Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.63.0505231628540.5824@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>,
"WRYTING-L : Writing and Theory across Disciplines" <WRYTING-L@LISTSERV.UTORONTO.CA>
Subject: Hand-written insert into
Date: Mon, 23 May 2005 16:29:02 -0400 (EDT)
Hand-written insert into A Pocket Dictionary (Chinese-English) and Pekingese Syllabary by Chauncey Goodrich, Shanghai: Kwang Hsuel Publishing House: 1933, representing the 214 radicals in a prose composition: One down points to the left bent barb, two above men. Man enters eight limits to cover the icy bench over the box of knives strong. He wraps a ladle in a box and conceals it with ten diviners with joints under the cliff with selfish right. At the third mouth of the enclosure the earth scholar follows moving slowly till evening a big woman son. Under the roof she inches along like a small lame corpse to get sprouts from the mountain streams by work for her self. He gets thirty caps and shields for his immaturity needs covering then move on till she gives him a bow, dart, a boar's head, a plumage. Steps away for her heart like a spear from a window a hand with branch strikes like an elegant bushel of axes. Squares without sun she speaks under the moon of the wood still owing and asks him to stop killing viciously. So he denies and compares his hair, name, breath, fire, and the claws his father crosse. At from his coach he slices like the tooth of an ox or a dog and the black jade melons on the tile so sweet. We produce use things from the field with a cloth roll to keep off disease as back to back with white skin we dish them before our eyes. Lamas and darts on the stone reveal footprints grain the cave as set up with bamboo rice. Silk threads of pottery are in a net of goat's feathers of one who is old and yet able to plow with ears like pencils. In his flesh the statesman from his arrival at the mortar with his tongue opposed the boat of defiant color. In grasses a tiger and insects draw blood to do up the clothes from the West with the sights of horned words. In the bitter time of walking from the city with a winejar, each separate mile near gold pieces (from the long) doors. When the mound is reached, short tailed birds are in the rain on the green with wrong faces of rawhide, leather, and leeks. At the sound of book leaves in the wind they fly to eat the heads of the fragrant horses with bones on high. My hair strives with the herbs and I offer to the vase of spirits, fish, birds from the saltland, dear and wheat. Hemp strings and yellow millets, black embroidery, toads, tripods, drums, and rats, noses. Even the front teeth of dragons, tortoises, flutes. ==