Zadie--Egypt--Fresh Translator Face--Stephanie

Zadie said make lists: my rebbitzin cousin (a wife of a rabbi) in her husband's attendance of study was who I met in a dream. He read Arabic, however my mind contrives to hear the youngest & most sophisticated of Semitic languages, out of my prayer book. I didn't realize I would collude Judeo-Arabic thru the filter of a kehilla (Jewish community) as if I answered to one, resolved to call asceticism any humility by anyone who'd submit...

Within generations' dialogue , the field where everyone's change took place, right now is Americana. Agreed material gratification is been smote if you are lucky, but the tidal pool having traced our steps upon it, gets interesting when language is in reference to alliteration paths. Landing on language. Etymology, because it felt right to say: words sometimes as context, yet no concept, because the word-feeling thing-magnified has as much of an impulse as what the tool acts upon. The semblance we connive out of our senses, these images--IKONS, cannot be what we know beauty to be, because saying "beautiful" doesn't deign why its grotesque at once, or really just beautiful. Language is cheap, is vain because it talks about inward things--itself, and outward things as if! But responding without is where the least of us is sacrificed--the consciousness relay into which we descend is relationship with our nature. To thwart what traps identity in plain view of indefinite choruses whose verbiage is imagery, arights flesh in language awash - its current swept into emotion and spirit.


Fresh faces--remember this face. Whatever veil lifted in my dream looked entirely consumable. An expression (on this face) thru the geometric Amish sign in the Catskill Mts on Casten Rd. above a barn's door, by my Aunt's bungalow colony, had enough color, some verdant opaque green, flat, with something intermediate about it so I wasn't eliciting an omen. In Buddhist Thought the face is a translator. Dreamt these faces, it is as looking thru a glass darkly. Eat the glass. The mask had cranberry glass vase-like quality, not chandelier like--like a King presenting his magnificense--but a vessel w/candy in it maybe. Biting something from a perfect surface, as this glass! & then harvesting blueberries out of conscious clouds.


On may way and going past my x-girlfriend girlfriend's house, some out of mind sense that the thing eluding me was that I woulda presented a figure of Stephanie just her, like she'd been faffing about all her live long day, as anyone, because I was proximal to her domicile--struck dully, oddly, finitely. IT didn't strike me the way a convivial soul contrives his spirited pantheon of friends. Marley's Don't Rock My Boat from Kaya was some music I was tuned into in those moments: this album has a clear bravado of something mystic and timelessness--I seek something esoteric just hearing how " feels so good in his own neighborhood" and " feels so high, can even touch the sky" Just like college, just like my x, I was well aware they--school and my thing w/her wouldn't last, yet the persisting of academia and her mutual arising to be sure is to remain in the air... So, then here's Stephanie--and yes I knew! That one may think I celebrate my own exile is entirely the efficient cause from loss and its certifiable new day when it is pain that indicates me in my morose langor--so celebrate? No, but establishing "nobody above " ("there ain't nobody above you!"--P.K's lyrics) represents victory. I thought she wouldn't make it into the world-to-come. No, indeed, as I live this pedestrian life, the maps I draw are thru the features of bodies liberated LIKE mine, ...and if somehow I sense the grim reaper is my sanctimony in the dispensation unavailed by my peer, my guess in these moment has been THEY were not going to make it... Sweet woman, if only had I only known her better!!