Subject: swaying along
Date: Wed, 5 Aug 1998 00:53:56 -0400 (EDT)


I don't know where I am going with this, all I have is a small list of
itemized readings pluck from random leafings and falling on minds fat
with plenitude and springing fire. T/here... I know it's old... but the
ruins are are weirdly attractive, I find pieces of timber eaten by foam
dissolving a known arriving at impossible thoughts written while
floating  in Nichtian laughter. If a loved being cannot be perceived but
projected on death, so I will never hear passages from the sea but as
the result of an imagination of death. If my imagination proliferates
dead imagery it can only break up the fixation of ordinary memory
thereby stilling the understanding with growing silence. Nearby, in the
proximity of shipwrecked aliens floating without aim, any reference by
which we could hold course only brings, could have been more, jamming
contradictions threatening paralysis, the stoning gaze of dead journals
written while the day brings certain dissimulation and endless jesting
at life taken seriously.
   


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