desnos told them that their future was glorious.  and they loved him for it.  they were somehow spared.

i told him the story of robert desnos reading the palms of the women waiting to die.

i tell him the whole story.  gogol's slow suicide.  his last words, a ladder, quick, a ladder!

dr. hans prinzhorn makes me look
at these pictures two hours a day.

i am of two minds on that connectivity.

    

a picture in a book became a movie on a train.
                                         

although those things were interchangeable.

as if there were

a connection between things.

it was only through the movies did i finally see what some people called life.

    i remember taking pictures of women
   on the beach one summer.  1947.

                           
                                                       i danced to the wrong music once. 
                                                       they played the wrong music.
                                                       and i danced to the wrong song.

sometimes i feel as though things are going through me or i am going through them.

fire breather.  yellow springs, ohio.  1936.

no.  but i was always a big fan of memory.  what else is there?

you never believed in dreams.  you never believed in truth.

dreams are always cheating truth in mine.  i get little out of them.

 artifice is always cheating truth in my dreams.    

our first tryst.  a waiting place.  in my dreams.

the corner of walton and westwood.  green neon across the street.

i am still on the boat with williams and arp.  it makes me blue.  good night, my love.

adele, i need to see you.  we are on a train in the past now.  where am i getting your messages from?

we can lose ourselves in that space.  we've always been able to lose ourselves in that space.

i see myself diving.  it is a memory.  this is not an hallucination.  the space between
the board and the water is our space.  i consider it to be our space.

seizing and missing opportunities are conjectures from some dime-store rags.

he remembers it another way.  always looking out the back door.  there is no conceivable now.

while it was happening, it was already a memory.  i remember it one way.

i gave him the opportunity on a silver platter.  he was lucky to get it.  i don't think he would get it again.

it was a lucky punch.  i really didn't feel a thing.

i never saw it coming.  i never knew what hit me.

that is not to say that you missed it.

the chances are that the opportunity was there, and you didn't see it. 

mayflies who live but a day.

the red whisper of a dancer.  the melancholy of transience.

rows of letters, which i remember vividly, across an ornate ear, which i don't.

more messages that i do not recognize about tomorrow.

writing has been creeping in on the visions.  next time there will be more.

arthur, i show you everything.  i can't bring it up now.  i will show you when it comes.

adele, i want to see the barn.  show me the barn in nebraska.

                                           
                             the only music coming from a record player in a barn somewhere in nebraska.

no one speaks in these hallucinations.  the parrot is mute.  

rectangles within rectangles.  boxes within boxes.