her lover

in this part world. show.ing .sad picture wont change. dust air mellow camping . rearguard active. or the body without organ hovers its humid way. So Oona, clarified hercontent to expressive mediums and her low down day was evenentually pressed petal in citation amber. her lover was night

take a song not a pill my true love

O you doan pull the wool
pull it pull it
pull the wool over her yes
_____________________________________________c d has been many
sigmunds!~

two song a day keeps sigmund! away the old shitter! yung&easily freudened

Moi i had sex at vincennes! and we gogo dance d with hegelian hookers!

We threw away the condoms and yelled Mille! Miller!

we threw of the condoms! yelling Miller ! Miller! thy Tropic

Topic TropICK!

Annother thing 99%philostudents are parasites! they smooch between lectures. others carry marx to bed! imagine! sex and marx!

a secret! its apparent to me that whispering is more succesful than yelling. between the whispers lies the paving stone!

(yes yes drink all the coffee!
smoke as you will
eat croissants and dont forget the butter!
the bitter the better)
warm yer arse on hegel's stool!

take the 2nd last drink moveon read yer butter dish. find a programme. the rest is shit. yer own

this is love's belly button! open yer quaffed drink to immortality!

dont pay toomuch attention to thesephilo blatherseven the best are idiots.only read the ones that write it the rest is mostly crap

rite a song ratio

yr label

its not the label son. what peregrinning nation wants its become to eat? she raised the galleys high tilting the glass near the roof. she's hegeled round long enough, if one can ever long enough to long its enough feet.


Pseudo bastarD!

Mona rails . Rail.. it's have with you time. She's boisson to her figurine ~

Quelqu'un

Tap tap tap _ the teacher ~and the student . over the garden wall of Aristotle. and her comprehending aesthetics . thank god I've no warrant to marry!


Clare crumble the wall between becoming and being Deleuze. Being Deleuze!~ what absurdum credo is that crap?? this is the Wall coming back full blast. A dharma shade of desire covers its floral fuselage.

« Quelqu'un qui ne se laisse pas représenter, mais qui ne veut pas davantage représenter quoi que ce soit. »

________________ it's after the lecture. exhaustion joy et the quick stroll, what stroll is quick. She meant a fast walk, no a gallop to the cafe. Brain befogged.


Jill laisse se représenter __ she' dont . represent or present. she's not sent. And never resent. what do it bode to veil as this nothing biding the hour of territory. Its mercy a god. Ever presenting its nothingness. notto her advantage to find the whatever it is makes her as she was . Neither the mighty past, or gloved gift of now becoming rather other. Always an absolute and absoluting forgiving distance.

But being atheist she's keeping god out of it.


Well dear,if you're going to be covered in shit! you might as well make it up ~

__________________________________________

between these eye itinerant iterate. your stamp. embossed
by love's great philosopher.
__________________________________

a bien

a bientototo~ the lone ranger in the rhizome cupped pew ~

so t hat morpheme she looked was her vein of replace all along. that was the wire knew the chicken. so Love went.

paste dish washer of the skty

Mona 's been diswasher of the sky. Washer of vassal and feud. her button was sef to its turf. her mouth untied to every fueled guild. Her captial gaining everry day. her trading skills wide and known. her cover's cap a militant fox for the doubters of time.


Crockery was mockery
and hicky dockery clock walk.
So she mumbled
her
grammar and clamour.
Her vaisselle is la belle amie.

____________ She washed her arm. A scullery woman a tub gleamer. A dirty floor polisher. She knew this was way to become her beyond.

Not a lday on pills she was hip to each changing caliber of her body.

If it came to tableware she was glittering with Betty page and her sadomasochistic relief. She knew it was that lave les vaiselles was her elles beyond belles lettres. So hill and lake and the pent up grief. her visage tiny love.

So (w) Mona

So Mona, indeed. Sow Mona her ancient reaped field. Fulled up with plenty. Of buxomous thing. Or mouth clapping sideway her Jilly come hammer rared to its fortune blocker.

Mona called in the troops.

She put a word in ~ .

Jill joined the troops.

Franny hankered after troupes. of Folly dolling.
What pilloried mist is it?

Is she heaven content to her
little finger

Will its voluntaristic page
shape memory's design?

Illuminated manuscripts hide the

given from the latent
allowing its potent praise miracles.

She 's mighty not gone or forgot
Nor forsake to her

misere en scene
add them

accents hipping her beauty like never
seen previous three a week
her nerves clad tell her
love
love
love

.


In word
and deed ~ .


The markers ringthe tune ~ .

princely schizzed

Little Mona had a Jona in her spidery way, and her hands all over the place, a like god, No she means a little like god, who was supposed to be everywhere before he died, but his corpse is everywhere, a copse on a meadow field, not a cross to die on. Some connective synthesis between harbours of bellies and suave kisses in the huge night of her abyss and double-self and her wombing him in hungry, ululating. And

Big Mona has Jill's spider tongue. Her hands over the space of a goddess her ass means shaman to her dexterous becoming. Her was a goddess before the spring's rut. Her land's all around her face and hinge, shes's ghetto and meadow to her full diet reward. The reconnective sin 's her thesis to the tummy's bay her lip's in tinest delight a hundred sexes to crevassse her and triplicate self copy

Fanny wanting to clothe everything. her lever is a jawbone clogged by vein and booth. In side its wrong headed bonus is the care of legitimate pa ckaging. She's a shipper with her races acourse.

A curse for every snow bound baby!

Franny wanted to know the meaning of Lawrence's letters before he became a ghost on the plains of his body, and her Mouth opened Wide to receive him in her other double down self. And he was her desert. Not a stolen cherry fruit, a flute? a question mark she introspected before passaging her way over prose and the naughty seven thousands seas of her self, and the leagues between them, her body his, and the body not shared, was a starting into the future not knowing. The full-body of capital on the galloping sails was her weave and woof-woof to her electronic steeds, and his bodies became.

Of all the debts she owed this was least. her ornamental museum was her nearest. come again was the oboe her pleasured poem. O between falll and feels come the field

Big Macro paranoiac doubling Odd I hip thee. Thy paranoia is great as star's stretched Pascalian heights. Lonely gub beuniverse. Curse her recoded rubbings round fortune's calender

Now the decoded flows here are not the scientific axiomatics or dendrites of enumerable decomposable lapses. Little schizo I love thee, did he make the chemical love thee, the way I do and does wrapped around your finger and the willing desire to abandon ship, little schizo who doubles thee like me, and in my hounded days of horn I shall spell thy name again, yet again berries and throats around the roar of the song.


Little schizo I kiss thee .

__________________________Not I please I'd rather roam my own fatasmatic pragma. her billowed feces was guitar to her sunburned arse.

over the ebb belly of the whale swallows me the argent nape of your tongue.


Clang Clang Clang! she hollers the long dollar down her materialized feet and masturbating self, his best friend.

Is that how you pay us back? you little brat. Scooting round your burrowed hives ?

Come to ridding

______________ Stretch the neck limit Jill

Yank that desiring machine. Hold that thing. Rev that truck. Wrist that blink. Come that rail. Switch that feet. Bust that goat. Creep that zoom. Feel that bass. Rum that ship.
Alright, sez Mona is that your Jill to becoming woman as its transept is working overtime? How come you feel like a Baton-Rouge with your sexy buskin booties each paragraph a mouthful of sandwhich and love's busted grip. Ok yer near the perpinquity clip. Not fighting by diction however covered in mantled fat weirdos. Ok the city is french and yer gaz a coeur is a deskdrawer of faucet leaking. What becoming round the deconstructed patois can you continue. I have the voice to radio and the near to blinking blondes at window. O window winmow. This geology of your sorcery is not native to its sheer bent will. The photograph standing still. Heavy to the treetrim the load is buried. The old rails buckles hefting the city's burly pavement by its weight.

She is near this laced hip, her mound of Venus is a fair song to your elevator prompts.Once Merleau Pont was riding an elevator gloved as any tailor. And waiting wainscotting the men in the golden hawk.

Come to ridding Come to my ridding Come to my riding Red Riding Could.
In the wood in the wood. She's any baked matter.
Matter!

what are you speaking matte for you fool!
Dont call your brither fool
with your blarney accent.
yer brogue for two on the hammock of fussed feet.

_____________________ Now is this the doctor of your page?

mother bearing without a sans daughter

__________________________ In this plateau the repetition of different reckonings returns. as the depressed melancholia of a moment's meditory second. Le seconde in commande I Pierre Felix Guattario having reterritorialized my conservative alibis serve you up the remainder.

Yikes and Mona had a pony tail not a pointy tail like the Beelzebub hisself!

_________________________________________________________
Who cares ?? what the campy followers of D and Guattari thought??
And who says, there is a Freud, beyond yer own excessively textualized reading of him. "said Jill, and walked off into the sunset of self-referential excess . Weary she undid her quote." Then Jill climbed to the top of Guattari and Deleuze and said : BEhold Poop On Freud. And she read: In A/O Freud the Henry Adam of psychoanalysis. And then she thought hasnt anyone ever read the Hamlet letters? or thought about the grass, and China. And she was sick to death unto "despair" and closed the book. Oh she breathed better then.

Yikes and Yokes said Jill and phone Mona on her desiring telephone
and they had -.
Okay. We're here at last, with no face and no preface either!

______________________________________

Signed the little brithers &n sasters of deleuze et guattari .
May mais c'est n'est pas vrai!

She was Mona

Jill was in Paris one summer last week. Translating transferring her dictionary . She was airy-faery but not Shiva to her merit. Or knock knock to hysterial tocktocck. She was two in one one to two as c times two is One. She was wrocking her translaketion of Fleeing and Nofingness.
So it whence, as bootstraps to her heels merited donkeys to her ABC.

This dearies, is the Antilogos of her care. not a stroller inthe sun by Penis and Farshaped wheels round the womb of love, its vagina a blessed sight to all men. A wedding vow blue to worship her decaded generations from old Eve to the contemporary sense of promise. So was Eve, her gay blue suit, a navy terrier's colour. She was him to her soft meat, velour to her colour. With a U at every turn in her upending shape, low rider she was Mona.


------------- it was always like that. Jill to her becomings was ride around the hurtle. Her circle a tom thumb thimble not always chance to parlay its aleatory hum

a flace to fleer those ya meat

On Niveau: 22 1999 Orpheus the poet has sent more tele-grammaticalmythogems.One - Two - Three - FloggogosoGo._________________________________________________________________________________________________CP - when did Michel ever try to take his life? -GD - never as far as I know. As far as I know this is the idea ofAmerican academics trained in getting the most mileage out of {It was a great moment for all A SPLENDID TIME Closing Time} an idea of the Limit. THey never understood Michel. And one cannever understand a great thinker like him by reducing himto sociological bric-a-brac. By reading his ideas as apersonal critique of an Another author.(Very Rich, Very Very Rich) [Many Levels Like Tundra&Tinderwood]CP - Yes, we all know that.[ But here there are none. There are only positions] She alteredthat. MF - There is apassion for violence in my work that frightens theacademics which is why they bury me with their jargon.
__________________________
o w yer brai is pa to wheeze
_________aired to rai petitio its smog of self same come repeat


"I spit on themfrom my grave. Of ruin and pleasure. I regret nothing. I am the fiercespirit of Passion and Ruin. I have nothing to do with Constant Boundariesand Students that Obey with the reacion of the dead ones. How can ArtaudAdversity have ever put up with any of this. All these dead microspaces.FG - The Trend in Philosophy Circles is to Define a Boundary. ANd to ShutIt Down. Especially at Con-ferences which are mostly about putting a fastone on over the auditors, a Con that sends listeners drooling and shittingas they read the lies and half-truths. Most of the actual lines of Escapeare Shut down, and Covered in the Blather of Bla-Bla-Bla. Most of theseThings are Like the Local Guitar Players: Cons to get position, pleasure,and Ego-boostings. Little wanks to keep their Cocks Hot and Hard, a sortof Viagra of the the Mind. There is no Reactionary Status as bad and baseas that of the professional labeler and name caller: this is the currentmalaise all of you Suffer from: Name calling... Resentment.. Inventingmore concentric machines to Exclude.

This is the shit hole that is why Onenever hears concrete matters discussed.... I have a body without organsand every deadbeat fumiste thinks they know what it is.

Michel and FG kiss.

They lock hands. And spin the matrixial spaceof their desire whilst doing so making syntax go nuts like any moderndadapoet... whats' neW?She bows and smokes: My name is Clare Parneti I was their lover I wastheir lover None of their remainders Answer me with Anything But silence.He, FG was fucking when he died.Mona laughs at all this, and spaces outdown the zones of Eyeballs watching out of Dead Gazes and OtherLobstersSPectacles and Gazes of Passim. Mona is laughter as she dances

the walkpedal.

Folds of Fodder

Since everything was fiction even Jill in her becomings she knew there wasno one there and so it was and then no one there was ficciones as axes of becomings and benedictions and so it was the chaffed wind scattered enemies in rain of flight and around and around out of the whirl wind which said can you measure the thunder as it stings the stolen graves andcoffins of philosophers?
I am the world's long gentlewoman and I am dictionary
and metre, the rust of the tongue which speaks in your sex and tongue

And and it had been part of that

Ofcourse,
Jill was Mona,

all along

________________________
yo ugo two farthest to twist its bit of papier mache yer facce is high dry geared to reaso &
its apple boun dary

not as the Socratic lover b ut the raged bu ll

____________________ these digresive are disc ursive ba ne to her mascu li necolor |
O Woman of lowo breasts

mull

O yer here and there. too. Yes, two of its One. makes multiple ~

all hell

All hell broke loose. Jill was Franny. Fenneled and unkenned she was haramed and reharamized deharamized. Her eyes grommet to shape the spinning twist were vessels on the silver plating of time. Not a chance to soon to reckon her best. Her tea leaves made any winter buddy a claim to fortune and fame. So it goes around her went to steal self.


Her plateau was geologied. Not closed to the cure she was happenstance to the wait. Not of god and other foreign bodies but her scraper was given to shavings off the old territorial cocoon. Not like a rabbit but an extraterritorial fox terrier.

She leant her name to things like this.

Jill has

Jill has an amigo whose name is rain. She takes flight there. In the escape.
what other path is there?

Her brother is rain.

Someone says to her
The world is not manichean.

But she knows that god of the
old guard

doesn't exist.


but is a fallow fallacious
singular puffed -up
Wheat