crystal


                                                 my crystal ball







 But who knows?
What I’m doing with

my life
I' m counting on you honey. You're a lover wanting the big thing, the unruly moment.

Something strange that brings you together with me inevitably. Like a lover does, with her mouth and charms, and those paradoxial belles jours longing between both.

Okay, you're a writer like me and you've lived, or live, near abysses, precipices, and you've come round. Here, like anywhere else. A friend who's called a lover. A sack of gold between the sheets, a ribbon for your cake.





Looking around in an open fashion some days, and at other times I am more clandestine.

between entre.. les devenirs... becomings

Having travelled half way round the world and seen a lot of cities
I 'd like to find a perch?
hang off a tree
peer out of your window
"I’m really good at"
'writing
'eading
'loving
'dancing
'O





O
O
voila
"The first things people usually notice about me"

O let's say the first thing they notice about me is You.


"My favorite books, movies, music, and food"


for now:
... authors:Shakespeare, Tristan Tzara, James Joyce Deleuze and Guattari/ Mozart Stravinsky now the list could go on. We both know that. You're eclectic.
The six things I could never do without
You

poetry
                     la poésie
"I spend a lot of time thinking about"
"Why I don't c                                                                   are much for politics" but still read the Huffington post

How it is people keep lying.
"On a typical Friday night I am"
really wonderin how these boxy things work.. its quite amusing
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
"O come on now "

Okie dokie: adding things

the secret of your beauty
I’m looking for
                                            
"Located anywhere"
Who are single"

".... message me if"
say you are rich and I am Henry Miller,
or say you are wealthy and Im not Miller, or combinations of any number rather bohemian luxuries of that sort.
if you're bold,
and lean left while looking right

 you are made of spiders and fibrillating weaves
  Or if you are poor
      or middle class

and outside of the box

If you're moved to~
you have a telephone
a radio
a shoe
a terrace
a
book of poems

something else

singular

if you like








             Why I don't care much for politics but still read the ....                post.

'...  people keep lying.'  '... I know if you lie it's for a cause that remains mysterious to me, and perhaps obscures a superficial fact.




"I wonder how you are and how we'd connect." That each delicate step between us is a charm of love, a play of desire.
"Message me"  or rather I'll rather I'll message you between the lines. 
Did you come here to live in a box, a strata?
Here's a story:





start again hold the page
   come the rage
    be my friend
  my only
   between this place and yours
      of  you and me
         of you and I


       style again
     hold your horses
      there's a man underneath these pages
     who never left you
   a l  w  a   y    s


   life  went  on
    it   w   a   s    h             a   r   d
    hard  as my me for you


        your
       your
                  tongue
                              holding you






_______



Dig this thou eunuchs of /thou-eunuch-of-language.html


 In 1791, riled by a recent review that criticised a supposed abundance of "obscure language" and "imperfect grammar" in his poetry, celebrated Scottish poet Robert Burns ' wrote the following magnificent letter to the critic responsible.

It really is a thing of beauty.

(Source: The Works of Robert Burns, Volume 4; I


Ellisland, 1791.

Dear Sir:

Thou eunuch of language; thou Englishman, who never was south the Tweed; thou servile echo of fashionable barbarisms; thou quack, vending the nostrums of empirical elocution; thou marriage-maker between vowels and consonants, on the Gretna-green of caprice; thou cobler, botching the flimsy socks of bombast oratory; thou blacksmith, hammering the rivets of absurdity; thou butcher, embruing thy hands in the bowels of orthography; thou arch-heretic in pronunciation; thou pitch-pipe of affected emphasis; thou carpenter, mortising the awkward joints of jarring sentences; thou squeaking dissonance of cadence; thou pimp of gender; thou Lyon Herald to silly etymology; thou antipode of grammar; thou executioner of construction; thou brood of the speech-distracting builders of the Tower of Babel; thou lingual confusion worse confounded; thou scape-gallows from the land of syntax; thou scavenger of mood and tense; thou murderous accoucheur of infant learning; thou ignis fatuus, misleading the steps of benighted ignorance; thou pickle-herring in the puppet-show of nonsense; thou faithful recorder of barbarous idiom; thou persecutor of syllabication; thou baleful meteor, foretelling and facilitating the rapid approach of Nox and Erebus.

R.B.












http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/01/thou-eunuch-of-language.html

crystal


                                                 my crystal ball







 But who knows?
What I’m doing with

my life
I' m counting on you honey. You're a lover wanting the big thing, the unruly moment.

Something strange that brings you together with me inevitably. Like a lover does, with her mouth and charms, and those paradoxial belles jours longing between both.

Okay, you're a writer like me and you've lived, or live, near abysses, precipices, and you've come round. Here, like anywhere else. A friend who's called a lover. A sack of gold between the sheets, a ribbon for your cake.





Looking around in an open fashion some days, and at other times I am more clandestine.

between entre.. les devenirs... becomings

Having travelled half way round the world and seen a lot of cities
I 'd like to find a perch?
hang off a tree
peer out of your window
"I’m really good at"
'writing
'eading
'loving
'dancing
'O





O
O
voila
"The first things people usually notice about me"

O let's say the first thing they notice about me is You.


"My favorite books, movies, music, and food"


for now:
... authors:Shakespeare, Tristan Tzara, James Joyce Deleuze and Guattari/ Mozart Stravinsky now the list could go on. We both know that. You're eclectic.
The six things I could never do without
You

poetry
                     la poésie
"I spend a lot of time thinking about"
"Why I don't c                                                                   are much for politics" but still read the Huffington post

How it is people keep lying.
"On a typical Friday night I am"
really wonderin how these boxy things work.. its quite amusing
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
"O come on now "

Okie dokie: adding things

the secret of your beauty
I’m looking for
                                            
"Located anywhere"
Who are single"

".... message me if"
say you are rich and I am Henry Miller,
or say you are wealthy and Im not Miller, or combinations of any number rather bohemian luxuries of that sort.
if you're bold,
and lean left while looking right

 you are made of spiders and fibrillating weaves
  Or if you are poor
      or middle class

and outside of the box

If you're moved to~
you have a telephone
a radio
a shoe
a terrace
a
book of poems

something else

singular

if you like








             Why I don't care much for politics but still read the ....                post.

'...  people keep lying.'  '... I know if you lie it's for a cause that remains mysterious to me, and perhaps obscures a superficial fact.




"I wonder how you are and how we'd connect." That each delicate step between us is a charm of love, a play of desire.
"Message me"  or rather I'll rather I'll message you between the lines. 
Did you come here to live in a box, a strata?
Here's a story:





start again hold the page
   come the rage
    be my friend
  my only
   between this place and yours
      of  you and me
         of you and I


       style again
     hold your horses
      there's a man underneath these pages
     who never left you
   a l  w  a   y    s


   life  went  on
    it   w   a   s    h             a   r   d
    hard  as my me for you


        your
       your
                  tongue
                              holding you






_______



how wow

.





how ...many ... times .... the type... set .... battery ... cluded. it was luding round.... her fire
                                     multiplied by tripping .... did it... this was... round-eyed doe                                                   was yclept her song.... not sin's daughter.  her....                                    LOBmobster....



 ing .... did it... this was... round-eyed doe was yclept her song.... not sin's daughter.                     her.... mobster     






  times .... the type... set .... battery ... cluded. it was luding round.... her fire multiplied by trippin

_____________ flipping back the lying suns 
                          her breast like flatpans tasted better than gold
                               she sold/saying I want to be your slave /slut
                your whore!i Am her boy/ her slave
                        too a dog watch at her feet
s hes saying I want to be your dog
I say let me be your gazelle,  your elephant, your carry-on case , dog is too obvious
I mean woofwoof! who wants a dog/ stupid dumbarse things


ok so yr here at this    place
its  a dead end half suburb wann a be in acity that's crumbledumbdowncrumbling









.

'charmin'g

you've been very charming and dashboard.
yer a new 'centurion' as I am heteronym to your piggishlatin.
batting yer buttin. patting yer eyebrows . curl'em up. girl. yer arse.
is glory tongue. iv'e .yer nightclerk. handy-andy. second saying
yer asking ?

_____________________
indeedingweisverybecomedwddispleasureofthetextings.

we are very cddisarming. Rmultitudespulcritudes. Oooh. datsavy. lovebubelectrobiblub

p.S.

P.S. might/ be the important part, or rather that other part saying as much in the way endnotes or footnotes as they're dubbed do.
i am not realy a  poet anylonger

i am a put together

or a combinatory
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ______________________
 
 
i say artist
as that sort of speaks more to my state of mind

but this poet
idea is so OverInflated
how does one describe with those old words

all of the work one does, or that two do?
A patois of schiilingual becomings

lOve

'break that text

___________________________________________________________________




 hav is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinship to a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come of it?at I term fiction blogs. You can see them in my blogger profile. It’s not word press. I have especially enjoyed your come been reading your blog, a bit here and there, from time to time for about a month. You are a very graceful writer and it’s a pleasure read what you say. I am a poet from Canada with oodles of whabout Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive brit here and there, from time to time for about a month. You are a very graceful writer and it’s a pleasure read what you say. I am a poet from Canada with oodles of whabout Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinship to a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come of it?at I term fiction blogs. You can see them in my blogger profile. It’s not word press. I have especially enjoyed your comments about Felix Guattari and old professor Deleuze. As for writing books, it’s a strange business, and I have not written the sort of book you are thinking about. I have written poetry books, and been a performance artist. However, we are in the midst of a great change over of forms of publishing at this time, and perhaps one cannot ‘translate’ the one to the other. I find that I write quite differently on blogs than I do ehizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its uslsewhere. It stands to reason doesn’t it? And one can ask, and should, what is writing anyhow? I did a ph.d thesis about Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works edge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinshipto a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come of it?at I term fiction blogs. You can see them in my blogger profile. It’s not word press. I have especially enjoyed your comments about Felix Guattari and old professor eleuze. As for writing books, it’s a strange business, and I have not written the sort of book you are thinking about. I have written poetry books, and been a performance artist. However, we are in the midst of a great change over of forms of publishing at this time, and perhaps one cannot ‘translate’ the one to the other. I find that I write quite differently on blogs than I do elsewhere. It stands to reason doesn’t it? And one can ask, and should, what is writing anyhow? I did a ph.d thesis about Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinship to a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come ohange over of forms of publishing at this time, and perhaps one cannot ‘translate’ the one to the other. I find that I write quite differently on blogs than I do elsewhere. It stands to reason doesn’t it? And one can ask, and should, what is writing anyhow? I did a ph.d thesis about Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating ohose works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if od yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I t

break that 't'ext _1


 hav is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinship to a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come of it?at I term fiction blogs. You can see them in my blogger profile. It’s not word press. I have especially enjoyed your come been reading your blog, a bit here and there, from time to time for about a month. You are a very graceful writer and it’s a pleasure read what you say. I am a poet from Canada with oodles of whabout Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive brit here and there, from time to time for about a month. You are a very graceful writer and it’s a pleasure read what you say. I am a poet from Canada with oodles of whabout Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinship to a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come of it?at I term fiction blogs. You can see them in my blogger profile. It’s not word press. I have especially enjoyed your comments about Felix Guattari and old professor Deleuze. As for writing books, it’s a strange business, and I have not written the sort of book you are thinking about. I have written poetry books, and been a performance artist. However, we are in the midst of a great change over of forms of publishing at this time, and perhaps one cannot ‘translate’ the one to the other. I find that I write quite differently on blogs than I do ehizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its uslsewhere. It stands to reason doesn’t it? And one can ask, and should, what is writing anyhow? I did a ph.d thesis about Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works edge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinshipto a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come of it?at I term fiction blogs. You can see them in my blogger profile. It’s not word press. I have especially enjoyed your comments about Felix Guattari and old professor Deleuze. As for writing books, it’s a strange business, and I have not written the sort of book you are thinking about. I have written poetry books, and been a performance artist. However, we are in the midst of a great change over of forms of publishing at this time, and perhaps one cannot ‘translate’ the one to the other. I find that I write quite differently on blogs than I do elsewhere. It stands to reason doesn’t it? And one can ask, and should, what is writing anyhow? I did a ph.d thesis about Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if one he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I think my thought just ran out of steam. But perhaps a comment in a blog has a kinship to a gloss in an old manuscript and from there who knows what pursuits will come ohange over of forms of publishing at this time, and perhaps one cannot ‘translate’ the one to the other. I find that I write quite differently on blogs than I do elsewhere. It stands to reason doesn’t it? And one can ask, and should, what is writing anyhow? I did a ph.d thesis about Paradise Lost and The Waste Land and joined the two of them together in a disjunctive bridge persuading my readers that a schizoanalytic approach would yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating ohose works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One often hears it said the creator or writer cannot be the ‘purser’ or the decider of the value of a work. I believe this is so, at least if od yield a different and better understanding of those poems. What I wrote was very small compared the gigantic area of study both of those works encompass.If I learned anything about this business of writing and creating over the last years of time it was that expression is always more and less (and not or), at the same time than one thinks. It escapes us, and we don’t know what our work is, nor where it lies, nor its use . One he thinks in these sort of tidy economic pastiches. However, however, one goes on, and works and does and does. And then, o well, I t

Close'r to

Close'r to
Clifford's ____/AsSemBlaGe/a Put together/___
It’s not easy to see things in the middle, rather than looking down on them from above or up at them from below, or from left to right or right to left: try it, you’ll see that everything changes. A.tP/Guattari&Deleuze
------------------------------------------
not seamlesss at all however its juxtapos(t)ed! hahah
people like the word ‘seamless’

learningcollagecollege

how many did you

recalltopoetry
ReCall To Poetry: i feel
i feel that I am writing even when I am not writing. It’s as if I am in a state of writing at all times, and so when I sit down to actually compose, it’s a question of readiness.
Do you know what I mean? I am in a state of writing all the time, I am writing al the time, or if things are really cooking and I am tuned in, as if I was in a state of poetry at all times, so I when I sit down to compose, and for me, it’s a fairly intensive state, and I write quite fast, at least at first, then re-working or doctoring as I see fit..
So that writing, and poetry is a state of mind too.  And I think that’s why some poets come across more or less interestingly  to me. Others, the more so called professional types don’t interest me. It’s a culture, poetry is a culture too, you know, each poet bringing a culture and sensibility to it….