January 13, 2018

Path almost due north and of three miles distance descending into a valley and rising out from it again past two fire stations and three U.S. mail boxes and two dog parks and two general purpose parks and several historic land-markers and three and a half playgrounds and three areas of tennis courts and two areas for taking gas on but mainly residential or lightly industrial spaces, traversed for over ten years and maybe up to fifteen years regularly, fifteen years times infinite, twice a day, five days a week, without any great or even very noticeable aberration alone

128 cars passed (estimated), 18 passing from behind (estimated), most along the diaphysis, the worn down worn away diaphysis being worn away itself each day (back and forth each day from homeplace to workplace and workplace to homeplace but always ever forward “into age”, it is thought) (into “some sort of something: experience” it is thought) traveled over fifteen years, three miles each way, five days each week. Five years, ten years. Ten minutes. Had he circumnavigated the earth yet. Had he crossed the states yet, (then how many times). The diaphysis. Spiritual journey or its opposite. (It’s opposite.) Musical score or the reverse (the reverse).. (Would a truly spiritual walk not rather have bolted out of the tired circuit, out of the excessively tightened orbit, out of loneliness, to actually have traversed the whole earth by now with friends? — wander to and fro or the opposite?) Was it a spiritless commute? Poor fellow lady caught up in a time loop. Robin & Marion. Could only this frozen page have been refreshed. But the Robin-Marion has been jammed, stuck, ever since he — ever since she what? (ever since nothing. Born like this) And ever since

Are not circles divine, even commutes? Was not the shining sun of her intellect permitted thereby to illumine the circling fowl of himself? (Was not this so-called intellect a dirty cloud of anti-compassion? that overwhelmed the brilliant shining and true? the sacred intelligence of others?) Three times 2 times 52 times fifteen plus or minus a couple in there or let’s say (though astonishingly regular. Very few sick days. Healthiest person to ever run, a real prodigy of health and presidential intelligence). The “mohammad ali of Presidents” of health: Same general times of day. “Yet the simplicity of his walk was never quite the virtuous model to his thought” which remained for all its in-errancy of Space, a brain on a track of walk, at a station of work, wandering distracted and without the concentration or concentratedness of a person truly knowledgeable about what is right and good and or sociable, or seeking to be.” (Could his thought be made to focus and be still, his body would be made to wander more, it is reflected.)

The rotating kernel of his/her thought pushed backward upon the rich swart stalk. Had he wished with golden ears to rise above her brothers? Swart kernel. Big bushel of Joseph he dreams among colorful flowered racks of folk with she coats. Of loud trucks. Did he report he saw it in a dream? If his thoughts had been by the circle subdued (the circling gMu of her life having finally subdued him) then might she be a person confined in himself so “small in himself” (Porschia) interesting in the cowl of her own helmet, her head’s internet, in the quiet amulet of this his seat, her own caul, Calypso’s Grotto Odysseus head, in the well built pen where desires were, which needed a mere maintenance of patching now and then, not as now, the perpetual emergency and agony of Zoo. For disappointment is desire too. (Alone.) Lost Zoo of Atlantis Disappointment a lost and submerged zoo. And bringing my fingers to my hands can imagine I smell, from yesterday, the smell of the nursing home. (I am imagining that?) One of the ideas of that kernel being that there is only one Gender of Person and that sexual desire is equal to the atomic defect (which, I knew what that was yesterday….)

Out the door, turn and lock the door. Didn’t use to lock it. My trust and privilege. To do this properly I would need a grid set up. Maybe even make of my own body an archaeological site. Combination Archaeologist/ Shylock, finding a bone in my leg in need of removal, now wait: I’ve got them in both legs, now wait: there are a lot of bones in my body that need removing, labeling, packaging by the Archeolockthello. Grid over the knob. Remove and slip it in bag out of greed not scientific curiosity. (“Scientific curiosity/ discovery does not nec. equal love of knowledge”: write that.) This is an area of dazzling wealth, a dragon hoard of the absence of raw wet sewage. At what point will we feel and give thanks for our good fortune? Coins of not fearing for my life when I step out. Coins of not seeing sewage in what I eat and drink: a wealth of such coins, a bottomless american hoard. We can hear it without the recording. Steps from door to stairs numbered: 2. (Label those strides 1 and 2.) Steps from stair top to stair bottom counted: 13. For this must be a complete account, it is thought: an account as complete as my unconscious could provide. Like when I dreamed. Though that person is no where present, being covered by the sensible. But as clever and complete as that person would give, so must be this account.


The Statue of Las Vegas

January 5, 2018

: the surface that isn’t level with itself
: purchasing a new car, reprinting the old sermon
: Michael and Bert, David and Susan, leaving a comment
: White awning between the two buildings in February
: Bridle, picture over rice swamp, Speaking with Sara
: (all the locations of Florida)
: Considering what may have shown itself to have spilled out,
: “I was made”, “beyond all the anecdotes”, “news news”
: Well, it was then (Statue of Las Vegas.)