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Dean Kirkland

Inclement Reality

http://inclementreality.blogspot.com/

Located in Corvallis

Last update: March 25th, 2013 at 01:20 am

ping: http://ignoregon.com/ping/608

7 post clicks in the past 90 days

mi corazón, es tarde y sin orillas, el día, come un pobre mantel puesto a secar oscila rodeado de seres y extensión, de cada ser viviente hay algo en la atmosféra, mirando mucho el aire parecerían mendigos, abogados, bandidos, carteros, costureras, un poco de cada oficio, un resto hu

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the refrigerator sits full of juices in the corner the wooden chairs gleam in the light the sober reflections of mentalist ways through our changes the birds sit down, and the cats fly across the grass We all feel as if they are stand up men somewhere, editing themselves the houses sink down in

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Some words on Patsy Patsy Todd was born in Compton, California, on August 3, 1929.  She moved to Oregon in ’37 during the depression, picked fruit, and her father bought a farm and sold it in ’47, moved to the coast, built a motel, called the “Miles Motel”, went to Chemeketa, learned to weld

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Thinking of my life, and how it has been going the last three months or so...I've been pretty stressed, seeing things that I didn't like, seeing people that seemed dangerous around town, and did the impression I have match with reality?  I'm going to assume that it did.  I've met a lot of people, a lot of good peo

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I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I'm accustomed to him grown,-- He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live till that first shout got by Not all the pianos in the woods had power to mangle me. I wished the grass would hurry

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I stepped out of the taxi and into the rain, relieved to be moving after a day either sitting around or in traffic.  I had actually wanted to get out a block earlier, as the car was stuck in traffic, but the driver, an African that was driving me crazy with a long rambling dialogue to his wife in a

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I cannot live with you- It would be life- And life is over there- behind the shelf The sexton keeps the key to Putting up Our life-his porcelain Like a cup

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Hail to the spirit that can unite us; for we live really in figures.  Always go the clocks with little strides along with our intrinsic days. Without knowing our proper place, we act as if from true relations. The antennae feel their sister-stations, and th

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Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingal

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Ye swampy fall of pasture ground, And rushy spreading greens; Ye risings swells of brambles bound,  And freedom's wilder'd scenes; I've trod ye oft, and love ye dear,   And kind was fate to let me; On you I found my all, for here 'Twas first my Patty met me. F

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Even as a handy sheet of paper sometimes catches a genuine master-stroke, so, often into themselves the mirrors take the one blessed smile of girls who awoke and tried out the morning, alone- or in the attendant lights' glitter and where the breath of their real faces shone t

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Who lives where Beggars rarely speed? And leads a humdrum life indeed As none beside herself would lead My Mary Who lives where noises never cease? And what wi' hogs and ducks and geese Can never have a minutes peace My Mary Who nearly battl'd to her chin Bangs down the yard thro thick and thin? Nor picks a road

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My trip down to Berkeley was a drag. Eight hours down there, and when I got thee, I went straight to Yoko’s house, straight up University and left of Shattuck, and then up to Grizzly Peak. I had to put the car in first to make it up the slope, it was so steep. Up there on the hill, I got out for a second to check out the

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EchoesI've been doing a lot of walking around recently, and actually for many years, through this town, through Portland, Berkeley, and then this town again. I usually stroll down from the Fred Meyer area downhill toward the river, and have decided beyond doubt that Taylor is the nicest street to walk down if you are

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simplified and fairly uniqueshearing off tension from the problems createdfar from me, in all the strivings and trialstrying to sort out how to stay apart from all thingsfrom the tensions that might crawl through mea thinking man and the sun shining downmagnetic tensions and forces one se

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Endless amounts of coffee framed by wooden tables and concentrating on the characters and the words, inscribed through the directions of thought out there in sincerity somewhere, striving for a sort of upright feeling I might figure out, some kind of curious self-congratulatory explanation or maybe an act that corresponds w

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The problems that I find, I seem to find having completed somewhere else, in some other mind, in some other day, long ago. I get flashes somewhere, some kind of green heat in the ends of the words, a completion through the times of other details, the energies of women walking around, long black braids and headscarves, crea

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credit for mini skillschop chuck would shop wood. Coffee is better when you look at it not.Beer stines and tall trays.permanent the ones that reached out to you, weird science. Experiment. Looking forward to getting drunk on a concrete car bumper. A work at home diy career every day

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Earth has not anything to show more fair:Dull would he be of soul who could pass byA sight so touching in its majesty:This City now doth, like a garment, wearThe beauty of the morning; silent, bare,Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and the temples lieOpen unto the fields, and to the sky;

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I am, you anxious one.Don't you sense me, ready to breakinto being at your touch?My murmurings surround you like shadowy wings.Can't you see me standing before youcloaked in stillness?Hasn't my longing ripened in youfrom the beginning as fruit ripens on a branch?

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a nice idea to figure outa friendly attitude, somehow, somewhereand the manners and the running energysomewhere out on the coastthe shaded trees and the waves somewheredown over on the Nye beach windsthe solid block of sculpted oakchasing through every certain varnishwe though

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the guitars and sounds of the beanery seem to cohere, along with a double espresso and I feel as if the lights of the stars and the flowing rivers out there in green somewhere had an agent of consciousness somehow tied into all the changing lives and aspirations and difficulties that come and go between contributed food and

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who is going there?with springtime all adorning her?with the leaves of strong espressosearrings and tassles in the hairfast striding here and therefaded colors of greens and browns and stripesdetails between the overenthusiastic vowelssomething about the upright thought and stance

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Lean out of the window, Goldenhair,I heard you singing A merry air.My book is closed, I read no more,Watching the fire dance On the floor.I have left my book: I have left my room:For I heard you singing Through the gloom,Singing

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I don't think books are ever going to go out of style. One of the main joys of poetry is to look through books that you own, and find the poems that you appreciate. Everything about the tangible part of poetry is important, including the condition of the book, the typeface, the design, and on and on. Poetry, writing, and

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some strange guytyping punctuating the silencessevere silence and papers in the late nightsome kind of loud darknesssuffused with energydesigned toward cross purposesticking through the artifice watered down into the energies Okay,done with that.Now, fo

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