| edged out 1 part 5 - 1981 december | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
December 1981
A theory that tries to tell A withoutness from withinness / inside the greater withinness "Mass seems to increase with speed" when an electron is moving very fast. Making laws so they describe how relative motions are, from any imagined viewpoint. The reference-body assigned. Theory of tensors. A vector quantity, ref to more than three components. Only a residue can be involved in the formulation of any physical law which is to have a priori chance of being true. Between two events which are not too remote from each other there is, in the general theory, as in the special theory, a measurable relation called 'interval,' which appears to be the physical reality of which lapse of time and distance in space are two more or less confused representations. Between two distant events there is not any one definite interval. But there is one way of moving from one event to another which makes the sum of all the little intervals on the way greater than by any other route. This route is called the geodesic, and it is the route which a body will choose if left to itself. We naturally interpret the world pictorially and we imagine that what goes on is more or less like what we see but in fact this likeness can only extend to certain formal logical properties expressing structure. It does not tell us what it is that changes, or what are its various states, only such things as that changes follow each other periodically or spread with a certain speed. The terrors of having to (smoke) risk so much to be wanted by this other kind of people, disintegration but toward - walking in the streets/rain without interest. Somewhere visiting in small (La Glace), Sandy's getting so - I notice - feet are touching - friendly. She is saying "When you left your husband you had an au pair." I brighten up and exclaim, the picture changes, "Yes, I never thought of it." And then that I see a tiny woman on a vivid yellow lino square, that's the end of the butter. She goes away with J. I've been ingenuous, the way I like to be won't stand up masterful in my discourse. It's lost me - Where, how far back on the light beam Choosing the worlds of discourse and why 'Sirius' She was in a world alone. An object spoke unexpectedly. All the other clusters appear to be moving away from our own. 'the level of function' - Had been flat pained digging in the file after 1-15, how is it these times I work on something, put it away in a moment, and if it weren't here in this record it would be as if never - the structuring in that - couldn't think of the word, its assumptions in this language, but there's the picture of struts, foundation, substance, struc ture - as at this moment in this mind it runs down corridors and is not its whole. I was lying in the dark with the pillow in my arms. Had been in underbeating dialogue with you, our times, a journal, weary, go to the centre of the room, turn off the light. Lie down head toward stairs, lying eyes open, clump footsteps, it is my door opening, I know the boots - see them up the stairs, head turned up and back from the pillow to the shape in front of the window, "I was talking to you." It lies down, has its boots stretched out, fat coat on, what do I do. I put my arm around. It's arm presses mine down heavy and hot, why that way, what is this. What I can see of the face, it's a puffed one. Weary eyes, really unusually circled eyes, hair pushed by the pillow into a standing ceremonial over the forehead. What has she come from. Not drunk. I sit up to look at her fret. She says don't. I touch her foot, wondered if I was seeing the little hoof shoes, feel the boot on the ankle. She sits up takes off boots and jacket, moves her glasses. Lying beside the inert visitor I'm jumping inside, am like a dog, happy curious. Don't be on the side of happiness. Lying still obeying the instruction I suspect is a romantic scenario. Considering what it's like, it's as if a click of permission, my body comes on, or did I feel it, breasts and then, I'm noticing, the tube ache, it's desire. Underway, quite a fine thin acute one. Put arms around, she does too. I hold very close. Her back is so near me her body seems not to be, the shapes of the back I can lay my arms flat along. I was going to not speak to her for years. This was a true gladness and without anger, but what has she come from and I must be suspicious. We could sleep and she could be here in the morning but I suspect something in relation to who she lives with. "Why are you so tired?" "Ssh." "I know you want me to shut up. I'm so curious about what possessed you." "You'll spoil it." "I'm just telling you I'm so curious." "I should go home and sleep. I'm not sleepy." Sits up and peers, "You look alright." "I'm alright, what, are you here to comfort me because of something, what? What did you come from?" "Mei-ling." "Ah!" "Leave that --- ---." "I don't trust you." "Of course you trust me." "!Do I?" What if you knew what you're doing, I'd like that, oh very much, but. Coy voice, "No I don't." What was that voice. I did right to send her home. (How I'd like the male to be) how I'd like to be in sex. How I'd like to be. It would bring Roy back in. [sketch] the swift That the mountains have snow again. Phone. East Indian, "Is that Miriam? I am selling life insurance." "WHAT? Oh please do not tell me you are dead, because I find you to be a very lively wo-man." "She writes as though she's a spirit and her experience is coming toward her like a spirit river. She's ... immersed. The world I write is more solid. It is writing more like sculpture. My people are more physical." "You want to be more of a spirit?" "Yes - I do want to be more of a spirit, but there's something of the solidness of that time I don't want to give up." "It's your old demon, envy, again." "Yes I keep thinking someday I'll learn something so I'll be more interesting." "That's the same thing." "I know!" "Her being more spiritual is what makes her publishable. My being so ordinary is what makes me not publishable. It's how she had that confidence in her perception. And ambition, that kind of ambition." "How did you lose your confidence?" "I don't know." A book that does what else with naïve perception. This sort of writing and reading that says any living, any actual time, is what's precious. What happens when there's a dead parent. Is the difference in the writing, that I have a living mother and she a dead one. Lawrence at the end of Sons and lovers. A contact in the underworld. Cathy's grandmother. I tried for a goddess. Not being too close to someone when they might die. And J has. C: "You want some blood? If you need it you have to have it." And wanting to know how it works, how it's made. Her spiritual voice is publishable, her social voice is like anyone's, Carole's story is disgusting because it's in social voice, D says the writing takes her farther, I assume to be honest should transform the presence. See again. In that journal I find myself so vivid in, imagining it being typed, myself after it were 'published,' the excitement of a sense of something I've wanted in intervals and made the first tries. I thought of publishing it, the times showing it to Ros, Katrin, J, wanting them to say publish it. I find it so alive. Not that part. At the table it having been made as it was, (feast) The table. First using it to get the stories of their meetings. How was anyone, I don't assume I know who anyone is. Only gradual to the possibility of seeing it. At the same time talking on to myself about longtime things. It can abstract but not - it recalls to abstract, but it doesn't. Listening to anyone, seeing a picture of what she's saying. The sorts of systems that were listening: do I comprehend, is she out of my possibility - in the social, what does this express, what's she saying - what is her picture, where is she: who - what's being done to my position, revenges, am I guarding myself - what's the difference and meaning of these differences - how is this different from my other times - I don't like the way her hair is high on the top - look at that small face the lines that cut the mouth - the way Sandy and I are having our eyes meet like clicks on the wall light-switch height, she has a white face I don't often like to look at but I like the way she speaks to me - the ones I had that time with who weren't there - her silence in which she is like that oo - when the face goes back and the teeth show - "Maybe I'm nobody and just a sponge" - "No, maybe everybody is nobody" - "That doesn't follow" - "But it holds water" - "You drip" - that's practiced. In that way. At the end offering a marvel and I erased it, without stopping to Dairy Farm brand. Chocolate-covered log. Your story no one knows any slight - The instrument. She wrote instructions. I found myself in a sound I then made and watched over. Saw its stream narrow and widen. It seemed real. And hers not. The ebb of breath. Is it telling the feel of lungs. Strong clear marks [sketch]. Rhoda's picture. The shape of the face. In the sound realizing I was in the sound alone and possibly not. Can I say anything? I was just looking at this plastic, it's more interesting. They seemed so domestic, on the phone, talking about shopping, milk and eggs.
Cinderella is the key. A Barbie doll, blond curly hair, a short skirt. "It's conceptual." "But you did see it." "Outlines." I say it isn't an image because parts of it aren't there. "But you did see it? What was she wearing?" "I see something like wax, pink and melted. It's like the profile of something taken all the way around, like wax." "I would have thought the shoe would be the key." "It's just because you want to have her in your pocket and feel her, carry her around. What is she doing, that's a construction by meaning." She turns, "No she's the tumbler, the lock." "We were talking about open and closed doors. You said she could open it when she wants." How much I don't know. "She found her way out of her situation. They were mean to her." "But you know, didn't it seem nice when they'd gone out and she could look around and know she was by herself." "That's because you always see her sitting by the fire." "Yuh." Tension of arms and shoulders. "It's the body" she said again. (But what's it turned in, into.) ?! The doll is - ("I never played with dolls") what do you think it does?" "- With a sword." "I was too wild to be a civil servant." "But did anyone know that but you?"
"I loved the handwriting of both of them."
I am the one who waited and the friend came to find. The one who waited and the friend found, you want that to be handsize to use to unlock - what? "What did you think of that?" "Bananas!" (I wasn't asking you.) Meaning - do you?
Smiling at each other. That's new strangeness. Behind the smile the sense of disjunction and blur, why'm I smiling. "I'm thinking she's not particularly found, she was already there, but she changed houses." Hope I'm beautiful like that. If Cinderella is the doll is the phallus, what does she turn. "Cinderella is the key." Are you working on this. San drion. Cinder Ella. The female cinder. Any girl who achieves happiness after a period of neglect. "It was conceptual." Or was she an ember. She (sexually) comes alive. Sexually coming alive 'is the key.' She loses her props, all except one shoe. Earlier the body as North America (under your shirt) to where she's open or closed. Began when Rhoda said there was a window open downstairs, her alarm for her house, Rhoda going downstairs says "It means somebody opened it that's all." J and R say: "It can only be opened from inside." "I never know if somebody's been trying to break in because I leave my door open." (There is a way of being safe that is wider, I am safe in the whole and not behind the door.) When J was after first smoking talking to T about her instrument, I left, there was my own situating I wanted to do. Could feel myself in the remarkable presence of the look of absence, thinking, parallel to those thoughts, frightened, I could look now and see how they are together, and how she is with Sandy: and she can see how they are, how does she look. She looked collapsed. I didn't want to. I should know everything that can be known. Why aren't I, because I have something of my own. It sent me back to the day I was in before going there. What a lot of mirrors, near the floor, they do make space, I didn't mean - and my arm without looking goes around. Quietly. Accepted. The something to flatten. It holds just still. Yes that was alright. Three shaped rooms made pretty. It likes it here looking out the window with a plant arm around it. Photograph. The leaves have fallen more. They're living in it. I can go in any room, yours too, and read if I want. ... And to make love in philosophical discourse. Do I feel that. Yes but it's not how I want to be spoken about.
Blow the tuner to call you and it does. "Last year I had one of those, I used to blow it sometimes in that room." (Is it fact?) I did it when I was alone. Glass of water, coat, hands under the warm water stream sink filling she's alarmed how it looks, doesn't know the sink, eggshells, "Do you want to take a bath?" "Yes I do want warm water." "There is somebody back here," dryly. What does that mean, does it mean she's thinking J is interested. R's voice in one of its lively grey turns "It means somebody opened it that's all." "There were always other people in those locked doors" - speeds up - "but anyway I would sometimes leave those locked doors open too." "Yes you would." "That's brilliant." "She didn't do it alone." I'm battling and not being overwhelmed but what am I not seeing - what on account of this sturdiness - it is moving in spite of their difference or not comprehending, because wherever they are I am somewhere too. The other waiting and listening is when I have to gather up to be impressive. But it's to be more in this way, blinding setting forth in my own time. Seeing its maneuvers and not refusing. "Will you come tomorrow? Two o'clock?" Off the bus, is that Sandy, walking and dressed like a middle-aged man. My mighty boots and split sailing Chinese umbrella. Clump clump up the sidewalk. It seemed a shyness. "I know Trudy is." Almost ready to know. The way this morning I have been Rhoda, as if wearing her head. See a jackal.
Using their methods on them, noticing phrases used. Noticing the intonations. "Sandy. --- --- --- --- --- ----?" What intonation does. That was a command. A large person was speaking from a tall movement forward watching errors, give-aways, falling back, on the left below, keeps moving. On the bus: it's always what is a spirit, making a spirit, working to make an experience, that's the kind I am, everyone isn't, "the uncreated conscience," conscious, using odd parts unmethodically come by, to be this kind who does that. What he made wasn't conscience it was unbinding language forms. She made something accompanying what other people might live, it is conscience, she stuck to identity because she was grateful to have (been given) it. All along: what it was like before.
The moment facing me talking about Cinderella her face turned into Percy. Does she have anything about something. Turned to stone. What a strong heartbeat. The way when someone would say something I would try to see into the scene behind that remark. The series of unfinished barely begun glimpsed guessed structures mistakes disjunct readings the image differently read the other interpolated hit missed and in a stream of work. 4 On the bus from UBC the weedy kids with cigarettes. I yell Don't smoke in here! twice. They are quite a few and talk back. There's a girl with braces. I yell at her If you didn't smoke you wouldn't be so grey and ugly. There was an instant while I considered saying it. She was colorless, neglected. I did think her ugly but to say so -. And then: go ahead go ahead. Couldn't look carefully to see it hurt her. She came back, "You've got lots of grey hair." "I wasn't talking about hair, I was talking about skin." "I don't have grey skin." I'm looking to see whether in fact she does, and it isn't really. I say "Take a look." Then the quite wild disorder of glee, smiling, scared, amazed at the crazy lady who surfaced in the bus where crazies do surface, keeping a straight face, mouth quirking. After that Bino's visiting with C. Trying to tell J. "You do miss fighting with me." J's thinking revealed: madness of the house schemes, how she dreamed them communal, she only wants to talk about it. That she's dreaming of replacing me with T and doesn't know it, romanticizing both, smoking as they do, orbital, prurient about whether I'm hurt and whether they are going to "bring anyone home." "Have you been very solitary." Easily impressed by my refusals. I was watching her face's instability. What does it mean. The beauty and the ugly seem to be there at once in different parts of her face. Sleeping head on pillows in front of the fine yellow corner light, body forward toward the door under the pink cover. Footsteps. Is it Paul, he'll see me sleeping. (Did he speak.) Open my eyes to Kuan Park at the top of the stairs. Seeing what he sees, a woman in bed. Fold back the cover, jeans and shirt come out. "Why are you sleeping?" Standing in the corridor looking at each other. His hair seems curlier. He has on the green pants and a Cowichan sweater. We're the same height. He's interested in the $1.20 Paul left on the step. Is going to go down to get it. "It's alright." The hand swift to his arm. The way it's oddly staring at each other. "You look tired. Here." Touching under his eye. That staring: it's his face quite old and brown. The eyes are from within, it seems, a neutral level and true existence. (He is you in the same way the girl was you.) I heard, speaking to Cheryl, and Paul heard, someone else's speech in mine ("It is not Jamila"). "It wasn't the vocabulary" (it was too), it was the vigor of the rhythm." "I've been listening to Bach." Something blind and runaway. When I thought to write these stories they seemed stories of chaos unusual. The ugly bank manager I try to talk into a loan. The mystery why this being upset isn't in direct emotion. Reading. The vocal line cursive the muscular singing The harmonic arch This morning I lost clues, gathering up little things to be taken to collage, T had left me her blusher, I dropped and gathered up, was the mirror alright. Last things from bathroom, this and another. We, M and I, cleaned the kitchen surfaces together getting ready to leave it. - My hands have her smell. Rose Dick. "Be careful on the steps, they're icy." Coming down on white frost blue light. Are you having a full moon. The little met her at the door, pyjama top, pale skin, toddling over, begins to smile. "Hello little." Touch his tummy. He sits beautifully down. "Is this your old man? You better have a look." They turn on the light. Two big nylon men looming into the room where a man is sleeping. A baby starts to cry. She is still crying. I don't look. Stay at the top of the stairs. Orange carpets. 1819 E.8th. Coming to sit on the bus bench, looking in her face. Tears and stretched mouth but I don't feel her. "Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me." "Are you remembering something?" What is left of you. "Who hurt you? Did somebody hurt you?" "Don't hurt me please don't hurt me." Arrival of three big cars one on the sidewalk. Surrounded. Huge males with brute faces. He grabs her arm and shouts. "Don't yell at her." It's stupid of him to have grabbed her arm. "Don't hurt me." Puts her head on my knee. I think to stroke her hair to counteract them. It's a light perfumey and cigarette smell. Why are they speaking to her in language she won't understand. They can't imagine how she is. Two big ones go off disgusted, "You're not helping me." Briefly a younger slighter one with a dark finer face. "I just want to go home. I've got two kids don't hurt me." Is she saying what she didn't say to the man who stopped in the alley and pushed her out of the car. What she did say, likely. "How do you like police work?" "It beats sitting at home and reading." Door black like a curtain behind her head and shoulders my eyes go to. "You had your warm jacket on underneath, I thought you'd gone out in just that coat." "I thought I'd put this on over in case she was filthy." "So you were really organized and I thought you were really disorganized." Holding her in the back seat of the police car looking at the mounted typewriter and its small console with 5 lines of writing lit up in green. She's weeping and I feel the pressure to. Is this the feeling her feeling. "Turn off the radio." "Will you come with me?" "Yes I will if you want. Can I go with her?" "Yes if you like." "Will you bring me back to this neighbourhood after? I don't have any money on me." "Sure we can do that." "He was a white man." "A white man." "He was old." "Was he older than your father?" Nod. "Older than your father. Was he as old as your grandfather?" Shake. "Not as old as your grandfather. Was he fat?" Nod. "He was fat." Relaying to the front seat. "Did he try to rape you?" "Yes." "Did he take any of your clothes off?" "He tried to." "Did he rape you?" "He tried to. He pushed me out of the car." "Did he grab your breasts?" "YES! He grabbed them. He hurt me." "When's your birthday?" "The 10th of February 1960." "I guess I'll put it down as indecent assault. Tomorrow she won't remember a thing, I bet you anything." Opening the back door of the car, the one in the passenger seat opens his, "Will you be alright?" Clumping lightly long black skirt yellow raincoat rubber boots, "Naturally!" with happiness springing through the narrow corridor between the building and the fence. 5 PRWA [Pacific Reforestation Workers] meeting. Looking into the meeting CUCND watching what it's like to be there. The way others don't look at personalities absorbed that way. What it's looking for. Is it eugenics. His sapphire eye and the soft mouth oddly stretched up on one side, far up, on the other side not at all. It sees what anyone is. Sculpture. But it looks for - what Nora, alone, looks like. Among the men looking for girls. It means these years of looking have been sad erotic. The only one awake. Late at night. 6 Awake late at night in the corridor a head outside moving next to the porch post. I move my head to show I've seen. The face looking a middle-aged man seedy like the steambath men, jowled, looking in my eyes mouths "bananas." I'm terrified. Call out wanting my father to come. He doesn't. But the shouting has made the man run. I open the door shout after him "You creep" looking into the cold street light. Here phone. Laugh. Warm telling in sun, bathroom carpet stirring, separating. Cut mushrooms carrots red pepper in silver bowl. About S and R. Reading on tape. "Good, good, that's inspiring." Hurry get off the phone, laugh at how we're preserving the high, she from the front room I could see her in. Then go straight to the pieces, but not fully. Starting for Stanley Park bus at three, am I going to meet him there. Imagining the touch if I wanted, shoulder? Powell. Buildings. Looking, the route last to her house, turn, where, the mountain and BC feeling, how do I now know I'm there, living here in only the streets. Can't get to the water to look at, circle around, sea, good boots, firm edge of sand. I could go to an island this winter, kayak, arms paddlewheel, Eskimo, the water rolling up silver, what is it, almost something else, a wide sensitive advancing, I didn't know what it was, it was liminal, the height of it. It gave a feeling of facing me in eager quiet thought. Yeah.t Reading. Finding woman with a hole, the figures, unbearable, they're now so foreign to me, was there then a way to know it differently, and unexpected, almost liking one about father. But how different now. Those emotions were grandiose but how was the metaphor working. There was always shift and parallel. Liking simple creations. Wondering whether just issuing them would stop me seeing through to more real. (What fantasy's for.) Then last finding notes from living with her and before in Vancouver, what I'd come to in noting time (thank you). [poem list] A. you're not a flower 1. violences, songs
2. birth attempts
3. the goddess attempts
4. those metaphysicals
B. sea meadows -
- Mine shaft less gravity. "Brakes." "You're right but do you know how it works? After you get to the maximum it starts to reverse." "Zones. It's outside the zone." "Then if you were at the centre of the earth there'd be as much pulling you up as down." "Yes you'd be weightless." "You mean your lovely plans for the house were only domestic?" Sense in the writing constantly repeated is in / out, being the line, boundary, limin. In worship of Gaeia the free, the free walking. - You look like Gaeia. Gaea. Gaia. Ge. Mother and wife of Uranus. Ouranos ouros ouraios cobra Egypt. Gaeia's the name of loving the earth. as a religious intoxicant by the Scythians Apollo with wolves and mice now revealed a human shape with the animal as his companion and symbol their incorruptible beauty and unfailing strength when they saw any unusual manifestations of these in their fellows it was for delight and pride the beauty which the Greeks imagined in the gods of powers in full reserve and emotions in full control The gods had begun to be meaningless It was assumed the gods were present and took their place among the worshippers an act of hospitality an appeal as between friends This was a glorious time when the gods walked visibly on earth when the gods were believed to be present, in feasts, in ceremonial songs and dances, in marriages and in funerals The rules of Greek friendship were at work, The need for complete sincerity and candour (forgiveness was not in their nature) Their envy might turn against the successful and all who follow freely their own inclinations as the guardians of loyalty They believed in their own human nature and liked to see it harmoniously at work ... developed a modality founded on human values and able to operate freely and confidently without worrying too much what the gods thought about it.
Heroes - for special degree of power or vitality helped fill out the world of guardians Thought to be present at united in its admiration for them and its sense of belonging to them helped human by strengthening capacity Xenophanes "like unto mortals neither in form nor in thought" "but has some affinity" Looking for a single principle behind Our opinion of the gods and our knowledge of men lead us to conclude that it is a general and necessary law of nature to rule wherever we can. Aphrodite riding on a swan The old syllabary To unburden oneself by vigorous circulation
A metrical system: not accentual 'but quantitative,' units in which the balance of syllables is dictated not by stress but by the time taken to speak it the heating of water for a bath, the folding and hanging of a garment before going to sleep They thought it their duty to say what they really thought the power that comes from long and intense thought majestic and searching treatment: he is desperately concerned with the truth What might happen: a severe selection The first human soul revealed in Greek language with searching intimacy Saul of Tarsus (No) desires for escape The audience fully educated in it, their strength from feeling at one and at ease with their - Advancing beyond all imagery
such connoisseurs of the body - Later he called himself Pergolesi after Pergola the hometown of his ancestors. augmented 4ths , rising major 6th
a projective of - 35 to 40 thousand nuclear warheads hoping that her children - C's dream of fertility part. I was pregnant, well, with twin girls she could see [sketch]. The rich she corrected gave her small things, the earrings, opposite and twisted, crescent moons. ("One of the twins will be called Luna, does that mean the other one is Soul?") It's a parallel universe. - "Max said Daphne could see her structures. Imagine somebody being able to meet you in the place of your work." Infrared. "It's not what one sees but it seems to be true." "One does see it." What the writing study. Shades in working sentences. The car in flame or steam. Head with wings. (Billboard.) Subliminal infernal.
Looking at Granville people uninterested, nothing here for me, but am I feeding it. (Of being loved for the images.) Juicy and fresh water smell is it ovo.
Post office. (My dream comes true. Yours can't.) Night of 9th December. Black and white rain. (If you're that I must be too.) Basement second class mail. The quantities. Special interests. Persons. The torturous process of mail. Who's doing that endlessly. [I try out being a post office worker for one night shift] Talking to the people who own the house. The swamp or jungle on one side is impenetrable. One of the windows, E, looks into it, or some sense of a hinged side attic. I go to look at the upstairs apartment, L, I had, think I go into the place. They are arriving, he's with a girl, thin, dark, glasses. He comes forward to me open, very big man, opera chest, hair like that. He knows what I've come for, isn't indirect, I will have it. He's somewhere else, the girl comes back, I look at her thin face and think she'll have it too, put my hand to move back the side of her panties, touching myself. She's fitted herself and her hand into the same space, I'm weakly coming, thinking it has perhaps taken it from him. Robert, I put my arms around him, he resists to keep me off him, I keep putting my arms around him through the next time, skating on a floor in one room, see him skating around in the next, it's late, they're standing around, one of them says in faith that there will be supper, I begin to fly getting ready the feast, can see curry, there are the vegetables on the porch, cut side of cabbage, in the cellar where I'm getting onions I see a chocolate custard I must have made earlier. Some two large foot-long green leaves. I've baked black buns, break one open, soft inside, looks like cinder. Is there a faint anise taste. There are also white buns, fell out together on the plate, did I bake them in the same tray. Luke's clothes on a ramp where I'm sweeping. Young boys talking to each other about their visionary experiences. You're afraid of the present.
12 Dec "You kill me with that." "I think I may know something of what you mean by space. I feel it as a big sphere ready to burst - all it needs is a prick. It tries to make me less than myself." Story of the girl who said she wanted Christians to be hard-ons for Jesus. She stares from one to the other. Why does R suddenly smile. (Why did R exterminate her line.) They got wiped out in Auschwitz, except her aunt and father. Mischievous is she telling me not to mind it. Then she goes in, acid has a clearer heart. "I had a time when I was very frightened but I kept on." "When you were frightened what were you frightened of?" "A thousand reasons."
"You put your arms around me and told me you loved me."
The sitar music and the missionary playing it, one bare foot into whose arch the bowl was set. occasional brilliant images of shaped sound She felt as if a million vowels and syllables rose into the air, all alive, like animals of sound. occupying the same place which isn't a place We are called speakers because we try to speak inner knowledge. Some of our knowledge is written in our body. 15 In the days I love my clothes. The shapely boots. Look at that boot. Black tread. The tall black tread. Long ankle. The lace stiff. Its foot is forward. Thick hide leather, white stitches, one row, two, on the toe four. It's called Gorilla. Under the jean rolled hem they are big confident feet, heavy but not. The other one's already deformed at the ankle. It's a silly foot. But the left foot, the strength, the pushing up from the sole. The jeans are an exact fit when I am. That silk jacket, navy blue, brilliant peacock and the yellow raincoat. Split Chinese umbrella. I love my clothes and no lover, and desperate to eat, and looking at the thigh's aged hang. But light inside the skin. If you could marry your right one I could come to your foyer for dinner and talk. Under this time I believe there's disarray. The disorder of my and your committals. That isn't quite right. I could go on talking to the you you aren't.
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