I love everything falling. This is wonderful Allen.
-Peter Ciccariello
http://invisiblenotes.blogspot.com/
-----Original Message-----
From: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
To: WRYTING-L@LISTSERV.WVU.EDU
Sent: Fri, 4 Aug 2006 11:49 AM
Subject: jerking goshawks from the sky
fortunate breathing mechanism assists us where air thins into endless
space. thin air documents a time of loss. we collect ourselves in the
machined elegance of contained effect. this bottle of nothing but our
potential breath serves to remind us of where the end might lie.
assuming ends lie, which seemingly we all believe. but what if the
thinness of oxygen import drives Tom Cruise to earth too soon: how
disappointed will his alien mentors be? and how about life-of-dream
Paris Hilton studded with glamourlessness for having safety in cash
savings as an integrity module? doesn't she realize that oil fields
burp funding for anything you wish to do, you being emblematic of
everything that ought to associate Paris Hilton with life, you ninny.
life isn't careless, it follows logical ups and downs until the
mountain loses its perplexing savour and we follow the final geologic
root. those lovely alien space craft, as fleeting as desperate glory,
create the right landmines. they allow the future of hating to accept.
anyone left after the perfect landmine should expect loss of a limb or
two, as apt compensation for rivers full of hydro-carbons. the numbers
can be tweaked later, the point is how surveyors keep rereading the
vitality of Everest's altitude. is the summit really up there or is it
way up there? how can one tell? here's our studious link, in which we
drive toward a semaphore. Paris Hilton is lovely if a frail version,
and Tom Cruise is vital, which means handsome. associate both their
names with names in general, and with plausible exploits, and with the
integrity of rolling down slopes. the aliens that have parked above the
highest peak, inside a jetstream-instigated cloud of snow, with strings
attached to our most plangent caprices, are mighty busy just hovering.
we can't all hover, tho, some of us must fall. the preparations for
Nepalese fall, and Tibetan fall, and Hezbollah fall, and Al-Qaeda fall,
and Name-Supplied-Later (you know it is coming) fall. strip the data
with massive bomblike principles. do you wish to be a part of that? can
you plushly divide zero? hunting thru the atmosphere for some
semblance, remaining kind or simple or stellar, the weather really
jolts. a climber stops somewhere too far, becoming perfectly an
example. freezing inside and out, the crush of facts form a hope for
sleep, easeful sleep. pick up pieces of the life turned, leave the
crusted body as an effect for future generations, love on. dying such a
death, redeemed by idealogues of hopeful behaviour, stretching out in
the pliant snow and rocks, oh Reader, you are not paying attention. why
is that?
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