I AM OVER SATISFIED BY NOTHING!

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

I am appalled by the killing man
The immobility of the mountain has disappeared into the wide trees
Found a home in the cattle garden where dead bones of rusting machines wither reddish lobster shells filled with lights beams
Oh a furrow in your brow my math has gotten stuck in some kind of halfway concussion
Confusion
For our times so promising

posted by Alexander 10:23 AM

Thursday, December 19, 2002

A mouth pressed against nothing will go on.
posted by Alexander 3:14 PM

Things are leaking out of my heart
posted by Alexander 3:11 PM

Thursday, December 12, 2002

To come out from the form of traditional marksmanship and pull the hat off
Tumbling in the reworking of pure nudity
the extraordinary moment when the body is not belittled by it hangings.
Like the film The Gleaners and I goes on
in its French saboteur reduction of our careless everyday to show we pour out smoke from the stack and do not see the making of birds and blessing cold handless clocks with the forethought that a celery scrap can be brought to stove with a flair for the underground grass
rethinking the pastry source of all its people.
Now I will ware a green hat made from discarded apple leaves
Knowing not to trust that all those that I have discarded belong in any place that I understand but stand upon.
Yes, God blessed the ground.

posted by Alexander 8:56 AM

Monday, September 16, 2002

I wild alone
My eyes dream death
My heart is gone
What hope is this?
In hopelessness
I dream


posted by Alexander 12:26 PM

Friday, September 13, 2002

In the midst of verbal defection
I am given to red paperwork
Houses full of secret entryways rooms hidden by hanging milk jars



posted by Alexander 1:33 PM

Thursday, September 12, 2002

perhaps fear is a worthless thing
posted by Alexander 9:57 AM

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

Flames in my mouth I am at a standstill with what you have told me
I will press my ear to hear now what I was missing
And hope that our parting will become a new way to listen

posted by Alexander 4:16 PM

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Quote from Dylan Thomas..."I first saw the light and screamed at it in a loud hump of Wales.... and of course my writing would not be what it is.. if it had been for the immortal fry of the town in which I simmered up...My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out. I never could have dreamt there were such goings-on, such ice-blasts of words, such love and sense and terror and humbug, such and so many blinding lights breaking across the just awaking wits and splashing all over the pages...It was then in my father's brown study before homework...that I began to know one kind of badness, one kind of goodness. I wrote endless imitations though I never at the time of writing thought them to be imitations but rather colossally original, things unheard of, like eggs laid by tigers...I tried my little trotters at every poetical form...But what does it matter? Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry pickle, be silent, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. All that matters is the eternal movement behind it, the great undercurrent of human grief, folly, pretension, exultation and ignorance... -Dylan Thomas (From introductory remarks to the reading he gave M.I.T July 3,1952.)


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