Distribution Automatique

Thursday, September 11

4/16/77

Cuteness- words w/no emotions
performance is feeling-
music is feeling-
imp. of ideas to me
self-portrait
writing incidental to doing
opening chords-
an unbrella
then the words pour
quickly and gradually
the words I like
can remind me of flesh
but usually are not
carnivorous.
The schedule is slow in arriving
after sporadic exhaustion
still I was not so personal
opening my arms
one line at a time
they don't come near by
me, the way, don't give it
another thought.
Sometimes you
I didn't mind understanding it gradually
I suppose we will never run out of ink
in jail sometimes
Never a dull moment
beside the accordian filled with flowers
you can remark an image of
what reminded you of hatred also
though tired even then you were
smoothing your plaited feellngs.
Insincere cheefulness scared me away
they were so responsive
*and* sometimes too discordant.

Again, I am aware of your
mild presence. This too
personal solitude is publicly revealed
reflection of my expressions.
And tastes like ice.
The word turns on the axis
of my ambivalance.
Until a list
faces me with alternatives.
I can move, not arbitrarily expecting the comprehensibles
to be translated into a diagram of signs.
I can follow your hand signals
if you are sometimes able to be patient.
What comes next is when I can want it to be sensible and sensitive
to your images, in the
decaying translation of
your inner language. Now outer.
I didn't always
expect the periphery to intrude.
You can be funny. A massive
ethic would be discouraging.
What is needed here is an endless sequence of ordinarily tiresome
actions made resplendent.
A chain of newly discovered hieroglyphs
in endless, calm, yet
exciting progression. Dots
of vision. I can't again
ask if birds grace my solitude
because frames for these paintings
are gilded and we agreed
on an attempt at real
communication.

*

Garrett's band
Sat 1-4 176 Greene Street
Sat Apr 23 9pm 2 Bond
Sun May 8 830 Kitchen 484 Broome

*

Later, after writing the
obove, I ran into Tony
Towle at the Spring St Bar.
We talked about B, Gerard.
Tony said he was
published out of the first
group of young poets to
know Frank O'Hara, who
introduced him to his wife
(knowing Frank "cut two
ways") and his present job-
a place that sells original lithos
by Johns (who did the last
cover on his book)
Rauschenberg, Motherwell
(who did the cover on the
one before) "You had
to act like you'd already
done your best work." He
was interested in what I
said about Acconci. Saved
me looking for words twice and
we laughed- "encounter"
for "affair"- heavy
for my reaction to his
having a teenage son.
Once almost roomed w/
Frank Lima (O'Hara's old
apartment)- they became
friends because they didn't.
"Poetry should lie rather than
than be boring." Feels
you shouldn't bother if
you're not impelled to.
I suggested he is moving
towards longer works and he
said that's true. Very
sensitive person. And
communicates. Doesn't
like long boring readings.
About fame as a poet-
"Nobody gives a fuck."
If you read longer
than others , it's your
friends you are fucking
over, not the establishment.
There isn't any establishment.
"The truth is boring" he
said before I left.
Finds some of Vito's
pieces "simple minded."
"I get it," he
said.
It's incredible-
the poem I wrote
before running into him
I feel I could have
read it to him and he would
like it. "Tuned in."

*

Rent 112.50
Perelson 50
tip 15
RC 30
typewriter 225.00
MC 50
________
482

4/22

1) Mo's
2) Call cubiculo
3) Mom- don't eat

*

Actually, the truth is not so hard to find. But first you have to be willing to give up the many pleasures in not having to know it. That's the hard part.

*
"One would expect people to remember the past and to imagine the
future. But in fact, when discoursing or writng about history, they
imagine it in terms of their own experience, and when trying to
gauge the future they cite supposed analogies from the past: till, by
a double process of repetition, they imagine the past and remember
the future."

Sir Lewis Namier, *Conflicts* 1942

*
Jim Berhle's L=A=N=G poet cartoons