I saw the truck before and after the Air Stream.
That dog barks outside again.
I feel alone and surrounded by people hoped to be alone with.
Goodly strange.
One moment full
One moment empty. Pendulous. Diabolical diabolos diabolus.
We are full of shit.
Do, dear. Relentless. Malleable. Interminable.
Hard C, soft c, Mid-c.
Do you require feedback?
Someone to laugh uproariously?
Should I hold you back in order to urge you forward?
Am I all bark with no bite?
Callæbus eqqus is an Open (printed) Book.
Be content with the content? Slide your saucerful full of secrets over here?
Disappointed roundtable debators believed that
She had been animal
And mineral
And element,
And Creature,
And Cretin.
And a camællia.
The wandering star gent is part sugar-foot.
A real Achilles heel for him when it melts in the rain.
Sugary sweet
But, highly soluable.
Death and the Lover.
But, she knows him under different handles.
They rotate who leads the dance to each saraband song.
Often swapping pieces of clothes
Endless variations.
Her suspension of choice made him slay her.
What choice?
Can anybody make anybody do anything?
The difference between clumsy, specious interference and kind, capable manipulation?
Fuzzy adjustments.
She lays the pen aside in such a heat of words.
He called her to come to him from an ocean away. In her stomach and heart, she already then felt bits of twine string loosely drape. Cordons that began slithering into knots pulling tighter and tighter.
She felt it and she said so.
“I promise I feel those sweet fingers clasping at my heartstrings. That is all I promise in the right-now. But, darling, I fear I love you.” she said
How much emotional energy, she wondered? She ought not be fearful of loving, but this one was something else in her mind. This man was impeccable.
In love vs. I love.
One (N) to the right of (I)
is all it takes.
The difference between loved and beloved.
Fitted and bespoke.
She knew quick that she loved deep. And, still could not abstain from diving head first. No one had ever spoke of weal to her before. She wanted to court him and please him and displease him. But, then her imagination spun some daydreams she presented to him. A bombardment of her ideas presented in delicious, but inexperienced confusion. In retrospect, she shuddered at how giddy the effort must have seen. She felt sad like maybe she blew the idea and made herself look ridiculous. Then she grinned and found a laugh, because at least she tried.
She closed her eyes, imagined he could hear her speak and she said aloud,
I’ve not known eyes like yours, or words used like yours. You are special and rare. The way you move through time. The way time moves through you.
You wear it, those lines, on your face. You will only grow more captivating. I am too old to be this young. You’re so well aged. It could sweet. And even naughty.
The cost of a swoony swoon. The dreams of a romantic mystic. The desires of a feral bitch rising from within. Howling and sniffing.
Then she heeded the call and he was the Genuine article.
Arriving on pins and needles; visiting on tenterhooks; finally
She left slain.
Embarrassingly taken aback by how he puts his hands in his denim pants pockets. Adored. Astir in wonderful calmness, he made mere moments eons with just a bit of string or a yarn to spin. Captivating her wonder. A dream of an artful life
She could recall none other that spoke to her as he did.
In fact, he spoke to her about those things most amazing.
He spoke of passions because he knew them too. His laugh endeared. And his smile was usually close-lipped.
She returned home. Visitors at her home. A small party. A confusing dissonance. Time fell strange.
Three days after returning home, she knew with certainty that she wanted to return to him. She wanted to be by him. Partners in art and crime.
She wanted to
Suggest it might…
Concede it must….
Surrender her nerves with a hard swallow
Submit to hot tears.
She wants a new life with him. Silly girl. She knows though, she can do it on her own and feel proud but she could be in love and do it.
Silly. She feels unhip. But, she knows exactly how she feels. And, she knows it may be just a pretty lie she tells herself.
Yet, her intuition just smiles and whispers: it could be sweet. There are so many possible movements to take on this chessboard, that it becomes a real treat when you have a moment where you know exactly what you want and you can accept that it may not happen.
The difference between I don’t think so and I hope so.
Again, alone in her room, she closed her eyes, imagined he could hear her speak and she said aloud,
“I think I see you the way you wish the world would see you, dearheart. You look fine in these eyes. Fingers such as yours come carrying currents. Diligence meets nuanced, indicating well-honed. Your voice, its quiet, clear enunciation draws my ears. I feel you pull slowly on my vibrations. Shifting energetic threads like braiding hair. Bringing to balance the diabolus.
Worth all risk.
She came from a place of dinosaurs.
She moved to a shiny silicon land where lives occur in hands and eyes look down at screens. People speak in hashtags now. A girl 5 years younger laughed as she told her she listens to CD’s in her car. The last physical format to kill off, I am a CD in a digital town.
You, enter please. Come to me, catchling.
I hear you in the forest, leaves ruffling from your sneaky skulking.
I smell you just as before.
A long knight’s sleep jolts minds into new dimensions.
I turn
To look at you.
And, i feel what i want
with ecstatic desire. Enrapt.
Kindled flame fells me to prostrate before all and everything
And the capricious sense of love reawakened.
Violent like a wary animal who wants to eat from
your hand
And i might nip your fingers when i let you.
Like a salt-lick.
I shall know you when i see you again. I see you everywhere.
I stalk that visage. I look in the eyes of all
Briefly.
Just
In-case.
Surrender to you and the mastery of your pleasure,
Of your discomfort.
Your naughty silence.
Those sweet, heavy shoulders.
My reserved disposition conceals me as i see past a veil
Into the swirl of thoughts of
Desires to devour.
Devour you in shameful kind need.
The mastery of submission may make a Master submit?
I want to shake you from your discomfort. then comfort you
While you shake.
My breath does as it wilt
right, exactly now.
It doesn’t pant; It does not (hold).
But, it breathes
shallow then a sudden, pumping rush of
Air of exhalation.
…strange rhythm.
My emotions are being redistributed,
my memories, now defragged from sleeps processes,
reorient themselves
relative
to their new locale.
Strangers in a familiar region. One they
have only seen mapped.
The world within folded all in-on itself and
Refilled in the converse.
Process
Of
Inversion.
The new in-side
is
the Apposite Opposite
Parçigal learned, nearly a decade past, the powers of appearance and its ability to manipulate others. Howl, all gals did. The power of pretty and/or style was the source of feminine efficacy where she was reared. What she noticed, but no one addressed, was the long-game. Prettification during youth resulted in an aging-self prettifying to remain relevant.
The true Tao seemed to be finding beauty unmasked. Bare-face. No jewelry. Unadorned. So, she stopped staring at her own reflection. Hair pulled up, with a disregard for style. Others treated her differently. They ignored her altogether. The joy of the crone helped her become the gal she became.
It tasted different on the way back down, wielding the power of make-up’s corrective abilities.
The difference between beloved pronounced with three syllables instead of two.
Parçigal lived her dream of art. She reinterpreted Myschkin, finally freeing him from being misinterpreted as a Christian allegory. Don’t tell the critical schools.
Of course, books are more often quoted than read these days.
She writes some notes on index cards:
The enumerable is now innumerable. Hypertextuality.
Apposition: the grammatical relation between two words or phrases that stand for the same idea.
Your load-stone hypnotizes & I become a loadstone.
Wrought but a bit of twisted metal.
Parallel curves.
The flower on the stelé was gone by the time i passed it again.
I replaced it with another wildflower.
A triad of complementary colors.
A bit of red.
A coy bit of red.
The last of the spoils of fall’s autumn.
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.
Exponential.
Scales of magnitude.
The red queen nailed a few posts into the ground.
At the last peg she told Alice
“Goodbye.”
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,
categorically.
“I bet you do,” she said.
Catchling you are; because you run, to be caught, from those chasing you, ewe.
Linearity asymmetrical.
Askew. Ask you.
A queue already asking (for) you.
You said that.
Asking, “Who knew”
Moral: the more you pile up ethical
principles
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.
Canary-ied.
A yellow monarch on
bloom flutters-by.
That is not random light, it is a worm
suspended by a satin string.
Spinning mid-air.
Center-stage
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.
Detritus.
Vitriol.
A feather/s lost is no
clipped wing but
Bird might have gone
down-y.
I well-aged pair of companions.
Purple seeps in.
Light hangs in
almost-rainbows.
Gone before you can even blink.
Driven snow around and on the ground.
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
pay-per-view
tonight.
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
now
find ourselves.
A carbonic processing of your pinot.
Noir.
Dark.
The guy in the corner?
A martial artist.
A soldier in disguise.
Blacklisted for the blackbelt earnt in logistics.
He asks me: Do you know the distinction between ‘conceal’ and ‘reveal’?
I ask him: Is it a con-, rev-?
Gigg
Ell.
Hot
Then cold
Water
Diabolical
Pendulous.
The twist of a circle
A lobster boiling in a shower stall.
Slow breath
From the shudder shock of
A sure stock
Maverick
Unmarked.
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.
Made
Got
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?
Doorways, arches, and gates.
Magic.
My repetitions are a fact.
Tree roots gnarl like the five fingers of one hand.
Wisps of ether become yours in the visible spectrum.
Everyday.
Plain
Magic.
It is in our air.
Scandalous fleshed exposure of a barely leafed tree.
How can you feel on stage in a clearing alone?
Prowling.
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.
Start
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.
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.
No rights, pure homage.
Dig it.
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.
WrittenCasey 