Самиздат - Samizdat Gambits - Home-made broadsheet - same as that sold on Broad Street, Boredway and Hammersmith. Unsold - no fee - FREE to terrestrial browsers, grazers and ungulates.
Alleys echo to clattering feet - EXTRA! EXTRA! Non-event happening nowhere now! Get the latest! Read all about nothing! The News of No-World, as untold by Persona non Grata..... Place your order now - News of the Floating Dream World - Hot off the liquid press + + + + + Hacks scurrying to news-room before DREAM WEARS OFF^^^
A look behind the scenes at The Invertebrate Press Office.......
Giant pepper-grinder - French bread - shops in the sun - dog in the road - He reads the book under girders of grounded dirigible, black and white - shiny windows; the most European part of Towne- Here come one thousand brides-maids- maybe I could marry all of them- Jack Street, January 25th, 1988 the alley took the ghost form of Jack- sunlight flooding the other side of the street- END - JACK KEROUAC - ADLER - TOW-AWAY - NO STOPPING 7 to 9A.M. - END KENNETH REXROTH - TRACY - 000 > SAROYAN - TOW-AWAY - NO STOPPING - 500 - MARK TWAIN - MERCHANT - 000 > VIA FERLINGHETTI - PRI E ROW - Snapshot- MindBreaths- Raddish - Owl - Bookstand - banned books - handbooks - Hookhands- cookbooks - it's all there in The Proper Study of The Age of Spiritual Machines, Eliot George's Muddle Much; Finn's Awake Again by Joyce James - Poetry-Jass, forty years later in the cellar- bar musty bebop musta hopped at the time, the past a dream- Little Old hipster gone old now, still walking in the sunshine.
Stickyweed, nettles, sorrel, daffodils, violets and leaves on the willows. A sea-fog shrouds the Mount like cobwebs. The tide is far out and the sea is calm. Seaweed and rocks exposed by spring's far-reaching lunar meniscotraction. The breeze is still and birds are singing a song on this, the softest of days. Black beetle scurries slowly off into the undergroth. Insects sup from dandelion cups. Sea slops flat, slapping sloping rocks aslew. Wasps burrow into the hardened mud. Daffodils spangle the hill on which new pennyworts awake - above the cliff - the gaping triangular rock jags below, fringed by swirling surf. Violets peep from the melange of winter's sleep. Lizards yet lurk neath menek hedgerow strongholds. White tuffted stuff sprouts forth. White buds on the thorn like pearls. Mud mostly hard from dry-out drought drinks not drams of dew - yet hare-bells bloom and yet the air is sweet. Gorse! Gorse, you golden burst of coconut mirth! Marks of walking-sticks in the mud - dog claws and a fly rolls on its back on a granite stack. Another of the black green crawling tribe climbs a grass stem and by the trail a discarded glove fits no hand grasping what? Re-foliaging fuschia looks forward to the drowzy days to come. The very first sticky buds of the chestnut are breaking into leaf of lightest green, still furry and sleepy. And you, Robin Rudock, of course, you are here to greet me.
As for you, old sea, mor, flat, grey-glas swirling, sighing vast flat damp thing washing menek shores where the limpets cling and play, chanting their silent songs another day. Universal brine, other-world, realm of most moisture - boats ride your roof but fishes know your depth.
Lucretius: On The Nature Of The Universe:
Dostoyevsky: The Dream Of A Ridiculous Man:
Thoreau: Civil Disobedience:
Neil Cassidy: The First Third - Movie:
Knut Hamsun: Mysteries:
Dali: Unspeakable Confessions:
Plutarch: Rise & Fall of Athens:
Corner of Chapel Street & Vounderveor Lane....