Another from Bill Pitt, star of my ceiling:

Mine (author unknown)

body type slim eye colour green hair colour light brown I don’t smoke
non drinker single no children undecided other other other diploma
no strong beliefs other special diet like pets but do not have any
Taurus
At present I am very lonely and consequently I want to find serious
the man for serious attitudes!

It is pleasant to me various types of music, I like POP.
Dgaz. classical music, I very much like to look concerts
with Alive music. Still I like to listen to foreign executors.
I very much love magazines with a fashion. I like to read
detectives and newspapers what to watch that occurs in the
world!

I like to look films, I like various a direction of cinema
and a comedy and insurgents and a fantasy. I like to look
As the Russian films and foreign. I like a fantasy, what
film the main thing is unimportant, that it would be with
sense and Interesting.

Sports it, a part of my life as it very well strengthen health
and will allow to support my figure in the order. I Much I
would swing a stomach what to be tightened,
I like quiet run, navigation and volleyball

I very much like to travel, I like to spend time where there
is a coast, lakes or rivers. I very strongly would like To see ocean I
it is no time him did not see. When I shall find second half I want,
that we together would go in wedding Travel on a coast of ocean.

I the young and vigorous girl which search for the man of the life,
second half. I very much like dialogue with
New people. I very strongly love the nature and animals. I like
to spend time at theatre a museum or to look
Interesting film at a cinema, I like to listen to music

I like to sing songs a few. In the future I want to have the child
from the favourite person while I have not found such person. Mine
The most secret dream to leave to live to the favourite person in other
country.
Write to me, I shall wait for your letters.

I search clever, quiet, self-assured for the man. Which it will be valid
to love and respect me. Which not Has many harmful habits which loves
the nature, animals and certainly me. I want to be happy and I want
To give happiness to loved.

tango

Tango lessons began again on Friday. We danced for almost three hours - from the beginners' class to the intermediate and then some - till by the end when our (excellent) teacher kept us to show us some extra stuff my feet felt a bit like the little mermaid's blades - but every wince worthwhile. By the end of it what we'd forgotten in our 10 months away had pretty much returned. Muscle memory is such a neat thing - when we first began last year I would go home to bed and dream of being back in ballet class - 15 years away and all the exact sensations, impulses, positionings just sitting invisibly somewhere inside. This makes me think - all the people one's lost or moved away from in one's life - the feeling of their touch stored in the same way - accessible not by will, but by movements - one could choreograph dances for the return of the dead, to unlock their presences, though each dance would work just once, twice, three times? before the memory was overlain with the experience of the memory's recreation.

ingenuity

"Finally, the disciples helped Jonas in another way by obliging him to give his opinion about their own production. Not a day went by, in fact, without someone's bringing hima picture barely sketched in, which its author would set between Jonas and the canvas he was working on, in order to take advantage of the best light. An opinion was expected. Until then Jonas had always been secretly ashamed of his fundamental inability to judge a work of art. Except for a handful of pictures that carried him away, and for the obviously coarse daubs, everything seemed to him equally interesting and indifferent. Consequently he was obliged to build up a stock of judgements, which had to be varied because his disciples, like all the artists of the capital, after all had a measure of talent and, when they were around, he had to draw rather fine lines of distinction to satisfy each. Hence that happy obligation forced him to amass a vocabulary and opinions about his art. Yet his natural kindness was not embittered by the effort. He soon realized that his disciples were not asking him for criticisms, for which they had no use, but only for encouragement and, if possible, praise. The praises merely had to be different. Jonas was not satisfied to be his usual agreeable self. He showed ingenuity in his ways of being so."

from "The Artist at Work", Albert Camus

When I first moved to Wellington for the recent 5 month contract I stayed with some friends of mine, J & D - very warm, welcoming, generous people.

They were living in a flat next door to the zoo, down in a little high-density cul-de-sac next to the lion enclosure. The flat was very comfortable & I couldn't help be excited by the roaring & groaning as the evenings came on, the whiffs of Big Animal. It was a little like being a Christian in the holding cells, waiting for the games to begin. & lots of little domestic cats winding & scampering round in a state of excitement - do they recognise a relative in the smell & sound or an enemy? Must be an enemy. Or something beyond ken, off the radar.

& big cats when they truly roar - apparently we are physically incapable of moving or speaking when we're close enough to that sound. Sound big enough to make silence & stillness. I've seen a tiger get my little sister in its sights, too - a gaze like a holding cell. Paralysing even through all that glass and fencing.

Returning to poetry today. Unlocking; movement and a little sound. Thank you Jill.

poem by the wild and glimmersome Bill Pitt, reproduced with kind permission:

log hash


      “Dai-ly mir-ruh     Grea-test pay-puh” 
- cry on the corner of
George and Park Streets, Sydney 1960’s


Outside, the magpies are striving for excellence in singing

mind sets to working and comes up with
       in their fiercely competitive environment
as far as it goes

Repetition is best  twice fourteen is twelve
twice twelve is seven
twice seven is one
I’m in heaven
when my cauldron baby stir stir

All these eyes burn my images

Under the blonde necromantic sky I blob
the stingy electric  sir sir

ooh to get away in ma machine for
every failure is newer opportunity
knock knock knock knock

outside the magpies needle the black dogs’ eyes
to this daily running blood

a spoonful of care less

when I'm stuck it seems poems are like equations with one or two possible but elusive solutions, both requiring a good ten or twenty more IQ points than I have spare to find. it seems that what I've done so far required so much LABOUR that I couldn't possibly undo it. it seems I have to think of a worthy thing to say or remember the worthy thing I'm sure I thought of yesterday or grow up until I have something worthy to say or until I have words for that unnameable SOMETHING that refuses words. and it all seems so DIFFICULT.

when I'm not stuck a poem is not an equation, and there are thousands of possibilities because the world can't help but be full of words and thoughts and stuff and neither can I. it doesn't matter if something doesn't work because I can just chuck it and do it a different way, a hundred different ways, a hundred different ways all at once, and above all it doesn't matter. the things there are to say are just what I want to, bits of the things I like to think about or notice, that catch my attention all the time without even trying. like dreams just come when you forget that you can't sleep and instead start noticing those weird little images and words that are flicking through your mind all the time regardless.