticando bostezos
de la bestia amarilla
e incendiando la charla del corazón.)

¿Cuatro pabellones hacen centinela
sobre cada poste
cuando se hizo esta expresión comenzar?
Para emprender las fresas vagabundas enormes de la
trayectoria, y llamarlas enlutadamente
un trabajo más adelante.

¿Es un negocio, cultivando cogidas solemnes,
rechazando coger en las manos cansadas y
oler a la cólera del heno
como caballo recién nacido de,
mirando cómo van las horas cerca?

Share this | May 9, 2007 | department: poetics | No Comments |

em partes

by gringocarioca

em partes

text by gringocarioca/Marco de Oliveira :: image by Eduardo Ramos

Share this | April 13, 2007 | department: concrete poetry | No Comments |


by Amy Bueno

During a Mint Magic commercial
we are getting it on.
Carnaval’s on in the underworld—
We get it, channel 7.
“Get the Super-Duper Eternal Oven!”

Get it? Or not?
I hope you brought your Gi-tar because
Get is a little girl getting candy and pregnant.
Get is a Gretal licking the chimney.
Get can never not be dirty.

Saying: Git out
of my house after getting what. You came to get
you say? Eat your grits and get.
I say it is today and the getting
is good. I say a get costs a got.

A garter and a girdle and a
groin and a griddle,
and you’ve got yourself, giddyap!
Get is just a giblet.
Get begets get.

So give in to it—
One gimmick you can trust
and get
at any market.
How many giggawatts,

gillslits, tits?
Are you giddy yet?
Did you get? Did you get?
I get drunk on some,
I get so sum, I get

an unbearable lot.

Share this | April 2, 2007 | department: poetics | No Comments |

time for the trees

by The Editors

A blast from the past: from the original _volutions Volume 1 (Spring 2005)

photo by Joaquín Bueno

Share this | March 27, 2007 | department: photography | No Comments |

termine examenes. escribi par de poemas. [poems in English & Spanish]

by Rafael Galiñanes


Throat of pure invention
that is the horrible deedle of time.

A boy opens scared-his-mouth
The tremendous observance of chance.

The young man breaks the jar
of the weeping finds
inside-squeezed fruits,

The fleshy lips of the dry hares
the free hares of the lip meats

The jungle sex of grandfathers,
the sleeplessness that feels well been born into
the streets of ways without mysteries.

Pleasing a dark twilled braid
in the iron door of the neighboring chest,
fearing to farm the tremulous leaf
and alongside the narrow man,
the beam and the villa, hunting.

(in my best castellano)

Patraña gorja que es la horrenda
Aguja del tiempo.

Un niño abre asustado su boca
El mirar tremendo del azar.

El mozo rompe la jarra del llanto
Encuentra adentro frutas estrujadas,

Los labios carnosos de las liebres secas
Las libres carnes de los labios liebres

El sexo selvoso de su abuelo,
El desvelo que sienta bien nacido
En las calles de caminos sin misterios.

Un grato oscuro trepado en la verja
Del vecino pecho, el temer salirse

El Labrador hombre al lado
Trémulo y estrecho, la haz
Y la villa cazadora.

Share this | March 19, 2007 | department: poetics | No Comments |

upon conceiving a new idea

by eduardo ramos

The Reproduction of Pandas, or, The Human Dilemma: Meditations on the Nature of Nature

A _volutions Magazine Inconsistent Exclusive

Pandas in captivity, despite the stresses of their impending extirpation, are notorious for having difficulty in reproducing. For American zoos it is especially true that the panda has rarely and most difficultly reproduced successfully. Hua Mei was the first panda born in North America that survived to adulthood; this did not happen until 1999 at the San Diego Zoo.

From my childhood, I remember Washington's own unsuccessful attempts. The lovers' relationship and attempts at reproduction were chronicled in detail by the media of that time's popular culture. Many failed pregnancies were occasion for talk in the capital of the capitalist world. They even cuckolded the male, Hsing Hsing, bringing a stud from elsewhere to try and knock up Ling Ling. But she bore no fruit for the newcomer; her original Love was redeemed. Hsing Hsing outlived Ling Ling but died alone, euthanized in the end ("put to sleep").

It is now possible for humans to apply sciences in a variety of ways to exert some control over the re-production of life. Birth control, for example, can in some cases prevent conception, though not negate its possibility. Sex selection. Andrew Niccol, in Gattaca, went to an imagined future extreme that today does not seem far from reality, in which the re-production of a human being could be controlled entirely through scientific intervention. But even before Ethan Hawke fought against his society of gene-discriminators, babies already were being born in test-tubes.

The human body struggles against the environment it exists in, just as all living creatures do, yet a reading of the attitude of the collective body (with or without organs?) does want to separate the body from the tenets of Nature. So is it the panda that is inhuman, or is the human inpanda?

Next Time, on Imprisoned Notebooks

  • Pre-Implantation Genetic Diagnostics
  • Red Pandas
  • Hsing Hsing; or, A Universe of Cuckolds
  • Bodies, Bodices: Organ Music for Those Without
  • Obscure References to A Thousand Plateaus/ Guatari: No Longer Just a Videogame

Share this | March 17, 2007 | department: articles | No Comments |

Wobal Glarming: A Global Warming Miniseries

by eduardo ramos

In the winter, it seems normal for one to desire the fall of snow, or at least a freeze. On some days this winter, nature satisfied those who desired precipitation. In my own case, such days bring me to wander outdoors to enjoy what most people try and avoid: the inclement, or bad weather.

My snow-appetite whetted by the crust of ice on Tartaruga Soedade (Turtle Solitude, a silver car with a moon- or sun-roof), we decided to head up to the lake house of my best friend Matthew, from university. Having monitored the weather conditions in Deep Creek, Maryland for weeks, the place began to inhabit a small mythology in my mind, one that was born on an LCD monitor through the portals of places such as weather.com and webcams. It seemed to snow every day up in Deep Creek, so we went.

It snowed around here a few days before, but it was really slush, and not snow. The result of the cold temperatures was a layer of ice that I had to break Tartaruga out of, noisily, in the middle of the night. We left in a haze the next day, as it is not easy for me to leave my wife for a night. The car was hazy so we opened the moon-roof for a while once we got to US-33 in Harrisonburg. I was compelled to photograph the town, despite operating a manual transmission and becoming very involved in the scenery. I almost hit a jeep from behind, but I didn’t. I am sure the passenger in the car, Rafa, was nervous because of this.

Once in Oakland, Maryland, you can use the gas station bathroom at Sheetz. It is a pretty modern facility, and you can purchase anything from canned Vienna sausages to air fresheners for your car.

On the way to Deep Creek Lake, we had to use the toilet in other places. One was a gas station that had an outside wall mural stating in Latin “The mountains always free.” The gas station was on the corner of US-33 and some other big road, a two-lane highway, and the snow was picking up. The sign inside said “bathroom for customers only” so I bought a granola bar, which cost a dollar and made me feel kind of silly. The men inside were senior citizens; two were sitting around a small table, talking calmly, and they wore hunting gear. I noticed the walls were covered in mounted animal heads, but I decided not to photograph them. The people seemed friendly and I did not want to offend them with my incredulous gaze at their trophies (I figured they’d assume I was being condescending). I did photograph the flypaper strips in their bathroom, which was very shocking, as it was winter, and not many people have flypaper anymore.

Once in Deep Creek, there are a multitude of opportunities for recreation, indoors and out. From driving in the snow, to skiing in the snow, there is surely something for everyone. Even Rafa, inexperienced in extreme winter sports, enjoyed being there, because there is truly something there for everyone. We were able to ski on Deep Creek Lake, and we saw an interesting saloon in the woods that we did not go to. Matthew made us dinner and a peace pipe, and created duck tacos out of Chinese food leftovers from a group dinner two nights before in Falls Church, Virginia. We ate breakfast one morning at Little Sandy’s, a small diner with lots of funny hats stapled to the walls and ceiling.

On the way back home, there was a blizzard. It didn’t stop snowing the whole time we were at Deep Creek, and it got worse when we left. Snow is not as enjoyable when you have to manage your car in it. Despite the conditions, we made it home in time for dinner, and my car was in need of a wash.

A special thanks to Matthew, kind host, Rafa, kind companion, and to my wife for inspiration

Share this | March 1, 2007 | department: photography | No Comments |

Black Hole

by Rodrigo Garcia Lopes

O ponto e um buraco negro (A dot is a black hole) by Rodrigo Garcia Lopes

translation & drawing by Eduardo Ramos

Share this | February 26, 2007 | department: poetics, visual | No Comments |

NewVolution: _volutions’s sexy explosion: dynamic hypertext culture mag

by The Editors

Dear Ladies and Germs:

welcome to the reloaded Volutions , abandoning the issue-release days in favor of more bipolaroid solutions such as spewing forth content on a weekly (at least) basis. we hope to become your main hypertext culture magazine, or at the very least, a not unpleasant distraction.

enjoy the concrete poem by Rodrigo Garcia Lopes, and look out for more to come very shortly, including reviews and art from our dynamic contributors.

Share this | February 26, 2007 | department: News | No Comments |

Welcome to _volutions

by The Editors

Soundtrack: Pop your digital cheeriness with John Ribó/Kapow! Music’s well-trimmed tracks, tuned to the tuna fish of outer space.

Now we have floated down the easy river of PBR, and the year is the year of the Cross-Dressing Wombat, or 2007, and we are not sure what we are going to do with our lives besides our careers and continually making this online magazine. So the old were rounded up to make something new, and so take this, Issue 2.

In no particular order, G. Neal McTighe’s pastime is to lock us in cages of unusually bold C’s & O’s, feeding us a babelfish, and use Latin at the same time. Oh, C, B, O, AY AY, the dew drops done did drip downtown!

Rafa is wantonly prone to galavanting his poetic on the front-side of a 32″ LCD. Not to be feared. In Puerto Rico you can mix r’s and ’s, so he went to school in the US to learn how to increase his product placement. The result has been deep discounts in thought, so that nobody helps nobody, and the weekday special is that you are now called “You.”

Amy pranced to us via a peacefully-sensual-plain-sun-filled golden-zen-cow-meadow. On the way she plopped into a moon-cow-pie of language, and was smeared in the babble of all the tongues in her head. Somewhere in the songs she gave us you can hear the sound of her Inglish arm-wrestling her Espanish into a spiral.

Brian Howe occasionally hints at the rich aroma of freshly roasted coffee, multiple bean-origins, Guatemala. It is mythologized that his creation was a stimulus to peck at a keyboard key. Slinking into the mire of wampum, Brian is unafraid in his image-verse to duet with his ghost through a jambox. Who’ s calling the jam-box junk NOW, eh grandpa?

Eduardo Ramos’s identity crisis was exacerbated by the passing of his Canon digital camera, which was itself brought on by unexpected error E-80 and subsequent introduction to the hard side of a desk-top at a speed fast enough to jolt its parts into semi-functionality, just enough to be frustrating and useless.

Swarthy kiosk dial; here lies truth! At the bazaar, the spit (toons) from the middle of the week quieren decir toxic jaw in Roosevelt Island awe.

Share this | February 10, 2007 | department: Issue 2 | No Comments |
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