[b/c The message is the best part of the year]]

I will take the message to the places where I insist on hiding. Recently I have forgotten it along with other things we have cultivated to have in public like the girl with the website who is inspired by digital nomads who I ^have^ learned are often snowbirds but I am a sunbird which means that I run away from it, like my own ancestors I am a cave-dweller or now in cellars, one of which is sleep. 

In my dream where you are the judge at a parallel but different institution to the one that I am working at the message is my name label written on my desk

It is how I want to talk about childhood, which turns out to have been sacred because we were not watched but watchers unaware of our work, aiding and abetting passersby in the poplar grove to [RECOGNISE THEMSELVES] 🡪

Do you remember the poplar grove? Was it real? Logically, it’s near here somewhere. [Not enough is happening with sound. But I can’t overcomplicate. I can make the lines do some work later]

or

The expansiveness of time with the secondary help of the breath [I remember thinking with annoyance about Jack Kornfield’s lecture on the subject] 

All the great traditions have held the message in high esteem though I \have\ am unexperienced [intrigued why not ‘inexperienced’] and lazy and cannot apprehend it. 

My friend chewed my pen and [this was becoming too intimate and I will not tell you the end of the line]

//

People say retribution

I have brought retribution on myself as I was asked to by the book I think I will expand the dream section and make the conceit slightly clearer. There is a research point. I am struck by the uselessness of the majority of what is said here. If I had to bet, I will finish this poem because of that.

Nothing remains but water. || *** END

//

1 \Against\

The flag overlays the 

X overlays Y.

The cloud carries over; against it the first flag on its sight interwheeling along

They have used us to complete an application detailing our respective practices.

Between this and somewhere else they are on the way back to the beaches, it is impossible to return what the memory has given us, it has become impossible to learn another language

Between it all this / the other event

If we are all to be forgiven we must all

The flag is confessional. The raiser has been sick for sometime. Hello everybody from the church top

The children are leaving and the flags are shifting

But it is summer, and I will give us time to reconsider. 

The goal of the flag is to reproduce the meaning of a recorded tape in the target language it teaches

The children have been given their own words. 

Allow, allow

A: Please be careful. 

B: I am being cautious. 

A: I have a message. I have waited an extremely long time to transmit it. Please be careful because we are being watched. Let me add a history of the message. First the message was places. Where was I? 

B: I learned it first, maybe, on a row of exposed bricks which are never rained on because of a random configuration of trees, though those bricks are in the pattern of other places which can become shelters. 

A: Place has no nature, and so I give it a history. And after history, where is the message?

B: Now, the message is most like a staple food found in a previously hidden valley the location of which has been revealed through predictions of the most powerful spiritual teachers of the age. It will change everything. 

A: The message is not a side dish. The message is the dish, it hides beneath. The message is not a symbol for us. Since we are watched it would be useless. So I will finish this because it is useless. 

B: It seems to me that the message is similar, but not the same as, the way I am looking to talk soon about childhood, which was sacred, because we were not watched, but watchers unaware of our work, aiding and abetting passers-by in (I remember) the poplar grove, and over the bridge. We were helping them to discern whether remembering was pleasant or painful; whether in memory they preferred praise or blame; or gain or loss; or fame and insignificance. And we were children who could talk most eagerly about crocuses. The poplar grove was real. Originally uselessness was a private message to myself. I know that grove to be near here.

A: Not as near as is accessible on foot. I will give you an example.

B: Thank you.

A: For two men I saw at the coffee chain the message was one of ontology. Once you get past a certain point of foam it’s another drink isn’t it. Well I prefer two teabags. Four pounds yes £4.30. They could always make it a flat rate drink, since what you’re really paying for is an electric-seated boiling kettle every time. They are laughing that people on the internet are shocked to find every time† are two words. What we’re paying for is the price of standing, of thin and lean description, of the eye contact with the same barista, which is the message.

[† IAN MACARTNEY, 9:47PM, NOV 27: My impulse is to point out these repetitions but also yr A very patterning type, and it works, especially when you want to break down text’s barriers, which you do well here. Also dialogic -> reminders of 3 Highways, Sainsburys, etc. Esp this anecdote. Again the poem as forum for different voices usually quotidian, even if that quotidian is actually not and medieval]

B: I understand. Another example to test. 

A: Thank you.

B: I was able to rehearse this confession to who I was in the mirror. And the mirror was the message. Are you rich? asked the message. Are you sure you are all the way here? Perhaps an answer to the second was a form of richness in some desert father way and the mirror broke because I was all wrong. I will go to the desert. 

A: You may not go into the desert without the message. 

B: In the made-up places, there are rules, and in the real ones, you may break them.

A: My friend who was my teacher writes a book about a train journey. This is some years ago. My friend writes about a train journey† before I had taken my fair share but all that has changed now—it has changed. Train noise. You know, breaking. The biggest window in the house and rain. A woman sang about the future and listening I lean back. We shoot past the message; I hear fields clanging with joy under the strokes of the music I play to myself. I am the inducer; I was induced; I am trained in delivery and the family polka, with which all bids for peace must end, as it has been shown. I am struggling with the weight of the message to recall the name of a recently dead dancer. I am struggling past all reason. My love which grows is like a dream, it is like the hydraulics that power the moon, both are the message, they are silent. Please be careful. 

[† IAN MACARTNEY, 9:48PM, NOV 27: <<3]

B: We have been in a revival which began at an undetermined point and has gone on forever. Architecture has begun now. This is my favourite building. You have to crawl to get inside. That’s much closer to the message.

A: The message is a detritivore. You have discovered it.

B: In the bestiary I have read that the mucus of banana slugs contains a venom that numbs the tongues of its predators so that they can continue their work of making dirt.

A: Closer again?

B: I have read the book and followed its instructions to bring about retribution. So yes. Now I am giving them to you. Detritivore is a destructive word that teaches since no one knows it who reads, like a moth.

A: Well said.

B: I remember the moth of the other book, which was something else. 

A: And you may apply it here. 

B: The book was about retribution

A: and requital. Will I really have to hide?

B: The training video ends here. 

A: Please be careful. 

B: I try to take care. 

A: I have a message. I have waited an extremely long time to transmit it. Please be careful because we are being watched. Let me add a history of the message. First the message was places. Where was I? 

B: I learned it first, maybe, on a row of exposed bricks which are never rained on because of a random configuration of trees, though those bricks are in the pattern of other places which can become shelters. 

A: Place has no nature, so I give it a history. After history, where is the message?

B: Now, the message is most like a staple food found in a previously hidden valley the location of which has been revealed through predictions of the most powerful spiritual teachers of the age. It will change everything. 

A: The message is not a side dish. The message is the dish, it hides beneath. The message is not a symbol for us. Since we are watched it would be useless. So I will finish this because it is useless. 

B: It seems to me that the message is similar, but not the same as, the way I am looking to talk soon about childhood, which was sacred, because we were not watched, but watchers unaware of our work, aiding and abetting passers-by in (I remember) the poplar grove, and over the bridge. We were helping them to discern whether remembering was pleasant or painful; whether in memory they preferred praise or blame; or gain or loss; or fame and insignificance. And we were children who could talk most eagerly about crocuses. The poplar grove was real. Uselessness was a private message to myself at that time. I know that grove to be near here.

A: Not as near as is accessible on foot. I will give you an example.

B: Thank you.

A: For two men I saw at the coffee chain the message was one of ontology. Once you get past a certain point of foam it’s another drink isn’t it. Well I prefer two teabags. Four pounds yes £4.30. They could always make it a flat rate drink, since what you’re really paying for is a boiling kettle every time. They are laughing that people on the internet are shocked to find every time are two words. What we’re paying for is the price of standing, of thin and lean description, of the eye contact with the same barista, which is the message.

B: I understand. Another example to test. 

A: Thank you.

B: I was able to rehearse this confession to who I was in the mirror. And the mirror was the message. Are you rich? asked the message. Are you sure you are all the way here? Perhaps an answer to the second was a form of richness in some desert father way and the mirror broke because I was all wrong. I will go to the desert. 

A: You may not go into the desert without the message. 

B: In the made-up places, there are rules, and in the real ones, you may break them.

A: My friend who was my teacher writes a book about a train journey. This is some years ago. My friend writes about a train journey before I had taken my fair share but all that has changed now—it has changed. Train noise. You know, breaking. The biggest window in the house and rain. A woman sang about the future and listening I lean back. We shoot past the message; I hear fields clanging with joy under the strokes of the music I play to myself. I am the inducer; I was induced; I am trained in delivery and the family polka, with which all bids for peace must end, as it has been shown. I am struggling with the weight of the message to recall the name of a recently dead dancer. I am struggling past all reason. My love which grows is like a dream, it is like the hydraulics that power the moon, both are the message, they are silent. Please be careful. 

B: We have been in a revival which began at an undetermined point and has gone on forever. Architecture has begun now. This is my favourite building. You have to crawl to get inside. That’s much closer to the message.

A: The message is a detritivore. You have discovered it.

B: In the bestiary I have read that the mucus of banana slugs contains a venom that numbs the tongues of its predators so that they can continue their work.

A: The work is to make dirt. Closer again?

B: I have read the book and followed its instructions to bring about retribution. So yes. Now I am giving them to you. Detritivore is a destructive word that teaches since no one knows it who reads, like a moth.

A: Well said.

B: I remember the moth of the other book, which was something else. 

A: And you may apply it here. 

B: The book was about retribution

A: and requital. Will I really have to hide?

B: The training video ends here.