..bees... butterflies..


  there are none  ..  neither seen nor heard ... you can walk for miles along the lachine canal or what was once the boardwalk and not come across one... plenty of cyclists though oh yeah
                         you got your st. Lawrence river flowing past rapid or slow

                                     but the wind's not gone

   ... but where once there were 25.000 types of butterflies and who knows how many times
  of bees, honeybees and bumble bees now a sighting is rare  , incomprehensible,
   there are    few and far between

    bees are has bee(n)s
                     are long cries

     ~ if there are no butterflies what's become then of caterpillars?

o  there's bees  but not to be seen humming  in the air from flower to flower
        honeysuckle  nature's     beings...

   there in peoples' yards 

   which is nice
   ,  (  (it's a good start   )

            but maybe      not nice enough to save a  dying and extinct species
      like bees, honeybees , bumble bees,  butterflies

                                               to say nothing of human beings,

                                 but the wind's not gone
                                        the wind's not extinct,

                                      nor's the water,

                                                                          how long









  did your bk progress?

  it did
 what's next?
   not pretending
              neither false nor real contenders,
             in summer's leaf,


  leaves taking,




. the work..

   the work of poetry's     at night and day pushing limiting resources to exploit what's novel in the range and sense of  a word
 a wound moultinng

____________________________ the blog's a machine 4 making

 it happen     

                                            it happy 




  they can laugh at me for being different but I'm laughing at them all the while for being the same

 t hink about it

  who has the same  feet from day to afternoon?

     what arms of  deferral defender reckon the space of living  

knowing you're not a majority

         |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| the breathin' word's not the same as the written word ||||||||||

 ________________________________  but the living writing word  is the conjunction of both?||||||||||||


what is indented?


                             what is an indented space  theories of practice not the super-ego of reaction?


the super ego  in literary performance is the imagined critical

(i.e. the negative taking down of what's novel and unheard of  .... )

 it's not the true enquiring mind asking what is  the imaginative mind is really 

doing while

workingwith words or other things,





                  near end of may ... Maya? end of illusion.. poetry's a way of looking at things... am i looking at things? or.. dreaming of them...

 between the breath of book and being  .. the long poem hidden  ... tucked off in the fabric of the leaves....

   and a conversation with a woman ...

                           endured for months  ... was that poetry? what's poetry if it's not glove! Glove! Are you being stupendous?

A glove fair
   a n               air            love

                                 each tick of a word has to be a  play of posSibles and not the super-ego of poetry and self criticism

          lauded in the protectionism of the   ego  the go's self  the

----------- do you print y ' our    blogs your printed imagined book?

sum reader want  books  buh whah is a   Book?
a book's something you carry in the bus
  not hand sanitizer

        there are people who wants  busses with that on them! assholes!

paranoid jackasss ... next thing you know the shit's stuck to the ass of the un i verse  

  i printed my mouth       test test test    o testicles o testament

______________the blog continues to the other s 



re: better best...


Re: best better bestest

 was the echo of  a phrase of interest,

  how the dog ? beats the master   perhaps a question derived or secreted from its ,


  today we will see,

writing is a  speed,

if the speed's taken away,

its performance  loses,

  like as when,  wen, went, whence, it's




a  funny little

 w ord rising up there,

 but here as opposed to the books, the breath

of the living word's not tarnished,



__ 'comes to a dead halt'


 like a horse,
  no  , like a desiring machine,   it starts to work again, when it's broken  ,



You pierre felix

You, Pierre Felix obtuse charming Saint Idiot Spinoza becomings am the true (and tried) author of these blogs ______ also known as schizo your heart's friend. I, fictive sullen charming worn to the soles of love and its packaging. Hard pressed by time and ovaries, I am the samba to the damba ~

----------------------- there's' some false text below which brings us back to the question of the false pretender.

all true sailors have their degrees and Mister CD or Clifford Duffy or whatever bloggist pseudonyn he writeth under laden with falsity and perjury is no one but the voice of these halls as they spake English ligature.You think you are I . When I is who who is I who who's whose who is whos as whoose to hoosier plenitude is a bucket with many seats i n its behind derrière posterior


_____ Charming repose of exterior models and toys which animate
               idle hours you might
                                       Jill seizes up her horse shaw woof! gallop gallop Adam!
                              a climate in the dust answers no question a ringing in the right ear

_____________________ what you do make of that? 


spring's moody veritable


  May's veritable moody shifts in temperature don't really   .. and poor Fort McMurray and the  fires burning   ...



best better bestest


  and what ?
                                              come along then with your folly





 view 'n chew and you an beauty and too an you


  So an so was not as original as me .. i found myself recording today.. and thus brings forth the matter of originality
and what it means,

  how it brings and does it bring self worth, dignity, love, and






jesus - mavrone - thought the world was over they nailed him like a soldier

to his rood but he was wrong wasn't he? and the beech and ash and row of oak held up fast.
as the old god died new-one being-born borne its incarnated matter ever glow

__  as he was nailed like a soldier he became a figure of peach preaching the word of blog a  finger  at the fat boon Moon.

A  thing  like that can't be done,
can't be seen

 throw away one
 lose the rest

    things are connected      ~



re: ..oh!

 a note

Re: ..oh!
  is a mere note, but what's a note, a musical thing impinging on the crater of being, the best of being  ~?


.. it's a ..


  poetry's a  permanent occupation and it's got several parts as   there's the state of mind, the viewing things from a poetic perspective and the living, the thinking and the act of writing of course,

  where one of the elements is isolated, which is often the case, it creates problems for the one who writes 


i read something a few months ago which really struck me about the distractions? and diversions of writing,
  but paper being what it was,
  it's vanished,


in the wind

of the zen taco,

but some people think Zen's shit,

i think it's  a state of mind,

and handy,

really handy,

at times

for keeping things







  Oh lovers and delays and days and the serpentine road leading to one another centuries across worlds/ its balking  /past the centurion and Charon/

  where is she found  and the ground lip rising           `


41__ plunges into 42


     41' s  pretty done  (not pretty vacant) as plunging into 42's interlunar pace as it rolls over the latin surface

   its patois 

                              my work  my work                        my work          my love!

and with the dada right wing or hand and the left dada hand works on long prose poem

does a  bird man have a hand Mercy Mercury god of crooks writers crooked as the leaf in the sand
                   the singular in the many   ...
   what non writers fail to grasp
   let me say it another way   it's when writing that things get said  not when speaking,

     speaking's just an outside? a  discourse, another discourse,
between the fans beside the roof of the world, and the buddha's straight  finger

  O the buddh   hahahaha Mister St. D we knew about that didnt we and marvelled in our youth,

  the truth of the booth

and the bodhitsattva

-------------- ok  -------------------mister anticapialist lets go to a ball game