Prevert, Jacques
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: Letters to Real People


Gravis,

the sullen traveler self arrests; the times of conferral have processed the vestibule. And the comma, it has returned and gives it regards to the circus, the circus of things red and things round
the morning surreys plumb the ceiling the morning surreys plumb the ceiling disturbing closure of the gesture the closure of the gesture. An inheritance happens upon a knowledge, after you, denial, after you, treasure. Amidst lacquer the camaraderie of the show, what this is, this plosive referral, from decking a separable day-trip with such a commission?

Doll Chaperone
Mood:  a-ok
Topic: Poupee

Overshoe
Mood:  don't ask
Topic: 2006


I wish we could go to the horse races, that's what I wish. It's a selfish wish but I wish it. I wish that I had the skills I need but I don't. There's no way around that. The absence of patience the heart attack loop, blunder after blunder in the same old model. I don't look to blame anyone, not even my education, which is gaping. I refuse to feed that impulse because I believe it is a lying impulse, that it will provide. Isn't it my inability to provide that I am bemoaning, beneath the rubber?

And to return to that, to return to anything that says it will do something later on, will bring forth some kind of crop. What crop? I am tired of being forwarded, I am tired. I am tired of being forwarded in my mind. It creates a separation that does no good. What am I to do now as a logic bent towards then? There is no possession in being forwarded, there is always a dangling that gains acceptance because of the forward. Moving forward, moving forward, into the expanded life, telescoping outward tense tense tense tense tense tense tense tense tense tense tense tripling

(goes in)

I will have by this and hopefully by then it will before its in time for in time for. Proposals, proposals, proposals. I have rejected them because they are not true. I have rejected the proposals because no one else would acknowledge them. The creeping effect, laying to, leaning into, Laissez Square. That the language surrounding a future action congeals and becomes less informational, no one would deny. Want these things, even want to say them because of the elusiveness, riveting airs, in spite of common, in spite of frequency, resplendent language of what will happen at the end of this month and in the new place and closing, in closing, in closing, in closing down the idea and the former idea, and the idea that presides and the idea that resides and the prefix that was license, yours to attenuate, nervous domains, the understood ones, always wanting to disrupt that, always writing a letter to the next thing, always writing a letter to ignore more than intuit, enacting feelings, the practice of them, steerage, steerage and by what, by what is the steerage, bifurcated plausibility, which is corporate, which bruised the bunch, which bruised, bruised image of the corpus, bruised image, no envisioning bruise, envisioning the keys, as sponsored, the keys sponsored, which means continue,
insincerely, continue, in that one, in that one, a hold, a hold, a hold, a hold sponsor, a double double, a sponsor holds me, a sponsor, a sponsor, a sponsor now holds for me the key, a sponsor not a bruise, a sponsor not a bruise, insincerely, insincerely you may alter, you may alter the past insincerely, you may alter it, by mooring, mooring, you may enact a separation, you may, of course you may, you may enact a separation, you may enact all you want and in order and in order and in order what
at the time it seemed at the time it seemed at the time it seemd at the time and what is at odds with the seeming is the knowledge of the feeling, which was small which was always small but which always grows after grows after grows after which always becomes legible, after the fact, legible then, not that it erased but that it weakened that the oval was a question that the warning about the oval was another question they added just though of the oval they added to my own they added the oval, the oval for the scan, the oval for the scan and proficiency this was it the proliferation of ovals, the proliferation of them before being filled, the proliferation of charring and the proliferation of identities, of inseparable ones, inseparable identities, recondite, recondite, recondite, recondite one after another recondites, one, to go into them to go into their midst and to touch anyone and then to withdraw again to have seen this in my mind now this makes sense and must follow must follow the thing before about going in about the interiority complex that was the oval the set the open set though it should be a closed set, it should close, it should close towards the middle, maybe even before, it should close, it should close except for the standard except for the standard, except that, going back down to reassert their positions to reassert, because you are essentially typing the oval through the process of checking them, you are setting them into yourself, the paper, the paper, the paper could not be less involved, could not be further from the movement taking place the movement of ovals towards an acquaintenance, towards the acquaintenance, the language of this firm, the language of this short but firm, acquaintenance, the gathering of names, not to be confused, not to be confused, not to be confused with surplus, surplus, or proliferation, the removal of the proliferation and all of its minor actions, the removal as if campaign, as if campaign could prove adequate and elastic, adequate to the task, thus they say, effective, effective against the ovals, as if action could go out towards them and not reside in the observer, as if action belonged anywhere besides the observer, who is hardly sitting, who is proliferating, who is proliferating, who is jumbling, who is making things, who is making things on top, who is superimposing the things, who is shaping things upward, who is aware of the ladder in thought, who is aware of that, blinking at that, crying upon the ladder, just crying, justly, justly
justly crying and worn, upon the ladder just now, having stabilized the ovals, having established them in proper stead, having established them, having established doubts of urbanity, of a placement surrounding urbanity and certain resources reaching out upon the skyline observed as an urban transistor as urban as it likes to be forsworn in the numbers

Sand Trout in the Harbour
Mood:  cool
Topic: Letters to Real People

Dear Burt,

One time you told me your penis was burning. That was summer at the swimming pool. I didn't really know what to do. I was thinking, maybe, get out of the chlorine?

Ever notice the webworms? I took long videos of them when the wind was up. I stood on top of the golf cart and filmed the webs sitting on the pecan tree. There were others but the pecan tree was right. I also set a ladder up in the woods to look out over the cooling pond and maybe spot an egret's nest. That was the plan.

When I was helping you load those volleyball poles, I felt very old, because I was adjusting to being around "old." I was slowing myself down to work with you, to lift them into the truck the right way. These are things people hardly ever mention but I can write these things to you because you have this thing, which is attached to your voice, but definitely not a part of it, that assures me you understand most everything that is going on, whether it's how to discipline an unruly horse or frying fish.

The first time I heard this voice is when I was under the altar and you were praying for me and talking through the experience, down into my face, about what was happening and and what to expect. That is the first time I remember you. That is, my first impression. Of course, by now I understand why what I did was so important. I had stepped, physically and otherwise, into the center of my church. That initiative, which has never again reared itself, is something that adults are very keen to see unfold.

I figure that's why so many people are watching me right now. If I would ever become more than a damned periscope myself, I might catch a break and not be seen as someone ready to emerge. I'm glad it was you that I remember in attendance. I can say glad because I have heard so many stories of you doing things: selling cars, busting horses, cattle drives, sausage factory, saddle stamping, line dancing, you name it.

With you, that stuff is a procession that has delivered you into the present with leftovers, very useful ones, very entertaining ones. The utility of a bolt or screw. That it's proof of nothing. Your stories never prove anything or push towards an underlying idea of yourself. It's always the outside thing that catches the twang, the elements of the story which have no ability to render something unto you, such as the heights of salt grass, and how those heights are admirable, truly admirable, in the length of time that is translated into the compressed remark, and this instance, the length of time contemplating the length of grass, on horseback, and the the lengths of that impression shown through your remarks, which bear very little smudging or disruption. The glory of remarking something, the glory of it, without trophy or capture. An off-handedness that arrives with the prompt, that's right, simultaneous. That it is there as soon as the remark, sequestered in your own understanding, receives something beyond its own lengths and undertakes to bring that something into its own. A kind of conversion experience, definitely, but never so violent as that idea suggests, though there is a basic confrontation, usually a fact that has undergone some mode of effacement.

Cocker, King Charles, Springer, etc.
Mood:  d'oh
Topic: Bartram's Boat

Dear Maximus,

Thank you for being a clockwork in my life, the clockwork that always come running to the fence, so that we can pet and sniff you. I am glad I looked at your tag today and learned your name. We shouldn't be strangers anymore.

Your eyes have character, though not the character of Russell Crowe or Ridley Scott (who is a terrier man). Who would you liken to a spaniel? My dad named my spaniel Bruno. It was the 1980's and that's what they liked to call Bruce Willis then. So it is not such a strange thing, being named after a celebrity, though Bruce is much more of a spaniel than your namesake.

Bruno would bite my cousin Kendall, who secretly despised him and probably gave him some of the foot when no one was around. The same with my Grandpa, who was suspicious of many things, including my dog.

I look at your leather collar with envy. It's very sporting. It kind of makes you Ralph Lauren's dog, though its the desert and I typically think of Ralph Lauren as a wetlands personality, who also likes long walks on the beach wrapped in orange sweaters.

There was a pullet running around the alley today, looking through a chain link with a considerable amount of homesickness. I bet you didn't even notice and I'm glad. My dog takes note of those things. Hers is a dreadful attention, activated by the slightest movement. All that speed and bounciness just to crush a lizard or pack rat.

The two dogs across the alley are nice. The christmas puppy has grown so rapidly and seeing the lapses makes me feel related to that dog and in turn, to his housemate, who is quiet and brown and much much older. Outweighed, she can no longer snap at him or get him to hold back until we have passed. I hold both hands out at once but this doesn't really work. Now the brown one just kind of muses, a few inches beyond our reach.

Phoebe pays them no mind and the pup rears up and plants his front paws near the top of the fence, wanting his muzzle rubbed and a little talk. I'm not very good at mixing it up. I stick to "sweet pup" and several minor variations. But my voice is measurably soft and full of praise for their consistency, as it is for yours.