Monday, April 30, 2007

All recent reading about the 'marriage' or meshing (combination) of male and female: 'Until I Find You', John Irving, 'The Chymical Wedding', Lindsay Clarke, 'Wetland', Graham Swift, 'Middlesex', Jeffery Eugenides. (All titles and authors jotted from memory so I may have missed a letter or two).

There are blue chomping teeth in peoples ears.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Last night's dream, fingertips gnawed on by pike. Today's reading from 'Wetland', brass key hidden inside mouth of mounted pike that unlocked the chest that held the secrets of the story, belonging to 'Dick', a character much like Chris Haab. Last book, 'The Chymical Wedding', recalled a dream by author, keys given away by pope to quakers.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Thursday, April 19, 2007

0011001110000111101010100100011001. This is a language, understood by a particular thing. And musical notes? Picture them in your head, no matter what order. Again, a language designed for a particular machine. And again, picture this 'Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country'. Recognize that? Of course you do. Your language.

Now wonder: to what machine, mechanism, thing, object, is the language in the Voynich Manuscript meant for?

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

This round world, human history, rainfall, remaking something from our garbage. All is cycles like those that pass through the belly of a qi master, but just because something is circular doesn't mean it ends up always at the same point. You can never step into the same stream twice? Heraclitus of Ephesus you were thinking too haiku. Everytime we wet our calves, everytime we wade joyfully over our own destruction, everytime we innocently turn about and are amazed at the similarity of the view, remind yourselves, cyclical yes. Circles no (the) result.

There's something beautiful about a bicycle. Something very...Copernicus.

I am now more convinced. Although I place a certain amount of trust in human invention, and the truth of story, I tend to really perk up to the silence of the bees.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Something I've always observed and wrote down many times in the past twenty-five years but never actually 'wrote' because I thought it was obvious. I'm pegging it down now because of the reaction by a friend when I said it more or less to myself during a lull.

The din of the bar sounds the same all over the world.