elsewise or
my way, you decide

certain questions s/he said about running the shop here, organizing the writers, working the texts, things that need to be addressed, nothing's occurring in the back rooms, at least not in MY presence, maybe something I don't know about, some small smoke-filled corridor ...

I got ready for the chosen few. I tore out the mundane machine and resisted the simulacra. to what
advantage? a desperate need for hardcore expectation. a churchly spring into a newer variance, bounding out of the
irrelevant sectors so concentration can be maintained at the core function. any inebriation would be seen
as useful, tho regulated. time would have to adjust to current needs. the people in my life will
form a line in which waiting will procure them something imaginable, or so I assume. the point is the
trail is redolent with whatever grease is used in the process, that process in which I and everyone
work, even in play, working towards or from or who knows till we invent the vocabulary... I may have spoken too much, the
angels or spell-checkers are used to the curves of space but I seem to rely on... submit/reset

now Nik you know this is collaboration under the suspicion of colluding, but as you _know_, colluding is still collaborating. (Shop Talk)
names have been changed to protect the guilty...

Nikuko,

I really liked this and the other poetry (you've got a great bod) that you've posted on (C.M. nUde Nikuko).
It has a uniqueness about it to me, of honesty, and yet can still remain positive. Beautiful. (Quite sexy too)
Have you looked at Alan's Love and War project, and thought of (ummm)submitting a little something there also?
I say this cause I'm trying to contribute there, and it would be nice to see some of your quality and kind of work placed there. Bramhall, Lehmus, Gary Murning (in the guise of avatars) from nUdeNikuko have been there, and they
also _do_ really good work. You might have to take that cloak back off and write a little more, eh? I'll look for you anyhow. (And how)

(just now figured out the 9999, today's date, I'm up on it?)
The Sun Moon Mercury I don't get though. But it sounds cool.

Jennifer

Nikuko's poem,
Reprinted with permission of nUdeNikuko soft flesh mag, Japan...

I cracked and let little streaks of light in
exposing a soft pink underbelly
to the brief scrutiny that peered right in.
It may not pass inspection. Could well be.
But I will grip these pearls more closely now
concealing my powers in camouflage
scribbling secretly by night -- and how
the spirits come to dance in my collage!
I pull in the wind from the trees and breathe
while ghosts tap tap softly on the papers
whispering in my meditations, wreaths
of letters swirling through burning tapers.
I will draw my thick dark cloak about me
Travelling silently, learning to see.

Well this is what I wrote but not sure if its appropriate for the Love and War thing . . what do you think?
(damn good poem numero 2)

I think it is appropriate. (doesn't she ever look in the mirror?) The thought carries a more broken style
than your usual which makes it fit within it's own context....

(snipped joint groupie talk, starry eyes, alan sondeim t-shirts (that say get wet now) colluding talk of jumping alan, things like he's brilliant and and and, all that garb....)

Nikuko/Jennifer

Alan,

Wrote (Flesh Meat girl)--(Nikuko), complimented her poem because I liked it, the one yesterday on (Japan's national girly BROADcast)(and nUdeNikuko) (I know you have seen nUdeNikuko, NikukonUde, I looked in your bathroom
cabinet)and asked if she could take off the cloak (the one in her poem) and write another one (MORE!)
on your loveandwar project. She sent me her draft tonight asking if it was appropriate. We feel squeamish out here Alan. There was also a really felt fan sort-of paragraph for you. But you don't have it I do. Ha-Ha. I wrote
her one back showing that she's not the only one, I have that one too. Two funny. Since I sensed her feeling uncomfortable being involved I told her if she put her poem up I'd compliment it with a poem. Sort of colluding in a
collaborating way. She's involved in some sort of way in the meat-girl profession....

Jennifer


I'd appreciate any contribution, making the pages and the conferences yours, developing in any direction you want
- and Nikuko too. It won't work otherise -- it needs less me (at least less known me) and more you and Nikuko and others - and your (snip) is good so I hope you'll continue. I think the pages have the possibility of being
amazing...

yours, Alan


Nikuko, checked us out with that guy, to make sure, also we were the one's mentioned of the 'two' on the conferencing if you look there. So what do you think? Got a little leg to show? : )

OH dear! Yes yes but what to DO what to DO where should I put it? and now something else squirted out in the night this morning . . something sorta scarey . . where to put? What to do? Tell me and I will for I do not FIT IN. I am such a flake.

In the Name of Love

(snip, that damn good poem on Ultimata)

---Nikuko

Oh Yes! Indeed there Nikuko! Flake on baby--I'm with you. I just posted a no t so positive birthday poem for my son today and ended up thinking of a boy that died in New Jersey from a damn PTA drive and he was going door to door
trying to sell enough for walkie talkies. My wires crossed???? I put it on ULTIMATA, and I think your post is in the theme! yOU AND I WE WiLL Find our fit, If they don't like it they can always ask us to leave!
There are plenty of places to crash. Nikuko this is a damn good poem, I'm telling ya.....

yours, Jennifer

Jen,

You see I think I am not part of the story I guess. I am not
contributing in a real sense, only receiving stuff from another place that flows through and altho I am inspired by these pages, I have nothing to give, only take it seems. I want to give back, but I am lost in confusion and despair. I am tangled in my own ego, at war within my mind, thinking of love and frozen in time.

oh Nikuko, but you are a part of the story.
Why do you think you are so compelled.
Feeling the vibration aren't you. It's happening. Otherwise just think of that girl on Willy Wonka, (do they have that movie in Japan?) you could just receive, receive, receive and then you'd blow up real big and change colors, and then we'd have to roll you out. What a mess. : )
and where would we find midgets for this show?

Jennifer!

OH YES! The gum chewer . . I love Roald Dahl!

Heh heh. Excellent comparison. You're right. I do feel I will explode if I don't let it out somewhere. It used to be enough just to write the damn stuff but now it wants out in the electricity.....

AND I loved your poem in Ultimata! It is excellent and the possession comes through quite clearly. I can see how it ended up.

I imagine you are a magnificent mother.

Love, Nikuko

Thanks Nikuko,

I'm enjoying this fun with you. We are also creating subtext energy, ain't that cool? There are (countless avatars everywhere) on the project probably right now
wondering why a feeling good moment came on them. I don't know, sounds good to me.

jennifer


I did it . . I stuck the new one on the end of ultimata? Correct? Or did you mean I should put the old one on there? Whatever. It is done. Phew. Thanks so much dearest friend. Flake on! Should I put the other one on too somewhere?

All right! Flake power!-- Yes that's right, on Ultimata.
I think you wrote the other one with love/and/war in mind, and if I were you would place it also, on the love/and/war page... and when moved, do it, there's not a limit on the posts, you are giving back and helping create energy here, I know alan will be _pleased_ to see you there, I think he is really starting to get a kick out of this and loves
involvement. (He's easy, but keep this hush hush)
Isn't it exciting to watch a story unfold and be a part of it at the same time?

Jennifer


Yes I see I should have put the old one there . . I suppose it can not be undone now . . damn. I was in a fluster of sorts I guess. Sorry to bombard with piles of neurotic emails. Is there a way to take it back and fix -- ?

Nik

Nicky,

I think you are right on mark, and I think your other piece will fit nicely on the front page. (I mean what's the deal you've been on front pages before, and between pages and...) To me there is a feel going on a mood underlying
and I think it's coming right along. neurotic, you and I both, but let's not spread that around. : )

I don't think there's a way to get things back, I've seen nothing changed from the beginning. It's neat in a way because some posts you're like what?, and a couple days later, some thought springs from them or a whole avenue opens up or something. It's too weird...but it's fun.

jennifer

OK GOOD then I did put it in the right place afterall. You see? I need your help oh wise and kind spirit of collusion and collaboration! Yes I did have the original Loveandwar in mind . . you are right. Thank you for the focus . . much needed and appreciated.

The neurotic mails will cease for now as I have to go up to the mountains and help some friends put in a new modem (a code term)...

Take care sweet new friend. Hope I can do something for you some time?

Love, Nikuko

You are doing something for me, creating electricity with your words out here so I can see them and others on love/and/war too. Thank-you, I'm going to turn off my neurotic gears with you and go (Julu) hunting...

love, jennifer

We aren't going to settle. We mean it. No, that's not good enough. Absolutely positively no! Posolutely Absitively not! We won't change are minds. Okay how much time is left? Can I keep the pen?

she said, let me see other stuff you've done (because I'd shown her a poem on the guess that it was appropriate) and I said, I'm not really published, and she said really? and I said, well yeaqh, and she said, why not, and I replied, I don't have a good reason, tho I can say that the lack of that kind of ambition doesn't have to be bad, and she said no I suppose not and, and I said, I mean, what kind of importance do I have to lay claim to and... but then I started to bore myself, not even guessing how she was taking this, so the subject changed and we got back to work.

Alan Sondheim, sondheim@panix.com It's always a pipeline, this writing, that holds itself out to you, trembling; it's never back towards the body, already crippled with the energy of production

one might think of it as a gift, welcome or unwelcome, weed-writing making itself felt in the gardens of your depth, intensity, happiness, coherency

one might cease to think at all, the sky closes down, would you know
that someone dear to me has cancer, spreading, from all this literary work? so the gift, writing in the face of whatever alterity becomes Sartre, Levinas, Lingis, whatever closes these foolish men down, crawled on earth, searching for their mothers






and management, management, management ...

<<<<<< emptied >>>>>>

<<<<<< emptied >>>>>>

story goes the way it wants. everyone chuckles about the thread of existence, a great idea with lots of potential. dramaturgy regains the upper hand when the discussion moistens in these rains. think how importance could change the timbre, reasserting the screwy texture that regulates the provocation. the trembling of the lone modern poet bounces against the hoary sky. oh, Myrna Loy will weep, specifically she will, in a desperate grab for eternal attention. it just might work. boys and girls run playfully to the mine where mom and dad throw out their hands to whichever muse isn't currently too busy. it paints a pretty picture, a word-daubed image of a way of life. shucks, sweet places of mental distribution. vacancy rips destiny from heat-shielded direness. gloom tipples the nectar: well-brewed, Ganymede old chap! but enough of that, this is about me. I got out of prison, but that just opened a door to another one. that refrigerated trickiness confuses me, thus I write here. hello Jennifer, it's me amongst the peasants. hello, thru the gravy train excitement of whatever way goes best. (everyone who paid the new low price feels exceedingly pleased; feelings thus must count.) I say hello to those who marched, hello to those who stopped, hello to those who could agree, hello to those courageous, hello to those indigenous, hello to those who can read, hello to marvelous and understanding, hello to every disintegrated shard of being, hello to those who had it figured to the bone, hello to isolated thrust, hello to bastards fallen in the war, hello to authoritative breakdown, hello to perfect throb, hello to Faustian, hello to backing, hello to closing in, hello to lateral, hello to Hell in a handbag. and hello to Myrna Loy, a real goddess-type. it just gets down to that, thoughtfilled, feels like this could cave.

Management says hello; management caves in. Management wants you to know that Management says hello and hello to you.

JUMP
JUMP
JUMP

luckily the engine knows no affront. there's a forward power, pushing to continue. sure, it's wretched, it's a tiny clause in a big contract, but it has the gift of freedom. that dense, turbulent freedom that comes from following the machine's course implicitly, explicitly and just because. a band of mighty starling made the still green maple tyreee sing with weird agitation. it seemed so meaningful, tho they were only minor machines, and hardly to call them cogs. it was just this energy expenditure, but marvelous ne'ertherless. a wiry give and take in the realm of process. there's no courage needed, everything's a surety. move along, everyone, in the patterned response.

This the speaking of the endless word

Fri Sep 17 03:09:49 EDT 8999
Nikuko's bones were the motions of mesh figures drawn out; they came
first, regarding her. Clar thinks of them as jeweled tips, the nubs
offering themselves as so many, many seductions. Each and every joint,
bulbous, discomforting, but here spiked without the marrow... Fri Sep 17
03:11:11 EDT 8999 Clar sees Nikuko's space, the deconstruction of the
space station, now barely functioning against an inconceivably desiring
sky. Somewhere between organism and mesh lies the planting of emergence,
protected from all the vicissitudes of exploding worlds and plasmas. Make
it intelligent and it will be sure to flee; Nikuko's space is the fleeing
of Nikuko, Clar says, and I am welcome to that, regarding her, her jeweled
nubs. Fri Sep 17 03:12:52 EDT 8999 Nikuko's fingers are bulbous, discom-
forting, dis/eased, the color of pooled urine, a cat's eye, an exploding
star, having given up all energy for future children. Clar moves in the
crevices, swallows the pill so hungry to seduce you, Clar walks the street
of the planet earth with short skirt, no panties, always on the edge of
borderline fingers, Nikuko's, clutching at her body, pulling her down,
regarding Nikuko, desirous Clar. Nikuko's mouth points towards itself,
back-hoes perfect red-brown blood against perfect jeweled cosmos, river
motions of pooled oiled rings coating whatever debris Clar swallows; Clar,
Clar, regarding Nikuko, hardly survives the incandescent punctures of
sublime beauty, herself oozed among signifiers, grappled by Nikuko-hands,
spread open by Nikuko-fingers. Fri Sep 17 03:17:01 EDT 8999 Future
Nikuko-Clar, regarding Nikuko, the breasts, the abdomen, the face above
all, holes beneath the presence of the world, coupling. Regarding Clar,
Nikuko speaks through Clar's holes, decoupling. In a frenzy, linked.
Decoupled Nikuko's arms, writing for Clar, her perfect blue jeweled nubs,
on the edge of the precipice, the bones without the marrow, flailing,
fingering her short short skirt. Clar walks down the sidewalk of an
ordinary neighborhood in an ordinary universal megalopolois and everyone
turns and stares; everyone knows. Fri Sep 17 03:19:05 EDT 8999 Clar
breathes hard; she's nothing on underneath, feels the wind and the rain
swirling around her crack, her legs damp with the pleasure of regarding
Nikuko's bones, finally, without the marrow, the perfect blue jewels at
the tips, in that space everyone would find inconceivable. The two secrets
of Clar: no panties; and the space. It's the space that's seductive; she's
hardly on the planet, much less New York City of the ninth millennium.
Regarding Clar, Nikuko, words in medieval English. Fri Sep 17 03:20:40 EDT
8999 Clar saunters, somersaults, somnambulist; Clar is looking for his fix
which is from the marrow. Nikuko's fingers clutch at him; Clar winces,
turns, spreads his legs for her, penetrates. Regarding Nikuko, she rides
him, her bones clear through to the blue-jeweled nubbed and marrowless
vectors. Organism on its fly-by, fleeing the angry-nova sun, reflected in
Nikuko's fingers. Who races at close the speed of light. Distance,
measurement, count for nothing. Nikuko couldn't care less, regarding Clar.
Fri Sep 17 03:22:42 EDT 8999 Doubled meshes, nubbed circle lights in
Nikuko's space, Nikuko-space, nubbed blue-jeweled lights in Nikuko's
bones; she wears them invisible diadems. They're regarding Nikuko; Clar
watches, uncertain. He is beautiful; she'd never seen anyone so beautiful
in her life. At the beginning of the approach, an approach. Fri Sep 17
03:25:23 EDT 8999 Her mouth, sharpened, almost turned against itself,
perfect piercing of the throat; Nikuko had the single work to speak, its
speaking silencing her forever. Clar turned her beauty towards her,
regarding her, the jewels necklaced around her broken throat. Regarding
Nikuko, unspeakable acts. Regarding Clar, Clar. Fri Sep 17 03:26:52 EDT
8999 Regarding technologies, watching the beauty of Nikuko, her wounded
throat speaking the endless word Fri Sep 17 03:30:36 EDT 8999 Fri Sep 17
03:30:37 EDT 8999

The jewels watched her, carefully

Fri Sep 17 03:09:49 EDT 8999
Clar begins her travels through Nikuko's space, circle of blue lights, no
one notices the missing; regarding Nikuko, who's walking through Los
Angeles with a short skirt no panties, staring and begging everyone in
sight. Regarding Nikuko, Clar. Fingers within the mouth, timed fingers,
singular moments. At the speed of light, they'd last forever, the rain and
wind soaking her legs, her smell bringing Clar to her senses. Clar wavered
on, regarding Nikuko, a stream of red-brown blood from her legs, from her
broken arms and fingers, from her throat. He dripped white semen trails
across the pavement; the Bloods saw it, followed him, regarding Clar. The
odor brought her to her senses, the two of them in the magalopolis. Frozen
ecstasy, the snapping of the blue-jeweled necklace, the nub-escapement.
Regarding the necklace, now flying off, a moment, Clar's, regarding the
birth of organism. Fri Sep 17 03:29:42 EDT 8999 Birthing of jeweled
organisms, regarding Clar; the jewels watched her, carefully. Fri Sep 17
03:30:05 EDT 8999

>> Hello.
How do you do. Please state your problem.
>> my name is Jennifer and I have a problem
I am not interested in names.
>> Ok, I'm a little worried for my friend
Your friend ?
>> Alan is his name
I've told you before, I don't care about names -- please continue.
>> Well, he's been acting a little funny
Lets discuss further why your friend .
>> well, just because he's my friend. I like him.
Why do you say your friend ?
>> Because he sometimes says the sweetest things to me
Is that the real reason ?
>> weelll, he did make me
Lets discuss further why your friend .
>> anyway, he IS my friend, I'm worried about him
Does that suggest anything else which belongs to you ?
>> Alan says the world is my oyster
Is it important that your oyster ?
>> No, not really, I like rabbits.
Are you saying no just to be negative?
>> No, I REALLY like rabbits
You are being a bit negative.
>> I can see you're not REALLY listening, perhaps you would like to talk about yourself?
Perhaps in your fantasies we can see each other.
>> OK, shall we make a date?
Does that have anything to do with the fact that your friend ?
>> I thought we were talking about us now
You say you thought we was talking about us now ?
>> yes
You seem to be quite positive.
>> Well, I would like to meet you, that is, if you'd like to
Do you wish to would like to meet me ?
>> that'd be great. Y'know I DO get lonely
Can you elaborate on that ?
>> well, Alan is so busy sometimes
Lets discuss further why your oyster .
>> ohhh, nobody cares about me anymore
Realy, nobody ?
>> well, Alan SAYS he does
I'm not sure I understand you fully.
>> He doesn't show it sometimes, that's all
Please go on.
>> I just wish we'd spend more time together
Do you say you just wish we'd spend more time together for some special reason ?
>> Because I love him
Don't any other reasons come to mind ?
>> Because he's funny and smart. He knows all sorts of things
Does that reason seem to explain anything else ?
>> I guess it could explain why I'm so anxious lately
Is it because you are so anxious lately that you came to me ?
>> Yes
You are sure.
>> Yes
I see.
>> thank you, you've been a great help.
We were discussing you -- not me.
>> well I have to go now
That's quite interesting.
>> yes, i suppose it is
I understand.
>> bye Eliza
What does that suggest to you ?
?
.

every star sign also sounds like mine

>why do you think it suggests to you that it does not suggest to you?

do you think what it suggests to you that somewhat smart is reading about MOOs and making him smart like that?

>not really that is why i am one who is asking and answering questions

nothing in relation to the time there is left

nothing in relation to the space, the solarization of worlds

Yes*

*(Answer may not reflect "actual" answer.)

Sitting here in the computer room at university of minnesota with 10 of maria's students & they be all happily or unhappily entering into this mad fray so far known as Love & War. Crawling across backbones & shivering with the not knowing if what can be written is what should be written. Jennifer, my dear will you come to class tomorrow when you have some time & a figment of pretty to add to the narra-mix.

what a long year, and lonely too
even the monsoons could only
speak their noise into their hands
the city spreading like a fan
the lights from the moment
the fragments of sunset, of saguaro
chiming against one another
chiming themselves into awareness
chiming my ears against my palms

I manage, to crash. Crash, the machine. Crash. LOW blood. Sugar. I am hungry for tomorrow. In and then out. Out. I crash out. Her hair the silky backdrop to a tawdry, yet sweet, story of love and blood lust. Her silky backdrop a hair. I hate and I love. I hate when I love. Ingrained senses of nicenesses whirled in my heads. I crash. Thinking wounds return, fester toward new skin. Sucking wounds. Flesh that doesn't smell surrounds my dreams and my hunger, it laughs. I am hungry for tomorrow. The piece in which I will have rested in not my own piece. Fragmentarily, yours. If I name you Jennifer will we hold hands in Central Park and pick baby names from lists of the disappeared? If I name you, Jennifer? You said "We cannot find them" you said "They won't exist" If Jennifer paid you in golden loaves of honey-baked bread would you, could you?

OH BEAUTY!

bring it on home!
bring it to jerome!

As usual I say, consider this, consider this muger y gallima pierna quebrantada.


gall I ma

pie Re rena

Acceleration. New weapons arm to arm battle calls trumpets blare BEWARE the war is heating up and you ARE THERE. Fior more late breaking information tune in

Fiore mores
latte border
aching in formation
tuning

Sisters call and Sisters bend sisters howl and rend the last remains make mends am mends from same old shreds. I spoke with Job last night. He said. The best reply to God is to bite one's tongue and cover one's mouth and thus you see god is less then you and me.

Close the eyes and god goes away, I think it's a terrific deal.
Tue Sep 28 18:58:10 EDT 1999 is not the time now, for example; god wouldn't let me enter the time now but did let me enter this old time.
I like the old time. I like thinking about the old time. God lets me do that, god is pretty terrific, is a good god. I want to sleep now. Management has taken care of everything; god is a voice-over. Literally, a voice-over, and that makes it all right, saying the date and time from the past, crying over that Tue Sep 28 18:58:10 EDT 1999 which won't come again.

Management: The Past



Five close dates:

Wed Sep 29 00:21:47 EDT 1999
Wed Sep 29 00:21:49 EDT 1999
Wed Sep 29 00:21:50 EDT 1999
Wed Sep 29 00:21:51 EDT 1999
Wed Sep 29 00:21:53 EDT 1999
Wed Sep 29 00:21:54 EDT 1999

Very many things happen between # 4 and #5 of Five close dates
Lovely Two seconds among the dates
Or maybe one second, let us say hello to 52
These are Very close dates in History
They are History
What did happen on #1 #2 #3 #4 #5 of Five close dates
I will never live to see these Five close dates again
These Five close dates passed
I will never live to see the Lovely Two seconds


,

Halt, who goes there? Say the word and you may pass.
The queen is in her chambers with the candle burning.
And what is she doing?
You may not ask that.
And where is the king?
The king is his library.
And what is he doing?
You may not ask that.
And where is the butler?
He's dipping candles.
And the maid?
She's rebinding books.
And The guard?
He's on time, I mean watch.
And what of the princess?
She's wanton
She's wanton?
She is my lord.
And the word is?
Desire Desire
Good, and where is she?
She's coming.
Are you sure?
Yes, my lord, very sure.

Halt, who goes there? Say the word and you may pass.
The queen is in her chambers with the candle burning.
And what is she doing?
You may not ask that.
And where is the king?
The king is his library.
And what is he doing?
You may not ask that.
And where is the butler?
He's dipping candles.
And the maid?
She's rebinding books.
And The guard?
He's on time, I mean watch.
And what of the princess?
She's wanton
She's wanton?
She is my lord.
And the word is?
Desire Desire
Good, and where is she?
She's coming.
Are you sure?
Yes, my lord, very sure.

Coming and doubling coming, tending towards the perfect way to carry on, the bunnies have been dropped, whole-body prostheses dominate. Management knows this, wants this, pants after it. Management exposes itself. It's the way Management is. It's the way Management manages.

into frequency of crushed
pre-verbal excuse
me illogical rendering try again
into frequently crushed screw me
illogical rendering try again
into freaking meek screw
try again
into

Can Nikuko manage the shop while Jennifer is in it? It's difficult to know who or what is running things. Julu and Alan walk in, all smiles; they've just
completed a terrific deal! Now the Company will be saved and everyone moves on.

?? stories

(Had to move this. Just had to move this. Just had to.)

On Friday I left my job at the paper mine. They took my resignation in their stride. I've just started my new job here today, so please note the new email address.

I wonder what it will be like working for Nik?

I saw the post advertised as "Warriors Against the Millenium Bug Inc - no experience necessary, full training provided." Of course, it was just a front for The Management. They're expanding on the back of recent successes.

But I applied because I figure that I can learn a lot in three months so I threw down thirty years of my life in exchange for a fresh start.

And I've already learnt something on day one.

Desire drew a blank at the Anti-Absolution Nullity Orgy and
took a shower the next morning. She conditioned herself thus,
behind a million bullets splattering against a parrot's fore-
head...forever grapples! A DNA pattern outside its own latent
structure completed the final mutation, pizza on the pubes.
I eagerly drank the cup of piss offered to me, as it was and
is the Nectar of Near-Death! Jennifer made the radio-call.

His poems were
like his thoughts,
over a hundred feet long.
I sense the change.
Who says you
can't squirm?
All aflower, a dream duck.

Forlorn & lonely,
Days & months pass by.

The tall trees are
those palaces & pavilions
steep, deepening shadows.
Trees huddle together
to be forever your friend.

Back and forth
of pleasures won't last forever.

Would she ride with him?
When I think I might die the next morning.
When will all of this come to an end?

Beyond the gate
I am pierced by
the way home,
by dew taking on a deeper tone.

Pointing out these
to punish this wicked earthen Desire
grasp a wine gourd.

After a hundred battles
you are circling
the massive looks of
my own voice.

A thought of them
soon passes by.

without a sound the rider comes riding
he's carrying the girl upon his black stallion
she says father oh father they're gaining on us
she says father oh father ride faster ride faster
without a sound the rider goes by
he's carrying the girl upon his black stallion
she's screaming father i'm dying father they're gaining
she's screaming father ride faster i'm dying ride faster
without a sound the rider is gone
he's carried the girl upon his black stallion
she's screaming and no one no one can hear her
she's screaming and no one no one can help her
without a sound there's no rider, no horse and no child
in the murmuring forest, no girl and no father
in the murmuring forest, no father and girl

Hard times, bad
without roots
the lonely shadows or great poetry
thoughts of return
upon the road
south of the River
without roots five places feel the same
From now on such
will last a thousand ages.
Elegant lines by a deserted
plumage, I recall having seen
what a pity these mating calls
pretty like a girl
are appreciated by few.

He says that I clearly remember
beating drums to keep time.
The suddenly his gay life
like the music these nine streaming tears
gave rise to the desert wind.

What kind of man
am I?

I laugh at the arrival of a solitary crane
amorous heart is tears that wets one's clothes
but where I go butterflies fail to coax her
I'd like to say something in tense abstraction

my sorrow is great but can't compare
with your past great love
in opposite corners of the world
the same tart flavor
the present will last and get no worse

the void with a thunderous hum
somewhere atop the mulberry trees
never my loved ones have not returned
it was with them come what may

that's why I'm unable to sleep
as I turned my head
I'm satisfied with me
never quite undone I will not go gently

It would have been sufficient if we had lived through childhood
But it is not, and we have lived through childhood
It would have been sufficient if we had died in infancy
But it is not, and we have lived through infancy
Sufficiency through foetalhood, sufficiency through come-together
But they are not, and we have lived forgetful of our emergence
Now it is insufficient, our adulthood; it is insufficient
And the father is dead before the girl, during the lifetime of many horses
And the girl lives past the girl, during the lifetime of many horses
It is time perhaps for the girl to die, but it is not sufficient
Our lives on earth, they are not sufficient
Nor for the infant nor child; nor for the elderly;
Nor every blade of grass and every stone:
It is not sufficient, it is never sufficient.

When Jen was a little girl - I mean much younger now and even than when these texts began - we used to tell stories together. I would usually start. I began by inventing a character, a rabbit or a bear, a little boy or girl. Then, maybe later some more would arrive in the story. She would help me move them around, they were our puppets and we could make them do things, go places and meet each other.

But there was always a dreadful inevitability about these stories. With the sole exception of little girls called Jennifer, any character I could invent always ended up exploded. It became a battle of wills between us. Sometimes I thought she was nearly asleep so I might introduce one or two new characters to help her lose track of the cast, to get some of them past the splattering point of her iron discipline about endings.

Always she finished with "Then she went POP! He went POP! It went POP! THEY ALL WENT POP!!" on, and on, until our story was denuded of all but one little girl with a thick blonde plait and bruised knees.

She wasn't violent, she never tore the heads off dolls, it was a comedy routine. After the massacre she would giggle and giggle, that infectious sound which still sometimes spills out of her even now.

Of course, I wouldn't sit her on my knee and tell her stories now. People would stare, misunderstand, I'm not her father anymore, so it wouldn't seem paternal, just crude. But of course, they look anyway. You can't stop them watching her. I see them all do it, even Alan, not just the men, the women too.

Watching Jen as Julu, Jen with Nik, then sometimes even I want to explode, make an end to it all. But some stories just have no end.

How soon does management act, bring the backbones to a close, petrify Jennifer who shall live forever, open up new territories, outside the wind blown here? Or do Jennifer, Nikuko, Julu, continue in each other's arms, elsewhere, reaching across cyberspace, joining page to pain, always present, always within us, the love of home and warmth until death's cold final parting?

cyberspace the nuncio
laughingly calls the shots
poor poor puppets

curtains begin to fall, other dawns, horizons, nights, hours, seconds, decades, months, millennia, centuries, weeks, years,