every day is a good day
black iced coffee
one by one
life (a life)
epistolary indeed, too much
[From an unexpected source.]
In the middle.
The middle of.
Not the ocean — an island.
charming & distinctive
a tattered flag
green stupa bottle
— “Dear S,” says the letter. “S!” says the reply. Two S’s in momentary conversation with each other.
“It loves to happen.”
— Dear S, Someone said a part of your name, and I remembered you.
Where do you find yourself reading letters?
Standing in the street with a phone in hand. Broadway below Houston, half-sitting on the deep windowsill shelf of a store.
Character is situation.
A light rain.
— Dear S, A lover, once.
Then, in a familiar coffee place off the Bowery, really reading.
— Dear S, And now a professor, and married in another country.
— & Dear S (the other S), Here, writing back, writing.
an upright bass
a cloud of red hair
a horn sounding
only orange (shades of)
— Dear S, I do not say these things.
Something else entirely.
& the everythingness.
a tilt of the head
a name, repeating
blue water bottle
sometimes all night
“We must see more than facts.”
Skipping and glitching.
Everything becomes this.
The growl of a boat.
Blue towels on the line.
A month past.
Lunch with an old girlfriend.
Read forwards or backwards equally.
On the deck of Tiny’s, leaning towards each other over the red checked tablecloth. A seared cod sandwich, a BLT.
things done only once
no more information is needed
Eyes meet in parting.
Seen from a distance.
full of fantasy
Itself, and the idea of itself.
“Yves Klein’s leap.”
Sea birds seen from a plane window, flying low at the water’s surface; white against a green-black sea ruffled by wind.
Jade waxy sea, dimpled wave patterns.
Stubby wing of the plane against the horizon.
A problem of feeling.
There is no place where the wing of the airplane stops and the sky begins.
Pixels on a screen.
Should we all go? All go all beyond?
“Gate gate! Paragate! Parsamgate! Bodhi svaha!”
smell of sawdust
a pain pill
A catalyst, a muse.
Only in conduct is there expression.
A painful and beautiful constraint.
In a meeting, in a church,waiting in the pews, green velvet bench cushions.
A song, once listened to obsessively, played over the church speakers.
It’s easy to be sad.
Gilded floral art nouveau patterns almost hide the design of the cross.
“It had been raining but It had not been raining.”
“No one could begin to mop up this particular mess.”
“Thunder lay down in the heart.”
“‘My child, I love any vast electrical disturbance.'”
— & D, I am reminded of the difficulty of beginning.
Sitting in the plastic chairs at the Josef Albers symposium.
— & D, Choices made at the beginning become aesthetically significant.
— & D, Even without intention.
Squares within squares of color projected on the screen.
The mind drifting.
Daydreaming about daydreaming.
“I have seduced you…” says Albers.
Ways of listening to lectures as ambient fields of language that allow certain kinds of thought to take place.
Sound as ocean. Ocean as sound.
Also as opportunities for making. Also as opportunities for meta-thought and anthropological study.
Weather of the other.
Weather of the self.
taped down the
it opens and closes
like a book
sites that have been
taking the scissors
cutting them up
warp and weft
that would be removed
“We only really become an ‘I’ if we are there with and for others. ‘I’ is the one to whom someone says ‘you.'”
“The crucial thing about such a dialogic reordering of society, about this “dialogic life” (Buber), is its playfulness.”
Anni Albers giving away her looms.
Sound of wet streets.
It cannot be entered into the record fast enough.
He loved her once.
A principle of nonseparation – one work moves freely into another. The rule of separation is an outmoded aesthetic.
The rain turning to snow as the sky darkens. Cold hands. Looking over the river, fumbling the photograph.
Walking towards the Hauptbahnhof.
“…a listening for the dictation of the material.”
Music of the trains.
Enthusiasm, which is music.
to use black
the color was forbidden
not to use black
rich solid blacks
a rented room
Standing outside the self.
“ATEMPORAL ZONE: The representation of eternity in every minute: uchronia for utopia.”
Not for, before.
Anni told Josef that pasture was the opposite of future.
Stitching forward and backward.
Long sunset over Reykjavik.
what you say
a bit insecure
learning a language