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Sunday, November 02, 2008

Ante Room XX2

The Infinite Poem In Progress




……………The empty notebooks

begging for words





This won't ever be finished.

It ended, and the morrow brought the task. Her eyes were guilty gates, to crown The pit of infamy: and then again He fainted on his vengefulness, and strove To ape the magnanimity of love, And smote himself, a shuddering heap of pain.

amongst the savage hordes

the four directions, concentrate on the spokes, the point, the middle and
the last direction. then concentrate on the spokes, forget the point, the
middle
outward between the spokes. now forget the spokes,
the four directions, concentrate on the spokes, the point, the middle and
the last direction. then concentrate on the spokes, forget the point, the
middle and the last direction, the spokes come close to the point, forever
182 II
let it not be an abstract doom
It ended, and the morrow brought the task. er eyes were ilty ates, that et him in By utting all too ealous for their in: Each ucked a ecret, and each wore a ask. But, h, the itter aste er eauty ad ! e ickened as a' reath of oison-fowers: A anguid umour ole among the ours, An if eir iles enountered, 'e went mud, nd rad eep inward, till te lioght as brown

eternal sections golden dark eye light black light light black eternal red sections eternal eyelight thinking into black light white light light eternal eternal quia sections who know dark light white eternal dark eye golden black light sections sections eye light light red green black light sections sections eye light light red green scream section perpendicular
let it not be an abstract doom

Before his vision, and the world, forgot, 'ooked 'icked as some old dull moidar-spot. A star wiv lurid beams, e seemed rown pit of infamy: and then again He fainted on his vengefulness, and strove To ape the magnanimity of love, And smote himself, a shuddering heap of pain.


This won't ever be finished.
you
have come

to an end and you are ready to begin, you have come to the
beginning, and you are ready to end. now continue.

you must imagine now yourself and house and world and word annihilated,

you must imagine annihilation of annihilation. you must imagine almost all
pleasure,
among taste of delight and touch of
exaltation, and among scent
of numinous being and sight of untold beauty and hearing of harmonious
amongst the savage hordes

emptiness radiates
among the ghosts of them, the spokes are hungry ghosts, they gnaw at
emptiness, they are wounded, they are defeated, they disappear. now think
of emptiness, think of nothing else, think of nothing. now you have laid
beginning, and you are ready to end. now continue.

This won't ever be finished.
you must imagine now yourself and house and world and word annihilated,
you must imagine annihilation of annihilation. must imagine almost all
pleasure, among taste of delight and touch exaltation, and among scent
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

of numinous being and sight of untold beauty hearing

of harmonious

To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all


.......................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom


pangs of estrangement and despair; yet something of the eternal remained. He never lost his fundamental commitment to the central idea of divine order at the core of all existence (Steene 76). The theme of death as a release, a final settling (ordering) of all accounts, recurs in each chamber play. Eternal order exists beneath the surface

also abandons all traditional conception of character in favor of the term soul. Characters were comprehensible, objects on the stage, stagnant and dead. Strindberg wanted to capture the mutability, the transience, the sheer complexity of the fragmentary nature of human existence on stage in a performancamongst the savage hordes e; he wanted to create souls.
let it not be an abstract doom
"With these words Strindberg's pickaxe smashes the
structure of the classical theatre...we can no
longer count on the stability of the human
character" (Gravier 80).
This won't ever be finished.
Strindberg acknowledges the fact that human beings are constantly evolving, that each soul is filled with irreconcilable paradoxes. The chamber plays are thus filled with souls but no characters. These souls first appear as generic titles but as the play progresses these souls acquire names, thoughts, emotions, desires; they become rhythmic They are not consistent, however. They must be in constant This won't ever be finished. flux. He replies:

To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

"I don't know. They say that after three years not
an atom in the human body remains the same. After
five years everything is new, and that's why you who
are standing . I can hardly bring
myself to call you by your first name -so much of a
stranger you seem to me. I imagine I would feel the
same way about my daughter" (Storm 33-34).

Strindberg and his souls felt pangs of estrangement and despair; yet something of the eternal remained. He never commitment to the central idea of divine order at the core of all existence (Steene 76). The theme of death as(ordering) of all accounts, recurs in each chamber play. Eternal order exists beneath the surface of all reality. Through Swedenborg, This won't ever be finished. Strindberg discovered that the desire for meaning must be sought (Gravier 85). His thirst for the absolute drove him to write.
Strindberg emerged from his personal Inferno with a mystical revelation. In the ten years that followed before the birth of the Intimate Theatre and the creation of the chamber plays, Strindberg struggled to find the most sublime artistic expression of his inner journeys (Dahlstrom 201). Eventually he came to recognize the beauty of music and attempted to apply it metaphorically to drama. An amateur admired greatly the virtuosity of Beethoven, particularly his last This won't ever be finished. sonatas. mimicking Beethoven in some them likewise to "reveal an ambition or evoke a mood rather than develop a dramatic plot" (Steene 96). Like a , Strindberg believed that a playwright "rejects all predetermined forms let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom because the theme determines the form. Hence he has complete freedom in handling the theme as long as the unity and style idea are not violated" (Notes 207). Many themes wind their way through and unify the chamber plays. I will abstainexamples until I deal with each playas a separate entity. Death Is theatrically and thematically present in each. As mentioned earlier death let there be doom, butlet it not be an abstract doom let it not be an abstract doom is seen as a welcome release by some, but a final settling of accounts to all. Secrets are revealed; old deeds and painful memories return to haunt those responsible. False personas, masks, are removed, stripped away. The environment in each play is emphasized thematically. The action in each play centers around a let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom house. Tlet there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom he houses themselves, like people, "Hlet there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom arbor hidden evils" (Steene 107).let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom
Strindberg interweaves these themes like different melodies sounded together in a symphony. The waxing and waning of themes, the contrapuntal musical construction, in souls, symbols, and dramatic action creates a rhythm unique to each play.
=======================Am I failing?

"He did his best to contain the cultural chaos in
his rhythmic creations, and in so doing he created a
kind of literature different from that of his
predecessors" (

The first of This won't ever be finished. let it not be an abstract doom the chamber plays marks Strindberg's move away from the pseudo naturalism of "Miss Julie" and toward a lyrical, of 1907, the play is highly autobiographical. Strindberg attempts to deal withhisfailed marriage to 29 year old Harriet Bosse (Sprinchorn viii). In a letter to her Strindberg writes, "You are angry with me because of a play you saw at the Intimate Theatre. I had warned you aboutI wanted to write you and our little one out of my heart! I wanted to take out in advance the agonies that awaited me" (Steene 108).
let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom

, Gerda, is forced to reveal her presence and ask her ex-husband for assistance. The gentleman refuses to help her and gradually withdraws from human contact altogether, deciding ultimately to move out of his house. Thisplaying in the background, the lightning flash at the end of the first scene, signifying the coming of the storm (Sprinchorn xi).Rather than acting, the people in the play react. They wait for a storm that never comes (Steene 109).

eternal sections golden dark eye light black light light black eternal red sections eternal eyelight thinking into black light white light light eternal eternal quia sections who know dark light white eternal dark eye golden black light sections sections eye light light red green black light sections sections eye light light red green scream section perpendicular
let it not be an abstract doom

THE BURNED HOUSE This won't ever be finished.

Written simultaneously with "The Ghost Sonata", the second opus deals most thoroughly with the discovery of secrets, of corruption from within, of deception. The people in the community known as "The Swamp" and their relations with each other are seen through their connection to a house which has recently burned down. No one is above reproach. Even the house itself contains secret rooms and walls, hiding the family smuggling operation from the Dyer and his brother. "We all hate each other- we're suspicious. Everyone gossips and torments his neighbor..." (Burned 54). Only the Stranger stands apart from the community and selves as an intermediary and objective interpreter between the residents of "The Swamp" and the audience. He is not completely divorced from the world of the burned house for his brother is the Dyer. Having discovered the truth about
To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all
The rhythm of each play is not unified. As a conscious internal construction, rhythm expresses the fragmented nature of Strindberg's mind and the disjointed nature society and culture in general. "Each is a containmamongst the savage hordes ent of a cultural clash" (Dahlstrom xv).

STORM WEATHER

The first of the chamber plays marks Strindberg's move away from the pseudo naturalism of "Miss Julie" and toward a lyrical, more dream-like world. Written in February of 1907, the play is highly autobiographical. Strindberg attempts to deal with his This won't ever be finished. failed marriage to 29 year old Harriet Bosse (Sprinchorn of my heart! I wanted to take out in advance the agonies that awaited me" (Steene 108). the Gentleman whose young ex wife and child have returned to his hometown and are living in the flat above him unbeknownst to him. Ironically her new husband attempts to run away with a young girl and the wife, Gerda, is forced to reveal her presence her and gradually withdraws from human con his house. This final move is his last step toward death. The major themes are supported by visual and aural elements: the sentimental waltz playing in the This won't ever be finished. background, the lightning flash at the end of the first scene, signifying the coming of the storm (Sprinchorn xi).Rather than acting, the people in the play react. They wait for a storm that never comes (Steene 109).amongst the savage hordes
The road had many turnings and
twistings, and he knew that, for all he
could tell, the gypsies might be only a few
hundred yards in front of them.
let it not be an abstract doom
THE BURNED HOUSE

Written simultaneously with "The Ghost Sonata", the second opus deals most thoroughly with the discovery of secrets, of corruption from within, of deception. The people in the community known as "The Swamp" and their relations with each other are seen through their connection to a house which has recently burned down. No one is above reproach. Even the house itself contains secret rooms and walls, hiding the family This won't ever be finished. smuggling operation from the Dyer and his brother. "We all hate each other- we'retorments his neighbor..." (Burned 54). Only the Stranger stands apart from the community and selves as an intermediary and objective interpreter between the residents of "The Swamp" and the audience. He is not completely divorced from the world of the burned house for his brother is thethe truth to his home and strips others of the false perceptions. Death is ever -world of the play exists half betwe cemetery on the hill (Steene 110).
The essence of the play is contained in the Stranger's speech about the loom of fate. The original working title for this play was in fact "The World Weaver" (Sprinchorn xvii).

"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"

(Burned 68).

To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all

The rhythm of life in the play will repeat itself into eternity; beyond deceit the insanity of life will continue.amongst the savage hordes

the mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:


THE GHOST SONATA

Undoubtedly the most famous and most successful of the chamber plays. Subtitled "Kama Loka: A Buddhist Drama", Strindberg seems to suggest a blending of Eastern and Western myths. Kama Loka This won't ever be finished. itself has realm of desire. This could refer to the Student's ardent ith the hyacinth girl as well as
The road had many turnings and
twistings, and he knew that, for all he
could tell, the gypsies might be only a few
hundred yards in front of them.


wide to whom war

to retain something


and was a part and parcel of




their nature. It was not long before

Hummel's desire to enter the house of the Colonel, "an appropriate name for a house where the lives of its occupants are linked in a network of desire and deceit" (Carlson 192). The other…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities interpretation of Kama Loka refers to a mythical world of ghosts and dreams "through which mortals, some mortals, have to wander before they enter the peace of death's kingdom" (Meyer 481). The world Strindberg has created seems to echo these mythical qualities. Several people …………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities during the course of the play end their wanderings and enter the kingdom beyond.
Fashioned after Beethoven's sonata …………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities in D minor (opus 31 no. 2), the action of the play follows the musical form A-B-A (Steene 113). The play moves inward, from the street, to the drawing room, to the hyacinth room, from the present to the past to the future (Carlson 191). Scenes one and three deal with the Student and his ability to survive on the outside and the inside, in the present and the future. creates a dynamic conflict between Hummel and the Student. Vampirism seems to dominate the overall rhythm of the play. Hummel draws strength from other people, from his ability to manipulate, to strip them of their delusions, to feed off their

eternal sections golden dark eye light black light light black eternal red sections eternal eyelight thinking into black light white light light eternal eternal quia sections who know dark light white eternal dark eye golden black light sections sections eye light light red green black light sections sections eye light light red green scream section perpendicular


"It is horrible like life, when the veil falls from
our eyes and we see things as they are. It has shape
and content, the wisdom that comes with age, as our
knowledge increases and we learn to understand. This
is how the Weaver weaves men's destinies, secrets
like these are to be found in every home. People are
too proud to admit it... What has saved me is my
religion (union with the beyond) The hope of a
better life to come, the firm conviction that we
live in a world of madness and delusion (illusion)
from which we must fight our way free" (Meyer 481).

wide amongst the savage hordes to whom war


and depredation was a

This won't ever be finished.

their nature. It was not long

THE PELICAN

Strindberg had not exhausted the theme of vampirism with "the Ghost Sonata". Carried to an even further extreme, the Mother in "the Pelican" starves her own children, robs them of strength, of sustenance to fuel her own vanity. Unlike the pelican whose young feed on its blood, the Mother destroys her young for her own personal gain; the supreme crime of an egomaniac. The Son is an alcoholic and the Daughter sleep walks through her days (Steene 116). All the characters seem to sleepwalk in the world of the play. Even in the fury of the fire, as the house bums around them, the somnambulists, brother and sister, do not awaken. They remain trapped in memories of past childhood days, enjoying the warmth as they bum.

* * *To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all

In form and content August Strindberg pushed drama into the twentieth century. the chamber plays, once thought esoteric and unstageable, have had enormous impact upon modern drama. Playwrights such as O'Neill, Williams, Pinter, Ionesco, and Albee owe Strindberg a debt of artistic freely with character, theme, and form through Strindberg's passionate commitment to the goals of his chamber plays. Ingmar Bergman has produced a trilogy of films inspired by the chamber plays. James Joyce and T.S. Eliot, may been greatly influenced by Strindberg's zeal to create new forms of artistic expression. True, the reality Strindberg presents in his chamber plays is distorted. "Their distorting vision provokes uncomfortable
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to retain something

by salutary reassessment

of one's self and life" (Rothwell 163). Perhaps because of their connection with the mystical, these plays have been discarded or discounted. Strindberg was able to compose …………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities rhythmic pieces of drama that contain both a modern sense …………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities of fragmentation and despair as well as an underlying and …………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities enduring hope for something beyond. In this manner his chamber plays continue to challenge and broaden our conception of reality even…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities today. This won't ever be finished.


Works Cited

Hall,
1971.



The empty notebooks - begging for words

The blank stare -




How to Love Everyone and Make a Green World
And How to Avioid getting Killed in a
Tsunami or a Death Box
or One of Those Lovely Wog Countries like
Mynamear

for my dearest Doctor Phil - solver of all things - and G. Bush (my dear dear dear friend) -
and my dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear friend
Bin Laden...
ms
first to prove
the local Langlands
conjecture
for GLn over a p-adic field and, sec
ond,
to identify the act
ion of the
decomposition group
at a prime of
bad reduction
on the
l-adic cohomology
of the ''simple'' Shimura variet
ies. These two prob
lems go hand
in
ha
nd.
The results represent a maj
or ad
vance in algebraic number theory, fina
lly proving t


This won't ever be finished.





To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all

to retain something


[Surely this is the first time that the Incarnation has been absolutely
central ???????????????????????
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?

he conj
ecture first pro
p
osed in Langlands's 19
69 Washington lecture as a non-abelian gen
eralizat
ion of lo
cal class field theory.
The local Langlands conjecture for GLn(K),
where K is a p-adic field, as
serts the existenc
e of a correspon
dence,
with cer
tain formal properties,
relating n-dimensional representatio
ns of the
Galois group of K
wi
th t
he re
pre
sentation the
ory
of the loc
ally
compact group
GLn(K).
This book constructs a candidate
for such a local Langlands correspondence on t
he vanishing cycles
attached to the
bad reduction
over the integer ring of K of
a certain fa
mily of

vanishing cycles

Shimura varieties. And it proves that this is roughly
compatible with the
global Galois
correspondence realized on the cohomology
of the same
Shimura varieties.
The local Langlands conjecture is obtained as a
coroll
ary.
Certain techniques
developed in this book should
extend to more
general
.................................
S W A T C H !!!
to retain something
Shimura varietie
s, providing new instances of
the local Langlands
conjecture. Mor
eover, the geo
metry of
t
he special fibers is strict
ly

B A D R E D U C T I O N
analogous to that of
Shimura curves
and can be expected to hav
e applications
to a
Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely
................................
S W A T C H !!!
variety of questions
in
number theory.
"...held in subjection by the arts of one and bottled by her,
is it not known as 'twepalms and native thoughts: the shine
in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and
hand plays.

................................
S W A T C H !!!
Clutching in the shine on your show crowds. On the crossing Mre written on
the finger-nails of men
and traced in their corner robes?"
Swimming through the hand-holds:
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,he was a lonely bastard

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
##################################
##################################

eternal sections golden dark eye light black light light black eternal red sections eternal eyelight thinking into black light white light light eternal eternal quia sections who know dark light white eternal dark eye golden black light sections sections eye light light red green black light sections sections eye light light red green scream section perpendicular




held in subjection by the arts of one and bottled by her, is it not known as 'twere written on the finger-nails of men and traced in their corner robes?"
Te Po, the second state of existence, also had qualifying adjectives and gradations. Beginning with Te Po, the recital proceeded to Te Po Nui (the great night) and Te Po roa (the long night), Te Po te kitea (the night in which nothing could be seen), Te Po uriuri (the dark night), Te Po kerekere (the intense night ) and Te Po tangotango (the intensely dark night), to the tenth, the hundredth and the thousandth night. As in Te Kore, these periods of Te Po correspond to aeons of time when the earth came into being. Te Kore and Te Po also symbolize the emptiness and the darkness of the mind. Because there was no light, there was no knowledge. The reason

disseminated through the warlike tribes by
those who are ever at hand ready to create

disturbance and confusion, it is not to be


wondered at that the feeling spread far and
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This won't ever be finished.


feeling began to shew itself?????????????????

To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all





peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.

to retain something

Mao remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery,
Te Po, the second state of existence, also had qualifying adjectives and gradations. Beginning with Te Po, the recital proceeded to Te Po Nui (the great night) and Te Po roa (the long night), Te Po te kitea (the night in which nothing could be seen), Te Po uriuri (the dark night), Te Po kerekere (the intense night ) and Te Po tangotango (the intensely dark night), to the tenth, the hundredth and the thousandth night. As in Te Kore, these periods of Te Po correspond to aeons of time when the earth came into being. Te Kore and Te Po also symbolize the emptiness and the darkness of the mind. Because there was no light, there was no knowledge. The reason

…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities

Things that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy.
…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.

Te Po, the second state of existence, also had qualifying adjectives and gradations. Beginning with Te Po, the recital proceeded to Te Po Nui (the great night) and Te Po roa (the long night), Te Po te kitea (the night in which nothing could be seen), Te Po uriuri (the dark night), Te Po kerekere (the intense night ) and Te Po tangotango (the intensely dark night), to the tenth, the hundredth and the thousandth night. As in Te Kore, these periods of Te Po correspond to aeons of time when the earth came into being. Te Kore and Te Po also symbolize the emptiness and the darkness of the mind. Because there was no light, there was no knowledge. The reason


remembered through a strong outgoing grace, silent on wild analysis.
his yellow eyes are moving pictures,
Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.
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…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities



are carts. Being polaroid, being silver,

....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography

being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms
…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities
Mao remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of g outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.
…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation,

Steene, Birgitta. The Greatest Fire. Carbondale: Southern


…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities


Illinois University Press, 1973

Stockenstrom, Goran. "The Symbiosis of Spirits in Inferno:
Strindberg and Swedenborg". Rpt. in Structures of
Influence. Marylin Johns Blackwell Ed. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1981

Strindberg, August. The Chamber Plays. Evert Sprinchorn Ed.
New York: Dutton and Co., 1962.
extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictio…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid

............................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery, silent on wild analysis. extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioThings that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioin your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds.Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders

remembered in TV is the shine on your show room…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities .
Steene, Birgitta. The Greatest Fire. extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the
We were warned about spiders, and the occasional famine.” The illogic of continuity is Ashbery’s signature, whether from line to line, poem to poem, or volume to volume. Age, to paraphrase another bard much cited by Ashbery, cannot wither it.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders


history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership.…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid

....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography


ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders

...........................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom


It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioCarbondale: Southern
Illinois University Press, 1973

Stockenstrom, Goran. "The Symbiosis of Spirits in Inferno:
Strindberg and Swedenborg". Rpt. in extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on

his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid


its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioStructures of
Influence. Marylin Johns Blackwell Ed. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1981

Strindberg, August. The Chamber Plays. Evert Sprinchorn Ed.
New York: Dutton and Co., 1962.
....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography
To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all

Those are the wet years, extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard:
We were warned about spiders, and the occasional famine.”


?????????????????????????????????? The illogic of continuity is Ashbery’s signature, whether from line to line, poem to poem, or volume to volume. Age, to paraphrase another bard much cited by Ashbery, cannot wither it.

??????????????????????????????????????????????????????
??????????????????????????????????????????????????????
??????????????????????????????????????????????????????
??????????????????????????????????????????????????????
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders


like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, ....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography

.........................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictiothe convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. ry, silent on wild analysis. Things that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders

like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography

extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders

in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical t least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictio
Mao remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms., holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons,

the mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:


in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.
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DISRUPTthe mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:

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... salutary reassessment…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

of one's self and life" (Rothwell 163). Perhaps because of their connection with the mystical, these plays have been discarded or discounted. Strindberg was able to compose rhythmic pieces of drama that contain both a modern sense of fragmentation and despair as well as an underlying and enduring hope for something beyond. In this manner his chamber plays continue to challenge and broaden our conception of reality even today.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders




Harry G. Strindberg and the Poetry of Myth.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982.

, Carl. Strindberg's Dramatic Expressionism. New
York: Benjamin Blom, 1965.

. "The Character and the Soul" Rpt. in ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders
..............................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

Strindberg: A Collection of Critical Essays. Otto
Reinert Ed. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders

the mystery of windows


you cannot conceive:

1971.

Meyer, Michael. Strindberg. New York: Random
House, 1985.

"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"

what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,



How to Love Everyone and Make a Green World
And How to Avioid getting Killed in a
Tsunami or a Death Box
or One of Those Lovely Wog Countries like
Mynamear

for my dearest Doctor Phil - solver of all things - and G. Bush (me dear dear friend) -
and my dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear dear friend
Bin Laden...
ms
first to prove
the local Langlands
conjecture
for GLn over a p-adic field and, sec
ond,
to identify the act
ion of the
decomposition group
at a prime of
bad reduction
on the
l-adic cohomology
of the ''simple'' Shimura variet
ies. These two prob
lems go hand
in
ha
nd.
The results represent a maj
or ad
vance in algebraic number theory, fina
lly proving t







.............................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom





[Surely this is the first time that the Incarnation has been absolutely
central ???????????????????????
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]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]
]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]
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}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
}}}}}}}}}
?

he conj
ecture first pro
p
osed in Langlands's 19
69 Washington lecture as a non-abelian gen
eralizat
ion of lo
cal class field theory.
The local Langlands conjecture for GLn(K),
where K is a p-adic field, as
serts the existenc
e of a correspon
dence,
with cer
tain formal properties,
relating n-dimensional representatio
ns of the
Galois group of K
wi
th t
he re
pre
sentation the
ory
of the loc
ally
compact group
GLn(K).
This book constructs a candidate
for such a local Langlands correspondence on t
he vanishing cycles
attached to the
bad reduction
over the integer ring of K of
a certain fa
mily of

vanishing cycles

Shimura varieties. And it proves that this is roughly
compatible with the
global Galois
correspondence realized on the cohomology
of the same
Shimura varieties.
The local Langlands conjecture is obtained as a
coroll
ary.
Certain techniques
developed in this book should
extend to more
general
.................................
S W A T C H !!!


the mystery of windows


you cannot conceive:

Shimura varietie
s, providing new instances of
the local Langlands
conjecture. Mor
eover, the geo
metry of
t
he special fibers is strict
ly
Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.


B A D R E D U C T I O N
analogous to that of
Shimura curves
and can be expected to hav
e applications
to a
Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely
................................
S W A T C H !!!
variety of questions
in
number theory.
"...held in subjection by the arts of one and bottled by her,
is it not known as 'twepalms and native thoughts: the shine
in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and
hand plays.
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
................................
S W A T C H !!!
Clutching in the shine on your show crowds. On the crossing Mre written on
the finger-nails of men
and traced in their corner robes?"
Swimming through the hand-holds:
he was a lonely bastard

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
##################################
##################################




held in subjection by the arts of one and bottled by her, is it not known as 'twere written on the finger-nails of men and traced in their corner robes?"


disseminated through the warlike tribes by
those who are ever at hand ready to create

disturbance and confusion, it is not to be
----------------------------------===============Am I failing?

wondered at that the feeling spread far and
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ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders


feeling began to shew itself?????????????????


The road had many turnings and
twistings, and he knew that, for all he
could tell, the gypsies might be only a few
hundred yards in front of them.



peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,


remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery,


ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……….warned about spiders



Things that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy.
silent on wild analysis.

up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.

remembered through a strong outgoing grace, silent on wild analysis.
his yellow eyes are moving pictures,

DISRUPT DISRUPTDISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPTDISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPTDISRUPT DISRUPT
DISRUPT DISRUPTDISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPTDISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPT DISRUPTDISRUPT DISRUPT
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are carts. Being polaroid, being silver,

....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography

being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms

Mao remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of g outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the boundedin your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.


remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation,

Steene, Birgitta. The Greatest Fire. Carbondale:

. "The Symbiosis of Spirits in Inferno:
indberg and Swedenborg". Rpt.

in Structures of

, August. The Chamber Plays. Evert Sprinchorn Ed.
New York: Dutton and Co., 1962.
extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictio

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid

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once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery, silent on wild analysis. extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioThings that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioin your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.



remembered in TV is the shine on your show room.
Steene, Birgitta. The Greatest Fire. extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership.

his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid

....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography


It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioCarbondale: Southern
Illinois University Press, 1973

Stockenstrom, Goran. "The Symbiosis of Spirits in Inferno:
Strindberg and Swedenborg". Rpt. in extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on

his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid


its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictioStructures of
Influence. Marylin Johns Blackwell Ed. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1981

Strindberg, August. The Chamber Plays. Evert Sprinchorn Ed.
New York: Dutton and Co., 1962.
....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography
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Those are the wet years, extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard:


like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, ....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography

it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches fro
The smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis

Mao remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery, silent on wild analysis. Things that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.
extraordinary difficulty of this work, both stylistically and substantively. Not to mention mathematically. This must at the very least be the first attempt within the history of philosophy to ground historicity in the truths of mathematics, which perhaps indicates, if it does not constitute, what Leahy means by novitas mundi. And although it consistently resists comparison with the thought of the past, however superficially plausible certain parallels might be, it does remind one of the past in at least this regard: like Spinoza’s Ethics or Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, it is a work whose reception will depend on its ability to create its own readership. It makes no compromises, flinches from no complexity, and harbors no concern for pedagogical realities. But at least in the reading of it, once the reader becomes acclimatized to its heady and dense syntax and dictio



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Mao remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery, silent on wild analysis. Things that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native angles drawing tunics out.

Mao remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years,
the mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:


the convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms.…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery, silent on wild analysis. Things that take time over and over again, the rigor of the

peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being

polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in

your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming

through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography
"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"


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remembered in TV is the shine on your show room. Those are the wet years, the convergence of big fish, jubilation, once in a blue moon. Caravan pasts wave and once more fold away, parachutes tumble all day, under the technology of arms. Wonders never cease. The envoys you dont remember are smiling, talking slippery, silent on wild analysis. Things that take time over and over again, the rigor of the peoples wishes rubbing the surface, holy mackerel. Mao remembered through a strong outgoing grace, his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid, being silver, being in the bounded reasons, in the hold of a lifetime. Coming true, as Tarzans in snow, Polynesian palms and native thoughts: the shine in your show room stands up to talk in round figures and hand plays. Clutching in the crowds. On the crossing Maos like a wheatfield talking in trains. Swimming through the hand-holds he was a lonely enemy. From a thousand different angles drawing tunics out.



his yellow eyes are moving pictures, are carts. Being polaroid



There is little doubt, as all the newspapers of the day, and opinions put forth at the various public meetings, letters published, pamphlets circulated, &c., shew, that the Church of New Zealand, more particularly its leaders, were instrumental in fomenting, for years previously, this policy of the King Movement amongst their adherents throughout the savage tribes.

"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"


feeling towards the settlers previous to the commencement of the war. The English settler was looked upon as an usurper, and the English Government as tyrannical and grasping, aiming at naught but the immediate possession of their lands and extirpation of their race. With such ideas carefully disseminated through the warlike tribes by those who are ever at hand ready to create disturbance and confusion, it is not to be wondered at that the feeling spread far and wide amongst the savage hordes to whom war and depredation was a part and parcel of their nature. It was not long before this feeling began to shew itself, and the sad events that followed in a few short months rendered the smiling valley a desert, and the once happy home a blackened ruin.

On a nearer view, these mountain streams, as they may


the pearling industry is a fascinating one. The art
cultivation of pearls by slipping in a bead of shell to act a
a nucleus on which the animal places layer after layer c
mother of pearl was developed by the Japanese and has
come an important industry in our own waters.
Trochus is another shell, this time a univalve, which
commercial use for making a lower grade type of button than
that obtained from pearishell. These are

be called, deeply indented as they are, cause a considerable change
Trochus is another shell,

in what at the first glance seems a level plain, for there is no portion of the earth more interspersed with hill and dale than Taranaki, or which Nature has embellished

with a greater number of charming

glens and lovely valleys, deep ravines,
and retired nooks, from the tortuous windings of these
....r, m....i. .i...e .....i.. ...es missi.. ..eir ....es, i.s.r...i..
m....i., .y...i., mem.ry, m.....r.me i.i..! .. .. .. ..is is s. m....i.
... .ri.e, ... ....'s ... i.s:..r..y:...:m....i.:...y: ..i.. .. ...;
.y....ermi.; .e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s .y....ermi.;
.e..e..y ....r.s ..e m....i.; .e..e..y ....r.s r..e.ess ...
So I've been working on an autobiography
mountain torrents. Equally beneficent has
Nature
been as to its soil, rich and loamy, with
the peculiarity of great depth and without rock or

stone.
Trochus is another shell,

Then off they rushed to catch the bus
And got there just in time.
The conductor said with heavy frown
“You cut that pretty fine.”

They sat down puffing very hard
And paid their fares again.
Then Panda said, “About the Doll
I should like to explain.

The thoroughly cleared land does not extend in any place beyond three miles from the sea, and in many parts not one; but numerous clearings and homesteads have sprung up within this continuous belt of wooded bush land, extending along its entire face, and, at the time we speak of, the year before the war, there was every prospect of its being a wealthy and fast improving settlement.
Most of the settlers had been men of capital, and had laid out large sums in reclaiming their lands and erecting homesteads, so that, even in spite of the lack of a harbour or port for shipping, it was progressing favourably,—the greatest impediment being the difficulty of purchasing land, and the most injurious principle of Maori reserve, or the law directing that a tenth part of all lands sold or purchased from them should be so reserved.
Of the nature of this arrangement, or the policy of its introduction, we cannot speak; but there cannot
Te Po, the second state of existence, also had qualifying adjectives and gradations. Beginning with Te Po, the recital proceeded to Te Po Nui (the great night) and Te Po roa (the long night), Te Po te kitea (the night in which nothing could be seen), Te Po uriuri (the dark night), Te Po kerekere (the intense night ) and Te Po tangotango (the intensely dark night), to the tenth, the hundredth and the thousandth night. As in Te Kore, these periods of Te Po correspond to aeons of time when the earth came into being. Te Kore and Te Po also symbolize the emptiness and the darkness of the mind. Because there was no light, there was no knowledge. The reason


LONG CHASE

work, was certainly going along the road
which crossed the marshes and led to the
hills beyond, but whether it belonged to
the man they bad been watching or not
they could not be sure, for be bad dis-
appeared among the sand-dunes.
He was kneeling on the edge of the
high, steep bank, and was pushing the
sand over with his hauds, and causing it
to run down the bank in a fine stream.
“Have you hurt yourself?” said Dat
anxiously, peering down at her as she la~
twenty feet bclow~bim in a little heap.
It was some moments before she coul~
answer him. When she found herse]
falling she had uttered an exclamation


be the slightest doubt that it has been the means of lessening the chance of reclaiming the Natives to civilization or accustoming them to the manners of the settlers located among them, thus keeping them wedded to their rude and savage customs, herding together in pahs, as they did one hundred years before. In addition to this was the fatal mistake, so contrary to the time-honored principle of colonization,

what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

teaching our own language to the Natives of a new Colony, that of actually making a language, or, at least, forming it into character by an infinity of research, difficulty and labour, by upwards of twenty years' close application and study of the oral far easier would have been the labour, and vastly more important its results, not only in the facility by which, after the full knowledge of the language was obtained, you could communicate with them universally as a nation akin to us, but also by the breaking down of the savage customs
now you will embrace emptiness, you are making sheave-other, you are
making sheave-emptiness, you are making wrath, are making creation, are
making annihilation. now you are making annihilation, now you are among
them, beneath them, above them, now you are beyond them. now you are no
longer imagining, you are no longer thinking among them, you are no longer
thinking, no longer sheave, no longer thought, now you are annihilation,
now you are making nothing, now you are annihilation, now you destroy
house and world and word, now you are destroyed, now you are annihilation,
you are free, you are emptiness, you are annihilation, you are emptiness,
now you are free.


and using every endeavour to change the native and savage ones to ours, instead of giving way to them in every iota, permitting their customs to be their law in defiance of British law, andspace does not permit us to enter more at large into this subject, for our object is merely,fromindividualexperiencetowrittory, pleasing, beneficial, and truthful for our readers, that they may be led therefrom to form not only a correct impression of the war,but see the real cause in its proper light, of its origin and continuance.

)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

Trochus is another shell,
"Leahy is truly giving us our deepest philosophical and theological challenge, one which very few have thus far been able to meet in any way, and if this is the challenge of pure thinking, it is also the challenge of pure writing, and even if this is th its reader, and creates its reader as a truly new reader and thinker. All our postmodernities crumble into insignificance in confrontation with this challenge, but so do our existing philosophies and theologies, as when in Leahy's work Thomas J. J. Altizer, International Studies in Philosophy XXXV.4
"Foundation: Matter the Body Itself is Leahy's monumental effort to turn Western metaphysics inside out and establish it on a new foundation, working from, in his terms, an 'absolute new beginning.' This will no doubt strike readers at first glance as an effort to resuscitate the dead corpse of foundationalism, that failed project of Descartes--and behind him of Plotinus and Plato--to ground being and our knowledge of being on a foundation independent of the fluctuations of exposed and changeable matter. But this does not capture the purpose of Leahy's project at all. Quite the contrary, his search for an absolute beginning is not remotely Cartesian or Plotinian.
"In both of those projects we have an attempt to search for an absolute beginning before or away from matter or the body. But for Leahy, as the subtitle of his book clearly indicates, this beginning is to be found by admitting the body's anchor in being and being's anchor in the body, so that one pursues metaphysics from the basis of the body, that locus of human being that makes being as such so exposed.
"For Leahy this , and this explains what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
****************************************************************You can help Wikipedia by expanding it.


Thursday, December 14, 2006

(photos by Azure Carter - Nyon, Rilke's grave)

Here's a treat! http://nikuko.blogspot.com now click on it! No, wait a minute, don't do it! Honest, all hell will break loose. You did it, didn't you? Now don't do it again! Really! I know what I'm talking about! Take this seriously! You really don't want to do it now, do you?! Damn, you did it again! Well, here we are! What now?

(I'm waiting for the images to upload. Wait a bit now. I don't think you'll do it? Useless, isn't it? I'm stll waiting... It's going to go on a bit! Ah, there, that's better! You can stop now, give your hand a rest!)

which began with a perl program allowing me to make date entries and sorting them. http://www.asondheim.org/biog.txt
This won't ever be finished. It's as accurate as I can make it but this is a disclaimer to the effect that the statements shouldn't be taken at face value; my memory may be playing tricks and certainly some of the dates are incorrect.
Trochus is another shell,
"
Like Husserl before him, Leahy wants his
beginning to be absolute. But unlike Husserl, he wants to think through the being of the world

so that one comes to see that the world itself is thinking through the thinker.


.............other shell, ...................................................Trochus is another shell, .....................................................................................................................................................................................

This won't ever be finished.

This is why Leahy calls the world essentially historical: because the thinker is the world thinking through itself, the world is the enactment of human history, or as he phrases it: 'For the first time the world itself is
"There can be no disputing the n, one gets a glimpse of what a reenactment of the history of Western metaphysics under the therapeutic and deeply salvific vision of D. eahy might mean."
Edward T. of eligion
"If God, Godhead, Trinity, Incarnation, Time and Eternity are significant to and central in Christian theology, this work is central to theology. If the relation between the ideal and the actual, the local and the of ideas: his concepts resituate many of the classical thinkers in both theology and philosophy. Especially stunning, to this reviewer, is Leahy's reconstrual of Aquinas (and medieval thought generally), Hegel, and the uniquely American philosophers.This won't ever be finished.
"Leahy opens another 'high road around modernity,' and thus an appealing alternative to a variety of post-modernisms while retaining their critical force. He restores thinking to centrality in theology, rescuing it from a mindless drift in recent decades. Eschewing any final distinction between theology and philosophy, he sees in the American theology aspiration to (hitherto postponed) perfectly 'exterior' Godhead.
"Reading Leahy is like reading Nietzsche: to the degree that one understands, one is shaken in the foundations--and if not so shaken, one does not understand. (And the comparison is not inapt, since it is in part the modernity shaken by Nietzsche that Leahy aspires to transcend.) In short, every great work must create its readers, and I believe Leahy's work holds just this potential. His writing is as compact and precise as could be imagined, given what he is given to say: as with all conceptual expression not alien to the poetic sense, there is a certain inevitability to it in respect of form."
Ray L. Hart, Boston University
e most significant wThis won't ever be finished. ork of philosophical theology to be written in many decades. Leahy takes on the form of future thinking, a thinking without self, managing this remarkable feat by critiquing, with great precision and logical sophistication, the binary logics of Boole and Peirce.

He*************You can help Wikipedia by expanding it.

proposes a ternary logic in which no term is, in any way, a nothing.
America that has given us our purest and deepest contemporary apocalyptic thinker, D. G. Leahy. Novitas Mundi is our most intrinsically difficult book since the Phenomenology of Spirit. Foundation: Matter the Body Itself is in full continuity with Novitas Mundi. Once again there is a purely conceptual embodiment of the end of modernity and the absolute beginning of a new world order, an order which is an actually universal new world consciousness, and an absolutely new consciousness in which the body itself is nothing but existence itself. Now, and for the first time, an explosion of reason has occurred in the form of faith, so that in the thinking now occurring for the first time faith has raised reason itself to the level of faith. Of course, this is a claim fully embedded in German Idealism, and above all so in Hegel, but now what is at hand is a Catholic universal reason and a Catholic universal faith. And if German Idealism was inauguratedyear of the public ending of Marxism but the year of the final ending of modernity itself.This won't ever be finished.
"Both Novitas Mundi and Foundation pose an ultimate challenge to Catholicism, and not only to Catholicism but to Christianity itself, and nothing is newer here than a purely philosophical thinking and a purely theological thinking which wholly coincide, one which is manifestly the calling forth of a truly new world. At no point is this challenge more overwhelming than in that radically new understanding of matter and the body itself which is incorporated here, just as nothing is more ultimately new than an has such a Catholic consummation actually been conceived, although there are those who would see it as having been imaginatively enacted in Dante's Paradiso and Joyce's Finnegans Wake."
Thomas J. J. Altizer, "Apocalypticism and Modern Thinking,"
Journal for Christian Theological Research
"In this very densternary logic, one which shows why and how reason is today exploding 'to fit the form of faith.' Leahy claims that his 'new way of thinking' is the beginning of a selflThis won't ever be finished. ess foundation that goes beyond both modern thought and post

This book deals, at the most fundamental intellectual level, with the new beginning in world consciousness which first unequivocally manifested itself for all to see with the collapse of the Soviet Empire and the tearing down of the Berlin Wall in 1989. It answers the questions: what is the 'new thinking' and what is the 'new world order'. The 'new thinking' is elimination of the absolute self-consciousness of modernity. Since American thought is essentially the furthest extension , there first develops the notion of the 'quantum identical with quality', the notion of the 'minimum'. The latter takes the form of 'the logic of the beginning'. This logic replaces the binary system of Boole

begin by setting out directions, these are the five healthy directions,
the middle direction is one of exhaustion and ecstasy, then in the
direction opposite the middle direction set out the last direction, which
is one of wounding and suffering. if the middle direction is reception,
the last direction is penetration, if the last direction is reception, the
middle direction is penetration.
The smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis

****************************************************************You can help Wikipedia by expanding it.

…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

set the house in order from the middle
direction outward, these are the spokes which narrow to the point of
intersection between the middle direction and last direction. now forget
sounds. now you must imagine another being joined to yourself and house
and world and word, you must imagine penetration reception and reception
-sight-and-sound, you
have sheave-touch-and-scent, you have sheave-taste-and-mind, you have
sheave-passion and sheave-ecstasy. now you will walk and remember, you
will remember everything, and you will speak and hear, see and taste, you
will forbid nothing, you will not be forbidden, you will rise above and
sink below, you will be among the direction of wounded and suffering. now
you will do this for a long time, for aeons.

(Alan Sondheim)


George Meredith's Modern Love (1862) is a collection of 50 16-line sonnets about the failure of his first marriage. He reflects his own disillusionment after his wife Mary Ellen, the daughter of Thomas Love Peacock, left him for the painter Henry Wallis. It is often thought of as one of the first psychological poems.
A quill in an inkpot This
…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities

The following is the text of the 50 sonnets.

MODERN LOVE by George Meredith

The smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis

By this he knew she wept with waking eyes: That, at his hand’s light quiver by her head, The strange low sobs that shook their common bed Were called into her with a sharp surprise, And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes, Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight

LONG CHASE

work, was certainly going along the road
which crossed the marshes and led to the
hills beyond, but whether it belonged to
the man they bad been watching or not
the
high, steep bank, and was pushing the

anxiously, peering down at her as she la~
twenty feet bclow~bim in a little heap.
It was some moments before she coul~
answer him. When she
falling she had uttered an exclamationwhat might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

…………………………..silent on wild analysis.
-------------------------------------------------
This was the woman; what now of the man? But pass him. If he comes beneath a heel, He shall be crushed until he cannot feel, Or, being callous, haply till he can. But he is nothing:—nothing? Only mark The rich light striking outher cool brow To put a kiss? …………………………..silent on wild analysis.Yet if I meet him there ! But she is mine ! Ah, no ! I know too well I claim a star whose light is overcast: …………………………..silent on wild analysis.I claim a phantom-woman in the Past. The hour has struck, though I…………………………..silent on wild analysis. heard not the bell !


Or if Delusion came, ’twas but to hate. Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we pay for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old !



A message from her set his brain aflame. A world of


will I not do, though the sting is dire. —Beneath the surface this, while by the fire They sat, she laughing at a quiet joke.


The former, it were not so great a curse To read on the steel-mirror of her smile.


188 VIII

Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt Of righteous feeling made her

Poor twisting worm, so queenly beautiful !

Where came the cleft ????????????????????????

189 IXThe smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis
the mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:
He felt the wild beast in him betweenwhiles So masterfully rude, that he would grieve To see the helpless delicate thing receive His guardianship through certain dark defiles.

190 X
Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.
But where feather and with forward toe, Her much-adored delightfulon her brow. What ’s this, when Nature swears there is no change To challenge eyesight? Now, as then, the grace Of see An amber cradle near the sun’s decline: Within it, featuredevenindeath disolely that the Future she destroys, And the fair life which in the distance lies For all men, beckoning out from dim

..............................She will not speak
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
The smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis

Whose hands bear, here, a seed-bag—there, an urn. Pledged she herself to aught, ’twould mark her end ! This lesson of our only visible friend Can we not teach our foolish hearts to learn? Yes ! yes !—but, oh, our human rose is fair Surpassingly ! Lose calmly Love’s great bliss, When the renewed for ever of a kiss Whirls life within the shower of loosened hair !
…………………………..silent on wild analysis.

a cure that brings Contempt the nobler agony to kill? Rather let me bear on the bitter ill, And strike this ew stings ! It seems there is another veering fit, Since on a gold-hairedlady’seyeballs pueI loed with lired bow loosed shafts of witst heaven ! can it be true that jealousy Has decked the woman thus? and does her head Swim somewhat for possessions forfeited? Madam that be. I open an old book, and y love whour leave, The game you play at is not to my mind.

man betrayed me was very painful, unbearable my heart still has
scars inside after occasion

She will not speak

not? good !’ Her waking infant-stare Grows woman to the burden my hands bear: Her own handwriting to me when no curb Was left on Passion’s tongue. She trembles through; A woman’s tremble—the whole instrument:— I show another letter lately sent. The words are very like: the name is new.
to retain something

196 XVI

In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour, When in the firelight steadily aglow, Joined slackly, we beheld the red chasm grow Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower That eve was left to us: and hushed we sat As lovers to whom Time is whispering. From sudden-opened doors we heard them sing: The nodding elders mixed good wine with chat. Well knew we that Life’s greatest

At dinner, she is hostess, I am host. surface-eyes we ply the ball: It is in truth a most
The smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis

looks, Love’s ephemeridae Shoot gaily o’er the dishes and the wine. We waken envy of our happy lot. Fast, sweet, and golden, shows the marriage-knot. Dear guests, you now have seen Love’s corpse-light shine.
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,


Jck and Tm are pred with
Mll and Mg.
Curvd
open
to the river-reach is seen
country mey-making
on the green. Fair space
for signal shakings of the leglittle screwy fiddler
from his booth, Whence flows one nut-brown stream, commands the joints
195 XV
I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when l I do
Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.


She will not speak





ease. An early goddess was a country lass: A charmed Amphion-oak she tripped the grass. What life was that I lived? The life of these? Heaven keep them happy ! Nature they seem near. They must, I think, be wisersecret of the bull we trace its source, ’tis beer.
To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to retain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all

199 XIX

No state is enviable. To the luck alone
Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.
/////////////////She will not speak
the glass. What sight in view? A face that seems the latest to reveal ! For she turns from it hastily, and tossed Irresolute steals shadow-like to where I stand; and wavering pale

……………………..corpse-light shine

Of some few favoured men I would put claim.
I bleed, but her who wounds I will not blame.
Have I not felt her heart as ’twere my own
Beat thro’ me? could I hurt her? heaven and hell !
But I could hurt her cruelly !
Can I let My Love’s old time-
piece to another set, Swear it can’t stop,
and must for ever swell?
Sure, that ’s one
way Love drifts
into the mart
Where
goat-
leg
ge
d
b
uyeThe smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis
rs thr
ong. I
se
e no
t pla
in My meaning is, it must not be agai
n. Great God ! the maddest gambler throws h
is heart. If any sta
t
e b
e enviable on earth, ’
Tis yo
n born idiot’s, wh
Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.
.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................She will not speak

LONG CHASE

work, was certainly going along the road
which crossed the marshes and led to the
hills beyond, but whether it belonged to
the man they bad been watching or not
He was kneeling on the edge of the
high, steep bank, and was pushing the
sand over with his hauds, and causing it
to run down the bank in a fine stream.
“]
falling she had uttered an exclamation

..............................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

o, as days go by, Still rubs his hands before him, like a fly, In a queer sort of meditative mirth.
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

200 XX

I am not of those miserable males Have I not any charity to give?
"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"


201 XXI

We three are on the cedar-shadowed lawn;

------------------------------Am I failing?


202 XXII

What may the woman labour to confess? There is about her mouth a nervous twitch. ’Tis something to be told, or hidden :—which? I get a glimpse of hell in this mild guess. She has desires of touch, as if to feel That all the household things are things she knew. She stops before before me there, Her tears fall still as oak-leaves after frost. . I will not ask. , Yours is a lower, and a happier

203 XXIII

’Tis Christmas weather, and a country house Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret At that, it is half-said. The great carouse Knocks hard upon the midnight’s hollow door, But when I knock at hers, I see the pit. Why did I come here in that dullard fit? I enter, and lie couched upon the floor. Passing, I caught the coverlet’s quick beat :— Come, Shame, burn to my soul ! and Pride, and Pain— Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain! Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat. The small bird stiffens in the low starlight. I know not how,ery is greater, as I live ! To know her flesh so pure, so keen her sense, That she does penance now for no offence, Save with the serpent I am cursed. I can interpret where the mouth is dumb. Speak, and I see the side-lie of a truth. Perchance my heart may pardon you this deed: But be no coward:—you that madeall the venom of his tooth

___________________________________________She will not speak

Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.


What are we first?

First, animals; and next

Intelligences at a leap;


on whom Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb, And all that draweth on the tomb for text. Into which state comes Love, the crowning sun: Beneath whose light the shadow loses form. We are the lords of life, and life is warm. Intelligence and instinct now are one. But nature says: ‘My children most they seem When they least know me: therefore I decree That they shall suffer.’ Swift doth young Love flee, And we stand wakened, shivering from our dream. Then if we study Nature we are wise. Thus do

"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"



the few who live but with the day: The scientific animals are they.— Lady, this is my sonnet to your eyes.


211 XXXI

This golden head has wit in it. I live Again, and a far higher life, near her. Some women like a young philosopher; Perchance because he is diminutive. For woman’s manly god must not exceed Proportions of the natural nursing size. Great poets and great sages draw no prize With’Tis ordered for the world’s increase ! Small flattery ! Yet she has that rare gift To beauty, Common Sense. I am approved it. What ’s my drift?



……..>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> What ’s my drift?


212 XXXII

Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift To beauty, Common Sense. To see her lie With her fair visage an inverted sky Bloom-covered, while the underlids uplift, Would almost wreck the faith; but when her mouth (Can it kiss sweetly? sweetly !) would address The inner me that thirsts for her no less, And has so long been languishing in drouth, I feel that I am matched; that I am man ! One restless corner of my heart or head, That holds a dying something never dead, Still frets, though Nature giveth all she can. It means, that woman is not, I opine, Her sex’s antidote. Who seeks the asp For serpent’s bites? ’Twould calm me could I clasp Shrieking Bacchantes with their souls of wine !


213 XXXIII



214 XXXIV

Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes: The Deluge or else Fire ! She ’s well; she thanks My husbandship. Our chain on silence clanks. Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs. Am I quite well? Most excellent in health ! The journals, too, I diligently peruse. Vesuvius is expected to give news: Niagara is no noisier. By stealth Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She ’s glad I ’m happy, says her quivering under-lip. ‘ And are not you?’ ‘ How can I be?’ ‘ Take ship ! For happiness is somewhere to be had.’ ‘ Nowhere for me !’ Her voice is barely heard. I am not melted, and make no pretence. With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense. Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.

……..>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> What ’s my drift?

215 XXXV

It is no vulgar nature I have wived. Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned, And not a thought of vengeance had survived. No Long to endure this torpidly, and shun The drugs that crowd about a woman’s hand. At Forfeits during snow we played, and I Must kiss her. ‘ Well performed !’ I said : then she : ‘’Tis hardly worth the money, you agree?’ Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie !


of large-browed steadfastness. But Madam says: Thereof she may be vain ! Now, Madam’s faulty feature is a glazed And inaccessible eye, that has soft fires, Wide gates, at love-time, only. This admires My Lady. At the two I stand amazed.

……..>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> What ’s my drift?

217 XXXVII

Along the garden terrace, under which A purple valley (lighted at its edge By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge Whereunder dropped the chariot) glimmers rich, A quiet company we pace, and wait The dinner-bell in prae-digestive calm. So sweet up violet banks the Southern balm Breathes round, we care not if the bell be late: Though here and there grey seniors question Time In irritable coughings. With slow foot The low rosed moon, the face of Music mute, Begins among her silent bars to climb. As in and out, in silvery dusk, we thread, I hear the laugh of Madam, and discern My Lady’s heel before me at each turn. Our tragedy, is it alive or dead?



Give to imagination some pure light In human form to fix it, or you shame The devils with that hideous human game Imagination urging appetite ! Thus fallen have earth’s greatest Gogmagogs, Who dazzle us, whom we can not revere: Imagination is the charioteer That, in default of better, drives the hogs. So, therefore, my dear Lady, let me love ! My soul is arrowy to the light in you. You know me that I broke: what would you have? ’Tis Love, or nd now it ’s dead, ’tis dear. Oh, when you

I'm getting ready
for the possibility

She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood Has yielded: she, my golden-crowned rose ! The bride of every sense ! more sweet than those Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood. 0 visage of still music in the sky ! Soft moon ! I feel thy song, my fairest friend ! True harmony within can apprehend Dumb harmony without. And hark ! ’tis nigh ! Belief has struck the note of sound: a gleam Of living come here to mar this heavenly tune? A man is one: the woman bears my name, And honour. Their hands touch ! God, what a dancing
at !

………………….Helplessly afloat

Seas that in a man's heart have no rain To fall and still them. Peace can I achieve, By turning to this fountain-source of woe, This woman, who ’s to Love as fire to wood? She breathed the violet breath of maidod Against my kisses once ! but I say, No ! thing is mocked at ! Helplessly afloat, I know not what I do, whereto I strive. The dread that my old love may be alive Has seized my nursling new love by the throat.

I'm getting ready
for the possibility
221 XLI

How many a thing which we cast to the ground, When others pick it up becomes a gem ! We grasp at all the wealth it is to them; And by reflected light its worth is found. Yet two have taken up a lifeless vow To rob a living passion : dust for fire ! Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells Approaching midnight. We have struck despair Into two hearts. 0, look we like a pair Who for fresh nuptials

………………….Helplessly afloat
, when she said ‘I'm going’ ; lit a taper, bowed her head, And went, as with the stride of Pallas bold. Fleshly indifference horrible ! The hands Of Time now signal: 0, she ’s safe from me ! Within those secret walls what do I see? the taper down she stands: Not Pallas: Hebe shamed ! Thoughts black as death Like a stirred pool in sunshine break. Her wrists I catch: she faltering, as she half resists, ‘You love. . .? love. . .? love. . .?’ all on an indrawn breath.

I'm getting ready
for the possibility

closed behind. Poor soul ! if, in those early days unkind, Thy power to sting had been but power to grieve, We now might with an equal spirit meet, And not be matched like innocence She for the Temple's worship has………………….Helplessly afloat paid price, And takes the coin of Pity as a cheat. She sees through simulation to the bone: What 's best in her impels her to the worst: Never, she cries, shall Pity soothe Love's thirst, Or foul hypocrisy for truth atone !


ines she gloriously, And with that softest dream of blood she glows: Mild as an evening heaven round Hesper bright ! I pluck the flower, and smell it, and revive The time when in her eyes I stood alive. I seem to look upon it out of Night. Here ’s Madam, stepping hastily. Her whims Bid her demand the flower, which I let drop. As I proceed, I feel her sharply stop, And crush it under heel with trembling limbs. She joins me in a cat-like way, a
[XLV: Crownéd (two dots over e)]

226 XLVI………………….Helplessly afloat

At last we parley: we so strangely dumb In such a close communion ! It befell About the sounding of the Matin-bell, And lo ! her place was vacant, and the hum Of loneliness was round me. Then I rose, And my disordered brain did guide my foot To that old wood where our first love-salute Was interchanged: the source of many throes ! There did I see her, not alone. I moved Toward her, and made proffer of my arm. She took it simply, with no rude alarm; And that disturbing shadow passed reproved. I felt the pained speech
I'm getting ready
for the possibility


Or forward to a summer of bright dye: But in the largeness of the evening earth Our spirits grew as we went side by side. The hour became her husband and my bride. Love, that had robbed us so, thus blessed our dearth ! The pilgrims of the year waxed very loud In multitudinous

……..>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> What ’s my drift?


Their sense is with their senses all mixed in, Destroyed by subtleties these women are ! More brain, 0 Lord, more brain ! or we shall mar Utterly this fair garden we might win. Behold ! I looked for peace, and thought it near. Our inmost hearts had opened, each to each. We drank the pure daylight of honest speech. Alas ! that was the fatal draught, I fear. For when of my lost Lady came the word, This woman, 0 this agony of flesh ! Jealous devotion bade her break the mesh, That I might seek that other like a bird. I do adore the nobleness ! despise The act ! She has gone forth, I know not where. Will the hard world my sentience of her share? I feel the truth; so let the world surmise.

………………….Helplessly afloat

He found her by the ocean’s moaning verge, Nor any wicked change in her discerned; And she believed his old love had returned, Which was her exultation, and her scourge. She took his hand, and walked with him, and seemed The wife he sought, though shadow-like and dry. She had one terror, lest her heart should sigh, And tell her loudly she no longer dreamed. She dared not say, ‘This is my

; clear as the dew on flowers:



like bits of thread,
their intersections
or the empty squares between?

I'm getting ready
for the possibility





But they fed not on the advancing hours: Their hearts held cravings for the buried day. Then each applied to each that fatal knife, Deep questioning, which probes to endless dole. Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life !— In tragic hints here see what evermore Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean’s force, Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse, To throw that faint thin line upon the shore !

……..>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> What ’s my drift?


Dear April, I appreciated the way the paragraphs were all about the same
length. I especially liked how your sentences appeared
to relate to one another. It was getting late,
they said. Solemn,
blunt flash of sun
off the window
of a Coors Light
truck.

………………….Helplessly afloat

On a fence across the street, wings of a wooden chicken
spun backward. Everyone
had reason to be proud.
I could handle symbols
without being manipulated by them.
Like a stone butch, you might say, but that’s
only connotation.

like bits of thread,
their intersections
or the empty squares between?

I'm getting ready
for the possibility


Meanwhile, in the photographs,
my expression was fading,
as if my darling,

………………….Helplessly afloat


and to acquaintances
vividly called up
for the occasion.
"Picture time
as a fine mesh
of regular intervals."
But are those intervals
like bits of thread,
their intersections
or the empty squares between?

I'm getting ready
for the possibility
that a rhythm
will be monotonous,
relentless.
and with rescues to effect peachleaved nymph
sorrowing (are you sorrowing?) on the waters
bearing you to heaven's presumptuous grin

dedicated to the proposition that all
men are created equaL


heaven is here in a kiss gifts of prophecy and hearing
pucker the valley of that leaf you copied
to the body in perpetuity your mouth is leaves
on his face nymphae peachleaf bride
of loops and costume change swirling cerulean
in the stream a blue lotus a white lotus vanishing
bride peachleaf nymphae your mouth leaves

persica

his face a court of angels upriver
twelve dynasties east and drumming the morning star
dedicated to the proposition that all
men are created equaL

ove the heart that hears his hu and is unbound
uproarious with aeons going past in a shout
a shimmy on the grape ropes a ripple up the pool
beholder to beggar to pleader please

dedicated to the proposition that all
men are created equaL


walk with me here in the spring there is no foot
can be imagined without its wing no convention
without the literal honey the literal where
and when and how the literal sleeps as on a body
of water solely its coeval estimate of drift

om a quick Google search, refers to kale, whose giant, curly, cabbagelike leaves evidently provided food for giant insects in prehistoric times? Yak (not only the noun but also the verb) and kale: A moment’s thought reveals that the language game in which these two items have a necessary connection is the crossword puzzle, both of them monosyllables answering the puzzle-maker’s need to come up with short words beginning with the letters y and k, so common as the final letters of source words.
But cabbages and yaks (unlike Lewis Carroll’s “
Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.

Summerlee nearly gets eaten by a prehistoric cabbage, and his rival professor, named Challenger, taunts, “Well, Summerlee, you may not like vegetables, but they certainly like you.” The animals of The Lost World are dinosaurs, not yaks—but the latter are almost as exotic.

dedicated to the proposition that all
men are created equaL

Can all this material really be packed into a single line, and if so, how is the unsuspecting reader to process it all? Is Ashbery resorting to the very crossword-puzzle tactics he is lampooning? “Notes from the Air” is indeed difficult, but no more difficult, I would posit, than the poems of Eliot or Pound, Stevens or Stein or Moore—Ashbery’s modernist precursors. True, there is a line of poetry popular today that extends from the minor Beats to the “natural speech” lyric still ubiquitous in the journals, a lyric perhaps chiefly designed for the poetry reading, where the audience can “get it” as soon as the performance ceases, there being nothing to cross-reference, whether from Milton or Mahler, Rimbaud or Redbook, James Bond or James Dean. But despite the perennial demand that poetry should satisfy the “common reader,” whoever that is, difficulty has been a quality of the poetry that matters throughout poetry’s history. The difference, in the twenty-first century, is that it has become more essential—and more fun—to look things up.
Or so I felt, rereading “Notes from the Air.” The first line makes everything else in the poem happen. Once we understand that the poet and his fellow “sages of the solarium” are fooling around, one time to ask, “Where shall we go when we leave?,” time to eat those “fruits halved for our despairing instruction” and make sure there are “chairs enough / for everyone to be seated in time for the lesson to begin.”
Once that “lesson” is learned, it’s time to move on to another poem, one that begins, say, with the line, “We were warned about spiders, and the occasional famine.” The illogic of continuity is Ashbery’s signature, whether from line to line, poem to poem, or volume to volume. Age, to paraphrase another bard much cited by Ashbery, cannot wither it.

The Gettysburg Lincoln
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
November 19, 1863


But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate — we can
not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled
here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The
world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never
forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here
tóIhc unfmish~d work which they who fought here have thusfar so nobly -
advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining
before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that
cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here
highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation,



fragile amalgam

perpetual perceptual motion notion. to extrude, one must first infuse.

intrude

into the dust

ways of words sometimes i wouldn't use
ways of words

the mystery of windows


you cannot conceive:


Persons were killed, assaulted, tortured, illegally detained and
prosecuted, harassed and humiliated as a result of these policies.


The conduct violates the Charter of the United Nations, the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights, the Hague and Geneva Conventions and
the Constitution and laws of the United States.

17. The United States, having destroyed Iraq’s economic base,
demands reparations which will permanently impoverish Iraq and
threaten its people with famine and epidemic.
to retain something

The conduct violates the Charter of the United Nations and the
Constitution and laws of the United States.

18. President Bush systematically manipulated, controlled, directed,
misinformed and restricted press and media coverage to obtain
constant support in the media for his military and political goals.

The smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis
that offers
The praxis of disruption between the fissure of signified
and signifier
The prison of alienation commandeered the optic nerve as
headquarters

fragile amalgam

perpetual perceptual motion notion. to extrude, one must first infuse.

intrude

into the dust

ways of words sometimes i wouldn't use
ways of words


NO TRACE



Acuity compromised the blurring of borders the checkpoints
of definition
The automobile windshield is the referent for the modern
landscape
The modern landscape is the diaspora of iconography defining
the moral value of the sign
Iconography becomes the universal language when linguistic
The landscape cannot be assimilated in this room of
referentially in this prison of habitat
yourself
The vista itself is hazardous the mimetic nature of vista is
coming home
Coming home is the desire to cut the rectangle
Once again from the skin of habitat
NO TRACE


one. It is the individual and the mind moving behind queer, unreasonable actions which seem to me to produce a good deal of the fun of this old world; and I think that

20 Australia’s Great Barrier Reef

up for lack of beauty by weighing several pounds. Other
smaller seastars of various colours and sizes can be found in
seastar is able to move forward or pull strongly on an object.
Spend a few minutes watching a seastar turning right side up!
It feeds by using the tube feet if the particle is small enough
to go through the mouth opening.

Ambiguity,
were just another word
for death

the mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:


What is the nature of the resting state
but gaseous longing/
regret?
In the original/
final form—

without objects

NO TRACE



Should a large animal be
encountered a new technique is adopted. Seastars are partial
to oysters, a taste they share with man. The oyster is induced
to open its shell by a steady tug imparted by hundreds of tube
feet. When the valves of the shell gape the seastar is still faced
the food and digestion begins. Hours later when the meal is
finished the stomach is withdrawn into the mouth, the shell is
left empty and the seastar moves on. To the seastar


bitterly resent the seastar’s interest in their charges, and in the

earl days would chop each intruder in halves and throw it

overboard. This resulted in two seastars where only one grew

before. The seastar can grow new arms with ease. Even a

single arm may grow into a completely new animal.


"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"


He was kneeling on the edge of the
high, steep bank, and was pushing the
sand over with his hauds, and causing it
to run down the bank in a fine stream.
“Have you hurt yourself?” said Dat
anxiously, peering down at her as she la~
twenty feet bclow~bim in a little heap.
It was some moments before she coul~
answer him. When she found herse]
falling she had uttered an exclamation


The country roads were

marshes, where the sun had poured fiercely
down on them. high trees growing
on either side met overhead threw
a welcome ground, and after
another short they were able run
again.

the sand-hills. But Dan did not mind
that.…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities

exposure includes as part of the essence of human being a total exposure to history

invisible man grabbed me by the back of my parka and made me get undressed i was soaking wet, my hair, my body, my clothes, everything and he made me get undressed i hung up rain and it was cold i made a blanket roll of five blankets after i discovered that you lie in the middle and you throw one blanket over the other, (you begin on one side and rolling over them), and i put a blanket on top of all that right up to my chin, and under- neath the blanket appeared the bear


[now one thing happened in mexico who appeared astral this is a little interlude about paw the man from sonora appeared in my bedroom three times before i left ny, just his white hat and his long white hair and once a blanket over his shoulder before the ruins i got the message


the man from sonora told me two things, he said "always give a health diagnosis out loud" and "to speak slow while speaking silent" because of the rain and because he wanted to meet me he made a


STRING QUARTET
John Cousins
PMEO9 (score)
A single-movement piece with music that, tornado-like, suctions energy into a central void.
LONG CHASE

work, was certainly going along the road
which crossed the marshes and led to the
hills beyond, but whether it belonged to
the man they bad been watching or not
it
to run down the bank in a fine stream.
“Have you hurt yourself?” said Dat
anxiously, peering down at her as she la~
twenty feet bclow~bim in a little heap.
It was some moments before she coul~
answer him. When she found herse]
falling she had uttered an exclamation
…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities

ok, now the bear lots of other things happened in mexico but i don't have time for them i want to talk about paw
when i got home the bear was very small, he had changed shape to a very small brown bear who lived in a cupboard in my forehead it had blue sheets and if i looked through catalogs and he saw some clothes, and one was sending him to the south pole, and finally he decided to take his real ma on a in circles because he was bored sitting on the deck when they got to france they rented a limousine and paw donned a chauffeurs cap and drove the limousine and all through france all is saw were pile and iles of spaghetti, that's all they seemed to eat for some reason also paw invented travelers checks so that he could pay for this whole thing
this is the imagination of someone whose name is unknown but who has invented a form through which he can work so this was just sort of fun at the time you must remember that paw has written a great deal for me he wrote "the comma" in SILENT TEACHERS with noah kleinman my friend from england and he wrote "turpitudimous" which i read in october and he also gets in everywhere when i type up anything for the next book called WE SPEAK SILENT, or whatever it's going to be called
finally paw and ma belle landed on a caribbean island, just the two of them under the shade of a palm tree the next thing i know paw turned into a great big white bear, not his final form he was called poohee at the time
i went for a walk in the park and poohee got locked in the apartment and had to squeeze himself through the keyhole and i was accompanied in imae form by two people from the yoga institute up by somebody, here i am talking to someone who is invisible an; oh well he was very funny the next time i went to the park paw* left the path and went over to some antique fair and came back with a velvet vest on it was a lilac velvet vest with red braid and green stones and an earring i laughed
i talked to a girlfriend on the phone a few nights later and she was a very beautiful girl and paw clued me into the fact that i was talking to a very beautiful woman and he went out to see her and the next morning he appeared combing hair out of his teeth and the green stones were gone from his vest somewhere along the way his real ma got pregnant and we werebig cart in front of him and trundled off piles of baby dresses with angel wing sleeves and towels, and brought them back to the apartment and we had to box them and ship them and send them all to his home he used to sit on the bed next to me reading the new york times with steel rimmed glasses the last time i really saw paw in any remarkable circumstance was at woodstock he had disappeared for awhile, he said "maw I have to go hime, .
*he was now in his final form, a large white bear with a big fat tummy.
STRING QUARTET No 3
David Farquhar
PMEO7 (score)
A three-movement work inspired by Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”. Brilliant and capricious, the music is a model of the composer’s incisive style.
CONCERTINO for Clarinet and String Orchestra
John Ritchie
PMEO8 (score)
Regarded as John Ritchie’s “classic”, this three-movement work blends post-war English “pastoral” style with 1950s American neoclassicism.
STRING QUARTET
John Cousins
PMEO9 (score)
A single-movement piece with music that, tornado-like, suctions energy into a central void.
ICESCAPE
Chris Cree Brown
PME10 (score)
The first orchestral work by a New Zealander who has visited the Ice. The music celebrates a passionate engagement with the unforgiving world of the Antarctic.

“What can we do?” the King Frog said.
“If she should capture me
And put me down her well again,
I never would get free."


discovered the unique potentials of the tape recorder. With such a device, he reasoned, the poem no longer needed to be entombed within the confines of the page. He was not so much seeking the 'word made flesh' like some poets, but rather he was looking for the 'flesh which is sound': the poetic utterance stripped down to its bare essentials like the indigestible 'stone' from a piece of fruit. A rendered articulation which exists starkly, ready to blossom into a wild and tangled celebration of its own existence as an act of shear human power.

The road had many turnings and
twistings, and he knew that, for all he
could tell, the gypsies might be only a few
hundred yards in front of them.

STRING QUARTET No 3
David Farquhar
PMEO7 (score)
A three-movement work inspired by Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”. Brilliant and capricious, the music is a model of the composer’s incisive style.
CONCERTINO for Clarinet and String Orchestra
John Ritchie
PMEO8 (score)
Regarded as John Ritchie’s “classic”, this three-movement work blends post-war English “pastoral” style with 1950s American neoclassicism.
ICESCAPE
Chris Cree Brown
PME10 (score)
The first orchestral work by a New Zealander who has visited the Ice. The music celebrates a passionate engagement with the unforgiving world of the Antarctic.


eternal sections golden dark eye light black light light black eternal red sections eternal eyelight thinking into black light white light light eternal eternal quia sections who know dark light white eternal dark eye golden black light sections sections eye light light red green black light sections sections eye light light red green scream section perpendicular


very vividly seen) the blanket was sort of like in squares of different colors with a black outline now the black outline always remained the same but the patterns and colors of the squares kept changing so the lesson learned from that you could create an image but you couldn't keep it constant, you had to keep chaning the image





MUD PIES



people in unChristian offer wan and patronizing takes on the "hate-the-sin/love-the-sinner" theme. But until they do get past it, the question will drain much of the vitality out of American Christendom.
In the meantime, life continues in Memorial Church much as it has since Harvard's founding: morning prayers begin each day at 8:45 sharp, with a robed choir of slightly sleepy undergraduates. The Billings Prize in Pulpit Improvement may be a less prestigious prize, but Gomes still teaches the art of preaching to divinity school students, and in somewhat the same tones as his predecessors.
When I attended his opening class not long ago, he was trying to inspire, and terrify, his small flock of students. "If you are tender-hearted and thin-skinned, this is not the course for you," he told them. "I will provide the sermon texts. There will be no 23rd Psalms, no Prodigal Sons this term. You are free to consult with anyone, but finally, like being born and dying, you must preach alone. "
Most preachers, he added, "look for the easiest way through a text -- they want to preach solutions, not problems. But since most texts are problematic, you're losing a lot if you ignore the stones in the road. The stone in the road is usually there to get your attention. "
.............................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

after seven seedy years of privation and shame, Paris and its most important industry came exuberantly back to life. In what remains the most famous fashion show in history, the new House of Dior presented its inaugural collectionsteady tempo, model after model swirled in dresses and suits in neutrals and luscious colors as they flared open. Adopting the silhouette and requiring the intricate dressmaking artthe hips and America was won," the writer Colette said). More important, as several new books elliptically show, the New Look ushered in haute couture's waning but most glorious era, even as Dior's triumph -- winsome and lovely in itself -- helped take fashion and femininity down what has proved to be a pernicious path toward the frivolous and jejune.
The new edition of Marie-France Pochna's intelligently illustrated, thorough 1993


“What can we do?” the King Frog said.
“If she should capture me
And put me down her well again,
I never would egt free."

ROOM 221 Maori Myths and Origins.
"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"





in the beginning,

there was only Te Kore,

the great void

and emptiness of space.

what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,
what might strike the reader as an obsession with beginnings,

The creation myth starts with the sequential recital of the various names for the first state of existence. In the beginning, there was only Te Kore, the great void and emptiness of space. The different qualities of Te Kore wee described by a series of adjectives. Thus, Te Kore became Te Kore te whiwhia (the void in which nothing could be obtained), Te Kore te rawea (the void in which nothing could be felt), Te Kore i ai (the void with nothing in union) and Te Kore te wiawia (the space without boundaries). The number of descriptive names for Te Kore varied from tribe to tribe. Whatever the number and gradations of Te Kore, they signified the aeons of time during which the primeval matter of the Universe came together and generated earth and sky.


Te Po, the second state of existence, also had qualifying adjectives and gradations. Beginning with Te Po, the recital proceeded to Te Po Nui (the great night) and Te Po roa (the long night), Te Po te kitea (the night in which nothing could be seen), Te Po uriuri (the dark night), Te Po kerekere (the intense night ) and Te Po tangotango (the intensely dark night), to the tenth, the hundredth and the thousandth night. As in Te Kore, these periods of Te Po correspond to aeons of time when the earth came into being. Te Kore and Te Po also symbolize the emptiness and the darkness of the mind. Because there was no light, there was no knowledge. The reason for this state of affairs was the self-generation during Te Kore of the primeval pair Ranginui and Papatuanuku. They were the first cause preventing light from entering the world because of their close marital embrace. The procreative powers of Rangi and Papa brought into being their sons Tanemahuta, Tangaroa Tawhirimatea, Tumatauenga, Haumiatiketike, and Rongomatane. The sons, living in a world of darkness between the bodies of Ranginui and Papatuanuku, plotted against their parents to let light into the world. They concluded that their plight of living in a world of darkness and ignorance could be alleviated only by separating their parents, so that Ranginui would become the sky father above them and Papatuanuku would remain with them as their earth mother.


The task of separating earth and sky was accomplished by Tanemahuta, who prised them apart with his shoulders to the ground and his legs thrusting upwards. Thereafter, one of his names became Tane-te-toko-o-terangi, Tane the prop of the heavens.

From “Ka Whawhai Tonu Matou” by Dr Ranganui Walker.


People were conceived to be not above nature:

but an integral part of it.





....of his name is evident in the great forests of Tane, where the mighty trunks the totara and kauri trees can be seen soaring...


Summer Landscape. The hot Sun at its zenith weeps ingots like the
clappers of bells; and thirsty for the breezes of the meadow, and
the smell of water cress, it invisibly absorbs water from the springs,
by latent thunders, sheets that twist like invalids on their mattresses,
that drift, stretch themselves, sniff one another amorously, lustingly,
and thrust one another back for fear of final catastrophe... Like
eyes in death agony the leaves revolve on their stalks, branches
pulsate like arteries choked by terrible temperatures, the meadow
darkens like an angry peacock’s tail, like the comb of a blinded
cock, or the face of some lost balloonist who has sailed beyond
the earth’s orbit; inventing inexhaustibly lamentable pretexts, the
winds seek one another out: man feels afflicted. Gone is the sacra-
mental sun, gone with a wholly somnambulistic air. Love’s simoon
makes its round. The pupils of one’s eyes are dilated, moist temples
beat like drums,
dantesque dance into gold caste lip light light black green red eye berad black berad white ablaze eternal destination folder forked dark bipedal green eye blood think-tank old unconnected sea mane lip luck green light eternal lightwhite eye dark forked green section aristotelian quiver red eye black ablaze quia unconnected dark star silence lips implication bespeak think-tank quia bipedal shades ablaze nothing greenluck gold lip light unconnected eternal quia x sections impossible think-tank golden dark eye light black light green enacted quia sections thinking into
"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"


supplications are choked in burning throats, hands
heavy with faith wander idly about, lips mad with thirst come
down upon lips that are even madder with thirst, more withered
and dry... Is

November Moonlight. Moonlight in November seen through the
full spell of a thin fog lying motionless above a wide river whose
outline one can discern from the reflections of lights along the
shore, the shoreline blotted out with a long row of hills dancing
with lights.
And above it all the moon,

In Chevreuse. Through the window at night, a sky of rather deep
mauve mourning, pricked with two silver brilliants just across the
way twinkling in line like a pair of eyes; making tapestry do its
duty, a guard of seven tall poplar trees which grouped together
by the dark looked more like black cypresses than poplars. In the
distance the noise was drawn out so fine, the continuous noise of
the leaves was threaded so thin, at times so unconnected that it
seemed at certain moments to be the metallic and muffled murmer
of crickets, at others, it became again so leafy and thick that it
sounded decidedly like the continuous crinkling of foliage under
the scalpel of the changing breeze; emulating the gurgle of distant
streams—having, that is, this single accompaniment, etc. Below,
the soft unrecognizable piping of ducks that seemed to be
dreaming or kissing.

mighty trunks of the totara and kauri trees can be seen soaring upwards to the green canopy overhead and the sky above it


Spring Evening on the Boulevards. Sitting on a bench one evening
in spring on the great boulevards, near the Variétés. A café streaming
with gas. A prostitute dressed all in red going from beer to beer.
On the second floor, a room quite somber and quiet with a few
lamps and tables over which heads were bent, a little study. On
the third floor, adazzle with gas, all the windows open, flowers,
perfumes, a dance in progress. One can’t hear the music for the
din of the street swarming with cabs and people, with the corridors
devouring anpastinfrontofthese ten windows, men in black tails with white
(but one can’t
hear the music they follow.) Several pimps wander by; one says
to the other: “She made ten francs, old boy. . .“ From the Variétés,
a crowd swarms out during intermission; and the hell of the boule-
vard continues, the cabs, the cafés, the gas, the shopwindows,
more and more pedestrians—more prostitutes filing by under the
harsh lights of the cafés.. . Near me a newspaper stall and two
women chatting; one says: “She certainly won’t last the night,
that one, and my kid caught it from hers.” Buses filled with mem-
bers of both sexes, each with his or her own feelings, troubles,
vices.
And above it all, the gentle, eternal stars.

Parisian Landscape. Boulevard Bourdon—along the canal which
empties through a black, choked-up subterranean hole into the
swarming Seine—passing in a dark gully on beyond the Place
de Ia Bastille—six-story houses rising in isolation with their tiers
of six windows—on the lower level a wineshop and restaurant
with closed shutters, with no sign posted anywhere—can it be
for sale? On the right side of the house, facing the empty horizon
From the factories smoke billows forth in black clouds or in
white streams. And beyond, the great rolling waves of the heavens
made more tragic by the sight of a woman emerging to shake
out a rug from her seventh floor balcony.
And life along the canal - vaults of the customs agents, heaps
of casks and barrels on the towpath - lorries waiting - others
arriving, others departing, while a whip cracks through the air.


Then to the left like a series of circumflex accents a long row
with gray sacks, people loading barges.


There were only lorries on this street, lorries not heavily loaded
but giving the impression of being so as they lumbered along
while the cobblestones sounded hollow beneath them, so hollow
that it gave one a sinking feeling in the stomach.

pools, muddy green in color, loose their wrinkles and their look
of watered silk.
Three distinct monotonous sounds in space: a train whistle
the lively fluting of-a blackbird in the low foliage of the terrace
and the tinkle of cowbells.
All the rest is an immobile mass of hills, space and pale gray sky.



Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold.


i don't know that i called him paw at this time or that he called himself paw at this time, but he was a brown bear and i could see his head and his eyes and his nose peaking out from underneath the top blanket and he had one paw chastely placed on my chest between my breasts saying, "i have a real maw," and he stayed were bood, except at the beginning he really wasn't doing too much after four weeks when the sun came out and it got really hot he walked out in full brown fur saying, "see you onthe plane ma"

* but I have felt his real self sending me

-and - complex thoughts, intricate as filaments of ice, drive in our excited membranes

- one hopes (one has hope) that - there always shall be

a time of exclamatory joy among the young -


exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence

"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"


A Hot Stagnant Evening. One’s feet are baking, one can feel
the arteries throbbing in one’s ankles, under one’s chin, in the


w................................................This won't ever be finished

any trace of a . The water is in reality
cold, perhaps even icy, and one’s heart and one’s skin suffer
from it as from winter; but to the eye it is warm and refreshing
"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"


-and - complex thoughts, intricate as filaments of ice, drive in our excited membranes

- one hopes (one has hope) that - there always shall be

a time of exclamatory joy among the young -



encrusted
at the bottom of the sea, watching the parade of submarine nature,
or a blue cornflower on a piece of DeIft china perched above a pile
of stoles, in the cool, dark back room of an antique shop on the
banks of the Sequana! Or a flower in the chintz of the bare prim
parlor of an old maid in Quimper.. . or a heron...

wThis won't ever be finished

Thunderbolt. I am in love, I am in love: I have drunk a good
dizzying gulp. I with an analytical mind and a short-sighted soul
now feel completely solemn... And r walk along the streets. The
Luxembourg Gardens are flooded with a great gaiety of bells.
If she doesn’t love me, if she can’t be wholly mine, what difference
will it make? I am enough; I feel generous, holy,
human, trembling, so filled with things that I dare not look myself
in the eye.. .
any trace of a . The water is in reality
cold, perhaps even icy, and one’s heart and one’s skin suffer
from it as from winter; but to the eye it is warm and refreshing
A Workroom. Somewhat like an elevator shaft.

Cabs on Autumn Nights. The cabs one takes in autumn in the
middle of the night; . . . bakeries opening slyly like houses of ill
fame; crossing Paris as it awakens... rousing to their
wretched life, the stations seething and throbbing with
chaotic .
racing air—the black bridges; the subs
like lacquer etched over
any trace of a . The water is in reality
cold, perhaps even icy, and one’s heart and one’s skin suffer
from it as from winter; but to the eye it is warm and refreshing
with smudges of genius. The first shrubs,

black clouds of smoke, gangs of workmen watching one pass,

with folded arms, wind full on their cadaverous faces

twinkling


in space.


Twilight. Twilight... From the houses I pass come the smells
of cooking and the rattle of plates. People are preparing to dine
and then go to bed or to the theatre. . . Ah,too long have I hardened
myself against tears; I can be a terrific coward now in the face
of the stars!
And all this is without end, without end.
Beaten-down horses drag their heavy carts along the streets
—women wander by—gentlemen greet one another with polite
smiles... And the earth whirls on.
exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence

"When we were young we see the loom being set up-
parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances,
servants: that's the warp. Later on in life we're
aware of the weft and the shuttle of fate weaves
back and forth...and at last the pattern is there.
In old age, when the eye can finally see, we
discover that all the little curlicues form a
design, a monogram, an ornament...which only we can
read: this is life. The world weaver wove it"



Noon.
One half the earth lit by the sun, the other half black and spotted
with fire, gas, resin or candle flame. . . In one place people are
fighting, there are massacres; in another, there is an execution,
in another, a robbery... Below, men are sleeping, dying... the
black ribbons of funeral processions winding toward the yew
trees... endless. And with all this on its back, how can the enor-
mous earth go on hurtling through eternal space with the terrible
rapidity of a lightning flash?

¹-and - complex thoughts, intricate as filaments of ice, drive in our excited membranes

- one hopes (one has hope) that - there always shall be

a time of exclamatory joy among the young -


Sunday Morning. ¹ On a Sunday morning, after a week of in-
termittent rain, the sky, although decked out for the sabbath,
retained its calm. Everyone had been to church; local couples in
their Sunday best, before returning home, were taking a turn
around the Kurtgarten: few foreigners had as yet appeared.
the shops were still but half open. On the sidewalk cafés, tables
were stacked up at one side with the central area left empty; to
the rear there was some activity around the counter. English ladies
were lunching under the awning—with phials of exotic pepper;

exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence




exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence and
A bitter Sunday it was: they were strolling along chatting.
There was something in the air of that special Sunday sadness
after the tiring parties of the night before. She had about her that
unreasoned sullen sadness of the typical beautiful woman whose
constant preoccupation is her beauty, and who feels that she is
passing through one of those days of non-beauty familiar to them all.

any trace of a . The water is in reality
cold, perhaps even icy, and one’s heart and one’s skin suffer
from it as from winter; but to the eye it is warm and refreshing

The wind was rising, growing stronger, curling up the leaves
on the heavy shrubbery, irritating the gentlemen who tried to
unfold their newspapers. A churchbell rang out loud and clear
in the distance, borne by the wind from the country. Far off a
paper kite was flying, signalling the approach of autumn. A group
of foreign ladies and gentlemen were conversing in a combination
of Russian, English, and German, with volleys in French from
a gay Parisian woman who looked up from a preparation of peach,
sugar, and lemon that she stirred in a saucer—and when she had
finished, instead of drinking this mixture, she washed her fingers in
it, then drew on her gloves again, leaned back, and began to babble.

exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence



The group was greeted by two Englishmen in tight-fitting jackets
who, as they bowed, revealed distinct parts in their hair going
from forehead to the nape of the neck.

any trace of a . The water is in reality
cold, perhaps even icy, and one’s heart and one’s skin suffer
from it as from winter; but to the eye it is warm and refreshing


The fountain had died down, arid when its rippling had ceased,
the only noise came from the wind in the leaves. They were chat-
ting: he chasing trifles with his cane, she dreaming of one thing and
another, seeming to say from the depth of her empty existence:
“Ah, what brutes these humans are!”
The verity of his name is evident in the great forests of Tane, where the mighty trunks of the totara and kauri trees can be seen soaring upwards to the green canopy overhead and the sky above it .

Artist’s Weather. It was one of those peculiar days, the sense
of which can best be described by this expression: artist’s weather.
Weather which belongs really to no special season: cool, humid, a
time of thaw without snow, giving one the sensation of sudden
dampness, and yet as warm as patina to the eye, to the imagination
and the nerves. In fact, a sky that is slightly stormy but without
any trace of a . The water is in reality
cold, perhaps even icy, and one’s heart and one’s skin suffer
from it as from winter; but to the eye it is warm and refreshing.
The façades of the villas are painted in pale depressing colors, and
yet the sky in the imagination even warms and heats the cold shades
of whitewash and slate!

...........................................................you are the First Man


the mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:


In brief uneasy, uncertain weather, neither freezing nor ex-
pansive, weather viewed with one’s curtain drawn aside and with
eyes and heart that shout: ah, but it’s spring! Let’s go for a stroll
under the poplar trees, while another voice says: but no, it’s all
an illusion! It’s humid and dirty and messy. And so one goes
on reading, smoking cigarettes as one gazes up at the heavens’
weather-colored windows, dejected at not being able to go out
into a spring as achingly sweet as sweet sixteen, and one takes
a selfish pleasure in remaining surrounded by these sienna and
burnt ochre carpets on which falls the pale reflection of a dimly
lighted blind.
-and - complex thoughts, intricate as filaments of ice, drive in our excited membranes

- one hopes (one has hope) that - there always shall be

a time of exclamatory joy among the young -


with their short shadows, the luminous foliage, the roofs, one
But time passed, as you know time cures our wounds like the best doctor and
I turned out to my past life and everything I met was only work, business,
routine, but private life was empty like a desert.

- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.



of them sparkling with new tiles, delicate whiffs of smoke in the
sunlight alive with the chirping of birds:
exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence

..............................................................you ar.e the First Man


a tall forbidding pine
tree, unsuited to spangles, its branches curved as under the weight of
its black stalactites, two fraternal poplars with the luminous under-
side of their leaves constantly quivering on the light.




the flowers, the lilacs, the coolness of a rippling fountain. Below,
a groom in buckskin breeches and red cap, washing a bright car-
riage painted with a gold coat of arms.
on the way to Strasbourg.

The verity of his name is evident in the great forests of Tane, where the mighty trunks of the totara and kauri trees can be seen soaring upwards


gave up the dream to meet my True Love many years ago, when the beloved
man betrayed me. That was very painful, unbearable and my heart still has
scars inside after this occasion.

you are the First man who raised trust
into my heart
- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.


. You raised Belief into happy future

in love.
If I am not late and you are still single, and you want to love, and you are
able to make happy the one woman who is so lonely, I will wait for your

lett

er
impatiently


help me, please, to

H E L P M E!

The empty notebooks - begging for words

The blank stare -

One thinks of "The House of the Stare" or
"The Stare's Nest"
- and, the 'accelerating grimace' of the age

- and indeed, these things 'spring to mind'

- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.
Spring is gone - such joy in that word!

The Spring! (Who are we?) Now the blood stirs

-and - complex thoughts, intricate as filaments of ice, drive in our excited membranes

- one hopes (one has hope) that - there always shall be

a time of exclamatory joy among the young -

these people, excitedly alive - and sometimes crazy,

dangerous, but alive, alive. Like the cockles and muscles

so beautifully I recall she sang. The root forces stone; and minerals enter themselves - and they enter the veins -

and clouds dark tumble. That is beyond this y3ellow electric light bulb - symbol of power and sadness and death:

but also, arising from the deep aloneness - hope!

Spring!


"... For there moves alive in your fingers, the fluttering sadness of earth."

.................................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

********

again to suffer again
sincere with you

you are the First Man
into heart

You Raised You Belief

in future love.

- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.




I am an adult a pretty nice

woman. I know that I am beautiful, that I can
meet a good man and to get married, but I am so afraid to

make the mistake
again and to suffer

again.
exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence


I am so sincere with you, because

........................HELP ME!!!


storm, clouds here and there, a bit of blue, the hint
of distant summer sun breaking through at times,— the foliage
has the warm tone of olive green: water is a soft blue-green, like
crystal in which objects are clearly reflected

…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities




let there be doom, but l et it not be an abstract doom


so beautifully I recall she sang. The root forces stone; and minerals enter themselves - and they enter the veins -

and clouds dark tumble. That is beyond this y3ellow electric light bulb - symbol of power and sadness and death:

exclamations would rise from the tables, followed by silence


For a few minutes Roberto observed the spectacle of a huge snail -no, a puffball, an ambulant agaric -advancing with slow adn awkward steps, often stopping and half-turning when the Jesuit wanted to look to the left or right. More than a progress, that walking hood appeared to perform a gavotte, a bourreé, which the absenceof words made even clumsier.

Finally, Father Caspar seemed satisfied with his rehearsal, and, in a voice that sounded as if it came from his boots, he said he was ready to set out.

again to again
with you

you are the First Man
into heart



great thinking engine


gave up dream to many years ago, beloved

time passed time cures doctors
past life everything

met work business,


from the tables, followed by silence


routine

empty like desert

adult a pretty
know that I am I can
good man I am so afraid


I am not late
you are still
you


- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.



I forgot all words

I forgot about
long
filled with

Help me to return

help me,
to

HELP ME !

school. The soiled snow made ruts along the gutter. But the snow had also become the snow on porches, steps, and house-fronts: featerweight ethereal yet crystallized, seemed, instead of blurring the outlines of the stone, to quicken it, toimbueit with a kind fo presage.



resultant appearance of the
completed image

have a variety of cultural, societal,
and political implications.
- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.

fragile amalgam

perpetual perceptual motion notion. to extrude, one must first infuse.

intrude

into the dust

ways of words sometimes i wouldn't use
ways of words


_The smooth cup of the skull contains the vista interruptis_____________________________________________________________________________

Thus no trace would remain
of an operation
which would have been
through a periodof fifty years,
the sole motivation
and unique activity
of it's author.
The following three pieces, which have before appeared only in a private
printing, are here published through the courtesy of M. Lucien Jais and Mr. Warren
Ramsey.- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.

________________________________________________________________________

NO TRACE WOULD REMAIN
________________________________________________

OPERATION
________________________________________________

NO TRACE
_______________________________________________________________________


the mystery of windows

you cannot conceive:

giants.

and big boots

and wire light

the new, queer conundrum’s oil


_______________________________________________________________________

To write, to try meticulously to retain something, to wrestle alone to reatain something, to cause something to survive, to wrest a few precise (or even vague) scraps from the void as it grows from oblivion's mushroom inevitability and from the blackness and the irradient brightness of the gorgeous history of all lives, and of all human consciousness, to leave a mark somewhere, a furrow, a trace, a trail, a smudge, a few signs. Somehow to retain the total human tragedy of joy,

The infinites, the small whisperings, the joys and despairs; the cries of agony;

the mumblings and murmerings in the eternal and giant night.
_______________________________________________________________________



.......................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

_______________________________________________________________________ unaccounted-for. for often I have approached this live or in dream to little avail; I would wait for clearing weather, for the world to happen, for technology to disappear at the base. Heidegger remains there above his troubled politics, of which there is no counting-four; we are close to hearth, we are embers among the dying worlds. Soon the snows will melt, glaciers disappear; the hut stays on a lure, overlooking resettled life, spaces a thousand kilometers long, an empyrean high. I cannot imagine a world such as this, life in hut corner, close to warmth, old wooden bench and bed, columnar spirit emerging to heavens' other worlds. We live in imaginary solace, his hut our own, released to the elements and beyond, transformed. There is no journey in the journey, no dream in the dream. One has life only for so much sorrow. Glow remains the last of our eyes. Hearth warms, beyond.…………………………..harbors no concern for pedagogical realities

- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.
symbols, neither within them nor within the dictionary translation / transliterations.

here, in this example, only in this particular example, one has a section of what seems to be an infinite text, a text in the manner of a bandage or suture across the wound of a sememe (what reads as a sememe); a wound within, unconstrued within, the imaginary. think of this as the lid of the pre-linguistic - not exactly mode, but a potential for interpretation, sliding out and against itself, as soon as one is found. nothing holds here, not even "here," not even place or placement. the lesson, where we are, where we are not, is always already unlearned.
...........................................let there be doom, but let it not be an abstract doom

I continue to put work up on YouTube. There have been 550 hits in the past few days - which is pitifully small, but larger than almost any experimental video/film audience. Almost all the video I've seen on YouTube is rendered poorly; I'm definitely going to trie other sites - everything depends on compression of course.

Meanwhile check out YouTube under my name.

And I've been thinking - working with too many bodies at this point; I have to return to writing as well, the theoretical materials that might or might not come out of thinking about LISP. Notions of gathering, shades of Badiou again. But I've also been sidetracked - reading the diario of Columbus' first voyage, abstracted by de la Casas - from which I am sure the world flows...


prosthetic

- I never know how much time I have left, and it's better to work through every idea while there's still a mind to think, mouth to speak, fingers to type. More and more will always come; I hope only that the ideas, however poorly expressed, hold for at least a week after I'm gone. If anyone reads them. If any work survives. If any of us do.

4 comments:

tertius said...

Congrats to the left in USA all hail President Oprah and VP Dr Phil!

Richard Taylor said...

Lol! Actually I like them both - but - they are what they are - huge cash gets poured in the mix and then the rot starts.

But - relatively speaking -this is a sea-change in the US - I recall the late 60s, I read "Black Like Me", "An Autobiography by Malcom X", a book by the Black Panthers, about 5 books about the Chinese Revolution, some about the Vietnam War particularly "Rape of Vietnam" by H Slingsby and books by Steinbeck and so on...I remember Muhammed Ali preparing to fight Liston - I read his autobiography - his opposition to the war (he went to prison for it) and identification with the Muslim creed earnt him death threats etc

I recall vividly the time of Kennedy's assassination (John and Robert's) and the Cuban Missile crisis when we thought there might be World War...

I more recently read Howard Fast's book "Peekskill USA" [1949 when Pete Seegar and Paul Robeson performed and the people were attacked by right wingers - it was like a battle)] @

So the U.S. has changed dramatically to elect a black President - of course they are still paranoid about "terrorism" and "communism" etc

I voted today - and then we walked up Mt Wellington where there was a grass fire deliberately lit (the perpetrator - a young Maori fellow - asked me for a lighter then soon after the fires started... police there (they searched Victor!) and fire brigade etc

Not sure of the motivation...but all is not well in the State of Denmark.

The psychic and historical effect of Obama's election cant be underestimated... it is a great thing for the US and the World.

@ I sold a first edition of "Peeksill..." for a reasonable sum.

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