San Jose Travel Blog› entry 14 of 47 › view all entries
in Costa Rica
yer missive arriving this watershed week. me tossing my academic career down the institutional john. programme meeting from hell--shit stuff--me inserting many appendages in my mouth at once--enmity incurred from various manipulative faculty say la v. no?
yer exodus a model & inspiration: me realizing academe is the death of writing. Figure on playing this year for economic spurs--then, bam. this boyz history. o g. do this sound familiar? hunh?
Gayle i love books, love reading, but what's up with my life's got nothin to do w/ this.
and yer hand searching out
the pads of my fingers. yer
lips yer smiles & tongue.
Spanish? hablos? a good lingo?
& are you in-spired by the heat? me wishing to be there in the inspiration.
the blue lines on this page not yer page a banner furrows leader lines heads of them will you get this there?
o got no here (yes) at all
this negative i have of you on the floor
in a white robe in a yellow light
w/ smoke rings dancing in my
my friend Auggie once wrote:
"memory stinks like a good marinara sauce"
O yes it does
a crazy wor(l)d
and Gayle knowing you t(here)
t(h)inking bout the same fiction
is both a bloodscore and a blowfish
pois-on-us sushi aphrodisiac
& heart symphony
no word game could explain this thing i want to chune on you
& how about the night-times (t)here? places to lay a body down and see a cosmology?
the stars died in toronto the day barrie nichol died--the lights in the saints' eyes snuffed
cause cloud-hidden cried
noone to write her (here) no more
this is my martyourology. an old st. i never new explained with you --looking to cloud-town & seeing no thing on a cold autumnal t.o. eve.
outside hart house i had this revelation
holding you close a dervish
i'm in hart house now this is my here (de-stabil-ized) & collective memory
--the music for us to dance to cascading out the old brick & ghosting
there is a mythology to this place i won't efface or face now
christ i'm babbling, sorry.
i miss your/our s(k)in & i thank you for that:
take me no wrong way how a cryptogram might take you
reed tween the line
We are so often drawn to love stories. It's second nature. And I've even got the element of sleaze for mine, I suppose: as I was writing Michael, I was planning to meet Jeff. Sure, things were complicated, but I figured "Hey, they knew about each other, so everything's above board right?" With each word, each story told, another is somehow (impossibly) both concurrent and excluded.