| edged out 2 part 3 - 1982 april | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
Early April 1982 Sick and then yogourt. Come up behind in David Hunter. The garden streets where I've never been. Gladly both eating up the yogourt. Excited to be near her and able to say so. Bright. Tired. Safeway. Too tired to imagine supper. confident and spunky so we both like it, lying down unusually breathing hard, liking it, touching and feeling the touch on her back, shiver back through to my shoulder. Brisk when she was lying on me. The way she'd looked as we talked. "A beauty you invoke." (Today it was puffy language.) Fine. The young man ("my age") doctor and the psychiatrist wife. There was a lot of looking. It was the man and woman from the story. Oh I'd like to be going on with you now. - Cutting the little slide matte seeing there was a way to work in a smaller scale than I'd ever -. Alarming. The small knife, examining its line to see which side the furrow's on. Trying out agreeing. What wouldn't I be able to. She'd have got what she wanted and then we'd see. What would be the worst. If I were having to do the work of an inferior mind. To go on doing the work of - I should give myself six months or a year alone to see if "It takes so much. Don't you resent it, you don't seem to. Why not." "I seem to have more time for it." In the smoke watching what's this mind like, what does it dodge. What's its quality, what does it want to know. Is it a good logic. Is it direct. Does it have a language that can see through. The form of what she wrote. Solus ipce. What can language like that do. Remembering Roy. Protest. They act as if they're a better mind but I have to keep working at the basic mess. They use the basic mess to keep me occupied. That's spirit battle. If I didn't correct at all there couldn't be that Ladbroke Grove happiness of agreeing. The room. Its not panicked sense of being caught in unresolvable contradiction. That she won't know she likes me. That I'm patiently, more and more patiently there.
To go for miles without meeting anybody "The surprise of those evenings was X." "Confident and mellifluous." "Her writing was exquisite."
Her description of M. Randall.
I've today been imagining calling her saying alright. Hold back to think about - - whether it's possible - whether I'd want to go on connected as separated - whether she'd have good sense for the kid Then I thought of another way it could maybe more easily be done. WHERE IS the roselight heartbeat from the ice! I wonder at: the way I used to have analysis for this structure and was up to acting hard. The analysis now is remote as if there'd have to be the same battles again to bring it available. The fancies about why - traces erased by that time - she's not free-feeling enough to get clear battles coming to clear knowledge - or something else is up - I don't want it to be something I know already - that journal's a torrent, letting it pour enough brought it clear. I don't want it to be something I know already and there's no stopping. Are you feeling freed? First that and then reading again about the house T gave herself on her birthday. If it's that then I am in familiar. The cake in the oven, big chocolate. I knew a bear would come. Next it's dull shots. He said it was the biggest bear he'd seen. I wanted bear fur. One of the four pieces. Down basement. Already gone. Judy got them though she already has the mink.
It's in the premenstrual week and crescent filling. The day crescent almost overhead and bowed straight west. Or something else is up. It felt like patience but didn't seem in any way to endear: it was the opposition that makes hate.
Eden after the fall, when the people had moved out. Faraday in his mind's eye saw lines of force traversing all space where the mathematicians saw centers of force attracting at a distance. Maxwell A treatise on electricity and magnetism 1873 trained himself to see infinitesimal vibrations pervasive overarching lines of force that form a unifying field Leonardo Codice A2172 The air is filled with tiny straight lines radiating from everything, crossing and interweaving without ever coinciding; and they represent the true form or reason for each object. from the transitory effects of light he assumed he was painting aging and incipient blindness or advancing stages of a process of training eye, by dint of living and seeking frankly and primitively by ridding itself of tactile illusions conviction he was almost hearing the landscape to paint what impinges on the retina physiological chemical impressions registered may gradually become aware of taking place in his or her own eye as a physiological phenomenon prior to seeing Staring. How can I look at the retina. In front of me hanging up there where I'm staring is the reflection on glass of the library ceiling lights. Screens. Charles Ross Origin of colors. 9' long prisms suspended filled with mineral oil. [sketches of garden chairs cut in granite*] For Martin, time is the slow and delicate aging of the earth by the sun. An illusive sense of place embodied in a rigorous and delicate structure. harmonic layers to the rhythmic structure vertically stacked notes traditional chordal patterns additive rhythmic structure used previously But the chords' modulations have been slightly twisted, their harmonies never quite resolve. They turn over and over again but without anxious haste. Now and then a quick movement is repeated more slowly. Porcelain, etched glass, thread, chicken wire, jacks, cuttlebone, anchored and fired with the porcelain Zoe's paradise oil crayon pastel and pencil on rough paper, rubbed with acrylics. Stephanie Brody Lederman The tendency to a sublime mode is checked, which of course tenders a higher, darker sublimity. That too is not allowed, and the sublime mode and the present taboo of the mode are struck at. Walking this direction through the neighbourhood, ankle strap high heels, pretty feet stepping, wide tweed jacket, solemn and hair (back), the rest dressed and looking like a solid man. Chinese people in the neighbourhood are speaking to her, I wonder if it's reprimand. I'd set out porcelain things in the grass, looking at the way inside one of them is rough but cellular and receding when I look at one cell into a chain of them. (Ezra's) sausage, is he supposed to have all of it. Then see her and go to meet her, leave the porcelains on the grass. Anne - what did she say. - Hazing over. Pink tree. "I've been missing your body these last two days, the way I do when I'm sick, and that kind of fucking." Anger and bitterness. Go then. Astonished by the fart, what is it. Later I know it's the onions that weren't cooked right. Past a house where I'd thought Robert lived, or another Robert maybe, 40 or 46. With someone, passing, I go back, a long corridor, room at the end, he's in there, I won't go in I'll just leave a message, Ellie said hello, but I do then go in, student house, mess and colors, hadn't thought he'd live with young students. We're walking outside. A hinterland. Maybe wrecked car bodies and grass. We're going down a little slope. Touch his arm. "Did you get some land?" The thin sharp muscle under the sleeve a naked muscle. "Yes. I did." My spirit goes looking for him at night. Past a house we liked the look of, blue or green, bow windows, old paint, the drive around the side. A selling out. We can walk in. Hundreds of pairs of work pants. The old man is in the other room. I pull down a long tartan skirt, evening skirt maybe for my mother. It's got a top, it's a strapless, this folds over. The woman entertained. The family life is recent although the man now is alone and very old. There's something about music, some music, quality of music, hers I think. Are they your parents. It's full moon. In a field (behind the house) we're watching the red missile come in low, shear into the field. We think what we're seeing is the nuclear end, happening, by chance, next to us. Its fins open slightly, the radioactivity will have been released. We're thinking of radiation sickness. A bus, "18 miles," someone says, has been sent for us, but we don't' want to go. We've already been exposed, and for another reason. My own sense of metal, don't touch metal that doesn't feel right. Plants will have cleared the material they make themselves of. We seem to be going on. Janeen, a matron, is saying she doesn't like people who used to be religious and aren't now. She means herself, she isn't as she was, dilated, sweet and open. I'm asking whether she remembers how she used to talk, and would she want that again. My mother saying it's time to go (to evening service). My shoes are in the van, my father's driving away. I strip off my socks then. A line of people erupting from the house behind. "Like kangaroos." The lilac over the building across the way, sky lilac I've been looking at, fading and divided in two. It's flower and color. Barefoot I'll embarrass them. I'll go get the shoes. Am in the back of the van where it's parked looking for them. See my father walking uphill toward the back, notice the van's creeping uphill, I'll be manly and rush out and brake it, it's getting faster, I'm running and have opened the door, the corner's nearer, I'll have to turn before I can reach the brake, and do (left as if in England and it is a VW van). Then stop it. A hospital room, four beds, I'm the youngest in. It's faced in a sunny direction. Pass an old woman. A building I've worked on, the brick face, bricks angled some with arrows. It isn't quite right, they're lifting the corner, R. That's made it right, but how are they propping. There'd been an old table under the corner, my father's going to try it further back, but the building is sinking on to me. I'm crawling and crawling as it sinks. When it emerges I see I've crawled in a direction opposite what I thought, the longest way. [Working at Grubstake]] Over a threshold into a store. Everyone's at the back, Darkface on the phone, Falsehair at the desk in braces. "You've heard what happened?" White Smile. Who's come in. Neutral has. Ne Uter. Bonefoot. What's to do. A dark hole with bad light from poles high up along the ceiling. At the bottom of a dark hole calculating, writing numbers in tiny columns, listening to Dark on the phone. Her business manner's well made for what it does. "No, brother."
I wanted to tell the news that in March he'd taken a vow of silence. The person, the mix, was being sick, fever, dark skin, hot face, quick finegirl face laughing talking over the edge of the bed, eyebag, little bachelor cravat, jumpy blue terry bathrobe. Easter holiday leaves, small leaves and small flowers, small drizzle, small leaves passing overhead on twigs. Her room with her nurse's mat, magazines. Gordimer's man waking up in a field's air, making a turd, making soup, spending money, Ezra's legs laid up on the wall stiff sleeping. Reading novels not being sensitive but looking lighter and pinker. Why'm I wanting to be here, and happy, nothing else to do. Gordimer 1975 The conservationist Viking 13 An empty house, the Konrads', they've gone, windows were set lower, cut into the wall under the first windows, so they could see the road (Clearbrook, east) from their wheelchairs. That's in the round or hexagonal small front (northeast) room. the soft wing snap or flappeting of the flappet lark 16 The Clearbrook house (from the room I had), regular sexual moans, loud, hers not his. Telephone rings. I go past the room to answer it. The door's open! The moans aren't stopping. I go past not looking. Will answer it in the kitchen. If he went to live in the --- was that my wanting to live there alone, before I met him. Convergence. The room I had. A plaster wall house. What house. The two telephones. Does it mean Rhoda in -. My mother not my father. If I could've been having true dreams. An empty house. This one. What should be in it. Space. Measured by distance to things. What else. (Luke.) "Do you miss your work?" "No I don't miss it. I see it, and hear it, I'm just not doing it." Looking at the papers, their calculations. My sheet has a lot of numbers and check marks. Means I've got the grant. Women I don't like are asking. Now I'll travel. On the map into the river, upper branches. The map shows the mountain flank cut down into thread lines. Is it winter there. Transcription. Too much snow for my sleeping bag. I'm on a bank sleeping but where I've woken, could have sleeping pants, pile of three pants, carry them, is further up than where I went to sleep, it's at the edge of a drop. The man who's next, I'm friendly as to Peter yesterday, "That's my Studebaker down there." Long journey, no gas, I'm telling him I don't want -. At the next place gas station, farm, the woman can't sell me gas because -. But her three puppies. "Want to give me one?" I'm holding them, two, roughly by tips of ears. They're big bulldog lumps. Her pictures of babies, smiling girl baby in red and white striped pants-sack. Back to close. Shame. The swelling tight of eyelids in the morning. Diana's birthday face clear cut white black and pink. Sandy's fuzz and clear too, between her and my cher. Why does R look different. Saw me looking love at Tee. "A little bit slow and a little bit stupid." If she knows that's true I would immediately see her different. The who's next to. We're in our right places at the table. When she stretches back the thin of her chest. The lines that make them laugh, I only hear the laugh, but don't see who's laughing. That is because I'm being laughed at. Who D looks at for what. Me -. T, C, R, J, E. 18 It's It was wanting to stay hung in the book. Like other times. Less leverage than. Eating. Not wanting to look at.
When writing dreams the little opening into understanding. It's slight. When I'd ("Tu as jouie?") tripped the feeling it seemed to jerk loose out of the womb. It was two movements. Once it crept toward the vagina, I thought that was coming. Two movements a small flood out from the touched place. You're in here a lot, when I consider, that releases a stronger, saw it as lateral, coming out from the womb heart. It spreads further on into the breasts and limbs. After it there was another sort of slight knowing and vision.
Falling asleep. A lump of a book she used all the time. The sort of thinking that's customary, the book she uses all the time. A small mass lump. Then the other mind startled in, what was that? And lost it, didn't want to have lost it, wanted to be there together. The fine-fleshed back. Bible, could I understand everything in the bible. He took the little book and ate it and it was in his mouth sweet as honey and in his belly --- as fire. And when he had eaten it it was in his --- bitter as ---. Why the mind that startles in can't see what this one doesn't, there's the dream's confident usual thinking, and the one who blunders in, thinks herself the visual one, finds the dream lovely, interesting, gone. [Revelation 10:8 "And I took the little book out of the angel's hand, and ate it up; and it was in my mouth sweet as honey: and as soon as I had eaten it, my belly was bitter."] What she said about Gordimer living in an orderly way to have a lot of time because that kind of perception and organizing needs a lot of time. Oh! What've I wanted my time for. Immobility. Teeth wearing down or decaying, the (tightness) of lower jaw that has pulled them back so they're worn off by resting up against the insides of the upper. Under the eyes the deep stagnant dark sunk part. What are they, they look like sickness. The upper jaw has teeth spaced odd-shaped pegs losing substance in dips, lower jaw has them crowded worn and missing. What is it supposed to be under there. Tall Daphne on the street coming nearer not looking, red dufflecoat. Pile of hair. It's all grey. Why do I talk to her about her hair not Gordimer. Is it for writing or film work. Why doesn't the speaker consider. Yes I've been, there's been confusion and it's. The red dufflecoat. Walking looking at the sidewalk. The hair piled blowing at the top of her head. Souring my connections by not noticing. I should've visited C so she could work here. Sour of peebed. Hawaii Zen-do. [Have heard Robert is at] - Money: if I'd had it, I could live somewhere else, there's no end of possibility. I want hope. What for. If I had money I'd go back to London. Film Co-op, bicycle, costume, strength, strangeness. Or San Francisco maybe would be.
Once when we were singing, she on her bed, I below on the mat. -
Do stones collect What is driven out Before one who knows more Active relocating What is really the ethic It is to do with sensing.
With a narrow flashlight beam
Shame and refusing. When I speak out in small aggression at work it is pleased at release but dissatisfied in the company, why bother in this level to say anything but if I don't I can't have noise and action. Coupled nouns. Why do I write them. Amateur. Coming around the van home preoccupied with the machine gun farts, past the Scotch pine, C is on the round stone. "I didn't see anything." Too awful and hopeless to pass off. That Gordimer. Confused mind in her atmosphere thinks it's compromise confusion. Likely the other way. What's wrong with Paul. Gordimer's people saying what they think. Desperate in not being equipped to understand. "Why doesn't he want to know things?" It being so hard to face him or be near him over the map. Staring to see what it is. When he says something he thinks flatters him? There's some sort of statement he follows with a tongue flick onto his lip, I turn away suddenly, he doesn't notice, it's a sexual stupidity? It cancels his insensitive sympathy, the violent refusal held back, when he says he'd like to have met that child, you'd have been as useless and sentimental with her as with me - what is it about his saying it, I'd like J to have known her but she'd never have said she wanted to. It looks like my own shame, he permits himself to look like my shame, why, and what was the violation, that I say is of himself but it embarrasses me, covert nastiness, it's now, you could have been literary with the little girl but you don't see her when you're with her, that's what's stupid, you mean nothing. Elementary, poverty, loneliness, you can be nice to. Pile of oranges and on the other side, of white buns, in front of a gold sky down at the end.
What the shame's of. Nowhere's worth concentrating for. It's useless, she says she likes that I said it was stupid, but she's not careful enough so it matters, she'll go on in a way that's no different and won't be the world I want around, and in those friends, is that where it now comes from, it's failure where I did hope and care, she's what she was, it was the transformation, she's working adjustedly admirably, T's tamedness with me, as if I'd by fighting it destroyed the ferocity I wanted most, having to fight but not wanting to tame them, by having failed to bear the strength of it, have I spoiled the time we could've used to break further through. We did break through but only so far and now there's dragging - there's sprite too, behind - engagements - when we talked about it it wasn't - it would have to be running up a challenge again. And I refuse where there is one when it seems I'm not taken equally. The distressed gut fermenting, have to start there, what is it, how to find out. The fat molecules, fish frying, surrounded the table. People resembling each other. Fish surfaces. At home the mornings. Will they. Silver five thirty. What could I love enough to wake. A job of writing. Open window. Good coffee. Down on the garden but not open across outside. A film actually from some title to the end. It's remembering in real time and rebelling in this old form of limit, and feeling I've failed my chance, which means: I haven't the nerve to pick it up now. Which means: I found myself unsafe. Where would it begin: I've decided the webbing of contradiction is where it is. But am so often in distress of shame. "Thank you lady. I'm solly bother you. Heh heh." What happens. Why in here do I have to ask before I can tell. That might be a half I've left with J. The rebellion's so mild and taken as so outrageous, what is that, astonishment - he has the village in him, I have too, but there's something more, it must be how it's done, strangled, that makes it outrageous, if I were more outrageous - if it were thought boldly -
Sitting on a foot. The tight jean thigh pull, a tensed hand. Pleasure neat on the strong flexed foot. Looking down into white shirt pocket at green dollar bills rolled. An Bonefoot said: I moved into a strong unusual self. If it works - This way hasn't been working. What in it has brought paralysis. She saw how an eye meeting hers made a billiard mutual ricochet. Good he shut the grease in the bakery. Is there no way. A physical existence reporting. When the words get away from the rehearsal spoken. Where the face is supposed by someone else. Them. What makes it head into the inexact, I'm watching it speak badly, that's the shame ("What intention for it") all day, why've I just said what I haven't thought. The thought wasn't there enough before I spoke, it hadn't enough time, after I spoke I know it was wrong. If I made a rule to stop first. And then never the surprise. That's what's making me rush, I want it to get out before I've curbed it, it does, --- ---. But in the wrong language, is that the system with listener, that induction book, the morning book, calculus. Going to UBC for - stop off to give the maps - she won't be - her car - door open! Leave the bird from the pile of books and walk into commotion - her smile was glad - I distribute - left arm, passing through, the maps, one cry behind me, the other, you're telling me what Brent said, "I was on my way somewhere." Bitter to you and will throw myself into this yelling where they seem likely to like me, disregard you, though the bitterness is puzzled, "You've been lying," the photograph, two of them standing, where her arm presses R's shoulder, the covering cries that go up, why don't I have one with you? I was thinking, There's nowhere a photograph of us, R's cry, "Jam's face is so smooth and mine is so ---," making me go back to it, J's face is smooth but the age and wear is pouched under her eyes inside the glasses' frame, R is lined at the mouth, together they're an old couple, J taller than R. She looks after J in a way I won't, there in her good Oriental clothes from the bath, whom I broken-heartedly indifferently can't look at. At the table clamour, T throwing it into clamour I take up for the relief. If the adults were in distress, and I didn't know, and the quality children would know, and read, why can't I know and read? Down the page the pencil writing's etched, light can go far enough down for there to be shadow on one side of the line. At the table lit from the candle below her face without its prettiness, the hang of thin flesh down from the eyes. Yelling about Fanon. J having got the elementaries of, what, the expression of her colonialisms, the British colonel of her distressed nine year old. The notion of falseness acceptable in the form of Fanon, where forms from feminism aren't. I can't read him. "Why did you bother?" Knowing the answer wanting to make her say. "Yeah you wouldn't read Richardson but you're willing to slave over Fanon for love of what?" In J - the distinction in social sense and raw sense, that is from a person less bent and inferior. Or what? The yelling in the knowledge of position, seeing R next to my friend and are they cutting her out of the herd away from me, did I ever want to be with her, do I ever dare to want, allied to what we both know is important to her, and I'm stranded with a refusal I haven't thought much about, that all the gentry would disagree with, and it's her steadiness diagonally, helping me out, actually giving me arguments and strength, oval face, if you miss me will you come for me. Now it's come to small tears. It will be done so civically I'll herd myself in didnity out the door, things laid understood. "They lie to you" at Rhoda. But her gladness, in their company, when I come in the door, and I'd been already invited. "I'm going to go." She hasn't offered to drive, said she's drunk, she's not. "Good to see you." Leave bitter. The lead bird left legs up on the concrete. Children seeing a culture that has more range for them. "Every culture is laws imposed!" "There was a culture that came in the sixties and it was taken away." "It wasn't your native culture." "But it was one I felt at home in." "But where did it come to you from?" "From the Indians." "It didn't come from the Indians, it came from America." "It came from Holland." "It came to you from America." But did it come from the Indians? Paul's journey Mexicans, she and the man sat together with joints early in the morning. "I like to get high before I go to work." And why it's gone, you aren't asking, that's what colonialism means to you. Come home to Gordimer. The apparent contradiction between my position as a colonial civil servant and this belief, wasn't really a contradiction at all, because to me it was the contradiction inherent in the colonial system - the contradiction that was the live thing in it, dialectically speaking, its transcendent element, that would split it open by opposing it, and let the future out - the future of colonialism was its own overthrow and the emergence of Africans into their own responsibility. I simply anticipated the end of my job. I sort of spilled my energies over into what was needed after it, since - Here after Carnegie / the red pants. "The thing about those red pants is that they're sexy." She's from the Literary Storefront, smells of drink. We're in the dark. Max took her on a trip, Trudy told her. While I am complaining about T she is stroking, I get obsessed, knowing the quality, want to get back from it, is she bending me back toward it or am I -, fretting! She wants it to be a real complaint, I want it to be something else (behind there's wanting to find it out: they are really doing it and keeping me in the dark, and I'm keeping myself in the dark, not believing my senses, some of)(I have my own secret and that secret makes it impossible to judge theirs), then jumping at the familiar explanation that she would have made, and now I have too, "Are you wanting to make love?" "Yes I really am, but," inside body warm (delight) spreads approving, yes, that's it, body is patting me gratefully, but then you stop, fallen into sadness, I'm fretting more, come on, be a man, decide for me, do it. And a really paralyzed fret, dim, should I be mad at her for a setup? Is there something I don't know. It intensifies in palaver. What's the matter with you, you don't want to! After all the talk. And when it has begun there's a strength in the brain. It's a completed sexuality, I'm saying, I'm here in this moment, I have this possibility so strong tonight. And then it is lost and around it is waste, the most isolated endurance, we still don't know how to do this, why are we so immobilized, that we don't learn. She says like a girl "Did you like that?" Because there was a time when I know she did, too, and also that I wasn't nobly concentrated so it could go on. I have been panicked and blaming her intention, and shamed knowing I haven't focused it yet. Furious that she hasn't. Then she said "I thought we could communicate better while we're doing it." Oh! Is that you finally being willing to join or is it a fall into the common ignorance of trying to better, from being a worker. When I'm turned away to bring myself, angry little bewildered rebellion, if you don't I will, and it will wreck some moment in the future, but I will not be victimed now, it comes not a pleasure but a surprising intense electric shock like a white glow I want to say in front of my face, though it might have been belly. In the morning after bad sleep drained nervy an extraordinary fury thinking what you wouldn't do and what you could release and won't, or join and won't, or are responsible for/with and don't acknowledge. It was a blind raging, quite blind. Having come didn't tranquilize it. It wasn't genital. Was that wrenching in the ovary. You're saying nothing would satisfy me, I know that isn't true, but it would have to be in another sort of being I'm not reaching. I was in a powered but stupid state that needed a navigator, and was wasted without one, wanting to hit you, paralyzed in sadness or confusion because I shouldn't, but is that so? Hit you. "Clear off." A mild violence that I thought was correct, you really have been harming me in an unknown way and it's right to have someway struck you, but also this is working to send you home absolved for something there, you are working for yourself, the other day I did it, so why not. But then finding it was May Day, and the Argentina war broken out (Falsehair pleased with the technology importance), I phoned and found x about to go out for exciting time with y, and you saying "I thought you'd give it a couple of days to -. I'm sorry it's that," causality accepted. "Have fun": that has a quality from other time, it's a readymade, I mean the whole gesture and countergesture in it. The moment I say something, like to Dirk, "I'm breaking up," that could be a distance play, while speaking simply to another person. To another person, I mean, not the speaking persons, but a message carried out under the sheep's belly, from the one who doesn't talk and isn't there, but can be there another time. Then afterwards there's that slant-head considering: what was that. And why did he grab my arm in that way, saying goodbye. "She's the channel of a vast need." Coming from work on the street, I shall-be re-lee-eesd, loud, then on the bus, woman's head turned, I'd sung it out as loud on the bus. Lying reading in a trough in the behind-the-counter counter in a café, looking at dirty white socks down that end. How did I have the nerve, how eccentric I've become. The waitress does make me get out. Last time at your house a moment in passing, the startle and take were inner, the stream went by as before, it was just in passing, she was kneeling in the blue terry robe, with her hair down? I don't know, but it was for one instant the right woman in front of me. That one is sometimes in my ear. A time looking at her face to wonder if it was one I wanted to be with, she passed an expression over it, a fine irony, so it was. Want to know. This morning laying stones. "Are you taken up in this?" Spite to discharge. Don't know what you did but I want to hurt you. Well we both had our secrets. You hang back wanting something and not knowing how to get it, and if you'd spoken through to me, I'd have switched. It seems to be about small decisions from or into indifference. I'm insisting that wildness had something to do with you and them, why you wouldn't, and when you thought my hand put a bad ache into your bones. And here: there's not intimacy either now I'm explaining to myself. I don't know if you were guilty but something in the way you came was wrong. Meantime, was liking your look, as I do, and you were seeing a windy roostertail. -
you (was it singing on the stoop called you) [Robert comes into Grubstake, the Brinkman Reforestation shop where i'm working]
Do those people read me as easily as I read this one. He's talking fast telling out his dreams!
those which are shining and those which are opalescent and seem lit by a light within themselves. Yes, though there are many otherworlds. pictures seen in the memory of nature and visions of actual beings now existing in the inner world The mind of a person coming out of Faerie is usually blank. about us numerous as the blades of grass I think they could see into the earth. aine or ane from ancient Irish an, bright. Bands of animals running sloped ridges, tiny elephants with their trunks up happily, it's the shadow animals that are running. There's a cut to a folding gully straight up.
rive rived, rived or riven, riving rivet rivière a necklace of diamonds, usually in several strings rivulet Distress, the flight's soon, when, when exactly is it leaving, where's the whole black suitcase, is it checked, I haven't brought even my toothbrush, in this girdle! and tight pink dress, do I have time, distraught, crying, pleading, mother and sister, thinking of my fine loose clothes, to go home to Valhalla and get my own things, that I can sleep in on the plane. A south coast, back up from it a half mile (maybe), a house I go into to go through, a good old house, but plaster's fallen and been replaced in lumps, over the table by the window. Thin children near the stove, this stove jutting, and then I see the other, with a girl next to it, like a closet into the chimney next to it, this one for winter heating. Some large unclear badly made photographic prints on the walls, upstairs with the thin girl who made them, she's like the malnourished street kid early smoker, 16, in danger of getting married, tough-talking school-quitter, got into a second floor photography class, shows me prints, a woman's face and chest with lines through like television interference bands. [sketch] Looking down from a height into some circles with men standing near them, two sets of three. They were masterful, I was impressed, was thinking to buy some, for my magazine and to get her out of there. Being in the house, and that young girl with her photographs, I wanted to be sure to take them out. C's show. Lorraine standing herself in front of me with that willing to be awkward smiling look. !! She wants to talk to me. Sandy breaking in inexplicably, is she covering something for J? Does she know something? Why would she want to tell me I was looking beautiful, and twice, that I never stopped yapping. C's story reading so light polished, the diction so right. Yeh, you done it! Sleek J. The look that checks my delight, sideways to dangerous pretty Rhoda smiling but not speaking, and the snarl intercepted by Diana's relative, that was going to be a lusion but came out a real hooked chunk of snarl. Passing tall Paul Clarinet next to the blackboard I'm looking carefully and from below and red and white woman say hello. He stops. The common evening awkwardness. Says "Sing!" I will - drop my eyes, watched, wait for the note, "Ah-h-h." Listening to its surprising clear texture. A little into it he joins it, and there's his voice quite matched into one sound, but he quickly forces it and I do follow, pleased, right loud, it happens very fast, he peaks and breaks it, I accede, break exactly with him, look up to the end of the room, faces turned, "More!" He's shooting out of the room, I'm delighted, smiling that that eruption and beautiful shape of sound came also from me, but musing at his demand and the control in it. "It was like a spike." [reading list]
Getting cedar blocks from under the building. I'm going to leave as I have before, thinking it's impossible. Sad. He reaches his arm halfway. Don't go. I see his floor open, he's putting in plumbing. Black pipes in grainy dirt. The quality of hallucination, midriff lit. Is that the dream gate. Today cutting pictures. Roy phoned. Collage thought and delight. The wrecked boat and green and black bits that have been together near Luke's door. Been eying that. Pictures made of very small amounts. Simultaneous grids - that is - minds of reference. You see me looking. You see me thinking with my sight. Relation of a cream-colored room and a piece of paper. At 6 in the dark stars in clearly drawn emblems. Frozen grass. The turtle's beak-mouth, dog nostrils open, eyes in creased turrets, flippers plane, rowing, pivoting wings, flat body kept down by interminable rowing, knocked its face against the glass in front of my face. Let me out. Let me out. Imagination's terminal Goodbye brightface. It's a clumsy paw difficult to fill. High overhead a pickup with a yellow fluttering canopy flies east. A forest. It starts to rain among the saplings. Some local geometries Width of the moon is two minutes One hour's passage of the sun is fifteen degrees. Local mean time. Local apparent time. Difference between two systems is called the equation of time. Each date has a partner on which the sun has the same declination. -
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