interrupting my attempt to finish out my photo-writing project to quickly jot down the spider dream.

will leave out a buncha bits re: the boys shower/bathing room (uh-huh) and the long view of the quad, I guess where I was to put paintings, etc.

I am meeting my perspective class somewhere other than the usual room.  we've been on break and I don't think they will show but one by one they do, including one student with a big long gold, crumpled drawing.  I suggest he crumple it strategically for texture to hide the unfortunate damage.  (I think the dream was doing a little product placement because he was using a stick of Neo Megilp.  it was gold and gorgeous. I might get some today, though it doesn't come in a stick).

Okay, so I'm holding class on a landing above the stairs.  There had been a giantfucking spider web at the bottom that I hadn't noticed much.  I begin to start talking about 3 point perspective, knowing that the instruction will be perfectly timed for the two hours we have left.  And then a GIANTfucking spider zips across the wall in front of me and goes and lays down (he's that big - at least a foot by a foot, black and hairy and unbeLIEVABLY dangerous, clearly).  When he lays down he drops one arm back like a monkey and goes completely grey for a minute and kindof translucent.  I then realize that this is the Monkey Spider who, this is silly but it was scary, sucks out your brain and leaves your skull there like an empty helmet and you don't die right away but you are immediately half of who you were.

I don't know if we start moving before he talks but he TALKS!  What did he say?  I so want to remember. He had the deepest, sexiest voice though! Slow and confident.  Resonant bass.  Wow..  Dangerous!

We all ran down the stairs and away but i said, "oh, my purse!" and my student, Chad, ran back to get it.  And i said, "No, Chad! No, Chad!" and the Monkey spider zipped down the bannister

... but chad was safe.

Whew.
Weird one.

There's got to be some dumb pun in there somewhere.
But, no dangling chad.  I dunno.

On now to more peculiar pics and poemsies.  Almost through this material.  I look forward to moving on and have a new suite of paintings I want to do after the show that will help me get over the potential post-show doldrums.  Not sure if my installation idea will come together.  ...Times a burnin'.   Later, Blog!

You are sick
and it's not your fault.

It is four pm.
It is the afternoon
giving away to evening
and you are sick
and it is not your fault.

It is four pm
and you don't feel well
and we don't feel well
and someone there
- who?
has stopped crying
a long time since

The taxis roll past
less frequently than they did
hours ago
in the night
when the music was up

up

and you knew,
dancing between books
dancing between phrases
of deep, considered truth

how beautiful
beautiful you were

Chapter One

One word at a time one can
get at it
get at it
get closer

the meaning settles onto an image
that asks to be described
- no this way, specific.
Be there.

What woods?
How cold?  How wet?
How wet below whose knees?
How like you -
that hair,
that youth, hope,
love of the air around
crawling there
quite actually
between fascism and freedom

between
between

the fern fronds
touch his cheeks

And who was that?

How like you?
 - like you
too much, or you like him.

And both like me.
[- Who said that!?]

Is it a face that reveals itself
or just again that dark wash of spirit
inside

that says,
write about me.
I will dictate:
I know you.
I have always known you.

He never really got through his forest.
And you.
You don't have a chance.

Write that.

Write that.

First person:
"I"

It is not a matter of variation.

It is my life that I am speaking of here.

Each thing perfectly specific.

Even the same chair

at a different time of the same day

receives me

anew

brand new.

I couldn't look back 

through images

brandished of every moment

by some new light and say

"this chair, then"

and be right.

but

that one

then

That was the truth of it.

that was my life

- every single moment of it

a visible, propagating

 mystery.

interrupting my scribbles about my funky pics

another great one (that needs a keen eye) from my almost-boss, George, in Montclair.  cool guy.  great niche!

Fortune

You can touch it,
hold it in your hand

bending plane of fate

How does it feel?
Ask yourself that.

Or ask yourself
whatever you like.

You can see through it,
sometimes.

Sometimes the miracle
is just that you can touch

touch anything
and ask yourself

whatever you like.

It is six in the morning

The blue-winged warblers have been singing 

since long before

the holding darkness

began to give way, 

leaf by leaf,

 to sweet and sweeter color.

The mist rises

as it does

as does hope

as do the bodies

living

housing hope

rising to see

whatever comes next.

Even then you were there
as sentinel
essence
unattainable idea

Still, as only the dead can be,
with the world
crashing down around

Dead?
Or, not yet born?
Perhaps neither

Just the idea
pure

Undisturbed by the hard reversal
of fortunes

Needing no ground below
Nor sky with stars above

Idea
Not homeless
without a home

Glowing
Rich

Impossible model

dancing shadow
of origination

life ....

... she is full of surprises!