On Coffee: What is not thereby banalized? For me, only the interlocking patterns of thought; more precisely, the flow of my voice in an orderly sequence. On coffee, only talk is real. Skepticism. Mechanical activities: body-talk. Or, chatter. No other voice is listenable, you turn away in irritation, wanting not to be interrupted (you drive on freeways to avoid red-lights)-- it is not such a huge distance to that point of wanting to Liquidate the One Who Stands In Your Way. And not out of anger. Out of logic. The reptile brain, the left hemisphere? Or rather, an anesthesia of intuition...... But: good driving in a speed-situation, all reflexes--is that intuition also? Well, maybe speed-&-distances is a quantitative relationship, and you lack the qualitative... The words: just; nothing but; only;: and all totalities fall apart in these X-ray eyes--they're just--Poetry. The sense that ego is everything, not even suspecting a depth to experience; no resonance, nostalgia, detachment, play, fantasy; you're serious and you desire above all else closure, which becomes your only motivation. Efficient as a bulldozer, you use up all your minutes and throw them away. There's an infinite supply--because all you know is the pinhole present.

   "Nipplegate"

The new volcanic island
As if it had never been
Vanishes beneath the waves;
And slaves turn back to the wall.

02 06 04

Against the long poem as such. Like when your favorite band does a concept album, & half the songs stink because they were written to order.