Lamella


as the scythe cleaves
fresh air out of 
darkness in rain
 
does the doe
flee her predator
sharp as a blade

Lamella ,  Jeroen Nieuwland

GNAT

someone is filming me from his window
as i sit on the curb. He is there even after 
he closes his curtain. Every so often  
I give him 2 thumbs up. Everything is O.K.

people in Sicily are afraid of the sea  
if all books were burned, if all books were erased,
& then written again . the science books wld be exactly the same
the religious books wld be different ; but they wld still be written . 

the crickets chirp dusk at the breaking of dawn
a lot of re-charging is needed. Always. Intermittently. 
mechanism of action : a palimpsest oar of horror .
she was doin’  her street-pharmacy hustle

bessere marketing = weniger Werbung
Spatial navigation to a hidden goal
what was her age when she died
here are some tips for navigating the faces :

vind je mijn muziek mooi?
Vind je mijn muziek mooi? 
Was dat te veel herhaling? 
Nee, maar wel moeilijk .

you will know once you enter the area 
the roofs of the city everywhere swarming with cats

	flow my tears, fall from your springs!
	Exiled, forever let me mourn;
	where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings,
	there let me live forlorn.

if you behave like an animal should i explain to you how to be human?
shimamanda – Advanced investigation Demolition Audition ! – Charles Lindbergh
now there is another theory . it is not really a resolved issue 
you can t anticipate the somatic state you will be in if you choose A or B

you have explained it so beautifully : 
 now i will ask the Question behind the question
the intra-receptive system
the trace has a living function for the psyche of the child 

they are destroyed by their own excitement
“Velocity is a bird, what we see, what we see, are peaks & horses” – Chus Pato
“We recognize altitude from elevation. We call the most extensive praire, ocean.” – Chus Pato

Do you have an encyclopedia machine .
that is the nature of our very being , weird /
silence. Is shouted  / deafen in instant .
i dress myself in Styles, & Fonts, & Ampersands.

let me speak the word 
“you too close mon. Back the fuck up”
“Be like Tyson. Manhandle him then knock the mother the fuck out.”
my desk is empty. There is a picture of my Guru, 

a plate of speed, 2 unsent letters.
Held hostage are Boris’ cello & Mikolaj’s guitar.
They cannot see each other
How many corners does your Kiez have? 

the continent of reason : the teller at the bank wears a pink ballerina tutu
i exist in facial expressions only seconds from sight . 
She likes new people – or kills them dead
“if i were your wife i would poison your coffee.”

“& if i were you husband, i d drink it.”
if i put up a curtain it will close the sound out like a cloud .

Gnat , Jeroen Nieuwland

“a convergence of birds”
the house exactly 
somewhere . behind 
the horizon creaks. 
Until the wind
falls still. Velocity is 
a bird. Its wings 
& feathers form 
a swarm.
Any one starling
a monad of murmuration,
becoming & exploding
into the flock from 
which it is born.

A convergence of birds ,  Jeroen Nieuwland

Some trees (game

i feel myself fragile
as darling does stone.

The willows weep not
for her who has gone.

My eyes cast a slant glance 
thru thick forest trees.

Their trunks tall, thin, & dense
live in shadowless dark.

In that moment it knows,
now it is the hunted.
 
So prey turns on predator
: eats thru organs & spine.

- -  - ---  - -

Some trees game ,  Jeroen Nieuwland

rivulets tributaries 

studying variations of silence 
he lives sequestered, at home.
His rhythm patterned as fugue. 

The antechamber is a pile
of letters unread. None
of the envelopes have even 

ever been opened. 
What had started as play
became a strict set of rules.

Thinking only was done 
in a rocking chair of fake time. 
From these elements sequences

knotted matter & memory 
into possible moments 
of stories neither imagined 

or written . Had they existed 
as tales,- arcs & plots
might have unfolded, as 

intimations of symptoms,
or fragments of melodies, 
recognized nor remembered 

by him or any mind-body-soul
forever, now, or ago.

Rivulets tributaries ,  Jeroen Nieuwland

Decathlon, by Neil Addison

from: "Stealth. Exile. Inventory", Owt Press, 2012

image: by Arthur Omar

Decathlon , Neil Addison

Focalpoints (my English translation of:

Brandpunten (a Dutch poem, by Paul Rodenko

Focal points / Brandpunten ,  Paul Rodenko

At The Double , Neil Fraser Addison

Been Caught Stealing (video)

Semi-colon; hideous

never again. i simply cldn t. one day you will understand. until then, remember the conversation that stopped us still in our tracks, that dusk, many moons ago, when the sun had begun, to change colour. we sat down in the middle of a dusty dirt road. what we listened, conveyed, perceived, & heard, between, beneath, above, & beyond, the words spoken & said, was of fundamental, elemental, urgent, pressing, importance. for the balance of chaos & order, of the things, then, now, after, & before. conscience, they say, is the voice of God, the Universe, Infinite Intelligence. in this lifetime, after this moment, our paths will cross once more. the occasion will be auspicious, but not festive. we will have died & been born again ; by that time already, easily, many lifetimes, ago. you will not be able to recall these words, this encounter. but the important things will crystallize instantly, clear, magic, in your mind.

darknessmoves