Greetings--after having received a few days of posts I felt a bit like an
unknown eavesdropper,an undeclared spectre-so here I am,all
unlurked,vanished from my silence...
I am in New Zealand,planning my escape to Europe-hoping that the next cake
that is delivered has a sharp file with many teeth to saw through the
entrails of this most ridiculous antipodean entropy.
I still believe in life.It exists beyond the palm trees. It is not some
cruel hoax of memory and mis-information. The world does not consist
solely of these islands.
I do not wear a grass skirt.
.Every detail of my consumer profile is etched into a marketing software
programme, and I see no way out except over the top over the trees and into
the water.
Someday soon,I will stand in Greenest Gatwick yet again..
Meanwhile:I understand about being in love with someone much younger and
all things liminal interest me.
I think of liminal as being a sort of gap,the time between burning the
bridge and driving to the airport.
Yet what of supraliminal?
Could supraliminality descend?
>From heaven-down a staircase?
Gaps,intermediaries,occlusions,twilights,temporary fixtures,erasures
waiting deferral-
all leitmotivs for this suspension between intent and the gravitas of
Southern geography..
Looking forward to being part of brit poets @mailbase,
I am, etc;
Wilton Rodger.
Auckland
New Zealand.
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