mapping like industrial forge
hammering (out) a shape
fruition
bringing to fruition
shaping
tending to (tenderizations pattern beating
finding
the shape of finding
configuration
poured to/on anvil pounding into position into shape pounding accruing shape shape establishes position grants position ... /administers
co-ordinates arrive at position, deliver a position, -- embarkation accountings & establishment
co-ordinates = finders
the found tossed tenebrous in the incinerative convolute of perennial displacement
furnaces laboring
Map rebuffs Peril
M: I provide a service.
P: You imperil.
M: I guide people.
P: You only misdirect them further.
M: Degrees of lostness?
P: Levels of Perdition.
M: I’m useful.
P: So are caskets.
mapping tomb peril
encrustation coarctation astringency assembly syndrome
to get there → how? not, ... why?
how -- the supracessional
mapping: an options elimination operation
questing to arrive
maps } take you there
gps }
the quest is to find, locate ... identify
identity < > locatability
location < > definitionality
discover – uproots from the unknown
(larval spits
initiate search
the unidentified appears
6 comments:
i had read Smelling Mary end to end sometime back. must say it's great to more of Mr Levinson's work here.
I love these pieces! A really unique voice. Thank you for sharing them, Heller.
It is an honour to be able to present poetry from all you talented, interesting poets in this salon.
This is really good. Thank you for this, Heller. Hope to see you here back again.
Excellent.
Oddly, I just watched an Alan Watts lecture, so this particularly: "the found tossed tenebrous in the incinerative convolute of perennial displacement"
kind of rung for me. Rang. Roong. Burning machine bowels of causation.
I liked Mapping as Options Reduction, too - but it can work two ways I think - having a map can also blind a pursuer in traps of conclusions, while you make camp nearby, unconcerned because you too are aware of the total lack of exits all (well, maybe all) maps eventually run into.
Thanks for some really interesting poetry, Heller Levinson - much to my taste.
I'm still with Zelazny, Magician Of The West, though - I will cling, cling, cling to the shadows of form and self. Agony may be born of desire, but getting born is worth the pain. The struggle for form and definition is the only way to be, man.
mmmm, postscriptum mm - as soon as I posted that last, a voice in my head was like, in sonorous tones, "Parmenides!", as though I was a lost dork at sea and it was a foghorn. I do think that all things are one; I gruk satori a little bit. (like being a little pregnant, eh! hah! waits for laughter in the silence...) I think, though, that we are here as things-in-time in order not to be blinded and murdered by causation's ceaseless smear, but to be somehow the agents of a necessary Change. I do take medications for this sort of thing, but I also think it's true. That's why it's so painful to be conscious: we are pushing something into Being.
Ok, enough raving - I'm late for my mop date, and the bucket, empty, is smelling of dirt and bleach in what you would swear was a wistful way. Waiting for me to take my celestially-appointed place, removing the anointments of my fellow man from porcelain.
OK, it nearly rhymed. Thanks again for the poems, Heller - they were great thought-makers for me.
PG
ah, more great journeys from Heller Levinson - a stop-gap fix for the jones of waiting for his next collection to be published...
(it is)an infinite search for shapeless forms, hidden among overgrown bluffs, made upright by a bulkhead.
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