What was deep-- pretends nothing,
But circles itself,
so tight it slips up on everything else.
And goodness, goodness, goodness,
Is what shadows exclaim as they expand totally,
Everything filled , everything abandoned,
Til free movement triumphs, surprising but soft.
And the windows, lighted again,
turn a within into a signal.
And animals of non-light
feeling friendly ,
Perfumed recollections depositing a dim glow
As curtains drift,
Because lace still holds promise of a penetration
Never acted upon--
Because sweetness fills even outsiders--
Who are all
Inside that total, imagining.People are in the streets
Empty houses re-fill at no speed in particular.
A lost love re-surfaces and is hewn from different oak,
But born again,
and all think of themselves as body,
But now indelibly affixed to small, private possession.
Street lights brighten before the storm's occasional arrival.
Umbrellas lift into heretofore empty space, finally,
And the sawed branch evoked but breaks not
Into a hundred small arms and legs that whirl
Having been sawed
Into no possible
* * * *
In the beginning.
In the beginning, there was a void.
Because a deep sleep
Was all that did manifest.
There was no sleeper,
Only the sleep
Like a fold onto itself of what was already a void
So it was a deeper and deeper void.
A man of a certain ageRolled forward
Into no time at all.
Rolled, rolled, rolled
And Rolled, rolled
Rolled rolled rolled rolled rolled.Confusion stylists
Waft and deliberate, not speeding.
Shoes bring floral radience
Apartments bring radical smooth
Rain brings speedPlease, no more milk
Please, the Pharo of the real true body-lamp
Please, the non-named, final fish.
Please, the ocean. Step on it.
Please, mild for me only.
Please, Repeatable as an escape hatch.(left field ism)
Terrible, but not really music.
Your grapes help.
Couldn't I generate my own self? Oh, probably not, but that's
What I like, you ignore because of the risk benifits.
I can only collobrate, so, turning the other check is no maneuver
unless it's unconscious.
That's what sounds so. . .primitive, doesn't it.
the success I was aiming for never does what it palpatates rapid
enough to make anybody happy. Look at my fingers
the real prize has a way of dropping in value with a so-smooth
effect that really takes off on its own-- woosh! Look at my fingers
I got frightened by whatever it was that calmed me down so I did
a real slow drift just behind my belt buckle-- look what stuck
to my fingers.
Ouch! Ouch! It could happen ten times in a row--
But after all--
These are real problems of a possible big winner-- So who cares
about a little finger dis-comfort?Could it be that I rose into
Could it be that I lost interest in the total revolve of the semi
that called itself circle?
Could it be that I toasted the second rate, under the impression
that compassionate meant "hero"?
Don't doubt anything except the stratagically isolated,
cried my guardian angel.
And I was awake to that
Just a little too soon.
Confusion was not in MY recipe
But the angel of that persuasion capped a lifetime of energy
with a slow lift-off
into name that tune-less--
they all sang
So singable all the time.
How be friends, said the smile
And I covered, of course, my own mouth first.
Can't you shine a tooth light
Into a grimace that hurts no one--
only it gains access through the dreaming of more than
It was factories that aimed at that mamoth corrective operation--
None of it worked out, but it sure made music.
And that best noise was
The worst of all possible words.
A worst rehabilitation machine, of course.
That's why I'm MAD ABOUT MUSIC
Chimed in a hell of a lotta young things
Who soon took things off for paty-cake
In nose country.
I too, sloaped
I mean, slopped,
into the desert of life,
Which fools me,
but not everybody who of course you'll recognize as one of my
more SUCCESSFUL disguise maneauvers.
So when you hear on the grape-vine--
Big guy, your prize just got delivered--
Don't even look.
I'm a crook, about my own handywork. So.
Fingers? Oouch! -- Risk it, of course.
TERRIBLE! BUT NOT REALLY MUSIC!The sun rose
Tell him, what you see
I semi-detached myself
I don't really judge, things.
Old me is young me
Almost, it was non-winter.Oh yes-- rapid things proliferate. It's
in their nature
Causal, casual, careful, capable.
Let's re-position something.
Long, articulated, and an environment
Can't count on it, but here, now.Sometimes, I alter my position. Not true. Where I'm coming from is always the same place. Well . . . so pretending otherwise . . .is an effect or not an effect, that's why I'm self-asking.
(Pause)You have no response.
Catch what (other reaches in pocket and takes out ball)
Are you going to toss it?
(Pause) Catch. Did I or didn't I.
(Pause) Where am I coming from?
Oh well-- far away. But here I am.
Catch.(and he drops it)
That was a bad throw
If you believe that you'll believe anything.
That's where I'm coming from. (Pause) Catch
If you insist (take out another ball)
(A curtain reveals one with flowers, a piano accompanies)(FAURE
Hello to you all. I am here to minister, and I shall. Tears shall flow from your eyes, and run-- river like, beneath my feet, and I shall be supported and sweep toward you through the activity of your own tears.
I shall drift into your very hearts.
I shall heal you all.
Do not ask HOW, or my power will evaporate.
And you DO want my power, because you do want my power to work upon you, because you do want my healing.
So, let your tears flow,
flow towards me, that I may have a method for reaching into your
very heart.I shall reveal myself at mid-day
I shall reveal myself at mid-night
(Both) Who you you trust? Who do you trust?
I have the following options. Trust one of you, both of you, neither
of you, myself, someone else completely, any combination of this,
or, something . . .conceptually very different. An elusive catagory
that perhaps-- is undergoing continual change.
I'm not ready to commit myself.
(reach out) Please! Please!
Please!Can you explain it? I'm only happy when I remember to fix on a simple, paradoxically, unhappy fact. Namely, the fact that whatever I say, necessarily misses the mark. Because I, myself, don't choose the terms in which I explain what I'm feeling about myself, or the world , or anything imaginable; since of necessity I use a language
forced on me. Invented by OTHER people.
And when I center -- wobble-like of course, on that insight
then I feel. . .I don't know--
Because a gap, bursts open in me--
and the air, not real air of course,
rushes in and CLEANSES me!
And that's where I want to stay--
pivoting on that one idea.
Sai it again?
Gladly-- what I'm saying is there's a hole in me, in all of us.
We have to talk, right? But whatever we say is. . .off the mark.
Off the mark!
(The brain has no pain fibers)
--Off the mark. Can you explain that I'm opnly happy when I can
KEY, all the time, on that one idea?
(The brain has no pain fibers.)I love saying something that isn't
true. But only if everybody who hears me, knows what I'm doing.
It's not that I'm interested in deceiving anybody, rather-- contesting
the self-evidently . . . real. For instance, is it raining?
Look, it's raining.
(Pause) Why does it give you pleasure to say it's raining when
The real challenge is to take the next step.
I'm not sure.
Well-- how about saying "I'm not saying it's raining, but
No. That's not what I have in mind. What I have in mind is something
that will make me tumble. . .into another world.
I can't imagine what that could be.
Nor can I. (Pause, tears) Nor can I.You realize, I don't have to be . . .anything-- but a hole in space.
That's my only responsibility. I have two choices. Either I'm
a mirror, or a ho;le. If I'm a mirror, I reflect back to people
something they can name or recognize or think about or have an
opinion about-- I'm a mirror for their expectations, which all
arise out of what they already experienced.
But if I by-pass all their expectations, even the expectation of the un-expected, then-- I'm a void, a hole in their experience. And then only. . .I'm something 'real', instead of a mirror. Get it?
A hole, is real.
Bottomless, you could say, which is the closest you can get to it.
If it's bottomless, it's real. If it's not, it's a mirror, and it isn't anything at all, really, if it's a mirror.
I'd rather be real, for some STUPID reason. I don't want to be a mirror thank you.
Don't go yet. (Pause) Say something. Why do I think you're not going to say anything?
(Pause) Well, I should at leasyt give you a chance. Keep an open
The dream position isn't my starting point, but it's where, maybe,
I end up.
The jumping off place?
If you get to the jumping off place, then it's over.
It turns into a dream. A proliferation of the imagination. It's
over, because language no longer tracks it.
(Pause) Where are we now?
Where are you now?
I'm being looked at. (Pause) Something's boring into me
Please don't look.
When you say 'don't look"-- I have a really good time polishing
my-- whatever could be made to shine-- You don't even try to
help, however. I don't call that selfish. I call that giving
in to a kind of tail spin that doesn't look back.
Never look back.
Is that my rule or yours.
Once, when I looked back, you looked back and said "oh, it
could be your suggestion but it's my surge of accomplishment.
Look what I found.
Look what I found.
Right now, even now, you're showing it, I guess.
I guess I am.
I guess I am
I guess I am
(Pause) If you look slightly to the left of my head--
Did you really mean to isolate that part of your body
Body? I was thinking of my own proceedure, wasn't I.
A look's as good as a lick.
Humm (Licks, holds right finger up to left of head) That's my
own concentration at hard work, I think.
You never get too rational.
It never paid off. It was only the imagination that paid off.
Let's have a look.
And things just came TUMBLING forward, or backward
Thank goodness, we come up with enough information to last a lifetime,
but if we don't want to pay attention, we can just have fun.
Ah, the big mystery
I don't think it'll work, but letr's try.