Saturday, July 12, 2008


sun shafts break on rock face,
shadow of fern fronds
flutters in wind gasps
moss on stone.
Forest cathedral.
Plant pillars
knotted root
spiralling vine
twisting tendril
light hunt.
The Benevolent Bobby Bisto is perched on a mossy rock. Green light. Leaf shadow.
Instructing his earnest students in his system of esoteric wisdom.
small birds hop about his feet, untroubled by his presence. Is he genuine? Is he a fraud? He is irresistibly likeable, a flashing smile, crinkled laugh lines
a shaggy mane of white hair. Eye twinkle. Laughing.

The Cimmarons camp is known as ASHANTI TOWN.

There is so much I want to show you.
There is a writhing squirming maggot world beneath the surface. A world of contending impulses. Inchoate life forms. Thought forms. Parasitic gods.
Is he taking the piss?
How come he's got that knowing grin on his face the whole time?
Blarney stone loquacity' language torrent. thought finds language without friction. tendrils of word growth unfurl outwards, stretch and branch off, there is no search for the right word, the felicitous phrase.
bird song.
the thought finds the words waiting and slips into them gratefully
the unfolding instant.
the students sit on moss and root. burgeoning awareness.
swell and burst. Bobby Bisto remodels the world. Remakes it. Draws out relationships. Exchanges. Patterns. Words take shape in minds eyes, become swirling image clouds, throw images upon the mind screen. Marching armies. Unfolding flowers. Memory flash.
Emotions swell up and ebb away.