In the House of the Hangman 1247

For me, a yoga of blue and inward vertigo, a path, an inward aural range, a forming incipience in the throes of initial avionics, where life ensues when the disobedient [are on the] boil, I am witnessing an old figure in blinding nitrogen socks, I am healing [you are healing] broken doves with [your] my fingers. Because these are psychic doves, umbilical limbo, but circulate respiration spinning forms of water from invisible rooting; which, of course, supersedes constrictive classification. Yet this is the Ground, one must access one’s caldron. I dipped my hand in the garbage can
 and then I put my finger in my mouth. A sort of first self, best self, ideological [subject-spectacle]. And the 40 minute intermission track “I Do Not Wish To Continue”. Things I’ve lived through, eighth notes, Finno-ugrian jazz, Bardo-Tibetan Reggae, yes, yes, school of udhra – a jug of wine, a bag of asafetida, full-to-bursting calabash, bowl turned upside down, ๐°　　。　　　　ْ　　　ْ　　°ㅇ　　　　°　ْ 　 ๐　 　°๐　 ㅇ 　　　　　ㅇ　ْ๐ 　　° ㅇ๐ْ 　°　 ㅇ ๐ 〇 °。ْ 　　ْ　ㅇ　　๐　　〇　　　　　　　ㅇ 　　　　　　๐　°。　　　　ْ　　　ْ　　°ㅇ 　　ْ　　°๐　　〇　 　　ْ　ㅇ　　๐　　 ㅇ° ْ 〇　 °。ْ 　　ْ　ㅇ　°　 〇　　ْ　　°ㅇ ㅇ๐ْ 　°　　　　　　　ㅇ　°。, the tripod is mustard, and it’s rainy. The famous tower is fruit, and petals falling. The vertical arm is swaths, and hair warmth. The window champion is bold, and riffing darling bolt. This video contains content from WWE. It is restricted from playback on certain sites. Watch on YouTube. And still the dread of the asteroid hurtles back so I trip to the path where under the rocks, more rocks, where I lift stones to align myself with light and come to the conclusion that yes! sure! ok! ten, nine, eight, seven, six, and so on — to the supply room where I have locked myself in to photocopy pictures of babies, then copies of the copies until the babies look like asteroids and the paper feed jams and I’m forced to bury the bodies in the valley where the sun beats like a, like a. There’s an image backlog: The rain out the window a reminder of a flood elsewhere, through and up floors walls windows. Here, a nearly destroyed golf tent. Next to, a man with the coat of a football team fan and jeans with months and months of unwashed wear. Now, the woman with the plush chicken again who almost forgets it again. She doesn’t forget the chicken! And that rebus painted on the bricks, I think it’s of some dude who had to climb a ladder to retrieve his basketball (caught between backboard and rim) ‘cause he had no hops. “Not to find one’s way around a city does not mean much. But to lose one’s way in a city, as one loses one’s way in a forest, requires some schooling. Street names must speak to the urban wanderer like the snapping of dry twigs, and little streets in the heart of the city must reflect the times of day, for him, as clearly as a mountain valley. This art I acquired rather late in life; it fulfilled a dream, of which the first traces were labyrinths on the blotting papers in my school notebooks.” Happy birthday, Pops. One day belated. But what does belated mean once the heart stops?

[Note: Sources: Will Alexander, “from General Scatterings and Comment”, in The L.A. Telephone Book Vol 1 2011-2012, at arras.net; JBR; Julia Bloch, “Etiological”, in The L.A. Telephone Book Vol 1 2011-2012, at arras.net; JBR; Darren Bauler, “a couple blearyeared summary notes”, at theater of diminished faculties, 26 Feb 013; Stephen Kuusisto, “From the Outskirts”, at Planet of the Blind, 26 Feb 013; Nathaniel Mackey, “SONG OF THE ANDOUMBOULOU: 11”, as quoted in “Black History Month: Excerpt from ‘School of Udhra’ by Nathaniel Mackey”, at City Lights Books, 26 Feb 013; Miekal And, FB comment, 26 Feb 013; Sesshu Foster, “‘There must be a pony!’ Postcard”, in The L.A. Telephone Book Vol 1 2011-2012, at arras.net; what happened when I clicked on the video embedded in Jon Cogburn, “Glenn Beck and Tea Party pwned by World Wrestling Entertainment”, at New APPS, 26 Feb 013 (pwned: “A corruption of the word ‘Owned.’ This originated in an online game called Warcraft, where a map designer misspelled ‘owned.’ When the computer beat a player, it was supposed to say, so-and-so ‘has been owned.’ Instead, it said, so-and-so ‘has been pwned.’ It basically means ‘to own’ or to be dominated by an opponent or situation, especially by some god-like or computer-like force.”—Urban Dictionary); Sachiko Murakami, “HAPPY B’AK’TUN!”, “The Great Wave”, at Joyland Poetry, 26 Feb 013; K Lorraine Graham, “TODAY, I OBJECTIFY”, in in The L.A. Telephone Book Vol 1 2011-2012, at arras.net; JBR, FB comment, 26 Feb 013; Walter Benjamin, “Berlin Childhood around 1900”, as quoted in Bhanu Kapil, “Homework: Monster Class”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 26 Feb 013; JBR (his b’day was the 27th)]

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