Sunday, June 22, 2014

m n e m o n i c

      (      s        o        l        s        t        i        c        e       )  

The things which I can see I now can see no more.  - wordswort

Monday, June 9, 2014

i c h t h y s


(     s        c        a        l        e     )  

H u m b o l d t ' s e f f l u v i a

w    a    t    e    r
u    n    d    e    r 



t   h   e

b   r   i   d   g   e

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

천수경

Not a single incidence can be retrieved.

The stable narrator keeps walking.

The mind's itinerary is physical,

transfinite and continuous.

Do you remember our happiness?

Keep walking.

A thousand hands will help you.

A thousand eyes will leave you light.



river

drift

boat






r   i   v   e                (   r   )

5.64

Bhikku says the wooden spoon does not recognize the flavor of the soup.

How can a fool grow wise?


"dreamlife of debri" - something happens (part II)

Memories of lives lie twisted in sand, recumbent.
There are there recovered centuries,
as in loam the last jawbone
of an aurochs or
honshu wolf.
All contours unrelentingly erode inland.
We've lost the body
within,
from the heart
of the roan-haired ox
to the sole
makami of the mountain.

Something happens.



"the dreamlife of debri"



Here is Nabokov,
the lepidopterist.

What source?

He pursues "names of the real".

Can he resist inversion?

Will he lean or lift?


lycaeides melissa loves lupinus perennis.

Lost?

Lost.

A possible parallel here to

(   gogh          gogh   )  

extirpated
sound,
sight.

Are the common silences

discard,
debri,

or,

in another
dreamlife,

abundance?