| dames rocket 7 part 4 - autumn 1977 | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
Daphne about writing. The weight of sentences in a paragraph. The technical ease ("I've been doing it so long"). Lately I've been playing friendship in a more interesting way, trying to give away more of the secrets. It becomes a different less profound more articulate connection. Speaking about the oldfashioned spirituality of art, wanting it to celebrate creation (does that stop her?). I said "But I have to keep mistrusting that, to enlarge my idea of what spirituality might be." The dismay of you rolypoly drunk pouting fond of your tears, awkward, wanting me to come into that with you, the ugliness of the face, I wanted to make you at home and at the same time sober you to be with me. What you saw, tell me very carefully. What Daphne is in her base place, in the writing, the sufficient - with people something else happens, hesitation, lack of skill. It is true that sexuality has to become something else, it does stop us. Daphne about Luke: it has begun to be written about that moment when the child has a moment of mastery and intercepts the glance of the mother.
This afternoon after the hospital I was thinking, in myself, no, she isn't where I am, we're still pretending to be but we're actually withdrawn from our talk. But how I needed to be next to her body in my body? The work of 'love.' C you know it's work. - Intervening in people's lives, children's, with a tale. A storyteller who knows how to find and give symbolically on the level that people live in. Books, writing: distances and disempowers that safety for the teller. Imagine on the bus inventing the right news consciously. Nellie does. - Zen spirit of muga = it is not I that is doing it. Prospecting all through. A few loving words, for the sweet wind that isn't always there, you, lurking, inside your fat belly and round breasts, white and veined, your bland little hands, this face you look out of. Oh fat crying drunk husband. Oh yes, you. We're seeking and finding or missing throughout these generous days, why do you look so tired. We do, want each other. Why did you look so tired, and I
When we're together I talk, what's the look of the talking face. A face which talks attractively. The thoughts I won't have unless I write them. It's a way to slow thoughts down to the speed of other people.
And be careful of rhythm which I could always use. Writing shouldn't have a beautiful rhythm. I have a ghost in these days, of myself as a young brownfaced longhaired very beautiful person, at college. She comes to challenge my drugs (which let me know she's there). A picture with a charge of anxiety. A craft. Writer's intelligence or not. There's more time than there used to be. I think about dying by thinking about what keeps me from being afraid of dying.
I was thinking: how close we are. As long as we are not interrupted and so have our interaction to feed itself. We need to talk about our past events because we aren't fast enough to be in our present events. 'Living together.' We go into flurries in order to come out aligned, and then we can go to the world seeing the same things, ie the dogs. Okay, seeing things together is what we've been working toward. When I look at you we are alone. The conjure of concentration. Produce something that grabs them into your world, ie the shared world. (Olson's talk.) Write a non-love story. It would be DHL.
Writing that speaks of dying as an instant. Shattered the nape nerve, the soul sought Avernus. We are inventing our speech. Intently, intently. Georgia O'Keefe, her nonwriter's language. T and C: I am a leech on their minds, or was. We all thought about it. I reinvented you lying next to me with the park around, because later In description sticking inside the thing You'd said you'd been full of me sleeping. Feeling the tug as I dropped. We're having to work in/out of/through the marriage form, idea. Maggie. I could write her. At least want to show you. When I see your writing on the wall and I can't penetrate it I am frightened.
- Hey I'm in trouble. There's trouble I can't find. Many things too fast to have, again, had. Looking around in the richness. In the secret room everything turns into treasure. (Cheryl you're here.) Following you into the kiss. Do you know, in there, it's the ocean; your teeth, the warm soft under your tongue, mine pulled at the root, the lips lapping, all that can be done with two the same, but it's diving among the coral. Baby, you. the breath making round trips on my skin between nose and lip. It was a way for our persons to fuck as musically as they know how, here there can be exact knowledge. Called so far out, that sleeping was mathematics, no it was better than that, it was diagrams on translucent. The dreams hover. Screens. The funny movie of us outside. Sandcolored professor looking cross but making vibrating jokes. Hippy velvet shirt silver shoed middle aged woman. Can they see the secret at the end of the carpet grilled cheese orange pet for a film. Ezra's white love shooting into us guardian. Something has changed; yes but it's real here, there are so many things that don't need thoughts any more. Baraka. Does T have it to give. -
- You had ecstasis of the cigarette cellophane on the Serpentine. Level. At our level 'marriage' doesn't exist. Stops. Sterben. They are resolved. They are finally what they are. Writing it means it's not so. What I'm always asking about the connection - it isn't 'us,' it's me and - is do we make as good a thing as alone. I've left the place where Is it mask and self. If, then: Bergman attending the world of long time.
You know we have to stop talking about it and use it for what we want to know, then rest in the ocean.
Are you the angel assigned to me after my death When I visit you, Roy, Mother, it is the visit of a ghost in a dream. I took the pictures off your wall to tell you I had died. There's excitement and regret. Will I ever see Luke again. My story of leaving Luke behind and going back for him. Oh Luke am I dead in your world. I made no wrong choices but it happened that I've been calling for death, I had it sweetly given to me, I'm here in the next life, talking. Mafalda, the accounts focusing. Do I want to. I seem to have been preparing to. Am I choosing. I want to stay here at this place. If it's on to the next I have to read up on it and find out how to ride it. As birth. That's the call of suicide. As Karen's father, but she stayed to work. As I do, recalling the survival stories. I told you my most intimate secret. My death has moved in. And yours' too, you're ahead. "I'm so far ahead of you in this." There's nobody better, I can only continue to give you everything because I reverence, that is I trust, you. How it moves. We're on the riverbank it seems together. I exclaim; I'm not used to it. You're watching. But I'm watching too. There's something in that I don't believe. I come ingenuously to share what I see, dancing as around a mother, is this how it was. You are my mother in those times. And how can you help being my child too.
- It's moral courage. Go. Went. She wasn't found because I wouldn't, what did you want to hear, that I would do it with you. We have to clean out that one. It's in the wrong realm of dimness. But it's beautiful there, knowing so exactly whether you're lying. - I have been drunk and am down, preparing to deny everything. And think about who you are. Integrity activates resolution. Evil as deficiency of light. That one's roots are not a disease. Wanting to give everything. It isn't wrong. Living together. Is it that. I hated that you lied there. -
Crystal waves weaving together toward the great healing. That the goddess turn crystal within her Lithic light Dying means ceasing to be the same. To lose faith in a possible collaboration is to raise up the ivory wall. Alchemical image of liquid light crystallizing into stone light foretells the final stabilization of the omniformic self. But after that soul melts into air. Crystal describes not only water and stone, but air and light. Denominator of clarity and light in the 5 basic elements of air fire earth water and mind. Home, safety, intelligence, paradise not as a stasis in light but in a flashing, jagged, broken way. You don't want the spiritual journey for yourself, let others do it and you'll watch. To build light jih hsin said Ocellus You made my dream so clear. Ireland. Duff. The mother below to get into bed with a strange man. The three children. I'm the middle one. Precarious. Here comes Duff safely from the other end. Landscapes, green and yellow lands. In dreams there's such a lot of traveling. T talked about National Geographic, the tribe that puts color on for special days. The man who carves horses. National Geographic because it has C's (lives) and mythology of lives. The landscape signs from above. I didn't want to know about it yet.
- Imagining Luke's being as a lover. As a child in the imagined way. I tried to tune my mother to where I was, she was layered away. Does he. A connection I've had without examination. We are together in and out of tune and don't value it for itself. He's freer. -
- Sense that they empty my head out and use it to resonate in, I wait to watch them steer through me, at first it was that and I was shocked and then I collect myself, focus, decide to ride them and watch holding the resistance. They accidentally touch things I think about - lying - and zap each other with the intense focus of disagreement. Mutating words. From that school too. The play forms. Dictionary. Funny jokes. Jam ever really laugh?
[do not know where this goes - was upside down in a later volume, seems to be extracts from several years beginning with 1976] close to the window attempt a confident handstand feet overweigh toward bottom and the wires feet among the wires sparks and smoke but weight throwing her well through over the mossed edge a slimy comfort and naturally ending well on her feet the knees taking in the force of the fall a landing like a circus woman hands out palms forward to send the success out into each spectator it completes me to look at you it gives me my face I desire you because I have you unborn in me the contracted flesh of my states of grace blah blah invoke invoke bent on magic but doing it all wrong clumsy magician her brutal wrists and fat hands knocking potions off tables forgetting herself in the count space travelers she thought, in her innocence not knowing it was true the little girl writing rocket stories naming the beloved: mustard
long lives of magicians it is both near and far here slow easy to lose the line easy to lose place in a line or intention fast in the bits of news that flash maybe there are always maybe the awkwardness is in trying at the same time to speak the language of the other place when I try to say how it is I glimpse various minds as if slips one flash of each, is that it seems to be in a certain light a certain relation to light then writing seems more clearly to locate its land dressing table mirror lurking in the bedroom's corner out of the near, direct fall of light it's you I love silently and densely, without smart generalization or profit as these days I love the high privet hedge that blows flat on the window rains on my walls and on the surface of the black night glass she was the only female body he was allowed but she was his and it made him wild to fuck her carl phillips johnny cash elvis music more familiar than any happy wildness of Saturday morning shake baby shake great balls of fire everything about you is so doggone sweet don't you step on my blue suede shoes red berries and big crows among them bouncing the branches, beautiful fruit, and in the heat I am on a ladder on a roof danger and branches the special heat of high the uncrowded crowed layer sphere crowsphere with yellow pears and red apples being afraid and lying over the roof ridge pale roof dark blue sky that space where there are no more of me or like me on this street in a part of a city far from my own part alleys a village blackberry vines, a rutted gravel road, flowers thrown away over a fence and taken root and so we were held up at the beginning, which was a death meeting. it happened that children arrived also / the tribes of women decorated for each other surfacing their nerve roots onto the skin and in this way flooding storming the brains where care and attention had scored out such a sadness. they do not let go of each other, how else can their irrugation of the skin and deeper and then further outward can it set them right after a while, not a drug for away the animals of three dimensional movement birds fish and angels an angelologist, is how she finds the old woman how long it takes to make a tale out of everything that comes write by fleshing a structure and then taking the structure away
went to a stranger and said will you marry me yes or no first inventory their bedroom rifle 30-30 winchester a good-looking object, well made it's on his side of the room near the bed, leans into the corner is unloaded it seems to want me I can't touch it without telling myself I won't use it on myself. then I think of learning to play with it your spirit in this gun
RLS another seated on a wall and intently making lace movie shaped so that the physical forms of a concept find their word after hinge to exchange communicate intimacy friendship to hand to, pay new tales of navigation
the new tales of navigation what happens in dreams cannot be undone
imitate the spirit of the animal or thing inside the story of an I and a you and it the pleasure dream of judy paul and I passing through the willow underbrush curly dark to the store (lake), there we took what we needed and went back out door #4 and through the willow bush and home
they came down in the black wind spaced rain striking into the room of the garden there are bulbs buried here. she felt them. I told them the story of the plants brought from other gardens some of them won't show themselves for months the moment when the body gathers the right posture and the picture is taken this morning I was dreaming you clothed going through the door with some numbers, I opened my eyes and you were sitting next to me
einstein setting his imagination in the vast traveling house stove a log down the side, sidewalk, a back porch with plants and carpet some gadget in a box, a radio? I had stolen it and needed to get it on the road and away, pale blue floorboards to wallow in the myth or else to wrestle out its form being educated to resist hypnotism careless waking you're on the right coming toward me I'm on my back with my left arm above my head your face coming closer I say hello and you stop I fall into realizing I was traveling far from you into an inner dark square a big darkness room and wanting to be far from you defiantly loving the solitude and then realizing it loved in the freedom of being next to you and I don't remember more morning you say 'do you remember waking at night?' I say no you say it was a strange moment I remember it you said hello I wanted to remember the conversation but can't 'it was strange to have a wildness so close' the shaman can do what she does because she is a specialist in the soul, can see its form and destiny As in all human beings the desire to enter contact with the sacred is counteracted by the fear of giving up simple human life and becoming a pliant instrument of gods.
must be able to convince his neighbours He needed to shamanize, if he went for a long time without, he did not feel well. fantasy I say to cheryl and I'm not through with jamila yet and have a picture of a constellation jam in the fore cheryl in the back very dark [sketch]
when I send messages back into time olivia and janeen the sense of paths artists all over are making art, only some of it is done in the subculture of artists, the thing is to notice of relation in art and how people live the big view / what are artists
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