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The Nacreous Oughts

28 September 2004

"I suppose I had always hoped that, through an act of will and the effort of practice, I might be someone else, might alter my personality and even my appearance, that I might in fact create myself, but instead I found myself trapped in the very character which made such a thought possible and such a wish mine."

Lyn Hejinian, My Life (1980)

26 September 2004

"I Invented Graywyvern As a Futile Attempt to Introduce Heteronymy Into Kiwi Language Poetry"

Shake it like an alien autopsy Polaroid.
Amid the glare and talking to the sea
I dreamed I had invented you, and when I awoke
The porter pointed up beyond the door.
I am of very fond bananas.
They from the dim inane and vague opaque
Sell droshky lite and droshky fake
Or some aught-else whose being-unknown doth rot
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
And Minutemen, they say, is what we are.
That may sound entirely cryptic; in which case,
I refer the reader to the text.
And, when a thought would unmask our soul's masking,
Itself goes not unmasked to the unmasking
.

Ken Springtail the real one


"Whose Woods These Are I Think I Guano"

Shake it like an alien autopsy Polaroid.
Amid the glare and talking to the sea
I dreamed I had invented you, and when I awoke
The porter pointed up beyond the door.
I am of very fond bananas.
They from the dim inane and vague opaque
Sell droshky lite and droshky fake
Or some aught-else whose being-unknown doth rot
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
And Minutemen, they say, is what we are.

K. S. (or maybe S. K.)
Shake it like an alien autopsy Polaroid.
Amid the glare and talking to the sea
I dreamed I had invented you, and when I awoke
The porter pointed up beyond the door.
They from the dim inane and vague opaque
Sell droshky lite and droshky fake
Or some aught-else whose being-unknown doth rot
And Minutemen, they say, is what we are.

K. S.

09 September 2004

Shake it like an alien autopsy Polaroid.

K. S.

03 September 2004

Language speaks itself.

"Silliman in Sequim"

Shall we not laugh, shall we not weep,
From the bountiful infinite west, from the happy memorial places
Stood blind between;
Yet from them something like as fire is shed
Pale wine, and honey with the honeycomb,

K. S.

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