One who fields the Crayon fields the Colour. One who welds the Crayon Holds the (ex)scepter to the Earth.  Perhaps there are Cheshire Bunnies! Christina says and I shake my head no, no Cheshire bunnies — why Cheshire bunnies? Because bunnies are the cutest things ever and a Cheshire bunny would be the coolest to catch!  After failed Cheshire cats there is the search for Cheshire bunnies — who knows leaving grin and fur long ears velvety (loved and real, curled underneath the sheet of fever or faerie moonlight trying to avoid the scarlet and easily breakable ship masts and steam trains) or if she saw his eyes blinking black and charm — keep it, raise it, give it baths until it bit her and disappeared like an Easter Beagle one day / There could be many other recreation activities — the monolith burning slides summer (not even sliding sometimes but jumping off topwards the leap off the high and tower, sometimes getting caught by the guards earthen ground, chastising us for danger! danger!  But as a kid, one is invincible and there is never any danger, only deflected bullets and dodged cars and I never outgrew the feeling) or kickball fields rolling and dust among the red rubber cursing my first profanity — damnit! damnit!  damnit!  stomping the ground everytime I miss, not understanding that it’s not a word a polite young boy should say) in search of day; the wake of morning and the car transportation to elementary and bringing cereal boxes for projects (cardboard castles, painted y paste and perhaps Pringles cans spires Lawrence columns), tiered between the reading times (whatever judy blume book or beginning of goosebumps), whiteboard spelling and grammar (the glamour/morpheme illusion ha chant) — no Ben although it sounds like it there is no need for a comma there… Recess!  capturing Cheshire bunnies or conquer balance beam and chicken fights (without getting caught) then back to the pitiful learning of bone names (couldn’t we just call it upper arm bone and lower arm bones?  seems to make a lot more sense to me) and lunch, the cafeteria lunch which I used to work, hairnet and all, and sometimes the food was good (in retrospect, all terrible) and the longer recess in which full games could be completed, not just partial games and Christina running around talking faeries [word pun faery water fay Guardian of the Sword Liminal Lady] and antelope/preform Chinese jump rope and braiding braclets.  I remember the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the action figures when they only used to cost 3 or 4 dollars including accessories such as sais or bo or katana — or transformers before they became obsolete (the Optimus Prime was 30 dollars but included the trailer which opened up to behold its own spy station and go kart propulsed spring oh various contraptions!) — I wish they didn’t for the machines were our imagination, our power… not obscured by math text books (what number is next in this sequence?) or the daily readers trying to earn points for a personal pizza.  For children, toys are benevolent household gods (faeries, magicians, sternums, Miles birth of the cool), conduits to a (magical — deep earth — cat eyes) Center.  Center like the center of a bubblegum lollipop.  Through imagination, the miraculous life, and then supersedes [Skin Horse to Velvet — when a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but Really loves you, you become real].  — like Buffy the Bear (despite his moniker, a male bear — I didn’t know any different — brown bear brown with a red bowtie) or the Queen Alien puncturing double jaw — somehow this is my first (toying) memory, this grotesque creature, but magnificent because I enjoy the most gargoyle of things.  Hey Christina what’s one minus two? Puzzled — that’s impossible! No (smile) it’s negative one! She looks at me like it’s magic and maybe it is not understanding the use of it myself — but magical.  — What did I write before becoming a prophet?  Giants learning to ride bicycles, illustrated by the 8 year old hand (narrative as simple as an 8 year old’s:  the protagonist meeting the giant and the giant asks him to teach him to ride a bicycle.  The protagonist agrees, but there is only one problem — he does not know how to ride a bike himself.  So he continuously worries and is afraid the giant will get angry at him, but the next time he meets the giant, he is writing a bicycle!  and the giant says with a grin, my mother taught me.  It must have been a reflection of myself — I did not learn how to ride a bicycle until I became a nine) — or knights battling evil wizards snapping wands and reversing transformations / Christina — I speak to her softly — what is the meaning of these stories?  hmmm… it means you’ll be a famous writer someday! but not as famous as me.  a child’s scoff. 

/Christina will you do my eulogy when I die? (yes of course).   You know everything and for that I am thankful.  Such at bootleggers rumble rum roads those rum dums and neath port dockings / trap doors trapped like planks and musicians when I was a musician postcivil saxophones when drinking and deriving and bouncing notes from wall bottled wall, the very sound and fast dance and fast cars and I felt very fast.  She nods.  The rush the crush t herush therush — Christina do my eulogy when I die and say some good things.  Seraphic Light she says.  Distilled very essence radiators and potatoes the most American things the most jazz running melodic line backstreets and nowhere.  The artist but no exaggeration or glorification] Say simply) pocket image weight predominant — uhhome for (us) souls –nongaelic, speakeasy, Roman University, California Empire — sim Kindred Strong to break (care of hotel/rug and hotel/missing in the bed and soft hairredofapillow/laying thinking death) / Lean Hard, Chris and Carry.  I am a child with god ideas.  Lavender mist Aluminum paints Unicorns.  Once unicorns, antediluvian.  Homogenous — no canvas no floor  Just aluminum and light.  If one has the capacity to use this light in abundance, such as a coil, the recoil of coils,  flat even surface chaotic but weather chaotic pattern chaotic spinning fronts — the movement of being; paradox moving as fluids and forces: the apparatus which acts upon not as a discourse itself but as a collection (politics, regulation relations / fault lines geology moving human forces ] (density constant, velocity fluid two dimensions, viscosity constant)!  constant as cornmeal    (bubbles):(leaking gravity) —  \ dealt isomorphisms just as Oracle talled Oedipus so Adonai among us.   If everything is real, then nothing — None a Thing — Not tung — hinge door noir — is real: two points (tarlong real) — here the line.  Right angles — Right bastards — orphans mangled.  Sector rotates radius and circle, the shard bombs clocks, wheels, gears, and armadillos) but from seed parallel — forests Euclidean Elliptic [larger or smaller corners] and its seasoned the possibility, angles in constant shift, the verpertillaapollos deamdream.  Oh Universe I worship your curves and flatness — your superclusters and strands — the topological defects I make mine for I see my Love in them and I see my face.  I love you Faerie Princess as you crown your head with leaves from the forest and play among the fields of arson, gifts from the pixies you roam with.  I listen often David S Ware’s arrangement of Sonny Rollin’s Freedom Suite, once one, now divided, Quarters, a holy 60 since tennis fifteens, symmetrical and theme — also quarters, three into Quartet, and rolling press roll and rollicking (wholly) with such piano (full cluster piano) and perhaps it meant some tradition — no even more simultaneous Out-of-Africa and Radicalism — some kind of liberty (the old gods demand sacrifice) or Speech musicSpeech and separation movements — third movement close piano one losing piano circle wail a David S Ware wail and some kind of Green Light dock Green Light reaching some tulips red and sweet, taste suite and hopeful like space travel interstellar space even like astrologers/alignments — sleeping as well into collapse sound waves sound filter slots waves — a long time since just sound, listening.  I first saw Christina as a child (I was a child) and her eccentricities — pure orange dyed hair, very short, spiked — tackling boys on the playground and kissing them — what confrontation!– I was secretive, an elusive, the lone defender of my gender — but instead of direct battle, one needs to be passive aggressive POKE POKE POKE — mean Christina Look — cut it out! a stern whisper — [he saw down.  I saw down beside him.  And, after a little silence, he spoke again: “the stars are beautiful because of a flower that can not be seen.” I repli] POKE! grraaaaa! and she retaliates — she punches hard for a girl — she punches hard for anyone.  Oh us troubled youth chastises / Melancholy atomica Uranium Idyllic Light and bomb) walking shadows on wall floors neutron windows soft tan elephants — like baseball players and manager manhattan run base, ants go marching one by one hurrah hurrah, ants go marching one by one hurrah hurrah ants go marching one by one all… to get out… one of the rain.. do do do (to the tune of When Johnny Comes Marching Home) running sometimes marching others across an ice diamond water polished and cut experience other diamond — If I seem free it’s because I’m always running a fix a newspaper who knows if named after New York words or not?  You are an odd one I say.  Don’t I know it? she smirks.  She pokes me. [ /Our personalities — borderline.  The radio lyres!  To take a Cheshire kitty in wheeling a ticking clock over asphalt — my mickey mouse glasses sighing Christina’s ribbons, pigtails, bow (a classic girly girl) an afternoon to waste! a hopscotch outline, a tetherball, but us the daring ones — running — or racing rather — to open jawed swings.  Push me!  I say and she gets a running start: shoulders moved into spinal chord rush and my legs furthering:  Christina notices sociopath glance, you’ll break your bones! in her little girl cry but I in my manic pride summersault off its teeth.  You’re crazy Ben she scolds, eyes rolling hand on her hip while I brush off sand with a grin \]  We are poured out like a drink offering, Kindereds head bowed in prayer / Krystal asks me, who is that girl?  She is a prophet like me.  She is a muse / She dreams blackwhite and then if colour, charge fury to fusilier.  Krystal looks very confused.  Don’t worry about it!  I say.  Let us swing bridges with our ropes and ride bicycles very fast.  ammiadivis like a gold ring.  marriadialogues trials/conclusion de Socrates.  Krystal the gadfly was there dug into the flesh of my arm a reminder of ALIVE and CONNECTION as well human disease (hantavirus  dengue fever  lassa fever) but I do not mind and I wonder if Christ or Judas Iscariot whether which his the most descended or harrowing, suspicious Christ most precious Christ — how that is human how one felt an altar and kerchief of Veronica) Oh human RAISE KINDRED — spirits earth — image Being as if something good and divine here Axiom  (many true is countercounterintuitive yet now first-order with identity ours identity for us in all and everything in us resembles the true us) — constructions circumscribed straightedge y compass [base and aviating anticenterwards but Us remain Us airy thinness to beat — but No immortality (platonic soul/say reincarnation ask where number souls — this person former Alexander o priorcleopatra — they were probably just some dumbfuck like everyone else — but no Us, firstborn and protoexisting — We machine our Own\ what God giveth god taketh way and this — justice wayums and waysans and waybum a Monday a Tuesday riding the trains to New York and back seatback and beltforwards the leather but not the contents which is Justice for the Law is not justice all nor nothing but the natural virtue beyond Law is the hearting of justice the universal justice not rights (psuedoprime rights or only odd number rights read off a simple papyrus or modern paper deciding what is justice/antijustice).  The sun rises upon and the sun sets as sets (the sun belonging to the set) and this a house of mourning.  For that which (h)is blood is sometimes not justice but madness.  Sigh.  He was almost like a bard to me, speaking fine literature Athens.  No tyrant in him.  But there is no soul, no trailfair in republics.  Poured himself out like a drink offering — our work is not yet done.  The want is the want is the hearing like Freedom Suite like the green lit on the dockarchitectura // Red rover Red Rover, Let Benjamin come over!  and thinking crush Superman fly superman and cape (or whatever imagine) crushed and globe into long links of arms and I unscathed/uncaptured (captured like a galaga uncaptured the double ship), telephone distorting some secret message messianic message: what happens on the road always comes home: on our little grass corner shadowalcolve whisper students and miss) or heads up seven up mixing during rainy days rained out dog days and become a guess that person that existence that touch but only seven (some seven) like a shooting or galley at a fairgameshow and of course me terrible at games and unremarkable misguessing faces (except christina faces) and sometimes when the rain came played Silent Ball some) Leaping upon top desk, green glow-in-the-dark miniature soccer ball passed around as some sacred object in silence (the glass is holy the mask is holy the raw is holy everything is holy) and I suppose that is why when one dropped the ark or broke its silence, their death came, buried back into the seat of the desk, the lower level.  Clay.  I don’t think I ever won) came close once.  Third person maybe.  Objective.  Christina and Ben on swings gentle in a backyard and  the tall trees sway around a bit and if you swing high enough you can see the trampoline in the neighbor’s yard and their dogs too.  I’m going to marry you someday, Ben says to Christina.  Are you sure?  Yep!  I know it.  How do you know?  Because we like each other, right? — Then we should get married.  And afterwards each instance Ben says, I’m going to marry you!  She gives a knowing yep and a Christina laugh.  She always knows the things Ben does not.

… flung like great-grandmother’s porcelain dolls.  Name Godhead and generation dead she received her old tradition kofra — crosshairs on orange Paradise summons Children all lined up flag mer ster Iare Freedom / pull arms Kimbred deal bystander politik crowd Watcher — Essence) — duvlin port dock political crowd into Happenings Us Proclaim Opus (c. 1;  c.2) and Us All History (prepared improvised reworked photographs in ash and dot matrix) — many passings vignette and shadows of (shorter) sanctuary or gusty sancter — that is to say, turmoil underneath peace geese neigh matterhorn.  Independent is a harden turtle fought by vagrant and press-to-go businessmen — birth pangs, foundation civilized folk, the deep wheat gleaners.  Makeshift militia or crush building fronts brick parliaments / carolina on a hill, der spidermums — sans rhetoric or numerology / arithmetic natural numbers plus a successor function) I often think what home is, Christina says, because I do not feel it in Shepard Easter  — no napavalley or birthing locations, my first baby steps / Joseph traveled very far through the wilderness into Egypt and although his bones were buried as a foreigner they did not remain.  Ruth left her homeland for better and found herself eating behind the wheat gleaners and sleeping at lengthing floorboards / kinsmenreedeemers are in good luck this season Naomi says to her [seven foreigner real, Ruth and Naomi is archetype — in sets, historical sets, are series representables, a tabernacle for the shadow of things to come carry atonement and fasting — angels in curtains surround.  Afflict yourselves and do no work.  Gather round the tent and campfire.  The desk is an altar.  Your God, that is mine.  The Here Us] No home.  Beyond the canyon is the shelf floor like a continental breakfast.  A whale carcass floats bottom and gulper eels and sand sharks mouth the decay (ground, no shallow) — aliens from below in darkness from above — thousands — and pressure like a steel closed cooker [Alvin the cork the ant pressure] — it’s eating just the same — sentient creatures trying for survival and live, clinging to hot ocean pockets (tiny volcanic vulvas pushing steam — steam power tiny mechanical horses, flying rotorships, carrousel trains, casual underneath the water) — barnacles and tube worms hundreds of years old, tiny crustaceans climbing up and down stalks like eyes: its own civilization and city everflowing irrigation and busy — heat sinks, the current, the salt and saline like an IV drip, aleph-countable bits of floating bodies and krill, the LAKE under the ocean dense like capital, seabring vegetation/live vegetation moving vegetation no vegetation vegetation / colours and spots and spats, all small not requiring much energy, much sustenance, but the energy created fusses a bustle, a complex moving thing, swaying with underwater waves, all alien to any eye.  To them, a home must be a dry thing, perhaps set on an erosion cressed pile or soft made with dead mineral and stone, poured or stacked, beams of chop and axborn heated iron and rise — the living makes it alien — when living is the waking and sleep, both alive and sound — that’s what confounds engineers and scientists — how something is so alive and functional / function and natural are bias resistors in a chain-link fence or shirt armor.  Neighboring tones.  Return to the sustenance.  Foreign is not one who is from alien land but rather has no home that is easily understood.  Home of sunfish, anglers and megamouth.  I went to Monterey Bay Aquarium and saw those Sunfish, swimming in deep circles — Looking hyperreal, a puffed up aluminum balloon, swimming air and helium) or the streams of rainbow jellyfish iridescent arcing like a tesla coil an imaginary landscape for ten radios (what did pilots do before radios?) and these are MATES, similar travelers — one jelly asks another is this the destination you are going?  Yes! Same directions — strangely odd schools — no leaders — gently silver and underbelly) our unknown is close, under our own toenails and watchbands — known as Saint Christopher’s Call.  By the kelp, holding onto the kelp is the mess of sea otters calling and rollicking like a 50’s rock n roll band (say Bill Haley and the Comets) and the kelp forests are secret to the survival and consuming the kelp sometimes is nourishment and I wonder if sometimes the Irish prisoners were in desperation they could have grown there own seaweed and made some sushi out of it (if they knew how to make sushi) and then the sushi would not have a home either, but the otters made their home is remote — the sea otters are the spirits of the water /most mist most rain which was wet and delicious the light fog with it then damp dirt by the stream which intervened then upwards, until I slipped and fell multitudes and I gave up then and I didn’t make it to the top, only almost, pushed until almost with many rests and gone water and humiliation.  The walk back was much nicer.  No breaks.  Looking out from a certain ridge the foliage deep forest — red forest, red bark and the noisy stream, nearly dried up in places and the sun was blocked by needles and leaves and everything was a wonderful shade and that was remarkable and beautiful and cool and I realize that Jack Kerouac passed out somewhere around here, in the burning brush liver and wrote Desolation Angels his hideously and then forest must be conducive to writers and the forest is a writer itself.  Then in Carmel, I was an alien amongst jaguars and businessmen and the retired and art galleries (always neo-post-impressionist bullshit), expensive, clear, cloth, formed cloth and hide selling for hundreds / ice cream.  cookie biscotti ice cream.  long sleep or absence of it.  Sea lions rolling humps like Nessie, sinking small boats and Savannah the Christina Marie.  sunfish  white shark  hammerhead  box jellyfish  black-nettle jellyfish  sea otters  ray fish  starfish  anchovy schools  mackerel schools  blue-fin tuna  mahi-mahi  rock fish  Lake Victoria fish  Lake Chad fish  green vine snake  Kelp Forest  giant octopus /   A child passing by realizes faeries and sprites hover otters and the whiskers tickle the wings and translucent and then everywhere is a hanging onto, and sleep within the kelp.