Money Has an Enemy: Ring 4

Money Has An Enemy 1.4

The Bank put itself in full view.

Infirmity broke its mountain.

Infinity held its ground.

Wrench Boy-Girl was uninvested.

Hammerhead hid in his own head.

Melee was disconcerted--
nothing resisted the diffusion of her forces.

She paid a call to Crystal
inside a rock.

Crystal communed with The Infinite.

Wrench Boy-Girl
"on the margins of non-entity"
were content to be silent
and hold within their own entity.

Infinity paid a visit to Wrench Boy.

Wrench Boy took an academic interest
in the vicissitudes of The Bank.

Hammerhead abolished his position
before its abolition could abolish him.


Everywhere everyone
expanded their vocabulary.

Nobody anywhere
wanted to block Aberration.

Bellows blew all things further
into the manifestation of what they were.

Fissures along the surfaces of rocks
no longer read as aberrations.

Seedlings of violets in the valleys
were just about to be busting out all over.

States and methodologies of Transport
were poised on the brink in embryo.

Wrench Boy-Girl Girl
multiplied their avatars
each of whom took a stance
atop a different exposed rock.


Long River runs uninterrupted
by fiduciary catastrophe,
as Crystal's dimensional matrix
needs court no philanthropy;
The Infinite transcends The Magnanimous;
and you cannot flatter a Black Box.


No one knew
what conflagration
was yet to come.

Wrench Person in syzygy,
repaired to Long River
for a week of investigative contemplation,
while others resorted
to the study of Red Book.


There is a Rock
on the far side
of The Broken Mountain.

Hammerhead dressed himself
in highest magus priestly garb,
picked a set of silver tongs
and set forth on an investigative journey.

Hammerhead took along
his finest artificial African Rattle.

Thus was the response
of a spiritually broken Hammerhead.


But The Rock Beyond The Broken Mountain--
was the rumor of its existence
mental aberration?

The ten thousand avatars of Jaguar
prowled the path to it.

Magic syllables shifted within vocabularies
of beings inhabiting
intermediary territories.

You could not negotiate with them.

The mocking eyes of these distance-dwellers
condemn your bewilderment out right.

Wrench Boy and his avatars
dream of The Broken Mountain
in a chorus of oneiric wonderment
but do not venture beyond
the representation of it in Red Book.


Material evidence for it? Absolutely zero.

Positive belief in it?  That seemed an aberration.

Only desperate transport
and the strong compelling pictures in Red Book,
and reports of access there
to, so to speak, transalpine infinities--
these things and Wrench-Boy-Girl's
charming if actually quite academic colloquies
on the subject of broken mountains
brought Hammerhead to undertake the Quest.


He equipped himself with a ceremonial bugle,
an n-dimensional crystal,
and set out for The Rock.


Deep Storge rumbled
and opened up a passage,
but the tokens required for transport were
confession of aberration,
a fist full of violets,
and a letter of commendation
from an avatar of Wrench Boy.

Money Has An Enemy 1.4 B

The Banks dissolved.
The infirmities of the system
succumbed to the infinite resourcefulness
of the enemies of money.

Wrench Boy exulted.
Hammerhead despaired.
Melee's flaming red hair
lit up the dawn.

Crystal said: 

"There is a certain mountain
across a distant plain.
It passes beyond the conditions of existence."

Rock said:

"I have no idea what she's talking about.
I am Existence.
No one conditions me."

Crystal said:

"Whiteness is my anchor.
The sun is my choir.
Life is my nose gay.
Being is my soul."

Infinity said: 

I Bow to this exalted entity.
She alone compels me
to my own excess."

Wrench Boy stretched his hands
towards Wrench Girl's hands.

Their fingers touched
and all conditions resolved
in a prospect  of absolute infinity.

Wrench Boy exulted.
Hammerhead set forth
on a quest for The Broken Mountain.


Bellows blew from a stance beyond conditions
to cause conditions.

Infirmity was unsure of herself.

Infinity felt at ease.

All Being stood in embryo.

Aberration took stock
of its own condition.

Violets were busting out all over.

Aberration decided
the whole thing was not delusional,
but it might have been some
gargantuan mistake.

Infirmity felt stirrings of compassion.

Infinity invested in the Rock.


On the path
you must pass
through Deep Storage.

There is a portal
through which
transport can occur.

An avatar of Wrench Boy
stands on the rock that guards it.

You pick up a fist full of violets
and the portal opens.


Hammerhead appeared as the figure of Infirmity
desperately seeking transport.


An avatar of The Old Hotel,
construed at each joint of the path
as succor to Infirmity . . . 

A red book in every bedroom,
a raceme of violets
on every sill.

Crystal watched from a star above the tower.

Jaguar prowled invisible
and chuckled heartily at "conditions."

Conditions resolved
for whomever wished to resolve them.


I broke a pod
on my African Rattle.

It was night on the path.

I took out my n-dimensional crystal.

You can use this as an aid
in interpreting Red Book.

The African rattle
made a new sound
that was like a clear crystal
whose facets multiplied
through all dimensions
reflecting the subtle purple hews
of an African violet.

This was transport for me--
through crystal to
The Infinite.


Long River at night on the path
gives birth to jaguars
out of the crystal rills
that trouble its flux.

I take a breath and I am a bellows.

Destiny is unconditioned
and like a Black Box.

Long River is Strength and Infirmity,
the mothers of disembodied rain gear.

Something is buzzing in the tamarisk bush
along the river's margins.


"Yes, Long River
must be a pathway to transport.

Here are my silver tongs,
tongs beyond my lethal aberration.

I still cannot bring my thought to Infinity.

My rattle out of Africa in ruins,
not really out of Africa,
will only take me to yesterday. 

I am Hammerhead.

Wrench Boy unmans me.

Oh, I must get to that rock
beyond The Broken Mountain."


On the open plain
a place of ceramic zeros
whose surfaces
were tessellated
with mirrors,
as if one's own aberrations
were nothing at all
and yet seemed
multiplied to Infinity.

The Ground Between
was strewn with violets.


On the open plain
a Great Red Book--ten stories high--
as if one's own aberration
were spelled out in  a vast vocabulary.

On every page an avatar of Wrench Boy
there to explain Condition
and how to pass beyond it
how to pass beyond
gargantuan Red Book,
if one thought to ask it.


Now a bugle blasted
from the prickly mouth of a creature
whose body was like a cactus.

Now the sky looked like
an n-dimensional crystal.

The earth was just a big rock.

Money Has An Enemy  2.4

A jaguar in dark glasses
toasted Infinity
and began to discourse on The Bank
and the consequence of its exposure.

"It was not only," he said,
"the source of every industrially fabricated embryo,
it was the trivialization of industry itself,
as if all there was to the system
were the production and distribution of rain gear,
African rattles not made in Africa,
plastic salad tongs,
red notebooks with spiral bindings..."

He paused and picked up a set
of silver tongs
that glistened from some hidden spring of energy.
He proceeded:

"The Bank was its own brittle embryo, certainly.
But the Bank suppressed or dismissed, not to say aborted,
every embryo not under its survey,
or would have done so,
were it not for myself, the Jaguar,
and my avatars
and the invisible chorus of disembodied, uninhabited rain gear,
in the rain forest fashioned,
in recesses that the system could not find.


Hammerhead was a man without an embryo.
His use of tongs was desperate.
He could not find Black Box.
His thought will never countenance Infinity.
He has no love for the sweet effusions of Violet.
He tries to find his truth
on the pages of his own red book.
With the demise of the fiduciary system,
whither has he vanished?


We do not need a red book to tell us
how red-haired Melee can pull
irrelevancies out of her own Black Box
and that she can easily transport embryos for whatever
her crazy fascination
wishes to toss about
up from Deep Storage.
We now have to live
with the general conflagration
the enemies of money
happily brought about--
a practically infinite proliferation
of mixed and merging entities and processes,
thoughts and situations;
the orderly arrangements and arrays
familiar to some of us from Deep storage
are themselves irrelevant
to the present situation.


The Broken Bank
bleeds to Infinity.

The Rock of Materiality
remains resistant.

The fiduciary system lies in ruins,
but The Mind of Money
still compels the world.

Vocabulary proliferates
but does not find Infinity.

Deep Storage recedes to Black Box.

Being itself
releases the Bellows.


I must put a question to the crystal
I wear as diadem.

'Oh, how can we find an embryo
out of Black Box?

How draw from Black Box a pathway
to that Infinity
which not only sucks out
the poisons of mere quantity
whose measure is money
but finds in the roots of vocabulary
transcendental syllables
and puts some sort of spunk
back into Red Book?'"


This discourse was delivered
to an empty house
in the quiet lounge
of The Old Hotel
at lunch time.

Only Violet was present
burgeoning in a set
of Japanese clay jars.

The situation was not a likely embryo
for the rejuvenation of Red Book.

Outside and down the hill--
a desperate Melee--no red hair in evidence--:
accusations, furtive hoarding, abject theft,
gangboss hoodlums the only intelligentsia; looting,

exhaustion, famine to infinity.

Since the Bank


Red Book and its rows and columns
ludicrously useless, far beyond mere infirmity.

Violet hesitated,
continuing to emanate
her sweet effusions in season,
but even she
was starting to think about money.

Small groups in little villages
huddled together to calculate
how to reconstitute the bank
but with local scope and privilege.

No one thought to do it
on the basis
of thaumaturgy charged with zeros.
The power for that
locally was lacking.


Jaguar closed his eyes and listened.

His diadem started to sparkle
in oblique dimensions.

He knew the code
that required no cryptology.

He clicked his silver tongs
three times

and Wrench Boy popped up before him
in an exact selection
of alternative dimensions.

His syzygetical doublet
took the form of red-haired Melee.

They went for an afternoon cruise
down a hyperdimensional segment
of Long River.


In an egg-shaped aura
above the river
by a tamarisk bush,
a geometrical figure
in  n-dimensions
took shape.

They recognized in it
the essence of an embryo.

An n-dimensional bugle blasted.

The silver tongs turned hot white.

The sound of Long River was white already.

They found themselves at The Rock
behind The Broken Mountain.

It was no delusion, no aberration, foisted upon them by
an inexpert manipulation
of magical tongs.
They all saw it.

Wrench Boy had come equipped
with a fist full of violets
and his own set of green tongs.

These events and imageries
both were
and were to become


placed in Deep Storage.

Money Has An Enemy 3.4

Black Box is its own archetype . . . avatar . . . archetype.


The Bank requires no archetype
to authenticate its origin.

Its place resides
in its own displacement.

with a wrench in one shirt pocket
the head of a hammer in the other
in a hot white rush
in and out
through difficulties
that other beings negotiate.

He senses the breath of The Bellows
and manages forces accordingly.

Bugle cannot activate
its own agency.

It stands ground
that is never its own.

It is at peace
at the hip of Wrench Boy. 

The archetype of Hammerhead
winds from the beginning
his path to The Broken Mountain.

Hammerhead's suppression of the trickster in his nature
led that path to seem a Zeno's journey.

Jaguar laughs to watch him toil along it:
every step shorter by half than its prior--

until he comes to know
he is The Broken Mountain.

Bellows grows weary
beyond the night.

Only Jaguar,
entrained to Bellows' rhythms,
allows his world to know its own surcease.

The night beyond the paths of day and night
must be Black Box--

Bugle at rest on its nail.


The Old Hotel accommodates
"systole / diastole--spokes of the wheel"--
the magic of history
that works like a bellows--

and knows in its chambers
the avatars of Infirmity.

Its ruse to heal
is the dream of a Rock.

It sends its avatars to India.

You read of it at your pleasure or your peril.

All language devolves from an African Rattle.

Being takes on the operation
of an Old Hotel.

It pumps the bellows.

It ensconces itself in Deep Storage.

But it never finds a path
to an irrefragable morphology. 


Phenomena of business,
phenomena of Transport,

distract every Wrench Boy
from the sounds of an African Rattle

until he finds his way
in and out
of each Red Book

and learns
on The Path
the scales and patterns of Bellows.


"Stop that thinking,"

Infinity interrupted.

Hammerhead wasn't listening.

He began to doubt
his own Red Book

and grew increasingly despondent
because of the images of Wrench Boy
that adorned its every page.


"We are setting forth
the more abstruse conditions of The Path,"

said Dr. Tongs.

"We need to know
the precise operations
that constitute a Zero,
what happens to the region
of apparent human beings
transduced by Hammerhead,
what by Crystal,
what is and what can be made of Aberration."


What will happen now
to the Embryo Bank?

Beyond each Rock
a Jaguar.

Long River flows
all the way to India.


Existence there is an avatar of Melee.

Hammerhead hired an elephant
to ride to the temple of Ganesh.

Conflagration was not his anxiety
on his quest for that accursèd "Rock."

He found an Old Hotel
in which to sit out Monsoon
or else acquire an adequate suit of rain gear.

He still kept dreaming of The Bank,
its possibilities, its demise.

The Bank was his mother, his ontology,
Black Box, Deep Storage.

What would become of the tongs
that plucked The Bank?

Who would guard Vocabulary now?

All these matters occupied his spirit
as he sat in The Old Hotel,
not vexed by African Rattle,
not tormented by Violet.

He yet could imagine himself
the Master of the Bellows of History
asleep in an Old Hotel. 

Money Has An Enemy 4.4

India found Zero
in the recesses
of the intellect
of a Bengal Jaguar.

It was like a Black Box.

The Long River was full of corpses.

Vocabulary reinvented itself
sourced in the secret
recesses of such an intellect.

Conflagration alternates with inundation.

Rain gear with Brain gear.

The Old Hotel
was like a complex temple complex.

You wander through its mental room and passages
only to find
a deity
denuded of rain gear
in whose lap
a black box,
out of the back door of which
the Long and sacred River

and if you looked sharp
at a sample of its waters
you could discern
in the form of little black boxes.

When somebody dies
he tries to reach Long River
and meditate on Zero
to purify vocabulary
abused by life.


Hammerhead, Hammerhead, where are you headed?

Aberration without end
uncompensated by rain gear,
impossible to patch it,
no use to deploy old tongs.

Even Melee ignores you, Hammerhead.

Jaguar zooms in circles
about you on the path
but you see only fragmentary flashes
of what you think is golden goo.

You try to find Transport
on a rented elephant.


I dreamed last night of a village
made out of  a golden globe
sacred to Ganesh--
streets, shops, tents and random deities
dot and streak its shining surface
whose curvature is positive.


Demeter's pig has a basket
slung around its neck
full of super-natural embryos
oblique to the natural plain

where jaguars detonate
vestigial objects
strewn like land mines
containing rather abstract aberrations.

When they fire, the energies of their explosions
freeze into crystals.

You can pick them up on the path
along Long River.

Each one is paired
with a corresponding Black Box
inside of which
an embryonic aberration
works an indeterminate system of gestation.


When Jaguar speaks soberly to Hammerhead
or, so to speak, joyously eats him,
the magus priest
will at last discern
his home along Long River.


"My bellows is played like an harmonium
ornamented by enamel jaguars
whose image is in Red Book.

They look like they'd just
popped out of Black Box--
their eyes flashed like crystal."

Wrench Boy was reminiscing.

He was just about to sink into Deep Storage--
his Old Hotel--
the temple of his body.

Long River was switching its topology
according to the bidding
of Harsh Aberration,
who curiously had just managed
to assume the Bellows.

The music that came out of them
was accompanied by an African Rattle.

Red Book, Old Hotel, Deep Storage--
transforms within the same topology.

Add a bugle to that,
set it in an orchestra of jaguars,
a jaguar on the podium,
the program tempered by zeros--
a great cosmogonical cacophony
not about to succumb to quiescence.


The silver surface of Demeter's pig
flashed in the sacrificial fire light.

The details of how to perform this
are written in Red Book.

Wrench Boy reads this
and his intellect flows down Long River.

His Old Hotel is ransacked by demons with tongs.

Long River is a Black Box.

Tongs can pluck anything.

Long River is the vascular system
of a gargantuan violet.

Everything you wear
can turn into rain gear
if you have the right mind set.

There's a reason for everything
in The Old Hotel.

I look into my crystal
and experience the flux of Long River--
Long River that runs passed The Bank.

My Strength commutes with Infirmity.

I think I am Wrench Boy.

These days I feed on rocks.

I stand on an alter
right next to Demeter's pig
and look down on Long River
which is made out of money.

What must I do, I want to know,
with this infirmity?

Money Has An Enemy 5.4

An aberration sets in
along about now
and only Black Box
can remove it.

It is a secret
of degree zero
sealed with a crystal.

Its possession is--
and transcends--

It grows from no embryo,
blows no bugle.

The infirmities of all that seems to be
pertain not to it.

But it
is no it.

You can bugle that.

Zero laves crystal
with zero's crystal--
crystal aberrations
are the spaces reserved for Transport.


Here it is and isn't it.

Crystal's aberration
at play in Jaguar's diadem.

Crystal's heart
plucked by tiny tongs.

Black Box,
of course.

A rattle
rattling out o Africa.

Melee's secret: crystal.

No one's infirmity and everyone's.

This section breaks the code.


To understand Bellows
seek Infinity's Black Box.

A name that doubles its own rocks
and challenges Universal Infirmity.


I'll bugle it
if I break the code again.

Meanwhile, put on rain gear.

This poem's Black Box
is the devil's detailed Deep Storage
otherwise corralled as
The Old Hotel.

I'll tell everything
but, (quote unquote): Who Is Speaking? 


My vocabulary did this to you.

And a crystal-packing mama
who shoots from Infinity:

The magazine that stashes her ammo?

Black Box.


And you better update you rain gear
or Black Box will fail to surprise you
and you'll think I'm trying to offend you
rather than offer you violets.


If you run into Wrench Boy--just whistle.

Don't bugle.

Give him a hand
if he's pumping his bellows.

He's conducting an inquiry
into very deep storage.

So cool it with that bugle.

Together, you, me, and him
will acclimate to Infinity.

Can you say : "conflagration"?

It came.

And Zero broke the Bank,
but It had already cleaned up or cleared out
Deep Storage.

Conflagration was sayable for that.

Infinity organized transport
and sent a Red Box to India.

Lets concentrate forever on a crystal
until Infinity smashes through Transport
and Hammerhead returns to Black Box,
Black Box congratulates Melee,
and Conflagration floats away Down Long River.

Money Has An Enemy  6.4

Melee took the podium.

She said:

"You shits--you think
there's some idea
other than Zero
to quash your aberration?
You think that your twinky tongs
would be sufficient
to pull apart at last
a moribund world?
Well, me and violet--
we know better.
We know when the bellows blows,
the kind of vocabulary
that reaches Infinity,
and the kind of vocabulary
that sinks to Aberration.
Tongs pick at Aberration.
Tongs ain't good enough
for Violet and me."


Only Jaguar
was listening to this recital,
though all twenty-seven of us
were present, in a manner of speaking.

It was golden dawn
in the red lounge
of The Old Hotel.

Vocabulary wondered,

"Should I help her out?
If Infinity fits her,
it's to her flaming hair.
But what can be said by any of us
depends on the Phases of The Bellows."


There was a Black Box
near the double doors
that opened onto the lounge.

"It's gonna be a long day," he thought,
but kept it to himself.
In his mind, however, he continued:

"She's fueled in zeros, alright.

Where's Hammerhead when we need him?

Out crushing embryos.

The Old Hotel
needs a new Melee,  'long about now."


"What the hell ARE we?"

I shouted.

Deep Storage
had no interest
in the generality
of my inquiry,
already holding each and every one of us
in all our checkered
ontological variety
within his deep

Zero had nothing to say.

Rain Gear provided covering.
The question irritated her
and she wanted to hide.

Vocabulary said everything, like:

"Come on DOWN
and join the PAHty.
You want to SAY
what you ARE?"

Bugle blew reveille
very snappily.

Only The Old Hotel
was open to the inquiry
and intimated there would be
all the rooms I needed
to kick it off.

African Rattle similarly
offered its services.

"Ask the question and listen.
What you hear
might come from Deep Storage."

The Bank, whose archetype persisted,  iterated:

"I know who your are.
Your Being is your capital.
Your existence, on account."

Violet suffused the space
with an unambiguous tincture.


Here we were, together:
one collective, intellectual conflagration.

Vocabulary dissolved
into his magic syllabary
and the syllables floated like moths
above Long River. The Old Hotel
accommodates all things.

Vocabulary, finally,
is indifferent to how you use him,
and the Bank, quite frankly,
doesn't care who you are
as long as you have the money.

Red Book is ordered
according to the Phases of the Bellows
applied to all of us,
to history,
to meta-cosmic everything.

Zero retracts every essence.

Transport distracts
from who you are:
that's its function,

while Dr. Tongs,
if in San Francisco--

why did I say that?

denies the atomicity
attributed by certain persons
to him.

Bank said:

"It seems I'm still alive."

Oh? Back so soon?
Zero zapped him.

Embryo precedes the question.

Crystal completes it. 

Even Infirmity
has its own vocabulary.

Every Rock
is just itself.

Money Has An Enemy  7.4

What happens to Europe
when The Bank is down?

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to answer that question,"
said the Rattle just out of Africa,

"Not that it's some kind of aberration
or that its answer is the obvious--a melee--
you don't need me
to see that.
But Hammerhead himself
has sought a consultation with me.
That's why I came out of Africa--Mali, actually--
and before this moment
his lack of interest in my mantic capacities
was like a rock."

It actually was Long River
who had wistfully put the question.

He had had to transport
what was left of the officers of The Bank,
and they were by no means
in a mood for "Transport."
"Melee" was more like the name for it.

But Hammerhead was seeking answers everywhere.
He had opened up
desperate negotiations with Melee herself.

That Hammerhead had got his head
into the sounds of an African Rattle
need not only seem
like the melting of a rock.
In a sense
what happened to him
happened to Europe.


Not every question
is like a Black Box.
But this one is:

Given the obliviousness
to its own infirmity
and its penchant for trusting
the likes of Hammerhead
regarding all matters  pertaining to order,
when The Bank was exposed--
what about America?

For America also seeks Infinity,
trusts itself with some innocence
to the expansive mood of The Bellows,
even at times could be generous to Aberration,
celebrate Melee,
and allow itself a certain fascination with the metaphysics of Zero,
so that Alexander Hammerhead (for instance)
found himself disaffected
with her exorbitant populist tolerances.

Melee, at one time, could be happy there,
not being bothered by the unabashed and gleeful
exuberance of its bugling,

and Old Man Long River
just kept on rolling,

and America's Archetype
kept on projecting
a Prophecy of Transport,
however degenerate the Deliverance,
however its ideals turned to Melee,
however grandiose and fatuous and grandiosely lethal
its explosions towards Infinity.

If America turns out to be one vicious Zero,
still the jaguars south of the border
were no aberration.
But Hammerhead hadn't even heard of them,
so when he bugled
to his own truncated cartoon of infirmity,
the transport he longed for
ran straight into Wrench Boy.

Hammerhead had only his digest of Red Book
and its utterly spurious synopsis
of the sequential stages of Transport,
no accurate account of Melee,
only the applications
of the various issuances
of the different kinds of rain gear,
as if all there were on The Path
were a cycle of meteorological defenses.

Hammerhead had
as yet to imagine
a direct encounter with Jaguar.


The Old Hotel was an indifferent conference hall,
but it provided the instrument
that by a kind of misdirection
worked The Cosmic Bellows--
the bellows that sucked in every Aberration,
blew out all infirmity,
afforded the course of conditions
that eventually exposed The Bank.

Violet studied Hammerhead.

She thought that Jaguar's
perpetual zooming
in what were for all practical purposes
white,  invisible circles,
were an aberration in relation to him.
She thought that one might try
a different --- Vocabulary! (sic)

Even this aberration,
was just an aberration.

But Conflagration swept up everything
in an unmanageable vocabulary.


Infirmity's last recourse
was to visualize a crystal.

Wrench Boy waited for Hammerhead,
who had headed directly
onto his path
instead of digging in
and seeking the advantages of Deep Storage.

It was Transport in the end
that Broke The Bank.

Wrench Boy broke Hammerhead.

Tongs transformed from his material to his magical function,
as if the two were mutually exclusive.
Perhaps they were for him.


I say:

"There is ultimately only one archetype.

Its avatars are at Infinity.

I break the code again

Hammerhead entreated:

"O Elephant headed Ganesh, O Ganapati,
Remover of Every Obstacle;
Lord of Categories;
your palace is behind
the mountain called Kailas:
Show me the Rock
Behind the Broken Mountain."

He saw a headless person
at a harem gate
with a loudspeaker on a table
from which a voice was saying with great urgency,

"O kindly passerby
in the wilderness of this universe,
my head has been severed
because of a Gargantuan mistake.
If you wish a boon
from beyond the gods,
please cut off the head
of the first being you see
and give it to me--
don't concern yourself about the suture."

Hammerhead saw his own elephant.
The ornamental saber
he'd hastily strapped to his belt
was just long enough
for the bloody task.

When he'd completed the deed,
the Head said to him:

"If you would see The Rock
behind The Broken Mountain,
you must cut off your own head--
stop mucking about among Categories!
You are The Broken Mountain--
the only obstacle."

Hammerhead understood little,
but looked at the carcass of his elephant
and wept bitterly.

Money Has An Enemy 8.4: On Various Matters

I am Wrench Boy. 

Wrench Girl can be Melee.

When I multiply the musics
of my African Rattle:

Everyone has avatars;

Everyone has an archetype;

Everyone suits up in rain gear, accordingly.

I am writing this
in The Red Book's writing room.

It is night.

The full moon and Jupiter
are clear
through the small dormer window.

Jupiter shines like Crystal.

Violets in Japanese pots
are hanging
from massive wooden beams.

The pages of the book in the moonlight
are tinted by their hew.

Jaguar is my intimate, my ally.

Together we canvas The Invisible
and cover it with intimations of Violet.

This too is among the musics
of my African Rattle.

Oh put on your ceremonial rain gear,

enter the white rain of the moonlight.

take up the Rattle out of Africa.

and your rain gear will prove you an avatar of Wrench Boy too.

I seal it
with the passes
of my wrenches

and write it
in Red Book.


How to specify
Vocabulary; and how
its law
Black Box. Not only
that it issues in
Red Book
and its promiscuous avatars
or that Jaguar
wields it
and The Bank
if it existed
would tighten the skrews on its rules.

Violet's animadversions
to the intricacy
of its problematic.

It has a certain entropy
and behaves
in times of conflagration.


The Phases of The Bellows (in a certain light)
do not vary to infinity.

They admit of definite aberration.

They are dissimilar to Long River in this respect
and can thus, perhaps illusorily, be accommodated
by the plannings of The Bank.

They tell you when to put on rain gear, so to speak,

They discount The Incalculable,
and treat it, quite rightly,
as a Black Box.


The uses of Transport
as pertaining to Conflagration:

Transcendence of it;
Passage through it.

A good way to be burned by it.

The uses of Violet:

an effective standard
by which to measure Vocabulary.



The Essence
is not
an Embryo.


Transport must be no holiday,

but both It and Melee
may be a journey
through Deep Storage.


your pathway.

Only violets

Only the oldest
of Old Hotels--

the ones you do not meet on any highway--

continue to accommodate.


You cannot openly question The Bank.

Rain Gear Brain Gear.

The Jaguar is not openly
the enemy of money.

The Mind of Money knows The Bank.

Only Long River abides beyond
but also behind
the complete system.

Hammerhead bides his own head.

Red Book Dead Book   Zero:
the animus of Infinity.

Cash out on Rain Gear.

I keep a white jaguar
in my white garage.

But build it so its big double doors
open on Long River.

Oh sweet flow
of Absurdity.

Let Melee flourish
her African Rattle.


You cannot hide a rock in soaking rain gear.

Only Black Box is adequate to Melee.

The Bugle of Awakening.

The Melee of Continuance.

Violet also--
a consort for Wrench Boy.

Melee and African Rattle
pick up the tongs.

Violet is kind to Infirmity.

Violet is puzzled by Bank.

All Power to Violets.

All Things revert to Black Box.

Money Has An Enemy 9.4: Golden Dawn

Conflagration precedes and follows.

Inundation comes between.

Together-all Existence:
a river on fire.

The Great Noise of The Rattles out of Africa, Innumerable
shakes the Avatars of Wrench Boy.

The Bugle of Awakening
looses the links in the chain-mail
Existence is--

each link plucked from Deep Storage
by angry Tongs.

An anomalous Rock
plucked from Black Box--

a Rock on top of which
stands Wrench Boy

and he blows
the Bugle of Awakening

so that every one
of the Avatars of Wrench Boy
is aroused
by that Bugle

and Conflagration comes
and Inundation follows
and Deep Storage opens its sluices.


Violet wakes up on her own
in her little garden hut
in back of the bank.

Hammerhead is learning to accept
interchangeable hammerheads.


Behold The Embryo of Splendor--
red cloud, pale luminous sky--
if you climb above the tree line--
colors that wax brilliant
over blue mountains.


Exultant cry of Bugle
at the top of the Dawn
when the brilliance of the sun far exceeds
its luminous harbingers.


Black Box
is the night
forsaken by sunrise.

Sunrise, a melee of birdsong,
day-life in embryo.

The bugle of reveille proclaiming
Wrench Boy's Nativity
in a cave in Arcadia.
The boy is born equipped with an easy vocabulary
and an African Rattle
and the shell of a turtle he'd slaughtered
for the affects of its music,
when transformed to the shell of a lyre;
and a Portion of Apprehension
equivalent to zero
when Wrench Boy was Hermes.


"The Mouse is the master
of the inside of everything."

He is Ganapati's mount;
his diminutive character, no infirmity.

Like Hermes, a thief,
whose liability is fixed at zero.

When the Mouse blows his bugle,
Wrench Boy attends
and readies himself for Transport
and supplies himself
with hyper-dimensional blue and green and silver
magical tongs.


After Inundation
all rain gear falls away.

The goddess that is Crystal
adorns The Old Hotel--

with a wall full of ornamental bugles
and the sounds of syllabic
essences of vocabularies.

The Black Box of language
to vibrating tongs

and The Rattles out of Africa
ride on their own sounds
and integrate the sounds
of The Rattles out of Africa
with The Bellows Beyond Condition
and the Aether that Mediates Condition
and seizes
all space from within.


Aberration is a thing of the future
and abides far away with The Bank
as if its only existence
were the way it complicates crystal.

But Infinity animates the Bugle of Dawn
whose energy trails glory clouds
from Great Zero out of India
and night is Black Box.

Black Box is the secret engram
interior to Bugle.

It animates Crystal
and restores the life of Red Book.

Under these conditions
even Bugle
is Black Box.


Dawn time resonates Crystal--
wrench Boy its Avatar
whose rain gear
is crystal.

Wrench Boy in syzygy with Crystal
rides the Jaguar
straight through Deep Storage.


Along n-dimensional Long River,
whose waters flow All Ways
and whose Secret Rock
will prove the Archetype of Hammerhead
beyond the compelling sovereignty of its own banks--

The Rock whose heart
is beyond all broken mountains

rich as Zero.

Money Has An Enemy 10.4 : Desiccation

Not in the beginning, but in or out of phase
Embryo hastily
its issue
in favor of an enigmatic Wrench Boy.

"I don't get no
out of my Vocabulary
when I work
The Old Hotel,"

thought Hammerhead,
with a tight grimace.

His restrictions
caused Red Book
to collapse back to Zero.

Red Book went into the phase
of Conflagration that is effectively Desiccation:
Its vocabulary

Vocabulary itself ran dry
and sank back
into embryo.

In the Beginning was Etymology.
In the enormous library
of The Old Hotel.


Zero black-boxes Wrench Boy.

Aberration vocabularies Transport.

I whispered:

"Listen to your Jaguar--
Listen for it, anywhere.

Begin to make a practice
of  African Rattle.

Oh Listen--will you not listen?"


I thought:

"I'll have to make my own bank,
pluck my instruments
to articulate my tongs."

Wrench Boy bellows.
His vocabulary
blanks Black Box.


Rock stands firm,
while Bellows is all weather-beaten,
frantic lest Red Book, frantic as well,
order a universal
desiccation of violets.

Long River runs dry--
only the rocks in the river bed
are visible
when Wrench boy comes out  to assuage his own infirmity.


Rain Gear won't help much.

Vocabulary for once has nothing to say.

Something says nothing.

Nothing has but a few things to crow about.

The nature of thought--Black Box.


Bugle does its thing
but has no concern
to equip itself with  a vocabulary.

stay put
where they are.


Vocabulary, Vocabulary--
why such a melee?

Listen for your Jaguar!

Tongs will find what to say!


is every
African Rattle.


Abstract Abstract Abstract--
Crystal behind and beyond
the new-fangled, newly-forming map
of Everything contained in The Universe.
(It fails before it starts
to have enough of everything.)
The scribes that slave for Red Book
patiently await this;
but the Stone that is no Stone
but a phase impervious to Rain Gear's declivity--
is set as a glittering diadem
in Jaguar's spotted brow.


Red Book contrives
to be obscure enough
that Aberration
be evaded.


Deep Storage takes the form
of the thought beyond Vocabulary,
the Ruse beyond The World,
and pays no mind
to the terrors of Aberration.
He cultivates his personal sartorial splendor
in an out door all night cafe-restaurant
and discourses dryly
on matters of universal concern
to a wryly attentive Wrench Boy.

Money Has An Enemy 11.4:   The Phases of Bellows

When The Bellows comes to its Still Points:
Conflagration. Then
at one extreme,  Embryo;
at the other, Transport.

The system has its infirmities.

Rain Gear can distort
the pattern of its phases,
Deep Storage introduce
an aberration at any phase;

Deep Storage supplants with ease
just about any embryo.

Transport can overwhelm
when an embryo broadcasts its inclusion.

And Transport can carry off
at any phase of The Bellows.

Such are the system's infirmities.


Hammerhead had been quite desperate
to improve the cycle.

Why should Embryo happen
where metaphysical motion
comes to full zero?

Why Melee or Conflagration at all?

Violets proliferate at Still Points,
on whatever scale--
cosmic, pneumatic, fiduciary, psychic, social.

But whenever such pragmatic inquiry
would succeed in adjusting matters,

"The Trickster Function,"
springs into action.

The appearances of Being
can never be like a rock:
Transport's too central for that.


Jaguar manifests as Trickster,
taking the form of Coyote, Coydog, Coywolf,
or changing his character
to take on Hammerhead
as is geographically
or otherwise conditionally


When Conflagration comes,
knowledge of The Pattern is among
the first things to incinerate.

Between two moments
whatever one is thinking
can simply disappear.

Thought is like Long River--
n-dimensional, momentary.

If you can, let it go.

Then such evanescence transforms to Transport;
dimensionality expands
as if divided by zero.


No need for Tongs or Deep Storage.

No need to tighten up like a rock.

Everything turning to crystal.

Even the somber pages of Red Book
take a ride on the next conflagration.

Tip your hat to Infinity.


Who was it that muttered:
What hat?

That depends on your vocabulary
and the liberality of your access to Black  Box.


Long River runs true in every moment.

Long River runs free beyond the worlds.


"Part of Hammerhead's present difficulty," says I,
is that he aborted every such exercise in embryo,
so when he listens now to African Rattle,
he hears nothing helpful emerging from Black Box.
Its oracular embryo sounds like a melee.
Such is one phase of his infirmity."


"Another  phase of his complex aberration,"
said  a young avatar of Wrench Boy,
while sitting in the student lounge with incipient Melee,
out for a late-night something,
"is that Hammerhead is hung-up on 'concepts'.
This is why so many things in embryo
of other species of emergence
fail to stimulate his bugle.'

"Well, lets go to Ye Old Motel,"
said his seductively temporary syzygy,
"and make it with some transport of our own.
Someone gave me this really cool African rattle,
a rough-skinned black gourd
incised with tiny coweries--
its song is just this side of conflagration."


The Bank no longer ran the university.
They sell all sorts of rain gear in the "co-op."
Deep Storage is prepared
to franchise whatever is needed.

Still Point is proximate.

Obstruction: zero.

Money Has An Enemy 12.4: Hammerhead's Embryo

Long River had run long enough.

No more embryos.

Bellows tried to blow
fresh life into Violet,
but her desiccated petals
flew out on its breath
to infinity.

The bugle blew taps
for Existence itself.

The Old Hotel--well--
it was an old hotel.

Bellows, when it found no more violets,
exhaled its last exhalation. 

Violet herself was absorbed
in a world beyond her own tincture
and sat in rapt contemplation
alone along Long River.
Quiescence became her infinity.


Wrench boy put his wrenches in order
and touched fingers with Wrench Girl.

He'd long been acquainted with Zero.

Everyone donned ceremonial rain gear--
even Violet
whose garments were violet--
even Melee
whose garment was the grand
                                               disorder of the world.

Red Book's pages recorded
only empty ciphers,
or equations the equivalent of naught,
null credentials,
self-canceling movements and narratives;
in short,  six hundred blank pages;

and from it there emanated
a fair efflux of violet.

Bellows reduced itself
to the catalogue of twenty-seven phases
that once had organized
the pages of Red Book.


For Crystal to hear her own being
beyond the jaws of Existence,
she had to pass backwards
through her natal embryo,
beyond the patterned forms
she imparted to Existence
and find her only being
as Being Herself.

This operation brought succor to Bellows,
syllables to Vocabulary,
wild excess to African Rattle--
white rushing river of audible bliss, then oblivion.


Rain gear
hung up
on its nail.

Being is Black Box.

Violet vis a vis her tincture
and her perennial happiness
entered the tent of final contemplation
and with Vision and Scent
followed an order
just like African Rattle.


Hammerhead walked alone
through the empty rooms of The Old Hotel--
spider webs and broken furniture.

It seemed like the guests
had been gone for forever.

Suddenly Jaguar came prowling
down a broken hallway
to the Red Lounge
not really red any more--
ready for a melee.


Deep Storage had settled down deeply,
but crystal was a vanishing
point of luminescence
that sent intense, attenuated beams
through every cramped quarter and nook
of The Old Hotel.

Hammerhead was startled as he stood
on a red box

and one of those beams
found a cranny in the handle of the hammer he was holding.

It flashed along the seven hungry pools
inside his starving body--

and the tongs
that hang
from his cord

started to heat up and vibrate.


Hammerhead, Hammerhead,
have you an embryo
out of The Bank that's inside you?

Have you at last found your depth?


There was a rock
outside the broken picture window
on whose long, crooked sill
there sat a shattered pot
with a fistful of desiccated violets.

The sounds of conflagration roared about him--
no time to correct Aberration.

Tiny mice were running helter-skelter,
blowing tiny bugles with sharp tones.

No time to opine about Infinity!

Grab that fist full of violets.

Hear it all as the sound
of an African Rattle--
Existence everywhere in ruins--

and give it to you as you listen
for an inexistent embryo . . .

Money Has An Enemy 13.4: The Character of Crystal

Crystal. The meaning
outside of Existence
where no bellows
sucks or blows.
Even Long River--
in that place
is like a rock.

No Bank
in the interesting cold out there.

Vocabulary would not reach it,
generally; but where all
other speech is but Infirmity,
one singular lexical item
releases an African Rattle.

What item is that?
I do not release it.

Infinity is commended
to the rush of our Long River.

The Rock Behind the Mountain
is like a mirror:

it inverts Long River's flow.

Such is the meaning of Crystal
outside all pertinent Toplogy
that cannily skews The Bank.


"Take this Rock,"

sings Jaguar,

"and blow your bugle ever,
shake that Rattle out of Africa,
till Melee and Rock together
run and roll rampant
along Long River.

Then all run down to Deep Storage,
which, inside itself,
is like a Rock."

He was wearing rain gear to cover
a sudden infirmity
sensed in a state of Transport:

Aberrancy, Infirmity, in him?
A surprise to  a curious Wrench Boy.


They took him to The Old Hotel
to treat this sudden Infirmity
with the simple presence of Long River
and the simple absence of Hammerhead.


"Is it ever sufficient
to arrive at The Old hotel,
unequipped with tongs and bellows
and a hat in a sleek black box
and an African Rattle?
You can sit on your Rock
and contemplate Zero
till your Rock turns into an Avatar of Wrench Boy,
and there is no difference, hermeneutically,
between Infinity and a Rock."

At this point Wrench Boy interrupted himself
and began to pump his Bellows. 

He was spontaneously concerned
that The Wolves controlled the Space around the Villages--
lykanthropy in embryo--
and this was fomenting Bugles.

In came the Experts with Tongs
to vary the Geometry
and distract the Wolves,
and Sentinels were already
standing on their Rocks.


Violets flourished in season
according to the phase of Bellows,
while Crystal
was perennial,
quiet and rocklike,
just like Long River.

Melee scrambled the seasons,
far more likely to throw than to sit on a rock.

The matter of Wolves Circumambient
was of growing concern to Red Book.


Come the Conflagration,
there will be wolves
from The Steppes
in the mountains--
wolves where Aberrations
wake the hesitant villagers--
noble wolves and mindful,
fomenting village buglers--
Melee all excited--
as if she were a goddess of The Steppes:
her consort is a Rock.


Money Has An Enemy 14.4: Of The Book of Wolves

The King of The Wolves
in a kingdom of tongs,
far far out away
along Long River.

My mind adheres to Crystal.

I wander through the pages of Red Book
to accumulate the nature of a jaguar.

Such transport echoes Infinity.

Wrench Boy retires to the shadows.

Infinity reflected through Crystal
projects the King of The Wolves.

I wander through the pages of Red Book.

My crystal flames
wolf coats--
Red Book full of secrets--

secrets of a kingdom of tongs.

I surround myself with pictures,
mental pictures.

I am ten-thousand jaguars.


Zero. Wolf Coat.
Run along Long River.

Hammerhead in wolf's clothing.

A cloud of roiling aberrations:
page 53,
Red book.

A shadow over Wrench Boy.


I put on wolf's clothing
and get lost in Red Book.

Let the bellows pumps me out,
out of my vocabulary--
twenty-seven words
caught in the wound hairs of Wrench Boy.

Wash them out in Long River.

Flush them out through Deep Storage.

Get me out of Red Book.


Though my bugle tunes-in to Infinity--

wolf coat embellished with  violets--

slink, prowl, make inquiry--

instigate Melee--

Infinity flames Conflagration--


Wrench Boy, Wolf Boy, in shadow.

Hammerhead, ravenous, wolf's clothing.

Struggle X vocabulary.

Outcome, income, Crystal.

Wolf-style rain gear. 


Wolf inside vocabulary outside

wolf's eyes made out of crystal.

Pathway from Embryo to Melee.

Vocabulary conflagration --

pathway for Jaguar.


Ink itself Black Box.


Brick face bank face
thinks Red Book
the food for conflagration.

Flames go up from Long River.


Rock wolves
along Long River.

Long River wash out Deep Storage.



The King of the Wolves,
conflagration in earnest.

Silent vocabulary.

Wolves at home in The Old Hotel.

Wolf disguised as rain gear.


Lets go down to Long River,
fetch Wolf Girl Melee,

shake African Rattle . . .

Money Has An Enemy 15.4: The Shadow's Gift

Must Hammerhead
begin again,
to meditate on crystal,
reinvigorate Tongs,
till they master their changes in hew?

He's condemned to inquire of Deep Storage
so deeply
till he comes upon the chambers of Black Box,
repeating this mantram:
"Violet is My Mother,"
one thousand thousand times
and the memory of the bank,
and the memory of money's conflagration


and The Bank
seem a mother
no longer,

just one more institution by which Tongs
manipulates the surface of Deep Storage,

and Hammerhead himself
opens inwardly onto
Black Box.


The Old Hotel at night,
if it manages to vanish twixt
storm-flash and moonlight,
has a passage to Deep Storage.

Certain of its chambers form a bridge
arching o'er Long River--if they vanish.


The shadow over Wrench Boy
is no aberration;
rather, shadow transport--
a gift from Zero to Wrench Boy;
in transport, the gift of Tongs;
the proper knowledge of Bellows;
the language of African Rattle;
the open secret of Embryo;
the golden key to Deep Storage;
passage in an instant to The Rock
behind The Broken Mountain.

All this the gift of Shadow.


Transport alters Red Book,
delivers his wrenches to Wrench Boy.


Infinity assumes a wolf's rain gear
and harasses what's left of The Bank:
inordinate, profitless paperwork,
tinctured by fiduciary infirmity.

For every vacated account
a broken bugle.


Vocabulary fissions into segments
ruined by previous deleterious usage
and the resolute sonorities
of an African Rattle--
a veritable conflagration
of lexical particulates,
utterly amazing to Wrench Boy.

An exuberant Melee
dances on the cracked rocky roof
of the dead bank.


Without adequate tongs
you cannot manipulate
molten ingots,
or advance a fantastic conflagration out of the forge . . .


Violet is the mother of nobody
but further clusters of violets.


Jaguar prowls through Deep Storage
doing "research."

Embryo remains in a realm
populated only by embryos,
absorbing its resonance with Crystal . . . 

Money Has An Enemy 16.4: The Gray Rock Turns Black

Throw the pigs of Demeter
into the pigs' pit.

No use for rain gear.
Too late for tongs.

Hammerhead sinks
into the swamp water
in back of The Old Hotel.

Nothing to be done
but meditate on Zero.

The gray rock turns black.

The jaguar prowls around it
protecting the hidden embryo.

Jaguar guards the swamp-water hell-mouth
for Hammerhead to sink
behind The Old Hotel--
no use for rain gear.

Noon Day Night--
time of schismed Zero.

Wolf on top of the mountain.


The Rock
behind The Old Hotel, broken.

The bugle not really a bugle.

Rain gear, fallen from its nail.

The tongs that Wrench Boy wrested
from the hidden conflagration
no one knew was flaming
beneath the Writhing Rock . . .


In the brilliant sunlight--a crystal--

Invisible violets--blasted by sunlight.

The Red Book open on the table
to the protocol for embryo.

Crystal blazing,
loading its matrix with sunlight--

Violet overwhelmed
by the brilliant conflagration.


Run to The Bank with your bugle--

jaguars leaping from Black Box--

Violet charged with inordinate sunlight
clutched in Hammerhead's fingers, sinking, sinking
through the swamp-like pages of Red Book.


Infiinty, the Bellows
divided by Zero--

the ravenous embryo, its own conflagration--

ten-thousand miniscule jaguars accelerating
to the blast of what is not a bugle.


When the embryo of the maiden bursts forth
in its burden of floreate light,
will this be sufficient to resolve
the melee of jaguars?


The Silence of the Invisibles--
they dance in luminous rain gear--

The Silence of Crystal . . .


Red Book accelerates its intelligence
before the intelligence of Wrench Boy,
whose avatars ride quietly in saddles
on the backs of ten-thousand jaguars.

This phase of The Bellows releases
Infirmities of Embryo,
equivocations of The Beginning.


Along Long River
ten-thousand avatars of Wrench Boy
search for a vanishing Violet
whose hundred blooms refracted
inordinate sunlight
into the aether
as she sank through the swamp-water hell-mouth
behind The Old Hotel
and the sound of what is not a bugle
alerted the Great Ceramic Zeros
with their mirror tessellations
installed about the meadow . . .


Colors flashing at Noon Day,
inverse of generous shadows . . .


At this phase of The Bellows
a maiden abducted by magical tongs
from the course of invisible starlight
the forest goddess and her horses--
manifests as an epitome of infinite losses--

a mutant proliferate vocabulary--


The air full of the sound of African Rattles--

Violets all over the meadows
shouting out their colors
and then they fall from their stems
plucked and dropped by invisible tongs--

the sounds of the bugle that is no bugle
merging with the sounds of
ubiquitous rattles
in the field around the swamp
behind The Old Hotel
in Noon Day conflagration

crátcha crátcha crátcha crátcha

kt crátcha crátcha 

kt crátcha crátcha


This is called a Transport of Jaguars
on the pages of Red Book

but in the mind of Wrench Boy
the proliferation of the avatars of Jaguar was
a matter of the phases of The Bellows.


Demeters' pigs
were thrown in the pigs' pit.

The officers of The Bank
supplied the lot of them
but failed to hear the bugle
                                   that was no bugle.

Jaguar sat on the porch
observing the phenomena,
assuming a theoretical attitude:

It seemed that the scene itself
put forth an empirically verifiable instance
of an Actual Infinity.

Vocabulary expanded to project it.

The Bank proclaimed a grim holiday,
largely for publicity,

but Violet returned from her ordeal
down in The Mines

plucked by magical tongs--

the episode the Aberration in Being
that foments Apparency.

Money Has An Enemy 17.4

Stop that bugle.

Hammerhead is hiding
in an underground chamber
to witness
the banquet
of the dead.

He is wearing
ceremonial rain gear.

His infirmity, his aberration
are known from Red Book.

He sits
on a throne
at the back
of Black Box. 

He cannot hear
the suck and swoosh of the bellows. Black Box
his natural habitat.

Rain gear qualifies Infirmity--ceremonial rain gear--
Archetype of Infirmity.

Turn off that simulacrum of a bugle.

Attend to Aberration.


Keep Jaguar
as silent sentinel
at the lip of Black Box.

Supply him with ceremonial rain gear.

Supply him with a diadem of crystal.


Black conflagration is his habitat.

Infirmity is his embryo.

He cannot hear his own bellows.

I don't speak here of Jaguar but Hammerhead.

Everything tends towards melee.


Jaguar, set up your vocabulary
as if it were a Black Box.

Open The Bank.

Prepare for Transport.


Twenty-seven days
in the cave of Mt. Ida.

Violet has a twin in the underground.

Black Box and Deep Storage
ancillary to Dark Conflagration.

Black Box, house to Dark Lord H.

Long River flows black water.


The Bank defunct
functions as an avatar
for Black Box.

Wrench Boy has a twin on the meadows.

The world is its own infirmity.
Its name is Apparency.


The twins have only one embryo.

In the dark, an African Rattle.

Is this an infirmity?
It is not.

Embryo, essenceless origin. No aberration.


Black Infinity
zips up the locks
on Black Box.

Deaf, dead, insensate sentinels.
No temptation to Transport..


Return to The Meadow
with mind like a zero.

Tongs and Bellows--
instruments of Black Infinity
fired by Infirmity.

Return to The Light
in the Red Lounge
of The Old Hotel . . .

Money  Has An Enemy 18.4

Who are you?
I give you your own vocabulary.
I give you your own rain gear.
I silence your bugle.
Who are you?
Infinity motivates Melee.
I found you in Deep Storage.
We will enter upon the way.
It is not zero.
It floats along Long River.
It will silence our bugle.
Infinity motivates Bugle.
Bugle summons Infinity.
Vocabulary militates Melee.


Do you have a god named . . . ?
He dwells under seven coverings of rain gear.
The Bellows Outside of Existence
queers the will to renewal.
We read of this in Red Book.
We all do.
There will be no conflagration
save for the rain of zeros
falling from the roof of his cave.
Bellows set to infinity.
Such is our life on the path
along Long River.


The wolf on top of the mountain.
Epiphany of Infinity.
Take off your rain gear.
Strip down to Embryo.
Hold one tone on the bugle.
Divest The Bank.


Wrench Boy
in seven layers of rain gear
possessed by Dark Transport
descends through Infirmity.
Aberration through the forest
of black ceramic zeros,
black mirror tessellations.
How terminate this transport?
Vocabulary scattered over the surfaces of his rain gear,
in pockets,
in its lining,
on its boots.
Sounds of African rattles
through brain gear,
prefigured in Red Book,
manifested by night
along Long River.


With tongs
we'll extract
false embryo,
renew Infinity,
Infinity saturate Crystal.


Return through Black Box to safe transport--
skull of a Yakagir shaman--
various the anodynes through Zero--
Jaguar tinctured with violet--
wolf on Wolf Mountain.


Rock. Gap.
One zero
    for every chamber
in The Old Hotel.
One necessary embryo.
Return to zero.
Rebirth through Crystal.
Fresh anodyne.


Convert The Old Hotel
to an anodyne of zeros.

Mercy for the avatars of Hammerhead.

Money Has An Enemy 19.4

Transport is a device.

To start it, blow your bugle.

The selection of the operant vocabulary
as if an allotment from some bank.

The sounds of an African Rattle
can harass with ambient, penetrating sonorities
in compact with the forces of terror.

They might for instance invade The Old Hotel
with such inescapable
ontological aberrations
that even Crystal can only appear
through her aberrations.

Vocabulary struggles to free itself from The Bank.

Vocabulary, in fact, wishes
to dominate The Bank and, conversely.

Transport, conversely, has its use
for the positive dispensation
of African Rattle.


When Embryo blows its bugle,
the power of Being itself,
albeit in the dispensation of Black Box,
transmutes Aberration
as if Zero were pumping the Bellows
and apparency were tinctured with violets.

Aberration manifest for use.

We manipulate tongs.

We listen to African Rattle.


Who rules Ontology anyway?

Where Melee celebrates,
red tongs dance in the forges.

Tiny bugles excite the ethers.

But excitation is not the same
as fiduciary ruin,
as in the case with The Bank.

Wrench Boy and his avatars
have liberal access to Black Box.

Ontology broods Apparency
through the filter of Deep Storage.

Long River,
whatever his vicissitudes,
however dimensionally excessive or quiescent,
in the end
is obedient
to his banks.


Jaguar would assume
his theoretical posture
but remains preoccupied
with the closure of The Bank.

The Bank is preoccupied with unloading
its cashe of rain gear.

Not the least of its aggravations is the
juiced up metaphysics that such garments
release upon the land.


Hammerhead is off on his
self-revelatory adventures.

His bellows and his archetype
disabling any other
access to Deep Storage.

He cannot help The Bank.

He is some time and distance off
from his integration with fair Crystal.

Black Box plays havoc
with what's left of The Bank.

Vocabulary stays centered in conditions.

Long River just keeps on rolling.

It rolls out the conditions, herein,
of The Twenty-Seven.

Infinity exacerbates Infinity. 


Red Box
has vanished
somewhere in India.

Its bellows,
and its long
pulmonary cycle,
keeps it in Deep Storage
which India is.

Black Box, if it manifests cyclically,
does so exceedingly rapidly.

For our part
we procrastinate,
imagining a new form for The Bank.

We must rather adhere
to meditation upon
a singular form of fair Crystal.


Zero pervades such meditation
so that every aberration
liberates vocabulary
and the issue
is as constant
as rock.


Long River assimilates the vibration
of every bugle.

Vocabulary plus syntax
takes every infirmity to Crystal.


Come the True Conflagration,
Deep Storage embraces Long River
and purifies The Old Hotel
of every terror. 

Money Has An Enemy 20.4

Work to manifest violets.

Subtlize Vocabulary.

Put Transport to use.

Dialogue with Jaguar.

Be Wrench Boy as he
sits through infirmity.

All this, an alternative to melee,
another means than tongs.

Generous, nevertheless is Melee.

Her transport rides on jaguars.

My transport, an intuition with jaguars.

Violets fill space for Wrench Boy.


Crystal forever just behind me.

Her particulates are virtual;
they fill and they empty all space.

Her tessellations invigorate
all my inner places:
see them flash
when it rains.

Hard, hard is Hammerhead,
in spite of his current
internal melee.

He will not yet abrogate
his rusty tongs.

His bugles unsettle my particulates.

His vocabulary yet abrogates all subtleties. O Hammerhead,
stay away from my crystals!


Space is a plenum of particulates,
space is full of eyes,
each point engulfed by a viscous complexity.

I put down my tongs.
I surrender to Long River,
leave aberration to its function among crystals.

Being itself is a rock.

The Old Hotel is alive,
even through its shadows.

Africa rattles for all of us--
Africa is all of us.

Miniscule jaguars run radical
in the mind blood of Mexico.


Violet induces quiescence.

All avatars of Jaguar form a field.
It penetrates the whole conflagration,
electrifying The Old Hotel
whose chambers are like zeros
amenably subverting vocabularies.


I put on appropriate rain gear
and weather Long River,

feel for the life
of The Old Hotel.

I see the jaguars
lounging on its porches,

all manner of tongs
hung on all manner of nails.

Behind me
at rest
at Zero,
a full field a-wave
with miniscule jaguars
in transport
even at degree zero--
miniscule vibrating jaguars.


Though The Bank is in ruins,
I fear for The Old Hotel
and its porches
of vibrating jaguars.

The zeros of their essences
fall off and  extend to Black Box.

Melee compressed to her embryo;
Melee to expand with The Bellows.

I'm melding into a field
of wild and miniscule jaguars
whose energies expand without let.


The outer world transmutes to Deep Storage.

All is cognitive melee
as if The Infinite progressed as Long River--

O Melee, O Hammerhead--

How shall we traverse aberration?
for Being is like a Rock--

Melee, your lust
radiates tessellated zeros.

Soon we shall disappear
into a missing Red Box . . .

Money Has An Enemy 21.4

Violet returned
from the winter
under the broken

Her vocabulary
subject to transport,
her information
a garden of jaguars.

Wrench Boy was wary
of circumambient infirmity.

He wanted to ward off
who was not his sister

He worked
his silver

sought transport
on the back of her jaguars. 

reduced itself
to  a stable
full of jaguars.

Violet was cool to Wrench boy.


Time returned
to embryo
seeking renewal.

Melee bided her forces.

The mind of Hammerhead
contrived this dream:

Long ago
a wolf king
killed Wrench Boy
and spilled his blood on the alter
of the wolf
on top of Wolf Mountain.

Lightning ripped open the sky
and turned the wolf king into
a wolf indeed.


The gods banqueted
on time's embryo.

Vocabulary blackened.

The king of the gods ate a rock
and gave birth to The Bank.


This is the song
of a vast aberration.

The Rock
is Black.

Melee at rest--at zero.

Red Box,  lost in India.

running a bus
for everyday transport.

Zero itself
lost in Black Box.


Where is the joy of Crystal?

Why does Hammerhead dream?

Why is Melee quiet?

What annealed Transport
to the world?

The wolf on top of Wolf Mountain
turned into a man
with rusted tongs.

Madness is blowing its bugle,
madness that its melodies
comport so coherent a vocabulary.


Hammerhead awakens
and tries to think about Crystal.

He puts on mannerly rain gear.

He listens to Long River.

He feels the living shadow
of The Old hotel.

Wolf atop Wolf Mountain.

Jaguars run in the garden.

Hammerhead attempts to think about Crystal.


The Bellows approaches Still Point.

Melee bides her forces.

All the tong-types shall align
on an abstraction of crystal.


Deep Storage cannot be exhausted.

Melee adapts herself to the rigor
of the twenty-seven phases.

Infinity outrides the patterns of ceremony.

Long River flows passed the ceremony of phases.

Melee cannot exhaust
the forces she feeds on.

Hammerhead labors
to change his own head.


Jaguar prepares for a new round of rhetorical performances.

The thought of Conflagration recrudesces.

Infirmity will always be with us.

Melee is just itching
to throw her arms to the ether.


Old Man Long River
irritates the incendiary.

Dr. Tongs prepares
for a fresh round of oratory.

The joy of Crystal abides in every moment.

Jaguar runs through the garden.

There is no telling
what will leap from Black Box.


There are men who are wolves
when the secret sky rips open.

African Rattles underscore
the sequence of episodes.

puts his head to work
on his new vocabulary.


Has An Enemy 22.4

Black Lake.
Silver sylph sails for transport.
Everything's coming up violets.
Around the world space--Black Box.
Great Conflagration--contained.
The Infinite--like
the intricate white sound
of an African Rattle.
Hammerhead, watching from a hut,
picks up his rattle
recently gifted by Africa,
fingers a garland of violets,
considers the existence of Black Box,
fingers his garland of violets
recently gifted
as if
by Black Box,
everything quiet
like a rock
containing conflagration.


Bugle just sits
at rest on its nail.
Crystalline, the quality of the light
without infirmity.
Black Box--invisible continence.
All colors of tongs together
under one measure.


The possible occurrences in The Old Hotel
held in equilibrium.

Over Black Lake
hidden in the body
a single luminous crystal.

Hammerhead requests a new body,
a new kind of tongs.


Melee's comb
on the table,
red hair falling softly
over her red book,
silence pervading
the white sound
of her African Rattle,
situational aberration
hidden in Deep Storage,
red-haired Melee
preparing for tranquil transport,
all time
in embryo.


Ceremonial rain gear.
Black Lake
Black Box.
Residuum: zero.


Wrench Boy Wrench Girl
in wonder.
The whole world
in a black box.

They need no ceremonial rain gear.

Their experience, entirely transport.


Hammerhead discovers
his own inner lake.
It absorbs his

Nothing prefigured
in Red Book,
no prior vocabulary
for the Golden Dawn of Infinity.
Memory of The Bank remains
his indelible infirmity.

Jaguars surround Black Lake.

On the walls of his hut
an orderly arrangement of tongs.


Quietly runs Long River
to countenance Infirmity.

Its essence is transport.

Red Book
Black Box

in wait
for Tongs.

Money Has An Enemy 23.4

"There is a story
written in Red Book
about a kingdom
otherwise richly
decked out with violets,
but that a certain rock
as hollow as any zero
contained a certain embryonic time
by a river bank
and an avatar of Wrench Boy
in this narrative quite wrenchless
removed a suit of slightly transparent rain gear.

Now, this Wrench Boy had been selected by his people
to enter into the rock
and allow the zero of it
to transform
it and him together
by zero's transformative property
--all this according to Red Book--
and enter the time of that embryo.


"Hammerhead read this story
or at least the start of it
and entered his own dream.
He heard a bugle blow
and manifest wrenchless Wrench Boy
at his rock
garbed in yellow rain gear
as if Black Box
construed a world
transformed by a tincture of violets--
no mention of the bugle in Red Book.


"There was a Black Lake
in embryonic time
and the boy was required
to dive into it
and swim as if the molecular
constitution of the lake
were miniscule zeros
internally linked to Deep Storage.

He swam across the water
and when on the other sure
he emerged from Deep Storage,
the entire world was denuded of violets.

The boy had turned into a wolf boy
to wander by Long River and Wolf Mountain."


Jaguar was quite prepared
to deliver this discourse.

He had long considered the story and the dream,
the matter of the Bugle and Black Lake.

He shook his African Rattle,
set his inward nature to accord
with inward zero
dispelled the anxiety of every aberration,
and went on speaking.


"Hammerhead is changing.
He has seen
Black Lake.. 

The inside of all of us requires
an infinitely absorptive surface
whose depths are as significant
as the rocklike resistance it gives
to what our senses receive
from the melee of the putative world.

Hammerhead has begun to put questions
to his own being. The Black Lake
gathers this surface
of all of us. 

There is only one
Black Lake.

Its existence is not putative.

No one thinks of it until he must.

I must apply my own tongs.

His knowledge of this is as zero.

The bugle he heard is a missive from Infinity.

It arrives before the epiphany of Crystal and its zero.

The bugle is diminutive--
its atmosphere--infirmity." 


Wrench Boy was sitting in the Red Lounge
fascinated and not a little apprehensive.

Jaguar was holding several sets of tongs.

At the hip of Wrench Boy--his black  bugle.

"But what of the wolf and Wolf Mountain?"
he wondered.

"Vocabulary interacts with Black Lake.

Proto-language forms around its borders.

Proto-beings dance with proto-tongs.

Zero took animal forms.

Laugh if you must
but think of a wolf wearing rain gear."


Where's Hammerhead?

Drunk with his new body,
dancing with Infinity.

Smell those violets?

They have no bodies.

Their odors arise from a rock."


everywhere. The woods
on Wolf Mountain
burning. The boy wolf
runs through
the ravaged land.

He is not hiding, he's hunting.

Time is zero,
bugles blasting
round the burnt periphery.

The bodies of violets
dot the ruins.

The aberration
is from Being itself.

Bugles blasting
through the ontic ruins.

The police are everywhere
with silver tongs.

Being is a Rock.

Try to think of this:

High on Wolf Mountain,
The Old Hotel.


the Zero Point
of The Bellows.

This is the time
of Black Lake.

The wolf boys gather
around it
in log and grass-thatched huts.

They have no need of other transport
than their own wolverine character.

They are marked by black zeros
on their backs and fore-paws.

They bring their inner melee
to order among themselves
as they array themselves
around Black Lake.

Will Hammerhead swim in Black Lake?

Will he transform into Wolf Boy, Wrench Boy?

Hammerhead, Hammerhead,
your head is full to Infinity!

Violets are recrudescing
around the Rock. . .

Money Has An Enemy 24.4: The Fun House

"Deep water.
Deep Storage.
Guarded by a rock.
The world kept locked
in a red box.
And who can call it

Is it a comfort to know
that all phenomena
read out
according to the phases
of the Bellows?"

Jaguar pauses
in his discourse
to check the picture window.

Has conflagration
reached these precincts now?

The sentinels are scorching the air with their bugles.

What sort of conflagration is this?

The kind prefigured in Red Book?

He continues: 

"If we countenance the category 'aberration',
"we must consult Red Book
that we might judge
just what it is an aberration of.

We do not find aberration listed in
the catalogues of entities
registered in Deep Storage.
Never mind about that,
for the categories invocable
change with the phases of the Bellows."


The wolves are older than the moon.

Hallowed coins, older than The Bank,
are stashed in black bags and dark boxes.

The wolves whose eyes are chiseled out of crystal
once were ravenous men;
or men became wolves
to attain the ravenous character;
or men became wolves
to acquire such eyes for their sockets

It was sufficient to be like a rock.

They required and acquired
a more puissant vocabulary.


The underground realm
is ordered
like an Old Hotel.

It alternates between a time
without a key
and the ever-threatening immanence of Melee.

Infirmities and their
concomitant aberrations
creep through shadowed chambers.

The sounds of mighty bellows
penetrate the earthen chasm.


Every guest is provided
with a proper African Rattle,
and a special rock
for token to be taken back on exit
cut out from Deep Storage
and signed with black tessellated zeros.

These rocks confirm
a subterranian vocabulary.

Water condenses on all surfaces
exceeding the material guarantees of rain gear.

Only iridescent violets
quiver on their stems
and murmur zombie anthems down the halls.


A banquet for the dead
is thrown in Red Lounge.

Long River runs through the hallways.

Its banks are mudworks. 

Visualize the dead
in absentee rain gear.

It is a theme park underworld
with ghoul show transport.

Images of Hammerhead manifest
in his numerous avatars:
whale, shark, bank lord, reindeer.

There's even a ghoul-run Bank office,
decorated with omni-colored tongs
and an optional discourse with headset rentals,
upon the ontological ins and outs of aberration,
all in a perfectly accessible selection of vocabulary.

But when the show is through,
you find that something has taken
your exit token
marked with black tessellations
back to Deep Storage.

Psycho-pomp Wrench Boy turns Trickster.

He opens the door to the bank
but you've no account.

You try to remember the theory of aberration.

Where is Infinity now?

Hammerhead appears on a mule
waiving his hammer
like the cross of the Inquisition.

Melee comes screeching and cackling.

The space has become a Black Box.

That and only that
is not an aberration. . .

Money Has An Enemy 25.4

The Golden Flues of the Sky House
(Wolf on top of Wolf Mountain)

An elevator shaft runs through
the central column of The Old Hotel,
up through the tower to the pole star door where
Red Book says the Magus Priest King ascends on his night trip
to the wash-water-celestial,
and the cosmic ocean causes
the cosmos to evert
and become one star.

The elevator runs from pole star down through Deep Storage

and there is quite a melee
surrounding the elevation of its car

and the deep descent
along Long River
into Black Box
and the cellars of an embryonic vocabulary.

All embryos we know
have their centers in Deep Storage

and Melee herself
has a silent dome
down there in Deep Storage--
Melee herself has rooms
under The Old Hotel
where Long River
flows and deepens.


Underground violets
and iridescent rain gear,
celestial jaguars
and bugles with  shaman roles
and Melee mediating throughout
the cycles of transformation . . .


The Bank is now a null repository.
Broken embryos and frankly deficient zeros;
rain gear to defend
against transcosmic waters;
embryos of speeches
destined for no hearers;
transport frankly to nowhere;
vocabulary informing null speeches.


Hammerhead prepares his ascent and his descent
with studies in Red Book
and lengthy interviews with Trickster Wrench Boy.

He retrieves his embryo from the idea of conflagration.

He dons ceremonial rain gear.

Gone are many of his previous infirmities,
forgotten the suppression of his embryos.

Coming transport gathers all his attention
and the active call to forces of Long River.


Well might he pass through conflagration
riding on defunct infirmities,
gathering distant embryos.

But Trickster Wrench Boy rides
the cables of the car
diverting gravity,
inciting confrontation with Infinity.

You cannot skip those pages in Red Book
and hasten your assimilation to stellar crystal.


Conflagration exacerbates whatever infirmity
yet remains in embryo.

Wrench Boy conducts you to Infinity. 

Conflagration exacerbates Red Book.

Last stop: the Star of Crystal.


The whole conspectus: one embryo
released from Deep Storage.

Time to shake in earnest that African Rattle.


Don't stop
on a rock.

Transport must be continuous.

Melee is your consort, that is your context.

O Hammerhead,
you must give ear to ten thousand jaguars,
though truly one at close quarters is enough.

Soon Red Book will no longer
furnish you with rain gear,
or qualify and purify vocabulary.


Your tongs are turning color.

Your jaguars are approaching.

Bugles are blasting , echoing and responding
up and down the shaft.

But your conspectus has not yet
thoroughly been covered by Black Box.

You have too thoroughly studied
the phases of The Bellows:

Melee erases that
and deconditions Transport.

Another kind of pages in Red Book
must soon consume you.

Otherwise Aberration
will interrupt Transport.

Burn Red Book!

Your body is not yet an Old Hotel.