A Human Movement
Thursday, April 12, 2007
  All save for the sun
There is a cooling effect, gathered daily in the senses, when the sun goes away.
An object thrown goes from one to another.
The other can be the one, no matter.
Moving objects, as thrown, have no right to be called the sun.
What causes the sun the move?

The twin disaster, knowledge and knowing, wrecks the mind each moment. The sun does not move. There is a way out; revelation and consequence. The parenthetically yours, referred to in silence.

I liked the part when the ascetic opened his robe to reveal he went to bed hungry, a patchwork of humility wrought in skin and bone, twisted needlework, picked scars and hobbled ghastliness. The awareness of which was delivered in secret as an ignorance implicit that the awareness is not and yet the body is, in peaks, witnessed upon the mind's dismount of prayer. And light is cast under white robe, the heart still red running.

A dice with 5 sixes but 1 one, rolled six times has a 1 in 6 chance of landing at 1.
Harboring suspicions is detective work. And by that I mean people do bad things.
Monday, December 11, 2006
  the global polis
ecstatic light is a candy bar. Guess what? They are sold for cheap on most intersections. This is because everyone enjoys the stuff that they use to be alive with. The biggest problem with the whole deal is that some folks never admit it, that they enjoy what they are, and on the other hand, are those people who admit it too much, which is the ultimate no-no should any person desire a good world around 'em. You want a good world? Shut your mouth and enjoy it 'cuz you know it can't be Spoken. Now, there are those who believe hiding inner enjoyment is some kind of suppression, but that is a wrong way of looking at the divine freedom that is man. Hey guess what? All words mean the same thing. That's as free as a candy bar which is made of grass. Hey guess what? No one needs anything, everyone has everything, some people have a little, other people too much. But economics is a fire drill when the fire has already started. The fire is burning. Burnt sugar women, making sweet sweet babies. Men putting out fires and people saying thanks. Responsibility is the keel. Tradition are the ropes. Nature is the wood. Sugar is the strength. Now, let's understand the discovery of new worlds less about location and land and more about building nice boats, ship craft, under thunder storms read as truth outside of mind, (uncontrollable diversity the only diversity worth experiencing.) Upon these swell crafts, Columbus style, made of; Responsibility (which is the same thing as jealousy, fear & competition,) Tradition (which is learning from All elders,) Nature (which is the spit in my mouth that soothes my rope-burned hands,) and Sugar is that form of Nature that goes in and comes out as some other thing, perhaps even as Tradition (Tradition known as Sugar is the sweetness of Mind.) Yeah, Tradition can be shit. Now, all hands on the poop deck. Here's the rope. Here's a candy bar. You better Listen.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
  dream #2
My mind is unfortunately not an instrument, but it does get going when it wishes. At this late hour the creativity will be low, yet perhaps the integrity will be intact enough to wrought inner innards mild intermediary even illustration when just as just.

She was a bus, if not a nose. I was on this bus, I never remember to breathe.
There were two buses. One drove into Russia, a snowy slippery traveling way was made, and the signs in odd diplo-linguistics that although were business signs, seemed to be all in English.

Her voice came through a plastic cup. This cannot be emphasized enough. Not ever.

The other ride took me to a mystical theme park that you've considered yourself. A Gothic jungle-gym the size of a rock quarry. When we first arrived we immediately witnessed a mystical beast licking away at some melting glacier. A small-headed, female, moose-like, winged beast slurping the ice drift that when those amongst me noticed, the guide said no.... He had been mocked & Remember this is a dream.

The calendar said 1984, black and white, the technology of water skiing trapped in black and white and I had seen it before.

Every absorption was a blood swell, or a muffed breath, stuffed nostril twitch.

Coming back, the bus let off, & it had become obvious that our arrival meant the tour of the Gothic remnants would begin. A stone tour in the high arches, lost twisting sideways, stone naves in hollow apses and I was afraid. Never being claustrophobic before didn't mean that a dream about being trapped in the smallest stone clutches of a church didn't pause my modern sense of pleasantness as if a nervous gut were enough. I was stuck.

I didn't fit. Literally, I was unable to make the second twist into the stone passageways, so squeezing back through the one turn I did fit through, painfully, I gave up and came back to where the bus had parked.

It turned out the guide of this Gothic adventure park was an avid photographer, and had been a friend of a former lover of mine. Actually I hated him and I loved her who he had known before I met her. She was gone, had been for too long and I was on the outside, unable to figure into the tour, her life, I was alone and had lost the girl I loved. He was all the more less queer in this present state. My charm dwindled. He had two cameras.

It ended up that we raced on scooters down a mountain. I don't remember who won, but the scooter I rode had very small wheels and was old fashioned. It was the kind of downhill course I have dreams about very often. The deja vu deja vus are made of. Unlike the gothic twists and gargoyle lockers which had taken my breath a few moments before, which was the first time I had felt that lostness. I can't wait to love someone again.
Friday, October 27, 2006
  all gods kill
Here's why gender is wrong: I can look at my arm for 45 minutes straight, I can pass out on beer.

Please spare me the grimey sense. Blah, I've lost. Death, bus rides, Stalingrad. Imagination is a waste of time. The circuits of lust, gymnast stretch.

Ich haben.

Plugged in to the mistake, a dreary dream sheet over my head like a ghost costume. A martyr hullabaloo. My pretty words fallen.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
  take two today, commands and metallurgic imagining
Is it vile to compare people with food? Then what of human's dusted with various delights, human dust on certain sups, the grease of a fine athlete, and those almond eyes. Life's a costume. Flayed fleshed, speared rears, just taking it easy.

Why come along and limit things with some kind of derivatives, keep the sight line clear. Von Steuben's commands were clear, Fire! Half-Cock — Firelock! Handle — Cartridge! Prime! Shut — Pan! Charge with Cartridge! Draw — Rammer! Ram down — Cartridge! Return — Rammer! Yessir. Sounds to me like a love potion.

Rammer, ram down, Pan, Charge the cartridge, return fire, firelock, half-cock, ramshut the prime shutter, draw the charger charge cocked fire.

The command is clear, the imaginary gesture is unclear. The ease to follow such commands is easy. But the fact that forgetting a step would be a reality is necessary to admitting your humanity. Then the general kicks your mother down a well. You're mad as hell. But generals, oh generals they know.

Metallurgy made things as they are. Whenever you think where am I? What is that? Is there nothing to do? I've got a 3 o'clock appointment... just think about the metallurgist who did everything you do, sat down and made you.

Then forget a command and be blood, dusted. Cannabalized by an inability to focus.

Reading Notes:

and if there is another dimension to reading, that being a meditional quality, I ask myself to dwell on Vol. 2, Ch. 1: Since the day that modern science gave what may be considered the death-blow to dogmatic theology, by assuming the ground that religion was full of mystery, and mystery is unscientific, the mental state of the educated class has presented a curious aspect. Society seems from that time to have been ever balancing itself upon one leg, on an unseen tight-rope stretched from our visible universe into the invisible one; uncertain whether the end hooked on faith in the latter might not suddenly break, and hurl it into final annihilation.
  some problems today, practicing scat
Like it's a game of how much you can keep in your head, together with everything from yesterday and at the same time some broken chronology, vile vowels, I got your poopy cock right here; Blackbird singing in the dead of night to the bowtied bowel broker.

Loredo, Texas is filled with meat. Manitoba Province is filled with fences. The magazine shop is filled with paper. But what I am interested in is all the beds in the world. If I can't have that, then I'll take every bed in some square mile radius. Ain't no bed but my own.

The worst thing a person can do is get excited about someone's else biography, before finding inspiration from a dead tree branch. The worst thing a person can do is think that they are inspired by a tree branch before reading a biography of a dead person. Some human ether form gas-masked smoke-filled vaccum tube, blood sausage kind of thing, needs to sneak up on you. That's called feeling or Being touched by the glass finger.

The participation is either; I am wrong and happy, or I am right but wrong. Silly person emotes the gender on the righteously lost. Headlines read. Magazines fold, are sold. Fingers sell jewels. Don't blame the soul, sleeping. Get glassed.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
My plight is the plight of loving that form of ambivalence which is commonly wrought into the form of negatory sidetracking, side stepping and in the process developing an envoloping system of non-systemness, it is the plight of awareness and darkness ripping and rebuilding, loving and ignoring cause whereby yielding cause's cause in a form of expected unawareness. A cousin of no one, listening to events as they percolate in the omniverious ampitheatre of pathetic glee, the body who moves also stands still. The masculine hero, I know is a saddened clump while his clumpness is that which wins over the crowd whose needs to converge comes first and is absolute. We see weakness embodied and touch it as strength, we get strong on ourselves just to be and become a body, a body shared from the beginning and end up seeing only the movement of here and not here. I was here and I am here again, truly I do, know nothing, nothing I do know. The glass is half a glass and the water is half water both allowing their negation to be that which they share in a wholeness. I know there is chaos, wind blowing, isthmuses, sandstorms, orderlies, cannonballs, luxuries, arching harnesses of men's clubs and jokers, funniness really funny which puts the real blatancy of a commonplace banality where it might not usually be, or the holiness between your knees and turns something upside down, and gets held onto, passivity, adoration, and then me.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
  a wonderful chat for you to read
my distant relation
5 minutes
2:00 PM me: dios mio
2:01 PM that hairline is like a distant galaxy realized.
other person: she was a looker
and a princess
really, she was a princess
me: hairlines make me weak.
2:02 PM and by hairlines I mean where the hair connects to the scalp on women.
2:04 PM other person: No, I know exactly what you’re talking about. Great hairlines on women = a sound investment in the future. Plus, there’s nothing more religious than a healthy head of hair on a lady. Shiny and with ample sheen. A sound investment
2:05 PM me: in that instant, the shortest tip of the hair where it grows closest to the scalp, emerging out from the head, is the most excellent place, and surely a way to measure the worth of the woman. Where that point stirs in your energy they are good, where you are repelled they are monsters.
2:06 PM that picture is ridiculous... when is it from?
other person: 1960 or so
2:09 PM me: 1960?
I thought she was from the 40s
what was her deal?
2:10 PM I hate that the gap has aped that dance sequence by Audrey Hepburn for their TV commercials.
from Funny Girl.
2:11 PM at least Sister Sara Brown's cuban dance number is safe.... oh Sister Sara!!! Anytime, Anywhere.
2:12 PM
2:14 PM other person: Grace Kelly was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to John Brendan Kelly, Sr., also known as Jack Kelly, and Margaret Katherine Majer Kelly, a Catholic convert from Lutheranism. Kelly's father's Irish American Catholic family (originally from Kidney Lake, Newport, County Mayo, Ireland) were new but prominent figures in Philadelphia society. Her father was a self-made millionaire and a triple gold-medal-winning Olympic sculler, and her brother John B. Kelly, Jr., sometimes known as "Jack, Jr." or "Kell", followed in that tradition. John, Jr., gave his sister as a wedding present the bronze medal he won at the 1956 Summer Olympics. Kelly Drive in Philadelphia is named for John, Jr., who was a city councilman there. Her father's large family included two prominent uncles in the arts: Walter Kelly, a vaudevillian, and the Pulitzer Prize–winning playwright, George Kelly. Kelly's maternal grandparents, Carl Majer and Margaretha Berg, were of German descent.
2:17 PM me: nice.
it's more than safe to say that the world has been curropted.
2:18 PM other person: i love her family history
me: I love genealogy
nothing is sexier.
other person: my mom is a Kelly, we're from county Mayo, our Kellies grew up in Philadelphia at the same time... makes me wonder... in fact, my cousin, Curran Kelly, got married at Grace Kelly's farm house
2:19 PM me: you need to find another Kelly and procreate.
other person: i know, i know.... i should buff up that side of my gene pool and stay away from the Slavs... but those Slavs can be so damn foxxy
2:20 PM me: There are Scotch and Irish Kellys (Kelleys)
but I think they go back to Ireland... the Kelly (Kelley) clan.
other person: The Kelly clan is one of the oldest names in Gaelic
2:21 PM me: My great grandmother's married an O'Kelly
so we can be from the same clan.
2:22 PM other person: it's translated loosely as "sacred people of the woods," but the name derives, so i was told by Robert Kelly (the owl who knows how many licks it takes to get to the center of tootsie pop) from the word Kellagh, which means quarelsome, which hints at soldier status.. so in a way, kelly is akin to smith
2:23 PM me: http://www.kelly-clan.com/kelly3.htm
other person: i'm not really into that crest
me: Northern Island is better than Southern Island... the southern ones are only good as door stops.
2:24 PM other person: hmmm
we're southern
south eastern actually
me: who?
other person: the black irish
my mom's kellies
me: oh
but the Kelly clan goes back to Northern Island
County Armagh, Northern Ireland
other person: the spanish armada crashed on "our" shores and made olive skinned celts with our ladyfolk
2:25 PM me: ar
other person: indicative in my cousin Curran
me: I don't know if I can go back that far.
other person: very olive, but looks like an irish pixie elf
2:26 PM me: I'm still pro-protestant Ireland.
those catholics should be whipped and enslaved.
other person: yeah, but you have to look at it with stronger eyes thomas
me: shoot
2:27 PM i was kinda jokin' thar pet-ar
2:28 PM other person: Were it not for the Irish catholic monks much of the classic would have died. When Europe went through its darkest of periods all the most beautiful tomes of antiquity were secretly sent up to Ireland.
2:29 PM plus, Joyce wouldn't have been Joyce without Cath
me: monks are never the catholics that need-ah wipping.
let monks be monks
2:30 PM other person: drunk monks
me: I'm getting excited about the Hugenots lately.
other person: they;re interesting
me: In fact, I think I'm going to have a Huguenots weekend.
2:31 PM other person: aren't they descendants of vikings?
me: French protestants?
maybe... I dunno.
2:32 PM I am interested in their reforms in the early 17th century between the colonization of the Americas and the high points of Calvin in Geneva
2:33 PM there were these hugeunots who weren't having it with Calvin, and had to leave... so they went to canada, upstate new york... and they had interesting ideas, pamphlets about liberty.
I've often said I'd like to find me a Huguenot princess.
other person: i just like the sound of it
2:34 PM Huguenot
any name with a knot in it is fine with me
me: U-gaj-Know
no no
other person: This Marie-Laure, she's a Hugenot
me: U-gah-Know
other person: i know, i know
me: who?
other person: what?
me: Marie-Laure?
2:35 PM it's so hard to find a proper young lady these days.
other person: that's 'cause parasols and garters went out of fashion... now we have mascara and thongs....
me: it seems that libertinism is always strongest within the women's will.
2:36 PM they are wanton sluts at the drop of a pillbox.
2:37 PM I'd prefer to find myself a gentlewoman, if that prove impossible, I'll take myself a hardy, fair girl of peasant stock.
2:38 PM other person: ha
at the drop of a pillbox!
7 minutes
2:45 PM other person: gotta run
works beckons me
39 minutes
3:24 PM other person: sometimes there's nothing, absolutely nothing better than a tuna salad sandwich on toasted rye with pepperjack cheese, tomato, and romaine lettuce, accompanied by a cup of corn chowder
5 minutes
3:30 PM me: probably true.
other person: probably = very today
me: unless their a really saxophone player nearby, and then, that would make it better.
really good sax.
3:31 PM and better than that.... a swami snake charmer.
other person: a guy on the corner of my apt. plays sax on the weekends. he's actually quite good. then there's this wasted blues guy who smiled at me and said, "Hey boy, what do you know about the blues?" So i responded "Charlie Patton," and he goes,"Who?"
3:32 PM that was sad
me: I think he meant, the blues... small b.
other person: i don't think so, he was holding a guitar and had slide on his finger with his guitar case opened with some change in it
3:33 PM me: seulb
3:34 PM other person: you gotta bite open a couple of pepperocinis and let the juice flow into the chowder... gives it a nice kick
3:37 PM me: I listened to This Heat.. made available this morning, but I had to turn it off, whiny marxists... it was a sad day. But I found Sun Ra's Cosmic Tones for Mental Therapy better than ever on the other hand.
7 minutes
3:44 PM other person: yeah, this heat can get a little much, just like everything else... i listened to the title track to 'Money Jungle'... fan fucking tastic
3:45 PM me: I like the Rolling Stones track 'Monkey Man'
that's a winner.
3:46 PM other person: yeah
i love "rocks off"
one of the best album openers ever
me: keef.
3:47 PM other person: richard(s)
me: charlie
me favourites charlie
other person: dashing good hair, and a dashing good dresser
me: did you get that gong?
3:48 PM other person: tonight... all i have to do is revist this unending chat
in the archives
me: right-o
mamma archives
other person: lalalalalala
me: said
manna archives
3:49 PM give me manna
other person: this could go down in history
me: I believe in miracles.
Jesus says `I am the bread of life`
3:50 PM I say, hey, feed me manna
other person: give me some wine Jesus, so i can breathe....
me: manna griddlecakes
jesus is my hotplate
3:51 PM other person: jesus juice
the lord maketh what the lord baketh
3:52 PM me: Mercy-seat
3:53 PM The Holy of Holies is called the "place of the mercy-seat
3:55 PM other person: "Isis" means femal throne... she was always depicted with a throne on her head
they're really throwing me to the sharks today
i loathe their organizational skills
me: lazer-beams on their heads?
3:58 PM other person: this girl brianne down the chubicle has such a cute voice
she's from Idaho and she's very girlish in tone, remeniscent of farrar, but more on top of things
3:59 PM me: Idaho. wow.
you don't get that kind of meat 'round these parts.
4:00 PM other person: she's got a margaux hemingway thing going on.. last name is , so that would be back to my irish roots; however, one must be on guard when it comes to dipping his pen in the company inkwell
4:01 PM me: right-o
I can't stand the people I work with, or rather... they are all ugly.
you want to learn a cool word?
4:03 PM other person: sem‧pi‧ter‧nal  /ˌsɛmpɪˈtɜrnl/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[sem-pi-tur-nl] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation

–adjective Literary. everlasting; eternal.


[Origin: 1400–50; late ME < LL sempiternālis, equiv. to L sempitern(us) everlasting semp(er) always + -i- -i- + -ternus suffix of temporal adjs.; see eterne) + -ālis -al1]
me: Monarchomachs, or the monarchomachi. Those huguenots of the late 15th cent. who opposed the king to undermine the Catholics.
4:04 PM Theories of popular sovereignty in the sixteenth century.
4:06 PM from OED,
As thou art cyte of god, & sempiternal throne, Here now, blessyd lady, my wofulle mone.
man, was English beautiful at one point.
4:07 PM A miraculous acte, and worthie (in deede) of sempiternall remembraunce.
All truth is from the sempiternal source Of Light Divine
can't argue with that.
4:08 PM how about: sempiternize?
other person: i always loved the word y'clept
it just sounds like what it should be
like the french "avec"
4:09 PM eternalize forever
me: I want this on a mug: "As thou art cyte of god, & sempiternal throne, Here now, blessyd lady, my wofulle mone."
other person: yes
me: friggin perfuct.
other person: Freggin perfesh
4:12 PM me: that line is Chaucer
4:13 PM about the eternal god spot of woman being queen and source of man's moan.
other person: good call
i was talking about y'clept
"y'clept" is Chaucer too
me: let me check....
4:14 PM other person: it could also be yclept... but i think they dug the usage of the apostrophe back then
me: defined: Called (so-and-so), named, styled.
4:15 PM other person: i always thought it meant "with"
4:16 PM oh well, i still like it
me: I don't get it...
it means... called?
That fraudfull squire of Ithaca, iclipt Vlisses
Now for the ground Which? which I meane I walkt vpon, it is ycliped, Thy Parke
4:17 PM that's from Love's Labor Lost
Milton: But com thou Goddes fair and free, In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrosyne.
other person: i like that word
me: Euphrosyne
4:18 PM other person: What are you yclept heavenliest of ladies?
you frozen?
4:19 PM me: what?
you caught me off guard.
other person: Euphrosyne = You Frozen/zine
me: one of the Three Graces
She is also the Goddess of Joy. A daughter of Zeus and Eurynome. Incarnation of grace and beauty.
4:20 PM I think that brings us back to Grace Kelly
and scene.
Friday, September 22, 2006
  Welcome to AHumanmovement October 2006
I see things. I would never venture farther afield than to claim I do. People seeking individual gain undermines society. Society is the undermining of what is best. Let me get this straight for you, I am sitting at my little desk. I have a portrait of Worthtington Chauncey Ford to my right on top of a 1962 copy of the American Archivist, with F. Scott Fitzgerald, Murray Kempton and Norman Mailer in a mini-stack to the upper left. In front of me are notes on Martin Luther. I could reach out and pick up a biography of Dos Passos or James Truslow Adams. Saint Augustine's Confessions are also there, not too far away from Henry Nash Smith, and actually right next to something called Wesleyan University, 1831-1910; Collegiate Enterprise in New England. Huxley's The Perennial Philosophy is on top of another pile, below it is The Connecticut Wits, a compilation including the poetry of Trumbull, Dwight, Barlow, etc. and editions of Eckhart, Tillich and William James still not too far away. I look down and see Cranston's biography of Locke, an odd pile of Perry Miller and an old box of DR Pure Blues guitar strings. What I am saying is I am not trying to make bad. My computer is filled with mp3s of music that is purely enlightening to the soul. I live in New York City because I was brainwashed into thinking that culture was supreme. I sit at my desk and know that silence is queen. To her I am a foreign king. Sexuality is defined by markets. Markets are defined by villains. Behavior is a lost cause. Mastery has long since drowned. I am a man and this is 2006.

Reading some notes I took I see; "Humans must bind together to master themselves." This makes me start thinking about some kind of 'New Jerusalem,' the idea that at one point people thought that if everyone would get together and have the right idea, Zion would be actual. I got no problem with that except for the ignorant people who problematize, actualize themselves all over again everytime. "The body is beauty, and I often say imperfection is grace." Cassette tapes once were a perfectly fine way to replicate music, and now they seem a bit strange. I would listen to anything, and I believe that this sentiment is enough to bring me to the real nature of what is asked of us as humans.

I am not so sure how much I care for democracy. My kingdom is beyond here. I, like Anne Bradstreet, wonder about miracles. I see them everyday, but how can I know them when so many people ignore so much that is similar to that which astounds me. Grace is imperfection, and therein lies the distortion toward individuality which has become a pock on the skin of recent life. I fear even addressing time, for we are living beyond time.

The other day I held a map from the 1939 World's Fair and wandered about Flushing Meadows. I have never been so tired. Thinking hurts the human mind, thinking about history especially so. We live in a chaotic flange of events, melee strewned about, facial hair on men, ovulation for women we mix and reject, rejoice and commit. Who has our best interests in mind? Time is impossible to glance at, and yet we are offered jobs which demand our time, day after day, moment after moment. I do not believe people should be free, I believe those people who free themselves should be honored. Honor is listening, listening is recognition, recognition needs to be revamped.

Recognize more, each of you in your soul, and we shall commence the straight truth track.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
  portions of a recurring dream, the #1 format
I've had the same dream, or bits thereof reapply itself to my mind in various ways throughout my life. I am not sure if this is true, but it seems that way. I also often have dreams in which I acquire the feeling of having had the dream before within the very dream so as to create a sort of infinity effect of mirror into mirror and difficult to prove those i've had before and those dreams in which having had the dream before is part of the dream.

There are two types of dream format for me of late. 1) action + lust 2) research + wonder

The #1 format as taken on the form of a hollywood style spy thriller in many twisting ways. Sort of a Total Recall meets Robert Ludlum. And certain parts interchange and come back wth months in between. In this way the story enlarges itself on both ends.

The scene is a sloping woods put together from memories of the Hudson Valley and the woods around Lake Winnepasaukee. The object is running away from some group of unknown enemies which at first were friend, but whose true identity was revealed after a botched assasination attempt. The botch assasination attempt and the friendly nature are treated much less than the running away which takes on a more detailed form on each recurrance. It is usually mayhem, running or riding a bike or car until either break down from the desperate crashing into trees uncontrollabley down the hill with the risk of being fired at.

The scenery usually changes. Last night there was a group of young boys, a high school archery team whose final shooter happened to turn his arrow into the midsection of another right at the moment I pass by, thus singifying some kind of end to inoncence. Scenes of this type often occur during the running away state of format #1, as I happen to see events right at the moment they turn ugly. But I don't dwell I keep running.

Shots are fired, splinter shatters of the trees around me, my clothes are eventually run off as I realize that it much better to hide from the danger of the enemy by achieving a natural state. As the cars crash, the bike breaks and my clothes tear and I arrive as a place of safety under the cover of some kind of mud pool. Thinking of the fact that there might be bugs in the mud, I realize I have had this dream before and shouldn't worry about it.

Along with safety come the realization that I have back up. Last night's back up was a team of cammo men laying down with guns pointed through cracks in what I think was a bleacher. As those soldiers take over and charge I find myself in safety of a legitamate army type situation where there is a network of bivouac camps, latrines, men on phones and supplies being arranged. I am covered in mud and have to find an officer of some sort to share my recon intelligence with. Somehow convey the facts of the botched assasination attempt of which I know nothing.

It gets foggy from here because in the past few recurrances of this format, some time around now is a dream sequence back to another time. Perhaps to help me try to figure out who I am (in the dream.) The special information representatives are not nice and in the past have told me to put on glasses that have a mind jarring effect.
Last night I took the glasses with the knowledge that they were mind altering and as soon as the special information operators realized, (had they realized?) that I knew the glasses were phony they told me off and left me in the mud.

Being left in the mud, I am picked up by a group of non-mission related persons. Normal people walking through the woods which has not yet changed into suburban surroundings it will be in the next moments of the dream. There are women, some attractive and usually the one to which I am attracted, talks to me. Last night was strange because there was a woman who I had talked to before in past recurrances and she said to me, that she had wanted to return but didn't know how. I remember her explaining to me how long she had tried to get in touch with me. I replied telling her that my e-mail address had changed, but that she should have just googled me. Oh 2006. The thing about this woman is that she was remarkabley similar to another woman who had already recurred, and worse both were present in the civilian group who picked me up after the special information ops dissappear and the fighting in the woods has receded into memory.

The two recurring women's personalities are now on display and there is always the risk that they will tire of me and go off to talk with another civilian male who is part of our train walking through suburban surrounding of varying class as we talk about their personalities and I try to decide which one I think is more trustworthy.
The one who had told me that she had wanted to find me but couldn't was very mad, and implied that since I was so difficult to find she was moving on. That she even had a person to move on with, who turned out to be some kind of Cockney footballer with facial hair. I was saddened, but realized that the other women was recurring as well and I still had some okay chances. The second one is smaller, has a pointier nose and is a writer, the ideal combination of homely, nervous and yet completely attractive (like the ugly girl who turns pretty in movies by getting contacts and a hair cut.) She was not as frustrated by my absence, and was quickly laughing at things I said in such a way as to suggest that she was happy to have my point of view available to her. I can't remember what I said exactly, but we did walk past a lake house that was for sale for 88 million dollars. The finer points of these women are better left unsaid in this forum. Also this part of the recurring dream is quite new, I have never left the fighting scene in such a friendly way. In the past I had put on the glasses of the special information officers and have gone back into the fighting equipped with special weapons and specific missions. But last night I got away and was walking peacefully away talking about society and social order with an impressionable women who enjoyed my perspective on things.

But this recurs, as that is that. Until next time.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
What's the draw to being silly? What's the power in being clean? What's the deal with dealing?
Thursday, September 07, 2006
  tal farlow yonder
sometimes I think Tal Farlow is playing a 1959 Jazzmaster, with the anodized pickgaurd and thimbles of gold on his fingers playing notes as decided by last night's poker game and tomorrow night's opening chess strategy which will be played on a chess board of the finest quality ebony and ivory squares and rosewood and mahogany peices and italian leather shoes afixed to his tapping feet that the maitre 'd noticed while letting him into the back door of some classy restaurant.

I'd like to set off a bunch of mouse traps inside a piano and capture the sound with microphones from the 1930s and play it back over speakers at a later date. I would also like to stare at marble staircases. Sheet covered body roaming in a hallway with some kind of phosphorescent light that if not capture on film would be carcinogenic. Fireproof chemical compounds like they used to use on pipes. A wild lament about the loss of control and loss of natural nature in nature. The evolutionary process whereby things change and stay the same and confuse us.

I'd like to sit in a wicker rockingchair and become angry at the person I am conversing with because of their lacking memories of playing croquet at large house of a family friend when they were younger. A green sloping lawn with drinks and watermelons and burgers by the pool in silence all in their own memories are missing. Freedom's done this much for me. I'd like to hear parallel D#'s still, slightly wobling next to one another. Staccato horsehair sniffles. Cardboard box percussion. I'd like to know how they made sunburst so much better in the 1950s than in the 1960s.

Whole milk just at the freezing point through a hoze. Greyish turquoise trapezoids and mid-century paperbacks, 1952-1969. Jingling change in a pocket of suit of man whose proximity is hard to place exactly. Canvas tents under which maps are set up and men gathered.

I'd like to read a history of one of the world wars written by canvas. At least a battle or a deployment of some kind. And then I'd like a good lecture about victorian chess boards from an expert in the field. I'd like to hear a huge swooshing filter of sound, a tin sound band pass filter out of which came an vintage radio broadcast.

White robed people floating when I peep through the F-hole in some old violin that I have never found yet or seen. The imagination might be okay. But if it is okay, than it has be discussed in some other way and by other way I mean through blinding lights and in small closets at once highly technological in the current sense but also filled with other other other other other tools and machines. Imagining a world where it's cool to admit that nonliving artifacts are completely cognizant and have simply had it. Not there yet.

Out of the F-hole and back into days and nights.
Monday, May 01, 2006
  I'm pretty sure
The world is governed, at least in part, by the goings on in some pretty seedy areas of what for a lack of a better word I will call, 'exchange.' If one was able to float in and out of an understanding of the way in which some persons consider the various enterprises of mortgage rates, hair products, their wife's skin or commodities rates such as the kind of things that control markets, futures, profits, etc., I believe they would discover some hideous darkness as well as genuine strength. For every monstrosity there is a heroic individual who is able to contend with it. Oil executives open mail too. It amazes me that people face such pits with a strength of conviction, but they obviously must as every day the bell rings, the forest is cut, the drill is spun, etc.

And then there are other places with different kind of people. Angels we will call them, who are always getting it wrong or at least misunderstanding things. But they are angels nonetheless, busy crafting lives for themselves which ignore the nefarious and rotten. Yet still, by means of ignoring the oily decisions of resource manipulation, they remain a part of it, for there is no way to remove oneself from being governable and rendered.

But I am pretty sure that most of the world's affairs are governed by those with the strength to face the disgustingness and do so with a firm mind, heroic men thrusting themselves into the mire of their own creation. That's what I am pretty sure of.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
  on who I believe
I don't believe no one. Save for the bridges, cheese graters, ghost like vapors and fine wools and linens which keep me on track.

I believe in estrangement, an all pervasive unaccountability that rides the mind's crest of generations. I believe in double negatives such that when nothing is nowhere, something is somewhere, not nowhere, some somewhere, top topless, made immaterial, used brand new, circle square, firm soft, reliable force too strong to imagine, straight twist that in which we come through headways leaves us not guessing.

I place my belief on the fundamentally incorrect, and I think you'll find that anytime you believe something it will be because of this too.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
  email SPAM dream poem, as impressive as ever (edits mine)
Subject: Re: Your money. salt rheum

thimble skein tawny-coated Super-christian
till basket rope-closing berry-shaped

long-ago gliding machine howgozit curve self-checking crawl-up core sand garden garth mann tree ill-conceived salmon ladder Post-pleistocene well-wigged Kaus australis flat-visaged Anti-birmingham time-cleft spinning machine manganese bronze judgment cap down bed platoon school all-eyed castor cake Bengal hemp narrow-rimmed snow-pure hard-iron sulphur vivum politico-commercial white-felled mistress-ship square-sterned cockatoo fish Mid-january hemlock fir first-night pine tag mighty-minded splint-bottomed nail-cutting guide rope after-theatre rose opal All red cloth slitter cheese cement tooth relic stub feather able seaman blood meal well-headed button-shaped box elder urinogenital sinus wire-crimping saddle-backed ill-gendered self-centered key bed arbitration treaty self-control much-admired school-trained bulldog ant grape-eater fire swab pruning shears well rig old-man fern twice-achieved faro bank self-digestion gay-chirping flank attack vulture-gnawn pre-enlightenment sixty-seventh

four-time calcium chloride carvel-built well-installed land otter paddle tumbler
coal-boring drop-kicker curtain raiser cigar lighter all-pondering crush plane ink gall fault surface jewel-studded sponge cloth self psychology poison mask unit
prism weeder hoe quasi trustee chondroitin-sulphuric heart-rending bone yard
water-cressy salmon herring leading man trail plank deep-colored cloth miller cone tree

lug hook square-toedness sharp-back shark mercury fulminate tinder fungus
solent goose bale buckle tree tag tide wheel pleasant-tasting spray-wet safety dog
dispatch box sword-leaved yarn inspector Philo-teuton wash strake tam-tam
well-expended vanilla extract copper refiner cow parsley one-pound pauper
costs playing suit coffee cream closet drama music box suave-spoken spleen-pained
mid-sun bag loader Post-constantinian fawn brown self-sacrificial joy-killer
pseudo boy prairie rocket sled knife vacuum can eagle-flighted thick-growing
coppery-tailed sand bath sea hay cross-fertile pistachio green windy-headed
pedal pushers many-meaning counterscarp gallery crown gold cloth beam

Inter-andean stove coal opera singer shiplapped lumber crap game well-bushed staccato
mark semi-intrados star feed pitch-blackness folk tale self-directive
weather-bound train butcher life-rendering thought-fixed twice-scolded vase-shaped
character piece heddle knitter West point felt washer chicken tick paint-removing blowpipe analysis

ranch country wire sewer earth metal quasi sentence screw nut oil-regulating half-offended hoof-shaped urn-buried way bent rush hour fame-thirsty quasi-constructive ink mixer traveling bag Fulah-zandeh tempest-rent De-anglicization flint paper tradition-fed yellow-fingered valley breeze rail-sawing serious-mindedly shittim wood Pro-caucasian graving piece Neo-plantonic Anglo-irishism world-civilizing

cold-work fox-visaged square-edged coffee-grinding half-deafened three-phased
mis-humility closed-circuit love-stricken Pre-moslem fool duck naked-eared stiff-boned fault line log reel doom ring geyser basin hydroxysuccinic acid dark-stemmed ply yarn feather-tongue barrel-shaped honey grass acetylene
torch wild-blooded mid mashie re-resign pellet molding two-foot war service
chevron bone tar hay plant gemel window Non-pythagorean full-bodied skin-testing
gum pocket deep-musing protein factor bearing plate wood fringe staghorn sumac

blow accordion well-irrigated free silverite gutta susu basket mast

Monday, April 03, 2006
For some unknown reason, the guitar bug has bit me like a shark in the last 48 hours, and so of all the darn things, I turn up this??


Some time in 1970?

Is that a Mustang? a Duo-Sonic? Wha?!?! This must be some kind of a joke. What is John McLaughlin doing with that guitar... What is it? It is a Mustang. No it's a duo-sonic. I always figured homeboy played a L-5, or at the smallest an es-335 for his Miles stuff... but this is too cruel. Pictures or accounts online of what exactly McLaughlin used while playing with Davis, 1970-71 are slim to none. I found these, snatched them up and they have really sent me for a loop. What is that tiny guitar? Why is strapped to Mahavishnu? and How does he make it sound like anything that might sound like what his stuff with Miles sounds like? Seriously, can any aged vet of the fusion scene be of assistance?

It's dateless, some time in the 70's... but Ahh, finally, like cool water this makes sense. Back to reality, a varitone'd 335 with a big old DiMarzio PAF in da neck, now that makes sense. Completely. Phew... but still, what is he playing up there with Miles?


Double gasp...

It's 1969, McLaughlin is in the States laying down the sound with Tony Williams Lifetime and he does it with a Mustang?!?! Was I the last to know this? What is going on? Maybe he forgot his usual guitar and was loned this Fender toy. Or, gulp, maybe he really is from another universe and can do anything he wants?

This Italian guy is sticking with the Mustang thesis... I am shocked. The guitar on Live/Evil, Bitches Brew and Devotion is from a Mustang? It's Flabbergasting. Why doesn't Fender market this fact? This really makes me re-think about what is possible and what matters.
It also makes me want to fix up my Mustang...? I mean.

Ope, it's 1978 and

Note the light, note the 335. Phew. Ahh. Thank you John McLaughlin.

I guess this starts to make more sense now?

*On a sidenote, I have recently discovered that the Jack Johnson Sessions make THEE best bicycle riding music, especially as the sun is setting.
  Gratuitous Guitar pics

I often sing a song called, "oh I never should have sold my Hagstrom III"

P.S. Anyone take a look at what me and my Fireglo Rick 330 did. So perfect. I mean, really C'mon, look at those toaster pickups.
Friday, March 31, 2006
  Henri Marrou and the dead horse
Marrou asks the same question I asked in the previous post regarding the dead horse:

'Every theory of knowledge that is conscious of its duties must integrate the fact of "intersubjectivity." (If need be, it will pose the "we" as the fundamental datum, and then call it undemonstrable.) But if must somehow account for it and prove that this fact, accepted by the common mentality, is not illusory.' (Marrou, p. 90)

The photograph of the dead horse, a historical document, is part of that 'we,' which is often shown undemonstrable, except when presented with images or documents of the past.

'History is not only concerned with whatever is specifically human in man's past.' (Marrou, p. 89)

What is not human is part of what is human, especially as it is experience through understanding historical documents.

'In order to understand a document (but more broadly, another person) this Other must pertain quite largely to the category of the Same.' (Marrou, p. 92)

Any why is the feeling moment, known as the painful moment of realization that things do exist, so important to the historical imagination?

'I must forget for a moment what I am, personally, and emerge out of myself in order to be open toward these others' (Marrou, p. 93)

But surely this openess is not just some weak state of giving in? There must be a noble, strong openess correct? The virtous historian is receptive to what is Other, but is not Other to himself, nor should be understand what is Other as anything other than what is the Same. And this is that undemonstrable moment of rejecting solipsism...

Need to return to this, yes at P. 94, also use it come formulate the big test, primarily the statement regarding the misunderstanding of the Other, [ouch, through some kind of realistic blood history of reading documents] and through Plato's Timmaus (and see below for more Plato, a cheeky egotistic posting) But really, to regard the importance of the role of the Other, not as other, but as the same and not as Other in the same at all, but a history according to sameness by virtousness of reception often in the form of the romantic gaze and leaving as a question the role or importance of a Logic or Ration, but defining real Ration not as a godless but as a Godful perspective expecting work and utility, again the taking the God out of Reason has led to poisonous exctractions in time [found in documents other than paper such as oil, petro-chemical, coal mines] remembering that the historical other is not only man, but the environment of man... and also remembering that it is not about what went wrong, but what went...

"The element of Sameness must necessarily prevail over Otherness in order to understand fully."

"Idyllness is not the ability to do nothing at all, but rather, it is the right to anything one wants"
Thursday, March 30, 2006
ideochine, idealvisia, nomophonic, nomosphere, noustatic,

I don't care who you ask, it's really hard reconciling the difference in your head between abstract emotions energies and the rational defined ordered laws. What exists behind our eyes? A person needs both (backwards and forward vision) to arrive at any sort of order/beauty, but beauty/order is hindered by a higher prevalance of the one (law) or the other (sensousness)

So, darn it, how do we see? And why do we lie? And who are convinced?

And there is just no telling anyone about the primal pain of arriving at moments, the kind of life that life leads in anyone's head where their head is the mind and their eyes are in sight. Wrought extensions in the nervous system, how they reach, how they are so felt, and experience in deepest times of truth as actual distortions and upstandingness. So as to say, I am a General of the Army and I am a Grizzly Bear. The more a person slips up, and shows the purity of emotive godstruckness the more they will be punished, set back and ignored. Is this true?

It's just impossible to live between the two. It seems you "gotta lie." Especially when most people, the surrounding bodies that feel and think, have chosen a side already and are working laboriously forever on simple patterns of the one (legal/business) and the other (art/ethnicity) The two sides so incommunicative that it's a sordid despair everywhere.

I saw a picture of a dead horse in the streets of Chicago, 1900 today and until every person communicates to me that meaning of that dead horse the moment they say a word, I will continue to know that we are not going anywhere but to the gutter. Elder businessman and the sexless poet.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
  Blood blood blood
Take care, I put the youth in a bag, over my shoulder & imparted strength into his tiny frame. Four words only resulted effort out of the game left in half hour a decade since his departure toward fatherhood. Man repercussed.

The color of that skin archipegiated (THOU SHALL NOT KILL) on my hands, commander position point ignored. '44 years was his name and year.
Rubber is a plastic made of a technique using devices only some know how to utilize. Sell high.
  Triangle king five letter word
Frost kissed authority translated, I am intending to create a passive grip,
coins tossed and all, the swell tide, composite bridge water coffee,
to go.

Language has given me a language without mistakes, cup I fill, hand I see, reach I wrought, muster a ponderous mistake touched taught, literally. Kill curve touch kill step.

Diagonal coast nary that furtive ghoul wrenched index, shelved so.
List and forbidden, mouth and cash, swim and turquoise, turtle and couch, silk and curve, brown and green. Sled and summer. Apartment and condominium. Monument and slide.
  salute your past
Use a word, tumultuous carnival, a point to point to, hope turquoise blue.
A doctorate in underbelly underage colors up below rupture tumult, tom-tom fill,
Come (in between) jump because your yellow is gold tonight, conjoined sepia food tune feed still,

Blue rapture sold a month and imitate, smile we the past.
Twelve passengers tonight wished: God, I was your parents. Negative monuments I never told anyone I enjoyed anything when so clearly understood, I enjoyed much without that mis-step forgotten clue, window through, body if slumbering queue.
  an 'e' in a cold way
neck position,
sweater combination, white, cuddle, car door, coddle and a spelling mishap, shape,
you my son don't need rabbits for pets.

this violin underneath yonder belly come swelling mother hope,
is not a way to get yourself out of the reapers path

hope, eggs, chlorine and the the last century of growth,
simulates patterns, copies repetition, movies photography lost and sped up,
passed through an uncle's eye, a warmer's view, a two visioned pew, sitting through,
Friday, March 17, 2006
  March the 17
I remember of a few of these in the past, March 17. I usually remember a few years in the past at a time.

Happy St. Patrick's Day 2--6
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
  I got all the facts right here
1) the finite 2) the infinite 3) the union of the finite and the infinite 4) the cause of this union

There is really is nothing else to think about, and should you put every enitity through this, and of course be sure to look your best while you are doing it because looking good is the spirit of mankind, then really, there is no reason to do anything wrong. It's just the way it's gonna be, and has been and will be and comes together as. Kind of like the way a verb implies movement, because it does. Oh yeah, and natural light. Natural light is the only light. Artificial light does not create mind, electricity is a warning of the moving away from mind, which is the 4) above.

And as any soul, pretty lady or strong man looking their best bowing down to the great sound knows Teutates or Teuth, the same as the Thoth of the Egyptians created the Word, grammar, Writing. There is no fiction.
  scan dust
*f , *. . * , . . */r /*. , . . . . . . . . . .<>. . : ... . . ..,-I . . .. : . , : . I i ' ' ., *,'T? *. I ' : . ~' . , . . . . . . . . . , . .~. , . . , , , , , . . ,<>. ., ; . *9 : *. . t. .
Monday, March 06, 2006
  When fresh tracks come, ole!
Onsette Albumen, or the Foreign Sound Egg Protein of Saxony sent this audio file of his/her's country's folk music trradition, from that place, maybe Alsace, France, or maybe Gottingen, Germany from where they come. It has a lot going on, and should be added to any thinking person's audio library, or, of course toward the best sort of freedom style appropriate way of getting together sun beam, not. No falseness, Onsette Albumen is Prussian.
Friday, February 24, 2006
papa pastures, green green grasses says yesses,

if the soil is below the grass, and the soil is brown and anyone who ever thinks about soil thinks of it in some version of brown, even that kind of memory black and white brown, greyscale brown,

yellow crane, white snow. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10

I, sometimes, do really have to hand it to "ten," I mean I could never think of ten as anything but ten. Now seven, I don't need seven. It could be 41 for all I am concerned. But ten's got the idea, it's close enough to 8 and 12 that who really cares about 15 or 5. I don't see anyone getting upset with 10.

And yet, on this side of the ocean, not this side, but that side, there exists some kind of paranoia towards that which grants more then less, which is a misunderstanding that there is never less than more.

The more is, that swelling agent, the growing moon (and to those in the know, and by knowledge I mean grace, all people when no people are implied.) the less is the receding current, the shrinking daylight.

But still, people gotta get riled up over one or the other. Luckily they never attack 10. Measurement is freedom. It's a tough step to take, to give in to the power of observation. But if you want to be free it requires the giving and the taking. The moon.

I can move one arm, and then another. You don't see me getting upset on my arms.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
  Paper topic
Rethinking enlightened philanthropy:

Try to understand the way in which the philanthropic activities in late 19th century Looking at lives/work of I. N. Phelps Stokes, Jacob Schiff, Paul Cravath, Florence Kelley --> Nicholas Kelley, and the Survey Associates. Maybe even think about James Lenox and his ideas of who could use his library.

Could even possibly think about working on the idea of "labor" less as a tool for separating class and more as an American religion, or divine mind from Puritan yeoman to industrial time clocks.

Change in idea of self from "the redemption of the individual lay within the social world" pre-1860 to "the redemption of the social world lay with the individual" into the 20th cent.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
  vonbonheim's chat
Here's a chat to which nobody replied, this chat would have been lost if I didn't save it.. it's still lost, save it:

[vonbonheim] diddy wah diddle
[vonbonheim] Dr. Funkendiddlestein, Ph. D.
[vonbonheim] Dadiddle Momdiddle got to get diddled, make diddles until they deadiddled
[vonbonheim] Emperor Ladiddle commandeer the Reindeerdiddle Arms and all that Armor
[vonbonheim] Rapunzeldiddle let down your diddlehair so I can diddleclimb up the towerdiddle
[vonbonheim] Put down the chemistrydiddle set beakerdiddle elements and diddle charts
[vonbonheim] Monarch diddleflies mark springdiddle time and lay babydiddleflies in the bark of diddleBirch trees
[vonbonheim] Obligatorydiddle whale skeletons are described in the volumes upon the diddleshelves in the diddlebrary
[vonbonheim] Marching diddlebands use the holidaydiddle to register the communitydiddle's pride in the nationdiddle
[vonbonheim] Diddle incisions are cut in the diddlestomachs of women who needdiddle emergency deliverydiddles of their diddlebabies in the bellydiddles
[vonbonheim] Diddletwister play by diddlekids who can touch one another's diddles without having to worry
[vonbonheim] Morning thaw diddle in the sun, night darkness covers diddle but it's all the diddlesame to motherdiddlenature
[vonbonheim] Sharktoothdiddle cigarette filter soak in smoke diddlestring hope
[vonbonheim] Logcabin diddlenineteenth century home builtdiddle hard work chop treediddles down
[vonbonheim] Peanut butterdiddle coconut sandstorm diddle repay the taxdiddle man armydiddle man
[vonbonheim] Kamikazediddle plane swoop dartboard diddlerighthandman concerned about his diddledude's oven
[vonbonheim] Umberto Diddleco grabbed his diddleracket to play tennisdiddle in the backyard
[vonbonheim] Fawndiddle softly diddlestepped out of the deer's grassy homediddle to get a drink of diddle
[vonbonheim] Lost diddlechildren struggled to make ends diddle, before they met the gnome
[vonbonheim]Diddleafrican man played oboe in diddlehigh school
[vonbonheim] Golfdiddle pro used endorsement diddle to buy a new diddlehome in the carribeandiddle
[vonbonheim] The caribbeandiddle ocean is warm because of the shape of the diddleworld
  solid and close together
  x in different sizes
powdered wig, acrylic oil paint, rusty spray paint bottle can
...all three things at once. So there.

and then wooden glossy boat, garden gloves with rubbery grips, metal plastic mesh on a boombox speaker... all three things at once.

Made in America, a German import's expense, Made in Japan. Things are made in one location and then increase or decrease value as transport manifests out of desire and also ignorance.

Ever found an old bottle in the woods? There is no way to date it. It could be from 1973 or 1989 or 1961. The bottle has been there since it was left there.

A tree to sit under, secondary growth only 110 years old, trees growing close to one another and twist. Three at once.

No more trees. Now cloth.

Velvet on a stuffed bunny's nose, cordoroy brown suit jacket new, thick nylon strap on a luggage case canoe strap.

No more cloth than that, now. What's next to be over?

Ways to paint the sun!

A circle, perfect yellow. A stream canal light pink cloud topping, and as though it is not even there, darkness because the sun never goes away.

No more sun.

What else is there that can come in different ways, in such a way that they can just be ignored, finally, beautifully ignored so that they do not surprise or arrive as they do in the various ways that they do?

Textures, please be over with. Colors of brick, done. Ways to arrange windows on a structure no more. Leave us with none of that.

The worst of which twists, communication. Pig. Greasy fat tar pit energy source like time early or late. Oh time too, no more! Late, early, just now, next or never. All there, so there. No more time too. Don't need you.

What's left? Please, asking, requiring, unnesesary, spelling incorrectly, spelling identically, what it sounds like, what it doesn't sound like, all of you... go away.

Piss smell, fresh water, clean glass, rotten lettuce water, bacteria, done with you too. Variations on water no more, how about it? Deal, no deal. Leave me be.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
  fresh out of fluid (this one's about society and how it remembers heros)
the heroes sometimes stand, and sometimes sit
but always keep an eye on the foreigner, who in this instance is a body and a vital force described as, and then, remembered fortunately as each hard wood barn built

forget the teenage opportunity to make families once and for all, adulthood set in with the tissue you project into, and then from out of nowhere, of course neglecting the ability of the average pronounciated comma, collection as if and with all, says;

"use your body like a fountain, make your face a statue to commemorate someone dead and better than you. Go get killed for today you can be remembered."
Sunday, January 29, 2006
  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.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
  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.
Monday, January 16, 2006
  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.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
  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
of it.

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.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
  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)
Friday, December 30, 2005
  understanding at the OED
under{sm}standing, vbl. n.
1. a. (Without article.) Power or ability to understand; intellect, intelligence. Sometimes spec. = c.

c1340 HAMPOLE Pr. Consc. 605
Man when he is til worshepe broght Right understandyng has he noght.

Richard Rolle of Hampole
A devoute medytacyon (The remedy ayenst the troubles of temptacyons) a 1349 (W. de Worde 1508)
English prose treatises. Edited from Robert Thornton's MS. c 1340 (E.E.T.S. 1866)
The pricke of conscience (Stimulus conscientiæ); a Northumbrian poem c 1340 (Philol. Soc. 1863)FIND THIS
The psalter; or psalms of David, and certain canticles, with a translation and exposition in English a 1340 (1884)
Richard Rolle of Hampole and his followers (Yorkshire writers) v.d. (Horstman 1895–96)

See also Fire of Love HTML Translation from www.ccel.org

An understanding of the word understanding, for Thomas Lannon, in some instances, especially helpful in those times of devout research, (the place of the health cure) implies that a person unstands. Or to literally, become unprostrate before that which is always more. Beyond the bodily lie, to unstand is to be priviledged to pure possibility but not to dwell in mere possibility. At this time, knowledge is gained when knowledge is not what is claimed. It is different then the active body, as the active body is the consciousness known. It also not the unconscious mind. It is not self-denial as self-denial is the same thing as being aware. Unstanding is the time when one finds his or her duty to usefulness and enacts it in the form of goodness toward that eternal legacy of which one is always about, and only the infintessimal smallest harking.

Pricke of Conscience Window at All Saints, York
Thursday, December 29, 2005
  Get Camille Flammarion's 1900 The Unknown
All of us live, without knowing it, in a psychic environment we do not understand. The atmosphere contains not only chemical elements - oxygen, nitrogen, carbonic-acid gas, watery vapor, et cetera - but also psychic elements. Everywhere there are souls. There is a constant mingling of animism and spiritism in the experiments of which we are speaking; it is extremely difficult to separate them, to isolate them. Let us try to do this here, however.

Manifestations of the Dead in Spiritistic Experiments by Camille Flammarion
working towards a spiritual conception of information...those visiting this page are in the presence of the deposited brain in the form of electric text embracing inclusive and spectacular ideas where possibility is mirrored less by occurances and more by the bodiless time-frame granularity come globule mark

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Whereas understanding is a foundation
Whereas mind should move
Whereas things have limits
Resolved that knowledge is king.

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