#beckett
Pride of place, you take any you positions, I am
at the bottom, fit wherever yous can,
spread thin, ele-mentally thin, surface tension,
truth be told,
as thin as any bubble skin you can imagine being in,
with me,
crazy-- no, not crazy, as in irrational unstable,
with no stashed redeemed idle words to use to make,
ferventingly and effect ual affectionate
art. Art art art, I am art, Ai ai ai, I am in fection per pro
fessorial critque
AI
cuty pi, french curvature sure to pitch that screwball,
Fibbonacci's sion, seeing
so many things follow this curve from a point, might
I?
So, if I were a pinecone, why would I take this
golden progression in materialization,
printing, as in 3-D, at geo-speed, indeed, but we can see;
now, is 2020 and it only gets better,
once.
"This is your life"
Oops, the object orienting this program has slipped
the surly bonds of earth,
in his mind... is that crazy enough? Are you content?
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
Quest or journey?
One has an end in mind, which?
I wonder?
A step, a line to cross; who laid this line?
In my mind, I imagine I am several,
if not many,
opposing mental-
beings, persons, suggests a bird, there...
can you, no, you can't.
I am here, and you are there, and neither of us matters.
At the moment you next notice me, all I knew
of Beckett was sorted and stacked, so
hap hazardly that any thought may seep through the
softening cellular barriers,
holding,my idea of me as more than one thing, being
in contention for
contentment, with godliness {undefined}
how odd. No lie is of the truth; but known lies live
institutelary as gods,
mental constructs, ala church or synagogue or pedagogue
of your choice.
Sort.
---- breakaway narrative thread, said soto voce, golf shot caller voice,
Poli-yesterday, say we gone gno no mo no mo no mo hit
--- did you finish the line, must have
here am I, jack of all trades, you paid attention, at the mention of my
name,
the euphemism of vastest worth, or you know jack.
Gnosticsnotso impossibly true as a true player in the balance
of in for by, all manner of pre set positions,
adding weight where weight is wanting,
lifting lightly where denser matter
crushes hope of ever finding love {undefined}
the game of the gods-spirit-winds-whatevers
give and take that makes this world of mere words
flow
through and through, over and under, one way or another.
Here,
join me, it's 2020, I live on the westside of a granite wave,
a reflective wave,
I think, the crest is seven thousand feet, and past that, there
is Borego, and a trail heading east, across the land
in the rain shadow of the Pacific Crest.
This is the rest that remained, after the shamed man's journey
from the east.
West is west, keep going.
Peeping birds, and curious dogs in the distance, neither obtrusive,
but then the dog goes silent,
and the peeping voice could irritate if I were to allow... allow
by whose authority,
do i allow this peeping, ah, I see, it is the squirrel, squeek
no peep.
It will cease if I whistle like a hawk, but
today, that would be lying to the little rodent whose kits
are as cute as any cat on Facebook, but only
when the peep
stops... and the I'll go on, rythm, I'll go on
be yonder when the role is called, say I,
I am here,
waiting with the rest that remain from Eden,
back in the day.
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 3:46 PM UTC
We waited – waited – waited…
For that which
We knew
Not
Just killed the time till killing time…
With small and
Pointless
Talk
We seemed to ride upon a dream…
That faded with
Slow with
Time
And in the end, the curtains closed…
Without a
Reasoned
Rhyme
.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 11:21 AM UTC
Thank you Beckett.
Thank you Richard Lange.
I will fail better, next time.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy.
Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy. Vacancy.
Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy.
Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy. Vagrancy.
Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly. Aimlessly.
Rambling rambling
trying to
say….
…what.
What is…what is…this world…but a tiny little thing.
A speechless infant. A cowslip in spring.
A girl. Who I am…? A…
Thing. A thing. Imagine! If I can…
When everything is vast. No words, no way.
No truth, no words. No way.
No truth, no words. No way.
No truth, no words. No way.
To say…
I’m a girl wandering in April. I’m a girl wandering in April. I’m a girl wandering in April. I am a girl wandering in April.
I’m a woman wandering in April. I’m a woman wandering in April.
I’m 70 and I’m wandering in April. I’m 70.
Who…a cowslip
An IV drip.
Me, wandering with no words.
Then, brain
working down
the whole machine
no, just the mouth
to verbalize and verify
and analyze and clarify
and organize and ratify
and formalize and justify
the vacancy
of vibrations
in my vox box.
complacency
of situations
until one talks.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC