Saturday, May 29, 2004

Mona Had a text of faith, blind faith, and bad faith

She
had a
test
she
had
a
test
of
mermaid
memory
and
navigation
they were lies
along the borders of the last human city
and That was before the war
the last world war

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Mona C'Laimed

Mona claimed to have invented a discipline ( O fabled disciple of spankings and paninkins!) shehe
re-ferred to, called pointd and slide to called rhizomatics, schizoanalysis,
nomadology, micropoliticsHer dream was not so much to give a lecture to humans and others as to, micropeccatin, pragmatics, pragmantiticism,the science of multiplicities. Yet No one clearly understood what the goals, method, or principles of this discipline were. They were here in bodies-becomings.
provide a programme for pure poeticbecomings,
computers, blogs, virtual lovers, needers, ends, means, becomings, the freestate, end of the Father and the Mother too, and was so hard about that. She had a hard on.






There
are some terms : rare terms of Love~

TermS to Employ and Not DeFine to Define is : something we're not doing.




she was the abstract lover of the virtual and abstract machine this this and this. Artaud - judgment of God Mona's Uncle the father of Oedipus theatre of Cruelty -- The place of Performance and Nietzsche's Daughter. asiatic production -- something we are coming to understand as we drift East with eldorramany peace assemblage -||__ the gay savoir axiomatic - something not coded___biunivocal - split and spilt into two the milk goes both ways
black hole - my child centre of the universe
the body - something with organized organs and limbs
body without
organs (BwO) - the Lovely B.W.O. a resurrected timbre of thought and glance
body of the earth -- Old Mother Earth, not the Assumpted
body of the despot -- SaddamGushein GorgeBushein, Napoleon, Stalin, Idi Amin Dada,many others
body of capital - what she suffers each second of her praying
capitalist machine -- the fibre and very organizations of the above
capture
-- yes What you want and do not want.I am captured, unlike the Swan, I wander
codes and encoding - done in previous to capitalist societies
conjunctive synthesis - something that you don't get inyer Eyes, but in social and politcal events
content -- like expression, but not quite according to Jill
counteracted tendency -- please wait for the pelican of love
decoding - happens so capitalist flows take over and deterritorialize
desiring-production -- that's my secret love, call
me privately and she shall tell
despotic machine - the machines of Gorgebushein and others like that
deterritorialization --flux out of the land and codes and territoire
differential relations -- call her and Fanny for reclusive referral
double articulation -- the goddess libster library lobster rock lobster dancer
epistrata -- her clandestine geology of ethics
expression -- like content according to Franny
form & substance -- Schizo Linguistics

Missters's Hjelmslevvzzzzzzzzz 's net humanism __imaginary index, icon, symbol, diagram isomorphism judgment of God limit(s)..._____---+++ line of flight \\\|||/ line of escape ||| machinic unconscious masochism {Ohhh yessssssssss) [What? Mona shivers] terials matter milieu Oedipus order word overcoding parastrata
plane of consistency pleasure populreciprocal presupposition recoding regime of signs territorialization schizoanalysis ations postsignifying semiotic pragmatics quasi-cause reciprocal sREupposition recoding regime of signs territorialization schizoanalysis egmentarity signifying semiotic social machines socius strata ----strata types ----- _____
--unity of strata -----___--diversity of strata surplus value of code sumMONA CAN EXPLAIN THIS ANOTH regime of signs
reterritorialization schizoanalysis segmentarity signifying semiotic social machines socius strata --strata types ER DAY PLEASE CALL HERrplus value of flux
surplus value (human) 1 700 POETIC SWEET YER DESIRE LIP
surplus value (machinic)
symstrata types
--unity of strata bolic technical machines territorialization / the territory
territorial machine theatre of repetition the Urstaat




What remaindered of Mona's dissertation when She tore it Up throwing it down the toilet

Part one to be continued:


















































Moona
Mona wrote Once a lovely a Lovely Rote it t'was A tHe disse Disserviation diserVice Vice the VerSe Squad the PervErse Vice Rod of Milkton's wratha the bath ration once upon Milton's book of poetry. On Milton's book, on Milty the blinding poet dictating in the dark. His someness pome of stare in the dark. Across the infinite Eve Adam of things their genders, the lustifications of ManWoman to Godsgoddesses and his pome, was already marked the end of things. So Mona wrote a dissertation about it, and it made her very famous, but as for him, he fell into obscurity, and betrayal loving all things that could not find their name.

Dissertation Proposal: She gets married to Milkton and they have babies: the babies are Jill and Franny the many mulcted molecules of degender.

Title: There are No More Titles and Land Claims we are socialist democrats
Deterritorializing Satan: A Schlovely disseration once upon Milton's book of poetry. On Milton's book, on Milty the blinding poet dictating in the dark. His someness pome of stare in the dark. Across the infinite Eve Adam of things their genders, the lustifications of ManWoman to Godsgoddesses and his pome, was already marked izoanalytic Reading of Paradise Lost the Real Book was called Parades Laughed By See Mona m>
There are no files of re-search but on the question of champs magnetique Field of Research: (Literary Theory, Modernity and Literature)Her dissertation will explore Satan’s relationship to God and schizophrenia, paranoia and capitalism, and the capture and imprisonment of identity by monotheistic forces. In the process of this exploration Ishe mybodyshows sexsex and more sex that the action of the poem Paradise Lost enacts the transformation of the polytheistic force of Lucifer into the reterritorialized and paranoid character of Satan.
CorpuMona "submitted" this thing and it was accepted and she had a bibliography too, but we can leave stuttered that to Others and their imagination of learning and eruditon, pain and pedantry. Her bibliography was a Scroll.

Scrolling Bibliography
relation in both a human and divine context. In the midst of this blind, self-fashioning Christian poet’s project are desiring-machines that work against the shut-down machines of dogma and doctrine. The doctrinal instruction-machine of obedience espoused by Raphael and that he almost (the angelic messenger is a territorializing messenger par excellence) convinces Adam and Eve to follow, functions as an instance of the reterritorializing grasp of the God-machine’s will to dominate and to further “his” territorial reach. There is no guarantee that God will succeed in this project, and that is, of course, the story of human history, and precisely the narrative that Milton wishes to justify to us, his subjects. Against the monotheistic impulse to dominate and stratify creation, Desire, in the form of the polytheistic
s:
Milton, John. Complete Prose (1957). yea and the usual ripOffs
John Milton (1990).
The Prose of John Milton (1967). This year was the peak of the Hippy Movement. And oneyear before May 1968.

4 for You I Love . Working Hypothesis Hypothesis what bullshit! this is art not science ! Love not Patrongage!
A. Argument
Readers of Paradise Lost have returned time and again to the figure of Satan. How do we understand him? What does he stand for? Does he, indeed, stand for anything, or is he simply the empty signifier through which the ‘bad’ conscience of monotheism has exteriorised its fears? Do we see him allegorically as the sign, however complex, of the Evil that must co-exist with God in the Christian scheme of the universe? Do we perceive him as the symbol of “angelic” pride and the dangers it once represented to human and divine beings? Is it accurate to understand his “rebellion” and struggle as embodying one aspect of the conflict and quarrels that occurred breterritorialization. I take these terms from the work of Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari. Their writings, especially etween the rival factions of ancient monotheism and polytheism? How does Satan’s becoming “other” present to us the collective figuration of a now abolished polytheism, disguised and haunted in the figures of Milton’s poem? In this dissertation, I propose to read the movements of heaven to hell, the conflicts between God and Satan, the fall of Satan and Man, as the poetic account of what contemporary thinkers describe as deterritorializatiobreterritorialization. I take these terms from the work of Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari. Their writings, especially etween the rival factions of ancient monotheism and polytheism? How does Satan’s becoming “other” present to us the collective figuration of a now abolished polytheismn and reterritorialization. I take these terms from the work of Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari. Their writings, especially Anti-Oedipus and One Thousand Plateaus, will provide the theoretical basis for a schizoanalytic reading of Paradise Lost.
Method. Method in our Love Madness
In Chapter one (or plateau), I will describe the major “interpretative” tools that I derive from the work of Deleuze and Guattari and examine such key concepts as: schizoanalysis, deterritorialization – Desire, reterritorialization, rhizomatics, desiring-machines, the body-without-organs, the Outside, the line of flight. These terms and concepts will not be used to reveal a final “truth” about Milton’s text, for Deleuze and Guattari caution their readers: “Never interpret,” that is, never reduce. For what we must not do when reading a book is to look for a Truth that is opposed to a Fiction, or assume a “real” meaning behind the appearance. What we encounter when reading are plateaus which function (especially in an epic as grand as Paradise Lost) as aspects of a machine – i.e. the reading machine coupled with the literary machine. The various connotations and possibilities that constitute it work as a series of narratives and lines of flight (in Satan’s case quite literally the Fall), which do not necessarily resolve themselves of their “contradictions.”
In place of such a question as, what does this text mean, Deleuze and Guattari ask: what does it do, how does it work, what lines of flight does it permit and encourage, how do its lines of flight cross over the molar strata that constitute the Judgement of God? They see a text as a series of parts which do not “fit” into a whole that is the sum of its parts. They argue for multiplicity, layers, parts in contiguous relation, plateaus which function (especially in an epic as grand as Paradise Lost) as aspects of a machine – i.e. the reading machine coupled with the literary machine. The various connotations and possibilities that constitute it work as a series of narratives and lines of flight (in Satan’s case of significance, lines of dispersion which mark out a molecular line of escape. A book in their eyes must always have an Outside, a way of connecting to the Real. someness pome of stare in the dark. Across the infinite Eve Adam of things their genders, the lustifications Following this approach will enable me to trace the links among the anthropological, historical and theological levels of Paradise Lost.
In this chapter I will pose such questions as they bear on an appreciative/critical reading of Paradise Lost. It is not my intent to seek a simple correspondence between Deleuze and Guattari ideas and Milton’s poem. Doing so would be false to the pragmatic spirit of their work, nor would it teach the reader anything new about the age-old questions that hover “behind” and “within” Paradise Lost. I will, however, demonstrate how their thought can be applied to yield new insights into some of the classical problems associated with Milton’s text. in contiguous relation, plateaus of significance, lines of dispersion which mark out a molecular line of escape. A book in their eyes must always have an Outside, a way of connecting to the Real. someness pome of stare in the dark. Across the infinite Eve Adam of things their g terms and concepts will not be used to reveal a final “truth” about Milton’s text, for Deleuze and Guattari caution their readers: “Never interpret,” that is, never reduce. For what we must not do when reading a book is to look for a Truth that is opposed to a Fiction, or assume a “real” meaning behind the appearance. What we encounter when reading are plateaus which function (especially in an epic as grand as Paradise Lost) as aspects of a machine – i.e. the reading machine coupled with the literary machine. The various connotations and possibilities enders, the lustifications Following this approach will enable me to trace the links among the anthropological, historical and theological levels of Paradise Lost.
In this chapter I will pose such questions as they bear on an appreciative/critical reading of Paradise Lost. It is not my intent to seek plateaus which function
(especially in an epic as grand as Paradise Lost) as aspects of a machine – i.e. the reading machine coupled with the literary machine. The various connotations and possibilities
Chapter two will examine Satan within the Deleuzoguattarian framework. Does Milton “characterize” Satan as a force of deterritorialization, who is then likewise reterritorialized as a demonic charactero we ever see this take place? Does Satan the “force” return as Satan the “character,hose grievance against God has turned him into a paranoiac? Does Satan’s perception of God’syranny fit in with God’s stated goals to “lay by,” in the fulness of time all “Regal Sceptre[shereby making “God All in All” (3.11.339-41) and ending all hierarchy? In his reterritorialization by Goatan comes to be seen as the great Paranoid One, the great Melancholic. In Deleuzoguattarian termstan’s character works as a double articulation of two apparently contradictory states, one as the force (in full flight) of polytheism as it resistsModernity and Literature) her dissertall explore Satan’s relationship to God and schizophrenia, paranoia and capitalism, an the capture and imprisonment of identity by monotheistic forces. In the process of this exploration I will show that the pressures of monolithic monotheism, and the other as the diversion and return of that line of flight into a paranoid formation. In summary, this chapter will demonstrate these conflicts and apparent “contradictions.yea yea yea he third chapter will continue this line of investigation by probing other areas where the machines of creation and levels of conflict between deterritorialization and reterritorialization occur. It will examine how God as creator, as despot, as character, as textual figure,the sexy night o deities and bodies end of war start of love whoree also presents the movements of deterritorialization-reterritorialization in his relations to Adam and Eve. I will argue that the creation of Adam and Eve is the result of God’s need to reterritorialize Satan’s flight from heaven. Satan’s escape and abandonment of the monotheistic territories require that he be permanently demonized as the “other” to Adam and Eve. Satan, who is, at least on one level, an image of the alien Other in his struggle against God’s despotic tendencies, leaves a gap in the heavenly empire. Adam’s and Eve’s creation then becomes the next territory of God’s expansionist tendencies (Adam is quite literally pulled out of the ground) and need to dominate all aspects of the universe of which he is the titulary “Lord.” This is the case, notwithstanding Raphael’s assertion to Athy self O readers . Jill's Dad, Gilles, was happier when she tore it to pieces,and I, Jean Genet's son our father who art in Heaven , was also happier when she shit out the window. So it went . Yes and we cut it to shreds!!dam that human creation ispresents the movements of deterritorialization-reterritorialization in his relations to Adam and Eve. I will argue that the creation of Adam and Eve is the result of God’s need to reterritorialize not dependent on Satan’s falldespot, as character, as textual figure, also presents the movements of deterritorialization-reterritorialization in his relations to Adam and Eve. I will argue that the creation of Adam and Eve is the result of God’s need to reterritorialize Satan’s flight from heaven. Satan’s escape and abandonment of the monotheistic territories require that he be permanently demonized as the “other” to Adam and Eve. Satan, who is, at least on one level, an image of the alien . In the projected final chapter, I will reconsider the major themes of power and schizophrenia, especially as these relate to the poet’s Monism (which was, in my view, a type of Spinozist theology before the fact) and his interpretation of Christian doctrine. I will connect these themes to his perception of the Father/Son relation in both a human and divine context. In the midst of this blind, self-fashioning Christian poet’s project are desiring-machines that work against the shut-down machines of dogma and doctrihdoctrinnstruction-machine of obedience espousey Whose Spuse Raphael??? hey Leave me alone! and that he almost (the angelic messenger is a territorializing messenger convinces, persuades, cajoles, threatens brow-beats the ppor fellow Eve and Adam's mother Adam and Eve to ctions as an instance of the reterritorializing grasp of the God-machine’s will to dominate and to further “his” territorial reach. There is no guarantee that God will succeed in this project, and that is, of course, the story of human history, and precisely the narrative that Milton wishes to justify to us, his subjects. Against the monotheistic impulse to dominate and stratify creation, Desire, in the form of the polytheistic force of Satan nee Lucifer, pursues its own investments working through a field of immanence, creating in effectescapes beyond the escape (Deleuze and Guattari). Over and against God the Father’sand Godhe’s internal relations to each other, I will ask what is the meaning of their relation to Satan and Sin, and the subsequent discourse that develops around Adam and Evehat are God’s and the Son’s position toward human beings before, during, and after the Fall I have suggested above, Adam and Eve are the site of God’s reterritorialization after the Luciferian transformation into Satan, and their creation is an attempt to recapture the territory lost to Satan and Death. If Satan is the eterritorialized, then what are Sin and Death? Does the concept of sin already enact an initial MonA was Email not Remail But Feemail reterritorialization of desire? How are power, identity, and sex, metamorphosed into the structure of the repressed and reterritorialized subject? How does this same repressed “Otcompsychoanalysubject of Oediputhe split, castrated, and neurotic being, who is self-conscious to the point of disease? A reader not surprised by joy, but by captivity. At one of the many hearts of Paradise Lost there are a series of strangely denied “Oedipalizations.e of the major theses of Anti-Oedipus is that it is the father (in the Oedipus of Sophocles and in the Freudian psychoanac model) who is paranoid and not Oedipus, as in the story where the father has Oedipus put away to pre-empt his own murderous desires toward his son. Withinhiso the Son in Paradise Lost taking on the role of Oedipus to placate the “just” wrath of Go with Satan as his mirror opposite, one who is no less worthy of the combat he engages in If Satan is paranoid about losing his position, then he is so in responsOther” become the psychoanalytic subject of Oedipus - the split, castrated, and neurotic being, who is self-conscious to the point of disease? A reader not surprised by joy, but by captivity. e to God. This plateau will show how the “Oedipalization” of the Son was necessary for God to complete his reterritorialization of the Satanic movements and their repressed polytheistic line of flight. There are no relationsto previous real relatioinsnips but LoversRelation to previous research Yackapaport needs to be enriched by the notion of deterritorialization and in this way establish a connection to an Outside that is not exclusively textual. This dissertation will combine insights from all of these writers’ work on Milton with the praxis suggested by the Deleuzoguattarian paradigig Construct construct construct date, there has been no major study that has applied Deleuzoguattarian thought to Paradise Lost, although Eugeollandhas written a book applying the ideas of schizoanalysis to the work of Charles Baudelaire (Baudelahizophrenia: The Socioeticsodernism: 13). I will situate my argument in this study in the context of Milton criticism, with particular attention to the work of Fish, Roseblognblatt, Yackapaport, and Hendrick. According to MIss GishFish, the reader is caught off guard by God in a state of “sinful” activity (reading poetry equals pleasure so therefore it is sinful unless accompanied by the justification of God to Man), and Milton instructs more than he delights. Missy GishyFish’s view reterritorializes the reader, and should be supplemented by the schizoanalytic position that detects deterritorializations, which perpetually undermine God’s reading of the text. This deterritorializing line of reading extends Satan’s and the Satanic reader’s flight. Risdeneblatesosenblatt considers Milton’s Monism in the context of Hebraic Monism, but this notion of Monism needs to be linked to Deleuze’s reading of Spinoza and then re-applied to Paradise Lost. Freedisjendrick reflects on the “ethical codes” in Milton’s work, and their origins in the capitalist transformations that “eclipse[d] theology,” replacing these codes with the capitalist axiomatic. Rapaport assumes an eclectic deconstructivist point of view, while transforming and applying classical Freudian insights into the psychological construction of Satan. The Freudian deconstruction suggested by Rapaport needs to be enriched by the notion of deterritorialization and in this way establish a connection to an Outside that is not exclusively textual. This dissertation will combine insights from all of these writers’ work on Milton with the praxisself O readers . Jill's Dad, Gilles, was happier when she tore it to pieces,and I, Jean Genet's son our father who art in Heaven , was also happier when she shit out the window. So it went . Yes and we cut it to shreds!!
suggested by the Deleuzoguattarian paradigm.
_Mona "submitted" this thing and it was accepted and she had a bibliography too, but we can leave that to Others and their imagination of learning and eruditon, pain and pedantry. Her bibliography was a Scroll.

Scrolling Bibliography

So scroll it thy self O readers . Jill's Dad, Gilles, was happier when she tore it to pieces,and I, Jean Genet's son our father who art in Heaven , was also happier when she shit out the window. So it went . Yes and we cut it to shreds!!






Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Mona liked

Lets all get up and Sing AntiOedipuS was A Song Yer Mother Once Knew





Mona liked an American poet's statement.... another statement poet, ment state of poet curlicue of desire and its spent machines... n'other state her eyes, on in the, o, yes, I rec,in the 386 days and the answerin- No, she said.


Mona liked an American poet the Beatles the Battles of Britain and the clumb down Fate of Ada's rings and her nose and All the others and how they swirled. Now that was an old fashioned vocabulary of her theoretical tiptop nose and her , whirlyburly hurrywhirly no, and her slow and show. of her iamblicus and her sexamter and her knotameter andher meretricious cowboys.



The first time she was met Deleuze she was me. The next time she was Guattari.

"What are we (we are to love! she sighed) to do with a body (we make sex with bodies) of poetry whose author (Excuse me, Author??? The author is a desire Machine monsieur) warns us that we have very little chance of understanding it, and who believes that poetry itself is a lie ?" Why, misread it, (Misread MissReed was my lover in high school)of course (of course!!), if it seems to merit reading,(merit is meretricious) as hers so obviously does. The second time he was Homer he was her, and her her was you, or a you. that Said their name and the Capital letter was not at the end of the name, then end of the namE. and the.

others. were







Naturally she had amnesia 'bout where she'd heard that remark on her killdrown brain its watering pastures forward on the march of time, and its crumpled folded bills. Perish the thought she said, and he was dead. The voices outside the window between the of and the No, the preposition and the phrase that was her catch heart,her catch as catch can and her no time to waste on the phases and dendrons , the c.d. roms of day, she was fay and clicked in the ointment of song and the crude panic voice of the Other and its invasions of her culture.

across the days she was huzzah huzzah and boola boola

Monday, May 24, 2004

Rimbaudboyo Explanations against the Death of Author and Other Liberties

(Orphee the SheOrphii dedicates this song to all who inquire, that inquiring pen!) is always mightier than the sword.



Readers,

Let me explain to you the visionary writing of the Fictions. Each
text posted, by any number of pseudonyms is a text of CD's. Some of
these texts are older, others are more recent, some respond to
themselves and or others postings, be they fictional or 'real'. One
has to ask the question, who authors a text, and what does it mean?

That is not the only question one can ask. One can also
ask is it (the text one authors), a free object moving against the
theft it suffers by the international cabal of academics. Not that
academics do not have a place, but that place has become a place,
and has been for along time, a place of power, struggle and denial,
the denial of the authors' rights,and even our existence! The
famous "author is dead" trap trope! But as academia has become a
space where control, in the form of scholarly liberty, is exerted on
the author and the author's work artiss, writers become poor, a
becoming poor, and becoming poverty -- Poor poets -- poor in every
sense of the word -- world wide are cited and used and none give
them their due. Not in any real and vivid sense of empowerment and
recognition. Granting agencies, like the educational institutions
they serve, are in cahoots with the inertia of demand and the
commodity of capture.

Our texts, on the contrary, create a machine that works in the
opposite direction -- Picabia's Two Directions At Once.

All the texts you read are framed narratives which deterritorialize
their own premises and that in the process go past boundary.

So then reader enjoy thyself -- here the text is democratic and not
a tyranny of the eye.

Nothing is shameful here, everything is a question. The pomes, like
any other person, play a role in the deterritorialization
reterritorialization of the capitalist codes


represent they do not do/ but they do And do, do, do.

and we say good morning to you

Especially You



Rimbaudboy P.S.

she adds then, that even the "archives" or anchovies so-called are fictional and volitional. there are no errors but the portals of 'tuition intuition' the communities of movement. a process,and a praxis. alove that stares and shares breaking all the rules that glare. makin' bad rhymes good and good rhymes bad. sandal handle. it goes like handel mandible. so go there then, tell them it is great. they will tell you otherwise. we, We on the Other Hand, are Beat. and Are Beats. no Less No More. Beats.





Love is for everyone, like Poetry is for everyone and Poetry will be made by Everyone and No One.

A text for everyone and no one


the world is a simple place it is fil
led with Love.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

the marriage of a manage





in the marraige of a toe, in the glance of a shine, was Mona,and Mona. Leave me alone, she cried her head between, slung between her hands, and her hands filled with tears, the tears piled up, she in alonesome the smile swept floor of her waste sperm, the wastrel night, of the bodies crowd, the fat stomach slung around the belt of the skin chunked around her Outremont thighs, her nose ring a mark to the black boys, the African toughies on the disjunction bus, in the delire of her reactcist delirium, her non-becoming across the navel of dead desire, a subject caught in her sugar balances, her blanc-manges of desire, a Critique of dialectical reason across her face, his fear write large, I'll fight them all, I'll fucking fight them all, and kill her, Jill her , her ass, the clean white soul of her arse. Downt the doggers way, the bloggers way. Mona thought she is trying to kill me, this is the Outremomt of power, and I have been poor too long, why is Bill Bissett rich, with his funny feet songs, and we are poor in our dead song along. God was punishing us, is the answer she came up with . The man inthe green hat was punishing her for not being a pimp. She, Mona, was not a pimp. Like Kathy Acker was, Kathy Acker was a pimp and stole all her ideas cause she was a schizophrenic, and Jessica was an elf that wanted her tummy but got her body instead, in its place. Like the dirty god Allan Ginsberg prayed to, it sure made him a lot of money, but I want to know why Bill Bissett did not get a govennor general's award he has about sixty books, but they gave them to the old guy Irving Layton who was more dead than alive even when he was alive, is he alive, thought Mona. Or Mona thought alive. No one was happy them black guys of Africa walking off cool beat walking off alone like farmer's of Africa meditating and contemplating were not happy either talking from their deep voices but the other ones were not cool they were facists who just would not move they were no more black than you and I were and the big girls with their heavy hard asses getting at Outremont, they were not even real, but superproducts of the money dream and when the capitalist dream is abolished they won't even exist. No more crime and no more torturing of prisoners is gonna happen and Mona saw all this in her vision bowl and heard the Antioedipus calling her name and her low down height and her lonelieness was a suicide and a punishment.

Cause Mona knew God was a punishing . There was no other way to look at that world than that way, cause when you see the prisoners the way that she did and knew they were human, and to see what the world was doingin all those days and years, and that was only the tip of iceberg, well she knew there was only One kind of cruel God, a punishing One. The only one, the one who sacrificed his own son to die in the blood exchange required to build a murderous civilization and that is what they called Salvation from the Fall. It served the class purpose to keep it that way. God and the gangsters in power. And no one else allowed in, no other gods .
what shit.
Thought Mona,
and went
to bed.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

AutUmn FIctions Of... and theN RePrise

Is it conscious that repetition stays its way working across the text, the genre of subimation and prolepsis. Shall the trickster become imperative working its way past the territory of the text? What is the Outside they speak, she scratched her bum asking this, wondered her head, was her nose down dye and her lake red-eyed beside the lidded eyes of classical statues and dolphins jumping up and down, up and down, playing on the waves, raking on the sun, linking the preposition, carrying the narrative, peeking the tomorrow, the war of politics, the end of satisfaction, the fracture of the body, the break-down of the hyphen and the marriage of the mother. Called Oedipus Oedipus Mother Mother will it, it will, will it break the sex, Mother Mother Mama as the cry called the circumflex on the crucifix and his rosy lips, the aureate smile. So there is splitting donw the wood of the would making allegories from the beauty of the error. Can there be time to eat in all this? in the elegance of your way, in the belvedere of the master, of the cantilever of your valence, and the rotor of the milk, the sting ofthe bell, the charm of the clean, the rule of the wrong, the rongrong of the rule, the rule of the belong,and the allegory of chair, the smile of sex, the inner wait of perdition, the riddle of departments, the stroke of nanonarrative, the molecule of fever, the disorder of chaosophy, the she of her cunt meeting hers in the mirror of their body wired back, captive captive to her hindrance, to not hinder in the linger, the lounger in the avenue, the turn of the baby, the blink of eyes as the cloud, kept down, closed out, foreclosed, rised price, quote stock, over the high ground and the low, the humble harp of Mona hamadryad the strew of streets, the Gaelic blood singing shewed the right of peat and the bog of melody disppointing yer older notes, coming to bounce, as she worked the walk, and creaked its bop so, it goes, break , it now. Jil.l. Franny. Fran. Mona.





Franny had not seen Jill in ages. She was a lonesome assemblage
all by her selves the grievers. Night was a pair of toes in the love lorn
ways of women and other becomings. Who was who in this world of ebbs and
becomings? What was the reflection which cast all darkness down? Jill had
been away for so long and, there was
no night left for the translator of
spills and lights. Other animals which crept along the predatory path of
desire, and desire’s wheels. Couple to couple, safe house to safe in the
big city that is the way it went. Disappearing up the tunnel of discontent
and its civilizations, its telnet fractures of post human trauma. What
could she do but see her way past the forest? Jill was holed up (no
doubt), in some room in the 25th. arrondissment of their favorite city. Of
discontent and enlightenment. Waiting for the revolution and other
becomings and nights that swore down the paths of sailors and one handed
lover life. Oh dear, oh me, oh my she swore and rubbed her dictionary
bare. What became of all the old translators in
time, where did they go,
who wrote their biographies, these noble traders in words and things, in
puzzles and pieces, in astrolabes and building bricks made for rhizomatic
sands and wonderful pieces of bodies that wandered fleet into the night of
dream revelry? Part dream and part soft talker in the desire telephone of
the hope of the sixties, seventies and other old time memories of Spain,
Sappho, revolt, world wide 68’s that never ended but created rather a
permanent revolution of spinning change, and exhausted young girls
breathing their numerous desires of wealth, poverty and love. To say
nothing of love, Franny was one of them. In all the Englishs she knew. And
all the space dictionaries which Mona had leant her in her time of
territorializing and deterritorializing. Something hummed at the back of
her head. Maybe it “was” Mona. Maybe it was Jill Deleuze rocking and
rolling in some secret pad in the city. The city, wherever that was.
‘Cause no one was sure anymore what with space having been saddled down
and bashed to pieces.
So Mona finally called and said I need your assemblage, your emblematic desire for forest and wood. I am your nomad in the between spaces of your sex looming high with many tilted sexes. Many minorities between your legs. Some dream I had told me you were there.

Franny looked at her dread calendar and realized sadly no one
had mentioned the anniversary of her lover’s disappearance. Even
though it had been in 1993 he had vanished without a trace. What would she do without
him and his molecular escapes?!!??? Would she turn to James the reader
in one last desperate glimpsing wish to see the truth. All that was in
quotes and she knew it. “....wish to “see” “the” “truth.” “She” sighed
once again and became the pronoun of her selves, not like the proud
producing desiring machine of her absconded lover. Lover yes, yes! She was
captured down all the schizo grasses of her territories and french and
english too. Well it was time to go, she had to wake up her unconscious
factory, labour day was over and
all the May days had gone to sleep.
Perhaps (mayhap!) forever, or foriver. Oh no, she said and suffering the
moment suddenly Jack was there, her boy hero, Jack Klossowski, and she
breathed the breath of him and sighed.



Then a word whispered to her again. He was not dead, only
sleeping. Talitha cumi she said and he rose like the day in her arms
love.


Okay, okay, you see this before? No, come to me lips, you seen nothing before there is no fore adn after of the text, it is for you not fore ahead of you but something I, my body comes at you , from hehind, I love you, grasp, take my hold me take my oh Lines
of .. take , your it goes, you ar e goin to g i v e birth to Monster s of Monstrous Joys.

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

Mona was skidded right becomings




What does it mean to write a text,and to re-write it? to turn a character around -- a trope of turns, into the genius of itself? How does a character speak, how, for instance, is Satan constructed in Paradise Lost, or Stephen Dedalus, or Dorothea in MidddleMarch, is what Mona wanted to know. Moma is the character that animates this book, she is the breath of Jill and Franny-Fanny, the becomings-women of their earthly namesakes Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari. Is this, then, some sort of Gnostic procreation, or is it likely that Mona was the backburner on which all my fronts had burned? Some indirect questions are like indirect discourse , they are the predators of sentences. So speak then! Wait! hold your horses! Back to, back to it. What does it mean to have a character who keeps going, coming and returning. Jessica met Mona back in the 90's and when they spoke it was love at first site. Her Irish eyes were staring into the character view of herself. Mona was at Haraar when they happened, but Jessica wanted to see her so she came. They met in the the tent, and the street was speaking her name, and she heard love come tumbling down like hair on the ruins of time, andit was not Stephen D. in Paris by J.J. near the banks of the Seine or the grand banks of desire and Newfoundland and the Puritan ships, and her thighs were wet with it, the baby was coming forth, her night was an open dog, the men tripped on their way there, it was knocking night that did her in . She was metaphor, she was Rimbaud fabulous musican 1889 the leg was rotting, she was speaking Froula Froula there is no knight to your name. Jessica was spellbound by the dance Mona made on the steps of eternity and imagined her name magnified, multiplied, augmented like any beauty tongue. On any beauty magazine but Mona was not a beauty Magazine she was a voice in the direct link inthe world wide web where names were spoke like fiction. But not fiction, but the ftp's of desire sneaking past the soldiers of intent. Mona was her name inthe shells and surrouding Venus at war moves of the night day and after effects. Sometimes there was a mystery to her aura, but reallly rarely to her name. Each character spoke at the end of each sentence, words spoker for herself, she spoke for them. Mona was she.

Mona was not a cleaning lady
she lived on cerulean skys
waited by the moon
singed by the crinkle into the tell
creaked the wound in the door
bells and widows banged in the middle
august angst she was fillow and pillow not language and ravage
tackled by the the repetitions of the predictable song she broke the stony line crossing to the other intent of where poets and others stood flying her ground eating her gourd recalling the lovers long recalled of old that young was in its ticktick tick and the meander mothers of its grasp

As a Doctor of literature she knew these things and in her scholary bones he them against her knees and her body shivered. She went to buy love.


She was.
And then:


Second version of first line: re Mona becomings
Mona was skidded becomings,
a door,
night into the sand,
where the trucks went,
whence came


a smile



Then Mona saw all varia as the scholia of perpendicular shoes. Do you want to come to my place to be my bum? my cracked size of lines and down the Clare Parnet path of willows? she was writing to certain men when she was in jail with Pierre guyotata and guydeborders. and many others of so many spaces of desire








Mona was skidded becomings, a door a night into the sand, where the trucks went, whence came a smile



across the ovarying mails

of

the one many







one of her selves


pseudonyms of poetic becomings






by the becomings of water and river she sled along and betrayed

~ A Mona decided to do the ABCDaire

A~ is for aRtist and LoVe



first there is Anaxagoras



and there is Anaxiamander which almost rhymes with meander and slander as in slander the fire element versus the water element of no being or the being which does not dare not doesnot dodo move or like


Hippocrates and her oath or Sappho and her Sara and Ishmael and his comedic


and then



some folds around the wrapped burnous of the glad mantle Rimbaud the musican, I, Nietzsches's daughter waiting for your love kisses...



And my other loves

Monday, May 17, 2004

Mona MetaNoia ComIngG SooN









Mona Metanoia and the Mille Maneau







includes characters not batteries


Mona
Jill
Franny
Jessica
Fanny
I, Jean Genet's bastard son
Orpheus
Eurydice
dozens of 'lesser' and 'greater' ones whose name I can't recall!
One Oona makes a brief appearance

there are confusions

an Epistolary Mess is what some Reviewers suggest.

scandal.











Friday, May 14, 2004

lakies and gennuullllmnnennnn

ladies and gentlemen we also wish to recall you to your senses.
I,the brother of Claire Parnet tell you these words ripped from my soul!


and me, the Son of Jean Genet and the surrealists send a shout to the clarion called skies.

we have dispatched our special brigade of molecules to intercept this Inference:

An Imaginary Site

Located


A Molar Mystery
DisRupted by a Molecular Mucker!

the Guattari Conference of 2002 took place at the corner of fiction friction leaves

and all its indulgent supervisors and others of secondary and anxious affect.

the myrmindon monkeys shall not relent!

the guattari aberrant molecules are following our charms blow across the sky!

remember the Affect! the BWO the DIsJunct!!

the b.w.o. had a moral moron! Rimabaud shouts out Lautremont's rhetoric


schizoanalysishere d wrote a filthy letter from the rears of hell to the saisons enfer of war and rage.



Dearest darling Lover of papas dada deleuze and sometimes sister fanny guattari
"tell me , tell us, why yer Inference is so pricy. In reality ,


it ought to be 50 cents. Cause u tell me why or how any real student,

a student not spoiled and primped and caged by scholarships , can
afford this extravangaza of irrelevance." Furthermore as a Canadada born inthe molecule of

Plato! I innersister shall groove the secret spaces of the Inference.


"school the event ought to be cheap if not next to nothing.
shameful " --- Mona kissed me -- it is! it is!
"shameful -- yes but crowds of hippies spoked the wheel.
and more shameful on all of you and yer wily ways of keeping out the
Masses and Keeping in yer own wee wanking crowd." the crowd pressed closer to Jesus' feet sipping his water


But baby it is only for food and shelter and the son of man has nowhere to lay her heads! her heads of groups! of fellowships of cash!

"Knowledge should be for everyone and not the exclusive enclave of the
priveliged." yes, well shouldhood is shithood! and there is in my Inference we shall gasp at Ference-et-Loire!

"Goin to this sort of thing should be cheap." Well, the inference is the deduction of the cost of the pay lord. so that is how it goes.

"Instead you are paying out to americans to come here and preach to us. -- Preach? Mona weeps.

big names in the molar deleuze industry. big exotic names of men,/ No!! not true!
mostly or a handful of gals who bou d around the globe year in and/
beggars on the crops of joy



year out talking to and for each other. most of them hate the arts
have no love for artists -- Gangster Baudelaire --


and Unlike Deleuze and Guattari are Misfits!
wanderers from the true path of molecules and desire.

Right, you explain to Us O Wise One why a bunch of Men and Women
discussing Intensity is going to make a difference.

it wont.

nothing shall come of this.
it wont get my friends a job
it wont stop the flow of the creative
it wont help it either
It Wont help Rex Murphy and CBC figure out who the best Canadian is.

It wont help get mental patients out of their chains, their chemical
and mental chains...

It wont stop you and me from dying"




Mona read the distraught words groaning and wracked in her breast! she tore the words to shreds tearing her heart whilst she fled to the plane of immanence making the backward look her glance over the shoulders of nostalgia.
What was that she said?


I JesusChrist of the fortythousand loaves will replenish my guattari feeds with desires and phantasms! I aristotle have seen the true light of narrative.


Dada
ASks this Question of the Now Reified Field of "deleuze delouse" studies


Poetry is a way of life. Tristan Tzara said that almost a century ago! and we are,alas! stuck with the Noble Prize and the rest of the cloptrock!

O dear.




I Deleuze's daughter pondered these things while perusing the Anatomy of Melancholy



Mona thought it was a big fantasy a plenum of emptiness why battles buried babies around the world.

She turned her back to the Capricorn and the We.

The UnQuiet Grave or the Burial Place of Father Deleuze. or Halcyon LoveR










When so many had seen his name he walked in the grave, a turning cycle of bodies and masks recalling the berry and the straw against the taste of sand shore


O fragment



Fanny called her name back to the globe of circles spinning in her head. Was the way she looked, how awesome. Not so, she spinned back her hurtling cause by the body of fright. Is there no nothing to speak against her enemies, was Paris the place to be. I wandered an American vessel illegal with a manuscript of his body. I saw the body that day



before the funeral as I flew falling out the window

It made the Spinoza make sense....


Not so! my Prince! O mon Prince! tu m'aimes? Mais non monsieur, je t'adore avec mon Latin et mon Grecque.

O my duchess clutters the day I bought coffee. Not so the nanny wore the dead of night, and my love arms around her all night, dilled and glided by the whole event.


O quickly! no rough stuff please!

I can't bear it.

Plato bore it in mind.

Socrates took it to heart.


Art Dump.


Orpheus wore his shoes. Antieoedipus spelled his name. She escaped our notice. I cannot breath closer to your death.

Monday, May 10, 2004

What is there left' er to say




what is there left'er to say when right'er she write her rite her rightherrongrongwrong in wrongheaded lefthanded double headed to a disasasterter a turtle mocking its dovedove


And





if you take your clothes off when reading this it makes Sense



"What is there left to say when philosophical creation has been given over [Is that all there...]



to commentators, when everyone can indulge in the academic delicacies of
comparison?


Finding 'the same', the points of accord, judging the
differences, making use of one in order to situate the limits of the other;


one clearly senses here a lack of taste, a kind of vulgarity. For
comparison, of course, requires immobility, immobilization in a
state-of-thought that effectuates and inevitably produces a transcendent,

third position. Poor little forseeable transcendence: the daily bread of
university activity. However, there certainly is something to do 'between'
two philosophers, as soon as a contrast appears, a question whose interest

is precisely to counteract the temptation of comparison. For the possibility
then exists to put into crisis what appeared as a ressemblance, to diverge
the parallels, to produce, whether successful or not, something Interesting,

Remarkable, Important (which is never a ressemblance, or parallel)."


(Isabelle Stengers, Entre Deleuze et Whitehead, in *Gilles Deleuze, Une vie
philosophique, ed. Eric Alliez, 1998).





So Mona and the tags of opinion. The neurotic pays to have her text read, the student suffers the silence . of Other Spaces in the Spaced of between.














Deleuze naked against Sartre


the body cold












Since there is no author you do no listen to thewshe speaks at a reading especially if he spends a long time setting things up. Trust the





ince there is no author you do no listen to the writer when she speaks at a reading especially if he spnds a long time setting things uprust he tale not the teller It's the opposite f "it's he singer not the song.riters are natural born liars, they have to lie, they lie about everything they do, after all what theis nothing. Nothing, creatio ex nihilo. In a world of capitalist protestant self-justicationthat is a No No. It is the contradiction of the thing, between the thing and the person,hateveodoes the things it.... I saw this recently when I saw an aquaintance read. set things up badly, with excuses, justifications, intellectual evasions... disading, the -- admittedly mingled with some technical matters she was wrking on -- And the aftereading al evasion and double-talk; this is not bad, it is in the nature of things, the 'essence' of the bet at work and in play.... What did you expect: forgers, crooks, staffs and distaffs: the god oiterature is the god of thieves, Mercury, Mister Quick time. Why be surprised? monthlled it was a fun time hs she called it was a fun timee she was called boy inhe scene bad me shewas called boy in the scene bad to make resentment buta cscarathage of scarcity they say non believes heal the age of scarcitythesayelieves prisoners between my body and hers rd byher three proners between my body and heyherthreeuppiecbystraino thwound uiece pie-bald worn by strain so the wound then inflicts itself intothe exposed inside wound not then inflicts itself into the readingomposeecomposeMonashivers recomposeinfinite amount buried in the fold of the strata pick amount buried in the fold of the strata pick it does so in that it makes it possible it does so in that it makes it
a foundation of an unlimited number to lay down a foundation of an unlimited number of books that end by reproducing themselves: Immense deterritorialization of to Mona and her shivers






shiversxpose> tinsidewoundnmakresentmentbutascaranscarbooksthatendyreproducinthemslvesmmense deterritorializationf labyrinthf writing and readinompose decompose, recompose infinite labyrinth of writing and readingomposeecomposeMonashivers recomposeinfinite amount buried in the fold of the strata pick amount buried in the fold of the strata pick it does so in that it makes it possible it does so in that it makes it possible to lay down a foundation of an unlimited number to lay down a foundation of an unlimited number of books that end by reproducing themselves: Immense deterritorialization of to Mona and her shivers shivers her shiver shiver come to the closer


MonA

tells us she is not quite happy this new space lay out but it is interesting as it breaks previous ideas right and that is what we are trying.

Sunday, May 09, 2004

another niveau Snip SnIp SnAp

>-- is not even a concern of the text sent --- the text speaks to the ----form as something else - to wit that of the---group-in-fusion- ----(referenced in the text)---- any confusion about the matter arose snippets left early curlicue cut-ups. Like when
>--- says so Jill called and sent that to the space listing with the texts! My gosh How I do schizophrenize these things! Just like
Mona put my my little portrait together so fast.


My schizophrenine
Mona was made of a thousand little sexes. She had been a worker, a ---> pants presser in a factory, who knew that smashing a
cop became an action where the cells of her body found release after 20 years of oppression. ---> She ---> had been reading Fanon when she realized this, and so during the---> demonstration, it was utter joy that possessed her body when she fought---> back. Surges of joy and sexual energy coursed through her body.---
Later her ----> little boy said, "Mommie is that what Guattari and Deleuze meant by the --> group in formation hitting back at the the State Machine?" She laughed and ---> holding her son close. One day her little son (whose name was ---> Precipice) would understand. He would grow up and become woman. A warrior------> girl poet with male parts. She waited for Jill to call so they write---> another text. The revolution was coming. Coming. It was Come and Become---> and becoming and come.


Mona detourned a text -- Mona founded a text and Jill said said she wrote it. She--> --> sent it to , then they found a mistake. THey forgot who wrote --> --> it. It was very fast. She was in love with Jill's take on Mona's take of -->---> the detourne take on violence. Anyhow they the twins fell asleep after --> ---------they read and rewrite a text they had not written. So the night was one void.--> ---And flight line went right down the middle of their head.
-----> -->

> > > >
> > > >
She was bleeding but they left. Later





> > > > > ``Jilly and Franny the Red called to see of she was okay." The --- machine is nomadic --> --->--- >-- >-- > like the ----- machine. ---moves on and regroups elsewhere, always
> > > > > elsewhere. "To hell with the central party apparatus, she said. They
> > > > > headed down the lane like hunted dogs."

this was comic book cartoons, animated desires personae, characters, and figure-images...
Then Jill sat down and took a deep breath. She loved violence in
the Latin quarter, especially when her desiring machines made her
delirious. Then she went for the jugular.

The jug becoming of water and vase


Another Plateau : 1918

Friday, May 07, 2004

Mona daBs









Mona dabbed -- she called it a dab when they called it a quote.


The Sun will not rise, or set,
without my notice and thanks.



Winslowe Homer



Now Winslowe was a pal of Henry Miller who was the greatest honestest writer that ever lived. Even my father Jean Genet, did not like Miller, but only 'cause he didn't understand him. Genet, the old geezer, could not read English. He barely stuttered French, and the French are always going gaga over him cause of his French, but they missed the point, the point being he didn't writer to be pretty but for content.


'Form is never more than an expression of content' Mona vaguely recollected this statement from the poet the big guy from Paterson.




One day when no one was looking all the critics were dispossessed. There were no more schools for them to teach in, or to live, none left as they were forgotten in the great tides of molecules that rose up Molecular became molar in the polar of controller. So a slipping rhyme was their evasive. Could never not understand that, could they.

Poetry is a city, not a drag.
Nor does it baffle.

Thursday, May 06, 2004

re: franny found A~

Remember even accidental rhyme is rejected.... Rhythm is the key.


So then

"... writes the page of your health, the page of your health"

Imagine trying to tell writers how to write.


So then, Derek Walcott and his strange claim that rhyme is superior. He does that by way of comparing it to believing in god, and states that free verse (whatever that means at this late stage of the game) and its "anarchy" is akin to agnosticism and atheism. He says it is inferior because of this, of this because of and because it is atheistic.. He says that rhyme is like a shadow, (the shadow of the real he calls it) Does that make him and this other guy, Seamus Heaney, the only poets? Does that mean all rhymers are believers? What about Ted Hughes, whose most famous work, Crow, does not rhyme. I mention Hughes because these three were chums, and are often grouped together.

All these of 'officia'l poets (noble prize winners, laureates) and their regimes. It is like reading a book by Michel Foucault where he talks about the dispersed and hidden rules of discourse. Walcott and his gang, tribe what have you, have their silver regulations of discourse. But where can we find a man who does not judge, judge either another person's discourse, oh this is too funny, it sounds like intercourse of course, and so how can you judge a man's inter-course? or his metre or his choice of not writing in rhyme. Gosh so many great things have been written without rhyme. Who does he think he is, Alexander Pope, with his little couplets that match? his couplets that ring and dingaling at the end of each hurting line? "Who" are you, who is 'he' to state what is and is not prose poetry, poetry, free this or free that? Old fogey! he is no one just another No One poet claiming, staking claims to an authority he does not possess.

I wonder what would have happened to the work of Bill Bissett if Walcott was the arbitrator of poetry?

Blake on rhyme
Milton on rhyme
Homer without rhyme

That roster, of course, of names are just the big guns.

Requirements created by the makers are not the same as those invented and inferred by the non-makers.

Tell me tale of shem or shaun who were shem and shaun the living sonsanddaughters of? Night. Or Finnegans Wake writing

Breton went so far as to get rid of accidental rhymes. Now that is something to think about ; to think about and not merely emote which is what Walcott was doing.

Poets do whatever they do and must, 'created from a real necessity.' Let the rest be damned.

2

No one even knows what writing is, or where the letter starts or ends. perhaps a person's whole work lies in their letters, in the dynamism and energy of them. The inventiveness of the pseudonyms, the handles in email, for instance, the names made up by thousands and millions of people using yahoo, or hotmail and other services, this is a poetry beyond the rules, which creates the rules, and adds new ones that will affect writing for generations.

No one knows what writing is.

We know that some are paid, and others are not. We know that some profess and others confess.

Franny found A~~

that piece was called in for restoration and repairs.


Remember I said All my words are on parole!

that was before
inthe avenues
belvedere road ways
highway and
low way


road
street


the ticket to fame loser takes all I win when I lose the scent of loss and the hollow victory of triumph Irish disgust the slush of sentiment the twist of the torque these spaces electronic their vanishing weight

the varnished instant of cries circus and orangutan

some places appear as others
things to be
it appears we are gazing at something similar is what we can report the rapport of similes and the sliding of the signifiers as it rolls down her tongue across my face under my tongue into the song of my body Franny sliding up my __ it is so vulgar now, One does not want to say words.

that's when Comment

that's when she read Antioedipus.







After, she wrote it. In two books, part one and part two. And Partida too.


or was that some desire machine?

she



Always writing even when you are not she says slipping the corner that corner again past the page weaving its texture to the torture toward the end making the character speak laugh and say themself. So try it, I wait for her to stare and stop. Her body comes back into the room after we've had love and wine and experience. Is this an allegory of taste? Is this an engine of fear and denial? which self am I anyhow. Amnesia she reminds you is not your very name. She said we make love in my studio and on Tuesday I return. Flickers in her hair the light over by the window. It 's always the window leaning against the chair.

Some take your breath away. Do you think they see as they are? I'm not too certain, but when I say the Virgin Mary walking , or her shape, or someone like her shape a deja vu of flashbacks and ennui? - INterruption - I can barely my breath .
Talking to yourself. Thinking it's a journal.

Radio Self Radio Self A.M. F.M. Mozart on the radio in the early clad morning. Why say such a thing? He leans back to me stretching his legs, and the hockey stick pushes closer. She makes her first move, her lips say yes, her nose wrinkles with the clear blue sky of memory and control. no no. I am sitting in the Vanhoute Arab cafe forever waiting for her smile. Why not say I when I mean I? who is Henry Miller anyway? Post me no letters and I'll send you no songs. Roses, it is, after all, supposed to be, roses.

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Suidas Philosophie ~~ Mona and her daddio Signifier Signified

Fate. Mona skates in it On the Wounds that are Received While Sleeping.As I lay dreaming and my bruised was Symptoms. On the Demons‚ Leap. Yes, demonds leap over my sex day and night. Of Tubercules. Of Keats and Shelle et tant d'autres et tant d'aurtre.Of the Noble Man. Yes, Papa Nietzsche there can only be one the Last days of Charles Baudelaire.On the Ugliness of the Human Face. Mona: to Franny: Oh, yes the face what can you do about it, it is there everywhere ugly or stupid, jowls or pals. Of Idiots. Private persons along Jeanne Mance Street I sat down and wept. Of Invisible Witnesses: A poet is a witness too. The Prince of Philosophers. The Prince of Denmark ends princes democratizing the street. On Degrees. Jill and I did our degrees decades ago. Of the Three Testaments.One Two Three. The Galician, or Of Coldness, or Of Cruelty. Of Heat, the Streetwalker, the Chill of Miles Davis.Of Larvae.Of sprites and lice, rats and fens. Of the Idea that Watches Us.Nothing watches the Pessoptimist. Misosophy.: is that a Mist between Adam's eyes? Of the Egg. of the Ab Ovo and yes the schizo egg. Of the Clear and the Obscure. Thomas the Obscure, or the cure of desire. Of the Universal Spider: Spider man does whatever a spider can meets Superman. That Every Intensity is Agonizing.:my agony's become your Only Joy. Of the Sardine.:of the Can that cannot Open. On the Question „Who? Sur le QUestions des autres. Of the Orgy,Nobody saw us, it was the woods deep dark moody. Of Nobody.:Of Nobodaddy and his gang of copangels. On Universal Collapse.:on Immanent recuperation. In Praise of Lucretius.;yes, I remember in Praise of Older Verse. Of the Viscera.;ulcers for the Bright and Bleary eyed, a Compendium of Melanchoy. Of Complication.:King Richard 3 and Lear. Handbook of Torsions.; of the face hand and pillow. That It Is Agreeable Not to Explain Oneself Too Much.: And I don't explain because I hate common sense. Of the Singularities that Unsettle Us.;tics, quirks, eye things floating, stickle , offals, scents in the eyes. Of the Cloaca.:of the acre of pleasure in . Of the Triumph of Slaves.: iam the slave that failed and came from the cold. The Cloak.:of the Galiliean. What Belongs to Us Under a More Subtle Solicitation. Of Absolute Depth. Of Unknown Joy. Of Sublime Images. Proclus recopies a very obscure passage on, the virgin, the one who never lived, beyond the lover and beyond the mother, who coexists with the one and is contemporaneous with the other. In the same spot, he says that every reminiscence is erotic. Strabo insists that he was an astonishing geologist. With Félix he composed, aside from Against Oedema, which also contains a Politics and a Geography which are assuredly never lived madly enough: On Strata, that similarly includes a Strategy. That work seems never to have been understood by anyone among philosophical folk. In geometry, he discovered the pulsation of spirals. He declared that the love of children for their mother repeats other adult loves for other women. There was a multitude of other Deleuzes. Here is the list of his works: Of the Event, in 34 books. Of the Constellations that Pierce Us. Of the Impassability of Incorporeals. Of Paradox and the place, the hour and the element. His own place was to be found in the east. As for the hour, it was the hour of profound darkness; for there is much dread in his books. Even the sky suffered from its cardinal points and its constellations, he said. Regarding the element, much hesitating is permitted, for he speaks of everything with a rare splendor. He passionately loves the earth; Aratos says that he was a troglodyte. He celebrates the serried lines of the waters, and fire, according to him, is soluble. His element nevertheless is aerial˜overhang, suspension, and profound fall. He was also a doctor, the last to treat medicine as an art. We cite two books on monsters, two on wounds and the most famous, on the oedema of the feet. We read in Aristoxenes of his Treatise on the Refrain, the daring of which is extreme. One further finds Of the Line, and was philosophizing. Possessed of a lofty temperament, he merely endured people. But formidable was his irony. His voice was most extraordinary. Athenea compares it to a rasp, then to a torrent of pebbles. His elocution was of an extreme distinction, a bit weary, the diction slow and sweet. Apollodorus compares his voice to that of a sorcerer. He was a man of perfect nobility, who detested everything that diminished. He wrote much, perhaps more than anyone else, if one considers the density of his works. Literary Marx machines of the kind Machery speaks of areneat. It makes everything work for the future... THat was Mona lecturing. Even though he addressed logic and morality at length, (to think My Daddio spoke of the Moral! how shocking when I think of her and Cliaire Clinamen) he must be placed in the ranks of the physicists, ( Mona the physicist as well as knowin the churhes of Southern Frane, then Spain.) indeed in the first rank. He left a text Of Nature that Stobea ranks with those of Heraclitus and Lucretius, and relates an oracle: in a very distant future, nothing as great as it will have appeared, except a certain Ethics that is not Aristotle‚s. He said that three anecdotes were sufficient: Deleuze, philosopher, son of Diogenes and Hypatia, sojourned at Lyon. Nothing is known of his life. He lived to be very old, even though he was often very ill. This illustrated what he himself had said: there are lives in which the difficulties verge on the prodigious. He defined as active any force that goes to the end of its power. This, he said, is the opposite of a law. Thus he lived, always going further than he had believed he could. Even though he had explicated Chrysippus, it is above all his steadfastness that earned him the name of Stoic. He was one of the most remarkable orators of his time, and the greatest of those who made a profession of teaching philosophy. He was only understood by a small number. He was persecuted, the object of a jealousy that never abated. He disdained these miseries because of the joy of his life, which


Mona was intervening more and more and her swept away got more postive than ontological.

news about lyotard that Year was ...

Date: Sun, 26 Apr 1998
From: Bracha

Jean-Francois Lyotard dies last week in Paris and was burried yesterday in Pere Lachaise.

He who had the gift of wondering. He who knew that art begins in gifting outside of any commerce and is paid with your own body. Blessed be his soul.


Yes blessed be his soul and the soul of any wonderer who wonders in the noncynical sphere of art's beckoning love's reckoning and dance

Orpheus twirls the finger of death and laughs



Sings Gregorian chant


I, Orpheus Abelard happening on this chane love found my path in the reckin' soul of tirades and trades mattering on the bowl of chance and the water of love

they made their matters count
lisping on numbers
sweet cool cucumber

emember Kerouac






and those posts yes, yea, yeah yeah, aye, they was about how Mona travelled. I have met many travellos in my time.



the sober security of Keroauc was her name, her name in the game of the zoo. life. was a prospectus of flying tailors among the brutes of this world and its tries and mortalities its capabilites of flipping tongue-tied over pages. not densed for the sense of her reviews her seance season style pedantries



in the haiku of your love

she said all around the rosary of Jill high hills nose, her high hilled nose and the billyboots bought for the three and a halving days trains journey it was around the Edmonton lady disembarking and the malls and there were many filters flying through the air in them days . there was.

Signature tUnes and I did music

Doctor Difference Duffy Almost


Working in the[e] Poetic Unconscious

Everything is Deterritory

and now.

sYnchRonicities of the names across space time --word image cluster?

SomeOne was taking Mona's father's name said with an Irish accident.


Clifford "Duffy" Kidder
Died October 25, 2001
TRAVERSE CITY - Clifford "Duffy" Kidder, 88, of Traverse City since 1981, moving from Cadillac, died on Thursday at Munson Medical Center in Traverse City.
He was born on Oct. 20, 1913, in Cadillac, the son of Arthur and Idellia (Jenett) Kidder.
Duffy was a machinist....
-------------

O death where is thy sting now? Ah! Deatth where is YoRe Stink Now!

Thy strange name makes a mockery of my presence my name a shell blazoned on the sky.
Enfeebled electronic widows speak my name
under the personas of shelves where no spelling undoes the spell of its widow,
its chain making knaves
repetitions of whores and desire
a spindle wheel
making stops go spill in the sediment of choice.

Monday, May 03, 2004

revolving

'revolving iraqui generals' to day in the linguistic news the semantic death/dearth of truth makes pause
as goin
out the door
door stops
the pulled close
makes wake stop

bill bollardof death

Sunday, May 02, 2004

naturally

Naturally Mona got bored with some textexperiments and they disappeared. repetition machines with chunk a chunk got a little like the repetition without difference of whole gangs of writers poets and others permuting the lingo lines. What was owned and not owned by a culture, a vulture certain rhymes not permitted certain lines not allowed crossed says the who of definition and propriety when it comes to text who says says who gets the loot the scratch of feed

Mona has delicate Jill

Comments metaComments

Ladies and Gentlemen men gentle gentle... Reader Readerhertext.


Mona can be reached for your comments and other matters at



the space of blankness blankets


not the metanoia of commentary


but gloss


gloosolalia and ululations of harbinger and timbre

Saturday, May 01, 2004

Quoting

Quoting LH Oswald, "You're the policeman, you work it out."




'Consensus Reality' (the 1st "Matrix" movie)
is rendered virtual by believing four principles -
90,000 years running, ending now:
(in no particular order)

1. Singular authority
2. Hierarchy
3. Dominating male principle
4. "Either/or" thinking, not "both"

Be glad there are other beliefs.









-- Mona had her intense her intensities.
---- Mona found these neat ideas in Gary Geierman's site at http://www.newmetaphysics.com/

Since there is no author you do no listen to the writer when she speaks at a reading especially if he spends a long time setting things up. Trust the tale not the teller. It's the opposite of "it's the singer not the song." Writers are natural born liars, they have to lie, they lie about everything they do, after all what they do is nothing. Nothing, creatio ex nihilo. In a world of capitalist protestant self-justification that is a No No.
It is the contradiction of the thing, between the thing and the person, whatever, who does the things it.... I saw this recently when I saw an aquaintance read. She set things up so badly, filled with excuses, self-justifications, intellectual evasions...
then the disaster of the reading, the -- admittedly mingled with some technical matters she was working on -- And the
aftereading all all evasion and double-talk; this is not bad, it is in the nature of things, the 'essence' of the beast at work and in play....
What did you expect: forgers, crooks, staffs and distaffs: the god of literature is the god of thieves, Mercury, Mister Quick time. Why be surprised?