Wednesday, December 22, 2010

harmonic precession (notes)

  • new grass through late snow
  • an error of 1/1000 of a second in the GPS time differential between satellite and receiver will result in a position displacement of up to 160 miles

the insect attack rate is the frequency at which you feel the departure of your fetch in the mornings out through the cracked green glass across the fields sweeps of rain grey like dead skin in a ditch long as Lustig beating with a hammer a devil in a bag it all circles in scatters of film penetrating the membrane the blows from without hair like corn trodden full of ergot a body found there in the tyre ruts flat and black and dispirited

[your currency is no longer legal tender here it is not intrinsically devalued just not desired, which is the same thing when the hammers ring and the corncrakes sing] when the mummer time is coming & the streets are softly keening all around the booming weather will we grow


her absence of inhibition does not indicate sexual intimacy only the loss of all acknowledgement of you as a mature male you are now in some overlapping Venn category with small children and animals and houseplants so why should she notice if she is semi-naked before you?

this requires an adjustment that only a few only a few people find impossible

Hwæt! if there is no life left in this brass god if another front gathers from the west if the cold wet air mass has overtaken and occluded the preceding relative warmth forcing it upwards into lumps and spikes depicted in iso-violet convention

between the hit or miss governor and the cones are three aluminium valves each resembling a round Greek shield in miniature each functioning as the mouth of a tiny god from which issue steam and several more or less toxic gases

hollow hollow all the beaten bag sounds from that dry devilskin

hot coals forced down the throat of the wolf in that mechanised myth

hollow hollow

imagine her there imagine the shift the sensation of it legs apart knees raised as for congress or delivery beneath the covers slide into focus the eclipse the usurpation the sudden brightness of a new comet all the pieces of you rain invisible as ash falling at night into wet fields your bag full of silver puffs out red spores

and if this is that as their white bellies flop in the shallows

then down & around & below & O all the bells of the barrelling Dead


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