If you attach an importance to counting, here's sketch number two.

This one is written in an entirely different vein, more like a contemplation of the past as tomorrow my 29th year starts.

These warm and mellow summer evenings awake the slumbering feelings of yesteryear.

It's not to live if not in touch with souls

That wander freely through the summer eve

Thousands multiplied into one great whole

Fragile stable loose and tight never leave

A moment's doubt of greater higher awe

That comes together as a spider's web

In the middle in me that's natural law

And orders all around this single web
The centre sees the storaged gnats and flies
That serve as supermarket for the hungry ones
To gather there and devour satisfies
The starved and needy souls that search is done
So come and draw a circle bellymen
And feast upon the well as well ye can
A spiritual attempt at shorthand and that
Rambles somewhat from multiple frayed
Bits and bobs.
I just let the words flow that come most
Naturally to be put on paper. I'll try to
Name these sketches poetry of the unconscious-
Ness. The point is not to attempt a perfect
Fit in one try but to create the rough
And unique mould that an individual mind
Is prone to. Later comes the fine work
Of polishing and refining/redefining and
Restructuring
The message has arrived.
X------X

I'll show you the key words and then I propose to invite you to string them together to your own liking.

Hence my method will be free of mind forg'd manacles that go under the name of grammar rules and interpretation.

I urge you to make absolutely sure that there is no such thing as a hidden agenda of meaning, or a strong all-overriding will of words.

This is simply an exercise in cause and effect or in searching the unconscious associations that go with certain if not all words.

Let us begin and may I ask you to please indulge in my attempt to find the tiny grail of this Wednesday summer evening.

Here goes:

filth garbage seem my bin liner sunny dry heated argument sentiment wears tears tears tiers game new ancient growth rainless painless painting photos taken long ago. sentence meaning death sentenced row row row go go counting hatred unloving cold shower windows open intelligence close absorption cough smell strong.

Here ends part one- I should actually say sketch one. The word sketch in itself implies a high state of unfinishedness, to coin a new word.

The ring's the thing to catch the knave. So to make this come full circle I'll have to word/work hard to shape these pregnant words this carrying group of ink into a more cement like structure.

As of yet it's only a little more than a rock made up of randomly piled stones and pebbles, filth wears new painting meaning

garbage bin liner row 

seem tears long cold

my dry tears rainless row

sunny heated photos row

argument game ancient ago hatred

sentiment tiers growth painless sentence

taken death sentenced go

go intelligence cough

counting unloving shower

windows smell

open close 

absorption strong

Same words rearranged. Does the game change now, I wonder? Let loose your power of impression and unleash the wilful playful flow of words and connotations to find their way. As does the summer mountain spring.

(This 10 year-old piece speaks for itself I think.) 

July 2006

My data transfer limit has again been reached at my other site, so I decided enough's enough. Welcome to the world of onesite.com. The plan is to irregularly post poetry, other writings and pictures of my paintings.

First entry.