A Trip to the Heavenlies @ elimae

here
When it comes necessary to know big things and small, that rich and poor are of their own and that that is the nature of knowing, which knowledge proceeds to loving, barrierlessness allowing, it sounds like a poem, space in the beginning and at end incompleteness complete with work achieves the gift.

The Loss of the Golden Age @ elimae

Honey in the oak became the golden bough. Grapes hung like rubies, corn was like gold. The gold flower was gold. But while the mineral transformation of nature "improved" it with gold status, this imagination never transferred to people. They never got any better. Donne asks, "But who ere saw, though nature can work so, / That pearl, or gold, or corn in man did grow?" (To the Countess of Bedford, 65-66). Flowers might be made of gold, which the handy Midas myth explained in part, but people did not look gold, even if they were made of it. The architecture of the golden age as a universal myth is at best decoration and diversion. here

This Meing, Mooing, Mewingmuling Song @ elimae

It was a scene from the social classes. In order:

"My oh my what a wonder bonjeur."
"I got a feel-ing!" "Wun-der-ful feel-ing!"
"Oh the warmth of a honky's ass."
Mervin, lead chorister, again led out: "On Doppel, on Schussel." "On hind end die blumen." "Ass on Boddle."
"Bestrudal mine bier kanne."

 "Curb the beast in a man and will you find a mule? A dog? A pony?" "Shall we play Old Donny?" "Do mules buy Beethoven?"
The chorus husted: "And in this mule we found an ape. Eee haw, eee haw, oh. And in that ape we found a duck. And a holy cow. With a swineherd here and a swineherd there. . . ."
They pantomimed ape routines from late night TV fears. "We want our flesh but we don't want theirs! "Think of all the disgusting hairs." "Red Rob! It's not the flesh I hate." "It's the indigestion of the pate." "Oh, cover yourself." "We fill the God hole with ourselves." "There is a god for these hands and hearts, volks esse."  By now the mules were texting: "There used to be an outer, there used to be an in." "There's a spiritual organ in circumcision." "Die dicke ende.""Once circumcised, the truth is out. "It's the fleshy heart of plaque, not yarrow stalks." here

Breathe the Wind

X's and O's, the X is a box and the circle an O. Who can't see that circles surround us, "a woman shall compass a man." Did you ever look into an O? The head crowns and is surrounded by the loving arms.

To escape the circles, make new ones to replace mom, is more than self-definition. Does the self exist? Consider what is known, the person known to the parents does not exist. They remember it with wonder, the child remembers everything wrong they did. So who is the child, what it remembers, the sum of itself created? It cannot remember itself truly as the parents know. We say that escape from the circles is the only way to go. That does not mean escape to a box. It means go outside town and breathe the wind.

Gardens and Grapefuits

The telltale feet

 here, now in archive here

I could have sworn seven years after Grapefruits appeared, that when I read in Baudelaire's "The Martyr," "the head.../ On the night table, like a ranunculus, / Rests,"  that the ranunculus was in this garden: but I couldn't find it. Maybe an alternate version read, "the names are changed to protect ranunculus." However, as I looked in the middle of the page there it was: "Our neighborhood holds the garden principle: 

A golden crocus

fills the cup

of ox law

and ranunculus."

These are buttercups. Of course all these legends of The Severed Head rediscover the Acéphale of Bataille, but in a Swiftian way. Bataille never dreamed to realize his society celebrating the decapitation of Louis XVI as joke, to be sure, and promising to venerate just like the NewBorns of Old the works of Nietzsche, Freud, Sade, along with discussions of human sacrifice so woderful to intellectuals of the absurd. Now I speculate that in some alternate herbal there is a list of plants of disembodied heads. No matter. The Abenaki cannibal giants in the blurb at  Red Rock Apocalypse Training Video actually predated this story. Giants taking the form of Professors was a new rip,  invisible before this, but suggested in the Remains of Lit and Und on Shunt, to which morphed, "You ever visit your prof at home? For dinner! It hurts to live and let live. I saw J. D. coming down the drive, ominously named for body parts, for feet, turning in. He parked over by the neighbors to not call attention, hedged up against the curb. Pretty soon other characters began to appear in white socks. Where's it safe to live at in these days of spare parts, Kidney Lane?" here

Fiction Darling / A Calendar of Poems

A Calendar of Poems

This calendar portrays America from its mythic discoveries. The full title comes from one of the same name by Sir Robert Gordon in 1625, an inducement to colonization, but the colonization here is of “another world,” as Raleigh muses. The musings and celebrations of St. Brendan, Erik the Red, Columbus, Sir Walter Raleigh are not of colonies they will found but of the natural world they love and betray. These primitive speakings comprise their dreams, sacrifices, betrayals.

New ventures do not start in January. The year begins in March. St. Brendan puts out to sea in a skin covered boat, a curragh with paddles. There is a mist and an unclear call when it assumes so much, but he follows the urge.

March is rose but April is red for the blood of the Viking. Erik loses his son in the new world, the first to come in the ages. April is daring, but temporary.   

In May the gold sun raises the plants; gold heat rises into nostrils. Red lanterns shining through the fog are the first  permanent settlement of the European. But the natural rhythm is constant sun.

In these tokens are symbols of larger loss,  Raleigh losses his son in Guiana, in June. It out weighs the nuggets. He goes back to England and is hung.

July and August are exempt from historical myth narrative The new creation mystically discerns in spiders, flies, sun, orphans, snakes more than a physical world. Creatures with dithyrambs respond, caught in traps, lose their skin, renew, repay. One glimpse per decade, century, flies, spiders, children of some Orpheus.

Fall and winter oppose spring and summer. The myth does not reestablish. The great year is broken in half to the final decades of the twentieth century. These oppose the preceding centuries, to introduce a millennium we think will never end. But the millennium ends in September, fall and winter oppose spring and summer. If the first six months speak from the natural, the second half is artificial, as if  the last six decades of the 20^th century ending in the 1990’ s were an epiphany that reestablishes myth. The last line, “love’s gone” is uttered by the amaranth of heaven. 

There is a lot of sowing and reaping. Erik the Red’s and Sir Walter Raleigh’s loss of sons grieve for all sons lost in war planting. With the loss comes the new world imagination of everything according to its kind. The voyage is as if St. Brendan undertook a heavenly navigation of voyages and passage of the sun in response to the green world.

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2.When I worried about the meaning of nonfiction, how to tell, to prevent fiction from creeping, that fiction was a nonfiction. You cannot say the opposite, that nonfiction is a fact. This weighs. Can a pseudonym be non, tired of the same image day to day? When we mirror shaving, a fiction, makeup, clothing all fictions, how do you know what you are writing? Does it call up and say: Fiction darling. Or do you decide?


I assume everybody is consumed with questions of art, line, rhythm, image, color, flow. I also ask the nature of sun, parabolas, a passionate clean strike of a ball, life on your toes.

 When it comes necessary to know big things and small, that rich and poor are of their own and that that is the nature of knowing, which knowledge proceeds to loving, barrierlessness allowing, it sounds like a poem, space in the beginning and at end incompleteness complete with work achieves the gift.