.:wanderlustmedia+dot+org:.

Friday th 27, 11.1998 (13h39) in th notion of escape yet

a motion of return & recovery holds fast th integrity of th fabric…

-fliegende heimat? hogar/hearth en l’air?

a syncopated nomadic songline threading back&forth, my attention shuttles

like a loom, seeking to weave some poetry

out of th gathered fiber of random observation & circumstantial

(e)vidence…

then sleep ties its own connecting knotwork-

I dream a joking conversation (w/ ingrid, th patternmaker from graz i want

to know better)

in which i seek a reassuring pretext to shave my body clean

-of a major rebuilding of th beach house, round egyptian columns

rising to turn th sea-facing open terrace into an atrium-

some sort of (holographic?) projection/recreation (-or actual

sandfill?) rebuilding of th sandy shoreline of my childhood, th slanting

concrete forms of th collapsed seawall still rising above th recovered

beach-

like a makeshift parapet, like protective ramparts…

(i find a fragment of august, a little airstream of hot summer riding

on th vague nostalgia seeping out of th lyrics to america’s ’sister

golden-hair’-

‘i ain’t ready for th altar/but i do agree

there’s times/when a woman sure can be a friend of mine…

i’ve been one more foolish– (??)/i’ve been too too hard

to find/ but that doesn’t mean/ you ain’t been on my mind…’)

th moon is late on my desk…

celestial bodies burnish & deepen their glow

as they drop from th heavens & sink into dim earth…

will you meet me, will you find me there?

will you soften th frightening oblivion

of yr child-seeking embrace?

I recognise & am drawn w/ attentive fascination to courtship in th wild:

watch th crabs on th shoreline rocks lock pincers & tango as th noontide

climbs-

thrill to crickets calling in th spare, dry grass or hiding

behind th icebox as th seabreeze sinks into th dead calm of twilight-

I lay silent emotional bets on th feistiest little dog in th pack

chasing bitch scent, creep up close behind puffd-up parading pigeons

until their fearful awareness of my presence deflates them & nod

drowsily under th spell of th inconsolable turtledove’s three hollow flute

notes…

(it’s th mating rituals of my species that stump me…

frustrate befuddle bewilder bemuse & completely elude me…)

love,d=(8{>

Friday th 27, 11.1998 (13h39) in th notion of escape yet a motion of return & recovery holds fast th integrity of th fabric…
* fliegende heimat? hogar/hearth en l’air?

a syncopated nomadic songline threading back&forth, my attention shuttles
like a loom, seeking to weave some poetry
out of th gathered fiber of random observation & circumstantial
(e)vidence…
then sleep ties its own connecting knotwork-
I dream a joking conversation (w/ ingrid, th patternmaker from graz i want
to know better)
in which i seek a reassuring pretext to shave my body clean
* of a major rebuilding of th beach house, round egyptian columns rising to turn th sea-facing open terrace into an atrium-some sort of (holographic?) projection/recreation (-or actual
sandfill?) rebuilding of th sandy shoreline of my childhood, th slanting concrete forms of th collapsed seawall still rising above th recovered beach-like a makeshift parapet, like protective ramparts…
(i find a fragment of august, a little airstream of hot summer riding
on th vague nostalgia seeping out of th lyrics to america’s ’sister
golden-hair’-
‘i ain’t ready for th altar/but i do agree
there’s times/when a woman sure can be a friend of mine…
i’ve been one more foolish– (??)/i’ve been too too hard
to find/ but that doesn’t mean/ you ain’t been on my mind…’)

th moon is late on my desk…
celestial bodies burnish & deepen their glow
as they drop from th heavens & sink into dim earth…

will you meet me, will you find me there?
will you soften th frightening oblivion
of yr child-seeking embrace?

I recognise & am drawn w/ attentive fascination to courtship in th wild:
watch th crabs on th shoreline rocks lock pincers & tango as th noontide
climbs-
thrill to crickets calling in th spare, dry grass or hiding
behind th icebox as th seabreeze sinks into th dead calm of twilight- I lay silent emotional bets on th feistiest little dog in th pack chasing bitch scent, creep up close behind puffd-up parading pigeons until their fearful awareness of my presence deflates them & nod drowsily under th spell of th inconsolable turtledove’s three hollow flute notes…
(it’s th mating rituals of my species that stump me… frustrate befuddle bewilder bemuse & completely elude me…)
love,d=(8{>

> i gave up. i was late in trying to link up w/ th bread & puppeteers @
> whatever their place in th 25th anniversary hallowe’en parade may have
bn,
> & tried to play catch-up for an hour & a half or so, coming up against
> police barriers & complete blockades as i made my way up from canal
street,
> having to return to varick, then seventh avenue south to find my way
uptown.
> i gave up @ fourteenth street, after craning my neck standing on an
aluminum
> barrier for ten, fifteen minutes looking upon th heads & banners of th
> parade marchers as they made their way up sixth avenue…
> th last time i was here- & i was part of th parade, shaking maracas, if i
> remember right, as a member of th on th lam street band, th musical
> contingent of sometime new york resident bread & puppeteers- was
halowe’en
> ‘89, & terribly rainy night it was…it was my only experience of th
> expanded parade route- th time before that, back in ‘84…ah, hallowe’en
> ‘84, having broken up w/ christalia, just finishd performing tim miller’s
> ‘democracy in america’ piece @ brooklyn academy of music…back in ‘84,
we
> gathered @ westbeth…is ralph lee still involved in this?
> i digress: i stayed in nyc for th hallowe’en parade & i feel i missd it
> after all…when spectatorship supersedes participation, th economic
> triggers go off & th ritual becomes a corporate & media event..i haven’t
> followed
> th process, i just see th results…
> it’s interesting to see political content grow
> in emphasis, explicitly, as if to balance th growing intervention &
control
> of th structure of th parade on th part of th powers-that-be…w/ a rock
> band on a big float chanting ‘people have th power’ & a sizeable
contingent
> decrying homophobic violence, it certainly seems af if th pure carnival
> aspect, th role-playing & merriment have become subsumed under th
struggle
> between th liberal & conservative, reactionary forces in american
society,
> as acted out in th politically important new york stage prior to these
> midterm elections…
> meanwhile, to go back to th riotous, disorderly, transgressive, pagan
roots
> of th festival, i am taking a couple of deep breaths as i prepare to
visit
> hellfire, one of th fetish clubs that endure under th giuliani
regimen…(a
> suivre…)
> d=(8{>
> (ps:cd any who have access to my address list from earlier installments
of
> my ‘hebdomadaire’ forward them to further firends & audience? mil gracias-
&
> japi jalouin!!)
>