Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Monday, January 30, 2012

to the dog
i am Nature
part of it all
and  him

god loves the dolphins
and  made them safe from us

each a string
an ear of corn
in silence reaped

Saturday, January 28, 2012

the giant con
when the debt wont be paid
its just confidence
that the game goes on
as players fall out

is there any long term
problem americans
are solving

there are no systems
we fit in

we have be come
the stepdad no one likes
while killing the bride

your nose grows with  you
living in a devil town

a council of 100



this scene
how did that happen

why or what
is this tellect
doing in our body

matter reaching into mind
reaching into code
reaching into symmetry

looking for cause

who do i trust
in the mirror

Monday, January 23, 2012

Sunday, January 22, 2012

three thousand  years
but little attempt
to reduce
the complexity
increase the simplicity
of  random chaos

see the sky
as a window
for the gods
the long count
one  history
since forever before

it will happen aginagain

Saturday, January 21, 2012

running a w ar
lik e ik e m ig ht
with m oolah  the spirit
at every post
except  the line
where glory?
for the last  ism

light (er) is better

Friday, January 20, 2012

All over the country, in all of  the hotels I stop  at, they give me cups like this to drink  my coffee or  chocolate from.  See how thick and clumsy it is.  It is at at least half an inch thick and so barbaric in form that one would think it was made in a barbarous savage age and intended to be used to hie at the head of an enemy as a weapon of defense.  It disgusts me to drink from it.  
Such rude things make men rude who use them. We ought to have things of beauty in everything about our house. Let children when quite young be accustomed to see and handle delicate things and they will become refined.  I was impressed,  while out west in going among the Chinese to see these navvies who worked hard all day on the railroad, shoveling dirt, go home at night and drink their tea out of cups of fine porcelain as thin  and delicate as the petals of a white rose, so delicate, indeed, that our ladies even are afraid to handle them for fear of breaking them.  This what we should have for ourselves here.  
I would place things of beauty, things of delicacy in the houses of all our mechanics as well  as of  the  wealthy.

"Mr Wilde, do you think that this present so called-- 'aesthetic craze' "-- ?

"Oh do not call it a craze.  It is no craze.  You Americans have such a way of treating serious things as a joke.  And yet you are not a joyous people.  
In society there is all brilliancy and apparent joyousness, but on the railway trains I do not see happy men and women.  Everybody has a troubled anxious look, and everybody is pushing forward in some business project.  But the people do not appreciate art and so they call it a craze.  But it will live and spread its influences and be continuing in its good and it is no craze."

Art and true beauty can never die.  There may be a wave of barbarism sweep over Europe by an Asiatic invasion but true art will not be lost.
ohio  1882

Monday, January 16, 2012

debbies cat

the thin young black
is left of three
where two were taken
and she wanders ever wider
hungry and confused
living her day
in the infinite neighborhood

Saturday, January 7, 2012

But most vivid in my memory is a mountain excursion we made in early summer. The journey to
Semmering was far enough to allow Adolf to recover from his early rising. Immediately after Wiener Neustadt the
country became mountainous. The railway had to reach the heights of the Semmering in wide
curves. To attain a height of 980 metres, many turns, tunnels and viaducts were necessary. Adolf
was thrilled by the bold design of the track; one surprise came on top of another. He would have
liked to get out and walk this stretch of the track, so that he could inspect it all. I was already
prepared to listen to a fundamental lecture on the building of mountain railways at the next
opportunity, for certainly he had already thought out a bolder design, even higher viaducts and
longer tunnels.

Semmering! We got out. A beautiful day. How pure the air was here after all the dust and smoke,
how blue the sky! The meadows gleamed green, with the dark woods rising from them, and
above, their peaks still snow-covered, towered the mountains.

The train back to Vienna did not leave till evening; we had plenty of time, the whole day was ours.
Adolf quickly made up his mind what our target should be. Which was the highest of these
mountains? We were told, I believe, the Rax. So, let us climb the Rax.
Neither Adolf nor I had the faintest idea of mountaineering. The highest "mountains" we had
conquered in our lives were the gentle hills of Mühlviertel. The Alps, themselves, we had till now
only seen at a distance. But we were now in the midst of them and very impressed by the thought
that this mountain was over two thousand metres high.
As always with Adolf, his will had to make up for whatever else was lacking. We had no food with
us, because we had originally intended just to walk down from the Semmering heights to
Gloggnitz. We did not even have a rucksack and our clothes were those that we wore for our
strolls through the city. Our shoes were much too light, with thin soles and without nails. We had
trousers and jacket, but not a scrap of warm clothing. But the sun was shining, and we were
young -- so forward!

The adventure we had on our way down overshadowed our upward climb so completely that I
can no longer tell which route we took. I only remember now that we climbed for several hours
before we reached the plain at the summit of the mountain. We now seemed to be on a peak,
though it might not have been the Rax. I had never climbed a mountain peak; I had a strange,
unfettered feeling, as though I no longer belonged to the earth, but was already close to heaven.
Adolf, deeply affected, stood on the plateau and said not a word.

We could see far and wide across the land. Here and there in the colourful pattern of meadow
and forest a church tower or a village would spring up. How puny and unimportant did the works
of man look!

It was a wonderful moment, perhaps the most beautiful that I have ever experienced with my

Tiredness was forgotten in our enthusiasm. Somewhere in our pockets we found a bit of dry
bread and we made do with that. In the pleasure of the day, we had hardly noticed the weather.
Had not the sun just been shining? Now, suddenly, dark clouds made their appearance and a
mist fell; this happened as rapidly as though it were the change of a stage set.
The wind sprang up and whipped the mist before us in long, fluttering shrouds. Far off a storm
was rumbling; hollow and uncanny, the thunder rolled around the mountains.

We began to freeze in our pitiful "Ringstrasse suitings." Our thin trousers fluttered round our legs
as we hurried down to the valley. But the path was stony, and our shoes not up to the demands
the mountain made on them. Moreover, for al! our haste, the storm gained on us. Already the first
drops were spattering down in the woods; and then the rain really set in. And what rain! Actual
streams of water poured down on us from the clouds that seemed to hang just above the
treetops. We ran and ran, as hard as we could. It was hopeless to try to protect ourselves. Soon
there was not a single dry spot on us and our shoes, too, were full of water.

And no house, no hut, no kind of shelter wherever we turned. Adolf was not at all put out by the
thunder and lightning, the storm and the rain. To my surprise he was in a splendid mood and,
although soaked to the skin, became more and more genial as the rain grew heavier.
We skipped along the stony path and suddenly, just off it, I spotted a little hut. There was no
sense in continuing to run in the rain, besides, it was getting dark, so I suggested to Adolf that we
should stay in this little cabin overnight. He immediately agreed -- for him the adventure could not
go on long enough.

I searched the little wooden hut. In the lower half lay a pile of hay, dry, and sufficient for us both to
sleep in. Adolf took off his shoes, jacket and trousers and began to wring out his clothes. "Are you
terribly hungry, too?" he asked. He felt somewhat better when I told him that I was. A sorrow
shared is a sorrow halved; apparently that applied to hunger too.

Meanwhile, in the upper part of the hut, I had found some large squares of canvas, which were
used by the peasants to carry the hay down the steep mountain sides. I felt very sorry for Adolf,
standing there in the doorway in his soaking underclothes, chattering with cold as he wrung out
the sleeves of his jacket. Sensitive as he was to any kind of chill, how easily he could catch
pneumonia. So I took one of the big squares, stretched it out on the hay and told Adolf to take off
his wet shirt and pants and to wrap himself in the cloth. This he did.
He laid himself naked on the cloth and I took hold of the ends and wrapped it firmly round him.

Then I fetched a second square and put that over him. This done, I wrung out all our clothes and
hung them up, wrapped myself, too, in a canvas and lay down. So that we should not get icy cold
in the night, I threw a bale of hay over the bundle that was Adolf, and another one over myself.
We did not know the time as neither of us had a watch. But for us it was enough to know that
outside it was pitchdark with the rain rattling unceasingly on to the roof of the hut. Somewhere in
the distance a dog barked; so we were not too far away from human habitation, a thought that
comforted me. When I mentioned it to Adolf, however, it left him quite indifferent. In the present
circumstances people were quite superfluous for him. He was enjoying the whole adventure
hugely and its romantic ending especially appealed to him. Now we were getting warm, and it
would have been almost cosy in the little hut, if we had not been racked with hunger.

The end came; the war was lost. Even though I, a fundamentally unpolitical individual, had always
kept aloof from the political events of the period which ended forever in 1945, nevertheless no
power on earth could compel me to deny my friendship with Adolf Hitler.

In the beginning I was often questioned, first in Eferding, then in Gmunden. These interrogations
all ran on the same lines; something like:

"You are a friend of Adolf Hitler's?"
"Since when?"
"Since 1904."
"What do you mean by that? At that time he was nobody."
"Nevertheless, I was his friend."
"How could you be his friend when he was still a nobody?"

An American officer of the Central Intelligence Corps asked: "So you are a friend of Adolf Hitler's.
What did you get out of it?"
"But you admit that you were his friend. Did he give you money?"
"Or food?"
"A car, a house?"
"Not that either."
"Did he introduce you to beautiful women?"
"Nor that."
"Did he receive you again, later on?"
"Did you see him often?"
"How did you manage to see him?"
"I just went to him."
"So you were with him. Really? Quite close?"
"Yes, quite close."
"Without any guard?"
"Without any guard."
"So you could have killed him?"
"Yes, I could have."
"And why didn't you kill him?"
"Because he was my friend."
  -- kubizek

with a day membership
in the CLUB
which for the moment
has a SS no.

a step
in staged identities
you are part of
or partitioned

for the cell
behind your eye
is you
as is the sun

of which you
patterns and rules
but cant feel the message

so get inside
and flirt
with creation

there is little
we alone
can do

of what we do is
the cost
the grit
the system
going forward

art is a pale effort
yet what should be
at all times

we express relation
more curiously
we are relation

quantum foam
metal combustion
mass light

But a wheel caught the letter
and rolled over it, and it stuck there,
and it was a sign of the kingdom and realm

Everything moving near the wheel
the wheel cut down,
and it destroyed a multitude of enemies
and bridged rivers and crossed over and uprooted forests
leaving a huge ditch.

As if a body were on the wheel, a head turned
down to the feet. The wheel turned on the feet
and whatever struck it.

The letter commanded over all districts,
and  there appeared a head.
It became the son of truth from the father on high,
who possessed all,
and the thought of many became nothing,

and the apostates and seducers grew brave yet fled,
and tormentors were blotted out.

The letter became a great tablet
a volume written by the finger of god.
On it was the name of the father and the son
and the holy  spirit
and their word of dominion forever.

Who can write the poems of the Lord,
or who can read them?
Who can train the soul for life to save the soul?
Who can rest high in the firmament
so that the mouth speaks?

The interpreter perishes, the interpreted stops,
It is enough to know and to rest and rest.
The motionless singers stand before a great river
with a huge fountain
flowing to those who seek the poem of the lord.

A cup of milk was offered,
and I drank of its sweetness as the delight of the Lord.
The son is the cup
and who was milked is the father.

His milk  should not drip out wastefully
The holy ghost opened the father's clothes
and  mingled the milk from the father's  two breasts
and gave that mingleness to the world
which was unknowing.

Those who drink
are near his right hand
The spirit opened the virgin's womb
and  she  received the milk.
The virgin became a mother
of enormous mercy.

         --solomon 23, 30, 19
          100 a domini