Legend When I thought of the Crystal Jaguar, Wrench Boy withdrew to Black Box. Violet took Melee by her curvature and went looking for The Mole. Across the surface of Black Lake Big Noise seemed a great exaggeration. Exploitation constitutes The Nation. Build me a fence and I'll ring your bell. In the closet vapidity and fullness refuse complete saturation. We all stood in awe of The Glob. Hammerhead was asleep in his vault. The African Rattle contains all our dreams. The zoo is alive with a taxonomy of recalcitrant tongues. 1. The Mole made a big noise that echoed through the vault. Violet sat beside the fence planting fresh violets. Jaguars proliferated throughout The Nation. Violet arose and stood listening at the gate of the Vault. Violet refused to be distracted by so many avatars of Jaguar. To her the sound of a bell, black-box-like, brought hear-tell of everywhere. The avatars of Jaguar studied the vapidity of The Nation. Jaguar himself was in conclave with Wrench Boy. It was the matter of considering what, if anything, to DO. The Glob was still in The Closet. Its saturation of Jaguar-space was Not Yet. The sound of the bell to him was not at all like Black Box.  Crystal, oblivious to The Nation, sparkled as Jaguar's Diadem, one to an avatar. Wrench Boy studied the crystal stashed in a closet full of dreams. African rattle refused to assume the mind of Violet. This was rather a matter for Black Lake. Wrench Boy considered Black Lake a species of crystal. In The Closet there was on exhibit a kind of Zoo.  Jaguar sought to saturate saturation. Hammerhead was on the fence and irritatingly put questions to Violet. "Fullness is all, is it?" Asked Hammerhead. "It is, in any case, not Saturation. Glob is but a Big Noise. If it is smothered in its closet, you cannot hear The Bell. I draw my violets from a Black Box."  "Every tongue has its closet. Let not closet seem an exaggeration merely." Remarked Jaguar. And a giant mole ran between the cavernous gaps between the toes of Hammerhead, who, for the moment had bloated to the scale of a small mountain or a large hill. Jaguar refused to consider this.  Melee took Violet by the hand and brought her to a covey where a bell hung. "If you strike it you wake up the somnolent intelligence of Wrench Boy," Violet told her. 2. Melee was puzzled by Black Lake. She gazed into its waters and saw no reflection but only received an impression of fathomless depth. Hammerhead had accustomed himself to something similar regarding Black Box. The Nation fluttered about Black Lake like a huge ghost and received no sensation whatever. My tongue was wasted and tied in so many knots by a kind of universal exploitation. But Black Box would supply a stash of fresh enigmas, Hammerhead, nervous, inadvertent systems of misdirection. Ah, Black Box, you are Fullness itself, but a tongue is like a fence. Wrench Boy's tongue is a closet full of subjects ripe for exploitation, and yet he withholds his exposition. Some tongues articulate speech as crystal prisms light. If you deploy Black Box to the point of saturation, a little bell is struck: you must refuse to commit such saturation. The bell's tongue is a fence to interrupt Wrench Boy and cause him to stutter.  A closet with a glob is like a zoo. This zoo, an exploit of Black Box, attempted to classify Wrench Boy. Jaguar rang the bell, and all the animals changed their spots or stripes or miniscule skeletal properties in a radical move to obviate taxonomy. Then he shook the African Rattle, and did not refuse the assignment to be a mole with a bell, the bell--itself a kind of an exaggeration-- no big noise but a spate of obfuscating analogons: a tongue to propagate a melee, a glob to activate a tongue-- a fullness that might as well be a vault; Black Lake--saturated always. And a mole to punctuate Vapidity. There was a glob oozing from the black crack in the box as if . . . but I do not know what "as if". . . I refuse to saturate Black Lake with the sound of a bell.  We must create a fence about . . . put a system of violets around Black Lake . . . prevent the exploitation of . . . exploit the mind of Jaguar with a strange bell to inculcate The Dream. 3. Violet saw The Mole come out of The Gray Glob. Wrench Boy thought to exploit his own name: "Wrench Boy." What could it mean? Eternal youthfulness? Surely not this thing in his arms made of tempered steel, an ominous claw at each end of it! To say that a zoo is a closed world bounded by human ignorance is no exaggeration. Wrench Boy thought all this as he too watched the enigmatical Glob. "Wrench Boy," (he was addressing himself by that strange name) : "You wish to comprehend the gray vapidity from which our closed Zoo World seems to be taking form. What is this place we're all supposed to be happening inside of? Is it like a Nation? Like a crystal? Can we dissolve the Zoo with the sound of a Bell? It surely is but a cruel exaggeration or other cognitive mischance to think the Zoo an enterprise of Jaguars and eager little Wrench Boys! And what if we refused to build a system of railings and fences to hold in all this animal vitality and fullness?-- refused to barricade beings in the thoughtless taxonomies of zoos, to elaborate a nation out of heartless crystal?--"  Hammerhead lept the fence to vanquish his own vapidity. He was on what, without exaggeration, one might call a "Quest" to configure his own world in the geometry of crystal. Meanwhile Glob for many nights had dreamed he was a Zoo-- an entire nation of beasts both tame and wild. He slept in his closet till the realm of his dreams reached a kind of perfect saturation.  At that, and at just that moment, the Mole trotted through the foyer full of old coats and candles. Melee gasped. She herself had recently emerged from her dream of a Black Lake. She wondered: "Can Saturation be a kind of fullness? Yet one must, I think, refuse such an hypothesis, lest satiety put Old Hammerhead in mind of his own Vapidity."  Wrench Boy remained circumspect, as did the others, but resolved to have no truck with the attitude of Nations, even ones apparently inhabited only by Jaguars.  Melee started preaching in all tongues at once, but spontaneous fences shot up out of the earth and, as if to match this magic, African rattles sprang up like gnarly trees from vacant lots. It was no fake, this magic. Black Box could make a zoo spring from the right choice of air.  "I remember the Big Noise," said Wrench Boy suddenly. "It came at city dawn. Enormous trucks rumbled from their vaults, spilling refuse, forcing themselves down their vapid courses, smashing through fences whose curious latches were fastened by curious crystals. A Giant Mole sat in the cab of every truck--a Giant Mole at the helm of every Nation." The memory was just too much for Wrench Boy. He fell into a dream of pointy pickets fencing in each discrete world. 4. Black Box is the Mother of Melee; Saturation, the homeland of Crystal. Exaggeration, the attitude and mindlore by means of which Crystal displaces the dream of Big Noise. I held my smooth green stone, its crystal lattice invisible; its metaphysic set to satiate everyone's fascination with crystal. I kept my metaphysic hidden in a closet full of dreams. My "quality" was ripe for exploits with Jaguar. He dreamed of crashing all fences, as did I. Big Noise needed no dream for such an operation. He spoke a tongue whose crystalline fullness fascinates the Nation even today in spite of its evident vapidity-- a fullness--a dream exploited by certain darkly tinted Jaguars . . .  Give me a Bell and a Hammer. I shall not refuse to strike it and strike through the Dream. It will not terminate Big Noise or confound our Melee's fulsome vault of crystal.  Hammerhead sometimes dreams out of Black Box now-- Black Box and its phantasms of crystal, its closet of puissant dreams; its fullness; its license; its accessibility to Melee; its Nations of Exploitation . . .  Give me a Mole with a Dream but that it imagines Black Box is Being merely an opportunity to refuse that very dream and its magic closet, its idea that Zoo and Big Noise are creatures themselves of a Dream Tongue whose utterance skims across the silent recipiency of Black Lake . . .  I want to discuss all this with Wrench Boy. He must improve his fascination with Crystal until it becomes unsusceptible to any exploitation in any tongue-- even its own. He must discover pure crystal and the use of African Rattle to startle The Nation. He must attain an attitude toward The Glob so that with Melee he might find a place to stand and open its fullness to a margin of violets. 5. (fragments) Wrench Boy Valorized the Margins. He thought: A fist full of violets. Big Noise. Jaguar chops down African Rattle and plants cowries all around Black Lake.  In one hand a Bell in the other a rather diminutive African Rattle.  Differentiate dream exploits.  Hammerhead remained asleep or awake but inside his own head.  Over the fence lies fullness.  Crystal be my witness, my tongue is a zoo. 5. (b) A Wrench in the shape of a small boy swimming with violets refused to mount his jaguar. I don't know why, but that he made so big a noise that the jaguar who was himself toying with an African Rattle sauntered away until he came to a calm black lake. Why black? Because it attracted jaguars, it would refuse to turn black except for the jaguars. Hanging from the low sky was a bell and a very very large African Rattle. Exaggeration has a loose tongue, I know. But this African Rattle was so large it might confuse a whole nation. At least you could use it beside Black Lake to make yourself sit still and listen, for inside the sound of the rattle was a veritable zoo of living forms, not only jaguars. There is a demon of vapidity and an Ifrit of Exploits in a mother's magic closet. In the absence of all vapidity, the African Rattle becomes inaudible. No it doesn't. Even exaggeration holds its tongue.  All the jaguars congealed into a general spotted glob. The African Rattle retreated to Wrench Boy's mind, as Wrench Boy's mind quietly turned into jaguars.  A small bell sounded. The African Rattle shattered vapidity. A jaguar leapt out of the mind.  When saturation comes there also is a bell. At that time the jaguars rebel, sick of exaggeration and its zoo-like access to the irrepressible productivity of Black Box.  Now there is only dream and its exploitation and the deeply oriented meanderings of Hammerhead. He, for example, whenever he came to a fence, despaired of approaching a requisite spiritual fullness-- grew envious of jaguars, searched for castles of old and dusty closets, as if his mind were really vapid rather than just confused. He longed for crystal clarity, truly, not some woman named "Crystal"; but his spirit had no true tongue to talk him through the zoos of attitude within him that masked his own true fullness. He did not need to ransack ancient closets in old castles or in his own old mind. All this was the concern of Melee.  Fullness is no closet, Vapidity only empty dream and cannot bring one in spite of its sometime veridical intimations, to the lip of Black Lake.  An African Rattle is hanging from the sky when the world is a zoo.  There is a Mole in my mind. 6. Night Crystal. Black Box. Where does she go? Fullness periodically diminishing. Is it licit to furnish a tongue to the Ifrits of Black Lake? (Tongue lash the Keeper's Vault . . .) The mole's red tongue: fullness -- tongue-tied deep in the earth beneath the fence: The Vault. Grand orchestral basso sonorities -- tubas and bassoons, whole zoos of nocturnal instrumentalities articulate the subterranean vault-crypts. The exploits of impassive moles. Vault dreams. Put your tongue back into its closet -- don't exaggerate. A small bell in a dusty closet. A black vault stifles a big noise.  The Zoo in Winter. An African Rattle planted in the hard dirt outside every cage. Beneath the beastly cabinets grubs the tunneling mole. A vault with a sick bird. Dream like clutter-- the secret of her tropical coloration. A frozen Melee chatters in the taxonomist's office. The rattles will not quite shake. Exaggeration, frozen, saturated with a gross immobility. Vault crypt, caged jaguars, iron fences lock up the fake savannah where the cheetahs shiver. If only it were Black Box-- a dream of summer--Oh open the vault that a big noise might escape like trapped gas and galvanize the Nation out of this hibernal vapidity-- all the great winds--the south, the west-- clapped up in a black box-- only Boreas let out of his arctic closet to screech with furious tongue. The very idea of violets among this white frigidity! Vault of a world! Crystal spicules pricking mammal flesh-- The vapid vault-- apotheosis of fenced-in life. I refuse. But no, O Wrench Boy, Black Box is not just some magic closet. It is a tongue from the void-- the thing that springs and circumscribes the very space of dream. It fences glob; it opens Closet, gives Hammerhead the power to exaggerate Exaggeration and in the end to hammer his long way home. 7. Jaguar stuck his paw through the cage bars and grabbed Wrench Boy by the left claw of his wrench. "Get me out of this vapidity. You know I don't belong in any zoo." His friend WB was a "mole," the zoo his target, vapidity the condition. The Zoo was the form of The Nation. Hammerhead tarried at Black Lake stuck stupefied in a general dream called: "Hammerhead's Exaggeration." Melee took thought for Hammerhead. She brought an African Rattle to the Zoo and a broken bell that made a big jangling noise and shattered the glass fence. She brought the bell to Hammerhead, who tarried at Black Lake, all frozen now, and unstucked his dream.  Black Box had all the keys. Hammerhead awoke with a start and wondered what had happened at Black Lake. Here was Jaguar and Melee and Wrench Boy-- even Crystal in the form of shining ice beings-- all together again. Jaguar was overwhelmed with a sense of fullness among his friends without mediation of any sort of Nation, and most of all-- Escape from The Zoo! Black Lake would thaw quickly; African Rattle's sonorities bring to the friends the whole world. Crystal shined above the secret vault-- Big Noise--Big Joys-- sound to the point of satiety.  For now there was no question of how long this bliss would last. New Exploits! Open Closets--forever! Wrench Boy shook that rattle and up popped violets-- a veritable melee of raucous coloration; it even gave satiety, however immoderate, a tongue. Big noise will swamp the Nation, abolish the Zoo and its vapidity-- the Zoo and its morphology-- imagine another kind of Nation.  The Zoo cannot refuse its own exaggeration. Melee and her Big Noise are utterly charming to Wrench Boy. Vault and Magic Closet-- but nobody considered the Glob. Nobody was watching the Glob . . . 8. No tongue wagged. Crystal maintained her highest state. The closet, though unlocked and unattended, was nevertheless closed. Dream-life level: normal throughout the compound. Only Melee showed some perturbation in her dream activity. No one was presently dreaming of Glob. Violet, however, had a strange dream about the closed door of a closet. Suddenly the dream changed and she found herself embroiled, indeed, in globular exploits. The Mole seemed somehow all bunched up inside him, and the head of the African Rattle had become a glob. It sounded like there might have been a big noise, but it was all snuffed out or bottled up, and Violet was following the glob as it rolled or oozed along the cold bricks of a golden underground vault. All at once she realized this was no dream, for they had crossed a fence and come quite close to the lip of Black Lake, where the roots of the Nation had been clipped and there was no way to re-cross the fence unless The Glob give up The Mole or completely become him. Precisely which would occur depended upon the sound of The African Rattle.  A Big Noise followed by a clear Bell, and the exploitation would terminate entirely. The Fence would vanish just as if it had never been, and the bell sound, as it diminished to nothing, would initiate new exploits of Hammerhead in relation now to the Glob. Now fences go up in earnest. Crystal floats in a globe above Black Lake, and The Mole is released to run through everyone's dream, to threaten with or generously deliver a mysterious sense of fullness. But whose dream was it?  The Big Noise stopped. Violets were growing all along the path about Black Lake. At the center of each violet there gleamed a crystal. Fences divided the land suggesting to some that an avidity for order had come over most of the nation.  Hammerhead looked quizzically at Violet. The Glob was gestating in a subterranean vault. Violets and their crystal centers had changed the sense of The Zoo, so that Black Lake, around which they had proliferated, was somewhat integrated as a special vernal part of it. One went to Black Lake to saturate a dream, just as one might shake an African Rattle, both to generate and to reduce a sense of exaggeration.  A Bell made of crystal hung from an empty sky. There was no fence around the dream of spring time. Wrench Boy rung his bell and up popped his syzygy. Were such doublets in evidence everywhere-- well then, we might have our other kind of nation.  In spring time fences mark gardens. Vapidity diminishes, Jaguars leaping from Black Lakes throughout The Nation. Dark dreams return to dark vaults. Exploits, not to be refused. There is a luminous memory of celestial nations banded across the stars-- fenceless, except to subdivide The Glob and foster violets. 9. There is no final word. "The whole world cannot be a Zoo," said Jaguar. "Consider the fence that surrounds us. When I shake the African Rattle or plant violets, the Rattle sound expands to saturation and I do not find Black Box inside this place where I am confined. That there is a rattle proves that the source of the bell sound that comes to us from afar is not one of the sound strands inside the complex African sonority. Am I making sense? Perhaps there is a slight exaggeration somewhere, but I hope soon to reach the point of saturation. Now consider the Mole. Whether he is a rodent or an operative in either case he boroughs and assumes there is a vault below, not in or of. He is not satisfied to take his information from a night of gazing at Black Lake, and Black Box for him might be what all of this occurs, frankly, inside of. But the saturation point? Come on. You might as well ask old daffy Hammerhead or put your question to an African Rattle. Why not? And The Nation is another thing. There are of course both none and many of them, material and celestial; and for all the borders between them, there are moles to cross them. But enough about me. I have been exploited by this Nation all too long and to the point of saturation. Call out that mole and tell him to open the vault."  A head kept trying to come out of The Glob, but the surface of its forward bulge was a kind of fence. "It's BURROW: B-U-R-R-O-W, not BOROUGH, the way you have it," laughed Exaggeration. It was the first time Exaggeration explicitly had found his voice. "Now we're in for it," thought the Mole. It was his head that abutted the fence from inside the Zoo inside the very tongue of Exploitation.  "Dreams are not all Exaggeration," chimed in Melee. I myself am like that-- it's my nature."  Hammerhead thought: "I must be making this up. The level of logical slippage in the discourse herewith has become my way of life. Exaggeration is not the only principle of errancy here. But perhaps I am confused." He put down his hammer and reached for the head of the one that grew as his signal protuberance. He couldn't budge it.  "The divine realm and the spiritual beings within it are like crystals, not like circles. Saturation is a process. The world is not a zoo in one sense, but in another, of course, all things are, as it were, bound by fences that confine their natures, unless Nature itself is an exaggeration." Who said that?  Not an answerable inquiry. "It is possible the Glob includes the world and is herself your universal Black Box whose saturation is the lever, as it were, that produces it." Hammerhead now was expounding existence itself to Wrench Boy: "Consider, for example, that Glob perpetually gives birth to The Mole and, as she does so, no Vapidity encroaches upon her Saturation."  Melee is the antidote to exploitation. Keep your closet stocked. Let African Rattle practice exaggeration to satiety as he may; The Glob, I say, is The World in the mode of Black Box. And no amount of rattling can prevent an avalanche of Jaguar avatars or some other melee or Big Noise from postulating and disassembling whatever mental fences. Jaguar is the Ifrit of Exaggeration. The appearance of The World itself is a maze-- its nature, inalienable fullness. The Mole is like a mind whose imprecations cannot be refused. "Hear Hear," said The Rattle. 10. No more ontologies. Dream tongue. A Bell in a vault. The Black Box, Vault-like, refuses Wrench Boy's anxious inquiry. He put it to the Vault that vaults are just like fences confining, for a time, the Big Noise that processes the refuse of the world for the sake of violets. Hammerhead must have his say-- no sense to refuse him. The Mole just stared at Wrench Boy and refused to discuss his report. The Glob, in fact, remained gestating in his own vault, not plotting yet any sort of exploits, functional or material-- no need for Melee to correct him or to panic the prime exaggeration that is The Nation. Could it be that intimate refusal is the true cause of Violet? Everything now was a puzzle to Hammerhead. Nothing was real-- all up for the testing. When a new idea or novel sensation threatened to topple him, his hammer got hot.  At the end of my tongue a profusion of violets.  Do I truly want Black Lake to drink down The Nation?  Let not Tongue be Big Noise, but consider Vapidity. It is the antidote to saturation-- that's one thing. Another: Wrench Boy is at a loss, truly, without the memory of his syzygy. Only refusal of complexity and sententiousness will dry up his inner glob of somnolence and restore his intellect to the state of cognitive crystal.  Exaggeration requires its antitype: Vapidity. And fullness waxes after Vapid dreams-- to obviates Vapidity.  Can the broken bell not be re-fused? Must it ever sit in a closet vaulted shut? Either way, exaggeration.  Big noise--big deal. Wasn't the vault in the bank where they kept the Mind of Money? Rattle retorted: "Sure. I new that. That was when the banks creeped out The Nations-- no fault of the vault." The ten thousand avatars of Jaguar exacerbate, extenuate, indeed exaggerate The Nations, but you cannot exaggerate the scope of exploitation. In the mean time if you want to exacerbate exaggeration-- shut up the Zoo in its own vault. Intervale Wild herds of wildebeest swept across the mind of Hammerhead in his camp beneath the porches of the Old Hotel. The Glob was a gourd in the sky. Night and Day Summer and Winter Hillside and Valley-- fast forward at random. The Old Hotel is gone. A desert in full moonlight. A camp on an oasis. Rainforest and betelnut now, but how to pass from here to somewhere more propitious, more replete with temporal distractions, satisfactions, necessities, and tasks. Night and Day Season after season World after World fast whatever, now. [The "Now" is a term in a text.] Hammerhead seated beneath a betelnut tree in coolest contemplation. Deed after deed retracted. Thought after thought relieved. Revertible process reverting-- the others? dissolve according to the law inherent to themselves. An enormous hollow encompassing and inevitable simply present at the bottom of the mind. There is a moon in it.  The Mole as big as a World encompassed by a Glob as small as a betelnut. Trucks in the morning rumbling from their vaults. What do moles do in winter or when The Nations dissolve into intimate, inherent dissatisfactions? Return to the Globs in their night vaults; their closets and their stones.  I was out bowling with my relatives. The World had disappeared. It isn't true that one must have a world in order to have relatives. I could make a list of favorites and their vital situations: Jaguar--his avatars; Melee--her wild red hair; Violet--now she requires a world to suffuse with special sweetness. Crystal: Hallelujah! The World wants Her. And of course my avatar, in Wrench Boy and his syzygy. We live in perpetual, transitory conclave on the happy sofas and ottomans of Red Lounge in The Old Hotel. Long River runs beneath us. This is a possible summary, not a unique one. Conflagration impends and surrounds us. Exaggeration minds the store. We await some further system to house our dreams.  Of course, no dream wants a system. Outside The Old Hotel and its invertible chambers; Outside the woods that, primordial, was all there was, both source and encompassing World; Outside Glob or Globe, encompassing that: A bug hopped on ticking sticks. It was the morning in a poem by Rimbaud. All the creatures stretched and yawned in the dawnlight. "Soon" is a term in a text. Being wandered.  After the idea of textuality had subsided and language itself had condensed first to system and vocabulary, then to transformation through a glob and its inordinate homeomorphisms; a garrison of narratives with variable regulae and regemina compelled from infinite points of view. These too attained their lists.  Now the guides have taken us passed the luminous grasslands to canyons on the hinterlands of the "Chuan" culture. We run up paths in our jeans to ledge after ledge-- pebble roads and muddy gullies. The paths swirl around inside each other, each choice to further vistas and greater dangers. Our jeans no longer suffice. Only mind-shifts to alternate situations can save us now. ["Now" is a site in a dream.] Otherwise, terminal entrapments. The guides are gone. We pass from now to now without succession-- tunnel across diverse worlds, even to wake up in our beds and daytime dangers, together or alone in The Manifest-- Process without End. 11. An African Rattle was the principle instrument in the ceremony to reopen the Zoo. It was the lever to leverage The Nation applied by new-man Hammerhead and his companion, Wrench Boy--Me. Hammerhed had tasted Fullness at Dawn seen the Vision of Crystal so Hammerhead was uniquely positioned to renovate The Nation. Black Lake at the bottom of The Mind is the condition of Fullness. Black Box controls its manifest avatars in Glob. Fullness, the dawnlight of Everywhere. Melee, welded to Crystal. Fullness to the point of saturation. Hammerhead freed from his own exaggeration built Justice as a Garden of Violets. Big Noise--pure sound's exaggeration-- itself an avatar of Fullness. In the center of the Garden a Black Box inside a clear containing Globe that viewed the wrong way on appeared as its inversion: Contained containing; Container contained; circle in a square in a circle in a square . . . to exploit Black Box and the institution of The Zoo. What if the Moles and their exploits would have to be put to work? Hammerhead was up to it Now. He had Crystal in tow and a closet for every Tongue. The exploitation of Big Noise and its tamed exaggeration: It was the very essence of a zoo to reach taxonomical saturation.  Rumbles under the porticoes. Parapets of Ignorance. Putrefaction even in dawnlight. Hammerhead was circumspect with the application of fences. Hammerhead recognized the liberative persepctive of Crystal. He skryed into a black globe, did Hammerhead. He entertained a glob. In his left hand an African Rattle. In his brain waxed the root of his diadem of Crystal. A violet on his breast plate. He would manage the riff-raff, the refuse.  Black Lake at the bottom of everything would not be terminally looked at. Hammerhead went into The Vault to secure further tools for exploitation. He heard a big noise like a Black Knock. Was Now but a dream? Was Fullness? Had he misunderstood the capacity of Glob?  Jaguar -- strangely absent from his serenity -- leapt out of Black Box with a new species of violets, the girlh, Violet, herself embraced by a fore-paw. Saturation itself exceeded. Melee, embracing Fullness, uprooting the salutary fences.  "I cannot fence in Fullness! I hear The Bell!" cried Hammerhead. "My god, I am The Glob!" Vapidity transversed by violets in Violet's heart.