J.S. van Buskirk & )ohnLowther

Navigation by Landmark

It's a round red light hanging high among the tree branches: Stop!
Around here they haven't trimmed. Drivers beware. Somewhere I
read "ignorance of the law is the best excuse", but I just cdnt see, the
light, the overhanging limbs. Wait for an opening. Shoes
hanging from the wires in the intersection. I wish I was
high. Not that way. High enough to see my destination, lost now
among everything between here and there. "Forgetting is
the necessary action of memory"... what odd grafitti, on a
tree no less. The cross streets are known, but the road to them
branches "fill in something southwest" is all I have to go on.
Stop if you reach the end and back up or start again.

Stop if you reach the end and back up or start again.
If you back up you will never reach the end,
You will never start anything again- you who's always
reaching for the new think, the knew thing,
the thing you never wanted (wanted as in "lack"), up-
ending all your tables in your market-brain
and scattering the trinkets you scoff at others for knowing.
Back then, before, this wasn't a ripple, wasn't a disturbance,
up-ending a round thing does nothing, just rolls,
or just isn't all that different anyway.
Starting now, things are still not all that different anyway.
Again we ask, where did all of this start?

Again we ask where did all of this start---
we ask incessant inescapable unanswerable questions--- we
ask answers as further questions. No one says "I know
where." Games without winners and impervious to mastery.
Did it linger? Did it spark? These the only questions
all important, even when they too are ever 'in play.' What
of winning some say, not asking, already judging: Game Over.
"This is my sermon on the wave." [laughter] Every instant;
start again. Unroll against angles derived. Why? How? When?

Start again? Unroll against? Angles derived why? How, when
again it could be ANGELS that're DERIDED, not ANGELS de-rye-vedd?
UN-rolling is an illusion, a non-possibility chumped by Newtonian physics,
against whose hard un-realness we batter little wings'n'ask what're them
angles? HOW do we get a grip on'em, even if we know where, and if we
derived the right formula or schematic or drived directions that worked?
"Why" isn't even the relevant question-it gets nowhere near "what now?" or
"How?" -- as I've been saying.
When I get somewhere I sure hope I'll know where it is.

When I get somewhere. I sure hope. I'll know where it is.
I think yr dissin' me & cuzza new think? But what I don't
get's why it always takes me so long to see. Un-sly. Will,
somewhere, when there, if I do so get there be a there there?
I and then. Or just more tables of astounding trinkets;
sure I have my own knick-knacks; a-fixity and the
hope for needs & desires to find language. Blocks to such & I feel
ill. Strangled down. Forgetting to take out the trash. I'd like to
know that contrary to the nudge above, formulas will never love.
Where you place your finger on the map, maybe there
is or is not. "Why" is too relevant if it turns the engine over.

Is or Is Not. Why is too relevant. If it turns the engine over,
or stops us from figuring when and other wwhs.
Is there something else?
Not that thing, another thing that has not been addressed?
Why haven't you asked or checked or called the guy who
Is the one who knows something about this thing
too. It might not be
relevant, but there may be more answers.
If you had the brought the paper, maybe
it wouldn't take so long to figure this out, the
turns upon turns upon turns this way and
the other way-
engine creaking, tapping, growling, disturbing the air,
over there, I see it, all of a sudden we're here

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