By virtue of the ongoing coverage: Of the Moving of Our Octogenarian

Had I known how prominently this topic’d sustain, I’d have included the following video, edited by me for brevity and so as not to give it all away. It is an excerpt from K8’s The Line, the Cross & the Curve (sorry, I canno’ bring myself to link to Amazon) that features Lindsay Kemp.


A dvd of Flowers can be purchased here, a much poorer quality viewed here.

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Stranger Moving

A most noteworthy octogenarian has moved
(out or up is anyone’s guess
in spite of what they might profess).
The bodies that he did possess are numerous

and moving on…

like we who’ve heard by way of name
it’s something something Bowie Bush –
for those who’d thought they knew his game
it’s Ziggy’s Spiders he did push.

I will not deign to’ve seen him move
right up until the end, and still
going from day into evening, and now
peacefully still at night.

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KT=6D!

Archangel wittingly bewitching believing non-believer. Why not not? Wherewithal’s what without wanting where we will’t.

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In the daily diary form I could ramble such that the text would resemble reams of computer code without line breaks. Most practising diarists, I reckon, organise what they’re thinking into a relatively more coherent topical form than that, even if what lands on the page isn’t necessarily comprehensive in scope or scale.

For example as regards the previous paragraph’s comparison (or maybe to demonstrate that point), just prior to typing it I had undertook the task of taking rubbish down to the bins. After a glance at the shoes on the floor inside my apartment door, I opted for the few steps back into my bedroom where I would find the pair I preferred to wear, which led to seeing that I had yet to grab the keys, followed by the thought that it was good thing I decided on the other shoes, whereupon a second voice in my head rejoined that I’d have probably remembered the keys regardless.

The fact that the voice was in the second person, as the voices of my imagination not infrequently are, became an issue of intermittent preoccupation as I was descending the four flights of stairs to the courtyard and back up again. The significance of this fact is another thing of which I have long taken notice, which is that friends have a tendency to try to talk me out of what I believe to be a meaningful empathetic position. It is an innocent tendency insofar as it usually has to do with encouraging me not to burden myself unnecessarily, and often it is only just that. When this encouragement however forms the argument that someone in the third person need not receive from me what I’d expressed as fair treatment, it dips to the depth of demon in disguise and I sometimes wonder if we people carry in us the constant potential of unwitting polluters of pure intention projected out of unconscious envy or other bedeviling most deeply dastardly.

As regards the second voice, and from a purely practical standpoint, it’s better to maintain the belief that I need to remember my keys than it is to assume I always will.

__

Hap e-BRTHdae, Comrade 🦁❤️!

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Der Parkbank Pinkler: Rückreise

„Das Leben läuft Krebsgängig.“

—Friedrich Wilhelm SALM Rolfe
.<

Insofern als ich nicht hierzu hätte umhin kommen können, ist es ziemlich bemerkenswert, von meiner Warte aus beunruhigend, dass ich es mehr oder weniger fünfundzwanzig Jahre lang umhinkam. Was mir in dieser Zeitspanne entgangen war, war von mir im Besitz: ein Buch, genauer gesagt, eine Kurzgeschichte, gedrückt inmitten einer Sammlung davon; das Vierteljahrhundert — währen das Buch mit mir zusammen reiste oder im Regal stand, wo auch immer ich ein Bücherregal besaß, in Taschen gesteckt war oder bei Mme Natascha in einer Kiste ihrer Keller, als ich mir noch vorstellen könnte, meine Natascha nach zu holen, sollte ich denn dazu irgendwann mal wieder in der Lage sein — hat nun ein jähes Ende genommen, wennschon im drei steigenden Stücken.

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D. Tale

Damage of self-esteem, trigger of spirit-negating melancholia, your least best backlash’s felt through forensics, though if you ask the priests of primal portent, there’re inborn demons daring to creep out thru this portal inopportune, though a demon’d say’t the other way. They’d say somebody’d had it coming, somebody else, to de-stroy their hosts, and foremost their host’s sacrifices.Still another expression is of a voice for each victim — each devil’s deal done with a deed to wing or exorcised flying. Fact-finding takes sacred care of substantive reverberations, a distinction however controversial outside confines of active pursual & passive acceptance. Accepted science says sense-making certainties no matter how uncertain who. Who? Who?

 

Ain’ no unseen hand raisin’ boats.

To look long of breath & breadth’s eventual to spy
It’s the dough what prevents the apportionment of pie
If worthy of substance, to savor and share
It dries up, while what’s dry’s eaten everywhere

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