John of the Cross December 14

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born    1542 Fontiveros, Ávila, Spain
 




Bride


Where have you hidden beloved?
And left me moaning?
You fled like a stag after wounding me;
I went out calling you, and you were gone.


O woods and thickets, planted by the hand of my beloved!
O green meadow, created bright with flowers.
Tell me, has he passed by you?

Pouring out a thousand graces,
 

He passed these groves in haste;
With his image alone.
Clothed them in beauty.

How do you endure O life,
 

Not living where You live?
And being brought near death
By the arrows you receive
From that which you conceive of Your beloved.



Extinguish these miseries
Since no one else can stamp them out;
And may my eyes behold You,
Because You are their light,

And I would open them to You alone.
O spring like crystal!
If only, on your silver-over face,
You would suddenly form

The eyes I have desire,
Which I bear sketched deep within my
heart.


Excerpt from The Spiritual Canticle John Of the Cross most famous poem.

                     Died December 14, 1591 (aged 49)
                                                                                               Úbeda, Jaén, Spain








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here is






here is what they told me
  you speak better Latin than Greek
 you speak better Greek than French
   you're Chinese to freak


  no one remembers the way you do always
   a feather in your  hand
 a link  on your feet
  68 to 9 the heart tows on



Samuel Johnson Dec 13 1784, (today ..)





 After a series of illnesses, he died on the evening of 13 December 1784, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.


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I .n, v.i.c,t,.or.ia, everyone

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I .n, v.i.c,t,.or.ia, everyone has their own book


I .n, v.i.c,t,.or.ia, everyone has their own book


I .n, v.i.c,t,.or.ia, everyone has their own book


I .n, v.i.c,t,.or.ia, everyone has their own book



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.. Gibbon, who if I remember rightly never took notes, but underlined, and wrote his magnificient masterpiece, which' i've read in part, part of the abridged as they say, edition ______


'Course each way,



 'course of everyday

you were writing even masquerades,  fantasms, phantasmagoria, nothin’s going to come from nothing, open the window, please Diane is arriving with the hilting and baby Myrrh is wondering about the H in men and the water in down Rebecca your almost true love has tuned her fork side wise kilted to the rue of 

now what was you were remembering about opening your eyes recalling the memory of a mountain many people on the top a t the foot of the same place, a handful barely mentioned,

i had no fullness like yours, i was a single poet, a parent with a fillin' blossom telegram to the sun the runs of the milk the runs of the milk the tearing down,
the rough sleigh’d downward the ward making fresh

 you can stop right there at the heading of time knowing the gate is bull and round the corner of god there is a gate,
        pulling at the ends of time, waiting for the cake,



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a  little each way between Thomas Nashe' Unfortunate Traveller and the one escapes you but I don't I don't with your rufous eyes

and rare eye beams and cold hands, or fair legs which hearken over the bold primes of wonder,
      and the synchronised swimming suit the fair forward of what has not been  could of been and the one hundred

and if anyone told me i was too stupid to learn Latin I'd tell them where to go, would you not?

She told me so and so is with such of therefrom? Wherefore  really I southbacked running her ouf of the room over the exclamations & tyrannical comas colons of rebuttal rejoinders of loveth hath pain for her true one



we come to performance the She was Other Her, the 9 characters of a play:
     The Metronome of Clock
           

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     theres always a word you skipped, high diddle the cow and the fiddle 




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a blog

a blog is a broadsheet which boucnes round the world,


Victoria sailing, ambling, walking , meadows, commas, caverns,

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    Dear Victoria, my sweet old end of the continent city visiting with you and Patrick
       (the crazy author)   Glenn and Veronica
              that's the lake there, it's name it's name escapes me,  my glasses fell off!

                        into the water over the side! dropped on the deep!

             & found   diving off that small sail boat, in the lake, get them, found



     why this side of  it (the town)  makes me think of East Broadway & the sloop down there in                 Vancouver,

        behind  Commerical Drive,


                               where i lived for 10 yrs  wondering what happened to the future

                                               it was there with the crazy we that we got rid of the commas the periods

                                                   the breaths


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everyone

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'everyone  has a prize except you
     everyone  has someone  to love '


 that's a song you wrote, we played it back
 the tin pan alley bass, the rattle drum the kettle drum, the silent den, the soap box,
     the caboodle jazz backup,
         the real melody of its  breath,
              the make shift hope rhyme
       not a thing done in time but suppose



   'everyone ' knows
      that you went to heaven, where it don't matter any longer
       over there you love everyone everyone’s  moving no one's bored
                         no pain in your bones, your knees  no doctors with your moans,

                no jealousy an no nations,  specially owning, no god either,
              making you intimidate,   threatening double binds , signifier cop angels, busting your            pleasure    (no forgiveness guilt)   & joy
                              making you p the circumscribed infinte debt, making you pay
                       a price for a  sin you never made your own, not very  original dead or gone,
                                             none of that matters where you go, where you've landed

                                  peace and joy learning ever more the great university of the sky,
                                 the cosmos your homework, your teachers the stars,
                                        your friends the galaxies, the  woman and man one,




'everyone  has eyes except you
     everyone  has somebody to love '


 its a song we wrote, played backwards with things downstairs
  tin pan jukebox stand up bass, snare drum a kit an caboodle  backup,
   the turning melody of its breath
        the shifting shape of its hopeful rhyme
       suppose it was yours but not a thing said



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1st take


    'everyone '
            you went to heaven,  it don't matter any longer
                   god loves every body no one's bored
                         no pain in your bones, your knees  no doctors with your moans,

                no jealousy an no nations specially owning, no god either, 
              making you intimidate,     threatening double binds , signifier cop angels, busting your pleasure 
                     & joy
                              making you pay
                       a price for  a  sin you never made your own, no original dead or gone,
                                             none of that matters where you go, where you gone

                                  peace and joy learning ever more the great university of the sky,
                                 the cosmos your homework, your teachers the stars,
                                        your friends the galaxies, the  woman and man one,


             ______

        

                     

                                                                 
          

How after a trip to,

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  your eyes i became someone else in another time or space nothing could replace

    thus you are alone like the slinger in the song with the butcher's feet on and no
    dawn forthcoming except this bad guy riding along on his horse,
             but something like along those lines kept you going long enough &

                          I knew I missed my chance with your love ride
                                     but the blue moth and butterfly wheels prevailed
                                                  thus ona  bus you know what was what & Gus
                                                                  And Mary came out of the thunder their eyes wet,
                                                              with circumstantial peels, and rejoineder lips and eyes,
                                                            pale as the thread one can't see for holding it,

                                  was this you I said as I put down the bass, lifted the cello to higher levels
                                                                             of love or death sin and denial,

                                                          like any gambler coming down the 401,
                                                                        in the rain on a Monday night and she
                                                                  lived in aprison so bad I could not even visit,

                                                                           except soul to soul



_________________   (to be continued as always)_______________









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Montreal

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   Montreal is a very mild mannered place when you saint saunter around it 
                     walk around in it , its beauty the  voice speakiung  in the front of the room,


                                                  and other places of love and passion,



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