Saturday, October 11, 2003

onward blindly onward 

once again, in tidal years or grope thru the room to the end of the bed to the door to plain speaking and the light in the hall to the laminated saying something to sad and here to a coast with wash of fog to the land of something to the back of memory to the green hollow to a loss and what to carry back and thru a call or condition to a name and a place and a word refined by margin and extent to the practice and the strength, as we all seem to know

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listen my friends 

lump consideration plumps on mountainside of green fought for, and that ratio story opens big claims, destiny muck runs off, forests politely removed, and in different statutes live a people, easily eroded exactions and treble counted bolt, yet overmuch the eerie thru gunshy, trees that process and land that holds, buttered up and political football, all requirements fester on the drop, which is long and spatial, so crazed as to accept pity from the little that remains, this is equalled Vietnam or Iraq or any other choice in the springing resistance pattern of crumb, busted something and illusion throng, on the outs with weights, but the 'people' fine specimen, truckloads and trainloads and cavalier carpools to the end of flood and fill in demand, the aliens remain pretty

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Friday, October 10, 2003


indefinite scram, the wince of chase over again, and into the hollow where there are families and stretching to even the smallest, wilderness in human theory but a leg up, tripping thru a mud range political hatchet and make of steel, loss of present (again) while thinking over the landscape and adjustment, carrying principle to the street to let it see distance, lining up, firing up, stopping in mid sentences, et cetera, and this is as much as to say

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slated ridgepole dredge back endeavour,
the forested institute meanders under
frowning instincts, clearer regulars
speak of haze, morris dance
combines in mellow or a post, there is
news in offing, in desert after time, in a
bad cluster of stars, there is something
sanction something, to the test and
musical, coming from this state
to that, across green hollows
and bluer than blue, whichever
wildness will remain
begins in this minute change

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monkeys around 

contained on the lame extent, the taste of testifying and surety, that round balance and equated with sightings from the ridge, such faction muses further than a tree, even an oak stands at stark possible looseness while the very mark is made, changing distribution and you're afraid, reek that once and prop on the world this or that, possible white light or heaving off the cloak

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Thursday, October 09, 2003


in this last juice, in this rhythm, in this pointing at the fire, in this red all over, in this speak and stay, in this love and land, in this present, in this scooting past, in this sly and trailing, in this dangling are you own, in this speed of light transition, in this spook and take and veer, in this laugh and little, in this rhythm culled and bare, in this as was word, in this as is shoe, in this and then daylight, after roaming, after calling, after red and white, after blue and moaning, after tribute and tines, after is a schedule, after is a plum, after is these or those, after sends a ball, after that the ball is cool, sunlit, traded in tree shadow and green, skilled, touching peace and preamble, here is more, or less, a vantage poured on hillside, loving to the last

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definition spoon 

flicker often poise,
the stretch of magnetic ending in hop,
not a hush but something less graphic,
pictorial elephant in the garden of eating,
slam posse unfurls a game face dollop,
tradional eke in non-unified haven,
modus popularity,
string botch,
camisole calliope,
dreadnaught pond,
refresh in space time pool,
topic sentience peace meal,
yours aught the wrap,
alien refraction by tides

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manage in silence or
manage a known, a port when
ideal or that same fragrant
fund, a report in distraction, manage
in front, slippery
and the view from a ridge, manage
a script and an
intelligent request,
dozens of people
and radiant air,
breath is dynamic, manage
a word

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it's a loop of trust, thru a green hollow and bound up mountain. what curve seems time, pressed on the edges? a slip thru the natural, with between as logic. hand a rock in, down, to be touched in one moment. all very kept. the aliens stream forward, for this. in the distance, there is more: an armful or clutch of leaves. a point specified, and the aliens can just see. something very close to be where we are, can be round this turn. everyone is in 'this'.

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up till now was stabling when marsh gas rose in a deer look this way, lights of somewhere thing, proof over but reach on, grass slightly brown as you would remember, noisy as a squirrel you'd buy and say, trouble of an offer but the sky closes over that one, again a search or subtle parts of words to say, literal vantage reports stage up to the civic building, poor cup of java defines a measure, aliens read on

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apt angling slays
train, dire fed up
crawls home, deer
rustle up
funds, quirk severs
related environment
from guesswork, trust
smokes out
homage, mist infers
in the wet dawn, smothered
as apt, the sting
of condition

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a little is squandering, a little is just a tax, a little is clean up, a little buys time, a little comports the distance, a little checks spelling for the daze, a little wires benefit and throng thus the true suds of downtown, a little prepares the lot, a little surveys the farm and tries, a little goes on, a little distributes in the rage of data, a little smoothes the apparent into what the wending sent thru country trails and roads to almost nowhere, a little spies piper, a little rambles a date, a little rolls free hill, a little descries the fog imbued hill control and journey, a little and a more and a lot on the horizontal bending light to a trust factor with our love

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1) kindling
2) flick (or fleck
3) pencil
4) red, very red, and into dawn, the loss of words for now
5) going in strong
6) another line in, another pencil

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Wednesday, October 08, 2003

the strict measure confused us. dawn was filled with smoke, regular transience, an unreasoning exemplar or utility that might affect a readership. readership is down, the aliens notice. fog is up. autumn is planted in a ruckus called why, if such loose pleasaunce needs our remains then words might just exist. confusion is a modest accomplishment. red pain is searing, if that makes choice any better. the aliens are stark and driven, like a sentence from yesterday or a dodging comparison. right now, things are tired, filled to the brim and such is the vast. I thought you would want to know, each person says to another. the aliens like this part.

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notes emergent steam
council in surety
fought on both
sides pressure
of divide

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Schwarzenegger flood mode 

I am the end of Arnold Schwarzenegger, with a mountain in between most words but then daily a river deciphers the fresh gesture and something can become done. done is a challenge, like death, but more purple or you see a trend. loss is a pressure that resides in stupid movies, jolly you can make. the Arnold is a built muscle scoff. the image is cordoned and trade sequence has been tolled. memory acts off the last, and still we fight. fight is nothing now. red loses us, it stumbles us, it bathes us. we are strict sometimes. the aliens merely comment.

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the red twisting made a light of a storm or pose in the hills, until the right moment, that never seems so right. there's a big political gamble on top of the hills, sucking resource from delight. the hills will repair, in time, a function of astonishment. the aliens plough the fields and thirst with us. it is a trick, a knack of groan and loss and something stretched just so. listeners irritate their fulsome wounds, drive menace into argument, and write to their friends. their friends are broadcast, a taste of something forgotten or forgetable. someday, in the lurch of program and the crisp assault of a bit of poverty, the land will subsume in something direct. this is alien influence. our blue light remains as shift and turn, for the hills are shaped just so. our little vehicles can grasp only so much.

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stretch haven 

gravity tree
strait rub
bob tending
soup margin
slant fidelity
lunge maintaining
suavity quake
mumble parcel
lode stir
plead mine
grace prole
rock stamen
shift barnacle
clues fence the dairy
today, topic
of cancer, dread morraine
entirely fragmented survey flattening amidst storm hill
muttering frame as stooge friction dummy up claim trope
autumn hop huff stretch a gasket mouse parade destined
branch inveigh machine deliver frond move hurting steed
dragnet town fall smart pass chase guff wending mood words
slapping dip farm harping doubling moan stirred rice paper
shadowy red nearly torch adjustment metre sameness hopping
nightly aspect strip main deliver
bopping alien
red red word

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process loves abandonment. stray indications float
on a map necessitated by during and the
upheaval close to interstate. one can name 'specifics',
using the view from some steep hill. the paradox
rolls out of the bending river and the radical use of
nods and winks. this is the alien part. autumn is a
chute and context, and a lot of talking before
movement includes diameter and matrix and
the total loss of language in the spun out
spark of literal haze over boundaries and autumn. yeah,
autumn broke a nose or two, twisted distinctions
into a stern colour and mobilized, fuck this
shit and so forth. no one wants such useless
distraction amidst a ponderable occasion. the
woods move sullenness back a page, turning tricks
with breath and you bet. better still
is one place, or it is another. you stuck to a
judgment then bent with the river. the river itself
is between one land and another, and neither
side consists of tragic results. Little
Kanawha runs thru Glenville
West Virginia, under safe stars and a
waxing moon. in such a speck
looms a house, well built and an idea.

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the aliens say death don't have no mercy, but blue, elongated until welling, the stomach of sentence is hurt of blind, and who is to care? alien sounds. the aliens report: death is bonkers. but it is so human, a tough trail and gee, look at the amazing roofs on the houses of other people. the aliens 'land' like life or flying were impediments. the aliens think improvement because they are only too. we all change the colour of death, for it is a porridge of convulsion. no, the aliens have changed the tune, death is portable. now it is a mix of things, and we have to ride along. the hills inhale something of anything, and that becomes the mattress of the message. the 'people' who have written declarations and constitutions, toss in their chips. this is a sweet refrain and as glorious as mice, or even dandelions. a later injection will turn heads, or whatever it is atop the alien concern. a genius loses track and refrains from something that seemed 'natural'. death don't have no conjunctions, or there is irritable space between. Tibetans use a sketchpad.

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we lost
and in that
lunge decree and
veering smoke in
the hill of
West Virginia

there were right
ways and wrong
or clouds
known for
and yet the
little brooks
rustle thru
the land

there is patience and
in the
woods and the
city with
strings and
oblate lights
and frequent guesses
in the middle

there are strange
power companies and
touches of the
until night is
day and
even day
has night in
dawn thru mist
in the gaps
between hills

there's a great
picture from the
sky a leaf
turns red
owing to its
even an alien
has been known to

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