I write about 80 pages (longhand) in my notebooks every month: notes, lists, letters, drafts, sketches, poems, ideas... And compose some on the keyboard as well. What I have hitherto published on VirtualItch are works I feel are finished, well-formed, and of literary value. From the Body is a series of writings combed from my notebooks which for one reason or another do not fit into the above categories, except for, I believe, they may be of some literary value::::potentially, or, here and there, traces...

I proffer such out-takes because I really am interested in sharing my writing as completely and immediately as possible. These pieces will mostly be of interest to those who write themselves, those who fail on occasion and who aren't afraid of failing, but who nevertheless go on, they must...

I edit-out the superfluous, the uninteresting, and the inexplainable...

The works in Danish are placed at the bottom. They are, for the most, simply in faulty Danish, which I haven't had time to rework...

My attempt, is to share my writing experience as fully as I humanly can... How does the mind work?...

This compillation will appear every few months on VirtualItch and will be archived in the Miscellaneous Prose Area...


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From the Body (May 2001)

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Jeg gik til en ko

Jeg gik til en ko
han spurgte mig
hvad er kød?
det er dig
men, hvad er grønt
vil du ikke heller spise det
i stedet for mig?
jo, men, vi er nødt til bruger
kød i os
jeg bruger
kun græs.

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Nothing more flexible

There is nothing more flexible
Than the human mind

Isn't this the actual shape of the head?

Wild pig in the forest

What is behind behind

Images are greedy
Smells are omniscient
Sounds like enemies from nowhere
Thoughts
Isn't this the actual shape of the head?

I would black this burn this
Make it so you cannot read.

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Swiss Army Knife

I want to give my son
A Swiss army knife one
Of those with thousands
Of blades::::cut, open
Chop, whittle, screw::::
You know::::everything::::
One to go underneath
The skin of who
Of what he is::::dig
Into whens and wheres
And tweeze away the whys
The depths of which
No one can remember.
A cool knife with
Built-in compass, a clock
So he's never lost or late
A mobile phone so
He's never out of touch
Or lonely
A rope to climb trees
The shovel which digs
The holes in which
They're planted
The glow-stick
Of enlightenment
Something appropriate
For rolling-out the hard sweets
Of being alive::::desire
And understanding with
Which to quench the thirst
To survive.

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Lad være med at forpeste mig

Lad være med at forpeste mig
forpustet forpupning som forpurre
mig::::en forpraktikant i forpligtelse
min sjæl er forpintet jeg forpagte
at forpligte jeg har forputtet mig
en forrang over for forpligtende
forplantningsevne::::det er min fornøjelse.

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20 Questions

Kill your browser. Kill your connection. Then come back to this page alive. Now, (then), breathe a deep breath. Be determined to be honest. Act quick, on impulse. Do not second guess or dwell. Simply respond. This test only recognizes the honesty of your intuition::::what may be called the point where instinct and mind collide.

All too often the imagination breaks in to thought, corrupts what you really think, and replaces it with what you think others would have you think. Beware of this...

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After we taste our dream

After we taste our dream
it is always difficult
returning to the source
of our crime of our daily life

where were we why
can't we be there any longer
who is responsible for all this
tame reality::::certainly not us.

Fried ascent::::we'd attempted to climb
mountains of clouds, reached only hilltops::::
but better that, than simply volumelessly
crawling out of familiar bed, eh?

We attract birds which don't belong here now::::
We are trees with shimmering fragrant leaves.

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BS

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©2001wfairbrother