Friday, April 30, 2004

of

Mona forgot amnesia self reed word:


oF POETOLOGY

M.B. Encore les Autres & Nerves and Wrought Words

MB: Encore les Autres & Nerves and WorDs

Texte ecrite et detourne.

Mona a vue cette texte, alors elle m'ecrit une lettre si beau et
si gentil. Jill eyed this one askance, was that correct spelling?? The French keyboard had slipped
from Mona's grasp. She was interpellating herself along the sleeves of desire.
Si le fragment et le norme, c'est comme ca qu'on ecrit, et la
norme devien le maniere de trouver des autres, et aussi de travaillez.
Some deep inside Jill spoke french when she was sure she
was not a lesbian. In the meantime she kept writing. That is she kept it
at her desk. Mistakes included with postage. The pennywhistle stamp. Or
the penny post stamp. Sometimes she was a french philosopher, other times
she was a girl with a life in a city. And her friend Franny or Fanny
Gi. She wasn't sure. It made sense, it didn't matter. She was
revolved (resolved) to go through to the end. Even if she was lesbian
housewife harlequin romance. She knew the end was the end. Even if she
spelled her name backwards and heard the words Blanchot and ecrit.

Mona called "abruptly." She "answered" and spoke down the cadences
of death, leaving me this text, this test as I lay dreaming. And you left
off dreaming some sore story of loneliness.

"Un text n'est un texte que s'il cache au premier regard, au
premier venu, la loi de sa composition et la regle de son je. Un texte
reste d'ailleurs un texte imperceptible. La loi et la regles ne
s'abritent pas dans l'inaccessible d'un secret, simplement, elles ne
livrent jamais au present, a rien qu'on puisses rigoureusment nommer une
perception. Au risque tousjours et par essence de se perdre ainsi
definitivement. Qui saura jamais telle disparition? La dissimulation de la
texture peut en tout cas mettre des siecles a defaire sa toile."

Et apres ca, G. a dit:

"Pour nous cette attaque est aussi celebre que la premiere pages
des Jeunes filles en fleurs, aussi neuve et pourtant arrachee de nous-meme
par G.D., qui a fait notre, maintenant. Elle nous le sera de plus en plus,
a lui de moins en moins.
Vous me donnez deus heures a peine, a peine... Reprenons. La
premier phrase est seule. Elle est totalment seule. Mais lisons
legerement, avec une allegresse si possible aussi fine celle de D., et
guides par le jeu de mots, alors le sens plein de la phrase tremble
doucement eet la porte vers la suivant. L'habituel et gorssier dynamisme qui co
nduit une phrase a la suivante semble etre remplace, chez D., par
une subtile aimantion qui se trouverait non dans les mots, mais sous eux,
presque son page. La phrase suivante, aimantee de la meme facons, peut
aussi paraitre totalement seule: mais le meme vertige horizontal la porte
vers le debut de le phrase III.
Pardonnez-moi de dire si mal que j'eprouve d'abord: moi aussi,
dans cette claire ebriete, apres la lecture de la premiere page, je repose
le livre. Je sais que j'irais de merveilles ...."

Alors Mona a toute lu ca. And she said to herself, Anyone can
speak a language even a snob from france. She called Franny who called
Jill (Deleuze) and Jack (G.) They said.


Par morceaux, le temps fragmente du texte. ecrits par morceaux,
tous les textes son fragmentaires.

Mona got really weary with reading the high falutin' tones of
some Paris based gardener and computer hacker.

Alors

"Il faut donc que je parle et je reparlerai de ces voix plus
lucides que plaintives puisque nos intellectuels ceux qu'on appelle
betement nos maitres a penser, se derobent. ceux qu'on supposait les
meilleurs se lassent, l'un des plus genereux.... "


Then Mona rested, and it was the 44th day of the labours.

And Mona put in the drawer this text[e] of her friend's.

Mona had no way to know if night was day day night rewritten strung along the sex of her size in the interior of her self made worship worthy night Lillith reveries of assemblage. How to make a writer working? A writer working? a becoming of phrases and bits , desires of bodies fallen by the street, fall baby the invention of god. why the word could not speak its name in the mapping of truants and troubadours.

The mantle of the prophet! since paltry plateaus sometimes merged with the wicked warders of the North, her and the other bands went there wending along the beach of alienation... ignore a face in the windhover bear the bullion to the tent of the night.Leave the definite article out don't pretend to be.
So
slinging

along the definite lyricism of the prose page she sang. What was the use of wrong? and right when cranking the Greek alphabet? So
swerved the Greek treat in its heart and beat the history origin of words their name. A come along the long way.

So Mona, then.

Thursday, April 29, 2004

One Or



One or Several Poems : 2004








































Wednesday, April 28, 2004

/The Fictions of Existentialism

One day Onoknee jIll had a flash of illness her transcendence was immanence to her self of her self rempli mud Maison Flake I am the True Dada Jean Paul Sartre his wonderful voice on the radio after the war.

The Fictions of Existentialism


"Existentialism is the philosophy of existence and our stories tells its story, of love and death, of injury and loss, love and renewal." Narratives and texts by Clifford Duffy

After writing the fictions of Deleuze and Guattari I have decided to try someting new and to think about Sartre, and his voice, his presence and his thought, and the meaning of his work for us, and certainly for me. Why his voice rings so in my head still with such meaning, and how the text of his meaning is still appealing and perhaps more so now in this time that is not theoretical but real historical and avid with conflict and contradiction.

Sartre galvanized philosophy and the world for a generation and then for several generations. No philosopher, neither Foucault or any others has had such an impact and one that crossed all lines, all the planes and strata of society.

The being and nothingness
and the Historical searcher for a totality of Truth.
This strange man with the fish eye questing for truth.
His legacy and us.


Posted by: schizoanalysishere / 9:32 PM
Now her name was Jill but she called herself Gilles but everyone knew her as Franny and she and her schiz who called herself Felix with a flame were in the pluck of the double articulation. Ssssssssssssss.


All of which is silly, very sillywilly cause Mona never writes about anything the same, but always
Difference.
Even at the expense of detail

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Chaste

Alas, sir, do you ever think to find a chaste wife

in these times? Now? When there are so many

masques, plays, Puritan preachings, mad folks,

and other strange sights to be seen daily,

private and public?"

-- Epicoene; II.ii.30-4

dearth of the author?? or is that authoress/authorize??

pedagogy authority

It is easy to vote the centre page when your vote is bought and theoretically theory.
Never for a second in the hills of thought did she believe the crap she was about to read, the half-truths, the fancy phrasing poorly translated and made no sensible...


She was in school, borrowing bread, and reading the craps legend of the dead... what is this she jerked into her kotex come...


Death of the Author ...


''The Reader is the space on which all the quotations that make up a writing are inscribed without any of them being lost; a text's unity lies not in it origin but in its destination.'"

Bulky bullshit, sneered Moona.

Jill gritted her cunt when she read this shit, about the 'the text'. She knows a word professor who gots her tenure, her fancy walks, ownshouse in a rich bought neighbourhood, bought intoshe she shammed. M was a fracasa farce this shit, a "theory"prof, thatwsold poems interpretations, without God, without a religion, a prof, who served the right liberal fortitude, a prof of uskmany coolours whos kids been to a private college,a kid married at 40 at fortyone already inbed with another womam, one who is older than her age, a secular becoming gone dry with a fake liberty, an empty husk



It didn't take much to re-write the critical theories of t o littheory it was an empty vase,No One believed. It was Swiftian brobbdagnindian baloney rhyming with Mulroney. So Mona shat


these houswives their prisons not fish

Mona liked a little critical practice from time to time...

Sure,sure, Mona said scanning a text of the critical machine its paranoia and glaze scurrying the page.

There is no ideology her daddy said in the Antioedipus book he wrote in volumes with the Felix and she was him in his daytime and writing one it was the bare back bone of the solemn one, its discourse a violin player honkin on the horn of time, ontology and its predicates, its predilictions and contraries of smother and lions grumpily bossing their way around the temple.
Inscribed in the jesus of her mouth his "scroll" and cock was a place to unopen the sunshine flowed in the vast window. She was Sherwood forest in her mate time, and merry mink platitudes in her overseer seashell. I was her body, she said and her sex, my cunt was the surprise that kept him going. I have no one after him, because my beforeness is his!

She shouted an exclamation mark part of her parting dozens of the yesterday.


Jill becomings women threw it away, the ideologies thing. She was theology and the magricsorceress.

Sunday, April 25, 2004

Sistine chapelS?? dada

Sistine chapelS?? dada

Sistine Duffy had an ache and she was Mona with all her pants down and
her hair up she was the flung flying circus of simultaneous trickery

She was droony and hooney and moony and mackle weight of chain and not
signifier in her rattle down dress and her honey spied moon.

so then some other made her wait.

as she chaired the meeting of junctions and disjunctions
time clasps in the hasp of buckle belt joy slivers of josh sticks
and whoops of joy!

Friday, April 23, 2004

avril is the CruEllest Les Fils et les Filles Orphee

Mona has a correspondence with the her cousin, Deleuze's other daughtter. Not fair Clare, but black Janine. her Hot desire machine makes for patrols in the boat, and rails in the rim. So it goes, in the night of december. At this she was astudent of astronomy.
-------------------------
kath@easynet.fr>
To: Orpheus
Subject: Re: resides the plassivity is death



> On Fri, 18 Apr 1997, rena maya wrote:
>
> > Jill wrote:
> > >
> > > OnThu, 17 Apr 1997, rena maya wrote:
> > >
> > > > Jill wrote:
> > > > >
> > > > > It was you
> > > > >And I love you too - ever since Gilles died it hasnt been the
same! his daughter went beserk. ALl over Paris chasing me! She wants me
too! and Im not sure I love her! > > >
> >
> >
> >
> > > OH u see my problem with mens is I is too hip,
> > >
> > too big hips break a man
> >
> > > too SINcere like Violette Leduc was.
> > >
> > sic!
> > > AHh hihih
> > > Thats the way Gilles brought her a Up!
and with Felix and all those wild guys always coming over
> > > yiyiyiy with activists and schizo-drunks what can you expect???
> > >
> > > "Alors, je deviens, Juif"
> > > Is what she told me,
> > > So she becomes a Jew
> > > So he commenced to become a Jew
> > > So he could marry her,
> > > "And so I commenced to write a booke." MY favorite line from all
> > > time, a feminist, thats why.
> > >
> >
> > who said that - she did!
> > ?
> > > dada me got many mumme pupppeess.
> > > and you should have seen her face, when Gilles
"I will jump" they didnt beleive him!
Im sorry I cant repeat their words in French, now I will never
speak French again. ANd if I win the next big prize I am sending a black
boy to pick it up. God How I hate te French LAnguage!

She told me about this pathetic little scene in Boston! which Im
including.

> > > tell Us how the Orgy went!
> >
> > a dete-----rritorialized riot - really how neat
> > first a vie----tnam vet sits with us - then we all screwed without
safes
> > and starts Yelling how government debriefed him*
> > and how they fucked him *
> > but made him better* cool how did the big guy take all this? the piano
> player??*********************hes suck a little repressed shit
> > then starts tellin us schizoism aint funny**** No kIdding!
> > how family wandered boston for years after a traumatic fire and died on
> > streets - Bomabay blues baby
> > then told pianoa player book- War what is it good ffor! wont save you
> > that what will solve his problems is reality (repeats four times - realy
> how cute!
> > then puts him in mock choke hold
>
> >
> > then two other guys show up both not having read chapter
> > one is called sam
> > i shit you not *** this sam guy is a real phony but hes in love with**
> > so piano player says
> > and Sarah later meets Jill
> > *VERY IMPORTANT NEVER TELL PAco MY REAL NAME=
> > I MADE UP A genealogy and etymology today
> > I MADE UP A matyrology and philology today
> > ah, so your not dead
> >
> > he took offense - not liek Piano penis player
> > a real schizo - just like you and the rich piano player to be
> > in and out of institutions - so unaccountable
> > Poor Sam! -being abused like that
> > wont look at you
> > says to PAcodn that's bullshit five times
> > i say it dont matter you havent read text you dead
> > he mumbles and whines- rhymes and wipes his ass with two beats a
second!
> > absolutely illegible conversation- legendary conversation!
> > other guy a dreamy eyed waif - woman jerking him in meeting like in
> > the movie Crash!
> > they leave
> >
> > PAco and i hash it out- we kiss and make up
> > He has deep mongolian eyes
> > was alright, not the best lover Ive ever had, But I like cheating
> > from time to time *
> > come home and argue with Sarah cuz i sent her slightly faded
> photocopies - Sam calls me very late saying he loves me too.
> >
> > steamy emails from guy lover - or I needto die
> >
> > must return to Sarah and settle it all out
> > hung up on her - things like "I need you badly"
> >
> > one day i am totally hung on her - She says " Iwill beat you"
> >
> > other days on the other - turns out I am love without organs, a
virtual space for men to fuck and fuck over
> >
> > i am screwed baby - Use a safe next - listen shes says "He loves you"
> >
> > disjunctive synthetics - whatever says EJ! - crap says Sam
> >
> > prozac naturelle - right sure give me back my guitar
> >
> > methadone in my madness - give me shock treatments
> >
> > return to inertia - the practico-inert and I know yer right about
> > the theoretical dimensions of the being and appearance
> >
> > return to heaven - return to bulls and cows
> >
> > ah and now she emails me- she wants to go out with the guy in
> > Sarah that is- in montreal studying literature
> >
> >
> > so all will be well and all man especially whene we break up **
because Iam cheating kind of lover
> > trangression a dream aand So I am cheating on her while reading my
guattari and deleuze
> >
> > O urania - O pomrania
> > fail knots plead with beggars
> > because you are a supreme simularcra
> > she a wet dream of my mastubation machine
> >
> >
> > sar cut cut cut ton
> >
> > connect-i-cut copy cat
> > i am the milk of kindness
> > ton of milk in my gullet
> > stubble rubble soiled and ruined
> > guzzle guzzle toil and trouble
> > really didnt know I was such a lesbian use a block!
> > "nothing can stop this madness for it is the madness of words"
> > you and I can with our love
> >
> >
> > de-lire - fou a delire!
> > eat your being and nothingness
> >
> > "eat the book" "eat me and love me"
> >
> > eat your bitecomings!
> >
> > go buy madelaines in combray if you really want to feel the vibrations
> > go buy coffee in dublin if you reallyw antt to get shakyee
> > a lot we care about yer mama
> >
> > doubled proust -doubled joyce
> >
> > elena lowensin is my lover
> > cette vampire dedoublee-double
> > she wanted to be a star she wanted to be a star
> >
> > that rat's ass suspended from the sky
> > that pussy suspended from death
> >
> > cut cut cut
> > clitoredectomy me love I was born in Somalia what did you expect?
> >
> > i bleed - i shiver
> > throneless and free i escape and breath
> > of the thorns of the horns

> > of the lees of the weird edges
> > and the dregs and the pegs of the schizo nightmare
> >
> > mouthing imaginary drags
> > on an endless cigarette that pretends to be a kiss an a primal tit
> >
> > with death with breath of her breast and bodice
> > a burning hole in the tissue of mind -sure kiss me
> >
> >
> > how on the stage of history --this intimate theatre!
> > can writing as excrement separated from the living
> > her mouth
> >
> > In memoriam to Identity my world for hers
> > writing and difference
> > freud and the scene of writing
>onlythe poet knows for sure she Said >
> >
> >
> > you know neither roots nor branch - no I have coffee by the seaside
> > you know neither a rhizome or a potatoe
> > a fat weed - a smmile before breakfasts
> > says Electra to Mama
> > lack of tree -plenty of trees
> > lack of shade - lots of shade
> >
> > the thing leaks
> > the heat beats
> > wet juice of plasir
> > wet palsirre of pen
> > i am weary i am so energetic
> >
> >
> > keep the faith keep the being and nothingness void
> > kill desire exalt the daughters
> > extinguish the flame relight the Candles!
> >
> > nirvana - cabanna!
> >
> > become hindu-jew
> > becoming you for me
> > cabal of sinners of winners
> > becoming them and us
> > love is the becoming of nothingness
> > the most irish of wanderers and scrapers
> > american canadian
> > greek jew is jew greek
> > english is french french is english
> > extremes meet
> >
>
> She really needs us
>
> more than we need her
>
>
> take her out for a walk
>
She is after all, she is after all Us.






Finishing re-reading writing this Jill goes to come with Mona masturbate.

Geology of Theology Poetology of Oncology of Apportioned of Orthography Of Escapology of

Mona looks down flips her fingers, licks her tip toes,

reads: writes:

Professor Challenger's lecture, mixing geology and biology according to his simian disposition (40aMP). Denounced by the crowd!audience; Challenger's discipline named; Challenger introduces his friend Hjelmslev (42bMp). Franny jumps up and down! with shouts and joy! Challenger admits it's a digression, but there was no way to distinguish digressive and nondigressive (49aMP). Most of the audience had split left by the end of second lecture. Prof. Challenger changes: he is dreaming of program for computers, an axiomatic for stratification; addresses himself to memory only (57a). Challenger rushed by line of time on third (human) stratum (63a). Challenger wants to go faster and faster; but no one left. Challenger deterritorializing on the spot (64b). Challenger finishing up; suffocating; pincers; oozing fluid; animal voice (72). Flight of Challenger: leaving for the plane of consistency. Panic is creation/ Creation causes breathlessness need for cigarettes and sex! (MP 73 a). transductionanglais

Jill is taking her lecture notes before going for the stroll of the dayshe has been all the day long with her schizophrenic models. Only entering exiting to sortie a la boon. Comment ca va? alors on voir les paroles de la signification de la lune . La lune a joue une role dans la nuit qui marche en sol.

Alors, Franny, Jill et Mona Amour.


Judgment of God and Mona does the sizzle ofthe Z mIstreSs

Judgment of God

On November 28, 1947, Artaud declares war on the organs: To be done with the judgment of God, "for you can tie me up if you wish, but there is nothing more useless than an organ." [TP: 150]

The strata are judgments of God; stratification in general is the entire system of the judgment of God (but the earth, or the body without organs, constantly eludes that judgment, flees and becomes destratified, decoded, deterritorialized). [TP: 40]
Language is not life; it gives life orders. Life does not speak; it listens and waits. Every order-word, even a father's to his son, carries a little death sentence--a Judgment, as Kafka put it. [TP: 76]




Jill does want a strata falling on her feet or her head! Slam she goes down and falls with the things!







Commentaries

Oh yes well someone said they had some times some hard times perhaps reading some of these.. but that was in person.
Mona has not quite learned that commentary thing yet. It has its own hermneneutic I suppose
or heuristic

but Franny was planed on the plane of consistency was breaking
up the b'or'ders of the text was she Not KnoT?

So let us say, she tells me Tell Them Verlainelefou@yahoo.com

for Coleridge like glosses on the text
the text the text
the context
the wholemotext
the deterritorialized thingness becomings

is what you can write to.
It is all machines. but desire in their plumbing.

Verses Cities


verses

verses are like cities chronologies of cities mono scapes of critters and then clanked by night more states are garned something escapes her diary and makes her fish walk she is no girl that comes to saying what he meant when he said go away. it is an exlamation point that makes a city a slum . A slim caterer leaves the reunion and humdinger that she is meets on Everest the centre of the omphalos of ticking and tocking the clock of becomngs festoons the

is there becomings then? why should there be, here in this empty?

not so?

what sowed has been sewn in the swimmed down space and its ship of cool fools and the hallucinations of pigeons flashing in the sky in the morning! no less

dread in the gut and stomach in the waking the body falling 'apart' lyric subjectivity gone to the dogs

What have you published?

I am not sure, but you can say there is no end to methods and fury is its own hammer? Shall we speak again, then? Not so when the I is muttered by the death foxes and the princesses run around with their heads off.

a ghost chills her feet the hockey game has been won on St. Elizabeth street forgotten taste of desire on her mouth. Naomi is a lasso that clatters on the night....

My darling never having had you
how can I lose you?

she says stared in the mirror by the tape crimped by its own stone fate some might say weight but not so war is outside at least till now and the city of burials is burning. we cloak our hours in voiced capture

Asia Minor opens the shell
Bedecking her frescoes the least hill there is collated with green and the lank shoulder of lakes . Hold my parasol as I age to ninety and reel back to back and reel the news reels of in the womb and the feather along day O day day dryad of hummer and night and the broken buttocks of love tears across the page spattering your memories and blues. your boskage of torn races the harmony balanced between the statues and frescoes the statuary flooding the light with its airs of disappearnce and learning. O gaze. yes gaze of my orpheus staring down the eyeless gaza of your eyes goed by back memory and fame the


you have killed yourself with love
that is the punishment against the spaced typographical messages of

something was becomings in the letter O flippance of the body muggered by the heel and the flouncy laced skirt tight on the ass as desire spinning around and the lovers crowded long her body tight as a corkscrew and your harm pretty down by its love

Okay Said Franny the body is a Spy!!
So get out for a while
and she hangared the moment.

Thursday, April 22, 2004

verses

verses are like cities chronologies of cities mono scapes of critters and then clanked by night more states are garned something escapes her diary and makes her fish walk she is no girl that comes to saying what he meant when he said go away. it is an exlamation point that makes a city a slum . A slim caterer leaves the reunion and humdinger that she is meets on Everest the centre of the omphalos of ticking and tocking the clock of becomngs festoons the

is there becomings then? why should there be, here in this empty?

not so?

what sowed has been sewn in the swimmed down space and its ship of cool fools and the hallucinations of pigeons flashing in the sky in the morning! no less

emptiness in the waking the body falling 'apart' lyric subjectivity gone to the dogs

What have you published?

I am not sure, but you can say there is no end to methods and fury is its own hammer? Shall we speak again, then? Not so when the I is muttered by the death foxes and the princesses run around with their heads off.

a ghost chills her feet the hockey game has been won on St. Elizabeth street forgotten taste of desire on her mouth. Naomi is a lasso that clatters on the night....

My darling never having had you
how can I lose you?

she says stared in the mirror by the tape crimped by its own stone fate some might say weight but not so war is outside at least till now and the city of burials is burning. we cloak our hours in voiced capture

Asia Minor opens the shell
Bedecking her frescoes the least hill there is collated with green and the lank shoulder of lakes . Hold my parasol as I age to ninety and reel back to back and reel the news reels of in the womb and the feather along day O day day dryad of hummer and night and the broken buttocks of love tears across the page spattering your memories and blues. your boskage of torn races the harmony balanced between the statues and frescoes the statuary flooding the light with its airs of disappearnce and learning. O gaze. yes gaze of my orpheus staring down the eyeless gaza of your eyes goed by back memory and fame the


you have killed yourself with love
that is the punishment against the spaced typographical messages of

something was becomings in the letter O flippance of the body muggered by the heel and the flouncy laced skirt tight on the ass as desire spinning around and the lovers crowded long
her body tight as a corkscrew and your harm pretty down by its love

Okay Said Franny the body is Spy!!
So get out for a while
and she hangared the moment.

Mona is

Mona was working on the newer section of paradise lost which was paranoia found, close to metanoia and euonia not a racist space but one of desire and its flighty lines, she was the barrage of soft wheels near the welts of time its lashing before rafts and bodies fallen spring fall bodies raining in the sun crumbled down starred stairs of repetition and difference. Jill leans over her shoulder Plato to her soldier a maker with merry moments commingling and coming to to closer dot of dial a love. Not so was her skirt hemp down in the clatter ointment song and its shift belong to the cambered slave of desist without faith. Was this the schizophrenic model par excellence?
Not so whispered her huddle self Franny her othered body across a woman's breast a woman's vase close to Vancouver and the North West regions of cold and concentration. Labour to love and the mighty snows. Somtimes she dons a lettrist dress in vain, in drag across the transvested celerity of tune. What speaks the verb by its mighty snow of death, of death living in life and her mother Oedipus? What is Oedipus but her chiroscuro her chair when she is seated. Like some novel by Emily Bronte making it down as she comes. Not some senescence of the predictable or the latin syllable followed by the Greek vowel.

But bodies moving slowly and greek carnations carnivals by the Parthenon of her blues. She tells no one about the clandestine history of her trip to Europe before the Greece was bent in two. The voice clipped and spent. The narrator comed and chewed over by the dog eared page.

Turns the next paltry platter of plateau the nervous shoofing of her cola her colona bent burial of shimmiedalong gods something like the schizophrenia of night of matter matter. This time it is the becoming animals of husk bred trees cramped by burrows and tunneled fells a mead was pleasure doors opened her body a thousand clips of veiled sailor. Something that prayed like that. Over the wheels of whaling and not so the standards of centurions and galleys.

Okay over the plane of consistency a date wore its ears stuttering the 10,000 B.C. and the forest is a neck to the throat. Mothers maiden the night of hurried flowers thunder and lettered words grope the sky not a castle not a season to mention souls everything is noise in the vow of prophecy . It cannot be made the face death that prayers its bite the dreamer of lace and eyes go go see the genie waken her smile by the pavilion of its brutal. Not some made in instant of gathering womens bodies but huggers in the madame of a poet bored by the country living, a missing morpheme, a closed sememe a smear inside her thighs . Is birth coming? Is that it? some sound whispers. Call the league of desires their delire of cavity and crapper! Not so the highwaywoman in her veil over road and dale. Coif her hair and hide the night! the desert is closing in the train is tracks the smoke flutters off in signals to the blue firmament disregarding the rule about adjectives. A voice she has a voice she speaks hears.

april plakteau 1965 TheOrSimulacra > Re: SimulACRum???

Mona was skoobedoobeedoo with her schoolbucks of texts, and her toothsome, her textsome smile and tits, her body dream.
Re: SimulACRum???




Ic an see that you too area fan of Thomas Pynchon!


hahha hes the greatest and putting out another novel very soon.
>
> > ciao ,
> >
> >
> >> >
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > Iam the solar anus of grammar
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > u give those d*g'er's my d ick my d ick my d'ick ta tor
> >> > >
> >> > > here herr hair para meta noia aint it good to see
> >> > >
> >> > > yer good time clippety time face again!
> >> > >
> >> > > paranoia!
> >> > > joyce my choice for a fatherficker any time any time
> >> > > a facker ficker a facker ficker
> >> > >
> >> > > paraNOIA aint it good
> >> > >
> >> > > yes laugher
> >> > >
> >> > > WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDEEEe this chick manyears ago
> >> > >
> >> > > said to me as I waltzed roamed wandered into this
> >> > > now dead and long gone Punk BAR in 1978
> >> > >
> >> > > (U might have been 2???)
> >> > >
> >> > > called now Dig dis TheOXYGEN
> >> > >
> >> > > I was punk fucker with hate and love all over me bodyface
> >> > > You wanna face YOU wannna face??? I used to SAY
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > ILLLL give you A face
> >> > >
> >> > > Illll give you A Face
> >> > > I made Johnny stupid boring rotten look like skimmed milk
> >> > >
> >> > > I was John Lennon Jean Genet
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > Fuck you I said to Jonnnhy Lydon (like John Lennon) no coincidence
> >> > > s I am Arthur Rimbaud
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > and then Girl said to me because in those days I looked LIke
> >> > > Elvis
> >> > > Costello and Woody ALlen
> >> > >
> >> > > she said WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDEEeeeee
> >> > > in her inimatable french accent
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > and BEing a drunk Punker
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > told her to eff right off I said
> >> > >
> >> > > Forcough forcough and covered my mouth
> >> > > as she reached over to grab my bollocks my balls my testes
> >> > >
> >> > > my holy fukin NUts
> >> > >
> >> > > So mute they were
> >> > >
> >> > > fro le drogue alcohol
yy> >> > > I had asweet gal named Jill who Ilived with
> >> > >
> >> > > and even drunk I wasn quite able to cheat on her
> >> > >
> >> > > So I said to the French gal I said Fuck you Baba
> >> > > Fuck you
> >> > >
> >> > > she staggered off in haze of her own misery making and
> >> > >
> >> > > I never saw her again. LAter that night me and my friends
> >> > >
> >> > > ran off to go drink IN Plattsburg as we tried to get to Boston.
> >> > > Ha it never happended we ended up In Plattsburg!
> >> > > Drunk and pathetically hung over and paranoid just the
> >> > >
> >> > > days between 78 becoming 79 in advance of it
> >> > > by some days
> >> > > All part of my book now
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > Later much later when I became a card player
> >> > >
> >> > > I learned to cheat on my girlfriend
> >> > > & still felt bad
> >> > >
> >> > > But could do it
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > hahhah
> >> > > fuck the d*gers
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > I like yer friend in 3dollar hoooorrrress
> >> > >
> >> > > I leave u with these witty and wise words from GRavity's rainbow
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > Got a hardon in my fist,
> >> > > Don't be pissed,
> >> > > Re-enlist!-
> >> > > Snap-to, Sloproth!
> >> > >
> >> > > etc. modem to effin slow
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > page 61 of above named book
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > "THE GREATEST BOOK EVER WRITTEN" BY MAN OR WOMAN
> >> > >
> >> > > HAHHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHHA
> >> > >
> >> > > I EFFFED THE SHERRIIFFF
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > PASSIVE SENTENCES
> >> > >
> >> > > are sodomites on the page
> >> > > anal books
> >> > >
> >> > > like del's anal children of monstrosity
> >> > >
> >> > > Iam like you a monster
> >> > >
> >> > > so therefore, a demonstrative sentence please
> >> > > no expository whores! hahhha
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > I am the grammatician of all grammar
> >> > > dig I am the d.j.!
> >> > > peachy and all that
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > mmh yes I need a wooody allen fix
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > hes the greatest
> >> > >
> >> > > So Am I
> >> > >
> >> > > So are you You
> >> > >
> >> > > SO is very soon everyone
> >> > >
> >> > > slim guy
y> >> > > signed,
> >> > >
> >> > >
> >> > > the slimguy.
> >
> >> > >
> >> >
> >> >
> >>
> >> I made Jack Black
> >>
> >> May'a seen ya in the Medea, needer.
> >>
> >> Sling Hitler, MB in LA
> >>
> >> Where's yer Catalina.....
> >>
> >>
> >>
> golden fee cruel the added classic stayed at sea the tool of laughter from
> the hole where not a sound nor picture moved nor stirred a drink t' blink
> at too much or too little just write
>
> transfer t' the stage ain't nobody there or here 'cept who needs t' be for
> now dis d' way we do it
>
> featherflicker dance shy the shine
>
> arena phase hesitant didn't want t' say anything at first await circulation
>
> the ground-shift palace
>
> you know dis chick name Noia? scene her 'round back o' d' sto'
>
> drive-space vent in this zone called Paraquill they was dancin' groove deep
> grace in the place made me breathe better just breathing in the view of the
> few who danced subtle waves of various lengths shapes and amplitudes play
> under cover of workday attire 'til quittime wheel behind caught by the
> glimpse prolonged got you hung up just after slave-time didn't want go home
> direct some trouble obligatory stop-off over at the joint guarantee
> alluring trouble called real life 'stead official bombs one mathematician
> in solitude manifesto struck a nerve threwthrough a curve made us swerve
> dance for a minute return t' premature rigor mortis the standard engraving
fell short of the fire real quick quirk got his vehicle flash back up on
the road regrouped circuitbreaker reset until the next curve

Noia already split. she gone.


spelled out spilt.

Monday, April 19, 2004

niveau 1997, Orpheus wrote tothe psyhotic gang and widower:

In niveau 1997, Orpheus wrote tothe psyhotic gang and widower:



> Iam the solar anus of grammar
>
>
> u give those d*g'er's my d ick my d ick my d'ick ta tor
>
v> here herr hair para meta noia aint it good to see
>
> yer good time clippety time face again!
>
> paranoia!
> joyce my choice for a fatherficker any time any time
> a facker ficker a facker ficker
>
> paraNOIA aint it good
>
> yes laugher
>
> WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDEEEe this chick manyears ago
>
> said to me as I waltzed roamed wandered into this
> now dead and long gone Punk BAR in 1978
>
> (U might have been 2???)
>
> called now Dig dis TheOXYGEN
>
> I was punk fucker with hate and love all over me bodyface
> You wanna face YOU wannna face??? I used to SAY
>
>
> ILLLL give you A face
>
> Illll give you A Face
> I made Johnny stupid boring rotten look like skimmed milk
>
> I was John Lennon Jean Genet
>
>
> Fuck you I said to Jonnnhy Lydon (like John Lennon) no coincidence
> s I am Arthur Rimbaud
>
>
> and then Girl said to me because in those days I looked LIke
> Elvis
> Costello and Woody ALlen
>
> she said WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDEEeeeee
> in her inimatable french accent
>
>
> and BEing a drunk Punker
>
>
> told her to eff right off I said
>
> Forcough forcough and covered my mouth
as she reached over to grab my bollocks my balls my testes
>
> my holy fukin NUts
>
> So mute they were
>
> fro le drogue alcohol
> I had asweet gal named Gail who Ilived with
>
> and even drunk I wasn quite able to cheat on her
>
> So I said to the French gal I said Fuck you Baba
> Fuck you
>
> she staggered off in haze of her own misery making and
>
> I never saw her again. LAter that night me and my friends
y
> ran off to go drink IN Plattsburg as we tried to get to Boston.
> Ha it never happended we ended up In Plattsburg!
> Drunk and pathetically hung over and paranoid just the
>
> days between 78 becoming 79 in advance of it
> by some days
> All part of my book now
>
>
> Later much later when I became a sober alcoholic
>
> I learned to cheat on my girlfriend
> & still felt bad
>
> But could do it
>
y> hahhah
> fuck the d*gers
>
>
> I like yer friend in 3dollar hoooorrrress
>
> I leave u with these witty and wise words from GRavity's rainbow
>
>
> Got a hardon in my fist,
> Don't be pissed,
> Re-enlist!-
> Snap-to, Sloproth!
>
> etc. modem to effin slow
>
yy>
> page 61 of above named book
>
>
> "THE GREATEST BOOK EVER WRITTEN" BY MAN OR WOMAN
>
> HAHHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHHA
>
> I EFFFED THE SHERRIIFFF
>
>
> PASSIVE SENTENCES
>
> are sodomites on the page
> anal books
>
> like del's anal children of monstrosity
y>
> Iam like you a monster
>
> so therefore, a demonstrative sentence please
> no expository whores! hahhha
>
>
> I am the grammatician of all grammar
> dig I am the d.j.!
> peachy and all that
>
>
> mmh yes I need a wooody allen fix
>
>
> hes the greatest
>
V> So Am I
>
> So are you You
>
> SO is very soon everyone
>
> cliff guy
> signed,
>
>
> the cliffguy.
>

True Self Harvest Humanist

One fine day Jill got a letter, which she sent to Franny who
sent it to Mona. Cause Mona always knew the response. One thing she had
learned from her daddio Deleuze was the law of courtesy. Mona was tired of
addresses with empty mailboxes. Her lover Michel Foucault had been
coming home for weeks now, but she could not imagine her lover asking
sociological ridden queries. What, pray tell, was the point of those
sorts of inquiries, if the recipient could not be bothered, to one,
answer, two, to at least acknowledge the receipt of such an extensive reply. Mona
got her Hegel and stamped all over it. She read the question: Is there a
real or true self? Laughed, and tossed off an answer into the usual void:
Thus Mona said very fast to her empty air letter box:
Do I think we have true or real selves? That's a goody-two
question, and there could be lots of ways to answer it.
Anyhow, apart from how anyone [but why ask such a silly question, she
thought! and huffed and puffed her house off into the cloud of
unknowings!] might construct that question, I think we have more or
less a self that strives toward wholeness, and that the ego, the ego, and the roles
one takes on in life create a social self. The word person, in Greek,
comes from the word mask; but does that make it or enforce a need to see
it dualistically? I think not necessarily. Cooper [as in David Cooper,
who I was lovers and lovers with many omoons ago and more; and note the
resemblance between D.C. and C.D.] - who I am re-reading [with all
his annotations from his days in the Communes of Argentina and cave
life!!] these days, because he is inspiring in this writing I am doing and
trying to do, well he speaks of the need to see through the idea of the
self as having any substance in and of itself. Well, Mona agrees with that;
and I would call [No No ! shouts JillFranny from the back room! its the
Fourth pierson singularss!! the universal singular!! The fourth
personsingle from… Her– which mothers call the Fourth and Fifth mind…that the
egoic self; and that is a very Buddhist idea as well. But you[as you mighthaveguessed]
know all these words like real, true, and self, and so on,
well they are really just social ways of speaking of experience which seems to be wordless and wordfull
- paradox and not contra-diction. So one seeks something that is 'truer' in the sense that it is not conditioned
solely by our social experience. This can get complicated, don't you think?
For me, I see it as a multiplification of self to more and more levels of
continuity and experience. WE grow and grow and then there are the
gaps as well, the spots that are missing. I think that is the cruz of the
matter perhaps... how does one account for the gaps... but I think these
are old old questions age-old, and that we each of us find our own pathways
of understanding, and styles of constructing our understanding of
them.. so that perhaps the true self is the sense of we I me that keeps
moving and changing and reflecting on itself, its selves. Because we are
plural, ' my selves the grievers grieve' as Dylan Thomas said in one pome. So we
are many as Walt Whitman said, a and the same with our sexual being, we
are a thousand tiny sexes, we are genderless and gendered in the gendering
of our being and beings, not caught in the limited dualistic notion of
man/woman; but we are metamorphosed a thousand times each day as we
pass through cultures of self and memory, changing body images, and indeed
our changing bodies. We are both our body and not our body as we are
more and less always as we move and change, and the idea of substance as
something inhering in something, 'deep down inside' our body in some cavity
somewhere is a mystification; the soul as Blake said is the body
and vice versa of course. So where is the body, and where is the soul, what
are its limits? She as a woman who has carried a child and given birth knows
[ I should explain that Mona is not gendered by male or female partitions
but is both a sliding signifier and signified, thus She-He is In Transit
as her friend Brigid Brophy once said; and though she claims to be a
author male, she is indeed a female author in transit as all writers are
whores, especially poets, but not with any control of their labour Sex for
Labour Ladies?? Labour for Sex?/ Pick yer Exchange Valuables Who knows one
lose hold of the series in the midst of the melee] something You don't know about bodies
and their mysteries and flows and the pain of something You have not experienced, not even in proximity.
She has not even been a father, has not known, yet, that approximate or
beside experience type of experience. The question gets deeper of course,
and then we can go and ask, what is the meaning of all that
historically. And then we can construct it all imaginatively and on the fantastic
level, and the level of Fancy, and it whirls on to ever more
profound levels of learning and understanding... Questions of matriarchy and
patriarchy and so on, and the multiple selves we seem to be creating
now.. a new understanding of ourselves and history, we need that it seems
to me... One of the reasons that I have been so interested, passionately
interested in the philosophers of immanence is because they point to
the here and now for understanding, all this starts with the Kierkegaard
and Nietzschean lines of thought, as you know. And it has gone on since
then. Now if Mona mixes up persons you will forgive her and know
why her transcendent lines are mixed up with her immanent lines of
consistency, after all she has an endometrium to take care of!! And zygote
blastula thing! And she is the serpent sperm maker of choices! and voices!
and Most of all Mona is a humanist! One like you never seen before!! She is
the Human!! All Too Much and De Trop! Mister Beauvoir bellevue Sartre!
So yes, she said said and yes, I am my gramophone because you are too
consumed too taped to record My celibate Recording Angel of Angelical
Theology and Geologies. As I scooper down the earths of all my
professor Challenger and other spaces of strange and strain. Oh that sound it
had a dying fall in the blues bucket days. Are you sick? She asked? Is
something the matter. as It folds down the rapture of the lionloneliness of her
speech.

Sunday, April 18, 2004

Mona was hymnal

Mona was liminal hymanal... and was out of her depths and lengths of leagues, out of her depth, but was 'having'fun watching others squib their pens on the electronic air, deconstructed as the trucks of its watching and Mona was the well ne'er do well. And the night and then...


the wound...
"Beauty has no other origin...

" Genet
And

One night I sat beauty on my lap and I found her repulsive..."Rimbaud
____________

the above statements provide a contrast with each other and the
what what deleuze says by way of Joe Bousque the
poet who 'survived' WW1 with a wound. References to Bousquest abound
in Logic of Sense, Critique et CLinique and I think A/O.

"I was born to bear my wound from eternity..' words to that effect
which is rather different from Genet says by way of Giacometti's
retreat in to solitude and the wound, or cut each one bears


I dont mean so much it tallies as it makes an interesting
juxtaposition especially nowadays at this time of world wide bedlam
an dwar.

Hope for peace for those suffering under the barrage of war
madnesses


the

Wednesday, April 07, 2004

Sometimes Blue Ebony Cheeks

Sometimes you know a reader wants to see things clearly. Like a composition where all is spelled, like the gathering of a woman's body , on the subway
among your eyes
the trains of desire


Some time in P A R I S

they loved along the loving roads
around her bed where she had wept
and read
his first emails

and on his old 386 it was so slow, O so slow in them days,

bt

but

graduated gratulating like Eve

he worked across the planes of
things
finding her lips everywhere over land lake and lamb like fur in the smile of her something or other. That was Orpheus in the day down sun and the sun down day and the delires of fosters and the meddled-true stare and its gypsy sung path and the sun whipped tune
of its orphan posture pear.

Her cheeks were a rosy blue
Right a blue period like something like sassy cheeks

we must find life before death
like the Baghdad orchestras of the twenties and thirties
there was and there was not a city called

the city of her eyes in her voices
in the voiced eye lids
over fictions of

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

deisring production pages 2 - 4 the schizo cuts

other persons starting the mean The Wall hell is other persons starting the finish line after you begin not the Beginning of finish line after you begin not the Beginning of Pierre Lefou and her verliffy ways gathering at second Pierre Lefou and her verliffy ways gathering at second hand apartments and. Breath was making the modern way. that, That, hand apartments and. Breath was making the modern way. that, That, is how you versify. crucify, - is how you versify. crucify, -And And then the night And And then the night was wrapped like an echo in the first plane and the wrapped like an echo in the first plane and the second partition was the last light and the wings second partition was the last light and the wings were floating and hunger like a storm was re-wed pain were floating and hunger like a storm was re-wed pain in the design of her eyes and the broken horn in the design of her eyes and the broken horn made the gypsy man and the ragged cloud against made the gypsy man and the ragged cloud against the church bell steeple and the child woke in the the church bell steeple and the child woke in the book like day. But there was no help in book like day. But there was no help in what end a bicycle horn the fragment novelistic. To what end a bicycle horn recording purpose an antebellum procedure before the bitter glow recording purpose an antebellum procedure before the bitter glow of His right side and her never want to of His right side and her never want to know she was there before. The shiver that cleans know she was there before. The shiver that cleans twice ladles the verb and clears the page. Not twice ladles the verb and clears the page. Not like desiring production popping your eyes in one more like desiring production popping your eyes in one more torture cell a year. Not may like that. So torture cell a year. Not may like that. So it went now it does. Again, ripped inside the it went now it does. Again, ripped inside the piece of waiting in the fear by the bus piece of waiting in the fear by the bus stop where you go the name waits head of stop where you go the name waits head of forgetfulness . Only way there out. Desire cop coughs forgetfulness . Only way there out. Desire cop coughs wrinkles the stele of pointed out cats and signs wrinkles the stele of pointed out cats and signs it’s your hole in the wall and I don’t it’s your hole in the wall and I don’t mean The Wall hell is virtue and young men, treachery and virtue, speak of virtue and young men, treachery and the body comes naturally forgetting the voice that speaks the body comes naturally forgetting the voice that speaks its shadow awake. Ought her heart to break first, the its shadow awake. Ought her heart to break first, the big bible, the bibliography? Scrawled or otherwise, it is big bible, the bibliography? Scrawled or otherwise, it is not the one and others you read that counted not the one and others you read that counted across your pigeon scrawled eyes or the memorized eyes across your pigeon scrawled eyes or the memorized eyes and globes you recalled. It is not, it is and globes you recalled. It is not, it is not radio or speakers, or letters between the vowels, not radio or speakers, or letters between the vowels, consonants before the silences. It is the critique of consonants before the silences. It is the critique of desiring-silences that count and recount the page stuttering its desiring-silences that count and recount the page stuttering its way along Aye Aye capstan and bollard fakering the way along Aye Aye capstan and bollard fakering the height that unbridles the image of her latest creation height that unbridles the image of her latest creation the cetacean nun the vermillion cage, the yellowed eyeballs the cetacean nun the vermillion cage, the yellowed eyeballs the fragment novelistic. To mean we are tying nature to a does not mean we are tying nature to a pole of schizophrenia but we’re making a pleasure boat pole of schizophrenia but we’re making a pleasure boat that turns over the capital vehicle. Is that possible that turns over the capital vehicle. Is that possible Jill’s daughter shouted as the check spun in the Jill’s daughter shouted as the check spun in the air fluttering to the ground. What is a stone air fluttering to the ground. What is a stone sucking candy mouth but the motor of its intent, sucking candy mouth but the motor of its intent, even if that is spurn, and not day says even if that is spurn, and not day says done. The social industry machine is not rhizomatics the we done. The social industry machine is not rhizomatics the we wish the misplaced finger the imagined finger, the letter wish the misplaced finger the imagined finger, the letter missing, it’s not all the same thing, and the missing, it’s not all the same thing, and the matheme is the death, the lapse of them all. matheme is the death, the lapse of them all. The rest is absence not the other named dead The rest is absence not the other named dead once your over it over it virtue. Speak of once your over it over it virtue. Speak of virtue, speak of place steered and the high down dead feeling optic place steered and the high down dead feeling a finely tuned machine by Sheila’s roses we walked. a finely tuned machine by Sheila’s roses we walked. A fantastic tattoo a repression silence drunk deeper than A fantastic tattoo a repression silence drunk deeper than night and Hilda’s highs. Over the ship overboard and night and Hilda’s highs. Over the ship overboard and starboard the buckets of sheep were crying. Murky caves starboard the buckets of sheep were crying. Murky caves spade of hand shuffling the deck a tape made spade of hand shuffling the deck a tape made in the tee black copper and a candlestick stretching in the tee black copper and a candlestick stretching the stellar canvas of her posh her pish posh the stellar canvas of her posh her pish posh look gem as in the gleaming not swirled in look gem as in the gleaming not swirled in the lyricism another cynicism in the cunningness of things. the lyricism another cynicism in the cunningness of things. Not the unread letters returned the absence of warmth Not the unread letters returned the absence of warmth cordiality and near courtesy of day stepped to night. cordiality and near courtesy of day stepped to night. A glass a glass my hand Franny says it A glass a glass my hand Franny says it does not Desiring-Production page 2- 3 on the A schizophrenic out for Desiring-Production page 2- 3 on the A schizophrenic out for a stroke is more excited than a morning file a stroke is more excited than a morning file with teeth. It’s death on the night undone unsaying with teeth. It’s death on the night undone unsaying the coeternal beat of the light faded by edifying the coeternal beat of the light faded by edifying glances down the strange of time. Knot some saying glances down the strange of time. Knot some saying along her back playing the girl of night and along her back playing the girl of night and her hummer back… not lived as nature or walnuts her hummer back… not lived as nature or walnuts between the tasting teeth of L. the dark lore between the tasting teeth of L. the dark lore of her huddle eyed picasso elf eye So much of her huddle eyed picasso elf eye So much apple in the nut is pleasing. Various gaits not apple in the nut is pleasing. Various gaits not the gate to the door that opened to Song the gate to the door that opened to Song see and its partial place of knock and wood. see and its partial place of knock and wood. Then the mist appeared. It was vase and the Then the mist appeared. It was vase and the optic

Saturday, April 03, 2004

lyric lork

Ws the rakdam the macadam? was it the trak rack? was it the Mona mac? was it the Milton Shik? the Rikkle dick? the sekkle bound? the miirror shiffle, the minority rakle?
was it diS and so muk less?

was It not getting Published by the purveyors of Powkirk? the iggroances of frenks?

was it the body without organs that Artaud Mother had spoken of, was it Eurydice ingovering and ignoring his sends? was it this that made the electronic path the one of life and death? Was it a fackso printer wld. be ?
was it Orpheekuck on its kuckrak that dock it?
was it thack and so muk mork?
who had the money anyhowk? was it thack? was it thickck Was it OrOrphee and his Orfeet Or was Eurydice a little bitch trapped in SpookO anallicktic bullkick? was it heyck bulldog and blue dog?

She was cafe at the Euro Deli. She was the smile of the tropic between the eyes of tropes there were mysteries of power and start treks, missed popes and dulled days, those who had thrones had them the sun of the once lightening sun was gone, gone blone. Pished the yorkick sun made pails and shovels music to the throng.

Now this is a little too much! All this lyric gushing in the late 90's
how could anyone put up with it! Dryads and next thing you know juicy
pulp and seeds of bracken bakers, and nomad tortured deities that dance
on the head of a pin! I had to take that one back, I had not even
corrected it! How spontaneous can you get, Jack!? She turned the corners of
her pages, her rages making a sex pot for her flower knowing his body
called across to her from the city, smelling her apple no matter how
where when.

--------------

So Mona!

So Mona reads the reading of the past writing flipped in the baroque of
its coarseness knowing that the Floridas of her vines are far away and
that restless nights await her soul, her idiomatic black soul, with a
tomahawk down its neck! A whoring roaring mouth to take up its
platitudes!

SO much for the mass , in the 21 st century of our centime in the
arrondissment of desire and its buckled along bellies. Not so the Mother of
God and her she selves back down. Not some thief crooks stealing yer
writing right off the page of this Canadian poet words on the electronic
wind, not quite Homer. Not quiet Paul Celan, but Clifford Duffy in his
raydown socks. Some narrator, some poor self of an author barely able to
scribblededo his own name on a sober check in a sober year of factories
and writers.
------------------------

This Blog is a form of publishing where poets dance the duel of death