Piece x-million.

Preclude the possibility of


phase shifts nor

reluctant troubadours.

Ones that hide on a lit stage



Have you scene the world as though there is

no division?

Now we just look for one another having grown

lonely & old

and alone.

I see you (all) as being pieces of my missing self.

Tolle lege.

Aspire to kindness.

but, own up or

just be.


Watch “I’ve Got A Feeling (Naked Version / Remastered 2013)” on YouTube

Why do i love this song?

Infinitely relatable and self-referential.

Can anyone say what the feeling is?

Seems to just be A feeling.


I get that/those too!

Hum, huh?


Beta Testing the Block

I step out for fresh air.

A test of a weakness.

An ankle.

Something cut down before ampersand after it grew.


A bit of pink on loam.


Two sets of fox gloves, where before there was one,

for anyone to slip on.


A well-placed curve.


A root-ball as seen from one angle.


Threads of scarf couple with a fallen blossom on the asphalt.


The most-intense yellow mimics the fields of North Umbrian rapeseed pastures.


Juxtaposed upon green.

As seen from a train.


Jack & Effie

Doping up our heroine, Jack is on a roll again. Five times in three months, she has been inexplicably incapacitated to the point of babble.

He should rest & shave.

He should do a lot of things. If he had finished that sculpture a decade ago instead of leaving a half-beast still frozen in marble, he would have been a million-air and taken over the Hisem (Cawlings secret organization). As it turned out, leaving town immediately became much more important.

Had he not doped up our female hero, leaving town would not have been the thing to do.  But, he did and now everything was on fire.

The relics knew.

The intuitives knew.

The floaters knew;

and, the world would soon know if he did not get water on the pyre and his ass out of town.

She was just too fun.

It was the sensational poster that he saw that made him realize what he had done. It was for the release of an album that should have come out in 1962 and today was 10/12/08.

The only thing weirder than seeing an ad for an album that has already been released is being the only guy who thinks that is weird.

Some birds just were not meant to fly?

Dodos? Zeppelins? And, her? And, maybe some cats should be kept in-doors.

But, Pet Sounds would be released next week.

All this esshit and after the chances he had effed up. He could have been the angel of justice if it were not for rock n’ roll. It was after the arm that should have been broken during his second punk show that had made the lord decide that he had had enough. This was supposed to be the next Jesus.

Besides, no son of his dyes his hair.

He could have been Cawling’s apprentice. No one ever wanted a fallen son of god more than that guy; but, then the whole beast/marble debacle happened and he was out;

and Pet Sounds would be soon, again.

Up he had effed, the cardinal rule.

He misused his power and now time was out of joint. The key had been exposed and it was his fault.  His dad had been right after all these years.

Jack sat outside of the mini-storage unit where his friends’ bands were practicing. He had collected funds; and, between them, he now had $43.79 USD.  His usual trips did not require cash, per se.  Being in the diving family has the benefit of a gas station attendant believing he owes you $36.75 USD in change after you paid him in monopoly money.

But, now he needed to stay under the radar.

No miracles today. Just a non-shaven, white guy who appeared about 35 and was currently wearing bunny-ears.

“You should probably take those off…”

Carol was about 15 years old when she started getting the feeling that she did not get something.  While 90% of adolescents seem to feel this way, Carol’s situation was unique in that she was justified in her paranoia.

Said feeling was brought to a-head with Jack;

and, he hated that foolish girl for it.

She was the reason this ridiculousness had started.

To say that Carol had that paranoid feeling may be misleading. It was her whole family that felt this way.  And, Jack’s dad had made this blood line for this purpose. Anyone with blood from the matrilineal side of Carol’s family had this feeling.  The reason for this was that they were prophets.  But, prophets that did not know they were prophets.

Having visions and knowing esshit in advance is commonly considered quite a psychotic feature.  As they were not psychotic, they were aware of the stigma associated and their own propensity towards appearing this way. Also, not being sent angels or anything for reassurance about these feelings could leave one feeling quite confused and alone.

Like there is a joke that everyone else is in on. The thing was: only no-one else was in on the joke.  It was like figuring out the end of a movie before the second act.

They just sort of always knew how things would turn out. They did not know why they knew; they just knew that they knew (at least in there in their more lucid moments). But, none of them ever told anyone else that they felt that way, for fear of the straight-jacket.

The same way most people do not say things like, “I think I am a prophet,” for instance.  Nor does saying, “you’re gonna die from stomach cancer,” help ease the weirdness.

Why would you tell someone something like that?

How did they know something like this?  Don’t ask them. They just got feelings that, from their mind’si, always seemed to be proven thusly.


VVöderland Notes from Parçigal

Underground currents,

conducted by Mæstrœs, at

certain key-stone sites where

lode-stones are ritualistic-ally, mystic-ally, and magick-ally

fawned over; and then,

pressed close-ally and

firmly into the lay-line

which will magnetize

the electric charge of

both Keystones & Lodestones,

(grail, cisterns, resevoir, from Latin ‘cista’ chest, arches, Ark, Lantern)

allowing the earth’s current to

be conducted to

those natural lay-lines sites that

just occur;

but, with an

increase in energetic out-put on

the scale of 150x.

Energy is pulled to the key/lode -stones; and,

held or redistributed by:

Maestrœs; Music Masters; Mæcens

using minnesingers; idiotēs; meisters; Mægens.

Magisters. fellows.

Hærlœts; a Lady; Maidens; handmaids; handmaidens




like a
A lice ntious ladder.

Maven; mavin; matron; knights; diabolūs, sons of Socrates, the ‘diatribe’

(“a private ind’l”)

Hermit. Hermetic. hermeneutics. Vermillion.

roses, swans, graal, gradalis, gra(d)al

scribes that transcribe

rishis, sannyasins, dervishes





The Dangerous Difference b/w Should & Could

Should vs. Could.

A disambiguation í examine within myself prior to jumping to my dictionaries; because, the distinction causes dissonance within myself.

For instance, if you tell me Í should do something Í wince.

Howl if Í know why.

If you tell me í could í feel appreciative.

Could refers to actionable phenomenon. Capable of manifesting.

Should refers to the realm of thought; implies a best course of action.

Just because you should do something does not necessarily mean that you could.

Just because you could do something does not necessarily mean that you should.

Is should a moot point or a hung jury?


The Hard Swallow

The hard swallow. Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it challenges.

Sometimes, it hurts good and proper.

At times, it just aches.

The taxidermist did a fine job.

Time cost. Moment to moment. What system of valuation do we use to assess our own choices?

Incremental, linear.


Scales of magnitude.

The red queen nailed a few posts into the ground.

At the last peg she told Alice


Illywhackers once glib and smug now understand how

[frightened] and [scared]

are not the same.

Yet, no price replaces and no dream undistills

the realization that contrarians can be cowards.

The burning sun rises as my moon today.

A boudoir of meditation, breathwork, bareness

And open-secrets.

A saucer of milk for the feline.

Love split in two and i say i keep it with others.

The pitfall is when you need them to share it back with you on a busy, misunderstood day. Better to share it than to hoard it, but there may be

No blame, no

fingerbanging guns.

Is this when what was invaluable

becomes valueless?

The deer does not worry for the hunter.

The deer worries about all hunters,



Once around the Block

A swollen ankle following a trip in the forest.

I hurt it dancing.

Curious night.

I espied two bees.

Too quick to capture.

I sat for a few moments

This was the ground below

The yellow wild flowers across the way.

The planted, multi-color behind me.

I curious shape situated in the middle of the across the way.

A heart n the sky.

The sky broad-stroked.

Blooms i have been anticipating.

1st i have sceene.


Watch “Pink Floyd – On The Run” & here me wax-on poetic/s.

No rights, just pure homage

to the first electronica/synth jam i ever heard in my entire life.

At least as far back as i can speculatively conjecture.

I was around age 5.

The daydreams i could and can enliven when actively listening to this cut

border on the absurd;

but, when carrying a double edged sword, Damocles, the most important


To remember is: it has two sharp sides.

And, Damocles, apparently it hangs directly above you.

Observation only.

Already working on ambidexterity?

Genius it is to observe this track sidling itself betwixt the tracks finding themselves apposite ampersand opposite.

Facing each other as well as arching, in honest, desperate, curiosity.

(i.e. it plays well b/w the two songs between which it falls.)

A valley between twin peaks

Which can also serve us as a


Uses from time to time.

Love it much. Dig.


Welcome to another lunar side, i suppose.

Treat yourself.

Listen to it cans on and try to discern the voices.



De-laced in the Forest: A short, interesting jaunt.

My hiking boots (both members of the pair) suffer split laces.

They lace up through eyelets.  It takes a toll on the strings to pull the tops taut.

They have a lot of character.

This is why I resist swapping them out.

An old friend even nabbed me a pair of replacement laces.


The boot (right one) lace finally snapped such that the lace was too short to even serve its function.

This occurred before I set out today.  As I tied my shoes.

I thought: I could replace the lace.

I then thought: meh, just make do and get on with the walking.

That is what I did.


The makeshift knot did not stay tied. I stop and retie one way.

The then makeshift knot did not stay tied.

So, I just got on with walking with an untied shoe.

Stubborn. Giggle.

I hit the trail head.


A tree snapped overnight.

It lays splayed with a bayonet.

I realize that if I walk with my right foot to the very edge of the right side of the trail, the lace will flop through the soft grass instead of dancing and bobbing in bounces upon the paved trail.


My attention is hooked and I relish the realization.

Despite its silly, triviality.

And, I do not feel silly or bad for the momentary smile that spreads over my face.

But, then I realize, the walking has not occurred.


You can see the bench upon which I stop as I head back,

to consider the lace.


I rip the wearied threads until only the still enstrengthened portion remains.

It changes the pressure supporting my right foot.

I enjoy the feeling and shift on the way home.



Suppose it is time to replace the laces.

But who knows?


From the Readings of CHUANG TZU

Moral: the more you pile up ethical


And duties and obligations

To bring everyone in line

The more you gather LOOT

For a thief like Khang.

By ethical argument

And moral principal

The greatest crimes are eventually shown

To have been necessary, and, in fact,

A signal benefit

To mankind.


Slapped By The Sun in the Forest

The sun shocks the forest today.

What looks like white flowers turn out to be hard rays of light slapping against the greenery.

Just dots of rays slicing through.

Strange yellows descend into the green haze.  White Light.

Heat of the summer begins.




(The shaded stele.)



Someone wore a white sox.


Bugging flowers.

Buzzing flies and humming bees.

Hiss and Hush

and you can creep right up and observe.


Who went here? I w/o/ander.

The visual heat of the light makes it easier to see a thing by the shadow it is



Roots reaching.

Balling out and into.20190611_1143126097203433938437498.jpg


A lee.

Shelter and cover.

Shade being thrown over you.20190611_1143295143255687532570050.jpg

The cottonwood graces those spiderwebs which are so finely spun they are only indicated by the cottonwood snow.


Flight caught from above and below.


A containment of water.

A o O 0

A circle almost completed.


Ferns shade a shallow empoolment of liquid.

The evaporation will be affected.

Effect of dissipating one state of matter


another one.


Water Moving.


Water Still.





A very tiny rabbit hole, unless you are tiny.


Light falling on water

Hidden in the corner.


Glassy separation not frozen.


To the edge.


These are the chambers.

There are levels.

Of a ladder.

Alice says.


Four out of five days a new mole surfaced only to fall asleep









The vortex belongs to a dust devil

Driving itself across scorched earth.

A man’s head covered in a vermillion tar-bush

Foot-pressed to its state by a wo/man in love with him.

This is the kind of love that enabled

The second exodus.

Washing and care instructions:

Love materials before wearing.


Fie While Effie Rages

All you are is a one, signifying a specific


You are what came before while also what

will be.

But, ‘you’ now is a virtual reality.

You came from Australopithecus or else some PAST ERECTUS.

A sapien is, in sum, a predecessor


Fie grinded with rage.

“I hate you and your face. I hate your ears. I hate all sound.”*

*of course, all anyone could make-out were strings of gashing, ferocious garbles spewing wildly from his lips.



“I already met Fie. Fie?”

Effie paged backwards through the notepad, until she found out where she had met Fie, as his two brothers, Foe ampersand Fum.


Effie’s Dream Notes

Effie keeps a notepad @ her bedside w/ the intention of recording her dreams while they are still fresh.  It was a challenge to remember about it when she first began. But, after nearly a decade, she did it involuntarily, it was a natural bodily function.



She had to remind herself just as much as she had to remind her heart to beat.

She records whatever seems relevant in that boundary dynamic of sleepfulness and waking.


she does it w/o intending to do it. Reading back thru what she wrote, it was as tough as though

it came from a stranger’s pen

is some other than her own pen.

is not.

Many times, recently, her notes were statements of facts; assertions of knowledge gleamed from some ungnown authority. At first, it was always descriptions of the dream itself.

Now, it was only the revelations reaped in the dreamscape.

The most recent revelation.

Effie is Emory. Emory was Effie. That was before Effie graduated high-school

and Emory went to college.


Exceptional Notebook Nonsense: Install One.





[it is an exception to the starting rule

that all rules have exceptions]

You die a voodoo death because everyone else expects it of you.

The uncommon tragedy of the commons is that there is nothing anyone cares to do.

Contagions of group expectations afflict your field of view.

A cursed question put on you–

Would you die if no one

thought you would?

  Or, could.

Authority instructs you to confront mortality.

You are part of the totality,

but individually, you are

also, a triviality

What I may be is the value of a binary threshold function.

Insert the prefix ‘looking-‘

to ‘-glass house’.

Suddenly, and without warning (giggle-howl) a hypocrite becomes a stranger in a strange-land.


Forest Down: It snowed Cottonwood


A yellow monarch on

bloom flutters-by.

That is not random light, it is a worm

suspended by a satin string.

Spinning mid-air.


of the path.

Is that a good or a bad day for the creature?


Hanging by a plant,

pint and a praeter-prayer.


One branch a’loosened. Snapped. Remaining.

The bark of a

tree’s tread. Rubber meeting road-air.



Veined loam.

20190610_135552700335058920421122.jpg Detritus.




A feather/s lost is no

clipped wing but


Bird might have gone


I well-aged pair of companions.


Purple seeps in.


Light hangs in



Gone before you can even blink.

Driven snow around and on the ground.


Watch “Ocean Breathes Salty – Sun Kil Moon” on YouTube

No rights, just homage.

A real, little but sweet gut punch of a song.

The disempassioned but not resigned tone of the vocal.

The difference between saying

I don’t think so


I hope so.


Guess what this is?

This is a trashcan with pollen on it.

Pretty, no?



And pitted.



A dragonfly found dead, yet posed by nature.


Before that, another’s wing was clipped.

It must not fly now, should it live.

A drag.


This is a w/hole in the ground from above.20190609_1210321448199682389025220.jpg

The above is actually a rotting tree, cut in half and lying  on its side.


You know what this is, right?20190609_1216431256102800120244640.jpg


Have you ever tried this?

Write something.



read it and weep.

Giggle with me?

The forcefield is too big. ‘Cause, it used to have to be, possibly.

Not anyone’s fault.

We can always blame


Or bang (bang).

During our REM dream states.

Not in the same environment ampersand; now, the forcefield is energetically askew and effing with the universal grid?

How ostensibly ego-centric to think so, no?  Yeah?


Compassion for self.

Self-hatred was that wall that enabled self-preservation.

  1. i hated myself for hurting/you hate yourself for hurting;

i do not hate what hurt me/you do not hate what hurt you.

What hurt me (you) did/does not hate me


It is that silly and dumb to hear aloud from this fool.

How to answer the question: Can you truly say ‘no’?


Try to say what you mean when you answer that one.


Howl I



This is not deliberate confusion.

But, sure seems confusingly deliberate.


Indulgence relative. Just do not hurt people.

Three reasons I love a timely, kind laugh.


  1. see 1. above
  2. Authenticity under austerity becomes through sincerity                                           ?
  3. It is not that you pay for what you get; it is that you get what you pay* for.



*we ain’t just talking currency/wages, folks.



It is okay to admit you are enraged at a potentially outrageous situation.

Enrage is your ego yelling.

Outrage is your heart yelling.

Your heart only yells when others suffer too.

Being enraged and being outraged is possible.

Being enraged and ego-maniacal is possible.

What a drag….

….that i cannot get over myself until I admit that I cannot get over myself.

This is silent howling.

This is giggling.

This is authentic, at the least (


exactly  now

). Are you over yourself already?


What are these sighs that I imagine?

Whose low end groan comes down the cans?


Speculation: A song that can end itself and not just fade out.



Reel to Real

Transition equal

the changing of the

guard or the gourd?

Howl. Giggle.

Does this and that prove x, yet?

Did it hurt, ewe?

Tell me true.

Folks ain’t used to fools acting differently?

Do, do what you do.

I know. and

I do.

allow people to hear anew

Vessel unvasseled.

No game, no simple-tool, not an achievement

not religions.

Love in the key note of the tonic

of a practice of ecstasy.


Just breathe.


Method before theory, dummy.

Fear versus fright

on the fight or flight

that wilt be




Howl I smile.

New does not mean novel, dear.

Praise, you say?

What’s that like, I say?

I caw-ckle aloud but only inside.

Hun, if it is not a game then there is no

prize to win.

Just a desire to hunt and

that is regardless of the financial costs some

enobligate in self-defense.

I am fickle, am I?

I am love and love hated.

Loved hatred and hatred loved.

I submit that I am written.

Tolle lege.

The lesson is

it does not matter what

The lesson is

Don’t overlook the symbols.

I was taught we inherit the problems of a previous, now non-corporeal generation,

but, I don’t believe we can

blame ourselves for their

patterns within which we


find ourselves.

A carbonic processing of your pinot.



The guy in the corner?

A martial artist.

A soldier in disguise.

Blacklisted for the blackbelt earnt in logistics.


The Nature of the Forest Today

This is juxtaposition


This is not syncretism.


Chains trying to work in nature.

Snake espied. First thing.



Sea Foam, cool green.

Longitudinal and kindly striped


Per se.


Feedback on me.

Otherwise, the robin in the rain makes better company currently.

Such a saucy fellow.

Showers always made


…wait for it.20190608_1223286458269038784145332.jpg

The sky confused and

confusing time changing.20190608_1224274722506816231746345.jpg

Protective turns opulent in opalescence.


The beauty of opening.20190608_1233432986746953645709405.jpg

The beauty of splaying.


Time-resistant skin.

Elegant rhinosarus-dermis.

Still moist, somehow.20190608_1237112307176480307766013.jpg

Meets the confusion of curves.

Collective noun style.


In ever widening circular cases of you, ewe.

In you.

You in.20190608_1239068898421282927636058.jpg

I hear you, here.

Look at you bellowing, pretty thing.20190608_1240275914448220373648531.jpg

Cottonwood seed absorbs in its resonant, spidery remains.


Arching in ecstasy.

Boughing and bowing

Bowled over.



Create foam.


Some tire so completely

they resurface on their


and asleep.

Three such gents just this week.

Suppose it makes the fly’s feast.20190608_125309518728743505912448.jpg

Do you remember meeting here?

Where tree grows out of


Dog esshit or esshinola?


The buzzing of the approaching nearing the a’spread.


Alit on the globe.

Buzz, you say?

Humm, is what I say.

Also, Howl.







Balance & Proportion (News After Rain)

Wary berry blooms protect their own.


Just because bizarreness manifests does not mean it is unfriendly.

Though sometimes I relish your impatient sounding voice of exposition.


Who ever said it would be easy?

20190607_1210503923732410043798482.jpg The last bit of seed supplants itself, even unto the blacktop of ass-fault/y/.

 . {Hopeful} .

The early days of summer are the dying days of spring.

Seedlings waiting to naught-be



And take true blue




Dead leaves from other tomes fallen and caught by wooden paper and branches

wearing white, kid-gloves.

A lady’s fingers.

Lady-fingers. Fingers hanging down and reaching up.


The gate entering the wetland and off-leash area is lush today.

A coyote trotted before me two days ago. I thought it was a German Shepard.

He grinned from ear to ear.

The heron appeared twice.

Humid and water-heavy.

The colors hang incorrectly correct.

Let your spine chill or feel your own fear.

Impeccability in being over time without attempting but always trying.



The crane that reaches after being broken.

Its own feathers have become moss it may molt then eat

Regeneration of self.


If you want to take a tripe trip.

Drink the swill and see the seepage of the col(our)s’



Oil from the trails from shimmering slugs.


Nautical foliage present like rocks that move on accord of their own.

Forest coral corrals.

The summer eyes of the serpent peer in protective ampersand near-maleficent passion.


In through the nose, out through the nose;

In through the nose, out of the mouth;

In through the nose, out through the nose;

In through the mouth, our through mouth;

In through the nose….

Juxtapose and toes.



Watch “PJ Harvey – Ecstasy (Peel Session)” on YouTube

No rights, just homage.

Throw on your best pair of cans.

If your device gives you any grief, acknowledge and waive your right to not damage your ears.

Some sound walls are worth the resultant hearing damage.



Shower riffs and drips


Then cold




The twist of a circle

A lobster boiling in a shower stall.

Slow breath

From the shudder shock of

A sure stock



A’howl at a new moon.

Like everytime

But, anew.

Getting the feels

At every hint of the new news.

Tell your aunt you did what you said.



And slabbed before anyone else could grab.

Shake and look you in the face.

Where’d you get the notion that a sea is an ocean?


Disposition Reflection

Doorways, arches, and gates.


My repetitions are a fact.

Tree roots gnarl like the five fingers of one hand.


Wisps of ether become yours in the visible spectrum.




It is in our air.

Scandalous fleshed exposure of a barely leafed tree.


How can you feel on stage in a clearing alone?

Stalking words on stilts over creeks.


Let us fly our kites here.


My stone panther re-enlivens from winter as a summer moss.

Humid and heavy on the trees.



New from the Forest: Throwing Shade & Sunshine

The high wind shook and shimmied the foliage-heavy forest like a candle flickers the refraction of light on my white door.

Cotton(wood) splays itself across the path like nymphs waiting to be swept up in collection. Spattering of coral-esque moss. Sea foam green.

My spine becomes alit. Some exhalations come out like breath on a cold day.

The first few days of summer in the forest, we see as ampersand from below before we can see from above.

Death of the early summer days.  Dead moleskin leathering in the sun.  Pecked out banana slugs, the spoils of the war of the early birds.

Snakes sun mid-path, unconcerned with your intrusion.

Ten feet later this sun vanishes. Ten minutes, later on, it returns.


I cross eight and one half bridges. But, there are only five bridges.

Life begins as rabbits run into brambles. Fresh, with ears not fully grown.


Ducklings fatten on the now enshallowed Salmon Ladder pond.

I still espy you, sweet and lovely dummy.

Seated among the tall grass like a forested catacomb.

The first of the summer berries ripen.

Ruddy gold.

Bloody red.


(already em-)purpled.

The serpent’s red eyes open.



Parciful’s Own New Intro


So now, gather round the children and elders, as I will tell a tale of once, way back when we all lived in the forest.  I assure you the tale is nothing if not both authentic and novel.  I readily admit the probable likelihood that you will dispute this axiom once I have told the tale.  Saying you have heard it somewhere before.

“And there isn’t anything I can say to make you believe me. I can only state the facts as they are and hope you will believe me. Here goes….” 

What conclusions have I, I will deduce for you now–

The situation persuading you that my tale is not novel and authentic, is itself my empirical evidence I assert supports my axioms of novelty and authenticity. For all we are is tales of once, way back when.

Put in different words, we are (the) story, our lives are the stories of the story. The story/ies allow us to experience being a person.

What it is “to live a life.”

Anthropologists study man and groups of men.

Anthropologists believe it necessary to define their object of study concisely and explicitly before any other work may be done.

Anthropologists say “humankind” instead of “mankind,” now.

Anthropological professors at universities all begin their first day lecture with a projected digital slide of Indiana Jones on the projector screen. And, they say, “Anthropology is not Indiana Jones.”

I throw up in my mouth a little. Who said it was?

A biology professor once told me that he studied what it meant to not not be alive.  Highly instructive once I got over the voice yelling “h0wl pretentious.” Giggle, just because someone is paranoid, for example, does not mean they are incorrect in their assertion.  A drug addict told me that a decade ago. I think he fixes cars now.

VVonderland Minor.  2009.


You Seeking That?

I cannot


I want to

Music hooks my attention. If ‘decent,’ it moves through my spine like currents.

Time changes.

Threaded to be unwound

Like a record’s groove.

Linear thread to unwind in the minotaur’s maze.

Did you bring your own thread this time?

Trying to attune to the ephemeral and corporeal energetic grid.

Doing in contribution, perhaps sight unseen.


Tao of the mystic

Doubt everything and everyone



trusting people and things to be who and what they ‘are.’

Method of attempted peace and openness.


An alarming ‘joke’ i heard abroad

“It cannot possibly be true, so I won’t even trouble you with the notion,” he said.

“What notion?”

“Well, the Orwellian idea that America is a corporation. But it cannot possibly be true.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, you know the curse of ‘why not’?”


Taken from Recollections of Sartre

Words are, for some, living creatures.

They persist in being and as such they insist on being noticed.  The bound and covered, silent sirens contained on the leaves between the book’s cover.

If words live, then literature can possess.

If I read and share the a sentence that crossed Plato’s eye and mind too, has time and distanced ceased?

If most celebrated literature spouts from the community of dead authors, their words become free of their original sin of the author(s) having possessed physical existence. The sentences are not devalued by the messy work of the author living his/her life at this point. The lens becomes free from the shackles of selfhood.  The lines now belong to the public. There is no greater authority to which they may appeal, who will explicate their “true” meaning.


In the Company of the Moon

In the company of the moon, H. tells me:

“Come, woman–here is shelter from the rain ampersand sun, to warm your coldness and dry your dripping self. I have brought these to ease your mind.”

But, a perpetually stubborn, broken woman am I:

“No, H. I rebuke your compassion and love and block out all rays of your light. I refuse to accept everything for which I beg. I’d rather be here yelling for shelter, warmth, and dryness than actually receiving my heart’s desire.”

But, never deterred, H. is a’glee.

“I like to play with you too.”

and by my side he remains today.


Silence. Again.

Why had she said so much?

Why did she not listen?

Again? Selfish?

She knew it kinda hurt.

So, she wo/andered as she wa/ondered.

Could 24 hours of her silence help her hear?

Speak, please.

If you wilt.

She is patient.



She did not put the coffee on until twelve past twelve.

She ‘got up’ at half seven, but the a.m. sprinklers

Churned themselves from their subterranean domain

They sounded like hard rain.

Her hair was in a state.

She did not get that kettle she kept intending.

One cup at a time. Sensible.

And she liked the noise.

She wrote she five times about herself.

Too much.

Time to take to toes.



Audacious but also perspicacious.

You are specious?

Mavericks engage, enjoin, but remain unbranded unless approached.

Preempting pretensions of perhaps not.

Predating any prior existing periodicity,

Yet, í would still underwrite your risk again.

She keeps the tiny medal from your coat’s


Attached to original brown bag wrapping.

She sleeps by it every night.

The true meaning of í am almost always thinking of you




She had learned sleeping is tiresome.

Right side, fetal about the pillow to consider this

Left side to mediate the other side.

On my back when a moment is needed.

That it hurts a little.

That mystery of an unknown answer holds me fast and securely.

Could he and it too quicken?


I Dreamt of Colours Last Night

The gestures of cabals coalesced into pure essences, last night.  They were aswirl, tangled, hurt, confused.  Friction turned into chaos of animals eating their legs right off to escape perceived traps.


I dreamt the resolution of vermillion and onyx is a lava flow.  I conjuncted yellows and all others into the medley.

Menhirs via heated igneous.




‘Parzifal’ notes

P. thought “only by passive love will he prevail.” Is verse from book VII only made in response to the A.’s first request of the seer: “make herself perfectly passive” in order he might communicate freely.”?

Hummm. Still working on wtf we have here in terms of meaning.


Working when out of work.

You want me right at work or you want me to write for work.




@ the




Right a wrong by a rewrite that extends thirty days.

If it is not there, how terrible to leave it unfound

And chase your own self.

I hope what you found not there is A-OK.