mdccclxvi

Dear Michael,

The birds this morning know

that they are cheap.  Can you

hear them gossiping on the sill?

Things now are more like poetry

than ever.  But it’s impossible to

get down.  And it’s impossible to

get any of it down.  Scratch that.

I’m way down.

So I float through the movie

like a child, hopefully.  Float

hopefully through the movie.

To float on the hope of a child

rather than a nuisance

....   ...that’s the definition of

‘boot camp,’ isn’t it, to create

nervous breakdowns in a bunch

of people, and then rigidify them

as a unit,  says Stan Brakhage

[desparately] to Christopher

Luna.  I don’t know where

I am but I can hear the

shower.  On my face

is a clown made of

icing.  On my 7th

birthday is a brown

cake with a huge reposing

clown made of icing.

                                 Touchdown,

                                 Breakdown