Date: Sun, 30 May 1999 11:38:15 -0400
Subject: RE: (haunted) in the q-w-e-s-t of colour


On Wed, 19 May 1999, John Foster wrote:

>abby's eyes are contrasting in the late amber light of afternoon against my
>mirror image of walking alone among the old lichen rocks crusteriferus
>terricaullous as i knock up against pellets of snow fleeting earthward
>among my broken leather boots after a day of dis'  meanderin up and around
>on top over and under the most bizarre landscapes...maybe what they are
>really images only in my daze of perambulations away above the clouds and i
>cant get no grasp on them even with a camera they evade and recede as soon
>as the feeling comes and if it wasn't for being here i would not be witness
>to this but it would go unknown like a kinglet in the dusk of late
>evening...my thoughts exactly about the house down yonder in the swale
>where the frost must collect even here it cools early after sun sets with
>the frost making a camp fire a likely option...u no de bes vay es to
>collect the high and dry poles beneath the pines pile em up in a teepee
> like stoked hay and look fer some pitch off en a ol fir tree... never go
>cold dis way... he had an ol six or seven he sed sinze it was over 10000
> hours on er and he took er easy cause the wrist pin was always a slapping
>and he walked er over from toofargone crick and left er out side the pub at
>goldbridge ... he an ol codger... with de luv of cats..no hydraulics just
>gussied up ol six caterpillars fer skidding ol pondersa pines offen the
>hills...ps now is the only plese yuv can find a wolve denned up an a
>hollin' fer the hay ofit


(to 'n') fro' mouth o' nowhere Annie took her too easy (who is this "her"?)
a non-existent breeze blinked abby's eyes abby's eyes a B size on the slate
scene career clear the twoven woe oven t' woo though secretly if not
sacredly the sacral locale placed betwine so Abby sighs Abby's highs in
time and simihilarity of sound some would slay so undue so undo (art (are))
the contrasting ties 'n' cries in the late amber light of afternoon against
my writing mirror mirror's me-roars image of walking as well as
image-chalking classroom loom in mind maya-disc's sound-image of talking
alone among the old lichen rocks crusteriferus lickin' clocks
thinthallusadherence terricaullous cherrycallus glyphing in the cherry's
interior reaches often too far back into one's score a double-edged sword
of trouble trueblue as i knock up against hence hit sirely hen sit squirely
entirely t' achen aback by unusually enlarged pellets of red snow  fleeting
earthward fleeteringly filtered earthword among my clockchoked gagged and
broken leather boots after a day of dis' meanderin directed though refused
any directions was thereby in same refusal directed deflected diverted up
over and covertly around being uncovered discovered letter lone recovered
despondency meanly deranged though softer weather loots laughter break-in
parasitic live-in rape for blood t' draw a sword t' divide 'n' divine if
not to define the fine find function on top over and under thunder 'n'
thunder in turn 'n' churn under its own source of light through crack of
its own quaking making waking taking over the most ghostly bizarre
landscapes......post-landscapes the card: Randy escape exit the cape gapes
sin too into maybe what they are some motherwaves wording themeselves out
'n back into an other abode such as really some images those little places
filed with little wordstitches if phonely in my daze of perambulations away
above the clouds and i parabulbularly wave a bluff the crowds an eye nigh
singularly cant get no grasp on them even with a camera they evade and
recede as soon as as Claspy Raspy the sun-spy scant though effectively
defective in his oven-building trade and re-seed the air for the power
purposes the feeling comes and if it wasn't for being here i would not be
witness to this but it would go unknown like a kinglet in the dusk of late
evening...low-key ink-letter rose from dusty slate sun-noun's beaming duly
noted location's fate this place where what I wear in wetness-generated
droplets ramifications the flailing slowly calms the dawn's excitement at
the versed sight of light-clothed eyes then lives awake from slip drown
sleep drawn in the deep black dark forest for a rest underbundle arrest t'
boot camp horrors at so-galled Reality Realty Company my thoughts exactly
about the house down yonder myth ought sex-act lyric adoubt the hot use of
dawn under insighed Swale's internal opposites both cool hot wet and dry
where the frost must collect even here it cools early hub-spoke's frosty
gust connection event ring black cup throwed just lack the hat 'n' wut it
sposed t' house the beer it pearly schools writ wild laughter after sun
sets with  the frosty wake a scam fire a luckly optic con ...u no de bes
vay es to collect and connect the eye-high high-eye trial polarities
monopoles dipoles 'n' tripoles polar rarities/(rare tease) be not only near
or on earth but beneath ground's reverie-groaning level 'n' the spines mile
em up in a teepee like stoked hay and look fer some pitch off en a ol fir
tree... never go cold dis way never grow old this sway ever glow gold this
wavebeing beamed: double-tech spines smile up in your face you blink 'n'
look away as if from a blazing sun that would blind you instantly hitch a
write off the pitch he throwed yonder tides wild 'n' high voltage... he had
an ol six or seven he added an oiled flex order from heaven or sold doubt
some sad chintz at the fray sleightest recovery he sed sinze it was over
10000 hours on er and he took er easy cause the wrist pin was always a
slapping and he walked er over from toofargone crick and left er out side
the pub sup at Frosty Wake click too far bereft on the left disappeared
goldbridge ... he an ol codger an ol' Brooklyn Dodger...with de luv of
cats..no hydraulics just a high old bridge at the draw gussied up all
fussied up all busied up all abuzz draw the fuzz 'n' lightnin' red a flash
'n' a swirl did curl ol six caterpillars fer skidding ol pondersa pines
offen the flex-gate hills...ps now is the only plese yuv can find  on the
vine the tonely but lonely pleasure of a wolve denned olive-penned up an a
hollin' fer the hay ofit obliterated chills letterin' out-paged
flood-curtseying ladle-head 'bout textplode better letter go!















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