Pronouns again – A teenage girl bought the airfix. “Did she?” says my friend. But here is a place where I would say ‘they’ – uncertainty again being the aspect relevant to explaining why. I don’t know them…
Can there be a superlative without the disgust of the ordinary? Yes. In fact, that is a prerequisite. It’s not the difference from the ordinary that makes something superlative, but a superlative relation of that thing to us, experiencing it. And the disgust of the ordinary often slides in surreptitiously at the back. It may seem stupid to say that the best film has no relation to other films by that fact, but it is stupider to say that any film could satisfy the language game of suiting the squirly set of conditions for bestness taken in the tool like sense. The best tool for the task does that one job better than the others. But a film without an adjective, has no one task. I guess it’s a classic example of language going on holiday.
“A witch is more lovely than thought in the mountain rain”
My language machine has rusted
elements and black mould. shut up
the screen and see no more toxic
dosage, ignore the buzzing flies
on various empty ice creams.
I can smell mildew soaking my
semantic pillows. I hear her
pen scratching for miles of heathland.
I pull the ripcord over and
over but nothing’s happening
then everything suddenly stops.
I’m too late and no longer care
for the strange way i seem to friends.
Many hundreds of pupate words
have burst from my fingers in her
gaze and honour upon my throat.
The rain which appears throughout life
and reappears like a candle
flutters, appears and she is there
standing with her fellow witches
in a graveyard. I love her style
of fighting. She stands there and wins
against the wind, is motionless.
her presence maketh my thoughts die
Books have wings, that is to say
They have pages, and with us pages fizz
In reading, glitter out and draw us in
Building spark and fire in mind and eye
As the letters pile in kindling piles;
From jumping out and striking hold
Of attention (bold and striking attention)
They kindly burn and radiate heat
Which leaves us to dwindle to dregs and drabs
Of a person, held there feeling pleased
In the wound-round wirey web of tales
And leaves us to gape, to brush off convention
Letting our miserable minds out to fly
And in this flying, find our ease.