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The Cosmic Tree Until we attain incombustibility
Above the Sea We fly in its qualifying fact
Of Being Man the driver close To the ultimate tick
We all know it And abolition of that curtain time
All we have to do is Which killed
Wake and know it. The primordial epoch.
Fall About Laughing
When we tell them that we're in love
Men'll fall about laughing
When the lion gets around to lying down with the dove
Men'll fall about laughing
When they try to work the machines
Men'll fall about laughing
Ride a bike or open a can of sardines
Men'll fall about laughing
What happened to the old straight line
Is no affair of yours or mine
Or the guys who run the place
It's such an awful disaster
When the mind's not the master
You can't even keep a straight face
When we say that the wild days are back
Men'll fall about laughing
When they find out that we're sharing a sack
Men'll fall about laughing
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Men'll fall about laughing
THE DEAD SEA SOUND
Formal Topolatry of Aspiring Forms
L
BLISS
F
E
ANGEL
U I O
T V U
O E G
BIRTH
R B
E O
AFTER
S O
T U
ANTIFLOWERED G
N I A DEATH
VIGIL V A
I T E T
LOUGHBOROUGH
Love's Nocturnal Entry into Bombed Coventry
C
L M CASH
LOSE CHARTERS C
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COVENTRY REVEAL H L
TUNER R CAPERIL A O
AND BYE NOR NORD U
TO A I N E
NIGHT ASSAUGES SILENCED
Topography of an Unrealised Affair
C
HELLO
E O O
A V L
STRESS
An Anagrammatical Small Square Palinaromic Vision
War was:
Sin ran:
S saw a rani
In a raw ass.
W A R
A A
S I N
D A C I D A C
D A C I D A C I D
A C I D A C I D A
A C I D A C I
H E A D
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C I I D D A
I D D A A C
A C I D A C I D A C
I D A C I D A C
D A C I D A C I
C I D A C I
D A C I
A C I D
A
I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I C I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I D
BOOK ONE Northwards top
MULTI-VALUE MOTORWAY
SHE too was obsessed with pelting images. Phil Brasher, her husband, was growing more and more
violent with Charteris, as if he knew the power was passing from him to the foreigner. Charteris had the
certainty Phil lacked, thegestalt. Certainty, youth, handsome. He was himself. Also, perhaps, a saint.
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Also other people. But clearly a bit hipped, a heppo. Two weeks here, and he had spoken and the
drugged Loughborough crowds had listened to him in a way they never did to her husband. She could
not understand his message, but then she had not been sprayed. She understood his power.
The pelting images caught him sometimes naked.
Nerves on edge. Army Burton, played lead guitar, passed through her mind, saying,  We are going to
have a crusade. Lamp posts flickered by, long trees, a prison gate, furry organs. She could not listen to
the two men. As they walked over the withdrawn meaning of the wet and broken pavement, the hurtling
traffic almost tore at their elbows. That other vision, too, held her near screaming pitch; she kept hearing
the squeal of lorry wheels as it crashed into her husband's body, could see it so dear she knew by its
nameboards it was travelling from Glasgow down to Naples. Over and over again it bit him and he fell
backwards, disintegrating, quite washing away his discus-sion, savage discussion of multi-value logic,
with Charteris. Also, she was troub-led because she thought she saw a dog scuttle by wearing a red and
black tie. Bombardment of images. They stood in a web of alternatives.
Phil Brasher said,  I ought to kill Charteris. Charteris was eat-ing up his possible future at an enormous
pace. Brasher saw him-self spent, like that little rat Robbins, who had stood as saint and had not been
elected. This new man, whom he had at first welcomed as a disciple, was as powerful as the rising sun,
blanking Brasher's mind. He no longer got the good images from the future. Sliced bread cold oven. It
was dead, there was a dead area, all he saw was that damned Christmas cactus which he loathed for its
meaninglessness, like flowers on a grave. So he generated hate and said powerfully and confusedly to
Charteris,  I ought to kill Charteris.
 Wait, first wait said Colin Charteris, in his own English, brain cold and acid.  Think of Ouspenski's
personality photo-graphs. There's a high gloss. You have many alternatives. We are all rich in
alternatives. He had been saying that all afternoon, during this confused walk, as he knew. Ahead a big
blind wall. The damp smudged crowded city, matured to the brown nearest black, gave off this rich aura
of possibilities, which Brasher dearly was not getting. Charteris had glimpsed the world-plan, the tides of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]