geology dance roun mecanospheres

geography work by umber & hazeleography work by umber & hazel

mona's pavanne

Mona's dance



honk! honk was her name

when Jill had a name . to remember.her shelling did no good. salvo! di mama was her wenting hurt. cowed by rain. shelved mist cummberbunding the gathering shiel her motto was mother. not oedipized she was gift warped and wrapped to go


was merrily mona

Was Mona merely becomings sentimental in the blubbery of 'greatness' and its hawked 'down' being? had she stumble bummed into the impassable passages of cloyed sentiment and the blood of a demi-god its awesome craters creators of lore and relic? was catholic not the becomings of nonbecoming total cash registers? stocks, bonds, the savings bank account, of the anticommunist. A cistern shell of the death watch?


Passsing the Pape

strangely enough as a stochastic dancer
of images
Mona was moved by the passing
of the Pope
the dada of the millions of molars
was some she shied from
but her heart was tinkered past
trying cynical
thus her red hat
and cardinal's robes a-flowing
she headed to Rome

for conclave
secret of the descending Spirit
the purged stairway
lead to grace after grace
the licking embers of the gone soul
the bardos of mention
and dimension
O Pape O father O dada of the molecule
that is not Father But Mother
I gathered you he said somewhere
like a hen that gathers her brood

it's what that Nazarene said
past the Damascus gate
after he'd entered Jerusalem


to some extent he'd been a working class clapping pope, even by accident, friend to Marx, the pilgrimage of desire's odd hat, the Paris hat, the doctors yacking hours into the night, high points, fine mettle of the quarrels, Marx knew the fact of labour, redemption was not its cost, but its price, its heighten'd price by capital's best catholic, . Some pudent impudent imp, of shape and clamour, clangoured the song, its outcome a paid rent on death.

Besides, who was the Nazarene but a drag on her Zarathustrian kilt her whacking good speak English before the purgatic fog, the tug boat chugged her harbour a barmaid to delicatessans so her eyes lifted, a wet lash to her lover's hug a mug lips to kiss me she wore her way weighted over my body a lover song to despatch the forlorn believers of death. And its body. Begining again she began her song .

___ as for good old Thomas, when
any man scrolled a song,
her welcome
was effusive
sweet melodic of


"Bring the tender tale true of the Pelican;
Bathe me, Jesu Lord, in what thy bosom ran
Blood that but one drop of has the worth to win
All the world forgiveness of its world of sin"

(Excerpt from Adoro Te Devote, St. Thomas Aquinas).

Adore te devote aredrome her Mona fancies were
Pulling him off the cross .


Jilly said

Hmm I like the way you construct dg ’s ide a of flight becoming formalized sort of i n a working style, however formalization is perhaps a mite too territorial a notion…? it’s alwaysa pragmatics in the machine they constructed…,No?


similitude has it danger. to come back territory. as not so reterritory. A red Tory! trogdolyte is missive machine mix

take the true anorexic





indeed her eyes shine

belly distended

wants loving



--, Indeed Sir Sailor Sir knight you are these things peril the sheet of nights. Curving down their whirr down song
Jane has hill workin the night cap light. geology of whirling feet

creating crate over geology
working the full hour omen carrying the way to sun she was busted with her gripe. gripping the reel spin on Platonic ones. this was mountain by path.