Friday, January 14, 2011

a small kitten played in a pile of intricately patterned clothes

the guitars and sounds of the beanery seem to cohere, along with a double espresso and I feel as if the lights of the stars and the flowing rivers out there in green somewhere had an agent of consciousness somehow tied into all the changing lives and aspirations and difficulties that come and go between contributed food and bad coffee and the fleeing spectacles, and arrows trying to reach the other side, the pools hit by stones, the ripples flowing outwhere in some kind of perfected detail, and wondering why the people and the times reflect the unit of moss of the tree and the branch, coming up into each successive breath and each successive effort through all the continuations and stretching details. The beautiful sound of a song of a chord can reverberate through the wood out there, going through all the ideas and chaos that continually arises. The days are slowly getting more mild and the signs of spring are going to be coming out. The continual cyle of the seasons and the breezes going here and there, walking under trees showing the rippling effect from each detail.

I was getting kind of interested today in the book I am translating from Japanese, "Some Prefer Nettles", by Junichiro Tanizaki, because he was talking about the types of architecture in Japan. The stuff near Tokyo (in the 20's) was not as beautiful because the earthquakes kept destroying everything, and they had to use stronger materials. whereas the stuff near Kyoto was more beautiful and traditional. Of course 99 percent of all that stuff is gone now, but it is still true that Kyoto has more of the Old Japan feel to it than Tokyo.

Here's a fragment of a semi-true story that I wrote from years ago:

This new house was filled with stacks of all sorts of thing, and a man named "River John" appeared to live there. A small kitten played on a pile of intricately patterned clothes. It was dark. They were smoking weed, and the atmosphere seemed otherworldly and surreal.
Tracy appeared to want to take off. I let him drive. We drove in circles, it seemed, here and there, and it was cold out, and very late at night. We stopped somewhere, near a house where he knew people. He got out to see if they were up, came back, and we both got out and walked down a pathway, through a door, and into a trashed room with a torn up couch, the windows covered with plywood.
I think I was there the whole night, sitting on the couch, staring at the walls, watching people of mysterious origins and intentions come in and out, through the main room to the other rooms. I may have drifted off at some point. Her "sister", Lisa lived in the back room with her boyfriend. Lisa would come out occasionally and start yelling, sometimes at her dog. Sheila was doing laundry in the kitchen, and the machine was vibrating, or maybe it was the nervous look in her eyes that appeared to be a vibration.

a wave of wind
the grass outside
washing machine is humming
Sheila shoving clothes
into the washer
She can't think about anything else
dishes are piled on the counter
a pit bull exits
the rear room
somebody yells something

Another woman in the far room would come out at various point and appeared to be gripped by demons. She was contorting herself in some kind of dance, and I could have no clue for why this was possibly going on, or what could be wrong with her.

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