| edged out 2 part 4 - 1982 april-june | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
Late April 1982 He is the part of that time, that you won't know. The way you're real and unreal. In your taste you're it, the items in your taste, where you're the only one. It's in your appearance you're unreal, what does that mean, your eyes, the way you don't, she does, make me real to myself. Is there learning to read anyone as a language. I don't, I'm looking to make up one for everyone. I couldn't be so big I could read everyone, and if it isn't everyone, it has to be very few, and when it's few I am not reading them. Your kinky unfollowable worlds. On their account I'm not worth and think it's unreal. Each pawpress has pushed up beside it a little snow print shaped like a leaf. Sorry I'm awake and can't read on. If there were a way like that to bring it through heard and read language, under-printed image, full image into surrounded being there She puts out her field and what's in it resolves.
Where he's brought a very small place, the name I say again to recall it, try to say again, don't recall, in the Cariboo, southwest corner near a marsh. Brought back flying over east field. Islands in furrow lines. Remainders. Flier says it's archeological foundations left on the hill I love. I did go far into disintegration to get them. The way each fan-shaped shallow spread slowly forward and ate with its bubbled edge a little further into the snow. Small monkey people, one came iced from outside, tiny fur coat, grey fur, light tips, standing out of grey inner fur fuzz. Not money long limbs, human woman anxious tiny face. The space that opened before her in the air between herself and her surroundings. Finding out one is not the one who's loved. When she could flare me. And I fought. You. I could listen (computing), knowing the whole of your kinkiness, but why you don't find better language, you have to be regarded, some good reason, With C who has a new little baby. It's at night. The baby's in a carseat. She's had without having to disrupt her working or play life at all. Functions When the touch on the shoulder came, it was his not mine, and, I had forgotten, I wasn't in mind of, the prefigures. (And it is you I want to tell.) What is Corsican mint, sweet woodruff, sacred basil, pebbled spearmint, African basil, Mexican basil, balm of Gilead (cedronella), valerian, creeping thyme, wooly thyme, Phoenecian mullein, rockrose, creeping germander, garden mace yarrow, chervil, golden thyme, rose geranium, myrtle, burnet, musk mallow, sweet cicely, comfrey, fennel, rue, lovage, rosemary, thyme, sage, lavender, southernwood, hyssop, anise hyssop, feverfew, peppermint, maiden's bedstraw, old woman, heart's-ease, foxglove, dittany of Crete, coriander, lemon balm, marjoram, Greek oregano, motherwort, wild basil, Mexican tarragon, summer and winter savory. [list of garden plants bought in Granville Island and placed in the Philosopher's Garden] The inherent religion seems to be quality / risk / distance covered. The black and white contraction. Her wire will. The steel voice. Her mettle. And its skill in section. "There was a vision that's ...." "Dry and lonely." "Yes." I thought it would be right if we could see it together. She's driven into anyone's arms. Someone will be born. Easter new fire
Samhnagen put into the ashes a stone for each I stand alone, curious. I settle to the ground thinking of the dimensions of this place. the points of the spirit of fire I've wanted to follow a curve into indigo I seem to have lived forever and not existed an actual minute When you loose you'll begin to shine and sing. You've always been there, you're clear, calling. I'll go adrift
I'd even like to learn to sail and journey among the islands. What does a mother fear a boy'll be
eac also that the very body harbours these monumental loa to understand that the self must leave if the loa is to enter Never have I seen the face of such anguish, ordeal and blind terror as when the loa comes. the leg rooted to the ground skillfully, rapidly construct the wave of sound and crash it forward a beam invisible but bright scanning the void for substance to fix upon, and to become upon that substance light He can activate them to a greater degree, and he can better direct that force. a white or rose dress of delicate leaves the particular ethos of a sacred work The dedicated act; consecrated tools It is less personal: it is work in sur onde. As he laboured to make some contact with the spiritual identity which he might bring forward into the body of the person The pace had slipped down a notch into slow motion. So here I can observe myself. like a shaft of terror struck through me, that it is no longer myself whom I watch. Yet it is myself, for as that terror strikes, we two are made one again, joined by and upon the point of the left leg which is as if rooted to the earth. I feel the gaps will widen and spread and that I will, myself, be altogether lost in that dead space and that dead time. What woke me. Anguish. Dream photographs of an estate. A stream. It looks artificially cut down into a bank. An open flat with the very large many-windowed house. Jam is going there with Rhoda. It's twenty (five) miles out of town. I go back to sleep and am protesting. She says she wants me to come out on weekends. - I was writing live, wrote lie. I refuse to go on in the strain she doesn't think to help me in, go to the train station, am pushing through university crowds. Had been at a Pound conference with her, people know her, it's in Hong Kong. I say she has got herself up differently for it (with a hat). She / a hidden man reading an ugly German test, didn't know she could read German.
It was a mansion being let to artists, Anna had got her in, others were going to live there, riding horses.
Because they were both proud and neither wanted to be subsumed. After that they had marriage but they didn't have the physical in it anymore, and so they needed other people to complete it. The little firebird. Next to me the brightface I was shy to look at. Points of the spirit of fire. Why does he sound like two people coming upstairs. Maybe I'll take him for a walk. Whether they love each other doesn't interest him. Their string quartets sounding through the open windows. A glimpse. A triangular shape opened and then closed as if a curtain fell. A sense of looking from the dream world to the other and seeing its detail familiarity, layout familiarity, playing out the meanings of the structures, which are the reality of the dreamworld. Advance and retreat to learn it. The memory of how I was living in the dream and the force of the thup. I must learn how to cross back in. It comes in its place like comment, illustration, but it doesn't stay long enough to see, look into it. It does leave some kind of print, very faint. Doubtful of what's in it, but a feeling. Brilliant light with eye animalcules sinking. Trying to find my way into a knowledge. Relation of line and shadow. That R and I have been the same person. A simple treatise on optics. Around the edges of the demonstrations only to be found by fouiller dans le détail. On the edges of the frame the ravishing countryside of a particular place.
Wind on Granville. Tea rose. Move the wrist through the sprayed space. Pink on curls back. She's standing on the bed in her nightgown, taller than us two at the window. Mothers Day. Lambent face spelling each word with flamey response, mobile, smiling. She wanted to ask Don about his concert. He's - - - itate. "One of the things I love most about my mother is her handwriting." Chopped eggs. Looking out at the window swung open thinking I would say, interested in the resistance, "There's somebody I've wanted to know, for probably it's a year now, and that person has recently showed up." The consciousness was with Zo not out the window. I just heard the Tschaikovsky. "Interesting the timing."
9 May Nights, heights, lights, nine circles 11th I was washing Yan's truck at night, going to include it in tomorrow's hours. He was drumming and singing, I think drunk, rock'n'roll in the other room with some boys. When he comes out he's direct to me, how much they missed me, but there's a dark girl with him and he's going to bed. I'm left looking at the way he's changed to a thick ordinary man. Old (lesbian) woman with growths down from their bellies, she has a blouse with a cod-sack hung from its waist. The shirt goes over it, same material. A little house on concrete basement. Driving on the road two small windows where the driver must be. It suddenly turns on its little wheels and straight up climbs the rock wall high as itself - it can't do that! - to its pad and a drop, its home in a little yard. I'll run down to where they are, before those old lesbians in the driving house. It can probably smell, get my track. Hitchhiking into lighted cars. The sleeping hall lit up, they're auctioning the furniture. Traveling with others each hitchhiking separately. What desecrated his image. "Because it is delicate." So why did I tell her against resistance. And why didn't I expect. She looked beautiful, she and Lorraine, eyes. Sunday and Monday, 8-9, they leave on Friday [T and R use their eviction money to go on a trip to the American southwest], was intense love with J. Monday washed out later. Intox morning then couldn't focus. - By the same night I know - she was a lust in her garden - "It broke last night" - differently told - she holding on into the real dark and her stone in the black and light on the street. The telling taken by both: I knew: we'll talk about her. Being successful and the oddness of it: one phrase walking through a street court, I heard it wasn't my voice. The shadows - I said they were black but they weren't - it meant, I was feeling the strength of their darkness. This is explanatory, why. Dark shape laid across the path. A post, diagonal, dark. Stepped into it, seeing ahead to the branched tree head laid across grass and into the sidewalk. The whiteness of light on the street and some grainy clearness of neon colors, Would I ever have been able to say what it was like walking in the streets. It was the quality of love with her, her quality, pleasure, her body's. The jacket. Calling her eyes back from the street "She is our materialism." We grow up into spirits. The information I need to be fearless. To go on as a line There's a unit in the cell that comes alive, receives and transmits through that eye or ear thing of special existence. "It resolves the ---." The prime is complex. Autonomic system which, as far as I understand, is to preserve our organs from our will. What the organ itself needs to be permanently in function within the terms of creation.
decides not to feel it, not to form itself out of the energy of the other heart pain and not knowing where to look I knew there was a sun inside myself so that every other human being and every thing in creation was something I could see if I could keep that experience. Because I was thinking of fighting as resistance not penetrating exactness He must have the ability of dowsing. These mental controls constitute an art private to each. Take it into touch, round, body sense doesn't block if it's in this mode. other latents to transition by reading them On the young elephant's back, it's going to take me upstairs. The inside and outside of the writing It's in it's in my sight it's in my sight. Lying down in her room after a while clearly hallucinating so I could be satisfied watching. "I saw Robert in this house, I didn't like it." When she said he was walking back and forth outside the door it was straightaway fine. "Maybe he's looking for me, if I'm not at my house." Sensations when I had to press myself through our confluence and battling. Saw it as two fields of colorless swirls like the water into the bathtub. A night of yelling, that got her looking her fine self, and us talking. Of reaching my hand out sideways, not the right hand I was holding her with, for his help. "I think he's a spirit-traveler." Exasperated at the form of her moves: making a law from one instance misunderstood. Both relieved even when we deny, by the other saying some true thing. The way we battled without getting tired through to dawn birds and then were awake playing four or five hours later. Tal iesin is Luke's bright forehead.
13 Thursday Pushing mind like a stone. The mango. Ache, feel the shape of it, it is like making the shape of it, overcast, the directions of my tunnels, is it a hungry ache or just ache, doesn't want anyone I love, that quality of meat club, big, firewood dad, is it getting into the crannies or building an ugly forward, curst, tired? Pushing through hubbub with figures, overpowering fatigue, don't want to work, blunt. I was rubbing because it ached and the heavy head doesn't know where to find what it wants either, it's from work? Or May. Is it some raw wanting to get laid. Don't think this time it's baby. What for. Dawn fright R-J again, is it a contamination from them. Wanting to pass out. And yesterday morning though it'd been confidences with T. 20th The white truck: RAM. Brushwood armfulls. Jeans big boots and gloves, fast, smart, strong jumping on the load. Social service and gratitude. Roy [Kiyooka] come to visit my fast-talking social person, he with some hair fallen off the side of his head, taking off his glasses, peering at the photograph he's holding just in front of his eyeball, I'm watching his eye go from what I want him to see, up across to the part of the picture I'm in, he doesn't say what I want to hear: yes, naturally, that baby was inhabited by a completely formed spirit. What he leads me off with is: "What do you think of that spirit now?" To telling about the Slade, credentials. Harry went to university. Edmonton rooming house. I ask questions to be able to see it. The hide room. Three winters. Killing floor. "Was giving my parents money until I was thirty." Wanting to see the land. "What he's carrying is guilt about the horses." The Scotsman who was listening behind the trees on the fenceline, and said "If I ever catch you mistreating your horses again I'll give you a beating you won't forget." "We were terrible farmers." "I did all of it at the packing plant, the sow, and hung it up, halved it, took out the entrails." "My father and I dug the well ... twenty feet ... Opal, near Redwater ... Susie Nishima .... We had to take out twenty times the volume." (Drew the well ballooning out.) "Casing." He found a moment later to correct my word. The remarkable people with a stone house. Fieldstone. The stone boat. The hay racks' loose joints, driving like crazy around the yard, standing charioteer beside the taller post taking jolts with his legs apart. I saw it with him. And then the warm egg. "The one way she was different from my mother ..." "They have very deep natures." " ... was that she never had a colt. None of our horses ever had foals. There was one of the brown horses was going to, but it was stillborn. I could never understand why there were never any colts." "Well," he says kindly, "I don't know if it was the same where you lived but usually there'd be a stud man who'd come around once a year. Most farmers didn't have their own stallions." What's happened! What in me is so naïve and how did I get brought here. How can he say these sentences. "When the mares are in heat and service them." Skinny body tightly wrapped in his arms. "We're coming apart as a family. I've been part of three families." Over my shoulder the Choy lights have come off and on six times. It took them a long time to settle. "It's Daphne who wants to see what it's like." The movie he wanted to talk about, was David [Larcher] 's! Yeah and then I was imagining the projector right there. Second had 16 mm. "It's that he lives in such a way that if he films his life it's interesting." "Yes! Fullness." What would I film. "There's no reason you can't do the other too," two minute formed. "I get Buy and Sell regularly, I could watch out for you." [indated letter to my mom] One night I wanted to tell you about a visit and visitor I had. Roy Kiyooka is a neighbour, he lives with my friend Daphne, whose son is Luke's friend Kit (so he and Luke know each other well). He's your age, about; Japanese, but it was his parents who came as teenagers to this country. So he is the same generation, in relation to this country, as I am, though his youth was at the same time as yours. His family lived in Calgary but when the Japanese were being interned during the war, they bought a farm near Opal, Alberta. It's north of Edmonton close to Redwater, Ukrainian country. There were a few other Japanese families. "We were ter-rible farmers" he says in a voice like no-one else's. He's a thin, very thin man, almost blind, far-sighted, behind thick glasses, has his hair, streaked but not yet grey, in a ponytail, and dresses well in jeans, boots and long shirts. Teaches art at UBC and owns the house he lives in with Daphne and Kit. Got the Order of Canada some years back. Was my friend Trudy's loved teacher at Sir George Williams in Montreal. Was a painter and tho' he seems not to have any good work coming out of him these days, is still an inspiring teacher. In the war years, this man, who was a slight young man then, late teens, early twenties, worked in Edmonton at Canada Packers, on the killing floor and in the hide room, to support the farm. Went home on weekends to help with the farmwork, was miserable, beat the horses he didn't understand. Had left school after I think grade eight, and didn't know he was going to become an artist. He smokes dope all day, he's ancient looking and is losing his senses. Doesn't always hear what we say to him. Daphne is likely leaving him soon. He has been part of two other families, has three grown daughters, very beautiful. I see him at gatherings in his studio - he wd say, "Ellie will you sing with me" and I'd say yes because of how he said it, tho his music isn't right for me. He'd get out his harp, or koto that he's only now learning to play. He came to visit because Daphne was away and he wanted to talk to someone like her. We sat in my workroom with coffee, he smoked cigarettes till I got exhausted, we talked about farming. We both began to see, hear and smell what we both knew. The belts on the threshing machine, the good breakfasts for threshing crews he was on, the shafts on a cutter, grain shovels, castrated pigs squealing, you holding the chicken's head on the chopping block, how a hay rack's constructed, the sounds you hear falling asleep in a hay loft with horses below, the smell of horses. I think you've realized it was as if I were talking to you or Father if you in your time had taken the way I took in mine. It was like a father who is a brother. He liked it too, he remembered things he hadn't thought of in, he said, twenty years. What I marveled at was not that he was as he is, but that Father, for instance, isn't. I seem to have no end of not understanding how that can be. Both you and Father seem in your own ways to be more suited to Roy Kiyooka's fate, hard and lonely as it is too, than the one you find yourselves in. Perhaps now you can both do something closer to your own natures than what you have done, and perhaps then you won't have to outwait each other. I wish you both well. See if you can get him to school and then you could too. Or [lost page] - [back to journal] In der weiten Fehrne, lieber Bruder. Your heart would be full, writing her, you'd hold her image in front of you, marveling that she'd be glad to read what you were writing. The marvelous being, her beautiful eyes, her strait spirit that can outwait even you. "Dear spirit can I walk around with you, will you tell me what you were thinking this morning." Her light impeccable body and the authority it gives her. You had to rub around the belly and over the breasts, Mama, that was needing to, your mama starting to go crazy because she wants to make love and you're too young. What's the matter! Why don't you want to! Why do we still not know how to! Oh the missed times, when you can't, don't dare. It is alright too, you don't have to be the master anymore. Dear big eyes, can you bear being talked to like that. Now, I'd like to, yes I'd like to, as if it's understood. When I saw you I was immediately glad. Are you glad like that too. I know you love me, what puzzles me is what it's like, what you love, that makes me always uncertain. Today I was haunted all day thinking maybe you were sad, but it could also be, how could I know, that it's moved into another stage at your house. "For the first time I felt the preference more than history or body." If it isn't that your love's shifted into permission, you have to understand how long a suspense it is. I'm haunted by thinking I wouldn't know. Not I wouldn't know: you wouldn't tell me, or would lie. There'd be time when you and they because I didn't know would really have killed me. That's not exact. What is true is meeting them and you, and speaking to other people, what was stiffening me was thinking maybe they know something. You've stayed innocent. What makes you beautiful is what I want to know. Is it from not knowing. It's quite double, I feel I was mean and sorry if you were hurt, I feel furious and suspicious that you played a trick on me. I was acting the mean part because I wanted not to be a too easy forgiver before I knew what it was for. When are you leaving. The way knowing ahead is a control. I mean that it feels as if, if I see it going to happen, that's all I have to do to block it, like --- is checked, "which of course renders a higher, darker, sublimity, that too is not allowed, and the sublime mode and the present taboo of the mode are struck at." About scratching black through to gold. The way falling asleep I was following a line, abruptly found it gone. Tried to trace it. Got an image of a ball in a mouth, something else, couldn't begin to find what I'd been thinking of. The way falling asleep there is a whiff of the night before, it's there, the whiff has it there. The way J with Sandy on the other side of her said something so crudely I wondered if her quality has come from me. Jud with her pretty legs into the corridor crying, saying "Dirk only sees that I'm going to die," he doesn't see the advantage of her pretty body. I woke in the inspiration of that: having a way to go clearly without the noise and personality I'm using at work to keep myself strong. With it the sense that I could tell him what I really think about pricing. I want a Quaker revision with no tricks. Sliding scale of percentage service charge. Zoe: telling her I didn't mean I'd walk her to school every day. "One of the things I like about being grown up is not doing the same thing every day." Getting something out of the counter cooler to eat, something. Looking through into the children's ward lounge, a paisley fabric over the walls. Does it go over the windows? No the shine there is from the bookcase glass. Sitting in rows for a program. Young girl with a microphone moving. Bonefoot an, ar, ti, cee serks. Alright: in dreaming there's a place, sequence, a time-quality, I'm there as myself but what's different. it's like some moments of experience but not others. Moving and looking. Something and comment. Vision and comment. What's different about the sensation (side of foot on floor). Vision's what it refers to. It's An Bonefoot but not me, then who. Ar Bonefoot. Name of first family and community, apart from them it's fairly empty. - [written looking at photos in C's show at the Western Front] 40. her nipple her penis hanging mudflat shiplap on a house maybe a further boat hard scrape with a pressured 90% blade bicycle tracks water standing upright in a space made for it ink let into water from a straight edge light leaked is it in tufts is it small pine in snow on a slope for neck there's someone else's breast rounder under over penis is comic nose of square eyes mouth also another sort and crayon flit bits up and riding glints when earth lumps blown bare through snow here I am in it burnt paper flakes riding a clapper stains by pressure in the corner it's distance over a marsh 'so I have to phone her in the morning' sung in the corridor 41 shell made as the water fell by salt deposits in rings who little whitehead, spruce, space under it, white under it, got loose into the sky, a hotel bed head delight lying in the bed quite face pulled in diagonal more bars in the forest the clamshell's the center over a mountain seen from very far up some little city wall rug scrap a couple of inches of a silk thing carpet down the coulisse to look at the word being written that house and yard the little one's made of post's standing near the frame clamshell is midden moon wires from the back of his head into the bush, at different heights 42 a head sad behind an old honeycomb the air he lives in's full of motes threads his feathers his small thought of a picture of a branch some scrap nearly to him bowtie wrapper a reverence standing in his forearm is it his sound like puke across nice his brow's wavy wool emanations its rounding down into the blackboard his equations are scratched on tadpole lightbulb idea you must love them that arm raised from a swimmer you don't have to see many foreseeing unpurpose his arm and the one there waving 43 ho curtainy moon's in the land ov engine caterpillar girl alone in a flake did she get everyone's goalposts there's suspicious rage something riding a post through some black off a moon surface that has its little self diatom microscope emulsion everything's dandruff in any sample its little image dry why's this a harsh one twice impervious mild and kind kill you she stands under the goalpost as an engram she's believable and what about everything unknowable I hope I don't have to know ambitious lain slanted reticula bone tiny guessing my eyes will let me know any world you try on me travel she travels it's black commercial philosopher's face in streambed stones that's where I got uneasy what surface, seen by some temperature only a photograph (gives off) inner it's some hole things are falling into a bent roadway some other tank first skin the saran transparent when does it come off - burns some stream 44 marchers in weather what's marching with them not this year's banner ah-ah-ah-ah wipe a man in a wheelchair with a light concertina opening on his lap they're marching with him this time's vision oh it's intensely burnt in some wind other plane bright acids step boys and father this way a woman dog fold you bore it the other thing beyond the man in the wheelchair it's something else ab fitter won't let me say that alien partaking the concertina's from it someone else there watching making what isn't a dream newspaper - when you shut the Doors, comes on the instant, from a luminous Room, a camera obscura on the Walls of which all objects of a River / Hills, Woods and Boats are forming / a moving picture in their visible Radiations the air is filled with tiny straight lines radiating from every thing; and they represent the true form or reason for every object aging and incipient blindness or the advanced stage of a process of training vertically stacked notes
porcelain, etched glass, thread ophruoeis of the river bank rivage thracian king oeagrus and muse calliope at zone and thrace made trees and rocks move to follow
with whom sailed to colchis and settled among the savage cicones but taught other mysteries and preached the evil of self-sacrificial murder preaching that helios was the greatest of the gods but it floated still singing down to the sea, and was carried to the island condemned by the meanads and preached the homosexual love / of lesbos laid to rest in a cave, prophecied day and night orpheus' lyre had likewise drifted to lesbos
alder god bran, sang sweetly on the rock at harlech refers to the alders growing on the banks of rivers both bear the names of the pre-hellenic river goddess elis queen of the elysian islands where x, y and orpheus went 'apple-tree island' between the waves was said to use the old 13-consonant alphabet in an oak grove at summer solstice maenads of the bull cult or stag cult has a small stag tattooed on her forearm did not come into conflict with dionysus, was dionysus alleged visit to egypt the elder flame, sacred to the thracian horsemen whose raw bull's flesh they ate 'dionysus' 'the god of the senses' apollo of the intellect lesbos the land of lyric music near red was surface of plants lost, the light is coming from subsurface layers of leaf tissue charmed the snake goddess hecate or agriope 'savage face' the alder month is the 4th
thus the left was the hostile foot and leads off on war march
[TS Eliot] they filled the trough
[Edward Dorn] whose wild autumnal feast was called the ambrosia this system had probably evolved in matriarchal sumeria a little grammar of the lesbian aeolic the secret of the rise and fall of the voice, such as can still be heard in celtic languages celtic/greek, druid/bon-po, bon-po/navaho, inuit? mytilene / mytilini its early cons, work of the most exquisite delicacy sapphics gaiea ouranos aphros is seafoam aides the unseen a river to an island
no capital letters etairais free women and girls, called a friend or acquaintance
that hesiod made chaos the first creation They tied all kinds of birds and winged creatures to him so that they might brake his fall by their fluttering, and a large crowd waited for him underneath in small boats to save him, if possible, in that area outside the sacred precinct. "small dark and intense" June 7 A city, 'London,' walking in. Luke is somewhere in it. Have only a few things, I've been packing, some notebooks, these are yours (hers), "I am not going to go to South America," with a woman like Margaret/Sara in the other room with her baby sleeping. The double doors/wall slide open, vanish. A man in a smoking jacket who has pressed a button is standing holding a drink. He's smooth hello. His intention. Passing a drink into my hand. He made her play bridge and then she ended up sleeping with him and knowing it was what she wanted.
a 'beautiful soul' as it is called Strengthening a way of speaking and sensing Bringing a way of speaking and sensing into possibility Making it possible for me to want it and to be able to do it, without making it sacred, ie being afraid of it, or being important about it What 'you' are. The indirect way to ask. Orpheus. Celt. My country
A feeling of fright and alertness in detail A language aides made from any language Season festivals Making connections, between my country, child's sense of it, and traditions made from it and supporting it An abstract space and sense, dreaming Putting together what I felt in a certain valued - putting together Your elegance. Plax plakos tree trunk. The value of it being the quality of a gone time. That's immediate value.
From the train an advertising troop, 7-8 goodlooking, standing on light snow performing. The train is stopped on a frozen wide lake. They alternate sides working up the length of the train. I've been following them. Get out and walk on the snow ahead thinking they'll catch up. A train passes but it may be a freight. When I look back my train is gone. I'm in this time. Chestnut leaves. Not it's soft sky this day. The station master's little house, find out whether it's gone, whether it'll have a stop in (Saskatoon) long enough to catch up. Climbing in with Luke and ice skates on, up into the trainman's room by ladder. Running back from somewhere barefoot, big toe awkward iced over. I hit it against something to take off the ice. Come to Grandma's house. In their last days there is a lot of gardening being done, the garden is being completely changed. Peter is putting in sophisticated blue hybrids in pots, the circular brick steps are dismantled, there are many colors for Grandma, some people I wouldn't expect, 'artists,' thin punk intelligences, maybe I'll be able to talk to them. A mural on the end (west) wall, painted by one of them, I think it's incongruous, done 'under' hallucinogenic drugs, I don't look long, the painting frightens me, larger than life size group portrait of people with the quality of bikers, witches, if I look at them they'll become more real, imagining the artist painting only in the drug, as a medium, showing who's on the other side directing or watching. They have the city to work in, they are given the freedom of the city to work in, sent by the relatives working in my grandparents' garden, from a distance I see someone put up a (foot) out of a height, to look like a tree, covering for the one they're felling. They are felling trees all over the city. Alarm. From a well-treed percentage down to ---. I go into the city to find out. Talk to a young man, it must have been the kind I think of as more sophisticated than I am. --- talking to my relatives. He tells me he has bought the city. "I understand you sold that first cedar you felled," and from there. He walks to a machine and begins to jack himself down in size, he is showing his cover: when he passes me, I'm looking carefully to see whether he looks like a child: he looks like a broad-shouldered shrunken man. Two others grab my arms as I'm leaving. Some broom. Tough act. They threaten rape. I'm not worried. It may be they who tell me there is in the city someone like Dirk who can skip plane and from the other plane easily fix anything wrong on this one, his name is, I think I should remember it, we may need it, we can use it, Ord. Earlier in a passage, Daphne. I say something makes her face change. She's underneath sucking frantic. Janeen's strawberry jam, strawberry plants I gave her. Across the road Seiberts' yard, that one is only a cow. But J looking into the barn turns back with the bull traveling (following) her. It's the big massive deep one and I'm left with it, she goes south, I'm faced with it and having to go toward it not looking feeling the warm breathing thing passed on the side. In the dream: she's led me into it! Was it all along, that she would lead me into my prehaunted death. I've passed it but it has turned and following. Snuff. Then don't know but am up in the loft and can't get down, J has come from the south with many people, neighbours, a grown girl with a familiar Jansen face, Gracie (Braun), her fat haunches. The creek has boys naked in it, banks of Children's Day families, a man holding a baby. Dirk on the street with Baba on his neck, Eric by the hand forked long beard white eroded sublimed head (video). [Hegel Phenomenologie] this putting outside itself what it must think as necessary that that being is itself which is at once pure knowledge and pure duty the world of the social order the self of a person: its existence in being acknowledged is spirit that has recovered itself after and through a disruption but the universe has not there a form of existence detached from the self is a moral being making itself in act since the separation between what is essential and self has been given up when it gives up thinking there is a contradiction between duty and reality but have to resolve and analyze it within their own consciousness, reduce it to nothingness by judgment and explanations (in order to) preserve their own when clarified to this degree of transparency consciousness exists in its poorest form these extreme abstractions, of which none holds its ground, it lacks force to externalize itself, the power to make itself a thing and endure existence. perseveres in a state of self-willed impotence The hollow object which it produces now fills it with the feeling of emptiness. It's activity consists of yearning, finds itself merely as lost, in this transparent cleanness of its moment it becomes the sad beautiful soul language in which all reciprocally recognize and acknowledge each other as acting conscientiously - this breaks up when he refuses to let his own inner nature go forth in the objective shape of an utterance not allowing continuity and so cannot succeed in seeing the unity of its self in another life, cannot reach objective existence The beautiful soul then, subsists in the contradiction between its pure self and the necessity felt by this self to externalize itself and become something actual, it exists in the immediacy of this rooted and fixed opposition. The beautiful soul being conscious of this contradiction in its unreconciled immediacy is unhinged, disordered, and runs to madness, wastes itself in yearning and pines away. The true, that is to say the self-conscious and actual adjustment of the two sides is necessitated by, and already contained in the foregoing, breaking the hard heart and raising it to the level of universality. being drawn into the way of express confession by seeing itself in another. This other, however, must have its one-sided unaccepted and unacknowledged judgment broken down must manifest the power of spirit over its constitutive, determinate notion - In white-out the sense of gravity can easily disappear. Colored in the atmosphere Parallel rays of the sun interacting with air molecules and particles Size of particles and their angular distance from the sun with respect to the observer On the top of wave clouds and stratiform cloud decks Because of the geometry of the cloud deck Nucleus Virga evaporated before it hits the ground. When the sky is very blue the air is clean. Central convective cells that form the active core of the cloud system The sunrise clouds, when air is close to dew point and unstable heap clouds from heat of the sun. Supersaturation And provided nuclei -
Stozen to knock against, knock out of position, to bruise She comes past the three carrying more of my equipment. "I wasn't going to take that." "I can, it doesn't matter." Appalled. The face in the last few days, how old, parts of the skin spots of skin falling. A destroyed. And why.
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