A Human Movement
vowels like o,i
under approached sequences only forgotten because they were never known
and misforunate glances, sights of monuments lost
to wayward empty silence hope
and gained a sense of sentiment for
what once stood there.
the trills of a bar chord, and the patterns recognized in centuries
as the fences, keeping one side out of the other, maintaining order in the gaps where one part dares not attempt part away, with what it, knows
and yet the strength of the actor- is the better part of the emperor-
ringing stringlet of the long desceased's hair, protect this avenue please
and know that you got your affluence, from the deepest respect of discipline and honor from strangers
so reach back into the town squares and say hello to the bandstand and the buildings, awnings and the storefronts, sewn with chocolate glass, pasted in sacred plaster and snug between clamshell sidewalks, holding the mortal remains of fathers dead in 1831. A generation after 1760. No one is a part of it, it's in the lived head - and fifteen years is finally known.
what is a playlist...
1) Sun City Girls - anything off Torch of Mystics, especially 'The Flower' 'The Shining Path' and 'Blue Mambo'
2) Albert Ayler - anything, especially the longer tracks, I used 'Holy, Holy' off Witches and Devils
3) Sun Ra - ESP Disk 'Gods on Safari (featuring Pharaoh Sanders)' from 1964 the track: 'The World Shadow'
4) Simon Finn: Jerusalem
5) John Cale: 'Summer Heat' from the Table of Elements' Sun Blindness Music: New York in the 1960's, Volume 1
Wow... quite a good feeling, sensation that is.
the sincerest ditty I know right now, (spoken correctly this sounds good)
Love is right, Love is wrong
Love is good, Love is gone,
Come what may, I might say;
love is right and love is wrong
love is good and love is gone,
know what's might, know what's strong
and love will get up to fight the fight...
Wait, oh that can't right, wait that must be wrong
wait for something good, but then it's gone
say you know, but then they go.
[and then something about spying on a person, or even better
something about time travel or a white coat, like a lab technician or
those people who pick you up to commit you, they come in trucks -- and then
just for poignancy repeat from above with more feeling,
only when you get to this last part about the 'spying' and the 'white coats'
say something totally different, say whatever is in your head after repeating the]
'love is good,' 'love is gone' part... (it has a special melody too which can't come through in typed words. Oops, that's too bad.)
but yeah, repeat the top bit. Over and over.
___This is totally offensive and wrong, but I'm doing it anyway
so for those of you who dare to care,
don't tell me I did not warn you. Oh yeah and sorry.
this one's for the ladies
my foot was stuck in a snare, a true device
solely placed there for the catching and waiting
as feet come, they walk,
all matter pushed down on my situation to say,
definitely that way young old minor major and then
from the whence it came, came again
to speak of a fortune so pure that the ravenous
nature of man and his bleeding prick finger print
point prints would covet darling touch less then
merely a glance of that aspect so spoken by a moment
so known reached outward, a double sided billfold
injustice revealed even in sharing some of this light
for ages, and the ancients arrived to say okay, as a
means to express the cycles of the growth in the field
of this, the from whence it came
and so it came, and it spoke shortly to those gathered.
hey, colored faces all of you all, short and tall
fill your merriment moments with sharing this, me, my
berry nature spoken, gathered twigs like fuel for the winter
months begotten as such, so forth and said politely
use me up.
this is the spell of the moment which speaks from whence it came,
and for which we'll go, to know, so it can come again,
shadow moment shared in the divorcing of one's self of the potential
graet moment so collected by your fabrics, and in bowls
situate the strength little rain drop castles, reached upward
pick, pick and bring home these tiny berries.
Feelings cuz they count
What am I to do with the fact, or idea that I am a radioactive goose having been calling home too long the fizzy lake waters of my not doing what I mean, I am literally a bird, a goose and I live on a body of water which has been changed in ways in which I did not play any part. I need the water to live.
Now, I can honk my own special song out into the wilderness passage where measurements are not measured by any similarities between form or experienced amount, but shift refractedly and shatter into dark recesses of agitational, periodic self-awareness out to where the honk goes, an acausal appropriation. Should I hope that my honk can be heard?
Having been poisoned in ways unknown, I do believe that some one, some thing, perhaps the polluters themselves will bear witness to the darting sound out shot sound particle net, I sent to catch my self-identity. How can I know the lake again, if the sounds I make are not understood? I leave when it gets to cold, I do things in certain ways.
a few lines about knowledge, bodies and New York City (dated today)
emphatic zombie knowledge, light forms light forms,
come talk death ray struggle as mind preternaturally forming around man, around man.
Dedicated to the embodiment of flesh, soil; sweet man works, giving accounts of the where-he-has-been. The gazing modal locus operates the crane of eternal building, in a city of explosive mesh, a mix mash swelling around inner and outer.
There are three things at stake, 1) the gene pool informed by believed sensation imparted with hypnotic swirls of forces next to forces tugging, up and inside, influential influences obvious & unknown 2) the once embodied, love device binding operative organ with hands, a person not dying, but moving towards ends both in themselves and as ends, or gaps creating the created curbed essences from which flow between forces. High sided mind inside the bodily form, formed body and 3) the competitive aspects already known, reaching high spirit on an island is, when once known, form the formation out from which knowledge hummed, (notice the model gestured as that area between a thing and a thing imparted from thing) often gleaned from strangers' glances backswung into our time, guiding rationality and imparting memory. Then, after the love device binding operative organ has formed out and in from whence it recognizes its ability to not recognize the tug of forces so-called witnessed, it streaks and its streak reach upward in trustworthy structures called experience and on which safely stands.(read outward: I am a frozen emerald)