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words written while inside a Capsule (March 17th 2006. Osaka, Japan)

My actions cannot bear this out. Actions are abstract and abstractions cut me down to size. An abstract is a summary. I stand under an act.

My guilt is a damp sock. Eden feeds on waste. Love feeds on love. This notebook keeps me sane. Stung with passion I am not enough.

Throatchoked with all these images. A book of snow. When someone touches me I see pictures of where I want to be. I left my broken watch in JakJeon. Time is out of image. Image is a crackle of distant thunder. Auf Englisch: I shuffle through a silent desert. I`m stretched out in this capsule coffin and the kitchen is full of strange smells. I`m relearning the arguments of love. My head is creme brulle. Ireland is my ankle and Germany is my distant toe. I`ve got a load of rubbish to sell. Grace is on the nape of my neck. Knight on the horizon. An ancient horse in my throat. This is a different sort of time. I cherish my broken watch.

Inside my shadow is another shadow. A Russian box of shadows. My tongue is a provocative projection and my third mind is a pendulum. This is an erotic tendency. Legs and crotch. Jumphappy. I bleed ego.

Breaking off or breaking in? A rock shrugs off water. Hard on the outside; chewy on the inside. I have a mind/body problem. This is a fixed madness. There is no end to making out.


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Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
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