Lines circles scenes letters and characters: spurious words on a sort of Paper or Parchment generally used for making the first draught of things, which might be wip'd out and new wrote in the same Place.




This present landscape is a geomorphic palimpsest Across which She pours a sensibility divine Along the nerve of every feeling line sighing itself along The air.

1. Tribe Conirostres. Conic-billed Birds.





2. Transparent Screen for the Exhibition of the Phantasmagoria.




3. but if the programme is good enough you will look at the screen not as a picture within a frame but as a view seen through a window.

1. The pipes had burst in the basement and the water had reached the second stair.
Sitting in the stairwell, he snaps out of his distractedness and in the notebook on his lap begins to make another map.

A rectangle the floor.
A rectangle the water.
The same.

Floor water same.

He looks down the stairs.
Yes.






2. He is standing in his galoshes looking at a fusebox.
A spray of white water cascades nearby.
He considers having the urge to touch them both.
He wonders what is wrong with him, that he cannot feel.





3. The door to outside has blown open.
Outside the sound of the wind off the marsh bending through the inkblack night.
Inside the edge of the flood, the water formed as an almost solid.
He steps into the bending into the water, into the bending into the water,...

In my dream the air was full of letters each made from puffed sweet potato. I grabbed one, pulled it down, looked at it. It was like cereal.

You and I had bellows that we used to move them, set them spinning horizontally, vertically.

Soon there was an inclination to make words, but the letters were too light to control: the bellows would move them, but not could not place them anywhere other than where they wanted to go.

You began to move through them, picking individuals, arranging them: they would stay in place until you let go, then trail off into the cloud again.

I say: You indicate through your sequence but the sequence will not stay.
You say: To see is to co-ordinate.



I couldn't work out how sweet potato letters came to float in the air like that. There were no strings. They were not projections. They were simply there, aerial, all around.