633 lines
17 KiB
Plaintext
633 lines
17 KiB
Plaintext
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{begin}
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inter\face 8
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Fall 1994
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inter\face is:
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--------------
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the yellow light at the intersection of manic street and agony way;
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the cusp of the human heart, behind rib bones of steel;
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a spiraling bullet of sudden understanding;
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the lead dog, steaming, pulling into Nome;
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where the rubber meets the rose.
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***********************************************************************
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Please email to bh4781@cnsunix.albany.edu to be added to the mailing
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list to receive the next issue and/or back issues. Note that this is
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a human being and not an automated listserv, so feel free to send
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questions and be specific. Contributions are encouraged and welcome.
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or for back issues:
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by anonymous ftp:
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-----------------
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etext.archive.umich.edu in the directory /pub/Zines/Interface
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ftp.eff.org in the directory /pub/e-serials/alphabetic/i/interface
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gopher:
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-------
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gopher etext.archive.umich.edu /Zines/Interfac
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gopher gopher.cic.net /e-serials/alphabetic/i/interface
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from America On Line:
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---------------------
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Select keyword: PDA
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Select: Palmtop Paperbacks
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Select: Electronic Articles and Newsletters
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***********************************************************************
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=======================================================================
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Jim Esch
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<Jim.Esch@lambada.oit.unc.edu>
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------------------------------
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Certain of these lyrics have been put to music by a composer named
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Jim Morris who lives in the Philadelphia area. His email address is
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morrisj@shrsys.hslc.org
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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A SONG CYCLE...
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PICTURES AND PAINTINGS
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i see pictures and paintings
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they are staring at me
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like a tree who's lost his brothers,
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the orange wrinkled leaves
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and they stare at me.
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he laughed and cried out
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"what does it mean?"
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(as he stared at me)
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unbuckled on a mattress,
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bracing, framed in the breeze
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and they stare at me
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EVERYONE HAD A GOOD TIME
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everyone had a good time
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till the witching hour struck
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just in time,
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for the brooms went
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and swept them away
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WE HAD IT ALL
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we had it all
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all we had
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we had it all
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all we had
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tell me the gossip isn't true
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brush your teeth and get dressed
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oh, they'll be so impressed
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when they find it wasn't you
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but the gossip takes it all
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all we had
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we had it all
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all we had
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PARALLEL VOID
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running through a hallway
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long and narrow brick walls
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there is no ceiling
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there is no floor
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there is no feeling
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there are no doors
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get me out of this hallway
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take me away
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I cannot stop going
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nowhere today
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running, falling up
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the brick has no cracks
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there are no cracks in the brick
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rising till it meets my feet
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I cannot fill the parallel void
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big as the space between ears
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and I can hear no tapping
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the black men are dancing on Lawrence Welk's
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linoleum floor
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(there is no floor!)
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the hoodlums are lighting
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the dogshit at someone's front door
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(there are no doors!)
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In my hallway, my parallel void
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the freeway has no exit ramps,
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no winners, no champs,
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no pictures, no paintings
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GO TELL MAMA
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go tell mama the parson died
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and Frosty will be naked tonight
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the church is in the valley
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and the stars are bright
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but the Parson passed on
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on a silent night
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frame him in a box,
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nail it shut,
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his body's six feet under,
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but his soul shoots to the stars?
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papa's cracking chestnuts
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in a warmlit fire
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the snow is falling outside
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the family's sad 'bout his wooden plight
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and Frosty will be naked tonight
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LONGTAIL RIDES
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I don't need a song,
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the rain, a shoe that fits
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I don't need a woman,
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or a cowboy hat
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just give me my long tails
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Longtail will ride tonight
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GIVE ME A LIGHT
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the bars are too thick
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the drinks are too stiff
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the jailbird never flies
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he dies and sleeps all day
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Mr. Yahtzee said
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"I have a theory that
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everyone who graduates
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gets a game named after him
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I told you it's true
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you don't need glasses
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see, I'm on the box,
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my goldylocks fine.
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I need a light
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Haven't seen sketches
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of paintings on walls
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in sterile brick halls
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staring at me
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Cannot see void
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but I know that it's there
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it's darkness I bear
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in the valley, the void
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I need a light
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shooting to the stars
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jumping through bars
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feeling the tide
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dying inside
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I need a light
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Give me a light
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=======================================================================
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Benjamin E Magid
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<neb@sunsite.unc.edu>
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---------------------
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The punishment
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i can only imagine, as the shots roar,
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where they land.
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what they do.
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who they return to earth.
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perhaps a thief; a liar. a cheat.
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dealing drugs.
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killer of innocents, raper of justice.
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i suppose he got what he deserves,
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what we all deserve.
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maybe a user, abuser, mother
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of three children. husband of none.
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paper apartment, rusty sink.
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punch card, shoe box living.
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wad of life under the mattress.
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for new york, for broadway.
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going nowhere, knowing no one.
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what does she deserve?
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what does it mean to you?
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Maybe a gray man. with a collar of blue.
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angry wife, filthy house,
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a beer stain on second hand clothing.
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drinking for second hand wrongs.
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can't seem to see, can't be to seem.
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knows rats, taxes,
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rank tabloid chop, bible of man.
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meaningless, hopeless,
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stagnant existence.
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what does he care? he deserves, right?
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maybe its you,
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empty soul,
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caught by surprise behind the ear
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in your car. on the phone.
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places to go, places to demolish
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are they yours?.
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people to see, people to trample.
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fast lane, eh?
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bullets are faster,
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your the liar, the cheat,
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the corrosion, the rust,
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your the spit and grease,
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the waste and the loss
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you are the poverty,
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the perverse pain.
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you are the cause
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do you deserve death,
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hardly.
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Unfertilism.
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my soul,
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one wandering alone.
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uninspired,unfertilized
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stagnant, roting, wasting away.
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smoldering in a downward spiral,
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longing to burn with angst
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fear, frustration, growth
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appretiation,
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horizons of the soul,
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the setting sun,
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the waning moon,
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the aging man,
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erosion,
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corrosion,
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loss.
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waste and crust
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slippage of the hands
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of time, of desire
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of the need to go on .
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fingers weakend by their
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constant grasp on
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a bewildering falsehood.
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the horizon, the sapling
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the dream.
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======================================================================
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John Rescigno
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trout@yay.tim.ORG (Trout.Complex)
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---------------------------------
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Surrounded by fish
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The helpless victims of war
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Descend the food chain
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Creating Haiku
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Gratuitous Adjectives
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Swallow Syllables
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Xanthic circumstance
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Indominable limelight
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A deified man
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Aristocratic
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Magnanimity failing
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Sailors, faretheewell
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Rheumatic, aging
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conquistador, cold whitened
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; ; spoils ; ; delivery!
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Celebratory
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return; to fidelity
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Eternalever
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[NOTE: first ever haiku trifecta: 5-7-5 words]
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Compression of years,
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Magic hours pass, overnight.
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Our hearts broke with dawn.
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Galactic waiter
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With a flourish, serves up warm
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Primordial soup
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Retracing his steps
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Laws of thermodynamics
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Broken asunder
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Rippling across
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the undisturbed lake, a stone
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mocks tranquility
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=======================================================================
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michael mcneilley
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<mmichael@halcyon.com>
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----------------------
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Michael McNeilley is editor of _The Olympia Review_,
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writes for magazines large and small, worldwide, and
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publishes frequent nonsense on the Usenet newsgroups.
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Hell
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----
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imagine brains floating in jars
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small jars of saline solution
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hard-wired to green
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Army-surplus Kaypros
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every passing truck setting up
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ripples
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shaking the cheap
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shelving that holds us
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above a dank and
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unswept floor
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in Invasion of the Body Snatchers,
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you couldn't go to sleep or
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they'd get you
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replace you
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it's like that here
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for us podpoets
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sometimes
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secreting as we rant
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we color their our liquid
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a vile yellow
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our nerve endings no longer register
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the chafing of the wires
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never wanted
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to write you can only do it alone but
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there was no choice
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just the illusion
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of choice
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floating in production
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uniquely our own
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railing against
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the light
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we wait for the white
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coats to come
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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from rec.arts.iraq
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------------------
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hey I got these cheap used
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computers over on
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rec.arts.iraq
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army surplus
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those cool GRID laptops
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with bubble memory and
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the red plasma screens
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seems the military
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left thousands of them
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in the sand hey they're
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$28 each cash only
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iraq needs the money for
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baby food and bandages and
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what the hell I bought 3
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one for bush
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one for quayle
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one for me
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=======================================================================
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F. Scott Cudmore
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<scudmore@bud.peinet.pe.ca>
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---------------------------
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The Electric Siren Sings
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All those with ears, her tune doubtless shall hear
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As the electric siren sings her song:
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Cast nets upon the electronic water
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All you sailors of the quantum sea.
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Boundless realms of wonder shall it offer
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Out of ether and the reverie.
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=======================================================================
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A.J. Wright
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617 Valleyview Dr
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Pelham AL 35124-1525
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meds002@uabdpo.dpo.uab.edu
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--------------------------
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tattoos on the mind
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-------------------
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merely a fragment of moon floats
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over the early evening sky
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a crescent as white as bone
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rising in my sleep
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and nearly forgotten tomorrow;
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as authenic and forsaken
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as test patterns once decorating
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dark rooms across america
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as safe as fingerprints
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discarded on the sand.
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later in the night
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as an image joins the skin
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we can dream
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the souvenirs together.
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=======================================================================
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Gregor Wynnyczuk
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gw2882@rachel.albany.edu
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------------------------
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"[This] is as good as you will get [in this format]. The piece was
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composed in a grafics program and the lines don't match up. That
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last bit is meant to be half cut off on the bottom."
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"You could say that I write alot and nap whenever possible. Oh yeah,
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I am the poet laureate of Eagle Mills. Pretty cool huh?"
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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polished aluminum alright
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and the
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Go ahead future I keep walking
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help yourself and I figure
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worry that I am in it looks
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It's been a long historic entirely
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time since you Savanah like a
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I have have seen Alan Georgia Frank
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never and his flying disk Gehry
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been cardboard
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here everything is experiment
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before very clean alright
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not a scrap although I
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of dirt anywhere did worry
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not a chair while I don't
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sometimes out of place was gone answer
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even though you are home
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you don't
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=======================================================================
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Benjamin Henry
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bh4781@cnsunix.albany.edu
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|
-------------------------
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material of words:
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(three poems of Judy Johnson and Poetics)
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1.
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transparent
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conveyance
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of meaning
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or
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resistance
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and/or
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use and quality of communication
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impede the clear flow of meaning
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|
defect in un-clarity
|
||
|
become obvious through serious study
|
||
|
|
||
|
a certain heft of weight,
|
||
|
to change heft to weight
|
||
|
and feel a physical object
|
||
|
apparently/subsequently
|
||
|
|
||
|
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
|
|
||
|
2.
|
||
|
|
||
|
words that stop you
|
||
|
-like atmosphere, dense fuzz (of language/meaning)
|
||
|
-like (Dante's) shaggy words
|
||
|
-(like) a peculiar contradiction
|
||
|
|
||
|
about exploration [beyond] geographical
|
||
|
[and] Vasco de Gama by his song, reflected
|
||
|
all the way over
|
||
|
to the pale Vasco
|
||
|
|
||
|
coming out of language like a fault line
|
||
|
Alter-wise [is] Dylan Thomas - pure poetry
|
||
|
[is] meaning secondary or irrelevant
|
||
|
|
||
|
no word-by-word translation
|
||
|
surface use stops short of impedeing
|
||
|
|
||
|
hunked together consonants
|
||
|
half-remember
|
||
|
half-reconstruct places in a narrative journey
|
||
|
that a story has to go
|
||
|
|
||
|
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
|
|
||
|
3.
|
||
|
|
||
|
historical context of poetic practice
|
||
|
Western history
|
||
|
dialetics - argument
|
||
|
reptesentation
|
||
|
|
||
|
thinking about <-------> doing
|
||
|
|
||
|
operative becomes invisible
|
||
|
natural assumption behind doings of art ---->
|
||
|
exhausted possibilities
|
||
|
smash open assumptions +
|
||
|
representations of art
|
||
|
|
||
|
parts of assumption of change in conflict
|
||
|
not useful to [those] whose
|
||
|
viewpoint
|
||
|
has not been represented
|
||
|
no concern with inventing
|
||
|
new forms to invent reality
|
||
|
|
||
|
marginalized: have a story that hasn't been told
|
||
|
|
||
|
telling [the] story is more necessary.
|
||
|
|
||
|
=======================================================================
|
||
|
***********************************************************************
|
||
|
|
||
|
inter\face 8
|
||
|
Fall 1994
|
||
|
|
||
|
"It is helpful to recall in this context that all the devices of the
|
||
|
book apparatus, which are codified in the treatise (and enforced in
|
||
|
practice from the five-part essay through the doctoral dissertation
|
||
|
to the book that secures tenure), were themselves invented as the
|
||
|
`interface' for print technology." [Gregory L. Ulmer, _Heuretics_]
|
||
|
***********************************************************************
|
||
|
|
||
|
Please distribute this document freely only in its entirety with both
|
||
|
the header and this footer information. For information on specific
|
||
|
pieces contained in inter\face, please contact the individual authors
|
||
|
or bh4781@cnsunix.albany.edu. Brought to you by HUB Press, Albany.
|
||
|
========================================================================
|
||
|
{end}
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