1.10.16




Stravinsky said I had only my ear to help me; I heard and I wrote what I heard. I am the vessel through which The Rite (of Spring) passed.

he was getting a lot of that recently reading it hearing it

he said it  wrote it   deferred to it


vessel



it sounded nice



a vessel(vassal eruiopted in his ears  someone accusing him)(he even looked around for who may have howled it  his eyes falling on his housecat who wandered into the study out the hallway)
Givin me a hard time indie

oblivious indie continued in up to him then jumped up into his lap and laid down

every cat he ever had preferred his lap  and when there were five in the houseWHEN he was left with five cats he literally had to dole his lap out and it wasnt unlike them once he set them down they begrudged him and went around to the end of a nonexistent line  though a line it was

always first up was Stormy the dame  

she was the runt of her litter and he might have called her a runt if they all werent
but they were
each and every one
Storm Smellycat Bajus Puka Tigger
he came home from work and the cattery that was their house adopted another without asking him or for his input argument or benediction   

then what is now that bitched common precept  It is what it is  that spat-harangue he wished had a neck so he could grab it by its throat and choke and shake it to death


Yes    I resent it  


it was what it was as long as he didnt have to share his bed with them


and he didnt



though very curiouslyand hed admit as much   indie slipped into bed or beat him to bed at night and he didnt mind
Whaddafuck was that

maybe because he was one animal  and he wasnt the runt

his sister Lo was the runt and their first-time mother Link took off with her the second day Lo was alive

the next door neighbours little girl found Lo three days later dying nestled in some ivy groundcover under bushes not twenty meters from their house

out of cat earshot


Link cared for her other three kittens extremely well 

he supposed Los abandonment was simple animal logic  indie and his remaining sister and brother Sevvy and Bentley benefited by Los exclusion  a lost cause is lost cause  big brains are antagonised by simple premises  their emotions aroused

he took Lo from the little girl set her in his lap(as undoubted she would prefer) and sat with her until she died a couple of hours later

Arent you going to take her to the vet the little girl asked tears in her eyes

No 

You wont save her

No

Why wont you save her

Because something inside her is wrong  And while this seems cruel(A learning lesson passed in his thoughts) this is only another aspect of living and Life

Shes going to die

She is


she mumbled over her weeping And you wont save her

I am not stepping in between what Los mother did according to her instincts  I accept her decision




maybe it was because he could accept an animals decision that he was benefited being a vessel a creative


a hearer of words occurring to him from somewhere



1116,  Saturday,  1 10. 16
   

30.9.16



as soon as you put a camera on someone you take them out of who they are


people are coerced

theyre skinned alive

worse-cases  theyre eviscerated by the devises that record them



in his ‘81 interview by Paris Review writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez said The problem is that the moment you know the interview is being taped your attitude changes . . . I immediately take a defensive attitude

then his created-attitude is reflected in his spoken words                                                                    
and then again in his words to print


a cameras cold eye opens and captures reality              

No
   the moment you know youre being filmed(reality television  off-camera coercion by directors and writers  --  because reality must have directors and writers  --  horseshit) youre acting

nevertheless that reality has been gobbled up for more than a generation(a degeneration he called it) by . . . by . fuck it!by Gobblers   no tastebuds   no nose   blinkered (Darbys dose comes to mind)( No You can look it up  Also see Thomas Thistlewood )

he wasnt keen on Gobblers or those aspects of the Internet the Book of Faces and all the rest trotted out  Menu items 

he tried hard to fly low  low   How low can you go*Limbo  under their prying and prioritised radar(a second horseapple) which made him wish there were Victory gardens yet(considering the Long War they were in) so he too as his father and uncle did could speed to the cobblestone street with a shovel in hand and scoop up the warm plops dray horses dropped behind the ice vegetable and delivery wagons they pulled


he was perturbed that anonymity was a casualty of this

perturbed that his privacy was deemed unimportant and that everyone should either have a right to him or he should be forthcoming with the cast of characters(tagging) and settings he interacted with and among

Shakespeare did warn him  All the worlds a stage And all the men and women merely players

still  he thought these circumstances would likely astonish the prophetic Bard


a small voice inside his head asked Marquez Shakespeare Victory gardens Long War horseapples  people knew what those were  right      



if they didnt

hed inform them   

pith them
       snag-hooked burred pithy bits that he could pass off as inane harmless  a dribble that stained their shirtfronts
Whas that That there
Oh that Thats Rimbaud    

he had access to them via a cashiers mundane interaction of taking their money for vice

he could talk until their purchase was sacked and they escaped out the automatic doors

he busied them abruptly as they approached the counter so they wouldnt conceive of the cameras overhead filming them that they remained who they were
if only for that moment
                   immutable


Thank you

Youre welcome (not that they knew what he did for them  because he selfishly did it for himself)



1757,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  28  9. 16
0930,  Friday,  30  9. 16

* Chubby Checkers  Limbo Rock  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgCHOrF5ryY

"All the world’s a stage, / And all the men and women merely players; / They have their exits and their entrances, / And one man in his time plays many parts, / His acts being seven stages. At first, the infant, / Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms. / Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel / And shining morning face, creeping like snail / Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, / Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad / Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier, / Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, / Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, / seeking the bubble reputation / Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice, / In fair round belly with good capon lined, / With eyes severe and beard a formal cut, / Full of wise saws and modern instances; / And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts / Into the lean and slippered pantaloons, / with spectacles on nose and pouch on side; / His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide / For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, / Turning again towards childish treble, pipes / And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, / That ends this strange eventful history, / Is second childishness and mere oblivion, / Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."