A sheep running downhill makes the bell jingle faster with seeming
intentionality in recognition or as doleful music of domestication, she
records it. The sheep disappears beyond the crest of a small hill. She
hears the bell and erases. The bell dings as the sheep walks around in the
dark.

Sheep do not have the attribute of intentionality regarding bells and can
mean nothing by them though an itch can cover the hunger always
moving the sheep from one area of the fenced in hill to a grassier one.
The hunger is always there.

And she is always there, sensing this more and less as she moves in
relation to a strand of details, violences, seeing, bells approach and
stretch away unsteadily. The bell rests somewhere strong enough to
hold it. Sure to find it there when she comes back again, she turns away.

Under her kitchen table in New York a green pea is.

Over the mountains clouds flame into farther clouds with some pink
leading to vastness while colors can still be detected, pinkish grey and
bluish grey, in a range that gets smaller, dissolving into smoke. She
closes her eyes into night which the man at the plastic bench watches
carefully descending without moving.

Mountains. Without meaning something pointed the man leaves the
dinner table. He goes outside to sit on a plastic bench and doesn't move.

The bell jingles, otherwise the sheep is lost. To the elements, wolves,
itself, for example, left alone the sheep will freeze if the weather is cold
enough, and if grass is not available will starve, and if wolves

The wolves from this region are dead.

And the angels descend upon them, and with no place strong enough to
hold them go away again. She records this fact.

Against the mountains certain crying receding against less meaning.

The chair is uncomfortable, has a scratchy seat. She feels hungry. Moves,
sits on the bed, lays down. She smokes and puts it out in a cup. The bed
lamp smokes.

hr oct 99
murmur oct 00