Definition

metaphor, n. - a Venn diagram in N-dimensions where N represents the summed entropy of both terms.

Mud

Weeds lash the twining shallow wash — seems Carmen’s
toy-boy took the plunge. Wonder what he sees
through silver’s mudthick emulsion — seems Hawks
has rung his paper stainer ‘cause Bogey’s bugged :



What’s he doing
down there, sipping
silt through his nose?
The blued bruise is
whose doing : black
jack or car whack?



Was he bumped or did he jump? — seems Chandler’s
stumped, and the wa-wa brigade’s tongues are
wagging, corpse on a rope — seems some joker’s
loosed shredded wheat to the wind, where



it dissolves, exposed
to the wash of light.

Reel IV: Foggy Plodding

Group improvisation is a further challenge. Aside from the weighty technical problem of collective coherent thinking, there is the very human, even social need for sympathy from all members to bend for the common result. This most difficult problem, I think, is beautifully met and solved on this recording.
— Bill Evans

On Certainty

Given imperfect knowledge, certainty should be viewed as an argument against rather than an argument for. If one admits that there is some force with the potential capacity to act on the system supposedly being described with certainty, then one must admit that one's reasoning is somewhere mistaken or inadequate. This is not true of systems, such as mathematics, in which all relationships are syntactic, specified through given axioms. It is, however, true everywhere else.

But then again, maybe not . . . .

The Restrictions of Language

French thinks with its vowels;
German, consonants; English,
everywhichway at once. It's
confusing you know. Pflaargh!

Steinian Analogy

Miss Furr and Miss Skeene
's to Bird as Tender But-
ton' 's to "Monk's Dream."

Dunno 'bout
Lifting Belly. What
rolls with jelly?

Hume Sweet

Took me
Good while
To see
How funny
It is
Hume was
Fat .

Fog

descends on LA :
a drunk passing to sleep.

glides between buildings :
Garbo through Ciro’s.

obscures the night :
left cross to the eyes.

Noise of Production

I.

“Kitten,
You purr right proper,

So lemme hang a proposition
From your ear :

Let’s me and you
Climb upstairs for a tipple.

And after a sip I’ll
Show you where my

Pyjamas
Need mending.”


II.

Iron bars twist like string
Into a headboard; bathwater,

Matte as newsprint,
Screws slowly down the drain.

Grainy newsreel stock,
Soundtrack cracks open

With gunfire. His hand
Grips your thin thigh

Like slow wood
Round a wire tump.


III.

[Slow fade
Like grime spreading grey

Across a window pane.
Music falls.]


IV.

“Baby,
Don’t you know?

You got to wet the string
To thread the needle.”

Eddie Mars in his Office (The Runaround)

Horses hang on these walls
like spit sits on ice, flat &
shit slick. Five hundred fatter
& can dig a hole in a bottle
big enough to sleep in. the fan’s
buzzin’ my song & whiskey
legs around the glass
like a thoroughbred, kicking up rye

to scratch his itch, his itching
to scratch this itching nose.


ignis sacer seizes skin

grand mal petit morte
jamb de la mouche
burying


like a breeze through a screen.

(can you see the light
seeping through cigarette burns?
can you hear the projectionist
suppress a sneeze?)





Scene : Warner Bros. Production Offices

Jack Warner :
This film’s
got legs, boys.
Let’s light a fire
under her ass and
watch her




run


:


intraoffice fees epistles lost & found.
let her watch her leg her way around.
stalking runs her ass into the .