Distribution Automatique

Tuesday, June 17


Douglas, the May reading,
magic, a top hat, a high
table, the stage, the two
crystal balls (one a bit
smaller than the other), doves
flying out of my hands
towards the audience,
a blurb in artspeak,
families, en Famille,
Steve Clay, an explosion
of events so that all
are seen at once as in
a tarot reading. But the
families were in cubicles and its
the cubicles that exploded, an
implosion in the gene pool,
each getting into the act,
one by naming them, for example: (Bob,
Beryl, Michael, Toni on
the beach). A heterodox
instrument, this remembering,
which is always nothing more
than thinking back to a previous
moment, that pleasantly
didactic touch, where
words not only meant
something but touched each
other as well. Yes, there *is* such a
thing as saying a
name for the pure thrill of knowing
the person, sheer incandescence
of individuality, neon personas.
Back to the specific moment,
the specific person being a
specific mass of material
in a specific time and place.
There is an admixture of
molecules for sure, an
utterance that breaks
down class distinctions
into various manifestions
of family gatherings. Up close,
from another perspective "in your
face," the personalities merge to
create the human version of
a dwelling. A moment in a
dance also divides
into an infinite spread
of specificities. "Orange
is open"- the words appear,
so to speak (to speak so).
"Afterwawrds" is a "conglomerate."
Might be one manifestation.
Spills and thrills, riding
full speed straight out into the

Adjacency is not in question,
just as there is not a pause
in pronouns.

Again, why do the light
particles glittering on the
waves pose a question? Yes,
yes, I realize everything fits together
in order to subdivide. Every moment
is a kind of copying or
documentation. The place going
by in the clouds so sputtery
and small is another familiar
speck we greet hello to (and learn to tolerate).

(Taking notes for the next
Millenium, a spark and sputter
and the caw of a gull,
grateful for the sun not a
cloud in the sky. Hot. Very
hot. Summer hot.)

Yes, I noticed the way
my sputtering on about that annoyed Anochka,
and the way she disguised it so tactfully (Every word,
every time, a specific encompasses
memory, so maybe the
memories are stored in

So that when they implode,
or when the memory
subdivides infinitely, (yes,
again, all three temporal
registers are invoked.)
everything building up to this
and ending with this,
destabilizing numerous
professional identities, what
a quack, what a caw,
a doctor, a shaman,
a poet, a magician,
a thief, a thief of ttime
that is, it's the only way.
Trying to stop time, at least
trying to slow it.

Supplies of time, supplies for
time, matador of time, so
delicately must I brush its
horns, for if I miss I will
be, I mean, if you are
already wondering if I'm
full of bull, there will be
no question if I miss, did
miss, or will miss what
will happen to me...


Like a dream, you can only
feel the beach by falling into
it. The sun presses on your
skin, the wind pushes
against it insistently, but
now gently.

The decided miracle
in a small event. Time:
the miniscule containing everything.

Douglas: Bill Simon
suggests you get supply
display cards for the Green
Integer Books. Barnes + Noble
lost the copy they received
for Bill, claiming it fell
behind a shelf.

"In a bureacracy such as
this there is little value in
befriending the important and
powerful. They will watch
you all the more closely."

The ears of the powerful.
Whose ears?

What if they restrain
you even more?

One character cringes.

One character believes he can get
away with everything.

A third character, a woman, is
friends with both of them, and
can't decide which one she
wants.But she leans towards
the man who takes chances.

They try to revise the
"chorus>" (Male and female actors).

"I bow before your fortuitous
and fortitudinous neutrality."

"Your indifference is paralyzing (and exciting)."

"Still, you are glued to your seat."

"Sweets to the sweet and farewell."

"Buffeting me, brusquely
flinging me aside, momentarily
you forget why you ever
listened in the first place."

"There is a limitless well
of feeling, like a fossil, dug
into the heart of all your
forgotten hurts."

"Every one of them was
revealed in a room with
a certain texture, people
dressed in a way particular to that
moment. Even the way
people picked things up
was different than the way
it is now. Take
one to watch and watch
them until they get out of
the chair. Watch their
eyes and watch the way they
turn. Watch the way they hand
something to you. Keep your
eyes slightly averted while
you are watching."

Every time has a certain ambience.
Think of the way "The Ice Storm"
captured the 70's. And, of course, how
Antonioni portrayed the 60's. And the
50's, perhaps John Ashbery (Pollack
then, Ashbery now.)