my black book part 30 th insallment

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LATEST INSTALLMET [NOW ALWAYS ON TOP as well as in the text]
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two insallaions before this, be in e ‘blue room’ copy, soon
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soon a compiled copy of 25 to 31 //// and correcions
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my black book part / day 30 of 365
**

ELEVEN

–––John T’s Note-Book––
Science is what, done the same way, will always give the same answer; like 2 & 2 = 4. But, also like 1 & 1 = 2, when arithmetic is not told that each ‘1’ was a nearest whole number with the real values of, 0.6, or 1.4 + 1.4 = 1 + 1 taken as nearest whole numbers which someone had thrown among the other number ones. Even a scientist cannot talk of anything as science if it cannot be reproduced in an experiment one can perform oneself. Neither can the psychologist. This psychologist, asked by his patient who he can have sex with, said anyone.

Yes, it was not quite like that. He was a friend of my flat mate. He has sex with anyone he wants. The girls say he doesn’t even ask. He said it’s his right, when I asked him, my flat mate said. Don’t tell me, I said, he asked his psychiatrist and his psychiatrist said ‘anyone’. How did you know, my flat-mate asked. Probably those jokes about using the wrong words in language: Can I smoke while I meditate \ Can I meditate while I smoke. I told my flat mate to ask his friend not to forget to tell his psychiatrist how well he is following his instructions, and to ask him why some of the girls look like they are actually angry. The fella had said that some of the girls seemed angry that it was he doing it, as though prejudiced somewhat. Psychology can change human nature to falsify itself. All …………. of human nature have an accuracy ranging between 40 to 60%. Therefore the more the public reads psychology books the more they will get attuned to what psychology deemed appropriate, themselves getting increasingly higherLY scored in psychology’s personality tests. Just as you can see the square as you talk about it, you now see a zombie in the making. Not yet existing anywhere since so far it, it is having seen appropriate answers for psychology, until it affects them, as does the religion they have now opened their lives to. Soon these values \ manners of psychology personality tests, working like advertising already (osmosis, deified); will sprout generations walking the thin line, controlled by invisible strings; the psychologist, the scriptwriter now. The 40 to 60% veracity norm of statements on human nature has a higher fictitious addition, in the sense that it involved a controlled imbibing as untrue to being human as could have been any other ism.

I think that all I’ve done is described education. So that is all th


Proposed pronoun binary substitutes when for both:


she ‘e

he ‘e

her \him \his \her’s h’
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BEKOW, MORE COMPLETE IN 24 0NE & 24 YWO
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DEDICATION

To Helen Isabelle Photography,

The title the novel “Re Helen, (Not of Troy) My Black Book”" which will be about the poet and the girl in his vision, always differet manifestations through the novel but de finitely described in “The Beau’s Songs To Helen (Not Of Troy).” I’ll be making mention of the various Helens I have met; know of, so that none will be taken for the one I narrate. There is only one Helen; whoever I think she is, it seems, I am still mistaken, in, but the Helen in the poems, named above, is the Helen in the title of My Black Book. I will be adding to or wihin the text everyday. Probably only your Blue Room will have the complete text. All other groups have other text rules, in that sense. I shall picture your sphinx icon guiding/guarding my writing this. Your printing of my previous work influeces this, dear lady. I therefore dedicate this to you, if I may,

I am yours. . . ,
juddarwin

MY BLACK BOOK NOVEL.DOCUMENT
by juddarwin

John.

Very early poem, that ­as/when, rewritten, I think, will, particularly pertain to this book; —will, says something that recalls idealism, still Romantic; easily when surrealism’s there like thorns among grass, growing flowers as if \ as though cacti had dropped-in, knocked their shoes together, before leaving \ being picked up… Re-reading of John: a pursuit not yet started. Will research/search thru’/via some few computer erazings?

Notes…/Dostoy., elder bro., Gunther, introduced to me, then/when I gav’/bid him read John, he’d ‘ave then, mayb’, seen D’s Crime an’ ; wide-sized nov’l, the pic of, he whom I now know to be the Raskalnikov-fella, blue & red… on that giant (and thick!) American paperback edition (‘four square’[?]. . .

. . . I’d, later, seen copies of The Brother’s Kamaramov, the same patterned cover, showing the King and I’s recogniseable Yul Bryner… in a mix of scenes from the film-version, of): he’d

—my brother, Gunther [above, I’d mentioned he’d lent me a tattered, rubberband-bound, Dostoyevsky Notes From the Underground novel ‘e still had \ had brought home from the German adventure (hitch-hiking thru’ the middle-east from the train ride to Istanbul [home to Penang, but first to become ‘we were like Sonny & Cher’ in Thailand]: his (wrapped round carry bag, [coat)used as pillow], while lying under a tree at Istanbul Constantinople Ur, place/space/ locale whence Abraham who sprang; sprung! fertility protiens that became Jewism/ Cristianity/Islam…

his wrapped round carry bag, coat used as pillow, while lying under a particular tree at… was stolen from under his head as he slept: yes! there, the real novel! [May Gunther may read this page!] Don’t know how many I can write before the swine! marries my Diabetes (what a name for a daughter?)

SWINE FLU then. Had PERSIAN GULF, when i told my publican boss who survived VIETNAM (as some drinkers in the Watering Hole Tavern, one of whom visited/toured countries (his! story) by staying with an ordinary family to live as they do for a week or so), yes, I would represent the tavern there; I’ll dress as Larry Arabia to confound them were it they had that Englishman in their history ere the Englisman were the carpetbagger . . .( have! they ‘history’ [ it’s! story] ) / AFGHANISTAN . . . yea, hitchhiking Gunther’s track route, then. ‘I hichhiked from Claremont to Nedlands post office, thenabouts’ said a postie friend now motorbiking his round; knew Gunther, too. Heard he sells real estate now. Real estate is piece of land you are allowed to build an approved house design by approved builders or constant overseeing council inspectors checking all specifications if you think to build yourself, which you repay for on a loan from your bank at the lion’s share of your paypacket until or until after you have grandchildren; on the understanding that you pay rates and water monies annually instead of weekly rent: equating, all this, yes, to home ownership. We, to show the strength of this, ‘d go to war to protect this ownership pride of not paying rent instead, ’giving it all away’. To tell the truth they do not mean that you own all this, they mean to protect your family. The second World War, it seems had this protection in mind together with the American soldiers fight/right for freedom like the freedom to ask and the insistence that the other has a right to say yes wherever they posted: to theirs, when they posted; many returned American soldiers finding themselves in the same places as each other, all then owning nothing but the transport theys tooks off on, the bike. Think, remember reading this in Mailer’s The Deer Park.

Hey! that the/your property er… is your property, yes, is; let’s change our minds, is, ironically your property, paradoxically, by telltale signs. The rubbish bin as you do actually know tells on what we buy, from where, and how much it costs. The Chinese restaurant bankcard transactions’ receipt will also tell on our bankcard numbers (they don’t have it all imprinted on their receipts, now, but the girl on the phone may have scripted it on your food order) as well as the valid until! date. The chemist prescriptions, besides having the name of the chemist and doctor, have your name and address, as well as the telltale prescriptions: if you have diabetes, epilepsy; use sleeping pills, contraceptives. The wrappings in the bin also tell the size of your body portions and the particular type of garment you buy. The bin knows if you visited Barbarella’s, if you wear corsets; if you bought something new in your apartment; your secrets, maybe, putting together torn up letters: maybe the only other! who knows you are going to rob the bank next Thursday week. The bin knows which bank, how many banks you have, how much money in each, how much you owe. It knows how often you catch the bus, train, and at what time. Yes, it does know what you eat and drink and how many condoms you use: ––now, can even be used for DNA incrimination. ––You cannot change your DNA, but how safe is your name! on top of! your DNA, when computerized?

I am, Min, @gmail.com; name, front:
juddarwin; made-up to challenge Darwin,
utilising the part-judas name, jud,
as though to be ready with that kiss, I
would rather be a kiss to do with love,
always, as ‘twere by right of fitting well
all ways, to register what first but seemed
but suggested, by sound: perfect-fitting,
promising perfectly to fit! ’chinese-
boxes’ into each other,instead of
the one into the other: no can do,
although, apparency declares; that is,
if one can use ‘apparent’ thataway:
only love can show two how two can do:
fit into each other, unlike chinese-
boxes, fit together very nicely,
love, easing, aiding, re-drawing all the lines
for you & me everywhere, should they fit:
in any way they choose to draw the lines
(they do, trace well, our celestial bits; eyes,
across crowded rooms? \ to other eyes
to signal/code/play, what ever will do
as horse-whisperers also do
. . . .to woo
it would chance the event/proposition
we all respond to by how we stand, asked

steps that actually is a dance, unseen,
often answered by responses, unheard,
given marriage/adultry consumates
across crowded rooms’ film-like enchantments;
to, not, mention dark possibilities:
not entirely to keep jack in his box,
perception, then Percy, limited by
vanishing mists, within bits, in atoms
.
.
you did your exams, you said, Chemistey;
liker i decided — then!
that reality is that tune
you discover dancing
through what’s playing
I declared, something
awaiting extrapolation
as you studied Astronomy
Biochemistry & Geology
(quietly too, reading slow,
Biology/Botany )
I recall reading Science
and discovered did
that Earth’s most
abundent, Nitrogen,
coordinated
aestheically, maybe
also had nine
particles rotating
around its nucleus

good at your Hello!
already already

inhabitants, all
of that horizontal
efferversensicality
of love yet try!-ing
its teens cry
buddhist bells,
ever more tiny
such far away
unfoldments
only triangle sounding
its issossceles

& that extra bit
some more
sum: more!
& that extra sum; more…

Gunther, I remembver as our best story-teller. I recall films; books, he narrated The Famous Five nothing was as nice as when Gunther narrated same to my hearing…

A good time to say I picked up the first Popper book —then, and read the first para., nurturing the automatised smile, reassured. Read exactly as Enid Blyton: revenge of the hollow they created by banning her. My own Popper, though’s the philosopher.

Mum, to complete the happening, got to hear of John, and gave me her mouthful of . . ., me: stunned/puzzled at her ferocity, as though: defensive of… values John was picking to throw adjectives at! . . . how come she don’t know?!, she, writer, she even wrote ‘I Wished I Was A Dog’ and made sure her father read it; and awaited feedback she could comment on with flag in the higher ground: I, just writing the poetry that rhyme made me write (note the true limit of rhyme); possibilities, limited . . .probably picked ‘make up, mud, artificiality, falseess, unnaturaless’; do remember I lived ‘in a hamlet; almost but grass to eat’; was pleased to use; ‘hamlet’, differently; yes, ‘thinking of my true love, whom, in flesh I’d never see’ . . .such accidental cerebrations in poetry (was I fourteen?: whoa! the age) ; plato; mysticism (that’s t; I was reading a lot of mysticism, accidentally, I was perusing the encyclopedia word associationally by isms/names [distinctly recall allnightly doing so the night before having to firsttime birdfly south from alltime sunequitorial constant 85% F (yes, ‘’85% F’‘, is the exact accurate recall, so I best not centigrade it) latitude], mum’s argument being with somethg psychology: I used to quote the bible to her; the priest seen as false prophet each time she said he supported her; I was still at that part of the bible where god still did his own talking to the person addressed; yea, always the priest got messaged/told what to do by someone god talked to: seems more like mysticism, which the church frowns on, even actually bans, I was told then.

What influenced me prob. was re reading Pope; Tagore; Gibran (specially, treatment of him by Vatican; Chaucer’s ‘Wife of Bath’; 9/10’s of the Bible; Lives of Martyrs & Saints; was I already reading Stone’s bio-novel re Van Gogh? Did read Francois Sagan’s ‘Bonjour Tristes’; Woods’ ‘Bertrad Russell: Passionate Sceptic’; play after play by TWilliams, liking best the title reading like something about a milk train not stopping anymore; (my recently reading that it bombed as a play as well as a film even with Taylor/Burton/Coward did not change my mind a bit: first run, to me’s always been in my head; I, directing simply one just does without ever communicating the fact e’en to the self; self, what one generally answers for: that mental theatre grows by experience/neccessity(so, beginning as well), is large as the tardis, as you’d expect; the other fav: Suddenly Last Summer.

Bought, did not read: ‘Notes…Dirty Old M…’; Dali’s book . . . Did read that Pope poem: weren’t there two:? ‘Essay on Man’? Did not then know of Lawrence D’s Black Book; Grass’ Diary of a… Could not tune in to Miller’s Black Bk, but it was there in every line of Tropic of Cancer, the kind of writing I chased/coveted/ cherished, the definitive flow gi’en the stance establised so that it doesn’t vanish / the writer unaware the tapes still running. I found the bulk of it in _____ ‘s Midnight Children, but not in any later books, like Jacob’s Ladder, the Aus writer’s first book, opening, I think, the Hungerford Prize, did not have it in the succeeding novel. This, said, I’m saying just to get it on record so I could deal with it at next encounter: which you can if you experienced the same.

I was in his class re autobiographical writing, and he could’ve been mean to me, instead. Said I was mean in that I did not really relate in my narrative, but wrote in such a way that the reader still has to assume what will —is happening. He said that I got my marks for attempting to write the piece in the hardest way possible, and/but, the only one who tried, I did not realise that thing about his books. We had only done a passage of the second for routine exercise, and the piece: I’m, trying to remember his name: had not done anything for me, but I was still thinking/presuming that any writing can not, do, what it does in the book, when/if apart as a passage. That presumption, aided/kept me from checking out the books. I remember reading his reaction against the critic who claimed his second novel did not measure up to his first. It brought me back to defencive attacks toward criticism; probably the same, like; students, could also do the same, logic seeing like opportunity; like defensive attacks making similar women’s liberationist/black liberationist, pointers.

Writing that is writing already; followed so often by falsification by Consciousness; e’en better: consciousness falsification. Insightfulness, received vs , interfering conscioused insight with/of thinking out ‘insight’ focused formulaic strategies, ‘wrong tree/’moon’ barking, destinedly ‘next to Godliness’, instead.I have to return to what I wrote above, here.

===========

ONLY’ BLUE ROOM ’READS THIS PART

=======

HEMINGWAY
Man can not be de-
feated,
H’ said, but
yes!, destroyed,
as though

my distinction, was an

award, than a grand
canyon space between
two are! (they options?)
evaluations

Refuse, then to bow;
look up, ’e’s passing?.
(Those that killed Caesar
had among them, those
he’d pardoned/received
within his own men.)

‘Red herring’, I think:
It is ‘twixt ’defeat’
and ‘being destroyed’:
suicide, being the first,
hints that H, did not,
but played Russian rou-
lette with the trigger
as said N Mailer
as did Chiko Prince
…And The Man, die, so.

The man in Islands
cites death in nature,
when cyclone busts boat/
house down _would be ’right
I be took, then, too.

Yet, I did think H
did take the right step,
how they let strokes; then
string, hold you up, when
when you cannot hold
frames/crutches, or sit;
just lie still for rats \
other annoyings;
one does hear whispered;
ngawing’s, rat’s to-do’s
They black-mark you, one
confidentially, said.

And here’s me hearing:
_You could end with some
series of strokes; some
do, with what you’ve got;
years of exercise
and medication
to help withstay same:
thinking Hemingway
missed out/skidadled;
must have strawberries/
peaches and (ice-)cream,
all, there too, surely…

====

This, my novel, not the narrating, but the
unfolding as I go through, comment/pontifi-
cate as writers are wont to/do!, do (shortly
after I first wrote/scribed this, re re rearranging
brought out a Mailer, precisely, a …and Pontif-
ications, Mailer that I therefore read, particcularly
how he wrote on Hughes, Howard: read, how he
wr…): the intent/plot/scenario is that even though
I am solely wanting to go through\perceive how
selective writings do/ have been written toward
a/ the the same end, I will find something that
I do not expect.

And the whole, sudden impulse to, now, ride the waves/roads/minds/cyberspace, and worldwide tracks for/of chattanooga rhythmns, but of alpha, beta… crowds of letters in many/any word-size carriages continuing irregular beats of writing; hiccupping, over what’s that now?!! bylines, if you’re reading still, like you…

Also are broadcasting that already all things are texts talked/narrated/described/analysed, the way a page of writing, let’s say, a poem, is?

Oh! Just rushing just in case swine flu and diabetes marry while on/in my body, even though all the lotteries I never won suggest a nay!

(Notated, is noted fear summit!’s not been covered.)

Any reasons, i. e. in/for love, war and wanna do!…

“THIS, DONE FOR YOU.” Thus, tentatively, I named this novel, before I jerked agin! jerked an’ named this:

MY BLACK BOOK NOVEL. The gi’en/ta’en, liberty/(that …tarianism) of whate’er chooses to align within with the lines to be writ, with the sole proviso that ie be! arranged and entertaining

CINDY HO

Well, I am in the firing line… —-6180, see!

======

-==
> HI bELINDA!

DAMN! CAps! I am targeted by this swine flu/diabetes. So am writing a novel, re/as the/this sins I never had, person/novelist, thinking re the origin/progress/nextstep of the novel, reading &/but, much more thinking: hey! chatting to some body chance chosen/sort of becomer/co /other blame of/for the direction/aim/change/ consumption, of the pages; the on page ( is a character) novelist; situational outcome of the writing thereof (has/d the chance to crit/change all afore gone \ the novel, on completion, is as culpable/responsible as/if ’twere a murder…chance, being such be you should you reply \ I, chat then, re the novel, as we correspond.

Please write \ might get ms. in a while
—drewj…

classmate: there, six of us
crowding four desks & chairs
some of us more than mates
=======

The, above, prospective emailer had written:

======== "I got ur email from some website, ur cute! should msg me on MSN u i wanna > chat > > my MSN name is ebeneserlucev2@live.com > > ttys cutie :-* " =========

,as I was more seriously thinking re writing the novel that I was going to start a month before, the dateline, to finish by the end of June: the Hungerford Award for an author’s first novel. I was not writing, changing my mind as I went along, to what I think more conducive, more impressive to a judgement between novels, with my eyes on the prize: idiotic, in the extreme. Nothing, that way, is either/or, except on looking back, the novel known as/when finished; no part is actually/even ‘part’, a novel uncompleted. Positivity, is possible in ensuring good writing every step of the way, trying to take increasing notice, as you go, on how/what strategic changes can be made so that what/which required alterations/directions were needed…

only need is
novel the award, which ’d be ridiculous, apart from writing completely differently: it is because the prize is withheld were none to merit the prize, making a reading, almost guaranteed.
re came no reply to that person writing a personally addressed email (as correct as getting to my emails received list:

========
“Belinda” <BelindaSpears91@speakeasy.com>

========

…CAME i THEN damn!

(the computer ‘Caps Lock’, accidentally \ clumsy/untrained hands, again! knocks! ‘Caps’ on, if uncaringly/rushing! through mere email: mostly unwanted baggage/Spam/ repeats/ads/porn \ email’s Junk-Mail equivalents, haystack gunkED all over and between the few emails from bruder, friends and some unasked for emails, that I appreciate.)

FROM THOSE CAN’T REMEMBER DAYS OR BEFORE 4 FOR THEN I TRAVELLED /
TOOK MY MUM WITH ME

yukki green moss;
couldna cross stream

heard alarm!
spinach not
downed on time

toyhouse. block
of drawers
roof on top;
facade coll.
painted with
front door &
windows. draws
open with su
gar; coffee, tea.
heard “Anje!”
[C Pestana!]

basket over
bicycle handle.
down around a
corner. barber
a train somewhere
nearby
………….someone
behind the seat
of same bicycle

never had
place like that
in Rendsburg!:
Blue Angel
starts ‘’welcome
to Rendsburg’’
Brit/Jurgens.

a long lane
large tall trees
stumped all ov
er with snow

there’s the house
the snowman
hat & stick
pipe in mouth

gunther fell
down with fish
up the lane
palm of hand
cracked mirror
I shout bang
ing the door
no sound outs
someone is
carrying me

opa died
down a hall
these are your
father’s toys
he said must
be faulker’s
my tante
emma’s son
my cousin

remember
someone some (*a)
thing stumpy
with/without
cloth cap on
on balding
head wheezing
glass infront
on table
contraption
not 2 pint
glass of beer
tubes / vapour

was on ship
upstairs and
downstairs bed
digging nose (*d)
and eating
doc put yuk!
cream in nose

was in van
heard aunty
matty’s voice
we wear ger
man ansuchs
mine, dark green
gunther’s dark
red / maroon
and aunty
matty’s voice
said they should
speak english
they’ll find it
hard at school

sungai nibong (*c)
no memory
was walked was carried
wheeled frequently
bedridden took
back of backyard
always something
I could not cross
others could climb

themos flasks and
condensed milk tea

aunty mary
kenneth jenner

big strong ‘Anyah’ (*b)
snorting bull bitch!
long in her charge
constant screaming
yelling shrieking!
made me squat in
to front/face her
washing the clothes
in the basin
yes, on the floor
‘’give him me’’ said
menacingly
‘’i ’ll deal with him’’

sungai nibong
had me attached
to anyah’s hip
always carried
always like i should
be off my feet

then aunt polly
(keep thinking ’twas
aunty ‘polly’
unto anyah!
delivred me:
was my godma;
was i the brat?

drove one car wheel
off the bridge there
over the ditch
to grandpa’s house
he came home late
many tried before
simply applied
a 4 × 6
over something
and with 2 moves
levered all 4
wheels pat back up
on the ditch bridge
I, marveling
that one did do
as should
…………….it still
amazes me
still how much I
used to work out
these things with my
tiny tot mind!

i remember
distance viewing
that bridge ditch scene
like was larger
the fence further

(*a)
opa=grandpa

(*b)
“did anyah?”
finally went. prob did. don’t remember people for nothing. vaguely think i reached across the washing clothes bowl and hugged her feeling sorry for her scowlly face; nothing subsequent registering. yrs later i was in the same hosp ward with an indian boy whose visiting family got friendly with li’l me then my parents; even visited their home once. grown up sister declared she promised herself she was going to kiss me next time she saw me and i flnched, sensed abhorance… withstayed my corner even stalling when she said it was alright i could pass right in front of her; she wouldn’t touch me…: point is why did i flinch/feel abhorance/experience immoverability (every recall used to tell me i was shy) maybe that is why i am not married: the body is already married as those eyes that still don’t see that naked body in the window of absentminded beautiful girl’s beautiful younger taking her clothes off, due to my mentally blocking it off (now realising a past can engineer such a mental block: why wouldn’t i look at what’s in front of me? i’d already noticed her sandra dee looks) maybe she did get me; even if in the way they say the captive reaces for the abductor

WE CAN SAY ALLOW A LARGE MARGIN FOR ERROR and counter it with jung who
said about a patient she is! on the moon: if she insists she is on the moon then to her mind she is on the moon; having the indirect result at saying prayer is the best indirect way of instructing your brain

(c)
sugai nibong was where a house in the country grandpa, maternal, bought to headmaster retire to, everyone laughing at him; they had all been quartered around the christian brothers school (essen. staff?) where he worked: then the war came and they all flocked to sungai nibong. when i was there he’d already created an orchard all around inside and was idealised in the community; morning rituals including talking what they did, talk (to despattch ‘smalltalk’), with the local man who shouts the chants atop the mosque: forget/unsure of the prop. word….
(
d)
lately austrian doc claimed particular medical assets accrewing with the habit accrewing a smile from moi; always wondering at the extraordinary health i have despite the usual

I am as I am.

Identity invents itself despite the ready presence of always-resisted labels adopted when without\with insufficient choices. Binary impositions (as either/or questions) many also requiring signatures, authenticity\accuracy declarations, legally binding: the polarities, as easily, e.g. re ‘masculinity’, an ‘unstable cluster of fears about effeminacy’ (Macey, 2000, p. 321) and latency, than a straightforward black/white rationalized antonym to femininity. ––This ‘black/white’ polarity, itself, showing the problematic more clearly when comparing two descriptions of colour versus two colour descriptions of people.

Two unknowable categories, male/female (the difference between as surprising as suddenly reading of the only one-eight percent, genetic difference between human being and chimpanzee) definitively stand as opposites of a polarity. ––Something only generally true to (there being exceptions: here, hermaphrodites) each having either ‘penis’ or ‘vagina’. Queer Theory is one theory present because now allowed position in logical utterance! Evolving as Postmodernist theory questioned all the limits and boundaries set between and around declarations and definitions. Suddenly, even saying people actually do get married \divorced most days of their lives, is allowed more than metaphorical credence: one is now seen to define, redefine one’s actions \declarations as defined by them. Although it seems Queer Theory’s enthusiasm was already there when they celebrated Heidegger who led to positioning ‘human actions as culture’ (Young and Haynes, 2002, p. 57) and therefore as, as the arts, open to achieving the ‘highest goods’ with the ‘highest values’ (Ibid.). Creatively creating life as though Neo-Renaissance-People, all. QueerTheory’s stated aim: ‘not to promote the civil rights of’, ‘nor to plead for’: to identify and take on; ‘to remain endlessly provocative and problematic’ (Fuery and Mansfield, 2000. p. 197) shares this, in with, live activist awareness constantly attentive to the dynamics of (sex not yet then deconstructed) being alive. ––The ‘spanning issues of individual subjectivity, academic investigation, political manipulation, and collective cultural identity.’ (Fuery and Mansfield, 2000, p. 186). Dean Durber talked a bit about speaking the silence, which again evoked Heidegger, his preoccupation with Being as the important thing. When Heidegger’s Being is discussed, one can see where ‘Queer Theory’ can be substituted in the text, and how:
only (…) experiences the wonder of wonder: that things are, and ‘being’ (Sein) is the entral theme of (…) ‘being is the proper and sole theme of’ (…). It is, he insists also a theme that has been forgotten or eclipsed (…); the history of philosophy has been that of ‘forgetfulness of (…)’, and Heidegger’s goal is (…) to make ‘the wonder that things are’ its main theme (…) [to create] contact with ‘the thing itself’ (…) -Macey, 2000, p. 177.

F. Scott Fitzgerald commented that inventing oneself one is wary about how one does fit in \ is accepted. This immediately informs that one does not choose a preferred identity: even if one does, how one is accepted is one’s identity. F. Scott Fitzgerald particular sense of identity was idealistic: simply being the best there is, then; and then, again. He did not want to be like the rich: only to have what they had. I chose ‘inventing myself’ because the phrase clicked as I listened; an illusion I knew still secretly there, despite theory’s Orwells, Panopticons, Foucaults, as comprehensively successful as covetousness invites televisions into houses; surveillance as conveniently there as conscience is deemed domesticated. Even now I do not know there is no silicone chip in my television (or, computer); very much, when by some dalliance occupied.

Thinking in terms of Foucault and Orwell I visualized suburbia as prison, for my dissertation (the novel). Now the prisoner fire-hose hose wash we see on TV, is the education that fits us with just the clothes we need to build ourselves our own cells on regular sized blocks which we even relish to continuously clock in \out to pay for longer than life sentences. The system works perfectly because the price of the cell/house we want to build works out to price exactly at the portion of the pay packet already earmarked by the house you are allowed to sign your name to. The price of the house keeps increasing should there be any general increase in the pay packet, in the form of monetary repayments. This system deludes the prisoner because of the freedom of moving from place to place: it, usually a matter of clockwork where anyone will be.

I am often surprised when I look up and see the second lamppost, I know has a surveillance camera. I say ‘second’ because I always think of the other one, fifty yards down the street, whichever of the two I look up at, like then, surprised. I am surprised because I realize that for a while I have been taking it for granted: surely I did not do something like put my hand in my trousers to rearrange my balls! Perhaps it is a time for the surveillanced to assume the status of film stars, worthy their hire. A constant watch is like being stalked. When we take surveillance cameras for granted is when our privacy is being invaded. However such rationalized invasion sometimes, is not much more intrusive than already is the case. I already mentioned the rubbish bin.

Helen, is the Helen of "the beau’s songs of Helen (not of Troy)’’ : was fate: meeting, the more I wrote of you the more I got to know you as you; this, that perhaps you will apparition and come, Helen (not of Troy) and your showing me the dif. and my yen wont want insistentfantasy desirousness novelising it: just recorded/ included that this Helen is the Helen (not of Troy) that the beau’s songs sing of:

[It had ‘sin’ instead of,‘sing’.
I should have left it as truth
Ruth could make a stand of.]

==========

The way one does invent one’s identity is how one narrates identity in general; one then is the feedback given the theories society is utilizing, by how we are informed, then by how we imagine. The interpretation is persistent & perennial; maybe a constant reading of tics of one’s existential texts. An Existentialism, not different from what Durber referred to as speaking the silences and Heidegger, the Being, involves a thinking of potential moments, always now, always there to valorize experience: and always there, its ticking clock registering the ever existential now, its text ever open for re-representation. Re-inventing yourself involves re-inventing your country, in that it is part of the environment, the text binary with genetics. Perhaps day/night was always taken for granted, as the waves, the clock; the slow seasons of change and re-beginings that also come annually; what postmodernism \queer theory now just qualify: that always does the keyboard allow a new page.

I was born in Germany. By the time I went to school, Christian Brothers, I was in Malaya: not yet Malaysia. I was the odd one in a class of Chinese, Indians, one or two Malays. I was called names I did not understand. Despite it being Malaya, mostly there were Chinese around, as well as in the school and the classroom. I was among the marginalized? As I grew older I read about George Washington Carver. Slaves used to be named after presidents. Born during the American civil war. A rags to brains reality. He discovered over a hundred uses for peanuts: ‘agricultural’, ‘synthetic’, according to Chamber’s biographical dictionary. I later read James Baldwin’s Fire Next Time: USIS Library. It disappeared or moved, during the Vietnam War protests. I did not make the connection. I borrowed a lot of books I did not read. I did read the life of Martin Luther King Jr. But it was a paperback I bought at a store. Specially printed books for people who had less than 2000 words vocabulary, specially priced at fifteen cents. The regular price of a penguin \pelican, then was $1.15. I didn’t spend any of my two dollars a week until I rode to a bookshop. I found many friends. When I was, later, grounded, I was in good company, and I was already writing 35-page letters to my Chinese pen pal in Singapore, and my cousin in Kelantan, then Malacca, then Negeri Sembilan. When I failed my Senior Cambridge Examination, still run by England, I was told about my trip to Australia: I had expected I would go to evening school.

‘Inventing myself’ (even if also useable to suggest fictionalizing) is to read my text positively, as though preparing a platform for election: peer selection, ever at play. Like F. Scott Fitzgerald, I also thought I was adopted. I thought myself son of some royal personage: again, conversely, the son of Hitler. Why else did they always say I was stubborn and naughty, had two ‘horns’ on my head where most should have one. ––She does keep on about sending me to the orphanage. ––My father told me he had to plead with my mother not to send me to the orphanage, as though he had no veto power. I felt disillusion physically turn in my mind (like years later I felt a headache or hangover physically walk in paces out of my head as I ate my first ever spoonful of yogurt) that I actually heard he had to plead. I think I could not imagine anyone decide on anything I owned, to make ‘pleading’ an option. I did not take into consideration that he was talking to his young son. It was years later that I used to comb my hair like Hitler at the time that my moustache was growing only slightly. It did not last; I did not realize I had stopped. I think I stopped bothering what I looked like. Maybe I had started reading Irving Stones biographical novel on the life of Vincent van Gogh.

Was it before or after that, that I decided to become a priest? ––Before. Aft
er that, very little had anything of any depth enough to hold you enough to make you not want to move your shoes further on, some.

I also made use of my birthmark, as though it meant something, like mythology does. I noticed that it looked like the map of Malaya: like the map of Singapore, by moving the birthmark on its side. What is memorable about mythology is when its explanation seems plausible. The next time I had problems about being a foreigner, I turned the tables on them. What are you talking about? I am the real prince of Malaya. Why else would I have this birthmark? They tried to rub it off and found it genuine: If the fellow with the birthmark is foreign, then what are you?

I am expanding this mythology in my dissertation novel. It would amount to an attempt at new mythology leading to apparent reinterpretation of national identity: it, also satirical; tongue-in-cheek. A potential line: The subconscious reason why the mainstream dislike immigration is because it increases \re-compounds the Aboriginal population, each time. According to Blainey as my plane set down in Australia bones dug up on Lake Erie ( ) were found to be female, buried away from her tribal place, therefore for terrible misconduct, probably with \of whom I am the regeneration: her disinterment, a symbolical resurrection. The date of disinterment coincides with the stamp of arrival on my passport. The novel will record the fear of approaching her lest she grow marrow \slowly reform, relative to the length of my pace to her. My not knowing her whereabouts, often having her bones dirt dry, back in the box (only a few have ever seen this phenomenon; only one, inadvisably made a report they still celebrate when drinking). Ergo, mine was not an arrival but a return, duly greeted by ancient bones.

Identity undergoes arbitrary change when nations go through political change, especially when involving something revolutionary like independence from a colonial power, and one’s status is foreign: equally problematic for minorities that had been colonially favoured, economically, socially and politically. It also feeds the imagination with depictions of nations as domino pieces: a much-used recent word to describe a number of nations falling like closely stood-up aligned domino pieces; also, immediately implicated: domino players: and history. Identity is experienced, and my experience has \went through this image of nations arranged like domino pieces (whether or not in the way that others may want to knock down). Writing about it suggests spring-cleaning, opening windows to the sun: again, history. There were the Malay States. There was The Straits Settlements. ‘Settlement’ is used in another form by Stratton (‘settled countries’) to particularize the population that reached Britain’s later colony, in part founded by the son of the founder of the first of the Straits Settlements: Francis \Thomas Light, making Penang (Straits Settlements) \South Australia (Australia), sisters. Coincidentally my partner’s people come from South Australia: only less interesting than my previous caretaker’s relationship with a German, distantly related to the Red Baron, with whose end her forebear had something to do (that’s her story to tell!).

When the Straits… and the Malay States became The Federation of Malaya, one of the Straits Settlements remained apart from the Federation… It is inscribed cartographically, decided on democratically, upheld militarily, politically, economically and socially (as against Sukarno’s objections). One could stand, turn around (do a Robert Frost!), even if paradoxically like Singapore’s physical, symbolic as well as literal umbilical-cord water-pipe cum causeway connection to Malaya; again, to ‘Malaysia’, of which she was a part, before she withdrew. Is still so connected. Brunei decided to stay out of Malaysia. Historically, New Zealand was part of Australia right up to the time she decided against Federation, which Western Australia was unsuccessful at doing. Also historically, Australia would have had a more cool? climate: it was the sudden rich discovery of minerals that put an end to the proposal to put back Australia’s inland sea.

Yes, I wrote about; I must go search it out. A whole lot of things about Australia in the future. The part played by Australia new internal sea would regrow/breed/plant the ocean internally, there! when the other has become a swimming pool / too a place where what were fish now be feeders of animals so frequently in the waters; reptiles already noticeably attacked for being halfbreeds. Australia now heading a

That was the year I was determined that I was going to miss summer. I only saw the sunrise and the sunset; I was indoors just after and just before; the sun could not create that dark side, which only clear daylight can so openly impose, to shadow me. I cleaned four buildings at the university: two general purpose buildings, a theatre and a library. I still have some of the keys; I have never thought of using them.

I worked alone. I only saw my boss on paydays, on which days, he sometimes, also brought along supplies. When they banked my pay, not at all did I see him, except during inspections. It was like a ten year holiday period.

I was about to go to bed. If I had, I would not have answered the door.

Yes?

Where is it?

Where is what?

You know.

Did you lose something?

Do you know who we are?

Mormons?

They were dressed in suits, and there were two of them. I said, “Excuse me,” and popped my head out the door looking right and left. I was looking for their racing bicycles. They laughed as though they were being tolerant.

Well?

It will be much better for you if you give up the money immediately.

I don’t have any money.

Do you clean the offices of the Summer School at the university?

They are in one of my buildings.

They have reported money stolen, this morning.

Ha! Ha! That doesn’t surprise me!

Do you think that’s funny?

I have long wondered when it would happen.

Why?

Because they open all the doors and windows, and the safe; and even leave the building.

So, you did see the money in the safe?

No.

Surely when you see the door of the safe open you also see the money?

I have never looked into the safe.

Why not?

Why should I care what they keep in the safe?

If you did not care about what was in the safe, why did you, even to notice that it was open?

Because I buff the floor and the open door always gets in my way. I always feel like kicking it shut.

You appear to have all the answers: you cannot have all the answers unless you have them prepared. If you do not confess and give up the money, things will only get much worse for you.

Truth also always has the answer.

What are you doing with all these boxes of paper towels and toilet rolls in your flat?

They are here in transit. I asked my boss to drop them here so I can carry them around, as I need them.

Yes? Who is your boss; who do you…

Here, one of the detectives took down the particulars, and the other moved among the bookshelves. Imagine make-do bookshelves all over the place until the bathroom door, in the bedroom. The books, were where I had last left them, or where they had fallen; even over most of my bed. There, were also oddments and collectibles, some picked up to placate a whim. Anything, between a figurine of a nude, made of plaster, to a discarded street sign. The plaster figurine was leaving telltale bits of its powder grains wherever it stood; I had saved it from the bin in the architect students’ studio. The street sign was hanging from a nail off the top of the bedroom doorframe.

One of the inspectors had dark hair, was the larger one and the more friendly of the two. I don’t remember much more of him, except of the way he looked like the pictures I saw of young Hemingway without his moustache. I do remember noticing that he was very pleasant. My mother would have insisted that he was one of nature’s gentlemen, which comes from a good upbringing.

His demeanor contrasted with the meanness, which I noticed in the other inspector who, if he was not mean, assumed the façade for my benefit. His skin was dry and his lips were thin. I was thinking Cassius! Different people impress you in different ways. He was wearing pale brown colours. The sternness on his face did not convince me: Was this not how they had decided to play out that-two-cop-thing?

He was rummaging around like an oversized bookworm who was puzzled at still not making it into the books. He mumbled something about getting a troop over to check through every one of them. I told him there was little reason for that since I was familiar with what was in most of them.

I did not construct these piles of books as fixed structures,
inspector: They may fall on you.

You aren’t worried that I may find something among your books, by any chance?

I’m sure you will. I have even come across money, of which I was unaware.

Which one hides the marijuana?

I don’t know if someone put marijuana in any of the books. If they did, they’d have a hard time getting at it, since no one gets in here except Helen…

The first inspector proceeded to take down more particulars. I do not remember the inspectors’ names.

The second inspector looked like my big boss. The one who began the cleaning company. Yet, he appeared like a completely different kind of person.

There are many Germans around here, who smoke marijuana. We were led to five or six at the Castle St flats. You are German, aren’t you?

Yes.

So, you must smoke marijuana too.

No.

You don’t spend any time upstairs, with your caretaker?

I do.

So do those Germans I told you about from Castle St.
we’ve seen them walk up the stairs.

When we went to see your caretaker to ask her if she knew where you might be, we found a bong on her table.

People do, do things in the privacy of their flats.

So, everyone smokes, but you don’t?

I’m already too high.

And you don’t steal money, either!

I don’t steal anything. Other people’s things hold no value for me. It is only when I own things that things begin to grow value.

You are just denying other peoples’ things, any value, because you don’t have anything.

Or maybe, I am stealing away the value of their things by refusing to steal them.

I did get took to the police station. Soon I was at the bustop across the road. I think I only got off because they must have a foolproof way of seeing that you are not guilty, just like crooks know when you go try to pretend to be one of them. The inspector who played the silent mean appearing one, I saw aain in the NihtClub across from my pub. Very friedly. It was he who told me about why strippers can’t just stand still and drop their clothes, that they’d then be exhibitionists, and you, would be a voyeur. I remember going aaaahh!!!! him probably not realising that he’d just clarified for me the definition of ‘voyeur’. People can’t help helping you. I had said ’Imagine wasting all that eergy jumping around, it would look so much more even as a painting, or a quick series of, if her clothes slowly dropped as she just stood there

**

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LATEST INSTALLMET [NOW ALWAYS ON TOP as well as in the text]
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LATEST: 10
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you always help me
soon as i think of you
were you here i’d fall over you
fall over again trying to hug the air you just filled
just pull my leg me down i’d all on you without hurt but as the recht puzzle piece
to juxtaposition
& make the scene

sends me her
lots of
works importantly as punctuations at
precise moment plenty fullstopping so
to create declare all but pause required i
swear she’s something all of none of me as
i being the something all of her nothing gots

gonna tie up praise novel sass needed
gonna build helen not of troy’s role to novelise
aye be charaterise h’
yea, notebk stay by my side
helen . . . dis ease my blood

g’morning! -a’gin
i’ is stuck here
believin’ i can
make my words
spell! that other way
summon from monied ways
what’s got nought t’do with’t
talkin’ ‘bout luv li’in’, babe
(not complainin’
here, that you don’t)!

THIS TIME, 8 & 9
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i am ok ok i try have to make do with what i got it’s allowed that i have
there are rules rites regulations ad gotta be’s we’s thrown in are have
suddely are towpng a particularlne along a narrow path some sometimes call a
place they place statues wich this time my looking up fond the word for trite, instead: did not mean that; meant a bnarrow small place one may poght to think of of sufocation of, but i acan concebtrate and beat the place; build castles in the air that remain there just by my so buildin them defined to remain and terefore do because they still there while others’ stonehardsolids, ruin even meaning what still is conts for more for still being now despite what doesn’t : winning does not count as much as still being you. call tis writing off the top of my head, knowing it will reach some where

no time to correct
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my black book part / day 8 of 365

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LATEST INSTALLMET [NOW ALWAYS ON TOP as well as in the text]
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Yes, I wrote about; I must go search it out. A whole lot of things about Australia in the future. The part played by Australia new internal sea would regrow/breed/plant the ocean internally, there! when the other has become a swimming pool / too a place where what were fish now be feeders of animals so frequently in the waters; reptiles already noticeably attacked for being halfbreeds. Australia now heading a

That was the year I was determined that I was going to miss summer. I only saw the sunrise and the sunset; I was indoors just after and just before; the sun could not create that dark side, which only clear daylight can so openly impose, to shadow me. I cleaned four buildings at the university: two general purpose buildings, a theatre and a library. I still have some of the keys; I have never thought of using them.

I worked alone. I only saw my boss on paydays, on which days, he sometimes, also brought along supplies. When they banked my pay, not at all did I see him, except during inspections. It was like a ten year holiday period.

I was about to go to bed. If I had, I would not have answered the door.

Yes?

Where is it?

Where is what?

You know.

Did you lose something?

Do you know who we are?

Mormons?

They were dressed in suits, and there were two of them. I said, “Excuse me,” and popped my head out the door looking right and left. I was looking for their racing bicycles. They laughed as though they were being tolerant.

Well?

It will be much better for you if you give up the money immediately.

I don’t have any money.

Do you clean the offices of the Summer School at the university?

They are in one of my buildings.

They have reported money stolen, this morning.

Ha! Ha! That doesn’t surprise me!

Do you think that’s funny?

I have long wondered when it would happen.

Why?

Because they open all the doors and windows, and the safe; and even leave the building.

So, you did see the money in the safe?

No.

Surely when you see the door of the safe open you also see the money?

I have never looked into the safe.

Why not?

Why should I care what they keep in the safe?

If you did not care about what was in the safe, why did you, even to notice that it was open?

Because I buff the floor and the open door always gets in my way. I always feel like kicking it shut.

You appear to have all the answers: you cannot have all the answers unless you have them prepared. If you do not confess and give up the money, things will only get much worse for you.

Truth also always has the answer.

What are you doing with all these boxes of paper towels and toilet rolls in your flat?

They are here in transit. I asked my boss to drop them here so I can carry them around, as I need them.

Yes? Who is your boss; who do you…

Here, one of the detectives took down the particulars, and the other moved among the bookshelves. Imagine make-do bookshelves all over the place until the bathroom door, in the bedroom. The books, were where I had last left them, or where they had fallen; even over most of my bed. There, were also oddments and collectibles, some picked up to placate a whim. Anything, between a figurine of a nude, made of plaster, to a discarded street sign. The plaster figurine was leaving telltale bits of its powder grains wherever it stood; I had saved it from the bin in the architect students’ studio. The street sign was hanging from a nail off the top of the bedroom doorframe.

One of the inspectors had dark hair, was the larger one and the more friendly of the two. I don’t remember much more of him, except of the way he looked like the pictures I saw of young Hemingway without his moustache. I do remember noticing that he was very pleasant. My mother would have insisted that he was one of nature’s gentlemen, which comes from a good upbringing.

His demeanor contrasted with the meanness, which I noticed in the other inspector who, if he was not mean, assumed the façade for my benefit. His skin was dry and his lips were thin. I was thinking Cassius! Different people impress you in different ways. He was wearing pale brown colours. The sternness on his face did not convince me: Was this not how they had decided to play out that-two-cop-thing?

He was rummaging around like an oversized bookworm who was puzzled at still not making it into the books. He mumbled something about getting a troop over to check through every one of them. I told him there was little reason for that since I was familiar with what was in most of them.

I did not construct these piles of books as fixed structures,
inspector: They may fall on you.

You aren’t worried that I may find something among your books, by any chance?

I’m sure you will. I have even come across money, of which I was unaware.

Which one hides the marijuana?

I don’t know if someone put marijuana in any of the books. If they did, they’d have a hard time getting at it, since no one gets in here except Helen…

The first inspector proceeded to take down more particulars. I do not remember the inspectors’ names.

The second inspector looked like my big boss. The one who began the cleaning company. Yet, he appeared like a completely different kind of person.

There are many Germans around here, who smoke marijuana. We were led to five or six at the Castle St flats. You are German, aren’t you?

Yes.

So, you must smoke marijuana too.

No.

You don’t spend any time upstairs, with your caretaker?

I do.

So do those Germans I told you about from Castle St.
we’ve seen them walk up the stairs.

When we went to see your caretaker to ask her if she knew where you might be, we found a bong on her table.

People do, do things in the privacy of their flats.

So, everyone smokes, but you don’t?

I’m already too high.

And you don’t steal money, either!

I don’t steal anything. Other people’s things hold no value for me. It is only when I own things that things begin to grow value.

You are just denying other peoples’ things, any value, because you don’t have anything.

Or maybe, I am stealing away the value of their things by refusing to steal them.

I did get took to the police station. Soon I was at the bustop across the road. I think I only got off because they must have a foolproof way of seeing that you are not guilty, just like crooks know when you go try to pretend to be one of them. The inspector who played the silent mean appearing one, I saw aain in the NihtClub across from my pub. Very friedly. It was he who told me about why strippers can’t just stand still and drop their clothes, that they’d then be exhibitionists, and you, would be a voyeur. I remember going aaaahh!!!! him probably not realising that he’d just clarified for me the definition of ‘voyeur’. People can’t help helping you. I had said ’Imagine wasting all that eergy jumping around, it would look so much more even as a painting, or a quick series of, if her clothes slowly dropped as she just stood there

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DEDICATION

To Helen Isabelle Photography,

The title the novel “Re Helen, (Not of Troy) My Black Book”" which will be about the poet and the girl in his vision, always differet manifestations through the novel but de finitely described in “The Beau’s Songs To Helen (Not Of Troy).” I’ll be making mention of the various Helens I have met; know of, so that none will be taken for the one I narrate. There is only one Helen; whoever I think she is, it seems, I am still mistaken, in, but the Helen in the poems, named above, is the Helen in the title of My Black Book. I will be adding to or wihin the text everyday. Probably only your Blue Room will have the complete text. All other groups have other text rules, in that sense. I shall picture your sphinx icon guiding/guarding my writing this. Your printing of my previous work influeces this, dear lady. I therefore dedicate this to you, if I may,

I am yours. . . ,
juddarwin

MY BLACK BOOK NOVEL.DOCUMENT
by juddarwin

John.

Very early poem, that ­as/when, rewritten, I think, will, particularly pertain to this book; —will, says something that recalls idealism, still Romantic; easily when surrealism’s there like thorns among grass, growing flowers as if \ as though cacti had dropped-in, knocked their shoes together, before leaving \ being picked up… Re-reading of John: a pursuit not yet started. Will research/search thru’/via some few computer erazings?

Notes…/Dostoy., elder bro., Gunther, introduced to me, then/when I gav’/bid him read John, he’d ‘ave then, mayb’, seen D’s Crime an’ ; wide-sized nov’l, the pic of, he whom I now know to be the Raskalnikov-fella, blue & red… on that giant (and thick!) American paperback edition (‘four square’[?]. . .

. . . I’d, later, seen copies of The Brother’s Kamaramov, the same patterned cover, showing the King and I’s recogniseable Yul Bryner… in a mix of scenes from the film-version, of): he’d

—my brother, Gunther [above, I’d mentioned he’d lent me a tattered, rubberband-bound, Dostoyevsky Notes From the Underground novel ‘e still had \ had brought home from the German adventure (hitch-hiking thru’ the middle-east from the train ride to Istanbul [home to Penang, but first to become ‘we were like Sonny & Cher’ in Thailand]: his (wrapped round carry bag, [coat)used as pillow], while lying under a tree at Istanbul Constantinople Ur, place/space/ locale whence Abraham who sprang; sprung! fertility protiens that became Jewism/ Cristianity/Islam…

his wrapped round carry bag, coat used as pillow, while lying under a particular tree at… was stolen from under his head as he slept: yes! there, the real novel! [May Gunther may read this page!] Don’t know how many I can write before the swine! marries my Diabetes (what a name for a daughter?)

SWINE FLU then. Had PERSIAN GULF, when i told my publican boss who survived VIETNAM (as some drinkers in the Watering Hole Tavern, one of whom visited/toured countries (his! story) by staying with an ordinary family to live as they do for a week or so), yes, I would represent the tavern there; I’ll dress as Larry Arabia to confound them were it they had that Englishman in their history ere the Englisman were the carpetbagger . . .( have! they ‘history’ [ it’s! story] ) / AFGHANISTAN . . . yea, hitchhiking Gunther’s track route, then. ‘I hichhiked from Claremont to Nedlands post office, thenabouts’ said a postie friend now motorbiking his round; knew Gunther, too. Heard he sells real estate now. Real estate is piece of land you are allowed to build an approved house design by approved builders or constant overseeing council inspectors checking all specifications if you think to build yourself, which you repay for on a loan from your bank at the lion’s share of your paypacket until or until after you have grandchildren; on the understanding that you pay rates and water monies annually instead of weekly rent: equating, all this, yes, to home ownership. We, to show the strength of this, ‘d go to war to protect this ownership pride of not paying rent instead, ’giving it all away’. To tell the truth they do not mean that you own all this, they mean to protect your family. The second World War, it seems had this protection in mind together with the American soldiers fight/right for freedom like the freedom to ask and the insistence that the other has a right to say yes wherever they posted: to theirs, when they posted; many returned American soldiers finding themselves in the same places as each other, all then owning nothing but the transport theys tooks off on, the bike. Think, remember reading this in Mailer’s The Deer Park.

Hey! that the/your property er… is your property, yes, is; let’s change our minds, is, ironically your property, paradoxically, by telltale signs. The rubbish bin as you do actually know tells on what we buy, from where, and how much it costs. The Chinese restaurant bankcard transactions’ receipt will also tell on our bankcard numbers (they don’t have it all imprinted on their receipts, now, but the girl on the phone may have scripted it on your food order) as well as the valid until! date. The chemist prescriptions, besides having the name of the chemist and doctor, have your name and address, as well as the telltale prescriptions: if you have diabetes, epilepsy; use sleeping pills, contraceptives. The wrappings in the bin also tell the size of your body portions and the particular type of garment you buy. The bin knows if you visited Barbarella’s, if you wear corsets; if you bought something new in your apartment; your secrets, mayb

my black book part 30 th insallment

juddarwin

Joined June 2009

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