This is me relaxing
this is me not liking what I’m writing
this is me still looking for the answer
this is me with a vestigial sense of boredom
this is me with mountains petals mountains petals mountains
this is something like a bag of petals paper catching petals
this is vision you are bequeathed a vision and you grasp it whether it is sandwich bags or earth house hold
this is your gift your vision
this is how we do it
how and how and how
Tag Archives: relaxation
—okay—relax the mind
these are my instructions to myself
Resting consciousness and sparrow comes to visit. Sparrows are efficient. No timetables, no project plans.
may 25, 2007
Undo, undo, undo. Redo, redo. The present always seeming trendy, up-to-date. My jaw, my gland, my stars. My capability.
I am resting.
What is it? Questions. Answers. Paralysis. This is a point. This is a letter. This is a word. This is a story.
She is sad and discouraged, head resting in her hand. Head in hands. Objectionable behavior. Pressed into a diagram.
This is the geometry. This is the measurement of her. This is the slippery slope, the slide. This is the choppiness of commas. This is the desire to relax. This is hunting. Hunting for badgers. Hunting in puddles. Hunting under the microscope.
This is looking. This is devising. This is an insult. This is non-allusiveness. Allusion, illusion. Protrusion, contusion. This is desperate. Separate. Disparate. Apparent. This is desparent. This is disappearance.
This is the long form. This is the long relax. This is the long white whine. Where is the invention? What is the distinction in the roots of literature?
I am sick.
Feel made sick by these studies.
Relaxation in the spring sun.
Leaves in chartreuse fluff state—sigh—poetry is so predictable and oppressive oppressive rules—sigh—
tools, tools, more tools and cobblestones and asphalt patch and soil
pea sprouts
asparagus shoots
let me show you
april 29, 2007
limited expression limited by cloudiness and long fatigue. Unjustified by Sunday’s simple misery. So long, let go,
long song, still flow. Say so, how know, myrrh go, far low. Fairly groveling on the mat, not willing to hold still. The atmosphere changes, the mind follows. The feelings follow, and the feeling tones, a flock of sheep with perfect teeth.
I see your teeth, I see your sheep, your shape, your perfect hair. How adulterous, how adulary, how omniferous. Iron shapes the seedlings, tender iron flowing in their veins, their tremulous simple veins. Hard to know, hard attack,
mé l’art.
april 25, 2007
Been a long time. The project is red, as red as the buds. The questionnaire is purple. Disability and rescue. Caught between the acts. You could say caught but there is never any stasis. Rest in flux. The boredom of hostages. Involve your body, musculature, mind, and investigate. Investigate the virtues.
New moon. New moon draws out subtle energies. New moon. This is the new moon night. I am supposed to tune in to that energy. oh your energy. Instead I’m resting in the flawed field, the field of fallow/fallen, the failed field, the coordinates are my face. I can’t describe this. I am alleluia.
I am eclipse. I am an-atta. I am not even approaching Sati. You have to watch out for me in my current state.
A herd of movement in the gray-brown out the window. Deer move carefully in suburbia. I can count four of them, standing in their places, flicking the itches in their ears, shaking their heads, chewing. They look thin, their tails seem shaggy. One has settled down to rest, more relaxed in the wetland preserve than a human or a dog would be. I can see the tips of the other’s ears, flicking, shifting. White tails, brown tails lined with white fur, lined with black. Now two are lying down.
Turn up the heat on all of your endeavours. Try to rest, relax. Do scar massage. How painful waking up, how painful email. How to do it. Not sure movies or a sleeping mate is something skillful. Sad. There is chocolate and dried fruit. It might be wisest at this point to clean.
It’s not all that much harder to relax.
2nd Prose Poem conference
Something I’m not writing anymore
the disintegration of
the diary
on purpose
the relaxed alignment
of destructive tendencies
and all those names
those names for things
far-reaching Adams
wrestle in the garden
double Adams
double Garden
and there is no Eve
on daylight savings time
something made of ill repute
that catches up with you
march 11, 2007
Genres of note. Choking out syllables of gemshit. Murderous eyes on the sly. Poetry magazine induces epilepsy. I am relaxing into awful afterday of Security BRD—how unpleasant is your name Alleluia who is Shakespeare after all and what did he enable
Hark hearken harken herald
The back door of relief
the deck of equanimity
the roof of aloof
the sink of basin
the rug of rolling over
the kitchen of wishes
do not underestimate the pluses of poverty—I am seeking poverty, so wretched without you and what can I do about it—
yoginis in spiffy outfits
yoginis in stretch suits
yoginis dancing in rags
pale as rags pale as dust
Gayatri
Someone needs to go out and buy thread. I feel the coils of my brain relaxing sometimes Sam’s presence just fosters such reaction, such aversion—I am not coping with it very well, or Stephen Batchelor’s pompous question How would I live my life if I acknowledged I was going to die and Dudley did die February 6. Let’s have some rice and stir-fried vegetables for dinner, except there is no rice, no tofu, and a minimum of greens. Ginger, Yes. Food is still a friend of mine. Last night, at pompous vegetarian Ahimsa fuck I can’t get over Eli’s bicycle and how impossible it is to fix this—how little I really want to talk to anybody
A need to relax the mind, heal the interaction. She is a poet. He is dressed in second-hand clothes. She resists friendship, the contaminant of it. He is studying in the hot, in the cold. She is working on images not words. He is dreaming of the garden. She is assembling her questions into a marble monument, he is handling rotten fruit and leaves.
I am resting. My arm feels like a brittle painful twig twig of pain.
Phenomenology of poetry.
Aversion of poetry
Resting through aversion
Resting with oily skin
Elderly talking
Loving their children
november 20
Resting, resting, arresting.
Absence of relaxation today—what? pressure? the house is a pressure.
Pressure—pleasure—pressure—pleasure—someone has to have the answers
why does it seem like my goal is to stump them?
Let’s try to relax. For lunch I ate 3 tiny cubes of cheese. Some off-peak grape tomatoes and some fairly dried baby carrots.
A couple of nacho chips with cheese sauce. And some bottled water. Later, Halloween candy from the bowl in front of me.
I want to stay relaxed.
I’m nervous about Sam coming upstairs. If he saw me writing, I would say “I’m writing.” I don’t want him to know what I’m doing.