very clumsy words gone before. apologies to anyone who reads. when it sunk to three i stopped counting. numbers lie in mind. blessing of three. fragments anyway. prisms. today i heard they are going to poison the lagoon monday. the ultimate invasive species decides who the invasive species are and how the others in the population have to die to make way for progress, a kind of natural selection by fiat, a kind of ethnic cleansing by democracy. fish have to die for the control of nature by democratic right, and he who eats fish gets was collateral so be it.

always after

amnesia

beaver work.      "what there was of it, i told myself, i'd had; what i was entitle to i'd got; i'd never get more, being the man i was and living the life i'd chosen for myself."    alfred hayes, In Love.  (this is the man who wrote Joe Hill).

because i happened because i happen to be here

being the smile of all beings

boletus the dreamer

cadeau

can nothing make echoes

color of memory lost persist

come back

cybelle, goddess of trees and earth, always eleven.

difficult light

emanation

everness

every day starts a new day

fear and promise determine the shoreline

something is always sacrificed, you miss it forgetting immediately what

forgotten coast

heavenly eartha kitt

his mind was childish. he could have been charming.

holding fast you feel the move

how could i be corrupted. was i pure. if i was dross, how could i be corrupted. if i was pure, how could i be subject to disregard.

i became a man imitating a man out for a walk. i had to get a dog.

i don't know anyone.

i had been in the way, and she had dispensed with me, after putting me in her way.

conduct each triumph like a funeral. i think it was louse zoo.

i was absurd because i was suffering; it was something that required hiding away because of its absurdity. 

alfred hayes, in love                                                                                                                   

if anything can be shared it would be art, but how would we know?

listening to satie

lit from within

my bridge

my secret mycosis

nature morte

nothing but changes

nothing of any significance had happened, i still think.

patricia gozzi

sessile

smokebridge

so

sopranino

sundays and cybelle

sure there are some things that can be shared that goes without saying

the consciousness that has no name

golden horns of uselessness

there, we're home now.

through old glass

trying to fall in grace

walking wall

you can't make a memory but you can make a souvenir.

you might remember nothing without a picture of it and still you will remember only the picture of it.