SatOhUrFriDay

eight more words until the end of this sentence. nine more 'til the end of this one as well. but only six to the end of this one. five to the end of this.... oh; song of the smart-arse, she says. numeric-pretension, she says. you just a typist, she says, no writer. but he is right he argues. and he's got a point too. and he's a right to type whatever he wants here. no he hasn't they shout. and he won't anymore - the punctuation company's moving in with their question mark: look?

Thurfakesday

some fake-bikies come over: they wear fake-boots and fake-patches; use fake-words to describe fake-harley davidson, fake-triumph, fake-bsa bikes. they bring with them fake-friends; proceed to talk loud about fake-plans and fake-intentions for all manner of fake-acts. all of them from the fake-badlands down-south, where fake-weather reeks fake-havoc on their fake-farms and fake-homes. but then things get heated - I speak out of turn. fake-punches are thrown; fake-blood spills across my carpet. fake-bottles smash as they fake-rage and fake-threaten me with all manner of fake-harm. then they fake-leave and set fire to my house. now I'm on the fucking street

Wed(Comes)Thursday

into these words comes a written; into these words comes a rhythm; into these words a moment's coming through. like heat through a flame rises; like heat through a burn sensations; like heat through sound of fire-cracks. like a dream of another coming; like a dream of the other coming; like a dream of a long dead naked other comes.... before fists into punching pushes on; and then a punch into fists of pushing on; into pushes of a punch afists another comer. then through this day a new day rises; into this rise of a day renews; into this page another-one comes coming

Ivory TueWednesday

Peter sat around it. there without delay. Peter sat around it. there was no delay, because there it was as Peter sat. It wasn’t what I expected. as he sat; as it happened. as the rearrangements fell and a split sounded. but still I sat. vertical rods here were all black, holding a silence-white that holds a fall and split. there seemed no end to it. but, Peter sat around it. It just doesn’t move, he’s saying. I see it but it doesn’t move. and as Peter sat round it, and as he said it, it moved. the air of the words his mouth transmits transmitted airs of movement. clouds of words round it, a hovering mist of them round it. a circling of words that circled now, a tiny movement round it. a tininess now, a lowering tiny, an all but was now. now just a place where words once were. a once was. a had been place. A Peter was around it.

Alphabet MonTuesday

in among the acrobats, generals, strongmen, and officials, we found a small pot. it stood-out among the terracotta figures, and their immortal safeguarding of the emperor, because it was made of jade. and even more unusual: given the history of such pots always proves-out a wedding of function and beauty - such pots were for the eye, but through imagination, for the hand as well - we noticed the pot was made without a handle: carbon dating and x-rays show it never had one, unlike every other pot of its kind. but there it was: at the epicenter of 8000 various figures, a strange, hand-size pot, made of jade, the source of which still remains a mystery: it even has a porous color unlike any jade seen before. but what really got the specialists thinking was its weight: it was unsteady. although tests remain inconclusive, speculation shows the weight of the pot is dependent on what holds it - a small child holds it, it is light; a soldier holds it, it is heavy. Dr Ramaar from the Greek Institute for Ancient Gain says it is 'quite astonishing. it might even demand a new interpretation of what we have long assumed, since Archimedes, to be the nature of material.' But as astonishing as all this is, I will declare to you my finding: my name is Dr Altman, and I work for the rarely heard of branch of Yale Linguistics called temple - our name comes from the address of the faculty - 370 temple street. the few of us who work here noticed immediately back in '74, during the unearthing of what's now called the 'terracotta army', the pot was indeed hollow, as many specialists quickly noticed, but that the hollow also had a certain shape. it was immediately familiar to us back then, but we just couldn't figure out how. that was nearly 40 years ago. and we've examined this thing ever since. and we've considered this strange shape, and the fact the pot is somehow weight-dependent, and cross-referenced all we've found with reams of data and theory related to how language lives, how words and letters evolve, how what happened in language thousands of years ago can shape what happens in language tomorrow, and we've decided: that little shape, in that little pot, made from a jade which remains without source, which alters to accord with what holds it, found at the center of a gigantic burial ground: that shape is the next letter of the alphabet

Sunday's Loss

I hit a bit. no..., er.... I hit a, er..., hit a bit! oh no: I, er, hit a bit of, (what was it?) I hit a bit. [he hit a bit.] [will do again no doubt.] I will not. actually yes - no - yes I will. [see.] but only a quick-hit; a quick-bit. [nevertheless, you will (he will)]. no: I've decided that I won't: too quick just won't do: it's necessary to, er, actually, now I've no idea: now what? [hit a bit.]

Satursunday

I said she said it's the sun. she said I said it's the sun. the sun watched us say, say, watched, listened then replied with light. I said she said I'm sunburned. she said I said I'm sunburned. the sun watched the sunburn, sunburn, watched, listened then replied with rain, from a cloud - it makes deals, the details it won't offer. I said she said now I'm cold. she said I said now I'm wet. the sun replied with fire