| dames rocket 7 part 2 - summer 1977 | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
[journal again] a scattering growth of popples tall John Epp In another life, I as I was walking in a vivid and velvety world, water, dust in the air, the colors very rich, more furry than in Vancouver even. (Here they are more glasslike.) I was talking to myself about how dreamlike it was, how I couldn't tell the difference anymore, and wondered if it was from drugs. Swimming, floating on my stomach with my head to the side as in a bed. There was a lot of water, canal boats, huge barges with towering cabins, I went into one through doors through hatches, found a long haired man who showed me through. They were in London on a canal docked briefly. I have a dream London familiar but not at all like the actual. A concert hall, having to leave just as the famous conductor arrived, Colin Davis? in a tam. The roof, we were going away over a sod field, there were little windows my companion could look down into the concert hall. They were going to do something magnificent like Bach Mass. - A filmstock with direct translation into fairytale. The difference between a sound and the memory of a sound. - Stoned, immediately urgent to think about thinking. Instantly the question, am I awake. Think of C who sometimes - her way of birthing and finding me was sometimes just a sensation - she would be there when I got there and quietly say something to let me know she saw me. Then we would stare at each other and be empty together, she filling my sight, outside me, and I filling hers, by the vacuum in me. The room. The conscience she woke. We used each other to discover another form of love. Misunderstood. We were brothers. These women of my imagination. A story. Not a history. Standing watching in this way the circle came to be made, and those in the circle learned gradually that the circle was more beautiful than any of the past. Jam will you. I here to recruit her, the form we give it is the marriage, and it is, but not as we imagine. In legend we come to think of it as the marriage. The message. The calling of the twelve, the legend is bigger. Looking around saw the clear faces of the Companions. The callings of the samuri. Seferis. Calling of strange man. You came to me quite transfixed and called me. You didn't know, you thought it was the work that gave you the spiritual push, but it was simply that the calling had happened. The whistling of the ducks' wings and the squeaking of the fire. The squeaks are not the fire. Gently speaking to each other. She's willing. There's something I know about Jam and I not being what we pretend to be, I can't hold onto it, it's maybe that we aren't lovers as fuckers. I think it is that, and we may go through idiocy because of it. I want her to help me see what I maybe can see by myself, I want to go out into the forest but I'm afraid to go there alone because I won't know if I'm lost or not. You too C, although you do? We need each other to remind us, teach me, don't love me. Write down all the things you think of in a day. Do you think about religion. The remote-viewing. I forgot, but was at the house looking at him, her, Rudy, apricots, book titles. Lost in Anne's stories made me feel stupid. I forgot to watch for your pictures and forgot to mail your letter, ie we parted this afternoon. Anne Konrad 1985 The blue jar Queenston House [Anne is my mother's sister - we must have had it in manuscript.]
An inner banality, but she wondered why Maria would look Russian. We said it was thought patterns. The man who didn't like to look Russian. Hungarian. Peter Epp's beautiful hand-writing. Ja , he'd say. I have his voice. Realized Ewald does it too, just realized he was his father. Isn't the Lord wonderful, said Willy. He'd say, Na, jetst werden wir uns mal freuen. What was that voice - he rejoiced when I knew him. His letters. Peter, Peter Epp. He didn't rage to be an artist, he was an artist. - Made-things and tributes. - "There is something I know about ..." and take the bribe. The blind-bribe. Things I have to think about: Luke. Luke. I've done what I can, have to see if I can see him while he's gone. Think about him as I do those I think about. Did she? as she worked, think about that little baby's thoughts? The shock opened us. Today we were stunned again. I keep talking to myself as if there were decision. I experience decision when suddenly I look around and think of a rearrangement of my circumstances. Othertimes I simply hear a plan in myself. Then I'll ... and then I'll ... . The fluency of the sense of movement, decisive, not painfully waiting. Accurate swift movement and the Opening which can be moving or still, I didn't know moving contemplation before. The problems, hearing the little voice that knows acting fast to make destiny. Watching how she's like a guilty slave when the men come in, anticipating their needs in a loud voice, "The water's hot. Shall I make some Tang?" when they're outside. And he hangs around trying to help her with the apricots, she doesn't want him there, tries to tell him that her kitchen's too small. She tries to put me off the scent then by talking about how two women in a kitchen would be two too many. Or was she telling me to go away? I assumed she was telling me not to notice his weakness and I let it go and fell asleep right then, but perhaps I was asleep already. I sometimes think of Don's little handwriting. - New York hospital. Vogue headquarters, mirrors, myself in a black dress doing ballet poses. Luke was there. I can't make it out. A bus route to find. Feeling of New York magazines here. But waking, saw a version of Rudy Weibe less evil-looking standing on the grass outside very sudden. He said hello. He was about the distance from tent to fire. What it means I think is that he knows how to travel and was just letting me know. But - does he know? Look at this handwriting. "Oh, what am I saying, it's all automatic writing." - [letter to Jam] last night dreamed myself at vogue magazine headquarters in new york realized just now that when I used to live on this site I was more in touch with new york than I am now, ie from close reading of good housekeeping, mccalls, saturday evening post and then toward the end vogue and harpers I read the advertizements, every one, I read the stories sometimes twice and sent for booklets on how to use carnation milk in 20 ways they came addressed to e.epp and I had to take them away from my father it's friday? saturday? I went to see my mom and the men were around so I just watched her act guilty when they come into the house looking for idea in the dictionary I was stopped and charmed by the ice words around iceland, imagined someone whose profession would be reading the dictionary and making reveries, extracting lists etc, dictionary pleasure forms - back in sexsmith, the pie is better here and she heated it before she put the ice cream on the laughter in this place is nice, it's coffeetime and people are being friendly with each other, the waitress pulls it all together, they laugh like those poplars clapping i-i-i-i-i old man kokovsky he puts a cup of coffee per pot, you drink that you see china a strange day, this morning the sky was cloudless, hot, but dark, a grey like overcast but not overcast distances were pale blue rather than the dark blue they usually are, gave a feeling of wales smoke, it seems from alaska where there are fires cs lewis on myth 'what particularly delights and nourishes me is a particular pattern of events' - it's thundering the tractor stopped, it rained now the birds are writing sound small birds faint script can you describe thunder the look of black clouds is like it big raindrops on the tent, it's like the clapping leaves but bigger the thunder breaks and it travels, moves fast can be in two locations at once it's a dark sound I've thought of emily dickinson's precise descriptions every thunder is different the last one seemed to have a spine in it like a quill the storm weather is a broad stripe down the centre of the sky, it's light to N and S of it no fire tonight I'm drinking the rest of the chateau pierredon there's an ant, dry here, its house is not far away I thought of lawrence and went out naked in the rain but the drops were too far apart, muddy feet was all - [blond stone] [stone egg] - there are holes between thoughts when I think close it's a sensation like standing on a webbing and having nothing between the lines I wondered if I could learn to write you as trustingly as the journal there's a light on the tent, faint, most of the sun is covered, and a puffy wind comes in and blows out the sides it's moving all the time around its pole, it's lively last night when it had stopped raining I made a fire and turned over my desk and sat on it warming my legs and thinking I would go so intensely into my thoughts that when I came back to rearrange the fire it seemed a marvel and a joke to find it there, and the whole of the horizon, which was a ring of different colors of sky, exquisitely combined the sunsets every night are surreal and this place which, if I want, is just an extraordinary place with grass and bird and cloud events etc going on all the time or else if I want becomes another time, with histories of ecstacies in its different features, histories of other kinds of time too but I can, you see I can, see it through her eyes I can't and don't want to stay in them, but she's here now I'm going to see my mother and ask her how it happened that her husband didn't talk to her children I just realized about meningitis - what happened with my mother was that when I arrived she was angry at me like I have never seen her shook, stared and shouted tentatively, but an explosion in her experience that was because I'd burned my pictures and had no right, they were hers, I had no idea what they mean to her, it was unforgiveable I was very happy and asked questions he was in the bathroom listening carefully, shaving, they'd intended to go to the fair she said she was too upset, she plainly wanted to stay and have it out he said I think you should come with me in a lover's voice this is no place for you, you'll be sick I think you should come with me he was beside himself but could do nothing but plead it was clear I was tickled to see us, I was delighted, it had gone straight to the original tableau and there was nothing he could do she placated him, made up a dozen reasons, and stayed he fled we then picked peas, shelled them, she canned apricots and we talked tenderly about how it has always been she and the children together, having secrets while he was in the world struggling to be important what was clear today was that he doesn't have and never did have a chance in the way that matters to him, the children were always more important, ie more interesting that is the story of how I shot my father I forgot to tell you that when we were all three arguing she saw my jackknife on the table and handed it to him, saying is this yours? she keeps telling me how the nasturtiums are thriving so much they're taking over the whole flowerbed she forgets that she already told me suddenly it's more interesting to listen to them than to tell them dreams, a travelling night looking down from a balcony on a commons, men students physically revolting as scholarly men are on the floor in front of them lying on her back a tall woman who lived in residence with them, the only one she had a look of grey old long hair long nightgown knees bent up and separated she was holding her nightgown as if to shield herself from their eyes with the other hand she seemed to be rubbing herself gradually she was less careful and just rubbed I saw the shaft of her clitoris swell up like a little penis, thick but short with an actual head on it when she finished meanwhile someone explained she was the dean's daugher, a musician, trained in europe she got up and walked out the door and down the steps her walk in hair and nightgown, barefoot, was maidenly young and graceful she had transformed herself I'm cross-legged at my desk, naked the sun's hot this is thursday there are big fluffs of cumulous, above them streaks of haze one kind of weather from shore to shore this time last night as it darkened up there it was exciting the way a single star and then another extended the space there while earthspace went dark there were some clouds lit at an angle by the moon that was just at the horizon something in the way they were shaped made me feel the sky as the real planet, my vantage on it from somewhere in dark space as on a satellite the clouds shifting made different constellations every minute, blotting some stars and not others there are flowers and butterflies, wind, flies solar wind, sun coming and going is like a breeze hot, not cold lighter darker the high sky is busy, vapour trails crossing each other birds are coming closer to the green pavilion, this morning there was one flut flut at the door I found this in a book about woods adventures: At the end of the four hours [of canoeing in open water through a storm] you awaken to the fact that your eyes are strained from intense concentration, and that you taste copper. - [journal again]
Then she showed herself the goddess manifest, Beauty breathed about her and a lovely fragrance; light shone from her so that the great house was filled with brightness. A graveyard in Turkey which was used by Neanderthals 100,000 years ago, buried their dead in biers of flowers, indicating ... Death. Either the dying brain dreams its death or it is one more screen in the long dream (why not). I heard a fly buzz when I died. Is Emily all fact? The fall vacuum void valley. Dying was becoming a being which only sometimes is physical. Where I was thinking was about at my normal bodily height. My mind just took everything down and worked everything out for me the first time, without having to go through it more than once. After a while everything I was experiencing got to where it meant something to me in some way.
Words conceal rather than reveal. Can only indicate, by analogy, through myth and in other indirect ways - ie structure. His mind becomes very lucid and his senses seem more keen. Autoscopic visions. Sees a double who talks to it. Often only chest or neck up. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross probably 1969 On death and dying Simon & Schuster - Morton White 1955 The age of analysis: 20th century philosophers Mentor Books an artist, in all things he raged Wittgenstein. Description of language without metaphysical presuppositions. The meaning is the use. The use of a word is unregulated. Philosophy and the visible and audible. Take it back to sense. Hegel. The universe is a soul. Explanation other than mechanistic. Idealist. Philosophy as synoptic. Sensibility, learning. Style. A methodology. General descriptions of the whole universe. Moore acts of consciousness, ie something acts, but it isn't me. The 'body' acts and I watch? We two feel important on account of our epistemology and ontology and cosmology. Imagining a professor of philosophy coming in on different days stoned on various things. The philosophy of alteration (travel).
The happy pounce of the mind on something. Filmmaking in lessons, one each of pharmaesthetics. Berkeley "does not deny existence of matter, only explains that various Appearances are what we mean by matter." Yeats read Croce for his poetry. Whitehead and Bergson. Croce is an idealist who believes that reality or the subject matter of our thinking is mind, life, or spirit. History and philosophy identical and study the whole. All history is contemporary. The death of metaphysics by history. Philosophy in so far as it is history, and vice versa. Of which the principle is the identity of the universal and the individual, of the intellect and the intuition. Croce the way any thinking is embedded in - The methodology describing it.
All concrete knowledge whatever is on a par with historical judgment, bound to life, that is to action, of which it marks a pause or an anticipation having for its function to break down any obstacles, learning a clear view of the situation from which it must specifically and with determination emerge. Santayana "Another world to live in - whether we expect ever to pass wholly into it or no - is what we mean by having a religion." - The witch neighbour In tales, the necessity of seeing everything that is said is partly timing. Space for them to see also. The Storytellers The Consultant. Body. Writing in some deliberate punning substantialization. I have reservations about sexuality. A Reservation in which Sexers live, ie people committed to gender. They want a reservation because it can't be held up without community. The hawk's curiosity about the airplane. The pencil drawing of Josie at drain board. Only fingers and eyes and painting have color. My Pictures. A Profession, the Time-Binders who fill in a middle where art watches life unsuccessfully. Those on Pension. Have to struggle, it crosses a divide.
- A very small house A lot of houses for demolition [floor plan of the Schmidt house on Hill 60] - Charlie Rheaume stories Beckett's strategies, tactics Formal intervention. Alienation.
Circle. Chambers Mowatt telling how he realized that the Innuit house is the clothes. The deer fences A great many were only gutted and anchored with rocks deep under the fast, ice-cold flow of the waters where the meat would stay fresh well into the last days of summer. The men who were too old to hunt watched for signs. Farley Mowatt 1947 People of the deer Amerion House - Husserl the natural standpoint. Sciences of the natural standpoint. Bracketing, époché. A new scientific domain to be won through the method of bracketing. Speaks of worlds. The world of mathematics, the world of the natural standpoint. I use the phenomenological époché which completely bars me from using any judgment that concerns spatio-temporal existence. (Dasein) K's stages: aesthetic, moral, religious the terrors that can only be escaped by going to the end Sartre anguish is that of choosing a version for everyone. A man is responsible for, and chooses, his passion.
Pierce a belief is a relief of the irritation of doubt. It establishes a habit of action. Therefore beliefs which establish the same habits are the same beliefs. Pragmatism at the root of all our thought distinctions however subtle, is that there is no one of them so fine as to consist in anything but a possible difference of practice. All realities influence our practice, and that influence is their meaning for us. Towards concreteness and adequacy, towards facts, towards actions and towards power. - [bus ride back to Vancouver] Slapped my wrist and said okay when she got off at the mall. - Interrogation of process of making. not the identificatory and passive outlook but the reflective response intent upon the clarification - I want to live in the brackets Movie Science fiction Two wires traveling in the pastel sky Charlie Rheaume's house The isolated barns schools houses granaries sky dugout cows Somebody who won't be part of it. The way I fail. Making the valley. Working on you. -
War, as it was, a collective drug Roy and the alertness made me smart as I like to be Traveling at first Going to concerts of music that paces/energizes thinking, then using it only in that way, as a backing. A picture here. I'm beginning to like it better without. The pictures have to go. She asked was I jealous of them? Yes I was.
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Language and consciousness What I'm thinking about - a passive grammar, the watcher's grammar - the fury refusal and its friend pleasure - wanting to go into music - about 'making a film' whether it's possible - scrutinizing the mind of letters - their way and my way, am I lost or found - whether the fury refusal is a push toward a new way - being beautiful and not, having a face - Mother, where she is, has she sold consciousness to duty and religion (=fright) - I told her what I thought about, we were both more telling than asking. She's not asking as if she has lost hope, interest. She was not in the greeting. Trying to tell you who I am because you aren't seeing. She's gone away. Where, and on what decision did I lose a contest?
Ellen, Rhoda. Making stories about them. Robin "I was inspired." "I want you to understand something he understands." Sex not being what it was. "He asked. I couldn't dodge." Posing as happy lover. I am trying to resign because it is hopeless, you don't want me in there. Don't punish her for something Sandy did. Sandy understands you quietly and completely. A real woman? - The account of that time I think we have to go into her refusal. I want to know whether I can make it as a companion with you. We could end up there but not in this way. It was really just the partitions between four rooms that satisfied me. I'd like you to be more visual. The place after death in the wind tunnel. That flight passing birds who fall past clouds. Burds. Vapour trails circumscribe. O'Keefe "The meaning of a word - to me - is not as exact as the meaning of a color." I have things in my head that are not like what anyone has taught me - shapes and ideas so near to me - so natural to my way of being and thinking that it hasn't occurred to me to put them down. I decided to start anew - to strip away what I had been taught - to accept as true my own thinking. This was one of the best times of my life. A slit cowpath canyon. The weather seemed to go over it. Sharp high edges between long soft earth banks so steep that you couldn't see the bottom. He had no courage and I believe that to create one's own world in any of the arts takes courage. The idea of filling a space in a beautiful way. Where you have the windows and door in a house. How you address a letter and put on the stamp. I have painted portraits that to me are almost photographic. I remember hesitating to show the paintings, they looked so real to me. But they have passed into the world as abstractions - no one seeing what they are. Such a beautiful, untouched lonely-feeling place - part of what I call the Far Away. [Georgia O'Keefe - don't know which coffee table book this was.] - Her garden. ("I can't remember so well" in Rudy's voice.) It's both enclosed and unenclosed, it's moveable (to remember somebody's words exactly), it's animate. It was entirely abstract without a named entity in it. Was light named? ("I am not a specialist!" Quick to say but only because you weren't thinking of material.) (I think we should collaborate on something.) (I'm thinking that I'm letting you stay in your academic language these days because I'm interested in whether I can do it. But I have to remember to call us back because I want you to learn the simple words which are clearer and do not scatter thoughts in the same way.) (Roots.) (Paideuma.) Want to ask you for your pictures. We were beside ourselves and frightened but I more than you. I felt you excluding me by a narrow margin. Oh chasing you deep into the kiss. The rhythm that comes into me, slow pulse. "There isn't a house it's in relation to, it is my house, it has everything I need. There's a transparent worktable on which I write transparent writing which is the garden. Ink which is visible only on certain wavelengths." I was entranced for a minute (she said) telling it. Power of images is that entrancement - I meant attraction. What do you think of archetypes. Reservoirs of enthusiasm, ie hydraulic. "There might be a dog." (And birds?) What do you remember. (Did you write it?) There were no other people but you live in it, it moves. The nomadic garden, a section of the universe. The garden of love. AMOR. I say yes but it's universe seen as for people. I think you make a world in Pound, it isn't lit crit for that reason. "I'm so wonderful, I think I must be wonderful because you're so wonderful." "I know." The queen of wands, death, the queen of pentacles. I felt I had been preparing for you for years, gathering material. Brave words we have for each other but when I see your face on the pillow looking that indescribable look I'm not brave, I'm gallant but I protect my injury and lie low and divert you with jokes. It isn't only your beauty, it's that you're there then an impermeable, through my eyes I can't have you. These days I've been willing to come into your creation world because you don't want to leave it but you're so beautiful there, in your central city, that I'll have to bring you out into the country again, for my beauty to feel you seeing it. (I said) your garden is my garden of last week (when I was the aboriginal) but you were instant to say no your garden had a high technology of the transparent desk. But do you think my writing is not transparent? Stiffness instead of the flying balances and laughing of the days before I became you. Luke was protecting him. He protects me too. Green plums and figs sliced in milk and cereal, with wine. The danger of having your gestures and voice slowly sink into me, faces, bodies, they come slowly but when they're there they are shrapnel and go off. You got that out of my journal. What was it? Wondering how I would feel if you and Sandy would briefly come together again. She goes off people too. Chinese. I want experience of the syntax. A literal translation. Literature. The place between two languages. Saw a two-way pivot. But experience is not a language, y'know. Look at 1. what you put into your compound, 2. what you leave out. 1. list of welcome thoughts, 2. list of forbidden. My garden is not a house, ie it is a circle not a square. Grass to the horizon, the wheel around fire. It would depend who I was describing it to. I don't get a panic. The Chinese people around here so awake coming and going. "You're always bucking me" he said. Sitting in two chairs, feet reaching across. I saw her talk to herself, she had her eyes closed. When we lay down it woke us. What you like to do is scrabble. Building off in different directions. His restless cough next door. [Luke - just after I got back to town Roy arrived with him.] Joined by lines - animation. Two ideas in night park. Stars could be filmed by single framing with long exposures. The backstop and stars. I saw the stars sifting down through a very pale grid made by a sort of sandwich. The grid maybe exposed on top, which would make it leave the places where stars are. A good fountain sprinkler, two wings in the park leaning up shooting and turning. Fountains shouldn't be in water. A starmap with latitude and longitude. "I think my gift is actually ----." A canvas shining. The drawing. [sketch] I saw it in pale warm sand color. It made me think of something I saw today on the other side of the visibility frontier. The modular and eye level. Our two fat activities side by side conjugating parts. She actually can't sleep with friends? Because of a switcher. Maybe the world of her imagination is not concrete and that's why fucking has to come from a different part than friendship. If that's so I'll have to teach you. The animal Delight. Gasping on account of the talk. Because for me fucking has been dancing, very aesthetical. As childbirth was. It would do you no harm to find out you're beautiful. Concept. I see an armature, she sees a radiation. [dictionary notes from words around concept] Imagine being pregnant with a concept. All the abortions. Stone children, eggs of many sizes. Wet hen. An angel lexicon from R. Definition. A family of definitions. Looking for the hinge or hinges. 1. names the process, does not decide whether object or subject 2. names the result, ie after the process 3. names the previous state, the potential 4. names the process more abstractly, generalized 5. names the result more abstractly Permute the definition around a process. Before, during, after. Concrete-abstract. - Clowns - laughing - opening - knowing something - being fearless - eating excrement - not respecting - theft of food, powerful poverty - the most powerful vision - work of opening and curing - living outside of anxiety - contrary motion invention - guests made to laugh before ceremony can start - frightening to cure. Red Ant curing ceremony. "Are there really ants?" "Not ants, but ants." We have to have a way of thinking strongly about disease. Pueblo Koshari. Immunity/impunity. Outrageous about sex and food. Peyote. 12 or less. Gift of tongues (codes), transparency. Power is transmission of mana = pneuma = holy spirit.
I am raw because I like acid knowledge. I did sing it in Winnebago he replied. This time it was completely unintelligible to me. The Fox language. If you travel as far as this and someone threatens you with death, say "I have already died." - Cried because she didn't understand me. The people and the others, the few. - You're not supposed to be in the picture, it obscures detail. Seeing the landscape without me in it. Jamila Ismail 1971 "News of the universe": muan bpo and the Cantos, Agenda 9 (2-3) pp 70-87 The gnomon, the section. Civic order: amor amoral. Paideuma root knowledge. Agenda agere to do, vs credenda matters of faith. Auspex auger or soothsayer who looked at actions of birds. Avis specere to look at. Birdwatchers auspices. - R and T and C make a cenacle around tables. The centre is that area made real by the multiple and simultaneous occupancy of the divine (or ancestral), the human and the natural. J Ie you know you're there. The prenatal, the social/languaged and the objective/real. The Feelers, the Permuters. Work together for News. Modular calibration. The roots go down to the river's edge / and the hidden city moves upward / white ivory under the bark. - JoAnn false connection. The crosslegged sitting of the wise on the floor. Design a city. Entranced. A time when people would habitually read art and everything else as consciousness. Down to signs? The names of god, the modes of consciousness. Monotheistic. The story of the Sleepers who Would Wake. [going to Diana's cabin on Saltspring with Luke and Roy] Water/ferry. A bit of foam formed on the edge of a wave just as it falls. Some of the water falls several inches into the water, it is like a parachute, a blooming, the line blooms into the shape, falls down the slope of the obliquely moving wave. The back of it, that it comes from, dissolves. One after another these things open and fall. At the cutting edge of the ferry's side foam moving out and back, out as it slides off the edge, has the same solid edge which as it drops back dissolves foam, a lace very fine mesh, crochet. Backing, the thrill of seeing foamy water, deep with hissing bubbles, move along the side of dark green water. Slanted sunlight making ribbons as if shadows, streaks through water.
- Pleasure of sitting on the wire fence staring at enchanting water. Behind, in the wake, a long boil of deep beaten water, it had strong blue and white, the blue from over. Crows with the white gulls. Swedenborg said natural understanding and spiritual understanding coexist in this life; after death only spiritual understanding is still in memory. In life only natural understanding is conscious. Jami's faces. Renee's birthday, my sister C, her knee faithful to me all night. Watching Trudy watch Don staring. There was something he couldn't understand. My eye on his wrong eye, shifting left and finding him there watching me not know. Jami huffing and stamping, declaring, bluffing, insisting. I said you let yourself be a version that interests you less. She thought I was feeble and didn't know how Oriental we are. C I love you. I was outraged J had let me dislike her. She was pompous, and still in that we found a while she was so close crying little cries. Crows flying away. But then she wanted to make me come. That's what I didn't like us for. Kerosene lamplight throwing partially colored light moving on graph paper. Graph mirrors. It's my heartbeat or writing that makes it flicker. Do it in sync sound. Must it be kerosene. The other senses. You don't have odor or a taste. -
Work: clarifying charm. Why? It carries all the important information. Body turns corner. Leaf scrapes. The shadow is still there but leaves quickly. Leaf sound is still in the ears, shadow is still in the space. Sound like a departure. At the boat. The white curved screen. I couldn't see how it got there but it made, among less visible patterns, pulsating centres that didn't move and weren't related to water striders. Where does the light come from. I wanted the fish to go there and show themselves but they didn't. Have two separate worlds. Water/fish. Look at them carefully then bring together. Those leaves that sting. The grass that bites. Kinds of movies. The psychodrama. If you touch it and it starts a stinging.
Jack Wise star map with lines drawn
Lit crit: my consciousness is better than that. You are specialized because you invest your spirituality only in 'work'. To see her barefoot on the bedroom floor taking pins from her hair, crossing from one place to another. It has to be less sentimental. Sound of a voice pleasing itself with its membership in an approved feeling. - My journal's legible. Needing to share / or not. What you need people for is just to belong to them through time? You pretend the emotions, or you're emotionally another person. More pretty collage Hide things - C and T gently kissed me so I could be with them. At the first I was so high I didn't explain anything. Explaining is doubting. Diana's hidden things Line ends unwatched The unwatched parts of the sentence
Your thesis. The language in it as language doesn't matter and is unconscious, ie willing to ride on the academic. There are live parts and dead parts. Look for the parts that interest you. Ask Daphne about Used to ducks over, I heard leaves as wings. - What they mean when they say I'm always thinking about what somebody is thinking of me. C. Paul too. But not J? Or different. Or what I'm thinking about them. - The fire on the edge of the mirror.
I let you in on obsessions too. She doesn't pick them up. Do you like me to come in your obsession or not. - No she only expects it in her sanctuary. Others only expect it in intimacy. I'm trying to work out what she wants with people because we aren't flying. 1. I think it's her fault, she's gone 2. I think it could stay if she wanted 3. why doesn't she - either because she doesn't care, or because she thinks it won't be good enough The new kind of time: I was afraid at first that I'd lose interest (was she) So how are you two doing T said. Shock at her directness but she was talking about a different two. - So what I want people for is only to fly, and only to support my flight. Otherwise leave me alone. Spiritual ambition. And with her. Flies alone. ("Because I could chat with him.") And loves obediently? I talk to my mother. In your childhood did somebody share with you. About Roy and Luke. Luke from the moment he got here in deep shock, acting. Unavailable except for a few moments. I know he'd be better here. But Roy talks to him? In the freedom the house had. But it seems to have been him or me and I seem to have chosen me. Roy's length and prettiness, his lined sad face - have I got it here? Touching Roy, the women watching him laughing. Roy. He makes it worthwhile being seen but won't say what he sees. Naughtiness. (Little girls' bathing suits covering what they won't have for years.) They went around together, Luke asking questions in his false voice, skipping, climbing, R tired but attentive to him. Walking to the ferry Luke traveling with Roy big and small Chisholms, a child who's not mine now. Waving. "I lost that kind of language" he said. "When I came to Johannesburg and I suddenly realized I didn't have to stay in South Africa, and I left. One of the things I liked was the seasons." "Except for the other kind of dead, not growing anymore." When I was telling him that I died last winter and wasn't afraid anymore, he said this. I didn't tell him he looks beautiful. Luke went to stay at a house on an island. The woman who lived in the house wasn't there. Luke came with his parents, who didn't say much to each other or to him. Around the cabin pressing up against him when he was on paths, were plants with big velvet leaves, that scraped when they brushed him. Luke was only half the size of his father and he looked at different things. "Luke isn't interested in scenery" his mother said. Luke's mother went somewhere else when Luke and his father came to a place where she was. She carried a book and wrote in it. Sometimes when she did talk to his father Luke didn't understand what they meant. Sometimes they talked about whether Luke would stay with his father or his mother. She said "I'm willing to do half, but I can't do more because it kills me." "Sure, I know what you mean," his father said. "I'm just afraid that after six months something will have changed," he said. "Oh no, I'm committed to that, I'm willing to take it on, but not all the time, that's all," she said. Luke was lying on his stomach. He said "I want to stay here. I want to do both, I think," in a careful voice that sounded like his Grandmother Catherine. "Alright, you can come back to London with me" his father said, "what do you think about that?" "That's alright," Luke said and didn't look at anyone. When he and his father came back from the beach his mother took her book and went there. His father said "Let's go right now." They packed the yellow packsack and the blue bag. They left some of the date cookies for her. Then they went to the beach and told her they were going. She said "I'll walk you to the ferry." Luke walked ahead in his bare feet. His father carried the yellow pack, his mother the blue bag and some things she found on the beach. When he said something polite to her she said "Luke I want to tell you something important. Sometimes when you talk it seems like you aren't saying what you really think, you're just talking like you think other people talk. But you mustn't, you must just say what you ---. Or else, you don't have to talk at all." Luke didn't reply. They got to the ferry. She said "Luke I'll say goodbye to you then." He put his face up to be kissed. She didn't know what he was thinking. She kissed him and said "Take care of Roy." Then she and Roy put their arms around each other and she said "Take care of Luke and don't let him be like that." "He gets it from the other kids," Roy said, "It isn't from me." "I know, it's such a fight" she said. Luke had already run to the ferry. He and his father climbed onto the upper deck and looked at her standing at the ferry gate in her red and blue bathing suit top. Her hair was cut so short she looked like a man. Luke waved in different ways. She invented a lot of ways to wave back. They played they were sending signals. Roy played as well, not for long. When the ferry left, just she and his tall father waved. He watched and didn't feel sad, and felt sad too.
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