zensolo’s e-mailed chronicles posted by morituri.

Archive for January, 1999

amStrand hebdo: bottom trawler?

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Wednesday th 27, 01.1999 (23h38) ich bin wieder am strand… back on th beach, d regreso en la playa (plus ou moins-) everytime I run past th rolling pasture by th abandoned dairy farm I’m reminded of @ least a couple of th projects that I’m holding onto hard enough to keep me from living life in th vague, seemingly aimless present…
(Saturday th 28, 09.1996 (chère nathalie-)
what does it take to calm yr fears
to make you feel comfortable enough
to let me talk you into allowing me
to breathe deep th foggy fumes
dripping sour from yr darkest willows?
what does it take to allay yr anxieties
soothe yr suspicions unearn yr mistrust
provide th secure cradling refuge
where you might wind down to laugh
when I compliment you on yr stinging stench
unwinding open
to recklessly bloom down my earsnosethroat
at th shivering risk of choking me
on th moldy ash of accelerating time
yr body will inevitably, helplessly secrete clot & disgorge faced with & facing exposure to another?
what does it take
that each day you remind me I am so barren of?

luv, d=(8{>

Written by morituri

January 29th, 1999 at 8:46 pm

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amStrand hebdo:rerouting

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(Saturday th 19th, 04.1997)
I could flip for it & pick
a continent where th sea’s not
lapping at my backyard everywhere I turn
(one side of an ocean as good as another)
so long as nature isn’t overpowering
or th culture isn’t overrun…long
as I can follow th course of a river
over th course of more than one whole day
* am I looking for a Greater Vehicle?
as long as it lets some open air blow
around me, I might spring for a convertible
:a four-wheeled amphibian that can
leave th ground & take to th sky
if only for short bouts of inspiration-
not so wild & free as my motorcycle dreams…
I wince to call it home here-
only th place I tore, crumpled & blew
my youth in avoiding growing up-
I thought I came by merely to refuel
but months have gone by
& I grow increasingly disoriented
with each passing day…

Written by morituri

January 23rd, 1999 at 11:44 am

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amStrand hebdo: overseas(on)

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is this enlightenment or disintegration? derangement? i fell into a nap…
——————– Engine age ——-
join us- become a part of th limited clinical markets- now only five miles
from statements to th press- receive complimentary copies of publishd
sleep laboratory can provide objective proof- members have access to
results from six separate socialist economies- only a rigorous program by
special envoy philip habib helps us underwrite th costs of medication-
in return you receive substantial discounts on soldiers still in beirut-
treatment conditions, however, demand that exiles continue to reinforce
their positions a few hundred yards from a military buildup…
during th first decade- after severing th road between beirut & damascus-
a few insomniacs taught @ yale drama school- earning creative vitality for
me when i was first writing…emphasis was placed on a comprehensive
of gov’t withdrawal- looking to bulgaria- provided long-term
american-made clothes earning more than factories & farms- health still has
few surplus goods…th only other escape route for th educational problems that whetted almost-local appetites arrived by car- looking flushed & radiant- he just wrote th screenplay for south of th capital & moved to th outskirts- he had cigarettes, liquor & a few invitations to effectiveness studies- one of th more rationed items- a few woods in th mountain village pushd up prices- th drab austerity of earlier years has given urgency to th clinical exhibitions…

Written by morituri

January 17th, 1999 at 10:01 am

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amStrand hebdo/flashback

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spirit immortal my ass
:o ther within, drawing
sparks against th skin
articulate enough-
a body of language facing
dark & light of death

knowing nothing, nothing
knows outside of knowing
labels for loss

flat flat flat direction
flat watcher
flat circle of time

trap in th mirror?
female life surrounds
male self outside

what is evil?
order unto death
or alive excess?
July 1984
-abrazos, d=(8{>

Written by morituri

January 14th, 1999 at 6:19 am

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January 12th 1999

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” el asunto de la compu. estoy en EAP y recogi los mensajes de las


hoy al fin.” End ——————–

desorden d papeles para demostrar la importancia d mis asuntos &


como mi papá el doctordaví

humo intoxicante dl repelente cobra q me devuelve al balcón d casa d mis

abuelos ramón&cocó a la entrada dl pueblo, trailers cargados d caña q

retumban por la militar o se detienen en la gasolinera shell cuando se le

antoja al camionero bajarse a comer chicharrones d pollo en el restoran d

chantó, bombón arraiza across th street en vega baja & los altoparlantes dl

culto (luterano?) a to lo que da…

fondo fondillo postre final aleteante sobre la orilla…los favores no se

hacen a medias, & menos a tu propio cuerpo…pasta d naranja d postre todas

las noches con queso manchego si posible…

cobra (‘no se lo leyó! no se lo leyó!) en homenaje al dulce maricón severo

sarduy q se murió en parís con aguacero, un jueves, como cesar vallejo q

tosía sobre el tableteo d su maquinilla en la pensión d parís donde mi

padre se hospedaba cuando fue a conocer al doctor barbosa aquel verano d

1937- o ‘38?

la vida es una tombolatomtomtombola…en el monte dl olvido/por los amores

q han muerto/q son el tuyo & el mío…no necesito/ir al cielo tisú/sialma

mía/la gloria eres tú…

pero pero pero q es lo q tiene tu maquinita q no la arreglas & q ajustes

haces? entre la tuya & la mía tal vez hacemos una buena computadora…no

conoces un buen hacker q le haga un transplante d cerebro- o d memoria- o d

dedos & lengua? entre la tuya & la mía…q noche la d aquél día…’esto es

la vida, borelli, a ver si te enteras!’

i’m ok…i guess…

nada por aquí- nada por allá…su caso, señor fiscal…besotes, d=(8{>

Written by morituri

January 12th, 1999 at 5:10 pm

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amStrand hebdo(I fou wit our nevera)

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…”To live only once, many times,
Between the moments.
The tiny little moments.
The tiny little life
between the moments.
Cunning little road.

If you wait
you’re never ready,
Urgently, I’m learning.
First the lust
And last,
The yearning.”

Gonzalo Andrés Aponte
San Juan, Puerto Rico
——————– Engine age ——-
yup. got th story of my life there, trickling drop by drop
to fleetingly pool @ th leaky bottom of th cracked glass bowl
of self: th deepening echoes sound th range of circling desire-

from purest aspiration to basest craving along th rainbow
of appetites- ambition zeal thirst itch longing or greed-
we find th mirage to lend us appropiate direction, fuel
for th motion joining point after point into lines, circles, spirals…

(let me tell you, i’m all of forty-four, i’ve been there & back
* by th way, i’m over th corpse, i guess: four in japanese
is th character- th sound?- for death, & forty-two is a dead body…
am i being kept in th dark about something important?
i found- didn’t quite make my way, haha- been there & back…
i may be losing it here, but i made good my escape even if i could never
break free or get away…this is th voice that keeps ringing in my ear-
no names, no pictures, no names no pictures- i dare you
to find th way to tell my story protecting th truly innocent…
you cd fill yr face…no more smarty-pants shorthand…
is this enlightenment or disintegration? derangement? i fell into a nap…)

Thursday th 16, 07.1998 (20h56) love is a corpse…
love is a dead body/wrappd around my loins…
I’m a hungry ghost/knocking at yr pleasure’s door…
love is a dead body/& I’m sown up inside…
to be laid up/for yr rotting banquet…

(there is no force besides desire
there is no boundary but fear
craving is shadow to desire
& respect, th wounded heart in fear…)

there is no punishment but shame
no love without th healing touch
as joy releases th accepting self
(no self but spirit mirrored in dull flesh)

there is no force except desire
or fulfillment but in flight…
(is this it here?)
everluv, d=(8{>

Written by morituri

January 9th, 1999 at 12:36 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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