Flying in the actual sky—not the blue part, and not in some fuselage of heaviness—into some city fitting snug on the planet exactly in time. Think of this then when people gathered and called for civilization, the real stuff, a sure pattern where words wear. People as peoples understand that Future days such as these will be with us in the future. Now the flying continues as thought above the fierce provocation of some place and history. War has mongered on, like breeding. Titles of books burst forth to lead the way into temporal struggle vis-à-vis how sedentary temples, cathedrals, monuments, and stand out statuary make earth place of moment, however long and ago. Maybe you have watched a crow or other articulation amid expressions of each human act in perceived environment where change et cetera conforms to stasis in the large picture of few words. Your moment is monument, a close terminal. You see the march daily, across wheatfields and tidal hope. Anguish becomes another for just about anything, when you try this hard.
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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