Editions MSS
Editions MSS
The Safely Waking Loam

But everyone not knowing enough wasn’t the only point; another was just not tricking up some neat script-story but taking power in process, other people’s ongoing energies and tying into them, that’s the way I express it but I got the idea from someone else and that’s appropriate too.
— J. McElroy, Lookout Cartridge

Lundi : I : I and the world are separate : A bride arrayed like a jester was springing towards me | Mardi : The world : I and the world are separate and the eye separates me from the world : Loaded full of someone else’s champagne at someone else’s wedding, let’s say hers | Mercredi : The eye : I am not inside the world : One could almost say that the stain bound us both to mutually reinforcing cycles of tears | Jeudi : Clinamen : On a hill I stood; overlooking: Observing : Thanks for having us over and helping us get through it by shining light on the consecration or absolution of that passion | Vendredi : The body : From outside the body the eye opens into pain : A dose of social indulgence I begged from the dull pebble bed | Samedi : Time : From inside time the body closes to touch the world : Was anyone ever capable of finding starlings that sing the moon which makes the plumed cloud blossom? | Soldi : Pain : The eye and the body are separate : From my tailored wardrobe I chose the costume I find invariable for such occasions of worsted flannel and silk unweaved.
Lutèce, le quatorze tatane (Sainte Anne, pèlerine, énergumène) de l’an 128 EP, jour où commence mon trente-cinquième année sublunaire.

First put out in the Summer-Fall 2002 issue of Ester Hesmans The Meaner Side, revue bilingue dont l’ambition est d’entasser Hemingway’s legacy of sere anthems of exile and sheer mean-streak envers les existentialistes même dans une seule masse thrénétique qui rase the menses of semen-haters everywhere, for, it is said, “whom art enmeshes, Seshet enmarbles.”

[ A not-for-profit instantiation of human imagination and human labor ]
Copyright © 2002 M. S. Strickland