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.

Conspiracy theories are wagging fingers.

How selfish they are, to fashion their sword from someone elses words.

This video file sharing thing is going to get bad.

It sucks when you know people better than they know themselves.

"DOT.THIS" T-shirt. http://www.cafepress.com/tylerfenn

It's simple. I like it here when you are helping me.

I sometimes feel ashamed. This is child's play. Don't you?.

To doctor Ramnarind: My fear, that you correctly diagnosed, but failed to identify, is that I am the last in a long line of kings. Or nothing at all. Fear is glad.

It seems, that no matter how you spell it.
It seems that, no matter how you spell it.
It seems that no matter how you spell it,
'it' is always something other than you.

Global swarming.

Dotcom.com

Words strive to survive by reference to something else.
Men strive to survive by deference to someone else.

Nothing is accomplished amongst company.

I have not found one single 'iota'; there's a bunch of them.

Artists take liberty whereas others follow directions.

The trick to getting around in the dark, at least for those with vision (the blind seem to already know this) is to close your eyes. Although you still may make some noise.

Think about it. But don't create that which is too heavy to carry yourself.

Yes, that is how big stonehenge is. And we didn't even know we'd end up there.

Old things always, if you let them, either bring the past or create a moment.

I lied. I want to wish you would listen.

One more thing. Demand magic. You deserve it. It's your right. Or more precisely, your gift. See it. (if you will)

Maxwell's Silver Velociraptor.

The Age of Wrong Reason.

Memories keep us from dreams.

Dreams protect us from memories.

Spring comes bearing details.

Polka dot com.

Blakes lights appear to my eyes.

Cosmic sway leads to creaking.

Words stolen from a friend- '"good" is a funny looking word you can repeat for five minutes until you see its true nature- boring. '

I am now saying what you want me?

Boundaries stretched to infinity disappear.

A realization of our makeup?

Soon a recovery of our dust.

Keen observations usually go unnoticed.

A big clouded island crowds inwards.

Art is how humans measure days against eternity.

It definately seems suddenly centrifugal.

The birds are now coming down with the flew off to people.

My laziness astounds even my indolence.

In case of fire, do not stand here.

Things explode. Birds seem indifferent.

Know thyself, yes; but reveal it slowly and carefully.

Old friends fell all over the place.

Reminder to self- dream about having three eyes.

Dogmas. Masses of dogs that can't learn new tricks.

I'm right one time.

Good intentions inevitably result in more work.

Old ideas are like lost possessions. Sometimes you just don't buy them again.

Beachcomb all of the shores of your own internal isle.

Your eyes are everywhere, so they say.

A point to be made is always going to be better than one that is already done.

Split, her sides laughing.

If this be my last I pray make it good, or at least make it sell.

A man told me in the hurricane caribbean that it was Gods way of sweeping house.

The reason(s) we are here. Twounfold.

I heard the dodo cry like a goose.

There are many hummingbirds from steel to leaf.

Perfection is dangerous territory. Do everything possible to steer clear of it. In fact, go in the opposite direction.

I have no dark motives for my good deeds.

Somewhere between I can not recall.

It is good to hit rock bottom, better to be suspended.

Remember the lessons learned, but keep in mind the lessons not learned.

Present past. Just a simple request.

Levitation is simply a matter of jumping up and bending time.

It is important to keep up the aim for when Goliath comes.

A late night means a late night.

Wake up. Waking. A derivation of Nathaniel.

Was it me that they have found, a one followed by one hundred zeros.

Consequently I never feel incognito.

The blue bottle can not land with noise.