YES, LOVED SHE, GOING OUT WALKING ABOUT, JUST MOVING THAT ONE
leg afront the other. Slowly walked, she, er, no: hey!; let’s make this autobiographical. But/So, who be this she, he, be talking about? And be she related or invention? Maybe he did want something relatively cohesive as/to what’s attractive to/when things relate . . . They do say ‘tis impossible to invent, the word a misnomer, since even the consciousness is/was formed out of what earlier was in consciousesses and therefore as damnable as/if your forebears be/were capatilistic, property related, wealthy, even should you, now, betray benevolence, equal standing, and freedom to those not so, brougtforth/standing… (I, adding their opposites: thoses being as marxist tic! / proletarianness ness: the italicised separated suffixes so as to nail the particular attitudes of mind despite the more recent historicity, given marxism ( i told a union lawyer of the need for the a.c.t.u. to declare themselves a company and make the employers put in tenders for workers, and he easily nodded his head, sideways, it pronouncing the negatng sounds of ’’wouldn’t! work’’, which disbelievably saw me smile, and i said, “of course not: that would be capitalism”. My walks then used to head to the Carlton Hotel. I remember also writing a long poem then about playing pool, intermittent pieces inbetween for some kind of prize that Dorothy Hewett’s daughter won, me discovering later that I loved Dorothy’s poems very much because they reminded me of Chaucer: you work that one! out. The way she handled names and subjects in her poetry which I read, is all I remember, noting. I knew very little about worth about anybody else’s poetry, then, at the time I’d enterred that, pool, poem, so I knew no more than: nothing familiar to my ken then; only used to Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Romeoed Juliet (even trying/hating to even read any other Shakespeare: now, anywhere, on opening his complete wks)…Er, why, er?… yes, because i had thrown together a few lines and got a commendation at the Bunbury Poetry Prize. Didn’t do much more: all i tried was sent back. At uni I got 80% for a five minute writ poem, not even reaching 60% for later hard worked out poems. But, in 2nd year uni prof dibble let me know i needed X number of poems or a long ‘un to even be regarded as having completed enough work in the poetry unit, and i took out the poem i had written to my brother on his birthday january of the year about some political figures, naming the whole, ’The Man Who Loved Mandela’, writing out the piece on Bobby Kennedy. Soon proff dibble called me, holding my poem in is hand and… ‘Good God! he’s going to say th’isn’t poetry.’ I said, ‘What?; No good?’ He said, ’i’m going to give you an A for this. Mmmh! Could be was a, B, he said; ‘but if you go home and re write this by tomorrow, i’m going to put this in ‘’The Naked Eye’’ (always thinking it as The Naked I :before I had to write it down; this “I” link with “nakedness”, I have found, prevailing; which, said magazine, was our university literary magazine); and you have won the poetry prize; you deserve it: go!’ I got pushed off into the future. So: who, this ‘she’, I was going to write about? It came after I had almost finished doing the short story unit: ’You’ll find,’ he said, ‘that you’ll always be re writing about the same woman…’ I learned along the way, I don’t know when, that ’e’s the one inside your head (using my non gender pronoun for ‘he/she’: h’ for ‘his/hers’) consciousness alive; that is, is already as you differently think either way, if you ever do, it, educated ere you, get, to know you know, consciousness; sometimes; long before you, die, still, stupid; meaning me, then. Always, remember if they accuse your consciousness of anything, they’re using, one, too, and what they accuse, they, would have seen, by hiding behind a rock, by/if, going the other way, clear as a mirror, but blinding: why, three fingers of the hand that accuses, with index/thumb, point right back, must have, that, reason, as well; er.. i.e., if they’re not speaking with the infected over influenced mind that they are trying to address than confess! If you say what d’you mean: you!; you!; you!; it, must include you, too!, to me, I’ll say, yes. Guess, you’ve taken the walk, also.
“…experimented,” to Izzy Gumbo,
“said see if i really can write a story from anything;
wrote ‘addictive walker,’ brand of shoe to buy for friend,
started writing right along the shoe brand gi’en me on the phone while still talking”…