At a certain point in my life
I realized that my mind had been incorrectly focused.
It would be, I realized,
a terribly difficult task to re-orient the focus mechanism.
I doubted I had the energy or dedication.
Therefore, I tried to imagine other,
less demanding proceedures
Whereby I might achieve the identical goal.
That is, the effect of re-focusing, without
without remarkable changes
The darkness falls
Vanishing was a resource now,
employed by crowds of people
best able to utilize the time of day.
Circulate without revealing deep thought,
printed information with speed.
Swept by doubt, plunged
And met deeper
Those who they heretofore dared not embrace.
A lunge still in flightThere must be a factor
of seven or more desirable
waffles of truth
Still in flight from the mouth.
we didn't descide
what would or would not be significant.
We just chawed
which should be chewed
but nothing makes a mouth
shape that has any
So don't wait
Get right into it.
lead with a chin, in fact
taking a good punch one,
getting finally waffle in face
almost inside it
But pies better make rhyme--
Eyes does my surmise for me,
If I say so. O.K.
So count, waffle-like
When you reach that hum-dinger
Assuming you really reach
Is language, perhaps
the only thing worth complaining about?>
I didn't complain.
Is language perhaps,
the only thing worth complaining about?
When I talk
Once upon a time, I tried to praise, in language.
But I missed the mark
because of my language
and I complained about it
on the very instant
The language police? The language police?
We're here because of complains , remembe?
I do remember.
everything I want,
rushes into my head--
Oh, I could have held it in my hands
once upon a time,
once upon a time,
Did I hear you poking around in the rubbish heap again?
Did I hear you say 'again'?
I do wonder if that's an 'again' factor,
or just a bit of not quite looking at the wriost watch
because the brain meanies are out in force.
I thought everything was beautiful?
You mean, are even the meanies beautiful? Yes,
They are quite,
but as we sit down--
(A chair was pulled out from under him, causing a tumble)
I want to be good
But I was bad--
Better, and even I,
envied whoever made it happen to me.
I didn't want to come, did I.
Hello, I said.
Then I got kicked.
Hello, I said.,Here I am sitting
alone in my parlor
I don't want to be here
I'd rather be free
I'd like to travel to
very strange places
I could be free
Language can do that for you.
Language police! Language Police! I'm constantly chased by the
How about a magic castle.
How about, oputting a crown on your head.Of course, I don't know
if you like living in paradise.
You consider this--
Paradise. Feel the ground shifting under your feet?
That's not desirable.
You must have a problem.
Maybe it is paradise after all.
Don't count on it
You expounded on it.
Not quite: I cut through the whole question with a single flash
of my doubled-edged blade. Saying, happy to have you aboard, Mr
Sliced in Two.
Funny, it didn't hurt.
That's a provocation, but I won't bite.
From your point of view or mine?
Don't we actually SHARE some things anyway?
It is, I should say, problematic.
It is, I should say, problematic. My being here. It is. I should
say, problematic being here when I am not really here.
(Mellow/ Bop drum)
Oh well, firefighters never scared me, really,
because all fires I can possibly imagine are already put out and
re-put out and re-put out and re-put out.
You definitely wanted to tell me that.
Could you tell?
My lips are sealed
Then I'll go further. Policemen never frightened me, because police
activity just seemed too reasonable to remember, so every time
I saw one I just said-- please, kill not your neighbor's wife,
even, policeman, who replied, each in his turn I shall not, I
shall not, I shall not.
You believe everything you hear?
Of course not
Do you let fear rule your life?
Of course not, surrounded as I am by policemen doing big jobs
Afraid then, not even of the unconscious.
Certainly not, the unconscious never frightens me, do you know why? I don't know why but I can imagine a better ending to every story and it comes easy, in a way. When you go fast enough, you're not frightened, because the next thing you see always turnsd into something else, so who has time for promises, right? And without promises, you can go on any vacation you like at the drop of a hat,--
Oh well, I'm not afraid of accidents because accidents never happen.
I'm not afraid of burnt toast or bad taste
I'm not afraid of snakes bites
I'm not afraid of animal tendencies
Because I'm so far from an animal, I live in a different realm
compleely, and my reading lamp is so illuminated I can't even
shit without one or two of the most important chapters going down
the toilet at the same time
I know it was reading matter that caused trouble.
I won't say it was verbal, but I will say your protestations
is reminicent of something I can't identify with
I see you as fearless.
I am too. I'm not afraid of heights because skipping parts of the adventure is what get's me where I go, that can be in any direction I choose, 'cause I
butter my hair--
--No, toss caution to the wind-wind or something and say fight
it out, I've never bneen in one but I feel like blooming and that's
the same thing for a delicate flower like me.
Somebody want's to give you some.
I don't need roses, I am roses
Afraid of winter?
Of course not
Afraid of next year
Afraid of next years roses?
I'll be back next year, and the year after, and the year after
--Take my hand.
Pricked, but not frightened yet.
Not frightened by anybody's blood because here's my technique,
I don't look at no wound.
What you don't look at with two, three, maybe more eyes--
How many do I have?
--That's most frightening of all.
Then I'm not in trouble, because I don't accept your termonology or
the way you organize deep thoughts on a subject I just dropped.
Was I organized?
I guess so, or I wouldn't have gotten hurt even the least bit
and the word ouch wouldn't have passed through red lips- mine,
though I WOULD be dancing with roses in my hair, on fire of course,
and you'd have a whole different attitude toward me so who's afraid?
Not me, so who's afraid?
So who's afraid?
(BOTH) So wh's afraid, not me, not me, not me, not me!Yes, to the vibrating finger
Close what's close
Demonically eat of gentle
direction, and allow
Notice how the voice
Vowels the experience--
thick falsity, in fact.
Your focal finger points to itself
Only by the non-point
of tremor.Poised almost
A head indian:
But the turbulence
Any available center it can muster.
When the real day
I said it all
Did my vanish
Or was it a draw.
His wiped out
I sped and sped
again what spewed--
Could be again.
After many experiences, one ended.
One experience came to an end:
It wasn't thinking that came forward
But bounced, that much it did
Thinking bounced against itself, it did.
And it bounced hard enough to continue
And it called itself,
Multiple bounce, a whole world.
That's all it took to make a whole
World of trees
World of ideas
world of tables
world of rats
world of skies
world of thinking itself
world of rivers
world of houses
world of laws
world of ideas
world of tracks
world of farms
world of value systems
world of music
world of pies
world of eye glasses
world of wars
world of beds
world of systems
world of blood
world of fliigree
world of wind
world of everything else
bounceA certain fear,
had not much to do with reality,
until it got tasted, really.
Until it realized, fear, it could do no wrong.
So it dressed, fear,
in jewels that blinded even itself
because of the light elsewhere.
Where does the light come from,
it should have asked but it didn't.
and those other affectations
of self dazzlement.
So it, through multiplication
Came upon itself again,
and was full of admiration
and said to itself
if this is fear, it isn't bad, fear.
But who spoke
when that being spoken
Flew into the heights of the room
So the rain
which was whatever it was,
could not water the real flower
That wanted to make explosions
like the real
thing it was (not).The philosopher's table
Oh, it didn't rain
That was my own,
Wrist, falling through space
To slap it against
The tree that talked.
Look, many of those trees
Lining the road to the park
Where burials already
Made opera out of all
I did, seizing the hand to my right
Tell more time, more time
And the fullness made of itself
So that an ordered world, said
Hey, I'm just a PIECE of the WORD.
With that for a foot, start
Circulate and circulate and circulate
I almost reached my starting. point
The door shut. Nothing. A twist
of the kernal of space
A non-aberant descent
Into harmony of incompatable sources
Miles from my telephone brain.
Look, again I lost contact
Into a vibrating flower;
Which was the code. (Black base/ Grate)
Did he throw a hat in the air
Soo, did a flutter
When a bar of chocklet
and a bar of soap
what got a bubble, burst
The place it fell to was
So rioll, twist
The mind behind the mind
So the grain irritant oyster
At the brain spark that lights up
MY whole world at least.
I got no ocean
In my ocean.
Don't get lost
Eating you basis
It goes out in a big circle
Loops back and says the tripple dip
Dips me, you and everybody in good stuff
When I stuff,
I say stuff
Phase it, Phase it.
Veronica came into my life
Like a cyclone of plastic
Wjo got off first?
Hard to say, but when I
Stepped down from the bus
Boy, was I hot
Phase it, phase it
That means cool out the whole planet.
Air- dale and more
My holes to vent
Blocked up by the information--
That wasn't Veronica's trip,
So my return ticket
and I couldn't
Phase it, Phase it
So instead I
Phase it, Phase it
Phase it all the time
The darkness falls--
no pearl, circle the tall tree
And the electricity of the pause
Inside it's own pause of thirst.
Then , a look
Which spreads wide the white of the sky
So many heads from the part directly over the brain
That the words of exaultation
Issuing from the pearl teeth, glisten
On all things
To the slow drift
of the wooden
Look, look toward the shadow
It's no shadow
It's the inside of light
There, already sleeping
And the trees
Manufacture an all purpose solution:
Which I flying
In the direction already given
Somebody lowered the boom on me
Catch, but I was already out in the field where I said-- sunlight?
That's what I heard of, three or four million years ago.
Somebody passed funny money
Which I pocketed because
Being a thug was not taking me far before I again,
against myself, agent-like made only one or two very awful agendas.
Somebody said somebody
and presented a finger not in any direction so much which my eye could pick up like a nightengale nice and neat
but a blind arena like me was only in it for the fun, so why not hustle?
I won't tell the truth
Somebody made off with valuable secrets.
I had nothing in my pockets
but what I started out with was in and out
because no pocket was big enough to hold all the holes
I decided to count on,
because plant your expectations in the land of
doesn't it always happen when you want except look, there it is.
This is it,
a bird didn't tell me sure, but my eye was caught
and I said in one of those sets where I get trapped by an idea--
I'd rather sing than have a collection of bird photos that don't even
look good tumbling out of a wallet
when you wanna show off how proud yopu are
to have something besides the usual kids.Under water
I float not
So what sails
Is, utter wind,
That reach, interiour
That through itself
Courses in gold.
The repetition, is
A million times,
And I delegate it
To my warm poplars of vertical imagination only
is the direction
In which I must re-see
This very Roman light
I did cold experience
at heart of city's suburban
After being centered
Shadow as slice
Here it is again>
Slice. Only slice
Leaves another shadow
I do/ I do not: join.
His grey feature
As rolled through city
His dappled, attention,
Provokes the lattace
Of glimpsed vista-cuts:
So into each bar-resturn=ant-cafe,
The nostril, like vortex
Into which goes
Wipe-out of whole
Body as stretched sleep--
I saw nothing
(it had time): (always time)
Into the unrecognizable
That is always honey.
of the beaten wing
He giant entered
He gave way
to that mist that covered the city which was no city but a collection
of not-recollected devices he had so long endured.
he no longer collected what his hopefullness revealed
under the hour glass of so many missed brown and gold hours of
despondency and mutual effort
but the mist through which he circulated did not cry "City, I know your corners and brilliant avenues, but I flap in your own busy wind, stride like the idea of jeweled accomplishment-- look, how the joint of arm and leg flash in the extention like multiple idea, concrete made
from even more accomplishment that renders pocketed, the solid
fact of that particular dream.
And cities choir into themselves.
he rides to his own end of the line and half sleeps
Which is enough for total
In the mist.Gratitude, slips: through the net
Pile driver, inertia blooms.
A certain register
un-pre thought, but purchased:
Witnessed. Slow. Disappear>
In a city, no one speaks
Search for the hotel.Now, let me pick up a hammer (count'um)
Now, let me lift a sharp instrument which is really to be used on the tooth except I'll use it on ,my own gold eye
What god eye?
The one that sees through darkness because thats just an imaginary
adventure. The moment I turn on the light everything, as you know,
Too bad I didn't bring my ice pick
Nobody said eye, so why black out the language?
It's my area of greatest sensitivity.
Oh? Does it grow out of your head like a stalk of realy celebrity>?
You look into that hole and you think you see yourself, but look
What he did was to, in a sense, arrive at a city so confusing
that it was homogonous in that, at least, which was comforting
to some and so it was comforting.
The city existed in silence, and as L. approached, it was as if
a temperature was palpable rather than the usual buzz of conversation.The
passing time itself, implied silence.The feeling of. . .'could'
, that seemed to hover over the streets did whisper the same message.
But L. had prepared himself. So there was no problem. There was
nothing to talk about, because there was no talking.They wanted
me to build, but I refused (Count'um)
Who wanted it?
They gave me a collection of motifs and said, build yourself a
world-- was it a world? I don't think so. A city, or maybe a single
house, or not a house even, but since a real storm is coming,
a kind of minimal shelter only. I refused
Outside the real place
His longed for paradise did come
sooner than expectation.
A rare dimention,
Dreaming the leaf itself
and the sky that arose
plate like, uncooled by the other dimentions
He choose not--
But the not
One hundred times again
In it's fast oscilation
made each wall necessary again--
Til decoration flowered inside
While the main
into the real.Should I gain
Should I ascertain
Should I even begin
Should I allow the real
Should I accomplish myself
or vanish into the agreed on happiness.
Should I duck for joy
When the horizontal elevator displaces
not smiles, but the long light of an afternoon wasted in discarded pleasure that pays back all golden memories
because the achieved bride of self
does that circular dance that
only real troupers know is
the harvest of what came
before anyone invented applause
and ruined the once and spontanious nothing at all,
Should I track
Should I encore
Should I toss off nothing
Should I count more than the accident- it happened.
But it did
Self-counted.When the wall of time
Directions are still possible into the uni-direction, spread
Thouigh the capable hand mocks not
It's own elevated receptors
It does dive into the space of radical drift.
Sp time, which is a tint only
Residue of the real swoop-color
Fades again and again into its own
and the hands
Stretch, to no held
But the lengthen
and all collections
Because it was inherent:
That was, the form
Known to itself
From the great travelled distance
Smal;l, a unimagined drift
Here it is in the eye
But don't notice
Circles it. ShhhThe darkness falls
The sun rises
The metal container, stops metal
And inside, the pearl,
Leaves, shaken by adventure
Know-not leaving home,
Rooted in that disappearing morning
They fight the eye.
3,4,5 cars, flash-leven the streets
Like a traced ligament
Pulling from inside the old town
The old town illumination
Into reverse dawn.
Oh, for a breakfast
Eaten in legitimte drift
Birth to cymbal
Crack: MidnightHis own loose flute
animsal nature trembled
Sprung at lower
Hitherto loose berift
Renewed self-making: on-on
Make it whole tumolt
Says the animal mask revolved
Which speaks-- night-not
With voice rush
Only rushA concept skim stone
hardly. by the eye
The noose re-towsle
of plunge depth-drench
again into it a grain
and again into it: again made
A life, crimsoned small
The decoration so the entry
Foundation like bodily
Leads was dreampt
Foam into more foam Solid.
Is this language
My face wiped
like a moving rock.
The self Wide
Non-harvest But look: look
Shift the small edge
Refused anticipation-only a re-made
A flutter conncrete that is throat
But space dipped-depth
Sucked to the non-whole Blown
Of wander-turbulance To the reverse corner
That: placid of some sky.The darkness falls
a mile, turned for itself,
Re-invest as palpable.
Responsibility in earth-terms.
And the jewel, lost in a revolving depth
Re-marked all possible progress--
in a quick mud,
blosseming, like the axel flower
of so sharp points.