The “times” “They” are thrown into urgent, shrunken textures of (unprecedented) (unforeseen) (once-in-a-lifetime) (never again) weather events we needed a new sentence for. or “They” are disasters stretched out into slow unbearability

for a moment. Things lock eyes with sense and then look away.

Connectivity in darkness: off-grid.

electromagnetic pulses. Crisis

and repulsions and its territorial refrains going on many hours many days now without power going.

Off-grid,

A poetics shapes relation while making space for indeterminacy., the “energy state.”

Matter only occasionally coherent we needed. A new sentence for (unprecedented) (unforeseen) (once-in-a-lifetime) (never again) weather events.


Some struggle to make a shape of now in the wind. “They” complain about the shadow-flicker going on many hours many days now without power going. There is a shape of relation between doomsday preppers, isolationists, the ultra-left, the ultra-right and the ultra-rich who want to go to the moon or Mars or Cancun. It could be a white shape or a colonial shape or an American dream of surviving the elements alone. It could be a shape of lumped-together desires for anticipatory knowing, desires to predict or gamble or invest or bet or reckon, forecast a change and be ahead of the game.

Everyone wants to know what will happen next; we crouch down and bite our nails.

Someone tells me to invest in sturdy, weather-resistant fabrics—mylar etc. and vacuum-seal my food. There's an emergent genre of movie about communities affected by toxic by-products of infrastructure, or I am attuned to it now. I have no idea if I'm in the know. I watch Gasland (2010), Promised Land (2012), Dark Waters (2019) and Down Wind (2015). These are films ostensibly about environmental justice, but they are also about complexity, confusion and consensus. The documentaries are better than the fictions, somehow irrelevant to draw the lines when dealing with unknowns. I try to light my faucet on fire.

...reacting against one's own culture in its being obtuse force, and in its negating what is really there. In that one is conflict only just as such—it is mirrored as one's interior. It (one affected by conflict, and being that only—then) can't be articulated as that language—of the outside here.
— Leslie Scalapino

—the blades of a wind turbine spin in the backyard and make a looming, frenetic shadow on the walls, over the roof, across the whole property: the cows, the earthworms, the grass and the electromagnetic fields some struggle to make a shape of now in the wind. A new sentence for everyday repetitions and its territorial refrains


of unbearable grammars. Now, not nouns. At night, “the body is being attacked” by vibrations. A new sentence—she means her own body, and her husband’s body. Hits different—to write during a blackout in Texas, the “energy state.”

—An event

“They”—the farmers observe the effects of “dirty electricity,” when the current has nowhere to go it surges into nearby bodies. (unprecedented) (unforeseen) (once-in-a-lifetime) (never again)


Jumping cattle—and the disappearance of earthworms. Hits different. The seagulls left, they knew there’s nothing here for them.

Some tension in being treated as “a detail” by the company. “They” say it’s just the wind, unfortunately. “A detail” for the (unprecedented) (unforeseen) (once-in-a-lifetime) (never again) event


that is a shifting state of alarm. When the current has nowhere to go it surges into nearby bodies, the “energy state.” Contagious-electric.

, the “energy-state.” Needed a new


thought-with Rahul Mukherjee. Radiant Infrastructures: Media, Environment, and Cultures of Uncertainty. Susan Lepselter. The Resonance of Unseen Things. Michael Taussig. The Nervous System. Marina Peterson. Atmospheric Noise.

Alice Notley. Culture of One.

Asiya Wadud. No Knowledge Is Complete Until It Passes Through My Body.

Leslie Scalapino. A Public World/Syntactically Impermanence.