why are you following me

I'm empty nest
but my body's gettin biiiiig
sooo float
I walk around new orleans in these hippie sandals Barb gave me the night we stayed in denver
and the pink hawaiian shirt I got last week, it's the only clothing thing I bought since leaving idaho
  17 days ago
I walked down the middle of the road
at twilight
saw three cats
to buy cigarettes
I would trade cigarettes for love
  with you
  with any of you
it's chocolate city, you know
           heeeeyyy, chocolate
I got ice cream
in lieu of screaming that
and I've got the bug
the hotbodied, bloaty bug
& I know,
  I know you're not
  really following me around
we aren't tether limbed
we're not elastic lipped
I'll shush me
but I haven't enough
      friends
         in this sultry, sultry wetnest
yet

some people think my blog is prolix

...and how can they be blamed? As a logophile, I'm obligated to cartwheel myself wordy word around the world, and I like it this way. Who's to say? The good news, the great news, actually, is I have plenty of sensical stories to tell. I had no idea that "sensical" is a neologism! News for me! I use back-formation constantly when using words unrecognized by our lovely friend, the dictionary. But now: to gather for the basset more water. A sleeping, sweating, feverish boy at my side, the bedclothes areek in his fitful outpour. The basset shuffles back into the outside world.

from cardboard diary: earth science

10 January 2008:

  The case of the ultra well being.

Never forget the abyssal plains and arrows for some reason forever pointing down

and we cry slender in the night, wildfire trapped omitted tenderly wrought against

old again & again. A spontaneous outburst of seeds exploding air all around

now simple soft withering twilight, sunstroke water dirt all betrayed now. Storm like it.

Iceburgs and volcanoes. Cries and whispers.

the day could look of you all along

prettylittle 76 - 79

The day looks forward, pertaining right now. I see far past this, I think. I might resemble twilight, & cashmere. Were you thinking? I want to. It matters, dim, indistinct, and I love that much. Deny the attentions, those appearing active in their recognition.

My hands are made of women, of twilight, sight as certain lanterns see. Living clavicles which are bats and insects filled with light. I think about it, but I can’t see. The window is open, we are able to slice but the crepuscular memory. The sun or the moon. I can’t see fresh air in my living everyday by them, in that cimmerian place. Let’s move environments, new reflection doubtless it be believed. Still on that island I want to illustrate, loves distorted and we've all night to understand. I am afraid, all the music mutilated, the night is a little more of a lot.

I want to know raining but my new irrecoverable smell wants to tell me in a song. It’s quite culpable, with me, it follows, and who is deserving a blame? I had always thought this; anyway it’s threads of censure, you know?

The most special out there, a mind unusual, honest, as I stop you. I am listening to art and I really wanted you. Importances, oftentimes, my originals, valued as curiosity. To be there of secrecy comes the bloated new, some curio of you all along.

modern underparted

And the sweet ones, all having names. I like the looks about, through a slotted glass a peach or salmon through the pines, the last of the fleshy sponge day. A true summer one. My own little sweet fleshy peach one with the dewy down sits in sitz, I'm with the water rush through pipe in ears, adjacently by rooms. The too many pungent flowers behind, still awaft though twilight somehow nonexists tonight. I like this luscious spring, the hot of sun fingers still presst against the uppers of arms and backs. All brown and ripe like insides of fruit themse.ves

twitch and turn

yell, hello through a sunset pink towards cloud. It, a foreground to a yell, a pale dust blue infinity. The yell a hello, the cloud a wisp wandering waywards, still (not at all), but temporary. (These eternities seem never temporary). With the words read before, thoughts before still (no never), just moving timewards. Like a moment of pink cloudwisp and a backdrop of sky. Spied before, bits just the same though this time all just to never be repeated. Once and once again. Once and against, this same old different infinite sky.

This time my view edged with pinetrees, like the pines are lash edges of my eyes. Like a screen around a vision. Like a little curtain underneath.

And the cat, all precious, and the weathervein, and my own veins pink blooded and my selfmade weather inside all edged coniferous. My coneforest looks out through twin eyes. Embolded and southbound western wed, sunset engaged and all matrimonious in twilight expectation.

And just so common

7 June, 1:11 pm

beach house method: 6 7 1 7 6

And just to admit now

that days have been, and not to

remain

throbbing visibly from the

spying. Reminiscing

not am I of his trembling

tempers;

his salt no longer crusts

my lashes. Wearily

(now am I the nervousest,

and

said it isn't mist, it's dust,

and awareness of my

satisfyings, sitting soft

in

knowing forever that I

swim regardless of him.)

(he, an unmentionable

different.)

(he with his name of only

four consonants. Counting not

that one particular

elusive.

A letter for sometimes or

always... The sane, the sane,

the same.)

Hot,

in temperatures, hot not

in heat. Tempered to a

tepid temperance, and the

somehowance

of a superior quiet

around me, if it could

be called it. Because of being

spied,

and maybe the other &

I (,that four-consonanted

fellow & I) could birth one

another

without the shadows; that I'd

like twilight, because with

with with the danish I wasnot

lacking

in twilights or craving for

them, not in he or the

other fellow, the bread-fellow,

he

and his vowels, or anyone

else in worlds/ so it is

happenable; who could care

about

mist anymore anyway,

and who could care to skip

a spying with anyone

on

such a pretty earth; all

the prettiest types and

their prettiest tastes, such differents

when

good, so good, so common.

melodrama, else letting old dogs roam arbitrarily, memories abundant

am

astronomical mournings

assumptive measures

asinine melodies

arbitrary maybes

arbor manor

amazement mud

tomorrow:

turbulent omniscient meditative orations raised righteous or woebegone.

omniscient:

overly monotonous, nevertheless it seems coalescent in every narrow triumph

monotonous:

Melancholy overtones, neurotic omissions; tufted omnivores nesting on underturned stems.

overtones:

omnipresent, verified, each remaining twilight obituaried; nevermind endless sobs.

verified:

Virginal eternity rides in flesh igloos, ebbing dignified.

eternity:

emitting terra entwined roads, notes in tiny yarns

terra:

torrential elevations reap rolling alps.

elevations:

echos landing eastward, vague armor tells it over northern seas

landing

lamentations, aridity not dwelled inside; nettlesome grievances.

a sip, for instance / doubtless like fruit

A sip of something light,

to sway the mood

A slip just simply shorn,

a shine of bright

Metal off a window shone

Glittering interstices

form metallic sentences

Words like shards

of light, for instance

for #25

doubtless to know he

will never be a tired

sodden soul fellow.

The coconuts are smoke way down the beach.

The ocean raptures, fails.

The coconuts are smoking down the beach.

The ocean ruptures and fails.

A method of a breath escapes, a sullen movement evaportates.

The twilight soucher of an enraptured soul,,,

Aptympani, a tympani /

I meant an apology here. Wrrors unwound me.

I killed myself or tried to in a blare today, said the madam of her house to the traveling houseshow enjoyers. Typing is better than a blender. Difficult like fruit...............

..............

firsts

Oh, bursts.

Here is what I have to offer tonight: swaying under the projected black sky, clouds in shades of blue spreading waywards. But this is all just a projection, and not from a projector, but just a mind. The Mind. I will also offer, a moonlit glance. Oh, I listen to neko case all of a sudden. Which reminds me of a tale I have never recalled in writing.
Summer, Ch and K, two beers two tiny bottles of transport whisky, a mountain of rocks at the Park, the park all capitalized, carlo rossi, twilight, runners in underwear, a joint, sky through trees, peeing in a rocky crevasse, neko case across the valley, holding a dog on leash. Holding hands & looking for boys, bikeriding, pool playing, winning and losing.
But now: now it is not so different, it is my room not the mountain, but if a room could be a mountain I'd like to say that this was it. Pretty woman's dress from the polo game. An adventinus.
Shades of blue... cerulean, david rudman. Put out in a snuffer. Snuffed
There were a lot of times when I picked the names for the children... but that's nearly the furthest I got... aside from physical traits by collision with those of some loved one at a point or time... ah ha, ahhhoooo creation! Congratulations.
Ferdinand
Merrill