Tour

The town is but a few buildings; and a beach, next to the blue glare of water-wish into gray. There is a coffee-house with a front entry veranda, wood tables taken from rubble piles and a one-room library. Just sun-sand and blue water. A bit to stark for me. Give me a London fog any-day, but better yet is a San Francisco fog, the blue glaze - is-it or is-it not. I sat at a table on the veranda with coffee-Elatte. What but-read. No-place for a non-reader. For reading it was like a Convincent van Woe painting, in the hundred degree sun all-day, burning-out wonders of Gossamere. There was a beach and I slept on it. Apparently just a week ago; there had been a hundred-people - sleeping where I now-was. There was an Israeli-army sweep they said, cleaned them all-out. There were two other people near by - each alone, and we slept on the beach all three.

"Meanwhile over will and avail; I - who didn't know my name

anymore

." People keep saying what's your name, and seem disappointed, on my definitive; common as where // should have called-me some fictional character // from this stud-her-culture maybe; but then that would be so-pretentious; I even proselytized Metaphoria to a Christian // proselytize me-first - her. As young; as college, but sharp as a tack; unusual; like a shark- lawyer // but not. "Meanwhile, as I was saying, Ma'am Herth was instructing-me insuctions-in // concerning Gossma'amia, Gossum, Gossamere, Gossama'am and Gossameme, amongst other-things."

The guns

sounded

all the night in the distance; cannon fire. Could see it in the dark, the flashes of lightening-like fire-boom; shouting other-reach; the all-night through.

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