15 jun. 2007

That's not a cross look it's a sign of life. Hate is only one of many responses. True, hate and hurt go hand in hand. Who'd have thought that snow falls. It always circled. So many echoes in my head. There is this to be said for Sunday morning, that if I have been very bad the night before and feel like a drab on a sunny day, Dick will pop by and invite me out to the high, abandoned airfield. There the sun will seem properly chilly. Grace to be born and live as variously as possible. The only way to be quiet is to be quick,so I scare you clumsily or surprise you with a stab. A praying mantis knows time more intimately than I and is more casual. Good fortune! you would have been my teacher and I your only pupil, and I would always play again, secrets of Liszt and Scriaban whispered to me over the keyboard unsunny afternoons. I don't know what D.H Lawrence was driving at when he spoke of lust rising from the bowels. Or do I. I wanted to be sure to reach you. I am the least difficult of men. I'm getter rather Lorcaesque lately and I don't like it. Better my poetry were than my lives. Instant coffee with slightly sour cream in it. All things are tragic when a mother watches. So I had to break his watch. My heart is in my pocket, it is Poems by Pierre Reverdy. Ah Jean Dubuffet! When you think of him doing his military service.

My quietness has a number of naked selves.

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