Ray.

It is a wonderful place, a noisy place, perhaps, but good. I sit in a big plastic lawn chair overlooking the alley, where only two nights ago I heard at 4 am the rough language and argument between a young sounding female prostitute and an older man, and after much yelling, they both agreed aloud, 40 dollars. I heard that plain enough. I went back upstairs. Today, as I sit there, such a commotion of silences, I can hear in one instant, a jet plane taking off from Love field, a train, the wind through enormous Oaks, Pecans, Redbuds, and several I haven't picked up on yet. I see a fat squirrel and notice that power-lines flank the alley reminding me of that singular story of the 18th century Ottoman empire whereby an English Engineer named Webb, I believe designed all manner of follies for the Sultan, for the Sultan's son's circumcision celebration. What a mouthful. Well, the thing I mean is the wires put dual like a track. Webb designed high wires as a track, had special wheels made that fit over the wires like half-pipes, and the Ottoman and his son were pulled across a vast expanse of crowd or town high up in this magical carriage ride! Aaah! And then there were giant wax palm trees embedded with gemstones too! Silly farts. All for a bit of penis skin. I love the noisy silences. Planes, trains, and automobiles, fat squirrels and squawking whores. My 18 yr old granny cat comes out to join me for a bit to have a munch of wheat grass we grow her as a digestion aid, her kidneys are nearly gone, and we have to add canned pumpkin to her food, and food is somehow de-proteinated. I guess protein causes the kidneys to work too hard, so they wear out. If you've ever smelled cat piss. Rough business, cat liquids. Noisy. Pater, Pattern. Consecrating art in its lowest form. Full circle to noise culture. Picking noise as the 'lowest form' and which and somehow the Christian sympol of the P arising from the X, or is if there was an equation like, or really a constant, XsubP as X is matter and P is what might be thought or said of matter, not as a story about its stucture, but as an appreciation, like at a certain distance, in a certain acoustic setting, train, plane, wind, tree, and whore commingle to sound "interesting".. The poor half dead crone cat taking some last repast, blind to substance yet supping. That line gave me a vision, something like an ancient alien world, something like  grasshopper sailboats on a kind of nile, things like instruments moving up and down around columns of transparent green wood, designed to harness the spine. I remember a writer named Don Webb. Odd person. Pater says Centaur Maurice and Hellenism. I say Max Ernst. I say thin grasshopper, and see a sailboat which is also a musician played by the water. 40 dollars. Alexander's critique of Homer. His critique of Memesis itself. The Actual Alexandrian tradition is the critique of mimesis. Or do we side with poverty? The whore? Do we just take it? Is absolute poverty our own Achilles, our own Hellenism? Is Christ (or Silliman) a kind of Hector? Or take the time to substitute whatever the basic crawl is. Is political subtext our hero, that poverty? How does Alexander prefigure Nietzsche, and what does that have to do with poesy or aesthesis? How do we enjoin fitness to a place beyond? What lineage do we choose for our fitness, or calisthenics.. Beautiful, or elegantly strong? One story of Alexander, The Romance, was supposedly written by Callisthenes who accompanied Alexander on his exploits:

The monstrous eyes of this deformed hero, he seems to claim, read the world at a level beyond that of human rhetoric, comprehending the meta-language of anagogy that transcends apparent meaning by negating it.

But aw hell, we don't need to go the way of the negative. We just need to find our balconies, cause when in the pit, be a pit bull, and when on the balcony be a sweet singer, or a solemn listener.

hero.
hero.

Oh ray, thy shaft intentions grace and matter moves.

I think of surfaces warmed by the mechanical energy of photons.
My middle name is Ray. and the sun is central
to our little solar system.