Canto XIII Wisse
das Bild I have no center and spend five minutes trying to figure out how that could be the Prada models look like mannequins how do they do that meanwhile my analyst keeps arguing with me as though I were disputing the facts of the universe or the Dior models’ teeth that look like steel like Jaws from Live and Let Die there is a moon a sun and stars how do they do the Vuitton models’ bosom bulges? “Why do you think they exist?” I don’t think “I don’t believe they made any sacrifices on your behalf” the Saks ad shows motion so seductively leopard skin and lace shadowed by black umbrellas like celestial bodies that won’t obey foolish whims set forth by some god or Dolce & Gabbana dead in fur or so like death except for hands set to hip and ear contra post: the music of the spheres lies down on the couch for an extended measure distaff Max Mara spread eagled on red leather with lace-up knee boots against blue velvet backdrop Can therapists give up the ghost and laugh a little? “Center yourself on humor” exposed in melancholia or self absorption as Avedon sd/ he held a negative of his sister on his skin and sun tanned her onto his shoulder Self-denial “I don’t think self plays a part in this” Mert & Marcus sheen over skin as fake as Photoshop can’t massage can’t leech the oomph from Omphallos (Have you seen the sale catalog in the lobby?) bandits hide under the Chateau de Vauvert Wird euch langsam namenlos im Munde? Armani mania grips all though her eyes laugh adoringly at the One on her left Diet Tricks of TV Starlets --buried somewhere in the Garden of Eternal Faith Behold
the Stern Reckless Officious Pronoun: Her Yurman pearls dangle as a trinity of perfection three big bangs dabbling with a pendant --I am not one of the master race no center to me core values flow Kenneth Cole marks the body out with black drapery Cole Haan hangs without I haven’t got the grist for the mill haven’t sunk to that depth Eileen Fisher in chenille my redwoods are broken my oak has uprooted Ellen Tracy in cashmere I haven’t lifted a finger I’ve lost my nostalgic island charm Jil Sander in tweed my analyst sets up the ambush her musketeers hide within her sacred grove her caviar my champagne her pistols my Fujifilm waving banners my analyst approaches and the birches give way so nehmen oft Spiegel das heilig einzige Lächeln der Mädchen in sich the Thriller episode that terrified me when I was four murderers hiding behind mirrors within mirrors the world of murderers who see themselves everyday and fix their hair or shave or make up Audrey Hepburn “What does she see?” Piaget? Sapphires? Tiffany windows reflect sharply Burmese jade and tiger-eye and amethyst compasses watches crumbers and unicorn horn polished perfect cut to cross-sections to necklace to mask the blush rising from chest to face Martinis launched the symphony erect dazzling crowds Lincoln Center Babylon bedtime war im Silber-Spiegel und in ihr
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Thoughts on Pattern Recognition by William GibsonOneTwo Three Four Five
cantosIII III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII
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