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................................................................................................................................................................................ Excerpts from "Bridge Over Deep Ditch" poems written in Ubud Nov 05 - Jan 06 Near old master Gusti Nyoman Lempad's house Gusti's Pizza Delivery So contrary to western art: no vacant space, no omits in physical meaning but a vast surface for dreams wait for knowledge when searching has ceased Wait for searching when knowledge has ceased These conditions / moments Dream Dialogue with Pinter (on the balcony in the dark while the toads yell in the ricefield) Walk around inside on the inside where nobody is except a loaded room trembling with dreams an endless Coffeeshop Relax without soporific joints so calm so clear-sightedly a warm hallucination white faces go red in the sun same color change happens with their thoughts empty cans rattling over ricefield attached to bamboo sticks linked with laces Somebody pulls these laces an bawls The poor birds disappear into space in flocks and separately The eye heals itself when it has pondered upon its injury Slowly it turns halfblindness to fullmoonsight the stains become signs you could not read before injury No retreat from Consciousness You become 70, 80, 90 Always rebel Out of the cold shower of the enemy you extract warm rays to their eternal mortification Natty pastilles hardly possible to suck But vague taste of olives and tree spring up like vapour in the palate of oblivion The flight of steps in the dark The flying termites swarm around the lanterns of glass We walk in labyrinths through whizzing vegetation The smoke under the umbrella the words Did you find the green lagoon? And what did it give you that is better than your own lagoon the uncolored? Be what you are in every moment "Approve of the situation" not militarically but philosophically Of course I learnt this early under constraint Now I practice it by habit and voluntarily Since I ate that fruit I can write The Portrait of Durian Gray or The Phantom of Sensual Pleasure Walks Through Me as if everything only is about making texts Erotics become the servant of texts From the beginning the "slave" of words later of meanings later of contexts It could have been another way or many other ways but I don¥t know what they would have looked like Maybe I could have sat like a knocked about boxer turning over the leaves of old fight reports or a trapeze artist degraded to circus ring sweeper or alcoholic journalist pricked all over by lost courage Go out of your life Go into it again Away and home I am all the same like two rooms with no wall between The inner eye heals the outer The secret: the purple interspace of the clouds and the art of shutting one¥s eyes without fear The self-healing that only you yourself can take out a patent for The steadiness of thought is playful and if it is not it decomposes to floury temple ruins labyrinths inside labyrinths inside labyrinths limiting unlimiting you know where you put your feet but never where you put your thoughts they move freely inside the spiral of freedom and suddenly it is morning again for you and humanity ................................................................................................................................................................................
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