S'om pogues partir son voler ___Arany Zoltán aranzoltan

S'om pogues partir son voler
De so don plus a·l cor volon,
Can no·n pot jauzimen vezer,
L'uns dels grans sens fora del mon!
Car, de las grans foudatz que·i son,
Es be la maier, qui s'enten
Segre son dan ad escien,
Car doblamen
Fai faillimen --
Pero greu er fis amics drutz privatz
Si·l bes e·l mals e·l jois e·l dan no·il platz.

Tot aisso mi vengr'a plazer,
Si tot sui el maltraich prion,
S'Amors mi volgues tant valer
Que l'amoros cors deziron
Mi pagues d'un joi jauzion,
Qu'assatz par que for'avinen
Qez agues del ben qui·l mal sen!
Q'ie·n preira cen
Malstraitz sofren,
E fora·m jois e plazers mout onratz,
S'apres cen mals en fos d'un joi pagatz.



_________________________________text montage _______(or collage as its sometimes referred to albeit i don't find that's  a satisfactory description of pasting texts together this way ____________________

 there   at repeal disgrace with fortune & women's eyes I or  petitioning all alone beweep my in cast state an trouble deaf heaven with R bootless cries  And look were it less toil  to sway his nations than consume his life to head an army than to rule a harem A disk of blood distant & heav'ns & earths roll dark between upon herself and curse our fate wishing me like to one more ity-itch rich in hope featur'd like him then strait commands that at the warlike sound of trumpets loud and clarions be upreard hers mighty standard  like him with friends possess'ddessesiring this man's part and that man's scope o so jaonickally all barely in their typtap describing a charming dactylogram of nocturnes tears such as angels weep burst forth at last withal what most enjoy contented least

threw aside her arrowsand laid down her sounding Bow She sooth'd her with soft words  brought her to alamabron's bed  In moments new created for delusion interwoven round about yet yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarg'd buet even to that hill of scandal by the grove of moloch homicide, lust hard by hate imyself almost despising haply I think on thee  forest huge of spears and when my state like to the shark-lark at break of day arising from sullen earth bring hymns hymneal  at heaven's gate for thyore sweet 'ove remember'd For who can think remmissionsuch wealth brings that then you scorn to change my 

state witha thingking' silver key through your gate . -

I-m-m-e-d-i-a-t-e-l-y the Lark mounted with a loud trill from C's Vale



O Fortuna


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"O Fortuna" in the Carmina Burana manuscript (Bavarian State Library Clm 4660, f. 1r). The poem occupies the last six lines on the page, along with the overrun at bottom right.
O Fortuna
velut luna
statu variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis;
vita detestabilis
nunc obdurat
et tunc curat
ludo mentis aciem,
dissolvit ut glaciem.

Sors immanis
et inanis,
rota tu volubilis,
status malus,
vana salus
semper dissolubilis,
et velata
michi quoque niteris;
nunc per ludum
dorsum nudum
fero tui sceleris.

Sors salutis
et virtutis
michi nunc contraria,
est affectus
et defectus
semper in angaria.
Hac in hora
sine mora
corde pulsum tangite;
quod per sortem
sternit fortem,
mecum omnes plangite!
O Fortune,
like the moon
you are changeable,
ever waxing
and waning;
hateful life
first oppresses
and then soothes
as fancy takes it;
and power
it melts them like ice.

Fate – monstrous
and empty,
you whirling wheel,
you are malevolent,
well-being is vain
and always fades to nothing,
and veiled
you plague me too;
now through the game
I bring my bare back
to your villainy.

Fate is against me
in health
and virtue,
driven on
and weighted down,
always enslaved.
So at this hour
without delay
pluck the vibrating strings;
since Fate
strikes down the strong man,
everyone weep with me!


  She and was it
He to who reading he words in the magic golden book s WASamazed at their perspicacity  the Irish girl saying, it's obvious , it's obvious to sing on your head, and (t)read with yer toes.and clothings  but to laminate the sticks Now that is another ting! Altogether!alltwogather. with 24 rooms in case you have guests . you become head of the dumb country. country of te dumb .you
ve beccome a head-waiter! ahmmmm the dumb-waiter at the gap of the mouth.

Nothing is easier than to familiarize oneself with the mammalian
brain. Get a sheep's head, a small saw, chisel, and forceps... and unravel the parts ... Gia  nodded asleep a drone on Del's sleeve


Once on a time, a schizo time it was a pUblicker offerEd a Booke to a poet, but when it came time to tit-a-tit the publiker got scaredypants and peed and ran when the contract was due its past date of immanence and imminent peril. what then , became of the poet poster?

She blogged her misfortune past the dogs heading foR the hills of hide and plenty mocking and knocking at many doors,

nothing worse than a poet who does not keep her word, replaced displaceD or otherwise

and then Mona,like Orphee besidebefore her Knew that all was Hell.Nope it come 
to be another thing.

in this bad bad bad world .

_______________________So there are fictions and the Mama duffy chronicleto come ~.

you can feel it


  a winter song (old style)_____

i can feel it in my bones
(alternate: you can feel it in my bones you can feel it in your alones (alones alones) )
i can see it in my ice-cream cones!

 what? winter snows!
   & truck blows!
never-ending woes!

hahahhah winter nose!
 frozen toes
  (alternate  as above you can see it in your ice-cream cones your cones your alones)
      & forbidden clothes &
 an things which glow in the dark~!



_______________'a 'g'ape__'_______

   that __________________| the beL_Ow__||||___________

was written a while go back and ought to be framed in with the notion of quantity and quality as it's discussed by Tristan Tzara over the course of several essays  written in the 30's & 40's of the last century.almost a hundred since he began to make his mark as one of the several co inventors of daDa the old hobby horse the anti-dialectic. Monsieur Antiphilosophe.

the idea of poetry as knowledge which is exponential to the  movement of class history and  this is entwined with his understanding of Hegel and Marx and the transformation of property into poetry as a luxury whose event will be for all in the future. as in Lautreomont's cry that Poetry should be Made by all and Everyone .

Poetry must be made by all and not by one. ...



______________the below is the older text    _______________________________________________________________________________

it seems i gotta take back what I wrote about Pound and Basho. im not sure it would have made any difference had Pound read Basho, prettyset in his ways he was. a racist delire? something each of us faces nowadays. more so as the world splits splinters and falls more apart more than ever, its downward spiral a spin no one has control over diversity become the enemy and the sadness which pervades the world. 'fear to bring children into the world' to quote that old dylan song _ its been a long time since i heard that in my head

agape to the 'whole bluddin world;' 'Sandhyas! Sandhyas! Sandhyas! 1
Calling all downs. Calling all downs to dayne. Array! Surrec-
tion! Eireweeker to the wohld bludyn world

Joyce's Reprise to the speaker's Wasteland ending....

O Jeff Nuttall wouldst thou wert alive now!
Children of ALbion!

there ye have it!

one of the last lines of finnegans wake

One must keep writing the prose poem of one's life and write
24 hrs. a day.
I am always writing even when not with pen in hand.

my favorite word.


speaking of writing
i found this
Writing is like having sex with a beautiful freak; adventurous and uncomfortable to the extreme." - m. lecrivain 2004i love it


dd d 2


am A




you are I am a hippy   post punk hippy  live like one. Possibilly thee last one. A poet, that is what is

that? something no    It is a way  
 not a way to use people
or use them. sex      has nothing        to do. with becomings

You (i) are- am a hip    who lives by the word which word  a word
not the dirty lie of fantasy

wait is my body my own?
   is your body your own?
your very own body yr very own body?

Not yours (neither mine mine lover) , you prisoner of love
I am the voice which speaks

your name between my sheets
                                                      waiting all day long for your name

A poet a hippy useless things(Sa....e)

foR the world to create

the above text& text image is an experiment |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||




Rota Fortunae

Sors immanis
et inanis,
rota tu volubilis,
status malus,
vana salus
semper dissolubilis,
et velata
michi quoque niteris;
nunc per ludum
dorsum nudum
fero tui sceleris.
. . . . . . . . . .
Fortune rota volvitur;
descendo minoratus;
alter in altum tollitur;
nimis exaltatus
rex sedet in vertice
caveat ruinam!
nam sub axe legimus
Hecubam reginam.


..nature ...


the schizoid  divided &  secret?    nature of writing ,

                      books , texts , print , writing , film , image , material ,

                                 song, rhapsody, poems, blogs ,  hands,    finger, star,

           breathing  ,  not breathing     
                                                                              finding air & death   



______________ the ..nature ------------------------------


   the schizoid nature of  writing ,

  books ,  texts  ,  print ,  writing ,    film  ,    image  ,   material   ,    

 is  more than schizoid    

                                       its   diversiant   over a  rough cut diamond 


           better than  a               woman' s     ass  


                                          worse than her tits 

rounder than her lips

                                                               crumbling like the rib of any born Adam






And the singular string of marine trumpets


Et l'unique cordeau des trompettes marines



did ya


Did you stand on your head?

---------- O her beauty so    ~ in  ` had to look away'  hurt me / hut me
inside the dog body of alonesss

yet paradox I cant explain the creation flows and Im full of joy that's and that's because of the city
  this city's full of joy for me as its creation swirls round and round and my creation keeps going

it's all imaginary and i love it

what is creation but faith? i have the faith of creation not quitting  the song half way as its gleaming sideways running on the wharf of the winter city

 She came to me last night a word in he r hand and an empty dress her breast s speaking to me

  each man knows this

 woman know as they know the cold the collective the solidarity between men and women
  the warmth
   it s why  i dont share the current rash for marriage among the homogenized hordes rushing to carrying what's institutional to the next level of normativity

 god forbid! we become normal.. Was   it not Julia Kristeva coined a term describing the normoid?

  not that I especially like her   i saw her in a video and she sounded like a psychoanalytic cop? and they say it has no more influence on society? that's its day is over?!  come come you're dreaming they're everywhere  selling their currency

     in any case the wave rushes out 

 more coffee on the road the silver waves call

   my boat sails at  Noon   ~


seasons /false/ draft


for those every word's a dollar
        others like myself each word's worth the future and past

naturally there are variations of that
 yet in the levels and 
scaffolds the plateaus of daily life they are stolen from you