Plotinus Plinlimmon

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Walking Blues

Now it could be accusatory.

Nonetheless there are a plethora of other possibilities.

Snowfalls. Or snow falls. Or 'snow falls'. Or, I say, 'snow falls,' or vice versa, or a deft turn, or a refusal, or I surrender, or I almost surrender, and because of that cowardice this text exists. We all know how that goes, life results from the cowardice that makes our actions visible.

Ghosts, yes, how would you write this word in good conscience.

Also we speak of 'blues' or 'the blues' and not exclusively in the sense of the musical idiom.

Holderlin & Heraclitus agree that death is a kind of life. Where does that leave you my love? If Ellen West decides she was next born, never born, if we painted our house a new color would that save us? I am not citing names to impress you, I am trying to build a bridge to tomorrow, the next year, how it goes, what is the fate of our investments, what is the news of those far cities, nonetheless, nonetheless, how should we read that line of Lear's that comes back to me again and again is it --


or is it

never never/never never/never

I like it broken & maybe that is perverse. I haven't made any mistakes yet I don't think.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Modish Aphorisms

The younger set are indifferent to proof.

Neglect is tomorrow's cash.

Pale offspring yield failed cabbage.

Anticipate formication. You'll disappoint. You'll glow.

Our palaces were places.

The longest road goes to the post office.

If you deduce knots you'll choke.

Brandish warily. It's the pose of janissaries.

Chipped tooth of a lion signifies: adultery.

When you walk, leave whistling to the nightjar.

There Must Be Another Way to Settle This Argument

Chimes, a son, the errand was. Some song, yeah yeah, go on, do tell, I'm all ears.

Sit up late in the gentleman's club with your brandy it means something else than it did a century ago and that's for certain.

The mouths of a thousand suburban queens shape Octavian. Meanwhile the same road goes through, another year's worth of snow swamps the monument, we dispense the pills & consequently consecrate some vision of a virgin on which we're verging.

Dormant Dolmance. Peregrine's in a pickle, but it is as naught compared with perils of Pauline, a biography of Buston Keaton the great stone face lay unread in the closet, door shut against light, I am dubious of this word heart but how else speak of it?