august 10. late summer, runs, similar to rimbaudian withdrawals (saisons a l'enfer). celine thrusts of point/ counterpoint and fragment-language, foucault or schoenberg spindrift through fogmind. jerks and kicks. figures and fugues and thought-drifts, pushing against the wall. sputters of motion, spastic passing of ocean's vague horizon; suspended breath and mild hallucinations against asphalt of road which boils up through soles, ankles, shins, knees. the asphalt ocean i run on. . . . figures and fugues meld towards a conjunction of meaning. hallucination or inspiration? just too fucking hot.
august 13th. the 8am air was already swampy. but by the end of the six mile run, the scorching sun would boil the feathers offa the wings of this bird. just another dante-launch of leg-language. (run as poetry: a personal happening.)
and on canvas: paint against two dancers, inksplash figures emerging, cadmium red light.
the longdistancelungs—how the diaphragm builds and expands across the miles. . . . but to breathe in the swampy Carolina summer at ~7mph requires gills. . . .
berryville. . . (the fugue of the mountains. take a profile/ elevation map and place on a set of sheet music and play. or have 4 by 4 play it.) a wonderful experience full of sun skeet-shooting a few miles good food and homegrown music. daily route was (according to mapmyrun.com) 7.7 miles, a beautiful run from the farm by locke mill to
watermelon park, a campground smelling of warm tortillas, hot dogs, and drunk campfires and back.
the crisped confit days of august in the south. . . . atmospheric perspective swallows the horizons of trees, gray mist with swatches of blurred browngreen. visual sewage, mind sewage. heat burns body outta soul and flightless, heavy-winged albatrosses emerge where eyes once burned. burned out and burned out. ready for autumn cooldown. some fugazi for the day, but not the first photo posted below. . .
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