'en passant '

                   Most artists like most people deserve a good living wage. Alas that's not the case, and one often hears cliches about money from those who made some bread selling their work and doing well in the process.

            Often though their work suffers. Few artists can afford or will get the chance to make the millions Picasso did. Victoria Edgar a printer and artist I know who lives in Victoria hated him I think it was the money ? I can't recall and Alain Costaz ... had a comment to make as well I can't remember...'

Too much fat on the artist burns up the oil that made her what she is _ a live coal a gem cutting through the dark thickness of night.


does a woman have mercy


 does a woman have mercy?

  __      Difference was reading Lacan a d ay one day a asignified at a time unfolding everything I
said was  it's a 'tory s'tory as I told about group reading of Antioedipus this was a story as the fiction's

Does a  woman have mercy ? her veiling trailing

A man can't be Shakespeare so he has to make himself.But poverty or paralysis'll dog him all his life but not to walk but to speed walk the streets along Sherbrooke street the night of longer distance hunger the golden mile the long distance street of loneliness


.. folly

Capitalism is the great sickness and artists are not exempt from either the multitude of folly it causes nor its joys  the doors it opens.Opening doors Opening ....

 But the Isms of daily life and the world (wide) are not behind the artist, she too suffers their
    draining power and lest she lose the battle and sink into the miasma of daily life and the endless conveyor belt of greed and indifference she has to be tough as love. Lest the fat on the pig skewer her too in its stew.




           then to Monaco

                      whence the rain and  river
                                                      breaking sunshine  on the swollen tide
                                        'Beau soleil'




  and i was winking at the sky as it peered down on me

   i was lifting my chin upward

    Ireland near the shore gazing north west is kind

           like the nautical waves that brought me there last  year
   then the boat-trains later
       i landed in Belgium   took the train to Antwerp crossing to the estuary

     i ended up  close to a place   a friend lived she hung her clothing out to dry

   taking me the meanwhile for  the  friend that i was
    we walked on the meadow
          i could hear the bells ringing
           she held my hand and heard the breathing

   later we visited Cologne where  the Merz man had lived &
    worked for  a time there was
        joy in the air     afterward in the countryside



come come from .. behind

   these fields of sun flooding light the eyes
  flooding eyes

  'utterly forgotten' orgone  gone  Lanyer except for a  title 'Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum containing,    it's that comma makes it Duchampian
   an underlined object hardly objet d'art  who was this rich 'chick' sitting beside not astride
Lafcadio's adventures or Harry Levin first book about the blinding man  be careful that  voice
hooking into your own not your 'own' you're owen owing rowing bowing blowing   o

'come come from behind' soft drooping voice on knees shepherd doggy bounding round this
siege of merit and come along my faeries you've heard life and dearth she's Mona's Mao trounced her 
bring it to the bend 
 O find that grip of climbing over the  dumbest price of life music the stupidest
thing created  are the  m_

  and the what's his obsession trapped between the Procrustean commentary or criticism
her idea the prose poem

Ach! another dreadful thing. Mona kicks off it between a  cock and a hard place there's banks of iris and a platoon of river 
 No Jill has her corny and mediveval , no she's the knight cacaphonic drawing  darning her wool in lather  and 

    wishing it was hope   .

 One does not want to too seriously take these fakir and  flute flyer s? Jill has a right to nay~! it's the edifying editing connection machine or something her  memory's slipped by.

    go to dream |O my Jill.



' circum '


So the writing here, here that is here in this 'very' space it's more akin closer to the actual writing of being.As it is, at the edge of the breaking , the pause , or the gone inside of what' s is. How a peccant wave,s pecial as her hair it's the

prefix: circum-
  1. about; around.


                                                                                   raise  impious war  in heaven



    Middle English circumvolucioun, from Medieval Latiolun circumvolution-, circumvolutio, from Latin circumvolvere to revolve, from circum- + volvere to roll — more at voluble
    First Known Use: 15th century

     Definition of VOLUBLE

    :  easily rolling or turning :  rotating
    :  characterized by ready or rapid speech :  glib, fluent

    Definition of VOLUTE

    :  a spiral or scroll-shaped form

    Origin of VOLUTE

    Latin voluta, from feminine of volutus, past participle of volvere to roll — more at voluble
    First Known Use: circa 1696

    Rhymes with VOLUTE



    acute, astute, Asyût, bear fruit, beetroot, Beirut, birthroot, bloodroot, breadfruit, butut, cahoot, Canute, catsuit, cheroot, choucroute, clubroot, commute, compute, confute, crapshoot, cube root, deaf-mute, depute, dilute, dispute, dry suit, elute, en route, enroot, flight suit, folkmoot, freeboot, galoot, grapefruit, G suit, hardboot, hip boot, hirsute, imbrute, impute, jackboot, jackfruit, jumpsuit, kashruth, lawsuit, long suit, lounge suit, minute, nonsuit, offshoot, outshoot, Paiute, pantsuit, permute, playsuit, pollute, pursuit, recruit, refute, repute, salute, sans doute, seaboot, snowsuit, solute, square root, star fruit, star route, statute, strong suit, sunsuit, sweat suit, swimsuit, take root, taproot, to boot, tracksuit, trade route, transmute, tribute, uproot, wet suit, zoot suit 

              Circumfession        ge r  r r  r   ee da 




|  D r  a                  m           a  t i  c  a f f e ct  s      a  s i    d              e
|                                pure fiction
| ____________________________________________

  Outlasting Goths


every writer


each night was a  bastard without you there

  i'm dying now and know  it

  that explains everything
   it's not as bad though as I thought

  (i mean it won't happen like a mew in a clock or something   along those lines
 but sure to perish me it's happening
  it came along  like something   like a  dead walk? is that what i mean  ?
        any way     the night goes gold like a  saint
                   and  not a  dead beat with a record in  his head
hanging on a  castle by his hand
    or bleeding fingertips making easy

   the ancestor (the only one I've known) comes swelling up
   in my chest taking over my voice    my jaw my voice  my words
at times and   i know




  Spring is close by.. Almost here. She's almost. here. spring. here almost.      spring Spring.




 Yesterday while reading about Jeff Nuttall 

I remembred /

 half the people I know are mad'

Adrian Mitchell


Brandenburg concertos i ve been listening  the first
time i heard them was in 1970 in the winter i guess
   on recordings  records real big plastic black records
   and now I listen to them i am elated  my spirit swells

 this is sensing god

  a divinity machine but alsoa  madness machine /   one has to tread carefully with this notion of divinity it's driven humanity mad...

if one is to create a  new humanity one has to weed out these old ideas.... easy to say not so easy to do . our bodies have memories that are thousands if not millions of years old... the dna the culurual memory everyone car ries

like a box inside their blues


______ more later



dream book(s) entry

Another time I am travelling back from a mysterious country. I do not know the language, the customs, nor can I be certain where it is. I am flying over the city a fine gale pushing me along . It's my astral projection body. I see lights over the tops of all the buildings: I wake up, I am in the Bronx visiting my girlfriend of the time. (Dream bk 2000)

Someone comes up to me when I'm in Dublin one night saying (nattering away very rapidly) well CLifford Duffy what on earth brings you here? I am dumbfounded, mouth agape I am speechless I get dizzy I feel the world spinning from under my feet!~ I wake up and realized I was on the boat-train heading back to the Continent. (Dream bk, 1993)




  i hate sonnets the digital backbreak of the dumb|dead|mute sign|  no condign like that|
  14 pretentious lines with their gew-gaws the abbabababbbauue,askakld   and the little
turn-key at the near end the closing copulating couplet but not Eyetalian mister Tallinn 
nor the intaglio of the radicel volute  its crisp in the inside of    y'our love  sending 
sensitivity vibes over the atmosphere each one following her skirt up the staircase|
  your work  abababbaba has been summoned to the  rascal  or the rogue in atten-
dance like  a cheap curb| come off she say where if we go it happen| what if no
one show|if weather permit|cling to the ought |no one has given birth least of 
pat red begobbing in wedens  |a fake you never met  a better con | fat
 as canny|

of the sensitive one i dream she was born before  i was yet reborn
in the line of parallel incarnations along the railroad of self


  were she born before me as  my sister then reborn as my daughter she's my younger mother
now  in the  raisin of the sun her handy gown clutching the wind of its horizon






'  to bring thy summer out of winter '

                              John Donne 



__ chapter(ing)


Chapter One   __ No chapter designations/ call them Sections.

I was wandered around


  'half the people I know are mad'  (Adrian Mitchell)

  no one's having any illusions about your loyalty



person to person...


 the great bloody paradox is that it's cold right here and warm elsewhere   naturally it's like that 
   with pretty  much anything

    like a woman's ass or thighs right there 
                                     lips her eyes her thoughts
                                                      right here yet  so far 

                        not necessarily actual distance either
   thinking here of  those Russian neighbours last year the distance there was light years

     Station to Station

I'd like to make a trunk call operator

 did you say 
                  person to person sir?

Oh    A trunk call sir
      yes   yes 

 a trunk call that'd carry  me through the cables Marconi laid   

     Excuse me Sir where was you wanted to call?

  I said Marconi not macaroni     

 Pardon me, sir?

   Trunk and bunk and trunk and bunk to her vein pain rain train   handss  

 Le roi du coeur 




when I think of the telephones in my life    then the mobiles over the last few years

   and then, to my surprise and shock it turns out water-main burst in another part of the borough where I live. Saw it on the news and I felt compassion and worry  and concern for the residents and wondered how they are now. and the awful winter    it's battering the building buffeting wind around the couple of blocks near by up from the frozen tundra of a river    .

  and people romanticise nature    nature  my eye , as they say.

                   thank goodness it's heated here  but the memory of that lightening strike lingers      



A nd


....Shocking weather, mister,' he concluded, addressing the man behind the counter, who responded by nodding  his head several times, his countenance still distorted by the vacant grin. 'I suppose you think I shouldn't be complaining about fog with the brogue on me, but Irish mist is a different proposition entirely. You could stand a broomstick up in this stuff and it wouldn't fall down. Bad for business too, I suppose?'

  David Lodge, The British Museum is Falling Down 
   p 134.



_ hinterland

Winter I hate thee

A perfect world with no winter.

Winter I cannot stand you anylonger. Go winter, leave. Leave us.

 ________________________________   On the other hand   

 Blow blow thou winter wind thou art so unkind    as human ingratitude