Wednesday, 13 July 2011


klaus’ asleep .a cloudy night ,silvery flowers sleeping in folktales without snow .in klaus’ sleep

rain falls slowly & upwards .crows cry out harshly .silvery flowers become a cloudless night &

turn to snow .she turned the key in the door ,the room was loud with a television from which crows

fly alarmed by the turn of the key in the door .in the hot sun she wore a sleeveless dress .klaus

fears blindness ;fears the fear of blindness .he turns on the bathroom tap & drinks from it

.crows settle on seaside bandstands .deborah is neither fearless nor afraid .the streets are quiet ,a

church dwells behind large green trees .they marched in a type of nightgown or medical disguise

.anne was sick of the sound of that song ,fears the emotions dead people experience in klaus’ sleep

.grandmother bakes macaroons ,they cool in the kitchen ,noise of children scuffling in the street

.klaus ties his necktie ,looks at the bedside clock to tell time .it’s not yet midnight .through

absentmindedness he had left the kitchen light glaring .jim pours a glass of alcohol & looks at the

dark & all its shivering shapes .in a folktale it’s raining .the pretty girl in a sleeveless dress loves

handsome paula in a sleeveless dress .cédric chases crows on the lawn ,you can see from the

photograph he was laughing .they point to their mouths as if to say listen .klaus lay back down

on the bed fully clothed his tie buried in snow .a fox moves through a city the fox moves through the

suburb .he was hurt ,his jaw hanging open like mariners on a becalmed sea .it was up to you to

make it secure .in a hot sun she wears the dress with thin sleeves .fascination ,razor blades

.overnight it had rained heavily ,silent like a warning cry ,& they stripped off their clothes & ran into

the sea glittering & changeless & mutable & the gold red above them & the red gold reflected under them

& the houses became so thin & tattered & poor & vera pulled back the chicken’s eye to look into its dreams

& they kiss

they are fascinated by wounds in the television news .are they real or are they illusory ?dressed

in splendid rags or rags of splendour ?they investigate rain for sexual aspects .they become

small town butchers’ shops in the past .paula drove the hire car out of the city towards his mother’s

childhood .the moon hides behind an enigmatic countenance reminding paula of a butcher’s apron

.henry approaches the butcher ,throat red & cream with fear a butcher reminded him :“there is no

fear ,only form” .you sing in the daytime ,at night you listen to yourself singing at night .”there

is no form only fear” .compulsion to imitate machines at their destruction .kristin sleeps through

a railway journey ;rain burns deep into the carriage windows ,the passengers sublimely scarred

.through a few failed states utopian shadows turn purple & dance to popular music as it exists in homely

paintings .the child looks at its countenance ,wonders at the candour of its smile .you become

tired ,yet cannot sleep .soft hills ,undulations , a text enacting drift of clouds beneath a river bank

.helen walks through fallen leaves & falling leaves ;a low sun wobbling along the path alongside her ,she

thrusts her cold hands into her coat pockets & laughs to see an angel on every bush & tree .bert

slumps ,bored ,at the butcher’s counter .he drops thick steaks into a paper bag then paints his lips like

sunsets at dawn .he reads a poem he wrote on the way to work ,& asks kristin for a beautiful word to

make his poem the most beautiful in europe .kirstin is in london to buy furniture for the secret

meeting .they drive out into the suburbs & on ,to a great warehouse where all the furniture is kept

deep frozen .bert takes the last bus out of town .cowgirls ,each weighing thirty stone ,lift

sleepy bulls above their heads & drop them through the open roofs of sleeping houses .it is incredibly

cold ,clear sky ,no snow ,stars glittering & clanking .kristin is being chased through the corridors of

abandoned tower blocks , one after another , infinite series of snowfalls , proleptic history books

klaus experiences his fists rolling away in anger .his thighs are in the clouds ,the day is clear & warm

.saskia knows the secret of an alphabet ,how all its numbers live naked & alone .klaus wears a grey

suit & has three glass eyes distributed about his face .another hospital shone in the afternoon sun &

was far out to sea .klaus had documents in his inner pockets .lucy knots a scarf under her

pointed chin .rain lashes down ,the buses are packed & the passengers imagine a world in which

darkness occurs ;at night or in sports arenas ,like an obscene laugh emanating from a field of bulls

.bert makes a small whimpering sound .snow covers the sea which scarcely moves under its shroud

.jim finishes his alcohol .sickness invades his throat .he vomits tears ,as they fall to the

ground fleshy flowers spring up ,scenting the room with boiling tarmac .their furniture is out on the

street ,they listen to a radio ,clap their hands & dance ,they sing requiem for klaus’ three glass eyes inert in

a bucket underneath the operating table .in silence we make love ,the trees outside our room

whispering & laughing :in silence they lock the door to their room from the inside , descend some

few stairs from the front door down to the street .the trees are silent ,not a breath of wind disturbs

them , not a rustle of leaf( it was early summer )nor a creak of branches .in the mild blue sky brilliant

crimson stars solemnly circle & lift up out of sight .rául & his sister paul hunch down low , like they

are evading sniper fire .you went into the kitchen to check if any of the onion soup remained on the

stove .you pour the remaining onion soup into a bowl & drink it-your damaged teeth shuddering with

a pain all their own .you feel no discomfort ,only surprise that any of the soup remained for you

.a nearly plucked chicken hangs , dripping salt water , from a butcher’s hook from the ceiling . lucy

dives into the clear grey water & strikes out for the open sea

james stares drunkenly at the hospital night .a system of communication against love .saskia

wedges the parcel under her arm & runs for the ferry .james fell asleep on a hospital bed .terror

of endless night equals terror of endless morning .the sky is a sea wherein the birds do swim

james shouted imploring for more blankets never dreamt such cold & such noisy silence saskia

sets feet on the opposing bank ;it’s quiet here ,a few birds sing their stories ,the trees & bushes whisper &

moan .they roll james in his chair away from the bed & into a vast corridor made of thick steaks

jim forces the liquid down his throat ewa slides on the ice & laughs- her breath frosting in the

warehouse air .has there ever been a more perfect system of hope & hopelessness ?such that sex

had never been on the history of the earth .chunks of painted masonry fell to the earth .standing

pools & boggy field ,glittering across surfaces everyday language .sherwin waits for the lights to

change ,the hire car heater on full .a river hurries ,thin & panting ,alongside the road ,there’s a box of

envelopes on the seat beside him ,every time the lights change each envelope seals itself & the mice on the

back seat scuttle in luke’s consciousness .klaus stood at the water’s edge .the river in this place

slides around some structures of ambiguous human origin specks of white & grey matter emitted

shrill alarums :shrill alarums are emitted by specks of grey white matter .klaus sniffs at the lapels of

his jacket ,weirdly enough they are scented pine & juniper .he understands from the mirror elena

holds up to his face that he is weeping ,without control .klaus’ poor eyesight & the blurring tears

transformed a river barge into a horse & cart .the cowgirls whoop & drink lemonade until the town is

shot to pieces .he explained to him ,how it was he had once seen the world gone dark ,glowing

like a burning coin spinning under the earth early light ,& we are in one another’s arms ,a tap dripping

in another building & language never devised

the animal dance in their nest the animal dance in their net pinhole light emerged through

white green strips & rag .came in out from out in coming .every silence so solemn ,plural

.extreme noise .maurizio rumages through flags of nations in a warehouse out of town a head

glares at him ,from out of the refrigerator .the animal call in out through daybreak & mist gold

deepens into tree splash ,the animal dance on top of maurizio’s head .karren washes the head in

minty water & throws it into the hire car boot .often they fall to their knees in the middle of the street

,& as inspiration calls them they call upon angels to wash their heads .now the walls of the building

soften & fade .a few sprigs of wire ,a thumb & finger full of hair represent the inner partitions .a

solitary television calls out to its echo ,a solitary television balanced perilously near to the edge of a world

.they hang around the waiting area looking up at the big television on its ledge & across at children

clumsily jumping from wall to wall .synesthesia in blindness television & echo merge

,although certain discontinuities & non convergences ripple & howl the length & breadth of the stony

desert he falls to his knees in the middle of a busy street , angels their lips on fire their wings iced

over tumble from a narrow cut in his throat & hurl concrete slabs through the windows of art galleries &

sex shops sangita called the cat to come from where it curled in the undergrowth .cautiously ,as

if artificial language ,the cat came to her & leapt into her arms .cat smell & damp afternoon .no one at home

.deep river star mirroring curtains .damp in the vanishing walls ,a greeny mirror ,lipstick ,cat shit

.steven sprawls on deck a near empty ferry .only a few passengers sit above deck ;the remaining

handful huddle below against the raw late autumn day .he drifts into sleep ,dreams he’s driving a hire

car for miles through a bright & snowy night .he looks like a ghost has seen him & did not survive it

in a clinic doctors cut the tongues from ghosts’ mouths ,so are we all sung like a worm’s eye view of

birdsong .sylvia dressed hurriedly for fear she become a pantomime character .dolorous

map ,future of its destruction written in some past of its amnesiac pornography !now it’s no longer

childhood how much younger the buildings all appear ,their basements like tongueless eyes sucking in

crows ,their roofs like trains tumbled down embankments !klaus wrote down the first thought to come

into your head .the butcher’s shop filled with passing fish .& as the train hushed onwards among

well wooded country ,a farm & outbuildings ,the belly of a storm sucking in cows .georgios arches his

back & commences the wrestling match .his opponent vanishes through horizons flat as farthings

must become .bernardita wears a top hat in the bath .they are very ,very still we fear they are

breathing still :subtle positioning of a bed to ensure visibility & anonymity .are condemned food

.messages began to appear to selected recipients in locations associated with their failed love lives

.junichi passes a sealed envelope to hank who wears a beard & scar .no sunset is less sublime than a

sublime moonscape elsewhere .& now they hasten against night ,loading their hire car with boxes of

envelopes & applying make up to charm surveillance cameras .klaus runs the hire car along a dirt

track ,its wheels spinning furiously as the tide strengthens & the car gets pulled deeper into choppy waters

.ewa shivered in the deep freezer warehouse .her gloves & boots feel thin & rough & dry & slippery

as fish scales .the right to peaceful protest ,the right to non existences .this narrow door ,left

rocking on its hinges in a summer breeze a generic cradle song makes you uneasy ,you hear where it

originates ,you see the scarred head & the beautiful lips miming it .you are going mad ,but in such a

way that no one least of all yourself will notice .the breeze died down & the song became a few

simple statements of fact ;of date of birth ,of official numbers ,of address temporary or permanent or last

known at

one creature in twelve month or so uttering less than thirty word formulaic .eating foods quiet &

desolation .red of night in a milky window .impossible to define species .lament

.the other birdes gather about their fallen comrade .chivalric .i rip out my thoughts

.quotation .an other creature in ten year or so of seasons autumn spring winter summer winter uttering

no sound onlie musick that resounds as if from under the earths .jukka irons his fine white shirt at a

red & trembling window .the stricken birde lift his head & his eyes are becoming light bulbs

.jukka buttons his fine white throat to the shirt & the bicycle skidded on black ice .earth & sky

,curving & carving .is a monotonous city ,where dead clerks make the lovingest lovers .jukka

curses his misfortune .his white shirt reddens with his blud ,the trousers of his suit are ripped at the

knees ,the wheels of his bicycle spin unstoppably for many seasons in many countries on many continents

./t/ /j// /////o //\rl .the bird filled with skies .klaus handled precious material with care ,a slight

tremor affecting the little finger on his other hand .he collapsed in a series of opening envelopes ,the

wheels of veronika’s bicycle abruptly ceasing to turn .hanna feels nameless in this garden

:experienced namelessness in those gardens .they strip posters from a blackened wall ,the queue for

taxis stretches half way around the moon .jukka folds his fine white shirt & packed it in his suitcase

.his hotel contains albert’s memories of finding himself dead one morning .jukka has never to know

what job it is he does ,who employs him ,whose fortunes depend upon jukka’s decisions .he read

pictures on a computer ,bent double they drown their animals in honeysuckle drowsy ditches .she

often fell asleep at her place on reception ,fat police gliding noiselessly by .he can’t rid his clothes of

the smells of himself the bird’s comrades lift the bird into the branches & there they laugh to watch

trams go by .jukka washed the back of his neck with soap & soapy water moonlight had

clambered down to shimmer parallel to his window .where is you

then their car turned from the road & they parked it on a raised & grassy bank .telephone wires were

beaded with droplet beards ;a solitary soldier masturbated beside a meat processing plant .hamish &

ellen climbed a stile & ran for a life from car to barracks .no sentry stood at the gate & from the guard

tower came a mooing of cows .a car turned from a road & then they parked it on the raised grassy

bank .the solitary soldier forced the terrified meat processor to masturbate beside democracy & the

rule of law .it was no longer autumn ,never .hamish ambled about the wayside gathering wild

plums oh that hang like swans from under the chattering brook .a solitary soldier masturbates klaus

under a sleeping bag .ellen shooed swans away from her car .a hotel so near a railway line you

could hear clouds ,their forming & dissolving .if you are afraid call me ,yet don’t be afraid to

.he’s with klaus in winter .the fence has a dusting of snow ,there’s a grey sun on their mantelpiece

.they’re scrutinising envelopes ,to determine which are life sentences .the room is unheated ,now &

again furniture creaks & groans .klaus digs down into the floorboards with a garden spade .in the

blizzard that’s left over from last winter we can only see as far as the meat processing plant .the

barracks are invisible , as is the frozen over brook .as you stumble in the ice on the ice over the ice my

eyes inhabit a retail outlet nearby .under the ice swans stretch their wings .ellen backs the car

from the grassy bank & out on the road .redness of snow ,diminishing pale pink & sky flattened to

railway .a solitary soldier walks into klaus’ head & begins to shop for bread & onions .ella

parked the car miles from where she parked the car .upper class accent .a solitary soldier falls

from the guard tower & falls & fell for always .some drunks cross alone to the meat processing

plant .time & history collide .unique .i’ll make the visit to your friends tomorrow ,today

i’m a bit too tired .then

one day awaken ;ancient systems for writing .they weave building into building ,as always their

simple food & extreme terrain .illegible & significant dries his eyes on a summer’s afternoon

.the people with their dry broken feet .many years of those songs ,cloudy ,flitter ,majestic

.within a place a jug & a knife ,a book of pins & a plastic snail .she’s her mother’s winter coat

.voiceless habitation .as a bitter wind skimmed the pond’s surface robert cautiously took her letter

from inside his winter coat ,folding it down against his heart to save the letter blowing away .his gaze

disappeared from the small map sketched below the letter’s final text on the reverse side of a second sheet

of unlined notepad paper ;& the small map slipped from the page ,establishing itself as the terrain

where he was standing .despite the wind & the cries of angels from out the bracken & marshy grass

surrounding he discarded his coat & folding it returned it to the inside of her mother’s winter coat lick

at a drying pool of blood .on claws ,cautiously ,ears attuned for messengers .he slammed the

boot shut ,heard music from the lockup -so they’ve been here all along !for hours retracing those

letters the boom of a world somewhere ,grinding his teeth & observing stars sailing by .gertruida

dragged his body to the basement .tumbling stairs mumbling stars his hair combed to resemble an

operating theatre in a war zone .turning her sorrow away she reaches inside his father’s coat for her

mother’s letter .the little drawings of household pets cause her to learn how to play the piano

.she props klaus’ ghost in a sitting position ,spine against a rocking chair .they’d selected furniture for

the crisis meeting from a deep freeze warehouse .lorries backed out into the night .it’s never

truly dark here ,explained jim ,only true .the lorries swayed & bucked in the strong wind

.robert looks to see if he’s being spied on .the angels are all asleep ,curled up in one another’s wings

.robert kneels at the pond’s side ,deep in the damp mud ,& prays .if i kiss you will you be angry yes

it’s time they rested ;ate a meal then slept .tentatively he removes the bandage .the wound is

dark red & angry ,with paler edges ,yet it looks clean & uninfected .he props his arm on the table &

paints it with the sun’s rays .the kitchen is an isolation ward .only the moon’s rays are allowed

in there .shadows of weeping willow are the material from which the room simultaneously vanishes

& appears .he’s read the page so many times .the language appears familiar ,more familiar than

he appears to himself .yet the words are without reference :either to external object ,or internal state

,or to themselves as words or shapes or a music of hisses ,grrrs ,scratches ,lulls ,drummings ,spittings

,slurpings .ashton quietly closed the door behind her .she was in no hurry to open the door

.milena opened the door ,hurriedly .a vivid wound of blue sky ,so intense it edged towards radiant

blackness .quietly she closed the door & approached julien’s arm .she unpacks ointment & fresh

bandages & some bread & onions from her shopping bag .into a hot pan she places the steak .the

butcher’s shop reappears ,unmysteriously Dearest Friend.

I was deeply distressed by your last letter. What can I say to you? How can I comfort you,-I who also require comforting? How dearly you are having to pay for your husband’s precious letter. What a terrible enclosure. I could feel no real joy at my good fortune; I could think only of you and your sorrow – not that the doctor’s letter has deprived us of all hope, because I cannot believe that the spring will not make you the happiest of women. But how terribly hard it is that our hopes for the immediate future should be snatched from us! My poor friend, how you must be suffering. But your fears also are only for the winter, are they not? You too hope that the worst will then be over? Your husband is not suffering as much as you are. What a comfort this must be for a woman like you. I cannot stir from my conviction that your dear one’s illness is cured but that his mind, unlike his body, is not yet fully restored. A letter from you makes him forget his loneliness for whole days and what a wonderfully soothing effect music must have upon him.

You remember how the doctors commented on your husband s first letter which you thought “unexpectedly sensible”. You don’t know what trouble I had to prevent the doctors from announcing to you, when in Ostend, that your husband s correspondence would be reduced. Remember, too, how much of his behaviour strikes the doctors as unnatural. When I saw him he put his hand to his mouth as usual, and the doctor said portentously to me, “Look, he often does that”! I replied “He has always done that”. “Yes”, he said, very gravely, “many people have told me that already.” There is much even in your husband’s letter which the doctors will not be able to explain. But oh, how childish I must appear to you with my inadequate attempts at comfort. All we can do is to have hope and faith. It is no good thinking about it, for that neither brings hope nor fosters or strengthens it. But you may derive comfort from the dear letters. They are so beautiful, so full of love. Was not the last to you the most beautiful of all? But I ought not really to say that. For see how he thinks of me – with what fond affection!

But forgive my letters and believe me when I say that I am graver at heart when I think of you than you can possibly gather from my letters. When I write to you I feel as though I were speaking to you. You bear your grief so proudly that one easily forgets all the pain of it and becomes cheerful; I am still young and often boyish, you must forgive me. You must surely believe and know that I really feel things deeply, and that although my youthful spirits or levity make me appear different, they can never allow me to forget. I have sent the letter direct to Joachim. How great your friendship for us must be to have allowed you to make this great sacrifice on our account. One cannot speak one s gratitude, one can only prove it. With deepest love and reverence, Your

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