Monday, January 31, 2011

to do and


What to do? with this O heart?


'End. Now Franny G comes over with Mona and takes Jill home. Jill is
very ill, and in a wheel chair,
or sometimes a cane.

That is love, that                       is

called love, and it is immanent, not out there somewhere.

. And so there was no space left after the great one had   gone. Not even a particle, so we went for strumming on harps and
 transmissions of deterritorialized partitions between one brain and




'And  So there was no space left after the great one had
gone. Not even a particle, so we went for strumming on harps and
transmissions of deterritorialized partitions between one brain and
another.



Did you write this before Franny or does Jill sending it long the transmission wires of self? We'll keep talking back and forth long the ranges of its latitude.  This way it keeps things going....


As sun and winter mark . Not the  thing but the other space of its going  ~ .







Saturday, January 01, 2011

Jill and







 Jill's horse drawn float, a category down the cartridge of  like a new lover, a newel a novel. A pure pearl site.

Nothings justified everythings pleasure  in   she rose rose compose the note its off key rinse. Like a throat that has seen thing by thing its every lasting. Not the feminine clutch of its blind spot or the g note
round the finger of a hoodlum nor the knotting off woods that ladies and buxom brasss sheathings do play.

Nothing of that sort. But ever lasting everythings else.
Shes tilde an' tilde in the affairs. Her unhooked punctuated moving. not the old time landscape of the moo and o corico and the other birds. of Pomp and circumflex nor the history of print and its darling sock. but the others corinithian and fedor doric  



Hold and bound south and the 'great' boat booting. And the thump of wave sail
the thump of wages at large 'on the cetecean sea'  'at sea '  on the ocean at large.... So hilly  Jill not hill-billy soda Jill nor Mona the 47 tree s O these and the bilge and the vessel O the prow and now its stem to stern to stream her waking dream bacon on the rind flakes on the ... lost that one and she rose she rose... to the corner back to the f ate... she compose to she compose to 




Jill's hordes drawn cab her caleche and the masses heavy with it the drapes and ...


Between a period and comma these loves ,,   the speed of the page  the rub of its lamps and the darling feet the song of her ..unsaid word which I do not say for lascivious readers hidden secret pinned intheir rooms ...

but the fr e e open bird of the page... stretching its  ... wing ....  the