I Subdued Night Until the Desert Was Clear and a Disk Shone Above

I did not attend L's friend's memorial service, L & K, the third friend in the trio, wanted to go together and I was not wanted nor should I have been. I disced beloved Seneca's 27 with Dr Z, my putts farted, worse day of putting in recent memory, 334354444, 646444444, 544434444, missed 17 putts within thirty feet that I'd been burying of late (not all seventeen of course, but eleven or twelve or thirteen), leaves are down and down acorns and walnuts beneath the down leaves, I'd like to blame the footing but here's the truth: I bought a different putter (hasn't arrived yet) I want to try as an up expecially forehand, the aero experiment is over, done, failed, but my current putter got wind of it and fucked with my head today. I had a blast. I did accuse Ramie Jaskin of moral cowardice a few minutes ago on twaater, the same Ramie Jaskin I might have met at the memorial I might have attended but was asked not to but not because L was afraid I'd say something to Jaskin, and I wouldn't, not there, today in my complicity

I still don't own a top-of-the-line overhead scanner, this one gouache and salt, I'm watching paint dry again, I wish I could hand it to you to see and hold, please don't turn it upside-down, spin, the salt falling off is normal. It is very me to do 3D art that would be destroyed if I tried to scan it face down on the high resolution scanner I have access to much less is deteriorating as I type, I thumb this like a worry stone

We left for New Jersey an hour before this posted. We're picking up Louie, a rescue from a puppy mill, from a family friend on my son-in-law's side, around ten this morning then driving to State College Pennsylvania to meet our daughter who drives from Ann Arbor(ish) to meet us and hand off the dog but not before enjoying maybe disc maybe hike maybe walk around Bellefonte and/or State College and have fun, dinner, fun tomorrow morning. No anger, no grid today, joyfully unintentional and not thwarting compulsion. Today in my complicity. I guarantee the song below this photo of Louie is not the song I just put in your head





By the way, bots nuts now, be advised. Yowzawooga





FROM MY FOREHEAD

Alice Notley

He seems to be in front helping me look out

of my foreheaded self. Listen to me:

prone night. I was its actual first child

cutting a path with my sword through its

vapors. Then I subdued night until

the desert was clear and a disk shone above.

I am the hero of the struggle between de-

spair and illumination, which is not a shaky

buoyancy but claritas. The name of life

or that you see at all. Just look. If you

kill yourself nothing will happen.

No choices but pedestrian actions a lying

story: you have done nothing. You

can be a detail — a scurrier — garbage

you leave, a fit of nerves, propagating that.

The front of my looking out pulls

beauty taking me taking you. The scab in the sky

is gone. We have to go beyond our calculations

and the small words. Why a golden fringe on shirt

come quickly riding the best horses. And

nux is what night the worthless was, as I

sang, We don’t have to believe the petite poetries.

Hooves are pulling us across the yellow sands:

lost in a word, led in a word I got there.

I can never turn back, you see and you can never turn back.