When I write a poem I mostly just take words out.
When I write prose I mostly just take swear words out.

You're in a small town, 50 or so miles north of the meditteranean sea, your right side is  (s)hot.

There is a bad smell of paint that you think will disappear within days.

It has been said that there are no straight lines in nature. 

Nature is an infinity of straight lines giving the impression of none.

Life is an automatically failed interview.

Hold your breath while working. Breathe deliberately at rest.

Choose your friends by how you act amongst them.

The problem with the truth is that everyone's idea of a lie is different.

To die in Wales would be a bit inauspicious, but I'm o.k. with that.
In fact, the problem with dying is that the whole act of it is quite inauspicious. We die, things go on. Shame.

If you work truthfully, feed yourself well, 'get plenty rest' and drink plenty of water you won't really have much time left over to do the things that damage you. Unless of course you do them in your sleep.

A lawn or a woman. You won't have time for both.

I do everything with such goddamn ceremony that I think I need a therapist.

A lawn is a living creature that never stops begging.

What I remember is,.....one of the things I loved about 'The Myth of Sisyphus' is that Camus tried to lose most of his readers in the first one hundred pages.

One thing I noticed when I was young....it didn't bother me to come in second.
Not that it Never bothered me, .................just that generally it didn't.

I know some American Indians used sage....from the candle shop, Todd learned it and burnt it, wish I had some now ........... I try thyme and chives.

One of the good things about art is that you can look at it repeatedly and it gives back a different picture every time, like nature; it's different than t.v. Not static.

I wish we could communicate telepathically. Writing, e-mailing is cumbersome.
I hope, believe, that most of our communication is telepathic- You know what i mean.

Being accomplished at something means good things happen by accident.

Bacon's eyes expected his ancient heroes to exist around him and he searched for them in his present.
Bacon was not so disturbed by the suicides of Lacy or Dyer as he appeared to be in public.
Or represented in paint.
He was flattered by them, mostly.
Bacon was never impressed with money; suicide on his behalf was a much grander and theatrical accolade.

God, I get furious with 'old masters' when they act stupid.

There has not been an artist who ever lived who has not admired themselves at least from the elbow down.

Painting is too dirty and too hard; doesn't cut quick enough.

Know that when you are right it lasts for an instant and do not be disturbed by being right only for a moment; know that when you are wrong it can last lifetimes. Strive to be right.

I suppose I just don't believe in it much anymore. Fighting.

The rat is now our guest. And i've come to telling it to quiet down.
It seems to listen.
I'm now calling it 'mouse'.

You cannot communicate with contemporaries by preaching to friends.

Today. Finished reading 'Paradise Lost'. Took me years. Longer than any other book that I've tried to read at least.
I read every word. Was asked if I enjoyed it. Had to laugh.
I said that it's like a trip up the Amazon. Amazing, but not without discomfort.
I think years back I may have finished reading Moby Dick about this time too.

I have always felt as though I was being watched, or followed throughout my life.
How nice it is that fears become reality, that dreams become you.

On ideas:

Most things are easy if you think about it; running a marathon, recovering from a severed limb,
compared to the impossible effort to regain a lost thought.

Clearly, sharing our internal pictures, all that universally unites us to one another, seems to be the hardest art of all.

There is a comfortable way to sit on any stone.

Why do we use plasters, bandaids, when tiolet paper, tissue, secured by electrical tape works better?

It is important to say 'I love you', but-
'Thank you', if used sparingly, is more potent and to the point.

What a man believes in is boring
compared to what he is willing to sacrifice himself for.

To realize the Don Quixote in yourself
makes your ribs hurt.

The stone will gravitate towards the center of the earth.
I put little stones between the big ones while waiting.

I could say that we are suffering a generation of men who
were taught about money
but this is not exactly precise

I would say that we are suffering a generation
well equipped financially and embraced entirely
within their silken armo(u)r.

Where did we learn to flick? You know, the action of springing a finger, usually the 'middle', from the resistance of our thumb? I heard today on the radio that evolutionary scientists are confounded by the fact that we alone amongst the animals, blush (I wouldn't be confounded by that fact, nor am I convinced of it). But they can find no 'missing link' that also blushes. It is an innately human trait.
Never seen anything else that flicked either.

These green grapes suck, though they may look good.
They are so filled with water the skin wants to bust, like a balloon.
And they are quite tasteless. God forbid there be seeds.
Similar to the bloated celery we grow. Full of water; no taste.

Number 1:
You never learn to listen to other people.
Number 2:
You eventually learn enough so that you never have to listen to other people.

Poe- I can't ever even remember reading him, but I am familiar with some of his stories from a young age. But I can say, that after rereading him now that I am less tender, that he blows away Rousseau, Voltaire, Twain, Dickens, (this list could go on) and anyone else that may be occasioned into the mix; that his dexterity with written words, fluidity of mind, breadth of knowledge, passion for investigation, propensity for prophesy, has rarely been bested. His sarcasm only worshipped to the point of aping, his deduction studied to the point of mimicking.

Words are more difficult than paintbrushes.

I ate:
yeast, butter (good), cream cheese (full fat philli), fish (salmon, probably farmed), red onion
half a loaf of french baguette, mayo, pastrami (one portion), leerdhamer (sp?)
one whole hot chili pepper (from uganda)
half a stem of bloated celery and half a head of lettuce
iceberg soy extract and chicken
salt and pepper.
all quite randomly.
lots of proteins, some vitamins, very few lipids.

Things are nice: Children, Dogs, Diamond rings.
What is nicer must be to not need anything.

A crisis is always an opportunity.

do you remember when we were in that small little vermont town?
the place we stayed in was covered with soft to (coincide) hide the creaky
and then outside though you were cold
all those single candles in every one window.
that's what i remember.

sit on my left side, my left hip
and it is very comfortable.
so i make a habit of sitting on my right,
but not as much as i'd like.

I feel as though i've dug myself out.
How do i test that? some monks?
(during a treat of Joe Walshs' 'confessor')

Philosopy is the highest art.
And amongst other things,
it is the art of having better ideas
than all the previous idiots.

I want to go out among you.
tell you it's okay.
pat you on the head, hug you.
but ya'll have too many fuckin'
guns
and knives,
how does anyone (still) do that?

Whatever anything anyone says to me is positive.

RE: Understanding
I would imagine that it is the girls that are having a harder time right now.

STUDY THOSE WHO HAVE SHARED THEMSELVES.

How to reveal oneself is a higher conundrum to pine over than knowing oneself.

http://www.poetrycritical.net/read/48344/

WHENIFEELGOOD
ALLDOORWAYSSEEMSHORT
ALLOTHERSISKULKTHROUGH

intellectually

INOURSOCIETY(THEWEST)WEHAVEBEENENCOURAGEDNOTTOGROWUP,
THISHASPROTECTEDUSFROMHAVINGTOHAVEA'CULTURALREVOLUTION'
BUTHASNURTUREDAGENERATIONOFTITSUCKLINGTWATS.

Slideyourfingers'neathyourtoes,
howheavyseemsyourfoot,
scratchanditchthosecalloused
dogs,
insideallthosebones.

EVERYTHINGHAsbeen,and again, WILlBENAMED.

nearhome.

IFITHASANAMEITISNOTAWEED.

IWASTHINKINGTHATIRESPECTTHEMANWHORESISTS
THEURGETOGETDRUNK
STRETCHINFRONTOFAFIRE
ANDMASSAGEHIMSELF.

WHYWOULDTHEYNOT
TAKEEVERYOPPORTUNITY
TOSCRATCHTHEIRBELLY
ANDREFLECTLIKEAKING?

ALLOFMYSTATEMENTSIRUNPASTMYFATHER
ALMOSTEVERYTHINGELSEISRUNPASSEDYOU

THEREHASNEVERBEENAWARTHATHASFOUGHTOVERSOMETHINGOTHERTHANBELIEF

ADMIREHOWTHEHUMANHANDLIESWHILEATREST

ALBERTSPAIN

THINGSDONOTEMBODYMEANING
MEANINGISIMPARTEDTOTHINGS

WEAREPRAYINGEVERYTIMEWEHOLDSILENTCONSULTATIONWITHOURSELVES

ROMANROAD

THEREARENORELATIONSHIPSTHATCANNOTBESAVED
UNDERSTANDING
KINDNESS
FORGIVENESS
THREETONGSOFAGRAPPLINGHOOK

THEPROBLEMWITHQUITTINGSMOKINGISTHAT
YOUTHINKITWILLKILLYOU
THEPROBLEMWITHQUITTINGDRINKINGISTHAT
YOUKNOWITWILLISOLATE
EVERYONE

MOSTOFINTELLECTUALENDEAVORISNOTHINGMORETHANTRYINGTOBEAWISEASS

staircase

IWISHIDIDN'THAVETOBRINGTHEBOTTLEUP
BUTIFORGOTTOBRINGTHEGLASSDOWN

ISUPPOSETHATIFIDIEBEFOREIGETTOREADTHESETHINGSAGAINTHEYWILLREMAINMEANINGLESS?

ISHEDANDDEVELOPASIGETOLDER.LIKEASNAKEORABUG

IHAVECONVERSATIONSWITHFORIEGNATIONS

I HAVE NO CONCLUSIONS THAT THEY TOLD ME

ICANTALLOWTHECOMFORTOFMYHOMETOPREVENTMEFROMDISCOVERINGMYBACKYARD

Underthephotobelow
accidentally
turnedouttobe
a
very
nonmarxist
nonbolshevic
comment.

Iwouldguess
thatmostofourissues
stemfromthefact
thatwedon'tknow
howtoimpressourselves
intherightway.

Weshould,whiththestrictestofstandards,trytoimpressourselvesfirst.

Wherearethemen?

When in doubt, smile, put your best rags on, and eloquently tell a stranger the truth.

TakeStandFirmSteps.

Remember this - http://www.poetrycritical.net/read/48908/
and remember that you were simply saying that the 'I' is in front of your right hand, reached by
your middle finger. It's the way you were taught.

But remember that you immediately recognized the other implications of it, and worked on it then, hard.

And that it is good.

Remember all this and then remember that the poem you intended to write started with the letter 'I', and
that is what started you off on this poem. Remember that you had no idea what you would write.

Remember that it came quick, and you knew, and laughed, over a good poem.

Remember that you thought it important to put a space between 'key' and 'stroke'.

Remember how long you worked on this.

Remember how you were talking only to yourself.

Remember how much better it became.

See how good it is now?

The 'I've had a harder day than you' syndrome.

First day, bingo. Thursday, computer. Friday, zoo. Monday, market. Tuesday, wood alone. Saturday, grill. Sunday, boot sale.

I can't take a step without thinking what I have to do with it.

A losing battle is no reason not to put up a good fight.

If you are like me, then your problem is in trying, thinking, believing, that you are like everyone else.

Find and fall in love with someone who loves little things.

Mantra 2

justbringmesmallgoodadvances

Art is something an artist needs to exhaust. So they can move on.
In order to move on.

Marijuana can be good for some older people.

"'At a pinch, it is easy enough to choose between but and and. It already becomes more difficult to opt for and or then. The difficulty grows with then and afterwards. But what is surely hardest of all is to decide whether one should put and or not.'" -Camus

Forgive those people whose atoms temporarily come together in this life to make awkward, clumsy, bestial beasts; and remember that there is a place where we are all more suited.

There are no sacrifices after birth.

The first thing that you want to 'be' is admirable. The last thing that you want to be, that's the real nut.

Be busy at being determined to find out what you already know.

People always talkin' bout freedom. Freedom like it's a big idea. Freedom is to sleep when your tired and eat when you're hungry. Ain't no tax breaks gonna give you that.

Generations to come are here. And they don't know that you were thinking about them.

There is no way for the mind to be free and clear if the body is not limber.

Of course I am a stranger, on such a sea as this,
all we know comes out our mouths.
And exhales us off to distance.

It is fall, autumn here in the uk, and now the hostas are, after feeding the snails, asleeping already anyway.

What is true is false a second later, ie: what happened only happened one time and for one moment, and a moment is a very short lived time indeed. So when people are talking about what someone did, said, or was; well, nobody knows the truth. Not even if you go back to the 'source', the proverbial 'horses mouth'. Truth exists continuously, instantaneously, and nevermore. Truth exists continuously nevermore.

ted now requires that we acknowledge them in order to share the things that others
have shared with ted.
bow to ted. thank you.

if you would like to see vusi perform one of the most beautiful of songs, visit fucking ted.

Those who can not drink alone are usually bad company.

Preparation

I wash my hands,
they have the dirt of the day on them,
It goes down the drain,
I wash my hands a second time and they have the dirt of yesterday,
on them,
I sometimes, (normally) wash my hands a third time,
And wonder,
Where'd That dirt come from?

It's so beautiful you can't afford to live there.

What cows really do is not graze, but kiss the earth. Repeatedly.

You love what others can't see. Love is very personal. We can't get outside ourselves to look at ourselves, and a mirror holds very little information. When we are loved, we are loved for what we can't see about ourselves, and when you love, you love for what they can't see.
It would be nice to be able to explain it to them.

Look for Most Likely and you will approach Truth.

People collectively will their own world.

This is Poland.
And I'm quite sure
that the only thing
I have ever bought
in every country
I have ever visited
besides beer
is socks.

i was looking at the snailtrails in my hosta
and decided that is the way it should be
and thought of those broadleaf trees in tobago
that had a least half of their leave eaten away
by some mysterious insect in neat but random ways
and remember thinking hard to see the symbiosism
in it at the time and decided that if half of that
leaf surface wasn't removed by the insect that when
strong winds came in from the atlantic that those
broad leaves would be stripped away or even break
some boughs and that the holes were like the slits
in a sail or a flag that keep it from being torn
to shreds in a violent wind and that the tree needed
the insect as much as the insect needed the tree
and there was symbiosis.
i was saddened that i had thrown two snails over
the high stone wall to get them away from the hosta
(which surely would have cracked
their shells when they hit the pavement but i hoped
wouldn't hurt the snails themselves) and decided
that i wouldn't ever spray my hosta or protect
it from snails again and enjoy the snailtrails
in the leaves that don't kill it.

todolist.com

Woman staring down man gazing up.

Four years in L.A. Fires, Floods, Riots and one hell of an Earthquake.
Two years in England. The hottest June and the wettest June.
Can't wait for Wales.

There are so many reasons in this world to feel bad. Feeling generally good for someone elses happiness, a someone who once considered you the most important thing in their lives, isn't one of them. Feeling gutterly happy for them is a reason also to feel good about yourself. And it feels good.

One thing about life, it's a living.

Welcome! Welcome! All you wonderful chinese to the internet. You finally have your one foot stool.

Wow, been a while since I've posted. Must be because I was too busy laughing at all the news.

Writing intercepts painting and sculpture.

For the finished, boiled, or more precisely, the waking version of the previous post (that's the one below this) see:

http://poetry.tetto.org/read/40967/

in the middle distance there is nothing
you see
you are not focusing
or squinting to blur
(as you would maybe to view a piece of art)
the middle distance is an extended point
smack
dab in the center of your head

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Todd
and
me
below
Cali

Behavioral scientists in some cases study the ant colony to understand the workings of the human brain. Makes sense to me. (Seemingly individual random acts creating in the whole an intelligence). A poet however would never pass on the opportunity to make an analogy of the queen to the dollar.

If there is one road to freedom why the maps?

The worst thing the devil ever did was pull himself away.

Remembered today, March 25? Dad's birthday? Anyway, remembered, or more precisely 'recalled' this morning how my design for the meeting room of the think tank of my thesis looks a lot like the things in nasa videos people claim to be alien ships and the dropa stones. Circle with notch.

The conversation is a welcome reprieve, or maybe just a diversion, from the conversation.

Spring arrives bearing details again. One year on since I last saw her details. A bumblebee came and buzzed around my head the other day. Circled me two or three times. Maybe liked my smell, maybe saw something only bumblebees see. But it did check me out. I didn't mind. It made me laugh. I said 'good day mr. bumblebee' and then it went motoring away and I continued to dig into the spring earth.