THE PARK

he took himself seriously

motel rooms had lost their punch for him

he opened all his bags

there were two and inside those two there were two more

it's not an easy situation

but there was something like abandon in the air

there was something like the feeling of the idea of silk scarves in the air

there was a kind of madness to it

the kind we read about in magazines

one of the bags contained a bottle of liquor

a surer sign of thoughtfulness if at all there might have been

he poured himself a small drink in a fluted plastic glass sans ice

he thought to himself if i were from the big town i would be called debonaire

the big town doesnt send its riffraff out

he sat on the bed both feet on the floor

he studied the ashtray and tried to rule out preference

preferring over not preferring

but he preferred

gravity over what other state

preferring in that case

earth

the earth as they say

preferring some state over non state

now he grips himself with determination even knowing that it causes sadness

he is determined to be what?

he is determined to be serious

he had determined once to be serious

later he knew that he had made a mistake but too late he had arrived and there were rooms and
all rooms were not the same

some better than others he thought

better view

better layout

better shower

softer bed

not so far from noise

more like home etc etc

very abstract

he lifted the telephone from its cradle

his determination got stronger

if not clearer even as he had faded in its force

were it not for our momentum, the inertia of our actions, the constant inspiration of our habits,
we could not continue

the will is almost nothing he thought to himself

at the sound of the first ring he hung up

he pushed down the button and listened to the silence of the object in his hand and then he hung
up
very dramatic

the phone rang immediately

he brings this cloud of conditions with him

he is at the center of a ball of hot stuff that we haven't put our minds to yet

and sitting on the bed in the motel room is no different

somewhere in another room in range

somebody got it and phoned him

it happens all the time

really.

a kind of restlessness at that range

he sat and thought about obedience

he had resolved, that of the two kinds, the kind that takes every message of order, rule, law

has error

that everybody who passes along these messages

that loathes the buildings

that contradicts the inner voice

that resists, in short, was his

the other kind,

how could it be.

he wasn't happy with the world

he worked with the forwardness and the backwardness

he worked with what things are ahead of us and with what things are behind us

i guess the other kind would be to work with things that are alongside,

the attachments.

obedience was impossible for him

at the same time he was cooperative and indeed solicitous

no one in the world would have mistaken him for a real person

(obedience, et cetera)

the other kind works with the things that are the alongside us

the attachments

at the same time he was cooperative

the numbers on the telephone

the parts of the book

the notes of the scale

they are the same, are they not

they come from the sameness of the idea of the outsideness

not the alongside the outsideness

the differentness

it was a problem, being cooperative and refusing obedience, and carrying the load of the idea of
differentness

he wants

he handles himself in the morning

it's just like for every other man

the fantasy is the distance, the reluctance, the reticence, the otherness

the fantasy is the uncleanness

so getting up gets to be a problem for a sensitive person like him

the problem is to run that gauntlet again

remove problem

remove gauntlet

remove run

remove is to

remove the

remove that

leave this

make this whatever

he lights the motelroom with the slightly blue body light

when he is along he forgets sometimes to walk

he just moves

sometimes they touch, sometimes they don't

and everything in between

yes, sometimes he forgets to combine talk with thinking

and just thinks

or just talks

especially i think it happens in those rooms, who knows why

the way it disconnects from what's just outside is predictable

is it not so

it never stops being a mystery

we have talked about it

when he says hello you hear a long whining sound which is his voice and the hello

it is as different from whatever

the way one might remember

as the sound a cat might make

he is not unusual in this i think

he is absolutely uninhabitable

a thankless star

remove star

remove thankless

remove a

replace with he has a special way of speaking

but it seems only to make him more like other men

this is one place and here every kid is armed

so where you going

huh

probably sometimes we don't see the guns

sometimes yes

sometimes no

the town and always references to down and out

down from des moines

up from somewhere

missed by chance

didn't even see it

thought it was a threat to house and home

why didn't you come up to the big town

no thanks

looking back

didnt get the up and down part

how could i have missed it

get a grip on yourself he said

working against time was another thing he said

here i am working against time

the pencil fairly flew as he made out his simple requests for breakfast

room service courtesy of the company

this is a record

i am sitting on a bench next to myself

inside of me the words form

come down out of the tree and fight like a man

two cheese and eggs

this is not a record

this is a story

i want to say something about myself

i am not sitting on a bench next to myself

whatever that means

i am a city of habits

i am completely knowable in every way

i recognize superstition in every form

an anger of the words makes me in the vein of myself

i imagine there are two men on the bench

the exchange between them will not be seen

they will not put it forth to be seen

and if i make something of the situation

to show a difference between the two men

the difference will distract the true onlooker

but the film fogs you know

one scene fogs

and add a dish of prunes if they are in season

i met her in the park in the small midwestern town

that is, the bench is in the park

we know from what is past that the men are on the bench

they are old by doctor's standards

the park graces the courthouse of the county

the courthouse has about it the simple air of failure

an abandoned outpost

the park has sidewalks, fences, trees, grass, and a statue of a man and horse at war

or ready for war

they are alone with their intentions

the sculptor has made the horse look stupid

the man's jaw is firm

the time is late morning in early summer

the sun shines

in this scene there are two shots

the park in all its details

frozen

broken on the right edge

sometimes up to two thirds across the framce

by the body of a person

very close

blurred, moving almost rhythmically

we have just begun and already we are stuck

working against time as they say

the camera is obsessed with what it sees

the park

the ragged edge

nothing moves

except the edge

the edge moves

it's as if there is no other place

his mind races

one gee in fogs

two gees in eggs

when the two men spoke

they spoke about permanence and impermanence

they noted that there were certain things that were impermanent, and other things to which
impermanence did not apply

thus they came to make a great division between that which is impermanent and that which is
permanent
everything in this transitory category turned out to be the particulars of our existence

and these were divided into physical, mental, and others which were neither physical nor mental

among those particulars which were neither physical nor mental

they listed attainment, aging, and coincidence

on the permanent side of this great division of reality was a notion they referred to as space

and by that term they meant neither conceptual space

nor space as given by our senses

they meant connections

they decided that such space is irreduceable and not transitory

and that it exists as long as one is alive.

they wondered

naturally

what becomes of it.

this impasse is no help at all

consider his situation:

for instance

he is expected to be positive and helpful about breakfast

in the order of things, it is more important that she know about the prunes then that the shot
should change

and what about the problems we have seen

he is still seated on the bed both feet on the floor

the small drink in the fluted plastic glass sans ice is hardly touched

the phone has just stopped ringing

in his mind the two men are frozen on the bench

the horse looks stupid

the warrior's jaw is firm

incredibly slowly our view begins to slide

his idea is that death always takes one by surprise

always.

there is no way to prepare

he imagines absolute awareness on the other side

he wonders as we all do how it comes to you that you are dead

we were distracted by the fluid right edge

there is an absoluteness to surprise, he thinks

he applies this simple thought to the problem of how to move the shot

incredibly slowly our view begins to slide

begins is a problem

we are enchanted by the park and all its details

frozen, broken on the right edge by the body of the person, very close

the blur, moving rhythmically

how can it begin to change

how can the beginning go unnoticed

how can we pass from one state to another

is it possible, if one already has a certain experience of life, to start directly on the path

or is there danger involved in trying to do advanced practices without having the proper
foundation

they came to believe that, unless one has actually gone through the preliminary experiences,
conclusions may be drawn on the basis of insufficient information

and that these conclusions may produce effects just the opposite of the one which is intended

in other words, one never knows

and so the view begins to slide, anyway as they say

slide eastward
turning eastward

the particulars moving left or right across the frame

a parade of sorts

and it comes to rest, finally,

on the road

the street that holds the park

we are still obsessed

we are not relieved

this view is no different

how could it be

except that we have moved off the body of the person very close and blurred

and every edge is raw

and there is some machine approaching

wider than it is high

as they say

a pack of motorcycles

a herd of elephants

a tribe of bedouins

something from the east

barely moving in a cloud of haze and heat and dust

in utmost telephoto

gold and green and flat

the idea of the slit

the eye of the needle

THE BACKYARD

She makes a double life.

She makes two from one and one.

She makes a perfect system every day.

She makes it work.

She stands there in the doorway of her mother’s house

looking at the grass and sky and at where they meet,

never once thinking thoughts like

“It’s so like a line”,

or “the difference is so powerful”,

or “Which way shall I take to leave?”

My mind turns to my breath, one.

My mind watches my breath, two.

My mind turns and watches my breath, three.

My mind turns and faces my breath, four.

My mind faces my breath, five.

My mind studies my breath, six.

My mind sees every aspect of the beauty of my breath, seven.

My mind watches my breath soothing itself, eight

My mind sees every part of my breath, nine.

My breath is not indifferent to itself, ten.

She never thinks of possibility

or of how probable it is that they have come together.

Those thoughts never enter her mind.

Nor do thoughts of sports.

She has no desire to improve her muscles.

For her, piano playing is the only mystery.

It’s so beautiful, and how they do it no-one knows.

She gets catalogues of every sort in the mail.

Everything imaginable is pictured.

She finds her way among the pictures without hesitation.

She is not afraid of happiness.

She is entirely without shame.

The numbers are made of rubber or something like that.

They stretch.

They never lose their shape.

They are ageless.

They don’t need repair.

They need attention and respect.

She thinks about two things that I know of.

One is elevation and that comes clothed in light, so to speak.

She loathes the dark.

She sleeps in light.

She likes highness.

Four thousand one hundred twenty-eight feet here.

Four thousand two hundred eighteen feet there.

And the body of the house itself.

Fourteen dollars and twenty-eight cents here.

Forty-eight dollars and twelve cents there.

The other is proportions.

Coincidence isn’t a mystery to her.

The margin’s always wide enough.

Forty-two or forty with twenty is always sixty-two or sixty.

And I mean forty-two with twenty can be sixty as well as sixty-two.

And the other way around.

Just as ten and twenty can be thirty-two or thirty

Or twelve and twenty can be thirty.

She stands there in the doorway of her mother’s house

and thinks these thoughts.

That fourteen dollars and twenty-eight cents is more at attractive than fourteen dollars because of
the twenty-eight.

No-one likes or dislikes zeros.

And that forty-two or forty is fixed in some way.

She thinks about her father’s age.

She does the calculation one more time.

She remembers sixty-two.

Thirty and some number is sixty-two.

And that number with ten is forty-two.

She remembers forty-two.

“Remembers” is the wrong word.

She dwells on forty-two.

She turns and faces it.

She watches.

She studies it.

It is the key.

The mystery of the balances is there.

The Masonic secret lies there.

The church forbids its angels entry there.

The gypsies camp there.

Blood is exchanged there.

Mothers weep there.

It is night there.

Thirty and some number is sixty-two.

And that number with ten is forty-two.

That number translates now to then.

That number is the answer, in the way that numbers answer.

That simple notion, a coincidence among coincidences is all one

needs to know.

My mind turns to my breath.

My mind watches my breath.

My mind turns and watches my breath.

My mind turns and faces my breath.

My mind faces my breath.

My mind studies my breath.

My mind sees every aspect of the beauty of my breath.

My mind watches my breath soothing itself.

My mind sees every part of my breath.

My breath is not indifferent to itself.

She waked at ten.

She remembers ten.

She left the dark at ten.

She waked in light.

So forty-two or forty or forty-four is fixed.

Fourteen dollars and twenty-eight cents is more attractive than fourteen dollars.

It’s just that way.

The firmness of it is a consolation.

Three men had loved her.

One a decade on the average.

Uncertainties are wrong.

In this scene there is one shot.

Giordano Bruno comes to mind, whoever he is.

She is in the doorway of her mother’s house.

She faces south.

We see it two ways.

First is the house behind her and the great Northern constellations.

She looks away from difference and discrepancy.

Magnetic north, true north, the north star path…

It’s too like the calculations.

Except that ten and forty-two are fixed together.

We are looking west.

She is on the right edge of the shot.

She is Earth.

We are the sun.

People are gathered in the backyard.

This is the celebration of the changing of the light.

They do it as often as they can in summer.

They come to talk.

They pass the time.

They sooth their thoughts with lemonade.

They say things like:

“She never had a stitch that she could call her own, poor thing”.

And, “Carl’s still president over at the bank, ain’t he?”

And, “Now if I was doing it…”

And, “She didn’t cook much, never really had the time, you know”.

And, “I wouldn’t say that, not at all”.

They are the planets in this scheme of things.

Giordano Bruno’s shot.

The problem is the arc.

The changing angle of the shot.

It defies geometry.

The drawings of a geocentric solar system, when we meet them in the books, make us avert our
eyes.

Heresy is heresy.

We make one great, weird curve from the east edge of the backyard,

looking west –

She is on the right edge of the shot –

across, following the equator of the backyard, to the west edge,

looking east.

Now she is on the left edge.

At some point, midway, we face,

both looking at the center.

The center is between us.

Except that for the purpose of the shot, or in the interests of economy,
she doesn’t move.

She is standing in the doorway of her mother’s house.

The doorway to the back porch.

The backyard is the south.

Behind her the great northern constellation rises in the majesty

of its architecture.

Well, maybe that’s a little too much.

Let’s just say that contradictions are behind her.

And in the backyard, god, this set of circumstances

that is indescribable with our geometry.

A picnic of sorts.

A celebration of the changing of the light.

And we glide through that chaos, facing her,

watching her,

studying her.

Not circling her, remember.

Circling, but not circling her.

She is circling.

We are circling.

Now she is on the left edge.

Caught still in her accounting of those three decades silently.

She is so beautiful.

A pre-industrial equation.

God, this is sentimental.

This is the hour of the mystery of the barn swallows.

One, where do they go in daytime?

Two, do they never rest?

Three, when you buy them in the store, made in China, on the end of strings

they do exactly what they do alive.

Four, how is that possible?

The idea of the changing center is not in anything we make.

Our toys run down.

On the other hand, of course, the Chinese are said to not take pictures.

At least not of the outside.

Six of one, two times three of one, five plus one of one,

nine minus three of one, half a dozen of another.

It would be perfect if, as we made the great curve

through the heavens of the backyard,

providentially or accidentally, depending on

your point of view, each of the planets would move exactly

in the path and at the speed and with the purpose

of the expression of the other idea.

Maybe that’s too much to wish.

Giordano Bruno.

I think they burned him.

He was too positive.

Fight fire with fire.

In this shot he is wrong about the larger order, whatever that means.

There is just the sun and earth and some center that they share.

All other facts in this heaven,

One has climbed a tree,

Two are eating watermelon,

One always says it’s getting late,

One succeeded at the plant,

One works at the bank,

The specialists.

They are just straight lines seen wrong.

Sundown, one, the time it disappears.

Gloaming, two, the twilight, dusk.

Crepuscule, the twilight, three, the half-light.

Twilight, four, pale purplish blue to pale violet, lighter than dusk blue.

Civil twilight, until the sun is up to six degrees below horizon

enough light on clear days for ordinary occupations.

Nautical twilight, until the sun is up to twelve degrees below horizon.

Astronomical twilight, until the sun is eighteen degrees down,

more or less.

Clair de lune, five, greener and paler than dusk.

Dusk, six, redder and darker than clair de lune.

Dear George,

What’s going on?

I’m not the same person that I used to be.