100+8. This Didn’t Ought to Be Like This; But It Is, of Course

Café Belgique, January 7, 2013

“In my created head I don’t exist

As rising bed-heavy the mist

Is fixed though always full of surprises

And the world in my eyes

Is hardly a certainty”

Howe, p 13

Well, the recipe for cold noodles comes up here, I suppose, so I’ll let it. Very simple – just boil the noodles – rice noodles best – leave to cool, dress with a mixture of soy sauce, sesame oil & rice vinegar (some slivers of ginger in it & of course cut up little chillies), plus chopped spring onions, just blanched beansprouts, some cold cooked chicken shreds, a little dried shallot, maybe coriander leaves, that sort of thing. Light & refreshing, OK?

Not much more, really. If you want to know how many words, you can count them.

I’m not going to.

Eat well; join together; resist strongly

we might be OK yet.

At the last text

- unfalsifiable

true to tell

anything can be

Living fluid

Bathing in diurnity

A poet in words

A maggot in pus

- eat away at corruption

  to cleanse the wound

  that is our being

Il naso della pecora sente il precepizio

Time to finish the coffee now

look out

         at the still, dark river

the damp slabbed bulk of the mill beyond

- time to break down

                     again

“Winter tones are rose & glass

the sun as false as all nostalgias

If this world isn’t good enough for us

then an afterlife won’t be enough”

Howe, p 81