My halo for your handshake

entering the realm of the visual

after reading some pomposity in an interview of a writer who i don't care to name on the blog of one man in the southwest, i became slightly enervated. only at first, however. i quickly grew ireful and continued to do nothing and say little. oh well, as it goes i am behind the times. or i am in back of whatever is moving forward with my lip[s]pursed and a cannon full of fumigated flowers made from withered silk. and now, on with the picture show for i am stuck also inside of myself and vaguely outside of everything else.

The Naming of Names, start of '08

Henceforth to know being as, to be of. Hypothetical and in the infinitive like winters become. Hello 60 degree January NYC day. This pot of coffee is. And so is electrical light that shine shine to illumine the paperstack. Double shine, I say. The line of cars is. And so is cornershop singing, but to a much lesser degree and in a tense that casts its light over every eventual thing. Tense cast, I say.

The writers continue to strike. There's no bowling or rounded awards. The politicians are made up in their minds and ABC news reports of a crying young woman behind the curtain pulling show of Mit Romney . And then his face fell off - as a young African American male sang the national anthem and then proceeded to clean away the tables - only to have it stitched back on again in South Carolina full of tarnation. And then so too did the face of Hillary Clinton, her serious composure flawed like big marble. No carving there. The machine that's made them has gone bang-clanking onward with its ghost driver and its foreseeable future.

ifn the weather isn't the best--happy new year

Aside from the hooting fellow and the bits of feedback off his voice, the sound here is good and man this is a pretty song. I'm going to celebrate what will hopefully be the start of a better year. Hope you (all 4 of you) are brought closer to where you need to be in the obstacle course of '08

in the spate

and knocking. one eye (aye!) twitches on its edge and continual. this because
clause is not set off with a comma. this twitch has its own concerns, not my vision or distort, distory.
as the hours are smitten with turn
incomplete second. talk about forded swing. like the people list of names just tied. very close to pretty good-may be cross-listed with women
whose hands are washing off bacteria. with unconscious precision they make water noiseless, and make wet the basin.
A news program man said that there are more great fires now and no one mentions war without thinking of a man in an office or walking out of a locker room or in a shiny uniform. it's not as important
to consider what missing limbs or dysplasia contorts the shift-addled mind.
the men and women who come back from the places the television
tells us might be getting better.
Just the new year's fuzz covered cap--the bullets still know where they're going
and babies still get new teeth and keep being born
because life is full of promises and this clause has no need to be set off
as dependant or promoted by advertising

conti: combustible on the inside

it's really you?
yes, it's really me. really.

So the time has come where I can say I'm almost about to be able to think again, freely. There are a handful of weeks where this luxury is afforded me and what usually happens is

What are you blanketing about, or blanking? why can it be that the coffee stains and the upholsterer are not ever in the same room together. Its outcoming like a weathervane. It's an outcome to be considerate about, and something to hold your tongue for in public.

Once while sitting with 3 other people at a restaraunt I forgot how to talk and then afterwards how to eat. My food arrived and I smiled at it, figeting. A napkin on my lap, the glass of water very friendly and at a comfortable distance. There was noise coming from the mouths of my companions. It was very dark outside. A wonder any of our senses worked at all.

The cost of Christmas trees: $125 on Broadway above the hundreds. The cost of Christmas trees: a large steak knife and determination in penn's woods.

What means of this, discrepancy?
Oh, so really, you'd like a conversation? Noblesse Oblige.

Tomorrow is the last of my paperswimming. I will order a hat full of beer and still have to pay for it. Seriously though, I'm going to be able to carry on a conversation without telling people that "I have to ____." My most common response regarding social and political engagement. This and next week, with handfuls of serious contempt I will wander among the madly shopping throngs and attempt to make wise gift choices for the coming exchange. I really wished I knew what people wanted, or what would make them feel like I knew something about them that most people don't. Though maybe that's just the Ebay commercials that have been on all day seeping into the old noggin. They say it's the thought that counts, but what if you think wrongly about someone, as I'm often prone to doing? It may not be drastically wrong, but wrong enough. Say you have a friend who has allergies to a certain type of animal. You might give that person a picture of the allergy-animal in hopes that their comfort with it in picture form may lead to an eventual change in body chemistry so that they become magically unallergic over time due to their sustained proximity to the picture. A picture to be placed by their bedside, say. And when it's received, none of this information passes between gift giver, and gift receiver so there's a serious mistrust of judgement regarding any further interaction these two people might have. Well, maybe not that drastic. But what about giving a blender to someone who only eats baked goods that are handed to them over a countertop. And what about receiving gifts, like clothing? What do these things say to us about what people think we are? You have to love those notorious aunt hand me down sweaters. What we can become in others eyes, only their cranked up head engines can know. Oh the weather outside is perfect for that hand stitched reindeer antler hat I got for you last year, yeah the one with all of the fiberoptic lights.

And what in hell do you buy for your parents, especially when you actually like them? Someone needs to come up with a giftcard you can use anywhere. Oh, wait that's money. Who really likes getting money over a well thought out gift?

A question to you, then. What is the best gift you've received from someone else? You can do a ranking of sorts if you'd like. I've put away my distrust of numbers for the time being.

in the space of won: fading star: light: a color change

supposedly when the tonnage of hydrogen, or some other gashat that is light and combusted by the machine that is the sun, runs down - there will be an expansion. not like something in baseball or football where a city gains revenue and disinterest, but something grand and luminous and colorful that will engulf this planet and then over millions of years, recede. what was once our small source of pride and pull grows giant and glowing like a bulbous ember and then returns into the echo and fade of itself: a small pale knob slid down the motherboard almost to the off position.

some days are rained out. like this. we wash better when there's reason for it, or because the water's warmer. i have a hard time figuring.

the figures are simple, but difficult because. it will require sound and the wires to accompany. some news. a bit of older. the mirror full of different faces and light. the sky full of things like this.

send word when.
send all the words.