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The song of the tufted titmouse is usually described as a whistled peter-peter-peter, although this song can vary in approximately 20 notable ways.[6]


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These phrases attracted me at first:

dew new-mown

enslave dissuaded

strict strut

unbound unborn

invade cascade

unpack allocate

Cos they seem to be rhyming / alliterating in the same way.

But there doesn't seem to be a pattern - there isn't one in the first verse.. It feels a bit like FW - there could be a pattern but it's being deliberately obscured.


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I personally like words and I like roaming around the fields of words Prynne sows I don't get too hung up on decoding any encrypted meanings particularly. I just like reading them and chasing them up, see what alternative definitions exist, look into etymologies etc


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But what is distinctive and frustrating about these very recent poems is that they are, pretty much, just word-word-word
And no one, as far as I know, has come up with a compelling reason why he might choose to write like that or how we might go about reading them.


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Sea force earth twice basal woven ozone, until
gauze waiting sullen foreseen blood torn sampan
essence fling, rampart gallon churn. Revenue in
particle inside classic stack refurnish caustic
loiter astigmatic mainstay daze ridgeway; less
mirror jitter mastery at still delay persist on
wing tarragon. Aquaplane get mine braving, fly
vital crystallize shire ride by wire-tap scoop,
turf war claw to digress affection bittern for
ironclad remained oh maid of work, listen into
flatter floor severance penance; finance flee
the crib tie, asservated to languish rhenish,
buy-out if beyond doubt spoilt histogram, not
cerdible miscible agitate conjuration ration,
even. Torque pitch insipd at torrid calomel
unable retracted, rocket fit delimit scimitar
never far affected to split, blitz; advocate
punnet gusset tapestry delete, astute denied
to master-key. Bring and fly, water-way, now
speak your weight resounding, presented yam
equable thimble bravura spattered innocence.
Repay macaroni dye lemon famine blunder, as
up from under rejoinder emulate brotherhood,
another that's the river. Carry forth, nett
worth entanglement, by outpost sold or lent.


in je ogen waait de wind
this is a bit of text from franco berardi that reminded me a lot of prynne's a note on metal.

Sangihe is one of the countless islands of the Indonesian archipelago. The island was once home to a blue bird. It seemed as if the bird had all but disappeared, when it was recently discovered that he still hops in the forests. But there is not only the sparrow, there are also some tens of thousands of people living on the island. Fishermen, gatherers, craftsmen, teachers, students.

Some time back, a Canadian company obtained a concession on half of the subsoil because it was recently discovered that there is gold. Until recently, Indonesian state law prohibited extraction from the subsoil of the islands, but last year international pressure led to the abolition of that law. Extraction is now legal, and the Canadian company that owns the exploitation rights is coming forward to enforce its rights.

This story — documented in a BBC video you can find here — is by no means a new one. It has been like this for a few hundred years: white predators arrive in any place on earth, they discover that they can extract a mineral that has value for the white economy (perhaps a useless mineral like gold, loaded with immense religious significance, to the point that it can be considered the totem of that superstitious belief known as "economics”). The white predators destroy everything, they subject the humans who inhabit the territory to an excruciating pace of work in return for which they give them a salary, a car, a house with all the essential accessories of that mousetrap in which salaried workers are accustomed to dwelling. By now they have destroyed almost everything, so now the world has begun to burn, and will certainly burn, until the human race is erased, except perhaps a few specimens that will manage to escape aboard shuttles into outer space, where they will spend the rest of their sad days in cages floating around in the void.

But some islands of the planet earth have not yet been totally captured by the exterminators, because they are too remote. For example, Sangihe.

To the question: “what will you gain by carrying out your project” (cutting down the forests, drilling the ground, extracting the ore that economic superstition considers precious)? the bald peaceful representative of the mining company replies with a good laugh: “Millions and millions of dollars. When we are at full capacity we plan to extract thousands of ounces a month in a few years."

And there will be work for five thousand people. Five thousand people will be able to stop fishing, build useful objects for the community, study, and will finally go a few hundred meters underground eight hours a day in exchange for a salary that allows them to have a car, to replace their home with a mousetrap and so on.

The story left an impression on me, because it contains nearly everything you need to know about modernity in four and a half minutes of film. The destruction of life, pleasure, beauty, affection, joy, sunrise, sunset, food, breath, in exchange for a car, a salary, and lung cancer — in a word: the economy.


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Age by default: in some way this must
be solved. The covenants that bind
into the rock, each to the other
are for this, for the argon dating
by song as echo of the world.
O it runs sweetly by, and prints over
the heart; I am supremely happy,
the whole order set in this, the
proper guise, of a song. You can hear
the strains from so far off: withdrawn
from every haunted place
in its graveness, the responsive
shift into the millions of years.
I am born back there, the plaintive chanting
under the Atlantic and the unison of forms.
It may all flow again if we suppress the
breaks, as I long to do,
at the far end of that distance
and tidings of the land;
if we dissolve the bars to it and let run
the hopes, that preserve the holy fruit on the tree,
casting the moist honey, curing the poppy of sleep.

“And in variety of aspects

the sum remains the same,

one family”—

that it be too much with us, again as
beyond that enfeebled history: that we be
born at long last into the image of love.


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I do not like to speak of doctrinaire intention in the work of composition; but as I
now reconstruct it in retrospect a central purpose in Down where changed was
specifically to compel contradiction to the point of terminal obduracy, without

providing outlets for hopeful compromise or an ideal intransigence. That

terminus is unreachable, naturally, and none of this in any case affects the last-
ditch independence of reader options which the author cannot know or perhaps
even guess. [...] The reader, challenged as if lazy and greedy for inconvenience, is

offered the tacit advantage of claiming immunity through a more mindful clarity
of insight (‘sophistication’ is the bribe). But paralogical regression confutes and
poisons an already sarcastic collusion, to induce rapid blockade as if no more than

aesthetic spectacle (what you call the sestinic), hardly touching the practical
choices of everyday life which are nonetheless by inference the simple brute stuff
of this book. The reader’s freedom was to be constantly interfered with, as an

invidious commodity; pretending (precisely) that there had been no acceptance of
immunity to the violence and yet also noticing that pretence as just that. (“Letter
to Allen Fisher” 157)


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Inside tight closed box off it was it was out
a same summer box oh then at must closed on all

or maybe often maybe open to one side glaze be

in part to spill affirm parted along a rim ballast

Ready known, the same on over the way up be aim
superflux be finger fillip tight eddy cluster for

test the cover to seal better by close not closed
in her cone practice modify. To maul the out-sign

More at blanket turn, prior the blanket, over out

side did tear or torn smatter hot shut right off

tipping exclusion. Same day mainly deprive rank

service for service, at same hours total. Deeper

Fold to box to fill to undersell nor roving shame

spelled got hurt by a burn. Same too fast joined

by the flap cover trickle or stream cut solid then

cut your hand the close hand perfectly yours for.

Recital to side, same with to side livid in part

newly profuse did civic offer on a dial, sweep

flight oh disposal profligate buck more in and

ready. Tantric cube up tight seam, signal limit

Galvanic who will meet who would, as to camber
one side slipped over close fit: alter presume

that shutter way, his also servile blank package

the box befitted frank aside simulate by adoption.


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How long they ask, we ask, it
is the question. So much time to
travel or stop and yet the heart
is so slow & reluctant

leave it, that's one
way- there, on the
ground. I love you

so, here but how long again, the
history of what we allow, are per-
mitted to have. A life for this
branch, dividing in the headlights

waiting, the beam in
prism, play or the sound
in a great arc for the

world, it is an open fire, a hearth
stone for the condition of trust.
Don't ever wait for that. Twist it
out, in ply and then run, for

the door: we must
have the divine sense,
of entrance. The way

in as what it is, not which then, or
how long as the question. Such things
are, the world that is fire, it burns
along all the horizons. It is

the heart, Where we
are. I love you, so
much. As this, as

this, which is for even more than I
could tell. The night flickers and
the day comes; has, will come. That's
the question, the mark strapped to

the hands; not the
eyes. Trust them, the
fire of the mind, lust

of the pure citizen, on every path
of the earth. The soil, tarmac, grass,
remorse, the sea, love is in the air
we breathe. Fire on the hearth. The life

in what I now have
and listen to, just so
long, as we are.