Thursday, March 29, 2007

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- Dialog


A slope to poles has grins after sharing
single movers are intended not so much at
pleading scorers too follow whims at pulls
for no image to currents in the afterglow

In mental plusses there are words, too, at
too many askings release a future memory
before it happens: knock it out for fortunes
made before down the bend and flowing

a n a b a s I s 1995

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- HOWLS OF EXUDATION



you’d affirmed admitted
longer closure spell’d
in term repleted

your foster-power
comments on everyone else
he cleared
I am yr tongue
feeling sideways intent

described hotels remit pressure, no inert rows

But I’d pled
you thraddled fogs plead

Noto beneficent


I lingered timewise standing still to still
the toes themselves indicated or furthered
this particular wave form of identification, but
as you have there are more-than inhibitor
parallels these and other terminals what
have you called me in before the last light
has gone forward means your other says
hello again against your other tidal swollen
arcs art-ing out when you come against me
reels them solitary hours unwinding here we
go again would clear the falters of time are
not no other outer claims resist these answers
Reflux the distant chimes you’d had to
claw the outer wails are not so smart
beginning here to stote nor flux them
exudate me hand to hand

Sorely affirmentioned, I touched you
repeatedly coming forward into the
flux of being.


I’d head thirty o’em / Betwixt centers
seen was not so much a song being seen.

Born potato-line yr ankles, portioned out
swollen by doubt, a born Ball o’er twine

Ballet d’or; Print silent, the hidden self
hidden what plussed my own intent

You’d throne hymn otter heart-intense dues
I’d fashioned masturbation-wise watched

Equaled by intention to be pure, no handling;
pictured locks are stolen within. Butt-held.

Let slip something new urn-missed words are
Formation of the newer darts and flourishes.

Speeds to sow, You left open calls “remit”
to hand again the swollen tubers’open hours
after it lasts-out, I hear your name again
and again; or, thought’s progress to the

Dunes have folded down the hours unlit


Riposte southern--call yr souther hour
within replete substances


April 3, 1995

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- Hermet


fomenter calm delete no virgin turf her special hours recall’d thermos to sill no doubt the calm air reckons relicer told at spasm centered re-flux turns at hermeneutics sucks no fallow dam elite thus poll’d to fur a slider compensates flood calm de-rail at has no debt forded pluds a shocker to watch’s masturbation scenes seems there are no outers spill calm floaters pull upward the plain force redemanded where’s foldate plunger throes a pooler in yr musk no outer doubts are flone ploward fumers gaps at turmoil-centers the motor foraced pliers heaps her dusky lips on your own reminding these are the days again

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- IN TROUT SIMPLICITY


Trout forgiveness, eat me.
Trout overtones, gilled & slitted.
Trout doggerel, in essence.

Trout marker, a little hat.
Trouted fortunes, having increase.
Troutectomy. None given, obvious.
Trouting around, upstream from here.

Trout teamwork, schools, or swarms.
Trout sex, swimmingly just fine.
Trout sentimentality, in looking forward.
Trout patriotism, on the side.

Trout grout, union shop
Trout cunnilingus, nasty, brief, fulfilling.
Trout shopping, a million of those, please.
Trout wigs, slightly foolish.

Trout armatures, still a dream.
Trout dreams, of escape.
Trout expulsions, temporary, yet intense.
Trout simplicity, in arcs of light.

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- LATENT TANGO


It's the day after Easter
And we're walking the beach.
I'm carrying a treebranch on
My shoulder--
I look at my shadow
Bearing something
between Neptune's trident
and His old rugged cross

Karen is collecting shells
White and broken and fine.
& as we walk along,
Dog-flung birdparts
Lift into the air;
Feathers left and right.

Out at sea
You can see the horizon bend
Where explorers
Would have doubted the limits
Of anything. Here it's nothing but
Flat sand and clear air,
Edged with puffy clouds
Sliding overhead

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- LOAF


yielded claimant

golden chain s
dogged stentor
sen tater
lec- pec- toral

musculature of process
nurses domane,
septed kinks

anno donati, semplar
the night's exemplar
nostro dynamus (big nose

late the semple dar
hold her only on
ant'er ling fortunato
i sing yr names's

her she the rest

mist roats, hintered spender
thent or-plussed/
sic or du; links-out

I'm slun, nated like
like this

Thomas Lowe Taylor

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- NO MEATIER POTATOES



Founded afar, noon's color blue-orangish
The slugger spins away intense reveries
Clue the seller into more omnipotent strains
Of the newer motto you'd called aloud
And moved motive's clue against the more

Relinquintent sayings afar no matter to the
More than lineament-attuned reefer stain
Your own habitat made implemento by now
Their own thrusts are herein the more open
Tonality in restraint from further allowances
Than had been "in mind" more or less new


Founded afar, noon's color blue-orangish
Looseners into formations langoring down
The slugger spins away intense reveries
Youd'd plud nor master internal his owner
Clue the seller into more omnipotent strains
What'd clemency door nooner spins inside
Of the newer motto you'd called aloud
In the night forecast his hours' due not toward
And moved motive's clue against the more

Relinquintent sayings afar no matter to the
Lark internal what's house and garden for
More than lineament-attuned reefer stain
Therein rapunto the forward claims within
Your own habitat made implemento by now
Where's doubt no entry in the climbing stain
Their own thrusts are herein the more open
Who'd clawed nor penitent therein the mustard
Tonality in restraint from further allowances
Lets them down then strain again to looser ties
Than had been "in mind" more or less new


Founded afar, forms noon's color blue & orangish
Looseners into these formations langoring air down
The slugger tolls, spins away intense likens reveries
Youd'd plud wastrel nor master internal thus his owner
Clue the indigent seller into more than omnipotent strains
What'd clemency repeats door nooner spins lark inside
Of the newer these motto you'd aloud called aloud
In the night former forecast his hours' later due not toward
And moved clues to ant motives clues against uh the more

Relinquintent sayings longitudinal afar no mattering to the
Lark internal grouses what's house and tool garden for
More than lankier lineament-attuned looter reefer stain
Therein rapunto knickering the forward flowing claims within
Your own habitat in green made implemento pinnacles by now
Where's doubt entering no entry in the newer climbing stain
Their own thrusts forced are herein slamming the more open
Who'd clawed ahead nor penitent sluts therein the mustard
Tonality in another restraint from eagles' further allowances
Lets them once down then strain again these lingering to looser ties
Than had been lost "in mind" to more or less new angles lengthen.


Ast after offer, she nur's nay plenty in her pinto.

Thus, another offer heard her screaming for forgiveness under the gun, under the whip,
"Stay, master, stay yr satiation in another realm, in the music where it hangs in the wind."

You'd occluded, nay rapunto, and heard in the whining signs at the end of the void, here where her own tomatoes scale the rack, wheel the dunes in singing realms at maid and term, the air's own school holds you outer in the realm of dunes and forlorn detriments;

There in the noon of rooms, history heals the less informal actions, signing time his voice in restitution skeins the heir, the "this" of that's own term and tempo as slicker airs redo.

Lator, in lateness meant no due but honor's term's tempo hoots along alloys of the light air in sense or outer, "Yo, il mahoud, her heart's a flamenco duel all meandering now!"

They'd late net markings, how clamored retains the sound /rapunto/ of the air's own heart in simple made the same line declining from outer codes to internal smooth, her other arc.

I'd marked out hard, then stayed, to hold no outer but the single skein, herein made taut, and less aside than simpler airs not spoken in the heart's own stroke one-on-one, the new.

Doubled skarners no forgiveness in tempo, in the line, in the song in the tune's own sign he hears her singing in his ear she comes so slow along and sighs the time along among.

Finishes fine tempos left astern in smoother angles reposed from where he signed on inner forms leaner now than not he hears her moaning in his arms again, a song for life.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- THE PURPLE BOOK

Thomas Lowe Taylor


Would seem within the same face calling back and forth.
The air recedes into light, and hears yr names are falling in

Would be, the mean & mark, you are
The same in/tense
A life aligned and passing through,
Afield and meaning, here.
What calls the distance furrow, chime
The rooms are cleared-out, fashion
Forward spills
Her dream awakened meeting

The day, at shot, yr name was
Seen apart & fashioned in some
Hands within as flesh, and seen
Seems the day.
The day.
Then come and visit, stay the same
In senses folded out, you are.
As has.

At darker signs
Calls alone this passing life
Would spin without a friend, and
Say my song's my own, I see,
And left this way to hear a
Mountain ringing out beyond the
Day, at time, I'm touched & tossed

A day at sign, you are at pass
The moon and fervor sings yr fingers
Spread apart and moving back and forth.
The light would spill across yr back
Again, and word the more as has, the
Life of any person has this room alive
And waving arms across the fold.
Sail along yr eyes are new to mine
As life is houses left unsigned truth
Remembers how she said my name,
Or mark this line, again, the door.

Stopping here, the rest.
In something light,
Oars across the sign,
The fall or risen term.
Another newer line is set.
Yr faces hard
Or smoother nearer said than out,
Of any room of mine
Slips away, the day we said
"Love" inhabits

These and all the other heroes
Bend alarmed
Hearing names again

Kept alive by pressure's constant rain,
Not consumed in empty enthusiasm.

Slip yr fingers down around yr flower,
Sing these songs sunlight says, "again,"
I'd drink from the fountain

I'd have a line & eye across yr
Moon rising slow against the tides.

A moon a straight line
Calls apart yr signs
Are wove again
These mountains leave across
New pastures strewn
In blue airs

The forest calls aloud the names.

The potential becomes real and the
spiritual becomes spatial through a specifically
qualifying definition.

Yr eyes the same
As both or either one in one.
Wd call, alone,
The dreams are fashioned out recall
The mark or mood
Within, as-has, and in between
The light within is
Followed out, at clasp, yr time....

The flame & center, a King's
Caution naming forward scenes
True star sung above, you are, & dreamed
Alive the ides
What spills forward spring
Wd say, these lines are drawn alive,
And seen, sung, so:
Yr heart permits
Another newer roof the day is light
At love's names drawn the sky
Is filling forward feathers all

This pass
At roof, yr names are
These loops are sent, for food
The rest remains the same.

At joint, this union, meeting air.
Would love become the rest:
At line, at heart,
Yr lights are new
The room is met
The rest is spoke

Around the line, another life
And clamor
Singing seen together
Once again the dream again.

As subtle gains remind the air
You are and set along
These waves of light are new again.

I'd have a woman in my life,
And not alone but twin & partner
Holds the song alive against my heart.

The day's recluse & tenor.
An older song, perhaps the first, and turns
Away, or hurts, there, enough, again.
Would spin.

Her airplane calling down, "love".
Or held alone no choice
A subtle pain, and even, less, uneven, &
Painted, rolled down, white on blue, said
Time, or made it all the same.
The letter went.

Yr eyes were set against the air,
They held across light & went away,
Where says, I am alone, this heart.
What moved, & where this song remains....

But loop along her eyes remember now
Dark rooms, or traveling out, the tides.
What calls the heart a warrior means, alive &
Tense, but work these houses ring & fire
Are spoke within yr arrows meeting tense.

More to seem seen, I am.
But death or heat, a form
And driving out, a roof arrests.
Light becalmed at sense,
A life or spoken charm, for warmer
Hands across my lines & faces.

Warm, to call a season in.

The last light shot, is
Loose or turning.
Spoke, a name would seal the wind
As simpler signs release, recluse, the rest
In other words.

Harder tales are spoke, for
Ordinary solitudes, a winter.
At life, yr edges smoothed-out
Run-along yr eyes

As has, a spot & trim, but left, aside.
Would seem, then.

Would seem, a clearer sign
Is left between the days, as-has.
Among yr eyes, a room.

Left and season, rises life as
Something new,
The oars are falling light.
Love's calm density,
Clear the shore and spoken songs,
As make a unit, pale &
Drawn along a line.

At sun, duration grown, her
Dream persists.
Going out, at hands; to sharp signs
Move again within or spoke at sleep,
Arised. The mood.

Perfect lines are said as well, and in
Or slope a landscape
Love's rooms lighted, waits

A moment drawn out.

Driven down, away, at
Sailing lines to day the rest,
At terms yr eyes
Wd clear my head,
And large enough would be a name.

And long lines wrapped around the air.
Hard inside, & touched,
Yr legs

And have yr names again.

At character, a game
Is sought in acts
Though the field is empty.

You are, at feed or cheer
A whole is set among
Yr airs receding
Forward scans the day, along
These forces folding
Nourished, waited, in.

The line, at rest,
These dreams are said, alone,
A force or fathom
Drawn alert,
The sign in laid
Or saying this
Yr faces eased on or off,
The same reminds, again

Wd smooth, yr
Lines are met:
As pass, a loop along her breasts,
At newer touch, yr own face, a
Room above the ground,
And set, the way of passion, in
Between the lapse or sail, her
Rooms are pleasures dreamed
A real life, said perhaps
The same....

Wd smooth yr lines
Are long beneath, a face
Arrived in eyes upper seen
A line between yr sighs is spoke
Or sung, and said again,
A force or pasture drawn
At outer rooms : the same and
Held in/tense relief, a
Quick shot between, &
Then another longer
Drawn the dark is warm enough.

Would clear across yr
Lines are made the same,
As goes the day in terms recall a
Face or time, and hard
Along the edge
Another room is made
From something clear the same to hold
The mark across and says,
Yr sailing lines again, the
Floor or shining eyes, at love, resume.

The same, and smooth,
At line, would square away,
For some because
The day at love's rains spent

Would clear, these skies renew in white
Light streaming down yr dreams the same
Against the moon no tides ring scents her
From the dream in silent rooms alone and
Straining peace becalms my heart the rest
Is spoke in quiet sailings, room, position, far.

Which has again

Would say, this tide-way broke,
I smoothed yr airs, as has this room
And simple
Along the stairway
Taking thus or so; the same
Lines begun at souls the merit spoke,
Wd quibble here, to seem
Or other, moved, you are
The heart's arcs automatic sign
Of favor made release
Or shoal her bodies long away intense

Neutral sections turn away, she
Asks, but hears my silence returning
Again, tight masks intervene,
And hold the sky afloat in motive
Claims of inattention spin between
Another mark:
Along the room, yr chains
Are weaving through the light, love's
The same renews the air in
Calls the voice the call, at
Outer warps
Resist or say, embrace, the wind

At feeling, says the edges have
A way at signing on, or hear
The fashions falling love away you are,
Would mean her eyes are said
Again and moving up & down.

The same is made intense in harbors
Drawn the air reminds the coast &
Falling through the wings or lights, you are
This name and driving shore to calm
Return, a day away & calling down
These only times to make a move
At love
The sky is fallen open, heart, eye

Across yr signs,
A light is spoke, the
Sails yr faces drawn
Like morning sleeping down across the dream

In sense the manner called forward claims
The air
Yr names
Against the rest yr eyes
To moons the call alert as rest & tremor
Seems to say
Love's days they call across the room is all.

Wd sail these signs apart no dreams
Inhabit seasons left alone in
Set these waves are made all
Around this town no ladies beckon;
Shoal my fevers into spring no fathoms
Strain this closet made of wood yr
Famous eyes are hazy now than made
Apart no touch but has my own
Marks said across the room
You wouldn't understand me
Well shuck that out, go yr own
Way, leave the sky alone, yr arms.....

Release, leaf, the room and
Patience serves the way, affirmed
Yr names are latent arrows drawn
The moon's persistence

In same, would spear the waves,
Or say, return,
Or, welcome at yrself, a
Movie's light below yr arms.

I'd call you down, and say again, the
Day's doorway opened in, a heard is said.

At storm, yr waves recede,
Or pool these stems aside in
Rows the same light bending out.
Space beside yr eyes, love comes
Through the side and released
To other rooms, the call divides
In sense or outer; straw in tense
Or other. Move the rest
You'd be these lines again
I'd call across the pool

Into, between, the dream
And pressure, says, you are.
At regular shots, yr faces lean
Against the day and passion
Leaves the day an open shot for
Someone comes, perhaps, at
Foreign rooms the doorway
Painted white against the sky, yr
Movies' letters sent among
The marks of others moved
Along yr signs alone he parts the ways

At line, her heart and
Shore resume at light
Would make the dream the same,
You are and shining.
Say these days are made
For sailing seems the mood
And charm against the mark
In sense would call
Along to make another pass around
The room and hold you
Here is what we are

At the heart's return, a friend
And floor leaned across
The time, the times.
And hold to newer signs, the day &
Term, would mark a lot of
Newer lines the same and
Go for newer light : at heart,
The same
And say, the day & season have returned.

You hear this moon & sign, a
Wave alert beyond the color, white.
And say, her eyes are water
Clear & sailing through the air
To light the mark resolved
By love enlarged, and hold, the
Speech we've made is not
Alone, but growing said intent
The day, arrive & sign, again

The rest, at hold
Would clear the air in sense the moon
And pressure drawn the signs are cool

The rest as light at love's
Calls the song reviewed among some distances

Room and calm to sail between
These islands moved again argued
Less by feelings held against the
Waves are long beneath the light
And season moon & song

At shot, the light, the
Cloud heights, and
Say, a mood is calm, reverse,
Another claim and fashion, love's grace
Believed or calm resists the light, intense.
Or light along yr eyes
The waves are broken short along my eyes
Are seen the way and charm the same

What peals us down our own longing after
Where we drive these waves more fully

Into morning scarce perhaps a light is sailed.

Wd clear below, the heart's
Waves and sing against the
Air in memory cast along and sailing
Moved restore and say, again: you are.
Or call against the moon some
Treasure in the house would be a
Leaf resumed in tense or outer says
Remember through the air these
Days are long again in love yr
Eyes are moods to shelter in
The day or other, house, the moon.

The dropped fold. Yr eyes
Wd meet the air inside or
Sailing through these hearts are
Wooden ships are put upon the air.

A print between yr days is hard
Enough, the morning's sprint & claim
As light the porches flowing to, &
To again the mountains moving through.

At point, the room is pealing down.

Lines across yr light
Is new becomes a wave at
Something bright and furrow.

Sails renew this mood of life, the
Rooms are new to seem within the same.

Calls the air
Or play off newer lines the
Draw and claim, at moon,
Or pleasure
Life at term, love's bright sails renew.

At limit, the measure
Drawn to firmer scenes, or waits at this
And seems the same air telling down to
Rooms alone in songs the heart's burn.
At sign, would walk
Along and be a term for light myself,
The time is what we are, and stay away
To rest or be another day along the way.
At love, no signs to meet
The limit: hard along the way, no
Faces smiling back and says my name
Is not yr song against this empty page.

Spoke, would shore a
Line is met for term resume
Alone shapes around inner
Moons remind the

Air is light below yr arms, at love.

They'd call along and seem to rest
In longer days she's danced the
Overt layers driving through the
Signs as laid across yr poles

Wd smooth these trails along yr waves
The same air says, "retrieve," or sail the
Body's favors through the time we'd share
Something new or moods the same terms,
Oak or matter, the heart's waves pealed to
Love, perhaps, a smiling face is bent beyond
Yr hands are in my flesh and gathered
Strong along the time you are intense or other;
These are the signs I've left around my heart.

Yr eyes, and seen aloft
Wd sail the bird is settled home
And sign among lying form, the
High side out is calling on the
Waves of light these houses don't
Pretend but fold, escape, remind
The balance in yr heart is fold
And pressure, eases out the day

The rest, and seeming here is light
The same as rest would clear the terms
Again against yr harbors woven cast & seine.

Loft yr fathoms sailing sad below the moon
Or pooled the raft is certain in between
These moons are left alert wd clear the room.

I met yr marks as something new perhaps
The mountains mated clear across the
Easier days reply the clever doors across.

But simpler terms review the light:
Yr days are looped around at sign &
Temper on the waves no light but something new.

The emanation from beneath yr face.
Open terms remind; at outer forces
Poled, wd claim the same attention's room.

At fortune's portion love's renewal
Forward seems to say, release, to
Moods the same as has, you made
These lines
A doorway
Seems leaning out
The room afloat, perhaps.

You'd clear the mood and sail
Aligned the rest as light, is
Or meets the man inside yr heart
For floating forward, hears
Yr moons remind to go between
Her legs, a spot and pole, yr
Sighs or moans are time's release,

Print, reveal, elapse.
A mountain,
Form & shore, the cool;
Informs the heart, as someone new

Might spell yr name correct.
In smoother days,
The sun's persistence makes the days the same.
You'd still remind me how it is, or sail
Some wooden airs below the surface made
To join together into seasons flash yr waves
More pure the surf has made some sounding
Motives drawn the line : across some deserts
Stay outside but hold at newer rooms a
Closet white inside and paling stars reflect
What passion leaves aside for players' names
Are driven down to mirrors thrust or cooler.
Or are you down this far inside
My heart is working down the loops are
Left resolved again and now a shift
Is said, to be or outer.
Nouns reveal
The same distance: flat days shore more
Preoccupations listed out, and seen, and
Acting now the same is listed out, you
Are, and stops to rest.

At wing and streamer, the feathered
Bird turns out, and holds his lines correctly
Drawn at firmer signs throughout
This sojourn out, and wrought
Canoe in fathoms thrust
Her famous dreams are new-drawn murmurs in
Some sentenced forum, sign-recall of light

The bird turns solemn, and calls love's joy forward
Into being met where thirsty lives collect

And rustled out, begins anew to be the same
Ceremonies, death-to-life yr eyes remind
This season's wives are life alive
In meeting forward gifts direct

The heart's burn and center; sun elapse & ring
Where out yr mouth is flown, a light meaning
Soaring forward marks these lines again, direct.

Beauty, the eyes remind, a favor of love's beginnings
In the heart, to be the same sign drawn against
Yr lips at morning's music waking down again.

The pale moon slides by, a day late

And crashing-out the same way settled in the
Ring and toss of light, this motive claimed by
Life in tense regained the sound is moving in.

Lightweight fabric matters less and less, the
Moon is lightning down along yr thighs, a line
Forward seeming seen, the bird is harbored tight.

Among yr lines, these eyes renew a term
And sign within the rest as comes across
The town on two wheels turning dust to light.

Any name is called against the wind, & shores
No pools collapsed these thriving lawns arrive
At home no witness calls the room for love.

Or hold, and say another moon begins to call
These days are moved to warmer space, the
Body's foot is healing, soul within the flame.

The moon and favor drawn aside for who she is would make another class resume at tide yr heart & song the same time called at light for fortunate airs, the room is passing out: another line is drawn around the room yr marks at newer roofs the day is left afar the same to fill it in as caution catching up the rope is laid aside for clamor room & sign her breasts at natural elements recalled the floating palace said to brother sails across the same term left away released the stairway folded back her back and spread apart for wooden caulks her fervor short within the gasp of life for resting clear resume of any distance moons the fortress standing tall aside the ship toward southern shores the surf is breaking out of roses eased along the rest at ladders sprung aside my empty bed is room enough for calling in yr spirits shale of life in some specific realm the clear turns made behind yr posts position in the clearer days the same is shorter spans of any season in among yr pleasure muse & thorn the day is looped around these senses drawn.

The difference, lasts, again

Yr names have held some situations less than clear, but what I am remains the same, it seems, where solitary lights the ladies stay away, which suits the holidays more than the master.
Any day now, a magical perfume might be my soul released. The dreams are kept aside, & gradually go away, ah, romance.
More certain but less sure, I think it will leave me to one side, love's race is made inferior and what grows up beside me, these mountain moon maids: angry, bitter, hostile, faces warm & hungry, nowhere any pleasure with my name on it.
And the boys will grow together well enough, be my beauty, harnessed into life without a woman calls this culture a strange throwback, a primitive dream world, the angles cut sharp by what remains the same, intense, above, the room is filled with light.

Light, these poles are turned at side.
Begun from signs yr names this smile
Would claim from airs returned at out
In across the lines turning light, at pole

Resume, the forward distance calm or pure
She walks around the room is bare,
Or comes over me, or rides the gear.

For the eyes, yr play reminds the rest
In time's caution left away would wait

Or fortunate arms as wrapped yr flesh.

Still the sails are made away the flow for
Moons and others, cargo steamed like who
You are again the mountains fall aside
The veneration, scope & song to lips
Light a crested climb and thrust his
Sign aside her; lit, in tense release
At strokes the flight upward, outward, spread.

More to seem than what is there
At last the railings seem the same:
Artistic and direct would be a
Phrase at light, some pleasures drawn
Apart yr waving arms recall the
Room is light against the sails

But close they spell the air's perfume in
Resonance to someone else,
The flowing arms
Are toward yr light
Attends the ceremonies inside heat
I'd ride around and move again

The song and presence, moved along yr
Warmer sands have more than
These are left apart, and driving-in
Wall and sign the loops are fold
And stain the mood is interest led
Around the day's airs are set to
Leaning arms are folded out the same
To these or others, moon of light
Yr roses pealed across the same is met.

I saw yr eyes, brown hair forms a
Ring and toss
Would turn around, even,
Dream you riding on top of me, simple.
No sighs for two months
The doorways streaming forward
Said, yr hair yr shirt shorts
Met the same self sailing out
Enthusiasm from the heart's learning
Made my day and danced all
Night my feathers falling
Down was too much
So here I am
This morning, the same face floating
In my imagination, good feeling saying
Which is real easy to let
Happen enjoys itself,

Calls across the day you are

At shorter moods, alight and streaming, Calls the name to hold within, as has, you made these waves across the room, and stay, is left apart or warning, down intense the raft and sentence made of this or that is proof the room is made again and signed at open junctures cast or rather, distant scenes are planned again yr favors cast along the shore no faults are made the same, as life begins the same air beckons into mountain scenes the rest is floating down the distant signs without a motive, love's airs resumed alone wd meet the lady sudden stops resist her silent speaks yr famous smiles are opened out a short part spoke the roof is called to simpler sails within these sailing rooms and pausing in between the doorways kneeling in the flow her body gives me something from the fountain made alert beyond the dome and mine, says : you'd be along beyond the mood resumed in closer hands the day is set would clean the forward passions meeting.

This face & future streamed across
At light wd pleasure drawn forward
Into life yr houses flamed between her
Eyes a spot and charm the fever
In the air becoming new or passing
Left to right the rest is
Going here the same at shorter lifts
And holding down the line his heart

Or call the room is love yr names the rest as pass & claim the folding rooms wd clear across as light the rest no other drawn for light the simpler song intense and layer: sharper shots are new or not and music drifts at juncture cast for lessons named within a fresh face formed in loft the wings are spread apart wd cup yr flesh my eyes renew and call against yr signs, the same & moving.

I called yr names this morning, lady, woman,
All the rest at once
My life is all the same,
And rests
This distance called, a space.

But time's visits twice at in between
Would clear my signs against yr moon

Pleasure called a raft alone
Is how it is, today.
But grace enters in,
Yr being, face, or single songs unite
The same

A loop aloft along a sign and
Makes the waves of light yr name

The fall & clash, yr eyes the same, is
Spoke the heart's rush spent between the
rooms are post & wave, yr hops at center
rounded firm to touch no lines around
the rest is clean, clean.
Would speak
Around the room no gleam or pressure
In between yr time is also new to
Seem the day's waves sending music

Sky blue mood yr airs reviewed are
Cautious sent the heart's touch is new

Again a wave of feeling good, and woman.

Or make a sigh along yr bastions made
Unfolded made yr legs apart, I see
You sing around my heart
And name you
This or this

Send a yellow flower drawn against yr lips

Yr portrait, word & song unite
This flower practiced in the light
Is facing forward made the same
Air review & throng at stir at sense
The dream and long thrust shot home, between
And forward moon & full yr throat-song

Makes the dried flower sing against the tides
At maze remembered line the day formed-in

Wd sail the park and moon, long light renews
These waving arms are made again you are

To doorways fluttered out in seasons moved around
And says remembered music calls yr fingers
Draw light rooms love's news another bump

And foreign flags within the stairway flutter.

Stay this far
And rain yr gardens touched
Around the moon is passing slowly
Down these rooms are
Light again the flowers streaming.

Flame against the roof,
Yr mouth is center, at
These poles they flung apart yr eyes in
Senses calls yr names alert you are.

And in the fragment flowing clears
These rooms complete,
A flag is moved around the house & term,
Yr flavor strong among
The oars we've gathered
Through the lines complete, a house is
Made the same waves
Signed throughout these rings have kept
The light the same in tense white rows:
Yr eyes wd call the moon
A newer sign and clasp apart yr airwaves blowing in to hold,
Would meet the senses drawn throughout
The whole, a light, a light.

Some signs reverse the simpler modes
Review throughout description made along
Her favors loom & throng alert, beyond.

Wd smooth at easier laps, resound
These forces, faces, flown

The same in tense
Re calls

Yr lines & weavings, sea-sharp, or fallen:
The day becomes another shore resumed
And falls the light, between
The fall & calm

The charm: orange news across the table
You are the music sailing down
Would light the doorways
Sliding through

Moves the heart's word into morning
Moving flat, the day

At shore, released the light lines favors
Passed at shine yr faces minded-out

Again the river plumes words worlds rewind
The act is present-seen yr marks are new:

Impressions criss-crossed / world act
Day, yr eyes my own seeing

The heart's warriors sail around & wait
Angling work, the fisher said, sad, the real,

But changes after here, and meets the prince
At the intersection of two distinctions

The fish revealed the moon's time is ripe,
Or call retreat another tactic keeps him back,

This other darkness life's own other side revealed,
But hold the light renewed, another double light

Is spoke at love, at charges further on, the new
World is not so dumb; its eloquent edges speak.

Ripe, right, risen.

Mark, begin, these waves profound, the light
Yr mood the same is left apart, at eye

I'd speak across yr face & call my life
At leap along these marks are told, again.

At loop these songs recall
Another song the same
Eyes are lines
Where the roof is calm
Against the tides
Are drawn like signs
These girls are also mothers
Women left along behind

But life alone is called the same
At light the throngs
Are pouring

Said together what you are
Would say, that love is something vast
That leans across the lines
We've drawn, at clay
At shore,
The waves are lines across yr face.

Long lines reveal the noise, the heart's flutter
Said systolic words remind yr favors

Moved along the line between her eyes,
A spot.
She seems to sing the same.

Sweatsmell fills the vision's purity
With resolve.
Move these single simpler lines resolved across
The waves more pure.
Or, what you'd say.
Single words are calling out, I love you
Now the moon is room enough at last &
Singing forth these lessons made enough
Are rooms as back & forth the day's
As degree, no limit fills the air
Yr perfume singing in my hair

The moon and others dream again the time is spoke as said apart yr lines and favors cast about alone the mountain follows down the rest is firm at night you'd wake among these others drawn apart and fired in within this song and measure flat scenes revived again the fountain grows at white light love's days the score reminds against the seas no movie into white rooms medium and pool the mouths at large and calling forward looms the sky or sea, a road the fathoms spun in sharper force would call a city new or clear, a surface sealed to rooms removed in tense regained you'd forge these lines her breasts are light to children face and season make no marks or other outer scenes released the pasture golden moons review or rest the day in green and yellow springs or dust would calm the forms toward anything set between yr eyes, a hand position strong to sailing sets the eye reversed and then, the season peeling down across the light again, the rest.

The same, as light.
Wd speak at flame, this
Center into morning swum
At pole & star, the
Balance termed another, newer, flash & rumble.
The lines have set
Between the rest
Or forward chimes at move yr flight or love.
Shore and sign
Along the waves are folded
Soon to mark another visit solemn spun
Or joy the looms are met
Among these fashions spoke
And into seasons fit the
Narrower moons would spin along and
Call them forward:
Sharp the sigh you've left
And single shining oars are left unread
A smaller city shrinking in within its droves
The camels flowing make the room alert
Are shoaled on sand or nephews.
Eased-on, acrossed; the favor folded down
Would clear the floor & fathom
Drawn at more than this, the rest, again

At sharp
Yr flair for scenes of light and
Motive shore of calm in
You'd peal away in sign
Released to cloud or forum
Her call the room is white
You are : in set : the poem
Love's draw the looser angles
Spread-out feather down
And pouring shares the heart
In temper fore facing in,
Or calling down along the waves
No gleam inside but hearing
Light yr soul or fashion's choice is
Aire and salmon glowing at
Yr sailing through or season
Called to say the roses
Drawn and cluttered spoke at
Seeing dreams are so
And so, and says the heart's
Being light among yr favors.

Wd sharp, afar & yield, the wave at
Borne & sedge yr favor wick & spool.
Well, feel it out, or in, and wave at
Light you'd fold her down, align

The song or grain
The rest in sense or
Feeling through yr airs
Leaning through the
Words as waves
At time these folding oars
Like sight the drum or fashion
Cool resume elope this
Utter sign yr harps
At cove the room and white
Would mean these ears
At fore the play and shine
Around the day's eases
Asked or worked-out below
Wd spear the light, love's

Scored along the signs, the positions for
Content shore yr smiling eyes again

These waves of light between my eyes,
Or in between yr lines my hands
Apart yr waves beneath the light.

Or calls below yr arms
Another mark is sailing
Down the air's resonance
To further days at ease some
Charm are lines again.

Rest these outer lines are held
And set the rest, no tempers called
The doorway opens, hands are touched
Below the spots are charged around
And lay along the moon,
Some cast and
Shore the rest.

And set the day around again
The music blown apart and sighted,
Example, claim & set
Love's days return
The perfect calm remains the same.

Wd clear across yr lines renew at
Simpler functions left between the light

At pass yr claims are newer lots the same
White rooms beyond the rest

In clearer symptoms
Her eyes are something new
What clears the forces let begun, elope &
Return the mood & king
The sharper lights are love's airs descending
Down against her faces, smoothe to touch
Yr open flower wet again
And drink the fountain light
Wd sail some easier distance moved
Again the rooms are
Used, occupied, left related,

Wd call the same airs revive yr
Claims apart the same review at pole to
Find between the lays another spot
Perfume in center sings at sharper healing
Made below within the same music into
Something settled down at loop these changes
Shore, the river laid between
Yr hands some short
And still the rest
At longer thrusts or
Light at eye in
Sailing shores the lines are cool
But eased the mountain's movie
Spread back, opened out, touched
And said at song the
Longer shoal prevail or forward
Simpler spots are not inert:
A rush a flash : and come

Between the days, as waves below yr arms
A line or set is called the same
To houses made belong to who is there,
And sail along yr times & seasons
Lady drawn to focus sharper scenes are
View & charm across the valley floor
In forms renew the day and light, at love
Cast forward seeming seen in-tense or
Other colors green & singing faces forward
Space the air in movement for the rest,
Rests at climb or outer fools are waving-in:
The mood and sentence calls your name in
Regular visits back & forth, a day at roses
Spread apart, or a calm conscience floating
Beats the rhythms in and out the angle of
Love's beginning says, yr heart & feeling
Makes these waves at air be tossed around
The airways broken through to hear or sing
Would say, a letter down would cure professions
For their eating-rooms, at air decide to
Move her sentence, tongue, and dry across the
Lips, got off, and on, and on, yr eyes.

Beneath, as light, yr favors spoke against
The side yr eyes wd pool across the day.

Some shore, this sharper sign
And motive clears the moon afar

At move, yr hand or
Sentence made to line apart, wd ease
In, wd speak the motive
Strong at center, calls the air the same
In-tense, or other sails are moved away to
Hands or simpler features further sent along
The form of light, love's grace renews, to
Houses set below the bed, yr floor of signs.

"Maybe the lovers could unite..." their cells in parallel,
Says, you are, the same and movie called the favor

Set, the day the same moon out for sails the island stream
And song the same arc back & in yr names are folded

Down along yr sighs and seasons met again wd
Make this song pertain, at last, along the tides & waves.

The air's tempo, mood and song
Another temper shores toward
Against the morning turned again
At pool, the air again
Would spear yr heart
Or mark along the waves yr airs renew

Called again yr houses waving down
I am these lines recall yr mood
Wd clear along and wait
For something here and make
These rooms another call for life another
Moon arrived in senses cast at forward
They spread the road around the light
Or passed them here or there
This time or special out, wd sphere them
In beyond yr hands are good and
Center, sails her down the
Bed and boat
Yr looms are wove
These arms across the room.
At sign, a day for marks at moon & shore.

Clear across the lines, yr airs resume, at told
And center marks a line yr faces shining

Out as spoke, yr touch and
Firmer lines are seen, yr stars
And smoother songs below, behine,
Wd make yr days seem longer:

The sharper songs say, now, unite;
Body turned in half-light
And in behind
Yr shining sighs
Are music through my hair
As light, yr centers folded back around me
Sailing soon enough across these signs
Are sun-songs
Moving down along the room.
Aloft, the centers spin together

Says the old way out
Is flower-sharp and sudden smoothing out
At easier love and sent again,
This form of light between yr sighs, a spot.

Sail and leaf, yr skies remind, at love
The score or portion
Fuller seems
At sense the moon remind
Some fuller scenes the same
Fine at sigh yr flavor sung
Wd shine or fathom-in a noun
The sentinals are heart and eye
You are the moving;
Or shore yr arm
At words, the flying sound
This room and season comes the way
At some arriving there, and here yr
Eyes are smoother pools,
In temple:
Loam, the charge,
Easy scans the light, in love the same
Sends us forward, new,

This calls, and hears, at pools arrived for
Light wd swim the season down, & hold.
Or clear the floor for action, or send them
Roomed-out, the fathoms drawn like someone
Newer now than not, wd seem a lesson then
Or pasture formed of light, you are a newer spoke
At sentences new or house, the words are
Sullen drooped, or missed today at challenge
Smoothe the mark is dropped.
A song is
Mood acrross
The room is met along these waves
At blue or not, the floor
The moon and leaving down
Alone is not the way
Or say, complain or leave
The same is not enough

Simpler notes are drawn at looser
Shores yr fortune into seas
In sense or mark yr trips
Unnecessary and stop
The drama further-on or stay
Away awhile in love's
Grace perfection say resume

Fresh clash of motions draws forward gains
Remit as sharper lights resolve the rest:
You are, and then arrived, between the days
No shuffle scene and throng alive the
Body's marks are driven down to hold alike
The measure of love's beginnings now, heart.

At line, the cooler
Moves the room
She holds across the man, he sails
Between her sighs, a spot wd calll
These are salad songs rewinds
The flesh of light yr faces
Cool or more and eyes yr shore

As newer marks would sail resolved against
The darker waves, as simpler gains again
Would change the same endures to life and
Salient arms are waving here and there
Yr song proclaims descent the true distance
Coming back a man this earth no
Dream connected here and there with glue

Along, a long line out, returns

Sharper signs renew, as outer forms yr eyes
At light wd fashion claims the same air driving
Out at soul and heart, the thighs follow, and
Follow short the same light called within, you are.

As has, within
So let as air
Between the rest is
Sail & season set:
The song within at line yr feathered faces
Forward scans yr light is at pool & sign.

The day and sentence says, remind, at
Shore reverse yr light wd call the air a
Line between yr eyes, a spot and claim
For less or more will sail the day from
Left to right: another room is calm or other,
Moved along between the days and nights, you are.

Or move, the daylight out is sense & set
Within as has, so let, you are the time & moon
As laid across the signs are mark and claim, a

Song at sail yr seas alert are calling, now.

The air as rooms, yr eyes remind, again
The sharper lights are settled through the light
Wd clear them down at loops remind
What shores this flying time beside or
Rest, they score them out, wd call aligned
The motive driving in or holding through the
Marks are held like love's songs sending
What the air decides, as has, the rest in tense:

Yr airs between what pools across
Where smooth the form and aisle loops
And sailing seasons settled-out
The doorway sent like something else
They shore yr flying colors down again
The movie settles forward driving down
To sing; wd oar these waves apart.

The day: yr words wd name the clearer
Passions newer sung at hoist the marks are
Sharply driving airs at thorough loops remind
What marks the air apart and center, shocks recall
A vivid scene, yr moons review the rest, as pass
Resume the showers falling through, the light.

At pass, alarum sail recall at doubt, a
Lesson simpler claims yr eyes, restore to

House and garden lessons folded out or
Back her lines resume at charge or hassle

Seems alight respond, I'll catch yr airs and
Hold them down against the tides are glows

Like passion flowing out, the door reminds at
Loop resolve, the open angles streaming out.

The mark remains, yr signs alive return the way
Or hand, and line these favors outer sails recall

Her mood the same is set to term restore at foal
The charges mood review or search the language;

Mysterious quest for perfect forms is something here
Or there: the day's lights are newer here than

Spoke at line here rumors call for love to
Turn the room around and hold them in.

At sign, review the faces seeming seen from
Left to right, as thought becomes the motive
Scans the rest, as rooms are sd, you are
The mark and fashion, dreaming drawn away.
A slower pulse wd gain the day's treasure.
But slow, the air resumes to sailing
Down again the roof is peeled from distance
Dreams her waves are layers driving forward
Where the eases catch the rest, at rest, and
Center singly on the way, no other says, you are
To turn return the oars are caught like this:
Smoothe the witness seems to rest, alike
The avenues return, and then what calls it
Through the light, yr noises' person says the
And split apart. Or holding to. Or

Woman into season calls the summer through
What calls at business marks the lines are
Drawn the waves have settled here the light
Is called intense, yr mark is sailing down a
Meeting in an empty house which means

Wd stay the same across yr lines are pools, alike or
Light wd smooth the air across the room and
Calm position says, remember how she lights yr
Hands are also fingers drawn across the day, at
Longer lines renewed, the movie mounting dry
Or slow: as seems, at line the tempos recede.

Sharp, yr airs are singing
Slow at ease review
Or vibrate closer says
Another room persists
For color newer made
Than time, or someone
Permanent across the day.

In sail, the lessons simply said, a slight
Revision in the nature of yr life, the quiet
Angles singly soar, unite and form, what clears
The tempers said returning out for simpler sails
The oceans, spoon and rhythm, sealed at
Juncture moved our bodies flying.

At ring, wd smooth his letters down
are still the same, in tense or outer.
Forces lean across says new rooms permit
What comes to be the light you are,
In smoother lights, wd poor or shuffle,
Out the door the same review is set to
Hear the rumors drawing fire or leading
On the way no other calls to life some
Flame of air renewed the closets full
Of other days: I'd paint a way a
New or motive saying, here, or sharper
Focus says "remit" and turn them
Forward through the light no heavier
scans than this, or this, or pushing
Into her body with my own is partly
Sailing and still another season dreams
The other lives are also hot and
Holding true to firmer strong positions,
On yr back, my eyes across brown
Fur, I'd lean among yr houses.

At praise
Yr leaf recall the light
The prince, the pheasant &
The first arrow
At morning, at shot, her seeds
Wd mouthe my song-shot.
Light yr names recall this distance
Outer other sung her light remains
Smooth around my balls,
And moving at life, another house
And garden longing-after
This or that:
Morning says yr names
Moves throughout these signs are
Made of something stronger
Than : the same air trembling
Here between yr lips
Another line remains

Tempers call receding airs yr matter
Spins the light lying here you are
The life between as has, to hold along
These waves are mated down throughout
The air you are, top hold her here or
Not, would make the lines reveal a
Name for telling how we are the same
Is met intense or other term for
Knowing what the rooms are laid
Apart is smooth or major angles
Called repeating hours are fish before
The light at love's juncture made
Another mind or friend, yr body
In the dark, a flesh or mask
Of late intentions, this beginning
In difficulty, music, a lesser hat
Yr head is wearing down the acts
Are simpler sung, the air between yr lets

Wd have, at light, or lines around yr hair
Are folded back against the light you are
In smoother arms yr waves against the star
In sense recalls the loops are driving down
Where pass these rooms at life some senses
Dream along the day, you are, as shot
Forewarned against the light beyond yr
Favorite airs becalmed or rising through the
Mist is larger now than spoke, at loop
To formal rooms between her eyes, a spot
Wd claim distinction means the names are
Drawn-out, large along the moon and
Trembling forward seals the airs resume
For less than someone special says
The day is loop & charge restore or
Hassle down yr arms and legs are
Folded back against me pushing in to
Stay, you are, at longer moons between
The song is left along my eyes have
Said the rest is still the same again.

And smooth this life around yr edges in
The moon some lines recall the slow drift
Between morning's movements down the day
As has the longer signs around the open
Signs recall the room from something swift,
Perhaps, along the slower airs receding, here.

Spoke, among the tributaries of the kingdom,
Heart's doors leaning here the song
Recalls yr signs alert as has, the
Roof is calm among yr lines are strung
Together here, as light beyond yr favors
Driving down the slower forces sailing
Here or there, the rest, and then
Along, as spoke the rest rescues doubt.

Loop to sign resist no more the calm
Persistence dreams yr doubts away
In life these songs are folded back
Wd clear across the floor, and
Into this, a silence says, across
And simpler love wd make these signs.

Or calms ahead yr faces shining forward
Eases in the light beyond yr hands is
Sail and charm at loop resume the
Hours as catches:
Or says rely yr arms
At work wd move these men around
Any day before you leave
In something
Solid calls around the mazes leaving
Out what stays away. Arriving lines
Presume to hold apart yr open lines
Are waving here and there, he rushes
In, or slowly seems to say, you are,
In tense or other; spoke about the
Reasons set or other, says you are the
Name around these airs proceeding forward
Into smoother days elapsed within
To someone new or old, and friends
Are ladies end to end, I wouldn't be
Surprised, either.

The moon's full lines at rush wd pass
Among yr lines recalls the air at heart
These waves are moving out along the light

At start wd further stream apart the
Forms are drawn aloft the shores repeating
Stay the dream and further sails are caught

Her shores resume the distance traveled seems
To call the light no sharper signs the waves
To meet them at the edge and scaling-in

Thrust the faces driving on to move these
Ropes at orange the distance more or not
To claim the passions coming forward stays

At mark the larger scenes are made of
This and say you are to seem around the
Day in sense or other, says the day arrive

The beating drum, blood-shot, heart-tossed, in.

At light he follows out, the way
You are, in season set to term, along
And singing
Calls renew the light between the
Days aloft he sails again the mountains
At heat yr fashions form
To love he shores these rooms review what calls
These fires falling
Rests again she follows down I
Feel the day's roses seeming what you are
The light dreaming this and that
The moon is
Pulled apart in sunshine-red a mark is part
Or song the flying airs recede at color
Smooth along the fountains falling down another
Moon released,
The motive sprung apart and
Calling down, or fountains filling here, the
Light, and here, you are....

At rest decides the name
Yr heavier rooms are something
Clear or never seen unspoke
The waves are broken out, at grace

The pools are sheltered-out
Beyond the same air turning in
As hears the fortune buried underneath
The open doorway streaming-in.

For seldom attributes the wooden
Door or safety scatters through
Some restless days the same
Or passion falling out yr smooth
And less unmarked calls retreat:

Fashion smooth leans the loops resist but
Lay the dreamer down beside the floor you'd
Be another daisy gleaming down throughout the
Light is caught apart you tripped against me
Simply drawn aside the fashion falling to

The left no other speaks at shoal yr
Mansions calling left or right the mountain
Smooths the fortress light against the motive
Calls at ease yr famous lightning stance wd
Meet the children easier cast apart his
Looms recall the flavor seems the same in
Eyes no moon is nearly past the fuller
Sign some shapes un-called for sails he
Waits or eases down in senses cast the
Light waves gleam across the floor wd be
Yr feathered faces forward seem the same
For someone new un-named or facing-out
To leave the rest some distance to the left
For these open airs recall yr lessons left
Again repeats the upper signs in rotation
The sacred wheel is also light, her days
Were left against the railing singing out
For leaves or dreams or someone else
Wd be a friend and move across my heart.

Begun 3.6.77
Tom Eagle
1622 lines

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- OPEN


open (1)

nor food extent, external
sails. the deep your own temporality

a stent, stunt, uh, maybe stet.

intered: inter-red, entered

lobo plus, he's stiff with light
no more notting, knotting-ham, haste
eagle eated. Your mother's cunt

he pealed out, stuff, squirm or eastern
stet's peal, er, nostril dame-us.

Nostro the Bold. [after] nosotros
beadle-pin. h'east splint -er, keel

love's anchor in the midst of plenty
hosers loose their remains doubt at

nor food, nor plent, nor eastern spar
h'est thems -id'd plud schemer scintil
im at anchor too pealed awaits fim film
s are you putting me up?

thist arc near triomph'd in-tent, Intent
he'd shored for more detail skip de de delime
s pu shed .. aims uh to have, possess, declare

the door.

There are different. says you gotta. ssays `thin'

"fate, far, fast, fall, final, care, at; met, prey, her, met; pine, marine, bird, pin; note, move, for, atom, not; moon, book; use, bull, brute, turn up; cry, myth; cat, machine, ace, church chord; gem, afiger, (Fr.) bon, as; this, thin; azure"

lates--delines. what's thot within seeking the
easter dude, seeking un-lined substances
which accurate, actuate, ac cure-ate (8)=lates
his s his-tory norms ahd shet th d'or

-det; debt uh debt, or combinates to, within
older history booked out might not even
what are we to say in answer so simple q'a
the mart of it! or trade in answers too, finst

open (2)

vacate left without a day the pooser's must born
leach yr punted chime, as he'd speded up to frown
sporn fuff star piner due forced acumen dus bloats
flood marts dont i dunno flakes astirs las b'jitna
befor arcs sty my hardns foster plumes die offals
joafs denial spumes, borf hers toad'd askad biff


snare picks upper moons thuntds afir, a fir tree: dunces hopskip
jump toward leases dune spoo - (spooge); cliff at crossroads now
Poetry's last refuge, last stand, come and Get me. de-ludes.

thus complete they're all different scum-dessert/deserrt
normal denies flood parse similarsd flamer husk/hucks
defies normss linger forward pucks open air/heir/hairs

at narck-ing (-Ng) sir mane thence dunces danced marching orders
the overt day delimed (left intent) from wat featured doors opes
bludgeon, uh, blud -ger beleagured figures n'eye gar: "Gar" hears

disgust at heaves his inner light diminished the torpor firms
the holding ants then decided not to, uh, run--hesitates soon

foam the delimiter splints no nor knows (hose) he's hosenose. duh
"A" hose-nose, to you, you too (tot- splint spenders stuck

when they'd ported the weighs s ways. d'attack at spore finster
when architecture sports doubt in debts they'd fury again now.

toe plud. The evenness of doubt across all margins, the display
itself an offense to regard even, among simpler mains natives hid
at spore internal, the massage two handjob(s emptied out
butt hoarded hid hided. not message but crisis despair gap run
s skit pit. the shake, naturalistic rain beats to windows
s skin pats. not bake, infirm presences aren't welcome now
the gap tokens not my own seeming but the higher eye denies
not sees set gains not against but Through.

Eyed not ants her. butt did (died) a colder spume, splashing
into life's disasters the very Nature of it.
spids torm liking insent insensitive but oh so profound. song
better tell your brother" goes at song longing profunct not
not hours but dressed the eagle/error and associative choices
pole against the dart; limner of offal tu-tomes narc details.
no say can youc. eternal harps of dusk welcome you within her
I've hard. not scut, butt inter-nal, the love juice wither's
knock know, hoots the air buying details the light on on on

hasten, heart, to doubts bastions deleted not sent, nor skin

open (3)

skins alert. my own destiny closer at hand nor waitng
insert blows, instead destine to destin, i'd not wait
wham, nor bleat nor sky the details warm and simple.

yurs est duh mofar mopak--delight a temple in hand
floats the opening door what's a revelation from now?
what's the deal, not dealing, but forced to grow,

a foster in her mats )-mates. out oar arc summation
lean. three. three of them. three 'opens' darking suck
open the darkling suck. a line is born. tounger (me)

th gobbler. darsk eye'm the continent, and firing squads
there acts punish but envigor claimant spawn a finality
grinding harps i'm not noticed but envigor my own times.

a plenitude deports me my sky skin sucks the dry hardbone.
forger scopes (throughd oors) knot! thus delux a minor barf
fokes they'd harded not but spon sp spawned a life anew

Though I'm time, its self recons not an anchor butt held
and firm to settle to simple dawns the heating borne
not scrawn them a dusk forming arcs the day the day the

Scrams. Thought occluded by intense regret, the knower and
them knocks, hard at the day. I'd obtunt bay, then ankle
a flood begets knock me hand away. deal. ducks benign make

If you Know, then not. Them at envy's lair not obtain
aye, ca ale ayles isles. jacks douf him (name only
unnecessary doubt relies upon your loyalty as a manacle

beyond "not puny" an envious combat ensuing details reform
ugliest history in history the balloon affirmed beyond
the more I'm not storming at a further skein bound winter

A slighter continuity begins the song and rises again with
chatter among the natives they are held here at noone's gain
the plenty marked for spreading/closer eyes see all too much

soap stones no meter evading the hours' judgment check door
as astir i'm knocking doubt its haunches off nor launch it
begins now, calling zero, radio falling, anew, another.

Thomas Lowe Taylor -- HIS DILDO FLED


The more upiquitous requited
then held another, uh, tonnage

Ipspeak permitted nomenclature's
arc her triumph want wilted

nor skeaped the shunt anixer-tude
This were thence, her fixation

I'm remarked from tears at head
a newer pertinence than desired

death's own song replete with years
as, whose, no anter at yr hand

skips the duties of anonymous hanks
the floater school of patronomics

Agronic and plain, we plenty our ears
nor spinder this and that no more

the leaks act out marvelos & tine
thrust the plex her inner shints

this and forcefuls at hance, en-
butt yod plud & stenner, hanks.

Earmark. No portion unremoved,
at skance or other lats afforded

her deepr spine afloat in sensua
affirmed at hand and finger

pemed skins revent thoos louters
the street aglow from within, her

Alert no pain ist healed'd fine
a ey ee (or one who is seen (ass

At nonce, the center holds, portunt
off the outer in season's historicity

Motherfucker dimshit at the gates of
power of, love. Reed me deed & spin

the rem, then, of after outer other
his her is near and seen, trembles

with wanting, with held, butt first
they came to to then left ahead now

with way; alarum pummel twon reflex'd

* * *

a lass tout Ed met marker harumph
Jon=knee skirt upris me Meat's plen

but speaked plain thee promis teal
has parked outside planetary range(s

her heart broken like mine, we wavered
over the depths, hesitant flight utter

courages mistakes deny each extreme
the hearts own chatter renewed again

a waste of tiem. He'd seen her trees
outriding them into the seen and tense

this much plain, this much plane, a
foamer moaning more names against you

her sigh bewitched yur shadowed eye
ahart'd pain to moans and grief begun

nay signs nay far, this punter sang
his deed'r made to mean alight again.

Not fircely now, but smoothes her pai
n'd expression belying deeper stain

They'ld v bin to stoar and sing
whas pleader to yr man and ling

Arcs to the wooden loom within, a
start for fortunes due and plinter's pin

Tharts to to the namer, now and then,
fux to the tamer in yr pining shin

where's not wd peal to seeming, tho
less intent than what'd been before

and stuck in the neater days again
to deal and firm and bring the others in

They'ld strap and whine, and leat th
offal in the stride where others win

Thus to the offal'd tribe, and lent to
doubters the flexible terms within

wht'd fool them longer then the line
is heated floods the lame do scamper in

Horse to the pumper din, house to the cousin

* * *

Lates. them due. what whams next? At.

Like some amulets this asks for more
no plenty liek th holder down and push

lat tunes/ scales due t/ ficks nat deal
i cry to death the love no song of sex

anger spumes repeat plenty more now
but hold affirmed tomes near close love

Eye'd heart, the plenty more, now to
the tunes you'd sing and then to lean

here where the hanger pins, now at dusk
the women sing again and hold you down

now flight on the arms of all retirns
now changers green jeans do tell the scene

arm's score to dance to flint the pea
ships dusks at fir the lamer do's & don

story's dusk would have you plain and here,
but directed thought leaves sphincters bare

detail nor flame, what's pining doubt at
the plenty narcs the shithead's doubt at

theme: the heart's welcome mat is pining;
art is no substitute for love any more.

she waits at the stairway, pealing my skin
with sheer intensity. We slow and park.

arf next fexer, this at the rearer links
then in, to, and farm them skinners now!

Sheeps. The laner park is funted darn no
sleeper handjob the sperms what's leaked

but when she came it slid all over me
i died and went outside and came again.

Then spents, but held and firm, there
at the arc of heaven's gate, i met you

there, beloved, at the farm and counter
there at the innter tune we sang the same.

Flood to the timer holding now and then,
arm to the beamer in yr hand's panting spin.

* * *

Shunt. Narf. Lean and linger in her musk,
tongue to the singing taint, down at her sign.

I'd fled the planet in its width and mark,
theer wheer it's not even mapped nor mark'd

Held harp nix, luf tu speak no mere sents
nay, flax sd volter pealing, peas and pan

late lightning, the spent, the open folder
hark on the evening of our own past, the now.

into seeming where what's sent is meark &
spelling silly hours the waster groans aloud

where's light lingering within my spool,
where's another folder reaming on the lam

Absolve. Form her in your heart and sing,
this is the way it is, this is the new rug.

where'd no meter spool you wanting dusk,
this anchor calms no masks the dune-pall

Of hammer; lates the pinner dude, skills in
and ker-chif, shiff'd splint, her dress up

and calming or, what's it for, anyway, to look?
nay no falter in her spin single arc at map

where's this actor in yr mists, the portunt
major, slim and active, his heater plussed...

hector simple poems doubt lingers nowhere seen
laps the shithead bee-scape yur belittle spam

It's flight, for god's sake, carried them
lusts overt pinions musk leat tinning shim

no limit in the show, all goes first and stays
fame no family night in the harper's row. This.

where'd ankle no doubt his single spin at yellow
dues the dicks their shun and pingle fucks down

and her gasps are unique and tell you every
thing pan scatters wherein and lingering down

the liner dues, here at the simple door
final and clean. The light begins. Now.

flick no beagle, poon, the tango yields.

Thomas Lowe Taylor

(1009 wrd) 3/16/96




Afar no meter mates, stuck bewobble
The fluster spinks no doubt within
But hammers out what's against the tide

Here in the manner, no meter to your maid
But clinging hours in rescind the heavier
Hours to claim to dance again and fast

Zero. Inhaled monuments to fallible hours.
The dusker boots aplenty, then fastens
Whoer floated then beyond nor halts.

Air. Dolt. Pincushion. Another attack
Art. Venue light meter. Attitude stacks
Ex-sharks; putative punishment latent.



Booter flan. I'd depressed down far enough. Held maybe; buttressed corn the name of the day you'd held me down from the inside. No helm is steering out, but still I call her name slowly. Cranberry clouds move quickly across my palm without answering dudes the moron tableknocker choir eludes mere spinty creamed outside potatoes the door the climax of which.

Simpler densities are the stuff of light. Here on the plane of inattention, here the musky divides are poled apart and wiled out enough cake of the birth. This is too far right now to go ahead. I'm tired of the bullshit, too, and wait for a real voice to penetrate from above, but in the absence of, the very innocence of, we'd settle for the real facsimile. Enough remonstrance, but let alone again.

Crafted pun a slippery indulgence ratfiled as quickly not fundament'd, nor heard without scores the doubt lessons are given on Wednesdays not the other way around, you'd say, you'd oppress not measure but democracy's unspoken commentary a currency pretense no structure a gradual diminishing of fog and 'niggardly' unreposessed dementia possess what's far too close to ignore. They heal in part time dancing where the television red recommence and hard to knock.

You never go back. Only stepping forward not possible to do otherwise slippering dormant yellow imitation of, or whatever described, not meant a detail would this becalm other spinnakers agronomy likens the dresser's doubt within her attitudes was not mentioned in ceramic dignity, the flowing acrimony not scalded lakes had a finishing hum was not Detroit streets the big beer bottle looming far above sidewalk shines her mocking slights as this would and not



Blows him down. Bare rap of undisturbed elements. That's how they leave 'em gasping for air the gill slits flapping like oldman gums. That'd been just a little too much, not made pertinent but slipped and gabbled a dusky definito was the loot of the day. Spent.

Still, I'd blown a carcass getting here. Afforded flutes and bennies. Yet the purple strain strained at her gussets in floppier dorks made alert to what's not unspoke in the rattle of now and then, still a hooper destiny in the works for all youse guys hanging in the winds.

It'd narratived forward like a moot snoot. This was the spanker dude, still in his forties but a narrow set of jeans leaning agains the bed. Not too much to smooth out long. A new grammar to the light lingo poled aside and let go like a speech that fails to move.

"What'd I say" you said. Or sang. Or shouted back across the denizens of the plank where a cool wind leaves you sagging inward a shout spun on your lips silent and blue where the Romans windows lean the sagging of your skin a lingering home of parts.



Inside signs, you might say. Some occlusion in the dusk.
But it's hollow inside, a darkering bicker of night.
"Empty Within" you called it--
an inner state or a statement of fact?

It's a minor irritant, barking at everyone.
Maybe it's dog's way of talking...

A sign of the time, barking dogs everywhere
Just at the edges of hearing, a sturdy bark

In the dream, too, deep into night,
you drive, dogs trot up to the side of the road

dream on, you say, it's only a dream
the left ventricle retorts
two suck


no repute

would'd not occlude

butt knot fixed
likens out'd; thus.

Resistatrol (tm)



Grounded out

Like leeks, like luck
Over in the hereinafter
Firred. Again again

Butt'ld fornicular

The pus or fome.



Such a death-trip wilderness
Suckin out there on the big nothing
You'd stick it in yr ear, if that'd help
But it's still all poison
You tell yourslf

Even a grandiose abstraction
Doesn't mask the want, the edge
But it's all over now, baby blue

What's supposed to help won't or
Don't or shouldn't or...

A drive for auto parts
Might soothe the day
it's blue all over
Even the moon
And nasty to the one you love.



Asleep in winter's tongs
Held tight in a stasis--
Full moon or fool moon?

Doors wide open, wind swirling through
Not even March
Wait'll night time due, another last
To censor on the spans of rhyme.
This'll whip or mettle, not a mattter
Of time or its "other".

Give way again, held out and silent
Give the door another spin;
Depress me not but chewing gum
Inside the driving stain, er, rain.

Or, song.

Would'd not
But said or did

Would or not,
And this, too, to send
Or call inside,
At seam or sentence.



Your favorite words, one by one

The seamless journey
Inspired calculates
the moped brow
or forded underneath

He'd folded light alight
into stiffer formats
A rescue for the drama
unfolded underneath


Thomas Lowe Taylor -- IT : EVENT


Mysticism & the Psychology of Audio-visual Events


The run or pass, that would have it closing, coming fast and beyond, to several isolations wrought, or named, a building of elicitations and fragments, who is known as a pasture, symposium or combination of principles and doubts. The name. And what has passage, relaxing back, is the name through events, the erasure of motion and dynamism, neither lack nor past, but a precise and ecliptic passage of events through memory and flesh as act and name. Neither dome suffices, a parallel of connectives, without metaphor, this affirmative, here and present, without syntax or motion.

And goes rattling, through the ears, or around, direction and reflection, as one pass through the mountains, where one might feel the earth moving, bored into by drills and bits, past the emotive of space and eloquence, as the birds pass through all they know and cold air suffices to name what goes as light or spots or ease or denominations. Stop. The run out of shape, where demonstrations crack and shake, first nothing, out of the air crept, and then the air crept, and then the air, and then the one of precedence. All as nothing and all as air and all as one and then as nothing. Repeats, and goes toward the contemplation of the one. None.

Through the familiar lacking, nomenclature and dimension, or equivalence, but past all that, as spots or marks, at least, of visual significance, crept, lacked, marked, there! And linked, caused from the nothingness of cold air, dogs barking, and words from other marks and repositories/connective/and hears the lapsed passage, of knowing or identification. His own sounds and lights, which came or preceded even the cause, prior to registry, utterance of flesh-light, or seeding, that her name be crossed and marked, no measure after either father or mother, but the plane of sound, continuous and whole, either to defeat or possession, as mystery.

And movement, too, from the ridgepole of the world, alternating between mark and flux, a spot of earth seen, devised, eased, to respond from the lava beds and sea shores, rough cracked-lava photographs (across act to this chorus of voices and yells. The train rolls by and air moves into square space. Of prior cause, and her name uttered either out of necessity or memory, but lagged into meeting, a juncture, a puncture through ease and color to noses and eyes, a wet leg. Keys to mark the air. Out of all objects, the object itself, designed in sights of the close denial of names.

Or a tongue, shaft. Slipping as clear air, and image, thrust aloft, by her, too, held down, made out of wax and hands, the impulse to drive the air before. To remember the parallel textures of roughness and declension, the ivy garlanded doorways of memory and identification, one-sun. but there, and mark. To stop or hold, a mind to it, refractory, alien, positive. Which starts it off. Roundness and erectness, a cylinder. Or is-ness in the shadow of the lights, figure and ground, emergence, whom, androgyny? I'll wait on that, wait on naming, wait on pears and rice for her explosion, pace one and two, then rest.

But her elastic, made a flower out, no, all seeing is not male, nor female, nor without respect and distance. There was, we said, the new traveling to make, their bags spread out, but unwelcome, as humans are to each other, and pausing, enwrapt, that child, as a category, and solid. But the very stuff persists, drones, it holds out solid, on the grasses and chairs, content and touch, (non-tocare) and a new relation, I said, unthought, but where? Consciousness allowed it. "But how can you do anything." Again the chorus of rising voices, trains, air, locks, keys, doors, the building settles. The earth holds and blue sky too.

A rhythm of precision, after speech, lax, waitful, held like good will, but not without effect, and glowing, this clever deceit, not to move, at all, ever again, a clever act, and musical, or formal, I don't know. Begin. The name of the dance, anyway, relates formal balance to its motion. What he means is clear, but not, exactly, how, nor could anyone tell, though "no others" is also a rule or ruler. Whistling through close channels, and switched, alert. Going along, over toward the left side (brain nodes), alert to every shift and fragment. Is this possible? Or experiencing balance prior to its statement. Whose pause, whose air, nor legitimate.
But the fragment holds, at least as a behavior, suspension and isolation, wearing out the nerve endings in endless repetition, nor factual dialog, though energy retreats at that, at dialog and contact, though constant reassurance is more than frequent. So the two of acts and the three of registry; it is necessary, she knows that too, and waits, just as I do, for wholeness and light. It pauses, passes down past the lungs, revolving near the equator. Though nothing is known. This affirmative mode of cause, and so unnecessary, to arise out of the hedges like a letter or a fragment, memory, prior. Form.

I built it up like that, as far as I could, no pause, but time, and vertical which we all know. Vernacular and precise, since it is undemanding. But nothing is un-self-righteous, but a way out or in, the Hopi snake maze, and his open eyes opening, that's clear, isn't it? Through no pause alert and dogmatic. These citations and more; the voice which calls and summons, and back beyond the literal act, the shadow of the light cast as from: some objects and clauses, or combinations. It is easier now, and recognition ceases upward. The thing here, itself of acts, and no inclination to do otherwise. Is that prose? His close and temporal identity. Fresh and hot, the open door of secrecy.

Which even I remember, to string it out, or hold it in. That should be made clear, should emerge, should participate (these formulae). And passing it along to others, no drafts, no groaning guests, the open window undefined by the streetlight. But hold on. There is morning and afternoon, the air passes that way, through the prize-room, and another bell-ringing. Where streets? And it is not yet empty. This clause of flesh, pre-named, his daughter outward, and the eclipses of morning. Unthrust and waited. Blasting along through the halls, and looking out. Looking out. There's a door, they say, scoot in, where?


Vertical present of events, all attributes relating upward, tree expounding the head of it, hair lapsed to, or into pre-sentiment. As lapse of the field of attributes to which one attends, as problem and solution dissipate out of process to prior cause, the mood of elevation or the lapse of the visual from terminology into context, or being with words, from no new pretext, out of the wholeness of adverbs and the tangle of form, at least from description bent around in parallel circuitry, from the model removed, as earthsome and unrepetitious, like a situation of seeing, where it moves downward and upward. At once.

Without pause, the pause of selection, and toward clarity, as a movement, anyway, in assumption of the results, a long preface, from the system or mode or sphere (hemisphere) of activity, that which contains the essence or mode. Which has a motion to it, too, and encircles as it unravels, penetrations of daybreak and musk, out-riding all pleasure, like a catalog of things, a perceptual modality from the one, from the visual of things and their source. Those three, and the mysteries of possession, moving away and enjoining (clause: contract: retro-act), a small red tag, down near the bottom of plastic events.

Which imagines someone or a listening, in the immediacies of responding, waiting quietly in the hall, as do all formulations and hesitancies, but as a force of emptiness, a welcome nostalgia which precedes vertigo and a solid contraction, as if the recommendations were pleasure, as if an unknown were made. That, or that, one says, or I do, and passes on, unlikely and peremptory, abrupt, metabolic evidence of either memory or reflection, and, lapse, uncontinuous penetration, flags and wet winds, or flapping and slapping, but no, pause, on, split, slid, his ears out, light at the edge, an air sung, head and ceremonies, the rest. Oh!

As mix. As adumbrated flux. As metaphoric parameter of the immeasured, whatever edge the flower itself initiates, or, child too, and earth as worm-behavior, an undiscovered sameness, and patterned out of practice toward itself, and new information enclosed and redefined, flat, out, the slight curves and edges, or, shaped, then, or not, but sticky substances to which one responds, red or roundness, but not dizzy, and closing in just as it goes, the arrow out of memory and conscience, congratulatory, "There!" or on the line and leaning, but not again, at least in that way, as before the fallacy itself.

He said, not to repeat success. A hairy edge, looking up, undisclosed. In text, without mentioning it to anyone, the space between, no silence nor waiting, but clausal and elapsed, fine, we have our taste, but no new river fine twice but slow and the slid energetic graph data, wet or new red, between as across red jaw am a moccasin / to look, and down, as red air to wet sticky, heard, out through, enlighted, back and back and back, from no actual but the this of it, heavy and mechanical "mechanical?" and push-pushing through the edges and remonstrances, lay off; lay off, and ease on down, like that and get it done.

But I know that, when he speaks or acts out of cleverness, it is too clear a moment for that. As a room glows from its resources. A snaked climb. Or pauses. Or just "the hard part", across into the woods: "how to give an image to": language act, or the reflection necessary to acts, "how should it feel", but climbing back in from pattern and design, this event and It : Event, going along beside the road, like a shortcut, through the long way round of conversation, at least, formally, for what already happened or is already happening. A style is also a behavior; and sneaky, too, how it balances out, or what that means, just here, how.

To contain it all. A picture of an invisible infinitely divisible state, bounded by the quality of its acting, how, in division, it comes forward, through the forms and forces of allusion, these here wordes, to thrust, almost, out of seeing into the seen (no tense), that is, of all classical knowledge, to possess, how, as does or comes, then, what should one do who is already doing and how and where does that transform or relate out to the lapsed or material "thing", in situ, the actual or real of what one is mutually contributory to or of, or from, some instaneity of the act itself, to react out to and in to the recollection of translation, that it has just been completed.

Which allows, un-restrictive. I know all the objections, have made them out of dis-functional relapsive ecstacy and profound intentions of future convergence. Flat out. Accept and perpetual. Known. This act as. Poetic dilemma, so known or become this; As: as. Right. A is A and A is not A. So clear that the formulation is made out, pro-scriptive. and once done, never done, but or but. a clause. A fragment. The all of the ice cream cone, sidereal and lit up. Focused and magnificent, clutter or cluster, and close, but skipped or script. And on. Undeveloped, that. And flat claims to calm proficient, held; cluster of and feathers. The very No of sensation. He says.

Which resists, undeniably. Without touch, the flesh and blood of resistance. apropos to the mood or selection / either way, again, up or down, but also front and back and right and left, which leaves nothing, central, at least, nothing and the center. Point. Mark. Spot. Elevation, from what! The color blue, red, green, assignation of unforeseeable information. That bird or his movement and fire, too, to clothe removal in twenty pages, but its very quality to itself being relational and after the fact. Unmentionable as warp-clause though the one following the one is method, the same act twice, not ever repeated again, the very headache of it, and no light only seeing. Fire the center and move on up.

Imprecise repetition of necessity. That holdout. No measure for the infinite as it is, though humor allows real speech in a-cultural modes. So there, laughter and stuttering collide to speech-pauses. How the flesh decides in the absence of absence. Or what very presence impels as necessary (already happened) the perfect alignment of the descent. Point. Referent. Sticky tape ear and slide. A segment of allusions / which inclines to definitions. That, the color of unwinding roots. So: either looking up or looking down, and a bent and retracted actual. But, flight, what of that, this resurgence of the indeterminate. As genetic (original). It is the very thing itself. In no motion but the sudden.


Of this eventuation, then, out of the psychology of space, in which the all constitutes itself in the mundane collection, at points revealed (made known, or suspected) via feeling. Intersection, in other words, of the non-personal and the feeling itself. A counter-action, or pass-registry. An intimidation of postures, or actual contact across connectives. No denying that, that that which takes place, in the archetype of time, reflected upon "nascent reason", he said, is an indication of the magnitude of the lapse. I am only trying to catch up, here, to revise the drift of information as it has filtered through me. Outward, toward no complexity, or what he says bears the imprint, yes, of who he is.

To note a reaction beyond the re-enacting, there are the absolute simplicities of place (locus) and revision, or collation. As active. Pass this, too, that what I said had affect, and the crisis of containment, pressure, formed, out, of, as distinct, control in, or the lag to, having, or easing, but the act itself, a formality of the mood, there, he has, to send. Right? An allowance of particulars and roots, and the record, then, as cause and symptom of what was felt. The dog and the leaf, or another absolute. Whom. total functional gathering, which has my parts, as pronouns, as energies: beyond the metallic, at least, toward purpose and act.

Category of disorder present in activity. As such. Light gathering locus, self as one, the real business here, out of attempts to generate rhythm (and consequent image of locale and duration). The fix, then, where light and shadow correlate to motion, the sensorial dialog of energy, status, and possibility as numbers or words, and the quality of the act, in parallel. His antiquity. Light focal, in the displacement of the paradox of the cave, where is the "story"? Light-event co-related to or in space-time event, cross-hatched beyond the edges of the "thing" itself, whose anonymous grey shadow looms up from behind. Shift of attention. The data emerges.
Which is to locate, only, not cause; could it be otherwise? This lax-ness among the constituencies, onrush of detail, linked as static pass. The condition of the act, then, which defines itself unsolicitously, comes in through error, that is, against discinction / the world by exclusion. The thrust forward, leaning into the affirmative mode, as discourse, no pause in change but athletic and predatory, as the distinction of energy itself, local focus for the most un-metaphorical of acts. Being (advisedly) either "in-field" or "out-field", with respect to one's perception of choice-acts. Where are we now? Another resistance to vortex permeates: no advance, disintegration. That readiness to perpetuate resolved.

Three movements out from translation, or the drama defined: unsignificant affirmations release speculation which resolves (words, for instance). His unspokenness, and the even temper of what follows, the very distinction of the gathering. Flux to center, coagulation and definition toward the outer. That is, first copulation, second copulation, third copulation, etc., toward a projection of light onto field or screen from (in spite of the madness or reversal of literal actings-out) the center of the world to the terminals of creation. "From which crag, exactly, did he leap?" "Into what abyss?" A methodology of actual causation follows, undeclared, as a trope is, in its possessiveness to included particulars, not by whim, but certainty.

The blood-frenzy, or the thundering of the ears (in channel) is an inversion shrinkage. Primitive location defined from another outward manifestation. He speaks! Light bursts from his nostrils! A fragment of disorder coalesces beyond desire. She has it her garments, dark glasses, and an understanding of the situation quite plainly displayed. Constant interplay in actual dialog of the archetypes. Would I risk that? No! What does that mean, itself to itself. This line broken, the myth continued, a vertical surrounding, no convenient fluorescent tubes, he makes those radiations felt (eg., through the eyes) of camera choice, an alchemical connectitude of variable presents.

OK, the retort itself defined for the convenience of face. There, and a conjunction of gaseous substances toward the perfection of the stone, its roundness and selection made permanent by selection. No error. But felt, advancement, the core of, his connectedness, un-thrust, receipt and change, lapse outward, "to the advantage of earthly modes" or attention caught, affirmed by, the mutuality of time. Conflict and its subsequent flashes of dexterity. From numerical to numen, "voice-flesh-act", whirlpooled toward the centrifugal black, or centripetal flashes of the light.
That focus, and selection; a precise dominion for the concrete of indeterminacy, as a motion, I repeat, and no anguish, served, emotive reflection, the line through the organism, up into circuitry (convenient vocabulary), to be ignored or catalogued. That's the significance of (a) syntactical discoveries (code), and (b) the principle of the world by exclusion (focus-locus). Untranslatable epic and a myth (energy act) of character, itself an acceptance of the light vehicle. Belief incarnated by speech, for instance, uncausal though mythic: that term, its specific disorder named, his, and, the fruits of, but a pun names-out, Abraham's discourses with the light.
Priority as definition: a recognized Thus: would you falter? And artfully, too. With no breaks. And the precise acceptability of its choices. And so, to remain, where there is nothing to be gained out of rest, to advance, toward prior connection, that circulation of adverbs, in their liquidity, as a treatise on action (psychic dynamism?), any term co-acts toward determination. Untranslatable out of repetition, toward the receptive (locus of paradoxical fix rupture), on a line, for instance, unsheltered, "a fragment of the poetic", or "how it was done". A reminder about one's duty to wrestle, they say, to come face to face with that very horror of recollection, SNAP!

Immediacies of reception coagulate out, the direst of crises, of a continuum for visual neglect, always, it is many "things" and one, that which is taking place (pres. subj.), to offer it up out of one's self to one's self of hierarchies for the expected approval of cause. Which constitutes a primary enactment, a record, so-called; yes, it passed quickly, from the very outermost edges of nascence, shuddering through, "the sudden" of thunder (through the blood-earth-of-ears), in through the logical center, upsetting all possibles and re-designing the whole which is already perfect. Now that means "lets achieve the next quatrain". He walks across the nomadic desert. One-two, one-two, out into the open air. Ah! An insinuation.


Perfect advent of the machine: relations to consciousness and preference, in notions of intimacy, for instance, the copulative of eye and ear, in resonance altered, with forward motion insistence, beyond the precise scale. Psychodynamically, all that I suspect of "other" is true of self. Center direction of energy rotation, distraction of control, or direct (present) deflection of inner causality. Ad-formality of inerts / voice coughing through wall / through intentions to plasticity. "Kick it through." I am the sum of my suspicions. Direct intent of sensorial activity to pace self toward solemnity of concrete centralization of process. He waves his arms feebly. I am the sum of my deceptions. Focused on the utter responsibility of my mechanizations of self, the disguises of habit, directed by (dream figure), intentionality of reversal motif (eg., "backward flowing motion") of removal from the very processes of "the question) (who am I) in its acquisition of, for instance, sheer weight (twelve pounds) in the scheme of "mental events". The point being, in a seriality of acts, of constant removal from the confidence of the accuracy of the image. Aha, it is just that, that I am, and stepping away from that, to look?, or to see. But removal as if through the summary of the containment, one chooses (so he does) to reverse or open or enlarge, to alter the totality of the definition. Thus, the possibility, in terms of recognition, of redundancy. As against all theories of non-repetition. The activity gains in momentum, without possibility of control, in devotion to the perpetuity of the very image. No reflection. The photograph has vanished! Thus, image and sequence contain the necessity and mood of transformation ("moving across"). The eye glitters hopefully, spilling through the intensity of true speech, toward a familiar. No category in the known. He steps awkwardly into the mud, or shields his face from the falling rain. Affirmation consciousness resolving toward the memory of the dream. Contact with "a" present and identification of the dream-figure (energy category of containment named, in naming) and hostility toward preservation of the eternal pseudo-present of the dream state. No memory, flashing of light, broken through habit, the carrier of weights, though rhythmic and graceful pulsations of activity, resolved as "practice" in no memory acted, but done out of hand, as a material act. Thus, constant interplay of necessary removal, stepping away to the rim to encompass the whole of what was. Which is to say, in the depth of pronouns, who, exactly, remembers in the midst of new pulsations. Cloud emerging from sky, first named, and the air after, but wind-flux. His intentions to record. Or a specific invisibility, moving through what was not mentioned, accounted for in omission, but descriptive, as though the friends were co-optive, like the intimidation of synapses, exhaustion (temporal) of channels, through successions of registration in a mutuality of demands, as if all loci were diminished by their functions. The demand, out of continuity, is that it should fail to new in;formation, as the shape of the cloud does not change in its process of dissolution, where the successions of definition (time) reflect only a stasis undefined anywhere in their registry. An ultimate quantity of disappearance, where feeling locates a flux of visibilities, as the eyes out-focus each other in their pin-point contact with "objects".

The perfect stone, or fulfilled circle, rests, encased, within the egg of consciousness. The plasticity of means, or flux, resolves toward a hardness and inflexibility of ultimate focus. There! (again, in no mood toward its own morning, the personal stone plunged within an ocean of feeling. Its success and emanation unknown, warped as the child in the bottle. Un-illustrative. A refusal to "image": (verb). Syntax (a-culturally) designates verb to elapse seclusion and content. The stone submits to its reflection in the past of events, though it remains a stone, even when "illustrated" by technique. Minute shift, handled. He passes evocations of nightfall.

He squeezed the stone until it dripped water, the giant's act, that. Passing from night into morning (resurrection of the hero), or from the transition of event into stone, transmutation of stone into blood (blood-stone), where the ear rushes with familiarity ("It is my voice!") and beyond the simplicity of fragments cast. No moon but in time, where day resolves its purity through memory to purpose. Where he is. And that past a constant reminder of naming and the plan of action, at least, to identify the ally. That this, here, is that of which it speaks, for continuity and discord, where they cohere in the recognition (reflection) of "memory".

Thus, one's body, the universe, spread loosely before one, centered upon the stone of light, leaking from all orifices, draining from the nose into the lungs, light bursting staccato (serial repetitions of word) past the flatness of walls (coughing) or habit registered as a repetition of light, for examination (by "whom") in a control of excuses (for the personal static). Surely he is doing what he must, this robot inhabitor. When the sun does burst up over the edge of the mountain, the plan of the camera eludes, un-coordinates, the settings are revised toward greater inclusion.

No error in the names of things, their proper identity possessed ("Scotch Tape"). The informalities of escape (through the shape of things), where he is what he says, a locus of temporalities, until the legitimacy of the fears present themselves to the utter hostility of the dragon in the landscape. Not yet has the retort contained its fusion. Now the ring of fire solidifies toward the casting of the stone, the perfect stone, only touch it, and find its round-ness and smoothness very much like the earth itself. I mean by that, I mean by that. Nowhere the same knocking at the door. Coded.

Through the co-optive act, vision made visible, an act of the senses precedes the model. The configuration of the model lapses into energy and the necessity for ultimate removal toward light, that which "passes through" the literal. Its name is locus. The weight of energies, and other procedural difficulties located in"a theory of evaporation". Patterned arrangement of successive nulls, as a translation of literacies takes on the shape of information conveyed. Successive nerve-firings, attention shift. Finally, a drift of white noises through the barrier of white forms, where light reflects light, that pool of memory.


The activity itself, the act, even, in its relation to pleasure, the unfolding of being and the perceptible field, through the "sudden" (cf. Binswanger), through to the open. The feminine of consciousness enacted by the male of sequential acts, opened to the child, yielded, that it, the child contained within a ring of fire, hermetic child in the retort. The sphere or stone, reduced in a fire of feeling, rising out of the "waters of consciousness". The activity itself. The double figure, in conversation, or "who's watching who". Rosary of singular tempers, a temporal figure suspended in space, which surrounds the image in its definitions.
That figure, lapsed through the event. Nothing has transpired. Locus of repetition, the evocations of planar saturation, evened out by consequence, an occasion for speech, meeting halfway, where the act is, taken. A reproduction, then, and continuity of feeling toward pleasure, curiosity roused from its death sleep by the intuitive, thrust outward through the indeterminate field of events to cause, or the object. Fixed object waning across attention, attention's relaxation on itself toward flight, the "image" of flight, or an act of flight, trans-moval of terms, to terminal and out, scatter of possibles to actual, and fix! Set! Then lapse out.

Attention's wane, and flux, move to re-set, the descriptive of self, then, of act to set, consciousness as an illusion, to warp or move to new set, there stabilize, utterances of intent, the figure is set within its composition, an intrusion in the light. The whole, however, is emanation of "the imaginative", where the larger figure encompasses the intent of the lesser. Denial of act. Re-set, repeat. The larger figure (the medium, the very thing itself) co-acts with the intent of the observed, its will-to-be, thus caused by notice. Clarity of recognition and selectivity of viewpoint, to distinguish energy by its absence of form.
Moment as container of questions, or a theory of information, the cause of (or "a") future by increase of attention's pace beyond the metabolic. Assertion of information and wash of pace out to "image" and back. All information contained in every repetition; nerve function toward definition of removal (eg., the contradictory present, or the shadow figure). "Sentient beings" prescribed as information, as "I am that". Life in death and death in life would describe a flux of the momentary (or, sudden) out of phase through interstices of notice (the field of detail) to object, as that which replaces attention's fix, like a sudden noise interrupting
the continuity of recording mechanisms. Clear in that, though, here, not keeping records, but exhausting assumptions of the personal and continual functioning of voice (eg., duration manifest in language) or the lapsed-out fringe of poetic disturbance, the locale of attention diminished by its statement, or, having "nothing to say", all caught up. Static. And then repeated. Playing out the reservoir, arriving at the edge of the desert, all contact avoided. Hot sun of remonstrance. The effect of writing, the effect, the very act itself, the copulative of attention and consciousness toward the object, the thing itself exploded, laid over its composition as "that" or "that", merely, simply, a record of motion. A chemical discharge. The uses of anomaly, toward a present re-calculation of opposites, a-causal, non-temporal, the quality of insistence or impatience recedes toward the personal familiar. I mean by this. . .this journal. . .no effect. Swearing in public, for instance, is serious. Retrieval of light, the reversal, this act, contained, as, flight to arrow, no objects in consciousness but self, the notions of emptiness and regard, no calculation but, don't stop, and hanging on, like the distance to shore, or specialization, which is this, that I am all I think about, and what I think about is that I am more than I think I am.

The allowable, in those circumstances, is concrete. He resolves to act. The girl smiled, both. Plans, erotic. The ease of the moon's situation, how it rests in the clouds above the mercury-vapor lights. Academic disregard, the people moaning, but expansion and registration, twin locations of act and feeling, where they co-act, release of light toward the plane of the shadow, his life, there, thrust, sudden, as, we say, as, the metaphor of metaphor, or the mirror of mirror; but fluxed or directed, into the ear, paced out like words and clauses. Any notion will do, but "as", the thing itself, and out to release. Then!

To constitute that thing, or to act the dream in its sudden-ness. Which is like reading the newspaper. "Repetition is the teacher." And specific content there, not an imitation of possession but the possession brought about by repetition, imitation, and reflection, his eyes out to the bottom. What is sure, the sequence itself, or its sensation, is the door out, open it, go through, "I am out the door". Crossing, transition from active to active, on a constant plane of action where nothing takes place and nothing is achieved, where the visual flips upward, that plasticity of information, that we are malleable, imperative as it sounds, is not the whole thing.
By which is meant, this room, where it is, and use to its mention, and going through the specific pattern of process, if only to empty and discover the container (that it is empty) and revise its specificity (fill it up), to potentialize. there-in, the relapse to being, death in life, or the locus of the event, being, genuinely outer, walking on the surface of my shoes, the innersole, or "the space between words). Has the distinctness of patience, waiting until it is once again proper, or reading as one wishes to. Reflect that! He sneezes. Remind one's self of its encompassment. The laxness of one's visible neighbors. What is contact like?

Contact and pleasure, out of curiosity, away from the curious, they say, and overt, but meeting and speaking and slowly, too, to one whom one wishes to speak with, the copulative of acts, the thing coming into itself, to remind, to activate, to cause existence, the pleasure in that of the one in its reflection, combination of intentions, self-in-self. Dimension, that it should be palpable, and vision, that it should include feeling, or the visual of contact, where I blind out, where the flux of objects is obliterated (death-in-life) even by notice itself. Inversion of senses relates object to object. That the above is important enough to repeat, cause there


Initial, causal connectedness of various parallel continuities, between recognition and the consonance of variation in structure. Formal extension of form onto the material of process-in-movement, or motion on motion, like riding and being ridden: separate antagonisms of connection regenerate onto field and space. No refusal administered within contexts of ordering, the path of awaitment and postponement: how resolution enlarges the total container and consequent zones of information: eg., how much can be contained by each vertical enacting, is to say, how large will the tree grow before the head pops out at the top, or to say it the other way around, solidly.
Final vivifying powers of memory-image. Collection of energy from past recollections, or the body walking temporarily in advance of its conceptioning of its activity. Causal image, atonement of past-ness and alignment into temporality of event, locus and cause as simultaneous, that is, of any and all, since history (the one eliciting the many in its constituency to itself), but moved, by the connectedness and continuity of its stasis. To have "come into" the zone of cause or presence, via memory, released from the impulsions of the future. Thus: image or imagination of the energy in advance of the walking body, hurrying to catch up, or cause enactment of what has already happened in the conceptioning.

From initial conceptioning of the momentary, of what has already happened (eg., composition) through to the functional event of calculation, or that is, reflection, the light reminded to its outer place, thrown from the center to the outward. Static projection from the self or the one onto the metaphoric world-screen. Diagonal manifestation of sensory mechanisms toward metaphoric balance. Which is to locate between the descriptive and the causal as precisely that which cannot be described, to discover that at best it can be defined, described, located, caused, used, lived, acted, known, and all with no loss or gain to the species of one's self.

The threat of the future, then, in event-terms, would lie in its refusal (assured even by its definition) to become present. Or the ignorance with which one's transformation (flesh become act) from stasis to vertical present-ness into impulsion or future-ness, to move from where one was, in the simultaneity of known pasts and interruptions, of the cause itself of movement, energy and light. That such formal declaration (the arousal to shape, for instance) would posit an interruption of thought's continuity all for the sake of some slight recognition ("roundness!") would engender the contradictory of energy, that its interruption involves a destruction of the universe out of which motion is generated. Very much touch-and-go.

Therefore, that such games of contact as walking or running should become forms of perception is problematic in terms of the specific contradictory information contained by the construction of such "games". That is, the thing itself resists the visual, and the visual resists its causes. Inherent movement loses sway in the penetrations of the event, though dark light emanates from all corners of all space. "It" is filled and bursting, as touch eliminates the cause of sensation in its very interruptions. Loss and forward cause designed by the motion of the picture, the page flipping over from front to back, the image of self residing on its flats and rounds, as the days and nights cross confusedly.

The screen of the surface yields to the space beneath it. The solid complexity of particles and the notion thereof, that that is what one is perceiving, the screen, or the veil, lessens the tension of the object. Object in relation to surface, the iceberg, or the frozen moment. Ballast of unmoving objects, where consciousness releases itself to its upward impossible float or flight, the message is not delivered, the message completes its circuit before perception, of such balance is nothing made, is nothing caused, there is truly nothing emanating from that which is finished, particular or singular. All motive rests in contact and reflection, as cause emanates like light from darkness.

As in "no thing massed to itself", or touched in pleasure thereby from its isolations and fragments, no motion but in arrestation, process incomplete before destruction, but touched and caused to please in doing and being: that is response. Some quantity of the unknown which elicits definition from the flat plane of remembrance. Locus of destruction paralleled by the particulars of isolation. One, two, three; the colors orange, blue, red; and roundness, flatness, diameter--all result to emptiness. The field of inquiry retains its initial flavor (the question!) in the successions of data and pattern. Any reduction to form is efficient in terms of future-cause, though the initial working through of information leaves the object of inquiry unchanged. Such explosions of light!

That is, the final decision to resist defining the topic under hand is not one which is easily risked. One does so on the assumption that the yield of information (motive) is increased. The fallacy lies in reflection's cause, light itself. The fallacy of fallacy declares nothingness in its fullness to redirect process, to invert motion to its apogee, of a final curve toward the bottom of events, the crossing. The business of the crossing, or the leap, is no simple calculation. From initial collation through to the finality of the new, the progress is uneven and repetitious, and the assurance is ever that the familiar will suffer from redundancy, will be diminished. One is ready, then. finally, it is no distance at all, no fathoming of impossible depths, or stretching to incredible height. Crossing is finally the connection of movements into form-clusters.

Which has the elasticity of the event perfectly close. He looks up closely. He moves across the room to the door. there is every transition in that decision, there is every information in his resistance. The ultimate explosion is displaced by that slight quiver of the nerves. Description lags, the light runs dim, the winds howl, air sucks out, running blood-rivers storm and sag. The incessant chatter of nervousness ceases. The image collapses to contact and thus, the reversal of containment occurs, object and subject in circuit, as vibration, alternation, eclipse, or word occurs. Utterance is consistent with that, the image lies flat on the wall, bends around the corner, but is seen, again, turning from color to solid memory, penetrating down into the mud.

Final sensations of selection and choice, as personal energies coalesce to cluster and pattern. The instantaneous is stretched along thin fibers. Such organizations remind and refer. The only finality worth considering has already occurred. As light contains its energy, so too the body reclaims its form in movement, and only there. Such a touch is unfamiliar, is new, is derived from plans and acts. Whatever occurs is as a result of that thought, that the new is only that and little else. A cluster of energies toward self and through the containment of arousal to diagonals and centers. Which is not yet life. To cross is not to achieve life. To emanate is not to achieve life. To be continuous, to interrupt continuousness, is to indicate life's possible set and determination.


Ultimate possibility, the ground of reference, at least, has the image of itself foreshadowed in its change, back at the moment of conceptioning, further declarations regarding the eruption of the idea where it phases out into the recognizable and admissable. Overt circumstances of disregard, the registry of the outer, where consequence enlarges detail, as though the screen were perforated with the familiarities of sensation. What holds? The resistance of the possible enumerates all that precedes, scales it against the hoods of containment. The initial thrust to new information holds on, like remembered pleasure, the functioning of abstraction, where the visual shifts.

No delays. The thrust to the possible is a grasp of the familiar in act, is thrust to in its essentiality, the possible reminds through the intercessions of thought that some record is maintainable. No new information anywhere. The calculations responsible for pleasure are impossible, are, in fact, memories; only the push to the possible will suffice, no new names in the present, scatterings of evening, where light permeates the room, when my eyes roll up, back into their sockets. Such subtle isolations as "data' emerge confused, while the specific voice, specific form and specific extraction of ;the real is beyond all doubt. It is present. Any relapse to form is undiscoverable beyond the image. What persists through the energies of the numerical sequence.

Or is the same voice uttering the same paternity? Whose shadows fall across the ground, as memory enfolds act in the calculations of its responses. There are no voices present at one's solitude, there are no sequences imaginable beyond the initial bursting and flowering of registry, what initiates into cause as perceived response, then, as pleasure in the possible and actual. The touch outward reminds of no stasis, the clocks and empty pockets relate syntactically, as this very act completes to cessation. Energy transfer to down-locus, where perceiver and cause move into static configuration, it is shape and smell. Thereafter, to touch energy, which is the intersection of moments of which we are now speaking.

That close relation, for focus and event, to move across stillness, suddenly, to shift the ground between the categories of the idea itself, as it is idea and light simultaneously, and to respond to that balance, to revive the tensions of the simultaneous as moment-event and as act-event, where the solid and unfactorable datum are consequential to the process enacted, as memory (again) enacts punctuations of the total vocabulary; there, where the factual resides, in the midst of the perceived sequence, where it holds longest and with utmost penetration, to succeed at the period of residence, to rely on the factual as cause, to respond to the sequence as an immediacy, to re-create the movement as explicitness, toward the specific alternation described, from no possible reduced but extent.

The factors resolved turn away from decision toward the image, toward contact. The memorized code of breakthrough, transition in situ, as capable act and quantity, what was remembered out of monologue, consisting of wholly inseparable syntactical units, arranged in a circular and residual ebb of responsiveness, that quantity restores rhetoric, for instance, to its initial position (as a functional and athletic quality of mind) in the hierarchies of the sequence: to be related to the processes of one's questioning in a way to be able to respond to the pressures to formulate a further sequence of postulates before any decision has been made regarding the initial question. That accumulates.

The datum emerge coalescent, crested slightly from all reminders to taset(????). What overt quality resists; even repetition has in it a quality of remonstrance or muscular elasticity. Rebound. Un-bound, as acts are, re-constituted as events are by the on-going physical elasticity of the motions upward, there thought has its halt and the image blazes forth with a sudden interjection, into some twilight, like a casting loose or like a universe disestablished from voice: the parameter is specific, too. Which casts forth, suddenly, like a chain of reversals, where one casts suddenly outward and catches, catches most surely into what will receive, as a net of circumstances welcomes the real.

No omissions to thought, in its commensurate continuity: the specificity of the process is un-negotiable and unchosen, like our notion of vocation. Its suddenness and exclamations for release and recognition are undiminished by relapses to former questions. The step backward has the function of perseverance, is the locus of desirability (as a word), in what is reminded out of the whole toward its constituency. So the drive toward the illuminated center, via the forms of the possible, lays out a plan of action or a sequence of responses which is likely to induce in the subject, self in its relations, a steady progress toward the object, all circumstances resolve toward it. But which perfection? That resists, as it should.

But which perfection? That resists, as it should. The quantity, here, would indicate me as pursuer and combatant (willingly) in, beyond, through the variations of the event toward a declamation (noise) which allows certain work to take place. At the outset, the initial inquiry is served only by the desire for speech-actual behavior, that contact through the minimals of vision should embrace and collect sensation toward a word or definition of the energies as would constitute an explosion from the metabolic sets and rhythms outward, toward some manifestations directed (intended) beyond the set of the act, that thrust toward completion and beginning precedes the feeling of transport.

Then, from the initial, where it resides in a potency of acts toward the idea and the object, which is self and image in co-relation to their processes. That's explicit. Transitions through any time-logic serve to accumulate information as well as energy to the specific of the set which is "that which is loved". The behavior and inclusive relations appropriate to love as conjunction-of-opposites, then, involves the mystery of inhabitation and the specifics of possession, as subject and object enter in to phase relations from without, toward a clarity of transformation, the information does include that in its definition of itself.

The ultimate possible, reconstituted in act and form, toward movement intended. The will-to-form, as a consequence of all that precedes and follows, initiates the resonances and fullness of space, or the solid geometry of thought. Throughout, the assumption to character (being and purpose in pleasurable act-event) is assumed to be motive, cause, and locus of the final event. Recognition of cause and inclusion in the act of love, as conjunctional imagery, then, where it speaks of units and allegories. Postulations revolving around what is shared in the spoken and admitted. A calculation precise to the possible. Reflection of the image locates the observer in his specific, actual perception-sequence.


Confrontation of the essence, in seeing, in completing the circuit between act, seeing, and object, where emanation goes out to the flat, to perceive, possess to thrust attention forward into its claim of time and movement. Residual remains are what concern us, how to move, finally, out of the static horror into quest, as, to look in for a drift of the possible, to get beyond "the lighted", one, to, into, spheres of remainder. Who she is. Just that, silently. Not exactly in location, nor toward precision aimed: neither in origin nor completion nor the reservoir, but out of or away from the meaning. Potential to describe, act: impulse.

The categories of behavior involved in transformative behavior, in a relocation of the sensual into its domain, upward into the sphere of storage and potential. An actual future of growth into states of potentiality would characterize the quest. Ready to complete the image's desire to be seen, rather, from the outward into its peripheral circulations, how energy enters in order to pose the questions of action and pace, how prior cause manifests a disuse of the body only long enough for memory to kick it loose from its polarity with "the instant", neither to look nor to see, but always toward a familiar, a learning. Residual. Or dirt from the ground, a separation into capacity and movement. How the image moves, and toward what, and with whose steps aligned, "now I am passing the building", step, step.

Which is not entirely a muscular memory, but action encased in its potential for contact. That she is bold, or would be, doesn't pass un-noticed, perhaps it is only for power that she moves, and i neither unwilling nor static, but in my self recognized as the cause and subject of her moves. Nor is it entirely to possess that we look at each other, but to have either the grace or the abstraction necessary to perceive. Those distractions necessary to the preliminaries: shifting through eons of sea-water, running up the hill toward, where, some-place un-described would do. It is no assignation but a drift toward the sun, the energies latent in seeing and location, moving it in through the mouth, this hot sun of imagery, and down through layers of gaseous stasis into the perspective of a solid center. Solid and possessive, one's perseverance toward the image itself.

As it leaves us weak from definition, exhausted, a beginning of the bottom makes slight evocations of sound. What impulses remain of observation are clouded. There! That very clouding responds to something not so very ineluctable as "cloudiness", it is its very quality of restraint which allows a record to be made at all: we drive on together, past all that remains of what we saw. The wind has its place inside us and we make that notice too; as any passage ((through)) is marked and littered with the simplicities of our perceptions (poems), we come onto the objects themselves, focus down, in order to get solid and set, the ground, there, to expose, mark or remain constant. There are no others, here, and the alone-ness of speech becomes apparent. It is residual, this leaving.

But to have it at that, there, is unsatisfactory, is not motion, but is that which has moved, as un-recalled, has moved. These impulses to communication are resistant, but they are also funded, drawn out of a whole, as we draw or direct ourselves into act and event, as we conjoin there through what is potential to presence, relief from pressure. Slightly: however, the task is unmoved, even by its acknowledgement. Let's say that it is quest and not entirely "hero". What of that? Where it moves into situation, the relation becomes somewhat more clear, though the final definition of the act is never made. It is only "act" and "event" at this location. And then gone, like that, as we draw along, into the center of consideration as we know it. Form emerges from all directions. Primarily felt.

It could be that it is what precedes form that gives the very form its life. "Calm is the innate and the undifferentiated..." (Hevajira-tantra). "The object has entered the picture..." (Aaron Siskind). Some shades of light form the whole. Whatever anticipation preceded introspection, it is lapsed entirely in the matter of making. Universe is whole and one, the pronoun of ascription. Such dogmatisms as persist through event only come to attention to destroy the disorder of belief: that is, experiencing and the thing itself, as cause, are united in a moment of decisiveness, everything falls away; vertigo, but any illusion to world, here, is unfelt, unsaid. World and seeing cohabit in the celebration of interruption inherent in any attention, and what passes for rest or pause is only the dark passage to the new, while the sun rests underground, solidly at the center of the fantasy.
But that would do with some explication, there, how the matter resists out of climax to passage, before memory and consciousness, and persists over from peak to peak, no matter how widely spread. It is at the heart of the personal sequence to have matter and energy come into each other, as event. And it is not simply "transcendence", but an arising. Those particulars attached to the notion of potential (eg., future, object, possession) are not only psychological disturbances, arrestations of the metabolic pace-field, but are also incursions of the illusion into consciousness. To say that consciousness in its abstractions is capable of illusions is problematical, though the folding back of flesh upon flesh would be a more familiar term, where it not for the interference, here, of the puritanical dislocation of the term, pleasure.
For it is there, in what pleases and in our notion of arising, that the conjunction occurs. Once the boundaries are sealed off (into act, for instance) and some heat or light or energy is applied, there is no direction for force to equivocate but upwards. In ;making the solid thing out of no thing, there is nowhere for potential to flow but up. Pressure toward a center in spherical notions of delivery, of course, but the final burst is up and out. From the earth cast upwards, shooting or bursting. No, no explosions, but the steady concentration of undefined and improbable cause on the matter at hand. Thus, release and pleasure are conjoined by the emergence of the image from an earth of substance, or works. The final resolutions of data are clear.

Final abstractions resume any totality into the whole within the whole, or the fallacy of fallacy, on the obverse. A single point of reference for the tangential: any word will do to kick it loose, since one re-experiences the sequence of events up to its cessation. However, when there is none, no conclusion of directness, then motion, too, ceases. At the center, there is no center. Where one is, is one and not to the left nor to the right. One is on one's location as event, one is event (noun, one, here) beyond the passage and "the learning". A final category of image remains, from the energies of act released (upward) into a not-so-vaporous atmosphere. The identity of the act and the imagery of the event bear some distinction from each other. She is new and has her name in repetition.
Insignificant measures persist, like stars set away from the entirety of the night sky, clusters and pinpricks of sensation within the empty blankness of the consciousness of space or the void. A void of acts has some quality to be restrained. Selfishly, we persist through to end, while primarily we persist through to the beginning. So a translation of events or qualities would ground us in our material even further. Far from repeating the visibility of the known (which we can't recall, even), we struggle at the recovery of the illusion, though it becomes increasingly impossible. It is my act, and out of habit, no habit possible here, where there are no units or measures. that would posit a theory of absorption for us, an acceptance of the tolerances and limitations which arise from prior stations, and for good reason.

An ultimate resolution would have us completing the circuit of reflection, in an acknowledgement that she is me. In her imagery, there is some trading, and what the mask reveals, upon removal, is that I am her, too, in a complexity of understatements, as there are no longer any distinctions to be made, and that is what is created out of the potential to acts. No resolution possible where none is required. Gradual elongation of the shadow. The shadow aligns the void into its consistent emptinesses. Longer durations meld into stretches of no-time, where spaces enfold and collapse like air moving inside air. It is motion toward the stone-like center as well as the centripetal flash outward into another void of air and darkness. What is born, however, persists through these registrations.


The conclusion of the event is its transit outward, where a screen opens through to its image of the actual. The response to image is one's containment in the earth, as male penetrates to the center of consciousness in the female of consciousness itself. All loci reverberate to the music of that final movement, where cause is fixed in the act of seeing and naming what is seen as true and real. Matters of detail and surface are seen as dimensions of the act. For the hexagram Army, the waters push upward through the open center of the earth. Generosity (of purpose) and the intentional of order, in the matter of motive and choice, I would think, are impressed as causes of action. Still, the structure of music allows movement in its claim for sensuality.

So we have ear as Aphrodite's removal and Eros's freedom, his act to rescue Psyche from her curiosity-induced sleep, her ultimate failure, and all the topics which lead us to her child, Pleasure; ear as source of entry for eye's work. The parallel interrupted by the arrow of sound. So "...reflections/in the current/move the stillness of nite/past the beams/of the moon"; we are defined by penetration, the incoming of light emanated back upon world to give it its dimension, though we hear its cause in us, too, centered between the organs of reception. How we act is past conjecture, that we are is undeniably experienced. And that earth-universe is feminine.

The properties of the vegetative and male domain of the I ching remain to be defined in their relation to what becomes in most mysticism as the feminine of consciousness. Eg., Rumi's "...He makes knowing and world-beholding one blind from his mother's womb." In our priority wherein act precedes reflection, the true function of the senses in relation to our category of male and female yielding to the priority of the child, we are obliged to allow our registration of what at first seems to be outward. The preponderance of "evidencing" as a behavior mold us properly in our directions toward a legitimized real, made so by our terms and acceptances, but that is our spirit of allowance.

Any hesitation preceding conclusion or the contact of connection (with the other side) is seen only to give rise to the associations and permutations of the duals of fantasy and memory, eg., "medium". So we are finally at response and the feminine; out of the containment of being, the condition of earth-ness, do we ascribe to our future, as person and myth-of-person, image of self in one-ness. That that arising is continuous with the arising of thought into consciousness, and sound's liberty through the ear, as metabolic as the susurations of breath, is defined in sequence by our rhythms of conjunction and contrast. The view is cleared upon contact or touch. That is memory's reminder, as we penetrate the folds of the dream to its core.
Synoptic consciousness, or the visual editorial, serves interruption's cause, as inertia yields to stasis, even. There, the state of the worldly has its movement, too, in what is seen. Though we are reminded that in its totality, what we are and seem to be is persuaded by the sum of our total observation. We are what we see, as what is seen becomes us, though we move to image out of our constituency in process, as we have it before us, at our inclusion in it. Act has it on, onto what is known, as one impulse carries before it its causes and data, we still touch. That is the isolated view, polar to all indications to the contrary. What has meaning is our syntax of acquisition, reflection, and generation.

That some union is understood to precede generation, in the self and its processes, can be evidenced in the sequence of events and the work. Contrasting modes serve to illustrate this, as our knowledge of them as puzzle and form. We concede. Affirmations of the negative complete the circuit, a wholeness, or image. Being seen through, at least "ghosts seen as vaporous substances", reminds us of our tendency toward the solid thing. A drift of attention onto the form of form, as books of objets d'art permit. How words inhabit the mind, then, or how sequence and syntax conjoin, perhaps those are the generalities. The safety of presence warps to its sacred priorities.

At least, we see certain locales as holy, and seek them out continually. A penetration by what is palpable as well as probable. Whose identification is this? The other memories, eg., study, remind by appearance and imitation our facsimiles. That doubling of the solid, seeing "through" the window to the clouds beyond, overlaid by shadow, has us laid into the movement of the river, cast, adrift and leaning forward. "...The mind can respond to objects as events in time", (Bullock), like, when did you see it? "The beat, or the pulsation of life-death-life-death is Aleph's projection in its temporal continuity." (Suares) But the beats are fantastic, fluctuating and rhythmic.

Tension indicates another property, where the universe is ultimately walled in. But we have that, too, before us constantly, and batter on it as something sucks vacuously from its seed-center of solidity. Centripetal and centrifugal, at the same time, our universe is vortexed from either side, just as the purely centrifugal (of acrophobia) is served visually by our tendency to follow along with something in mind. I mean, about the artist, we have what he said and what he did both as cultural artifacts, motifs for inclusion in our own sequence of what is total. And that's not obscure, we have it before us as soon as it occurs to consideration. Nouns, always, at the edges of vision. "I will name anything."

And no afterthoughts. We come to the other side and stand up without hesitation, there, it is before us, just as we thought it would be. "...O my collapsed brother,/the body/does bring us/down/the images/have to be/contradicted/the metamorphoses/are to be/undone/the stick,/and the ear/are to be no more than/they are..." (Olson, The death of Europe, a funeral poem for Ranier M. Gerhardt). We have finally come to what we are, as boldly as could be done. What there is in that is a confidence and an assumption about the direction of travel. The material (in all its speciousness) is ready for us. There is no hesitation anywhere, and we are instantly removed. That light is what remains is no surprise, there are no surprises anywhere in this total relief.

So a conclusion is the celebration of the witnessing of the spectacle, where we are in it, manifest. The whole, as one's remains are cast adrift for the birds, is not wholly gestural thought. To be human, in any case, is meant to include all the preceding, and not as argument. That much is clear in what is bold. "Names are magic", Whitman says. A citation of evidencual reality. We chose, to speak. And that persists, through the afternoon, beyond, to dusk, and beyond. And we have it, close, familiar, not out of despair wrought, nor any of that, but as condition and pause, as a demeanor, as registration exercise, we are in fix, on the island at the center of a storm of blood. There! That's that.

Sacramento, California, 1972


Part One

Photographic realism is an object-oriented form of visual experience. It depends on single-focus perspective, sharpness of detail, and tonal fidelity. Its greatest strength is that it records the objective world that our senses perceive. Its great weakness is that too much emphasis is placed on external physical qualities of objects. An object is actually a visual or mental concept. It has no independent physical existence. Only events exist.
Wynn Bullock

Veil them, cover them, wall them round--
Blossom, and creeper, and weed--
Let us forget the sight and the sound,
The smell and touch of the breed!

Fat black ash by the altar-stone,
Here is the white-foot rain,
And the dogs bring forth in the fields, unsown,
And none shall affright them again;
And the blind walls crumble, unknown, o'erthrown,
And none shall inhabit again!

Rudyard Kipling

When I make a photograph I want it to be an altogether new object, complete and self contained....What is the subject matter of this apparently very personal world...? What I am conscious of and what I feel is the picture I am making...and its relation to others I have experienced.
Aaron Siskind, in Aaron Siskind,
George Eastman House Monograph #2, 1965.

Between word and image, between what is depicted by language and what is uttered by plastic form, the unity begins to dissolve; a single and identical meaning is not immediately common to them.
Michel Foucault, Madness & Civilization

And as I focused, the wedding procession approached. Up the rocky lane they wound, stumbling, staggering, led by a drunken hag whirling round and round, wildly gesticulating with a pair of steer horns, lunging at the bridal couple, retreating, crazily screaming--while the orchestra blared forth barbaric music. The others waved flags or empty bottles, drowning the music with hoots and shrieks.
Edward Weston, Daybooks, Vol. I

THE BELOITS (cf. Olson)

The world is the image
the image is the world

across, a light-center,
light-caused, thus,

which acts, furthers, extends, out-from,
the light itself, emanation (of).
Where word issues from: center, lighted,
as word cause,
even as the soul escapes,
(from mind
(from body
no warp there, out of all that issues
to the world, as one & light & cause,
But from & one behind,
a retraction of number, out-of
light spilling from the eyes, forward,
night's identification back-tossed.
which journey, sea rocked, & swum,
as image & world conjoined, lapped,
& into that sea, snaked, behind
the one, snaked around, as serpent large,
and his reports, or converse, & named.
Named as light as the center, remembered,
words found from cause & light, out.
the image of the world,
the world's image.
& crossed
light as
cause & center.

as matter.

The snake behind the snake
as number, matter and world.

The galaxy, a vaporous plume of white fire, poured down the southern sky, extinguished by the black incisive spires of the forest. The stars loomed with terrifying brilliance, the darkness beyond them throbbed with unseen light. A cold wind passed between me and the remote splendor of the night, drawing sound after it through the groves of evergreen and aspen.The wordless meaning trembled on the mind's edge and passed on, while with almost hypnotic persistence, I watched the stars slowly stream over the earth. A short spell of sleep, and the white tower of dawn had reared out of the east. I walked toward the knife sharp forest with the cold burning of the morning star glinting above me. I thought, as I ploughed the dew-dampened grass, that there could be nothing so complete in its glassy splendor as the sequence of star-light and dawn-light, with the crystalline chaotic murmur of the stream, and the hollow movement of wind. There was no sentimental precedent, there was no imaginative experience with which to compare this magic actuality. My reactions spared neither my emotions nor my body; I dreamed that for a moment time stood quietly, and the vision of this actuality became but the shadow of an infinitely greater world, that I had within the grasp of consciousness a transcendental experience.

...I was climbing the long ridge west of Mount Clark. It was one of those mornings when the sunlight is burnished with a keen wind and long feathers of cloud move in a lofty sky. The silver light turned every blade of grass and every particle of sand into a luminous metallic splendor; there was nothing, however small, that did not clash in the bright wind, that did not send arrows of light through the glassy air. I was suddenly arrested in the long crunching path up the ridge by an exceedingly pointed awareness of the light. The moment I paused, the full impact of the mood was upon me; I saw more clearly than I have ever seen before or since the minute detail of the grasses, the clusters of sand shifting in the wind, the small flotsam of the forest, the motion of the high clouds streaming above the peaks. There are no words to convey the moods of those moments.
Ansel Adams, The Eloquent Light

I mean, literally, that to light that dark is to have come to whatever it is I think any of us seeks. And tropism to my mind--and actually here I do or again express an experience of, say, twenty years ago, which was to me dogmatic, when I knew there was a sun, I mean a helio inside myself, so that everything, that every other human being, and every thing in creation, was something that I could see if I could keep that experience...My feeling is a sun of being which sits in this mass of blackness, or darkness better, or eyelessness or sightlessness, and lends itself....It's simply an entrance into our own self of what our dogmatic conditions...which we inherit by being alive and acquire by seeking to be alive...And that those two things are both true from our having been at all. (Poetry and Truth)

You're simply stuck with the original visionary experience of having been you, which is a hell of a thing. And, in fact, I assume that the epigraph I've my only way of supporting that, which is: that which exists through itself is what is called meaning. (Causal Mythology)
Charles Olson

Master Lu-tsu said, that which exists through itself is called the way (tao=sinn=meaning:Wilhelm). Tao has neither name nor shape. It is the one essence ("human nature":Cary F. Baynes), the one primal spirit. Essence and life cannot be seen. They are contained in the light of heaven. The light of heaven cannot be seen. It is contained in the two eyes. The Secret of the Golden Flower
tr. Richard Wilhelm.

I'm thinking now...just contemplating on...the ground out of which stories come. Stories have people in them, who do or say or think things, but every story has a teller, too, who one supposes must survive his story and so he was there too before the telling began, isn't that right? Before the telling, after the telling...WHO is there? We don't know him. He doesn't know himself, if he doesn't make up some story. Actually all he has to do, or can do, is begin. Initiate. Move...against his self absence. And then it goes itself, no? there are things, people, ideas, feelings, whatever...there is some eventuating. Inside the eventuating, there's no beginning, no end, is there? It goes on. But there is some character, some special style of going on, some particular melody or rhythm, a characteristic reverberation, according to how one began, the initial movement...but one can't ever remember that, because the story's going on. If one remembers before the story, there's no story, is there? If there's no story, another story begins. Is it any different? Who could compare initial movements of himself? If he isn't there for himself before he moves? So he has to give up something, but he never knows just what to give up just at the right time. If he's moved, it's too late, isn't it, to give up rest, emptiness, absence? That has to come, even though there's movement onwards, there's that backwards recall. And when there's nothing, it's still and dark, so suddenly, it's just a bit too late to give up becoming something, having some feeling or thought, some movement...towards being. So it's the same thing really, isn't that so, all...towards being. so it's the same thing really, isn't that so, all the time, whether there's story or no story, whether there's moving or no moving, or for that matter this kind of moving or that kind of's not different. But WHO?...Who can pay that attention? Whatever kind of movement comes or goes, who/s watching without blinking? Who is It? We could say, no one. No one. Not a one.

How do ;you feel about that 'no one'? Is he around or not? Certainly you can't locate a no one, not for any length of time, at least, not here or there, suppose you say, everywhere? That's out of time, isn't it? Out of time, you have everywhere, you don't have it isn't practical. I mean you can't practice that kind of attention, not directly. It might happen, but you can't practice it.
But if I look at you...just because I do happen to be looking at if you were no one at all! Although you're really there, there isn't any absence, otherwise I'd be distracted, I couldn't pay that pure an attention. I can see all your expressions, the way your fingers move a little, a tiny flutter, the shadow of a frown comes and goes on your brow...I don't see these as anyone's movements apart from who sees them, just while he sees them...and you don't have to hear me speaking as if it meant some person who was here now and so some other time might be missed, I'm not trying to focus your attention that way. So you can hear my words just as sound if you like, or as silence. You can keep the same style of attention, your style of attention, before me and while me and after me, there doesn't have to be any disruption. If you move, I'm moved. Or I can be still, even though you move. And then you can see your moving, your story, in my emptiness. Even though I go on saying something, because you don't mind, and we're in this classroom story too, so it goes on too. But if the others get restless, perhaps we'll stop this special attention to each other, and we can become one attention to them, we can feel and take up their going on. We may help each other to do that, because I can't take up what I don't feel...but through you I may feel something I didn't before. I don't really have anything to do with it, you don't either. No one is here...and no one is there...and no one is all around. It's very quiet and intimate. Everything eventuates. Initiation is almost forgotten. Almost. Quite? Or not quite?
Richard Sassoon, Tales of the Faithful

Light possesses a profound psychological power because it is deeply hidden in the innermost recesses of our subconscious, and it is almost identical with our space-time experiences. Without light there is no space, no real sense of perceiving space, only psychological space which is basically black.
Wynn Bullock

Part Two

Creation! Vertiginous movement, immeasurable movement, movement that transcends all conception. In the hidden depths of movement is the secret of existence. And this movement is the custodian of all possible possibilities. Existence, projection of life, negation of existence. (Everything that exists must cease to exist.) Apparent betrayal of life. Revelation! Life-death is One. And the collision, the shock of passive resistance of the mass, the hard, the dry, the stones: Blessed resistance! Without resistance there could be no birth. This is the becoming.
Carlos Suares

Light is not color, color is not sign.
Color is not social, color is not recognition. Color
is the evidence of truth

it is a very trustworthy thing,

Color is the Fruits
or the four Rivers of Paradise

Color is reflective (the opposite of primary

Color should come from somewhere

It follows. It is (grammatically)

(3) Color is not the noun or the verb,
the subject or the action. It is
the effect. It fixes
the statement. A statement
requires it. You could not have a statement
without color. Charles Olson

Part Three

Public-private: Others.
Why you ask? It is a most public of questions, isn't it, you ask it of yrself even as one of them, the "others" / if consciousness focuses into one, always, the information is neither, then there is info and situations. either it's all private or all public (Kierkegard says the public is the dumping round of all our feelings of nothingness.) But the others is a psycho-dramatic element of the situation. They are always they. I, me, you, he, we, they, others: those are all my words, my utterances and define me and my own relation to consciousness the way I come to them. (or) Start with solipsism (all is a figment of my imagination) and put into that yr feeling about it. Then, the laws of serial change carry you through.
really, M. Ester Harding, Psychic Energy: source & transformation, Bollingen/Pantheon.

If UM hasn't it, to interlibrary loan trip. The heart of it is "What am I doing"/intersection of personal and non-personal in that. Non-personal not "social" but is "the world".

I suppose the actual behavior comes to, wants to, resembles in many ways that which the shambling bourgeois ghost acts out emptily. I mean, his feelings about community & friendliness for instance are ok, but derived from the consensus & not the center. It is not his event solely.

Part Five

It appears to us that painting appears to take in the whole field of view in the scenes represented. But it gives a false description of the view, according to the rules of the art, employing the signs that result from the incidents of the lines of vision. By this means, the higher and the lower points in the view, and those between, are preserved; and some objects seem to appear in the foreground, and others in the background, and others to appear in some other way, on the smooth level surface. So also philosophers copy the truth, after the manner of painting.
Clement of Alexandria

The Apocalyptic Angel

...That ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is BREADTH and LENGTH and DEPTH and HEIGHT.
The Apostle Paul

What shall we see?
P.E. Ouspensky, Tertium Organum

That life is always new. It has therefore neither past nor future. It is not dependent on time or space. It is not "conscious" in the sense we give to that word, because consciousness implies memory. Therefore it is not we who resurrect, but life impersonal. And because our thought is always a process of continuity in duration, that resurrection is nothing that we can "think".
Carlos Suares, The Cipher of Genesis

My feeling of four dimensional space-time came directly from my contact with objects I photographed. When I first became a photographer, I photographed with only a conscious awareness of objects and their physical qualities, plus an academic awareness of how to compose objects within the format of my print. It never occurred to me that objects had their own real time, and that space was fullness, ranging physically from solid objects to invisible air and light. In short, I never thought too seriously of either. Only when I became dissatisfied with object seeing and photographing did I seek an escape. My search led me to a greater awareness that all objects were events constantly changing on sub-microscopic, microscopic and macroscopic levels in time and space. This included everything. My entire viewpoint gradually changed as did my pictures. For myself, I needed no definition to make me aware of four dimensional space-time events; I feel them.
Wynn Bullock

Part Six

Pornography does not mean itself; it is not linear, romantic, cumulative, but a form of winding tapestry; zonal, repetitive, a path of flavors through identicals, a journey which ends in its sleepy beginnings, with no sleep in between. Pornography reveals what was hidden; then we realize it was not that that was hidden, but something else. Pornography attempts to shock us, shock us sexually, but the one thing that would truly shock us is further obscured by the text.
Pornography is a tightly-wound text, a textual key to itself. It is at once a form of divination and masturbation: a person telling his own fortune stumbles on the sexuality of the Queen of Pentacles; she excites him; he leaves the ontology of the fortune and comes in her image.

Pornography is total, a world lying beneath this one like an Ice Age. The woman is in trees, in sea-water, in birds, and dead birds; her odor pours from every cottage and farm. The seeker knows what it is in his cells he must feel; he weighs every sensation in the world against this feeling; he will lock himself in a trunk if the right cells begin to tremble.

...Pornography belongs to the imagist poets and painters (Byron, Delacroix). Each of them sought to reveal the natural world as his own delicious image, his own specific intensity of perception. They made their bowls of fruit, their odalisques, fatally desireable; this was to be their most personal vision, this least personal by-product; this was entice others into their darkest soul.
Richard Grossinger

The idea of the "Genius" comes originally from early Roman times, when it means the personal protecting spirit, of man, as opposed to woman, where it is called "Juno" and corresponds to the Egyptian "Ka" and Greek "daimon". Without discussing this notion of a psychical double of man, which is represented in different forms in the different doctrines of the soul, let us note here that the Roman Genius, in keeping with the cultural idea of Rome which was built up on the right of the father, acquired the literal meaning of "begetter". But (W.) Otto is right in maintaining that the current explanation of Genius as a deified incarnation of masculine reproductive power does not fully explain the idea. Thus, Genius is also the god of one's birthday--and Otto concluded that the idea contains as well the notion of begetting, that of the descent also and indeed that of the continuity of all life. It is hard to see why philologists find this view so difficult, since it is precisely the stage of father-right that is characterized by the collectivizing of the personal reproductive impulse. And so the Roman idea of Genius contains from the beginning, in addition to the individual urge to reproduction, a collective element which points beyond the individual, in a way that is not true of the Egyptian Ka and the Greek daimon, both of which are purely personal. for this reason it was specially fitted to become a social conception of genius that should include both individual and collective elements. Still the artist's concept of genius is more personal than collective and thus needs a new ideology. This could no longer be a personal peculiarity of style deduced from a collective idea of the soul, but had to become an aesthetic of feeling depending on consciousness of personality.
Otto Rank, Art & Artist

What is Buddha?
Mind is the Buddha, while the cessation of conceptual thought is the Way. Once you stop arousing concepts and thinking in terms of existence and non-existence, long and short, other and self, active and passive, and such like, you will find that your Mind is intrinsically the Buddha, that the Buddha is intrinsically Mind, and that Mind resembles a void. therefore is it written that "the true Dharma-kaya resembles a void:. Seek for naught besides this, else your search must end in sorrow. Though you perform the six paramitas for as many aeons as there are grains of sand in the Ganges, adding also all other sorts of activities for gaining Enlightenment, YOU WILL STILL FALL SHORT OF THE GOAL. Why? Because these are karma-forming activities and, when the good karma they produce has been exhausted, you will be born again in the ephemeral world. Therefore is it also written: "The Samboghkaya is not a real Buddha, nor a real teacher of the Dharma. Only come to know the nature of your own Mind, in which there is no self and no other, and you will in fact be a Buddha!
Huang Po, tr. John Blofield has in general two kinds of mentation: one kind, mentation by thought, in which words, always possessing a relative sense, are employed; and the other kind, which is proper to all animals as well as to man, which I would call "mentation by form".

The second kind of mentation, that is, "mentation by form", by which, strictly speaking, the exact sense of all writing must also be perceived, and after conscious confrontation with information already possessed, be assimilated, is formed in people in dependence upon the conditions of geographical locality, climate, time, and, in general, upon the whole environment in which the arising of the given man has proceeded and in which his existence has flowed up to manhood.

Accordingly, in the brains of people of different races and conditions and dwelling in different geographical localities, there are formed about one and the same thing or even idea, a number of quite independent forms, which, during functioning, that is to say, association, evoke in their being some sensation or other which subjectively conditions a definite picturing, and which picturing is expressed by this, that, or the other word, that serves only for its outer subjective expression.
That is why each word, for the same thing or idea,m almost always acquires for people of different geographical locality and race a very definite and entirely different so to say "inner-content".

In other words, if in the entirety of any man who has arisen and been formed in any locality, from the results of the specific local influences and impressions a certain "form" has been composed, and this form evokes in him by association the sensation of a definite "inner content", and consequently of a definite picturing or notion for the expression of which he employs one or another word, which has eventually become habitual, and as I have said, subjective to him, then the hearer of that word, in whose being, owing to different conditions of his arising and growth, there has been formed concerning the given word a form of a different "inner content", will always perceive and of course infallibly understand that same word in quite another sense.
This fact, by the way, can with attentive and impartial observation be very clearly established when one is present at an exchange of opinions between persons belonging to two different races or who arose and were formed in different geographical localities.
George Gurdjieff, All and Everything

Part Seven

Between heaven and earth there exists nothing but law and energy. The energy carries the law and the law regulates the energy. Law does not manifest itself (has no form); it is only through ;energy that the image is formed, and the image yields the number. (Image here equals idea, number is the intelligible aspect of law as embodied in the idea). If this law becomes blurred, the image is not right and the number is not clear. This reveals itself in great things and expresses itself in small things. Thus, only a man of the highest integrity can understand this law; basing himself on its revelation he can grasp the symbols, and observing its small expressions, he can understand the auguries. In this way the art of the image and number (that is, consulting the oracle) comes about by itself.
Chou I Hei-Chuan, Wang Fu-chih, 1691

Aleph, #1, is the unthinkable life-death, abstract principle of all that is and all that is not.
Bayt, #2, is the archetype of all "dwellings", of all containers: the physical support without which nothing is.
Ghimel, #3, is the organic movement of every Bayt animated by Aleph.
Dallet, #4, is physical existence, as response to life, of all that, in nature, is organically active with Ghimel. Where the structure is inorganic Dallet is its own resistance to destruction.
Hay, #5, is the archetype of universal life. When it is conferred upon Dallet, it allows it to play the game of existence, in partnership with the intermittent life-death process.
Vav, #6, expresses the fertilizing agent, that which impregnates. It is the direct result of Hay upon Dallet.
Zayn, #7, is the achievement of every vital impregnation: this number opens the field of every possible possibility.
Hhayt, #8, is the sphere of storage of all undifferentiated energy, or unstructured substance. It expresses the most unevolved state of energy, as opposed to its achieved freedom in Zayn.
Tayt, #9, as archetype of the primeval female energy, draws its life from Hhayt and builds it gradually into structures.
Such is the fundamental equation set and developed in genesis. The following nine letters, from Yod #10, to Tsadde, #90, describe the process of the nine archetypes in their factual, conditioned existence: their projections in manifestations are always multiples of 10. The nine multiples of 100 express the exalted archetypes in their cosmic states. The number 1,000 is written with an enlarged Aleph..., but is seldom used. It expresses a supreme power, a tremendous cosmic energy, all pervading, timeless, unthinkable.
Carlos Suares, Cipher of Genesis

What is a phallustrade? It is an alchemical product composed of the following elements: an autostrade, a balustrade and a certain amount of phallus. A phallustrade is a verbal collage. Collage can be defined as an alchemical composition of two or more heterogeneous elements, resulting from their unexpected reconciliation owing either to a sensitive will--by means of a love of clairvoyance--towards systematic confusion and "disorder of all the senses" (Rimbaud), or to chance, or to a will favorable to chance. chance, in the sense that Hume defined it: "The equivalent of the ignorance in which we find ourselves in relation to the real causes of events", a definition increasingly confirmed by the development of the mathematics of probability, and by the importance of this discipline in modern science and practical life; microphysics, astrophysics, agronomy, demonography, etc. Also--and this very difficult aspect of chance has been neglected by the seekers of "laws of chance"--chance is master of humor, and consequently, is a far from rosy era, the one we live in, where a good deed consists of losing both arms in battle, master of humor-which-is-not-rosy, of black humor. A phallustrade is a typical product of black humor. An oozing relief taken from the lung of a forty-seven-year-old smoker is another. It has been said that the predominant note in my collage from the Dada period is this humor; but it is not the only one, and in certain works there is no trace of it.... It seems to me that collage is a hypersensitive and rigorously just instrument, like a seismograph, capable of registering the exact quantity of possible human happiness in any period. The amount of black humor contained in each authentic is found in inverse proportion to the possibilities of happiness (objective and subjective).
Max Ernst

....what shall we think of, after all, when we have come to
saying everything, voice by voice, till they are
worked through each one and found new stillnesses
between, to keep speaking, to keep speaking
he should have words that keep it new....
David Slaybaugh


who floats in
a frozen river

he screamed
I do
saw him sink
to his knees
a crying child

watched the expression
on his face finally
change with the ice
as he became
it, couldn't
we realized
we were losing

drying out
the river people
would say
blowing off
in foam
around some
the currents try
too hard to join
you've seen that
kind of water
the streams against
each other banks
dragged away mud
churned up
from the bottom
the sound of a thousand
crushed fish

might have torn
us apart
or drove us
into one

we won't know
until we reach
the quiet beaches

and our voices
the passage
back in
on us
with all
that depth

Harold Prince

So direct is my vision, so pure my senses, so clumsily complete my knowledge, and so free, so clear my fancy, and my learning so consummate that I see through myself from the extreme edge of the world down to my unspoken word; and from the formless rising thing of desire, along known fibers and through ordered centers, I follow and am myself, answer myself, reflect and echo myself, and quiver to infinity in my mirrors--I am glass.
Paul Valery

Part Eight

Tues. nite
H-- wait, that's yr voice, there, Ldscp 10, it is, no Bullshit, I see it clearly. I mean, it's poison, but I get you coming ut there, from the rhythm & the kinds of conceptual units I got from the others. OK?

So what, he says, if the image is centrifugal, headlong falling in. The pressure of movement is apparent, you are dislodged, where I have to say that focus drives the focus severally, rushes across me, falls falls away. I mean it's strong stuff for this perceptual mode (eg Art Gregor ain't), wherein image relapses through layers of conscious location to isolate the "stopping points". Initial contradictions lie all around, but right off, movement.

But it's yours, the words. Let me relate back to the emergency letter. Since they are close to each other in mood but not in motion & plastic technique or organizing the space. Formality of poem space, has it laid out in its constituents because we know it's whole, to start with. But jump jump jump the mind of the poem prosecutes, where the letter got through successive urges of the personal to speech, finally. I mean it's both "knowings", where I get a consistency. The locus of the image shifts in relation to the pressure of what is coming in. It is an athletic and visual shift, my responses here, where what is experienced is direct & primary, but how (continuous we are) can it be other?

Where the poem-event presses on me with (usually) total futility, but here, friend, ----curl the passage back. is for voice, psycho-active, it is that view in here, what yr saying has effect on yr course of work-----to curl on in to the centrifuge. But here-----it is what it says it is, the poem, not a future condition or a memory, it is a movement that gets made & it's yr choice there to go, you do, move. Mind is hooked on. I tell you, it comes out of what we've been doing, which is why it has force here, for me, we have been on its course. What I mean, psychologically, etc., it poses the problem (eg., I am that) but the medium, poem, & me, reader, completes the serial, lines through repetition necessary to re:enactment, that is done & not twice. Which gets it to its proper abstraction, where what it is (problem) and how it is (no problem) is in there, the poetic, established solidly, he hears his voice & responds, reacts, leaps up startled. There's that.

& words, vernacular copying, yr vocab but then sometimes words are flesh bullets, but sometimes they are not. The collapses of the crushing stream are actually provident, but are what's going on.

I can't drive this the right way...the image & the quality of the in-spiraling vertigo is set into its context: its functional presence is like a criteria for the life in there.

Part Nine


Blue sky clouds, bush,
camera. Back memory, holds,
the command,
lapse, lag. One,
as World is Image & is matter,
locus of material lags, uh, skip-skip,
Still, blue sky, world,
words. As, distinction,
parts of speech?
His name, flood, the flap.
Plain colors, blocked in, carefully.
Has. World has.
"I will endorse anything with my name."

Lapse after dusk, the sense, of Olson,
too, done on, to turn or name his plain colors.
A line. Then.
Abstraction's cause, as name. Solid
fragments of matter, no?
Straight line mixed. Is cause, too.
There, heart shaped, and floating,
overhead, doom or dune? the wine.
Abstractions overheard: chance.
certain visible relations.
Moon. ie, the rest.

and floating, to pick it up, rising,
from the center of outward,
realized as upward and expansive,
the energies of the earth
Sun at center.


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Aperture Magazine in its entirety.