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OLIUPO Welcome to The Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database Version 1.0! The Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database is a collection of scholarly dissertations on all things Brian Oliu. The purpose for such a project is to provide both novices and professionals in the area of Brian Oliu a searchable infrastructure to improve upon the understanding of this sometimes vast and inapproachable field. This database is primarily used for people interested in Brian Oliu to get a fair and unbiased opinion of Brian Oliu. The database works best if utilizing poetic terms in your query. The reason for this is because Brian Oliu himself is actually an Oulipo poem: an amalgamation of poetic devices and pataphysiology. Each phrase entered into the search engine will consult our database, and bring up a selection from the Collected Works that make up Brian Oliu. Formulating a Query Good Luck and Happy Discovering! ---
Search for: “concatenation” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 354 | 355 Concatenation. The combination of two things to form something else. Greeks, Romans, Gauls all killed themselves over the dualistic nature of Christ: homoiousios, God and Christ are similar but separate, and homoousios, meaning God and Christ are one in the same. The difference between the two is one iota. The difference between the two is I. I am my Father’s son. ---
Search for: “congeries” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 111 | 112 Brian Oliu. Jammed Fingers. 45 Records. Ice. Bricks. Backpacks. Hooded Sweatshirts. Paella. Volvo Station Wagons. Green Couches. Kierkegaard. A collection of bodies. ---
Search for: “pathetic fallacy” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 612 | 613 I am the stage directions, the cue card, the gyroscope, the mouse pointer, the autopilot, the global positioning device, the compass, the videogame controller, the giver of life, the personifier. Brian Oliu is a pathetic fallacy. Brian Oliu is a vessel, hideous, yet malleable. This is the real reason why some are anthropomorphobic: their personifiers don’t want the secret out. ---
Search for: “pathos” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 790 | 791 First rule of autobiography: let the reader know that you’re scared they’re not going to like what you’re writing (pathos), but don’t let the reader know that you know you’re letting them know (ethos). ---
Search for: “apostrophe” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 598 | 599 Now would probably be a good time to address you, gentle reader. How are things? Why are you always referred to as gentle? Couldn’t you be a bit bristled? Are you aware that I just personified you? No? Kinda funny considering you actually are a person, right? Well, are you aware that before this paragraph you were simply an object to me? Yes, really. Simply an entity; you could have been a shoe for all I care. But now, now gentle gentle gentle reader, now I am addressing you specifically, therefore giving you human traits. Thank me later. ---
Search for: “catachresis” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 677 | 678 I am like an illogical mixed metaphor. ---
Search for: “epithalamium” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 235 | 236 On my wedding day, October 23, 2012, I will sit in the back of my flying limo with the champagne properly chilled with primitive frozen water. I will write a poem for my beautiful bride that will be heard as she exits from her hovering pod above the earth and into the back of her bridesmaid’s rocket powered Ford SUV on the way to the Vatican III sanctioned St. Jude’s laser show church. I will detail the day that we met, long before jet-packs and food capsules, and it’ll be wonderful, because it’ll be as archaic as the ice surrounding the champagne. ---
Search for: “elegy” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 222 | 223 After I am dead, I will be elegized. My late estate will commission this ballad from whoever the hot new up and coming poet is. And by hot, I mean ridiculously attractive. And we (by we, I mean the spirit of myself and my estate) will make certain that she will properly embellish the kind of man that I was and still am. My legend will grow, and when all is said and done, ex-girlfriends and women that have turned me down in the past will all claim that they knew me “intimately” and I will become an orca in their mind and they will somehow come up with a memory of me that never actually happened, and they will come to the conclusion that I changed their lives, even though I did nothing of the sort. Also, I will slay a chimera with a katana. ---
Search for: “encomium” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 109 | 110 I have come to praise Brian Oliu. Despite his multiple short-comings and his inability to truly capture what he is feeling, not to mention that he is not the purest in the Brian Oliuness of the word, he does have a number of strengths which I will now share with you. He is an excellent speller. He knows how to build a bookcase. He’s quite good with a yo-yo. He has a firm handshake. He has decent conversation skills. He makes his grandmother happy. He is well versed with a color wheel. He can recognize the difference between a Dime and a Nickel defense. He loves every second. ---
Search for: “kenning” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 731 | 732 I would like to be expressed in terms of another. I am no victory god, a breaker of rings, carrying my onion of war through the weather of weapons. No, I am an ink-letter of lip-streams. Upon further thought, I have no interest in being expressed in terms of another; I wish for others to be expressed in terms of me. One day, feeders of ravens will go off to fight in a spear-din underneath the Oliu-eyelash, the only thing visible in an otherwise clear Oliu-notepad. ---
Search for: “litotes” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 808 | 809 I’m not sure if I am malnebona or not. I wouldn’t like to think that I’m not great. I’m no astronaut, nor am I simply Brian from New Jersey. I’m not unfamiliar with who I am not, but I’m not uncomfortable with who I am not unlike. I am what I am not not. ---
To: webmaster@oliudatabase.org Dear Sir or Madam: I am a Creative Writing MFA Student at the University of Alabama, and I am writing my dissertation on Brian Oliu. I have heard from multiple sources that your Literary Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database is the definitive guide to researching the complex enigma that is Brian Oliu. In fact, you are the only database of its kind, and therefore you have somewhat of a monopoly on the Brian Oliu research market. This being said, despite providing significant information on Brian Oliu, I find your claims that your database is “fair and unbiased.” All searches I have commenced (following your instructions to use specific poetry terms to “unravel the oulipo”) have resulted in finds that are overwhelmingly positive. Now, even someone with a layman’s knowledge of Brian Oliu knows that he is not a completely altruistic and benevolent being. Therefore, I request that in your next update of the database, you widen your partial viewpoints on the subject matter. Fondly,
B. --- Welcome to The Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database Version 2.0! The Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database is a collection of scholarly dissertations on all things Brian Oliu. The purpose for such a project is to provide both novices and professionals in the area of Brian Oliu a searchable infrastructure to improve upon the understanding of this sometimes vast and inapproachable field. This database is primarily used for people interested in Brian Oliu to get a fair and unbiased opinion of Brian Oliu. New in Version 2.0 • Database has expanded to almost three times the original content. Enjoy the New and Improved Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database!
Search for: “aubade” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 915 | 916 I went camping on the beaches of the Western Shore of Maryland my first week of college. I fell asleep next to Joe from Queens only to be awakened by Grace from Rockville at four in the morning to look at the stars and to watch the sunrise. The eastern sky over the Chesapeake was cloudy, and it was cold, so dawn came without Grace, who had retreated to her tent while I tried to pretend that the grit of sand in between my toes didn’t bother me. ---
Search for: “caligramme” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 333 | 334 In high school, people would sign my yearbook in the shape of pinwheels. Brian, we sure had fun this year in Social Studies class. I just wanted to let you know that you are a really funny guy and you should never change! Keep in touch! Heart ya, Girl X. I am a caligramme: a twisting of words and ideas into a large box-like column that says nothing, but occasionally looks pretty doing it. --- Search for: “renga” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 83 | 84 Please write a renga with me. I am tired of the haikus and the tankas and the solitude that they bring. I despise how they describe the tangible, and then cram the unexpected and unexplainable in multi-syllabic cartons. I am done being comedic; I wrote haikus in my younger days while trying to make the girls in the sixth grade laugh. And I wrote tankas when I was feeling lonely, trying to find my role in the world through looking at oak trees. But a renga…this is a form that you and I can write together, perhaps while sitting under cotton blankets. I’ll describe cherry blossoms as the popcorn kernels we spilt onto this white blanket that covers our thighs, and you can describe cherry blossoms as balled up tissue wads sitting on hardwood pews during a funeral service, and then we can write about the moon together. ---
Search for: “epic” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 593 | 594 We have reached the end of a film that was filled with mute sound and serene fury and plenty of other elements that cause shivers. The protagonist’s plight is upsetting. You feel nothing. Yet there’s that moment near the end where you’ll feel your eyes well up: the sound of a shield sliding through sand, a bullet propelling a shoulder into the wall, the sound of rain hitting funeral umbrellas. These moments mysteriously echo the faint, fall, and crash of your own grocery store kissing grandmother cake eating epic. ---
Search for: “hypotaxis AND parataxis” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 671 | 672 Now, I will describe an image. As I describe this image, I will explain why her hair looks like muffin batter ribboning from the bowl. Her eyes resemble that of a calico. Hands seduce all she touches. Yet what is more important? Describing the image, or the image described? The fact that the image is in front of you, or that someone took the time to make sure the image is in front of you? ---
Search for: “pastoral” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 182 | 183 Despite the fact that Hunterdon County, New Jersey has the honor of hosting the most deer kills in the United States (mostly by automobile), I’ve only hit one. Contrary to proper storytelling, I did not slam on my brakes to avoid the crash, nor did I see the impact coming. The doe bounced off my left headlight, crumpled to the pavement, and wiggled its rapid-breathing torso to the side of the road. In spite of Hunterdon County having the third most outbreaks of Lyme Disease in the entire nation (mostly due to the deer population), and the fact that for every deer killed in Hunterdon County, two more are born, I felt awful for my assassination. Thus I pulled over to the side of the road; mostly due to the shock of striking a living thing with my car, and partly for a moment of silence for the deer that I probably wrongly took from this world. That deer…some other deer’s mother, sister, aunt, was murdered by me. And at some den in Readington Township, an old buck is explaining to his fawn that while they may not understand now, things happen for a reason…that their mother wasn’t even supposed to be crossing Coal Road that day, that she never crosses Coal Road on a Thursday evening, and that someone or something put her there for a reason, and that whomever was driving that 1995 Champagne-colored Ford Explorer was also there for a reason, and therefore just carrying out God’s plan. I hope that nature can be at peace with me. ---
Search for: “negative capability” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 490 | 491 Consumption is caused by Mycobacterium tuberculosis, a slow moving bacterium that attaches to dendritic cells. These infected cells are then distributed through the bloodstream to the kidneys, lungs, brain, and bone. Once the body is infected, the victim tends to suffer from fever, chills, night sweats, as well as fatigue. I know this now. But during Keats’ days, they had no knowledge of how the body works; he just knew that there are simply things that shouldn’t be known, and simply cannot be resolved: the authority cannot be understood. He never knew why, but when the white plague came for him, he knew it was time to go. ---
Search for: “objective correlative” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 441 | 442 How to create emotion in a written piece of work. Passing man, returning to the office after grabbing fresh fruit from one of the nicer Harlem corner stores (typical pseudo-sad story, works too much, is only moderately happy with job, has a wife who now only close-mouth kisses him before work and often forgets to) (A) slips on a banana peel (B) that had fallen out of a garbage receptacle, but the garbage man consciously chose not to pick it up and throw it in the truck because he had tweaked his back while getting up from his couch, and also because no one actually slips on banana peels, which causes the man to (C) fall on a rake that was also left there by a Harlem Public Works committee member, who had left his rake outside while he entered one of the nicer Harlem corner stores to get a cup of coffee. The handle of the rake shoots skyward (D) catapulting the Harlem Public Work committee member’s sweatshirt up into the air, where it lands on the awning of the bodega covering up the first letter of Kendit’s Indonesian Market (E). The passing man, now sprawled out on the sidewalk, glances up at the sign now reading “Endit” (F), perceives it as an act of God (G), hands his authentic New York apple to the Harlem Public Works leaf-raker (H), and steps out onto 111th Street (I) where he is promptly run over by the Harlem City Disposal Truck, (J) driven by the same man who so carelessly opted not to pick up the fallen banana peel. ---
Search for: “caesura” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 989 | 990 Audible pauses are best heard on hospital beds. The silence can be heard well above the flat-line beep. ---
Search for: “rondeau” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 698 | 699 In Clinton, New Jersey, at the Route 22 and Route 78 Junction, there is a teal and purple restaurant called the King Buffet. Most days it’s just that; a buffet of royal implications. However, on the last Friday of each month, it would be taken over by the grindcore music scene of Central New Jersey. Kids would come in wearing ironic camouflage pants with wallet chains swinging from their pockets, throwing their bodies into each other over broken guitar strings. I would attend every month, trying to take in the juxtaposition of X tattoos and the sweet scent of General Tso’s chicken while listening to D-chords through earplugs. The King Buffet has since changed owners, and the Friday night shows are a thing of a past. The music, now divorced from the venue, died out completely. The King Buffet still serves a lunch platter for $8.95. ---
Search for: “synaesthesia” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 302 | 303 I tasted the color pink once. I’d attempt to describe it to you, but no description would do it justice. I could conjure up the tastes of lilacs, yogurt, cotton candy, oranges, marshmallows, oatmeal and cream, but none of those words would be able to replicate the color I tasted on this girl’s neck. However, loves and tastes grow sour and dull over time. I am certain that if I was to press my lips to her again, she wouldn’t taste like pink, or any color…simply an easily definable combination of Coca-Cola syrup, vanilla frosting, and lemons. ---
Search for: “Sapphics” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: 883 | 884 My muse does not have a style of poetry named after her. My muse’s name is Emma. She’s thirty-eight, yet acts like she’s twenty-two, dresses like she’s nineteen, and looks like she’s thirty-five. She’s on Greenwich Mean Time, and comes home smelling of vodka and Red Bull, not ambrosia and red wine. Her accent is atrocious; if she says anything of importance, it’s difficult to interpret through the drunken Pygmalionness. I wait up until four in the morning until she comes home. She yells brilliance for five minutes, and then passes out on the floor. I cook her breakfast when she wakes up. ---
Search for: “auxesis” No results found. --- To: webmaster@oliudatabase.org Dear Sir or Madam: Thank you for attending to my previous letter. However, I have come across an even larger “bug” in your infrastructure. It appears as if when I enter certain phrases into the search engine, no results appear to be found. For example, I entered the phrase “auxesis,” hoping to find what the Brian Oliu Database had to say concerning the act of attempting to glorify or enlarge the importance of an item that is, in fact, incredibly boring and inconsequential in the matters of the world. While the database claims to be unable to comprehend the word and the notion behind “auxesis,” I cannot help but feel somewhat suspicious, as if the database is truly not all encompassing, as you want it to appear. Perhaps you are using the “moving wall” technique so commonly used in databases these days in order to hide or block information that is deemed “irrelevant” by the database from leaking through. This being said, you are doing a disservice to not only your database organization, but to the integrity of the material. Therefore, please find attached a subpoena accusing your company of withholding of information and omission of truth. My lawyers will be contacting you. Sincerely,
B. --- Welcome to The Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database Version 3.0! The Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database is a collection of scholarly dissertations on all things Brian Oliu. The purpose for such a project is to provide both novices and professionals in the area of Brian Oliu a searchable infrastructure to improve upon the understanding of this sometimes vast and inapproachable field. This database is primarily used for people interested in Brian Oliu to get a fair and unbiased opinion of New in Version 3.0 • Database has expanded to almost eight times the original content.
Search for: “zeugma” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX You’re as dead with a lame ox in the yoke than you would be with a dead one. --- Search for: “ekphrasis” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX What is the original form of Brian Oliu? Does this current form of Brian Oliu, the one before you today, writing this thing about a thing; is it truly the purest form of Brian Oliuness that exists? Or is he just a shadow on the wall caused by the true Brian Oliu, projected by campfire light? What would happen if you would just turn around? Would you be able to behold the entire Brian Oliuness, or is it something beyond recognition? Am I forced to view only my shadow, or my reflection in the mirror? Can one ever truly look upon one’s self? I can see my hands, my arms, my feet. If I close one eye and look down, I can see one side of my nose. I’m sure if I try hard enough I might be able to catch a glimpse of my cheek. I have never seen my neck. How do I know it is there? Every day that I wake up, look in the mirror, look at a photograph, am I viewing the infinite regression of forms? --- Search for: “ottava rima” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX The purpose of the ottava rima is to mockingly discredit the subject of the poem. Eight lines at the end that force the reader to realize that there is no heroism here, that all feats of strength and God-given abilities are phantom. Windmills don’t slice throats, and Gulliver engaged in pointless travel. But what if the story is autobiographical? After completing a story, there is always a need for the storytellers to discredit themselves: people claim that saving drowning children isn’t that big of a deal. Why not place this disclaimer at the beginning? This is my ottava rima. Everything that I do hereafter means nothing. --- Search for: “enjambment” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX --- Search for: “anacoluthon” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX Wherever I start is not where I end. I will start to say one thing, and then quickly change my mind and my tone and…wait, why am I telling you this? There are voices that emerge from my body that are significantly louder than other voices, so I have a habit of interrupting myself just before I am ready to divulge something that I perceive is important, but chances are, is just some generic bombast that people all around the world have heard a multitude of times, yet, I feel it to be important enough to cut off, leaving the reader in…nevermind. ---
Search for: “anaphora” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX I find myself repeating myself quite often. --- Search for: “persona” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX This, as a whole, is a persona piece written in the voice of Brian Oliu. Brian Oliu is distinct from the author, and therefore a fictional character. This is a mask used to hide the author. The author asks people he cares about to read his writing rather than answering personal questions. The author holds the piece of paper up, shields his face, and talks through it.
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Search for: “conceit” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX I write purely in conceit. This, all of this, is a highly crafted metaphor. Well, quite possibly not highly crafted. Just crafted. In fact, I myself might just be a conceit. Now, there are two types of conceit: metaphysical and Petrarchan. Somehow, I encompass both. A concatenation. And somehow, relating my own personal experiences to something higher, greater, seems selfish in a way. A girl leaves me broken hearted, and yet somehow I am forced to compare this to the great trials and tribulations of history. The Gaelic Wars. The fight between Satan and light. What audacity! My eyes are nothing like the sun.
--- Search for: “heresy of the paraphrase” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX So what does Brian Oliu mean? The concept of the matter and the letters that create “I” is a difficult one. One that we should not bother to examine. Brian Oliu is what Brian Oliu is. To try to understand the true meaning of what Brian Oliu was intended to be, or how one intends to perceive Brian Oliu is of no consequence and undoubtedly would do Brian Oliu a disservice. Brian Oliu is a yo-yo, curled up, flung down to the earth where it will stall momentarily, spinning, before being snapped back up to the hand that commenced the action. Brian Oliu is nothing more.
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Search for: “acrostic” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX Get the feeling that you are
--- Search for: “georgics” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX My neighbor has a white box full of honeybees. I know this because it has stenciled in black spray paint “Honeybees” on the top of the lid. My other neighbor has a farm with angora rabbits. I know this because I went to their barn once and saw the rabbits drinking out of inverted plastic bottles. My father has an ecosystem fit for fish in our backyard. I know this because I have seen the fish both scatter and approach when they feel the vibrations of footsteps coming to toss food pellets into the water. I have a laptop computer, two sets of speakers, and a flat screen television in my room. I know this because this is where I spend all of my time, with my windows closed because I never bought screens for my windows. One of these four books does not belong. ---
Search for: “ghazal” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX I always order the same thing: chicken tikka masala. The dish is quite far from traditional Indian cuisine. In India, do men slice their fingers and lament in their own blood about unrequited love, ---
Search for: “dinggedichte” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX I am a thing, and this is a thing about a thing. I don’t know how I feel about being a thing, but then again, I am a thing, so therefore I don’t necessarily have feeling, nor should I be aware that I am upset that I am a thing, because, I’m simply a thing. The Germans have a name for it, this thing about a thing written by a thing. The Germans have a name for me: verdeckt.
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Search for: “chiasmus” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX I am supposed to be writing about myself, but sometimes myself writes about. Every time it seems like I’m getting into something deep about myself, myself gets in too deep. Therefore I pull back and reveal nothing, when nothing should pull me back. Literature is an exercise in confession, yet I use literature to confess it’s an exercise. ---
Search for: “monologue” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX Brian: Hey.
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Search for: “blank verse” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX Things in my life tend to end abruptly. Then again, things in everyone’s lives tend to end abruptly. To end is to end abruptly. We’d like to think that lives are actually slow fade-outs, where we can see the silence coming, but more often than not, they are the pops of blown cable wires and static. Sometimes all we can ask for is one last syllable to wrap everything up; maybe we are granted this extra last syllable, utilize it, and believe we can use one more beat. Unfortunately, we fall short, thus our lives appear incomplete. --- Search for: “canzone” At least one of your search term(s) appears on one or more of the following pages: XXX | XXX Nessun dorma. Especially Brian Oliu. --- To: b@bama.ua.edu Dear Valued Customer: We regret to inform you that the Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database has been de-activated effective immediately. We would like to apologize for the construction, collaboration, and existence of such a database. Regretfully,
Former Members of the Brian Oliu Oulipo On-Line Database Team
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