The Flood

"...deepens like a coastal shelf"



INTRODUCTIONS

Hill on hill

a brotherhood

my inmost home


***


A child is the greatest thing,
Larkin, you fucking prick.



***


Iceland isn't so far away.
The shores spew the same.

The houses hold a summer of progeny
And the related tribes hold their separate sessions.


***


"The wonderful port
of Greenland," so says

the tourguide, in his head
a shivering cactus.


***

Don't worry about the mountain,
It is kinder than your worries.

Man in his early years
Got stories of its cloudbrow.

But now time has come to walk,
O factorywatch vessel,
Waking to our sweeping
The bright flood of space.

From my boardwalk habitation
The father from the sea
On a sunny day, looked at me
With blooming eyes, as those

Around us drowned-out the sea.
Another fragment: the city.

Our house is very beautiful at night.




Oannes










fragmented into city states




RECEPTION

For want of a thought
I wrote this down,

Remembering Blake
And your moving shadows.

How can it be wrong?
The flow of a series

Of words as a series
Of sounds: I won't forget you,

Always-here angel,
How could I -- as you are

Here and so it is.
Seems it's been a long time,

Old ghost,
Since someone put a pen

To a paper for you.
But it's alright, I tell you

-- The painting of sounds,
Just underway -- from

The Shaunbritten formal
To the Shemspoke o' fleurs

-- Inject all the grace,
Sin -- loving and waiting

As your brainheart regards
To come from your netherspace

And listen and herald
The calm from your shipmate.

("Malcolm Argos")
If you or I told it, the joke wasn’t so funny. But Charlie made it hysterical by sticking in these sounds; so you would hear the gun cocking, the duck flying overhead, the explosion of the shotgun and then the duck falling and screaming all the way to the ground.”


--typing: riding into the future


bonfire of office furniture

the Ramses Hilton


INTERVENING DISCUSSIONS


Tianjin Ferry -- 11:00? 13:00?


Line 5 -- Huixinxijienankou -- A exit


--who lives in each home? write the correct number in the blank.


Birdsnake means snakebird.


Man sees holes between ideas -- in the mode of, say, "wood --> nails"
--or "sun" (shadow) --> "time"

...mammoth... Roman... classroom... building... flatland... Shanghai... mouse and human genome substantially the same



Mary's house is on the water...


SUMMARIA


"A cabin is a shelter made of...."
(In Korea with the kids, putting together sentences)



"[where]...every word she's playing has a connection to her orphan past"


"start homework now"


land-prices


"The next time you talk, I'll send you out, too. Okay, Eric?!"
(father of Leif?!)



history of man --> classroom



Why are you punching Roy? He punched you first? Well, now, stop punching."


"Dennis, get out."

--brings him to talk to lady in charge after class




bushbuck



STORIES

roots
are of waters
gods telling things
future
(as past)

dustgreen
(waterblack)

China Telecom

--reading the fishes
golden head
of wet sky
surfaces, ripples

Emperor -- blowing up boat
of friend who forgot

(Leaving Las Vegas)

dusttoad emerging
from the sandstorm,
stars
to forests

The Pacific
Secret Poseidon
of Original Eastward Odysseus




--little stream; sun's garden; Le Shan -- 12/2/10

POEM





Build a linkshell with the players in Eorzea today, and you’ve got yourself a group that will probably stick around for a very long time.


a limited root stream



sea-princess



Godafoss



"...stronger waters... a thousand keys"



"gonna be another hour here at the fjord
before back, uh, we are back in the open sea again"

DG make shape .... free space for your hair


Message to Busan

Me & Poseidon never got along too well,
Days at the beach, turning away, seeing what Mom
Was saying, he'd trip me with a wave, chastising
My presumption with earthly concerns, as a bomb
Validates, in the court of the too-happy king,
The castrated anarchist -- or in the tree-fort
Of the dry, safe library, I'd find him there, too,
Laughing in the encyclopedia, a port
In the storm a too-near tease to wave-wrapped, home-due
Mariners, docking at last in a watery
Grave. What a cruel, mad father! -- with his government
Of dusk, landscapes mute, squiggling lives following
Dimly in dangerous rays the impulses lent
By the kind-flying sun, that neighboring nation
Airlifting food in daily doses, his dark clouds,
Attempting each time, heliosphyxiation.

It's nicer up here, I must say: here in our crowds
Of mountains and trees, houses and cars in the sun --
And while he returns, in sea-lunging winds, typhoons,
Up here one walks places, can talk to everyone --
Can heckle his growls from the safety of the dunes;
And with the relative freedom of shifting shores,
Can plant new gardens of talking -- done with sailing
For the time being -- as we sit and stride the floors
Of our elevated rooms, shells in prevailing
Winds from the turning mountains', forests', secret gates
To the sea, in-league all along, in ten thousand
Tangle invisible lines -- the dangling bait
Of the salt-heart's self-love, rising to flood the land
We worked so hard to win, our boat-quays, our towers
Safe-locked into land-lines, and happily wind-struck
With voices conveying like freshwater flowers

The signals for beautiful winged things to drink up
The fruit of the roots in a weave of rich netting
Cohering from storm, peace, whole, sparkling with sky, mud-
Souled symbol of its own surviving -- resetting
The tidal rhythms to our own green or blue blood
Climbing in branches from sea-like transmissions, sunned
And starred and moonlamped and growing, stronger, stranger
From the original, photovoltaic, shunned
Law of the father of our beginnings, danger
To our kind with each passing day -- new birth
Ensuring we breathe under water no longer
Than nine-or-so months -- fortress of the mother, earth
Our great bracing enabler of bridges, diamonds
Over the bay -- strung across darkness, and only

now does it seem I am coming to my point -- me and Poseidon -- we were probably always going to have problems -- Grandfather in the NAVY sent right down in the flaming waters -- never to be released -- but in his old age, he was more or less mellowing out -- retired at the top floor of a five-star hotel -- in his very own penthouse suite -- his name in the political arena -- which you could say he helped keep interesting over the years -- a household one -- and he sounded genuinely contrite when I chastised him for all that trouble he was causing in Indonesia and New Orleans -- "no excuse this time, Poseidon -- it's not like the days when you hated the Greeks" -- but he's still bitter about that -- still planning problems for all known descendants -- though his efforts grow more futile in a credit-based economy -- and one night I tried to convince him -- overlooking the night-sky pantheon -- the sand below -- kids glowing with drinks and fireworks from 7-11 -- there's no need to die alone.