Wednesday, 23 April 2014
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
true to tell
anything can be
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
at the still, dark river
the damp slabbed bulk of the mill beyond
- time to break down
“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