Fun fact: radish became foodstuff after someone’s long bad spell of foraging. Found as a possible means of survival, mezzo mezzo, the radish tastes like creaking noises. Survival remains as a documented goal, so radish joined the supporting cast that includes slobby, gobby oysters and other interpretations. Radishes can be eaten without exploding in dark intestinal corners, at least theoretically, if you hold your nose. Radishes never seem beyond the means, which places them in some democratic light, like workers of the world. No la-de-dah radishes exist, that would thwart their Puritan function of joyful affliction. Radishes remain in the salad panoply with shining guilt, the nerve of festive injunction. You can pulverize them with your molars, accepting that radishes taste like radishes, just as poetry tastes like school. The balance of your acceptance of these conditions adjusts our keen Democracy with tiny twitches. Radishes seem like harsh contretemps but lo, how radish-like are you?
Walking is not walking if Gertrude chooses not to walk. The premise: Gertrude Stein is not walking. She may be on a boat, not walking, crossing the wide ocean sea. Leaving inevitable France but not walking. Dramatic but not walking. Sentenced but not walking. There were days of walking but not this day. Reading or just looking but not walking.There were sentences full of walking but not walking. Talking maybe but not walking in or out. A time lived and walking was done then if not now. It was a doing and it was a done. Not forgetting Alice who may have had walking done or even doing. The annals say Leo Stein walked along, up to and including the degree of not walking, along. Those flower names walked along, Matisse, Picasso, Laurencin, in varieties. An adding war or two closed or opened anything jump. Apollinaire in the historical. Languages of shapes and sizes bounding for just the time and a little beyond. And that was the how sentence. In that time but also forward until readi...
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