for pigpen. and then i want to rea signature 0, col grant. so this is just worn out. can i have that water? thanks. for pigpen. at the edge of the tongue, at the edge of the brain, it was velvet at the edge of history. sound was light like tracing leters with your toe on the ballroom. they came and went, guests, like the great gatsby, and wondered at the music. aurora borealis over a cemetary, a bark, a howl. at the edge of history, and there was no time. shouts traced circles of breath, all futures. time was light and sound spilled out of it, flickered and fell under blue windows, faults gone and too much wind. we come round, make circles, blank as a clock, still velvet damage on the edge of history. >> and this belongs to a book on evolutionary letters. it is called grandpa. -- it is called "rant." the word palace was a greek city-state. you cannot write a single line without a cosmology a cosmogony laid out before all eyes. there is no part of yourself you can separate out saying, this is memo