Texts from Week of 29 August 2016

the Spiral Lightning Room

has no edges

has 82 legs

239 rolling notions

countless acres of currents

37 descending airplanes

millions of sand mites

endless power beyond fists

quiet minds

churning stomachs

one Tower of the Moon

one bridge with a silly name

two torches and blowing sparks

enough beer

***

Funny film,

boy spits out

a sip of carapaninai

and can't swallow the rest

empties it in his hand

can't stop laughing but

feels awful for spitting on his friend's blanket

but everyone was laughing

while he spewed in laughter

because the film was fucking funny

about amusement rides in Florida

and during the credits

he leans in while his friends laugh and clap

trying to apologize while laughing and clapping

for his behavior

came for he realized

that he had taken

a much smaller sip than he thought

and the mess was no mess at all

***

I want to write a letter to You

have wanted for a long time

then You asked me to and

I agreed that i would do it

and I walk home now from the

a sci-fi film night near Hofgarten

and I reflect on this morning's dream

I told Fortune

to which he said 'you're weird

'you're really weird',

that what's weird between

two membranes vibrates

to create tension and love

and hate

that whatever he meant

I Love You

that if in paper I commit mySelf

from limb to nib to You,

i claim that I know You

that with each stroke and loop

whom I write to

I suppose known

You

He rests on his back in the black pool

and in his floating hand on the water

a compass like a golden lily pad radiates

A distraction strips his concentration

and pulls his neck burn

he drops what he had so fine

into the black pool where

and desperately he imagines a life

set forever on finding it in the abyss again

I do not know You

any more than the water of a lake or

the canyons and fissures of a Jeffery pine,

and when I dive into Your body

and You stay ashore

the shapes of Your character

rise like acorns under the snowpack

and if I could be the wielder of the rake

it would be all the saplings who survive

for each stubborn root is Your soul

and each moist twig is only a fragment

of Your unity

from along spiders and moss

and boletes push up the fallen limbs

chopped down to create shelter

for the small and pristine

life as it seems to be a stretched metaphor

You provide lightness

in the smallest dust

that occasionally drifts through

the radiant light

***

distraction p. 87 The Mind Parasites

***

For such a great and tragic distraction, think of the breakthrough it was trying to conceal. It came at them like a whirlwind. His sexuality was tempted just as much as her desire to establish a home separate from her family yet close enough to not desert them.

Such beauty they had in their world--a world without limits. Actually no limits. They had never lived together and they weren't meant to. Traditional values say that two can't live together until they are married. Western Modern Traditional values say that two ought to move in together whenever they feel it's right.

Adam was young outsider coming to adulthood bearing fruits for humanity around him.

He sought out the spiritual conflict that would come close to burning him up.

His Love, the Powerful Amilia

izolda

***

If the whole world is based on money

then the whole world is based on cheating

for when I have no money

and my friend gives me 15

until I get my payment

then spending 11,90 on

a zusatz ticket

makes no sense

I'd rather go without one

because I've never been checked

and save that money

until I need it

to buy a cider

at 4,-

which is also a cheat.

***

teaching a three year old how to count on the computer

press return

his fingers like

little worms searching for soft ground

touched the keys

not hard enough

to press

the nerves

of his fingers not yet

centralized

and pretending to

be in control,

kelp in the

back and forth

of decision

where instinct

spirals through

matter

like a baby seal

spins into the forest

away from his mother

temporarily,

and when I show him

the consequence

of pressing a key

that appears on screen

he looks up at me

and his dreams

condensate in remembrance

of 'of course!'

and

1234567890

we say together

as I show him what to do

then

***

Midday in Amsterdam

---background

Tulips

spring

soil

petals

cobble stone

cafes

canals

flower boxes

bikes

bells

sounds

chatter

shapes

hips

butts

breasts like blossoms courage to open

(sexual allure)

groups

passing

shuffling legs

hesitate

downward faces

smoking ---

The hangman's noose

spells Ultimate No

around the neck of

the executioner

and he smiles

with relief

as he pulls the lever himself

and proclaims, "I've become Go--!"

So it is.

Across the canal without a shore

on a boat tied to firm foundations

stands a man of fine report

with life's proud proclamations,

and though he saw that hanged man declare

that No wins the day outright

his face did whisper something rare

and saw right then his soul's delight,

that memories rain down from clouds

and rise up from morning dew,

that what challenges knit the shrouds

do men on a whim brilliantly renew.

So it is.

Broad watery canals 'tween two men grows

ever broader while the sun does its round as does also the heat upon two chins descend

one held high the other on rope's knot's end

***

1.47

no progressive tenses

***

those cowards

who claim to own the guilt

of God

who establish fright

and dependence

who from the start

pretend to care

who say "Us or

no ascendance".

That's the crime

within this age

of increasing

independence,

that without a doubt

the robot's voice

hides a brazen

attempt at pentance.

***

The autonomy of poetry

***

Map liers can be flatearthers.