Friday, December 31, 2004



Och! another dear rumble into her head spilling its beans, splitting her side and the laughter in the cape

her nose


Don't leave it like that.



we saw yer face
before night

and we held its nape
by the tranquil water

she staged a fright
inside day

hindering its path
over noun and mutter

Mona got bored very quick. Quick was the speed of bored. Not a simple tom-tom of love but the buttocks slamming the door

the E-heart making no sense folded her mouth colloborated her arm.

More later..

Welcome saith Mona, again and good byes do no harms


Monday, December 27, 2004

the death of Deleuze

No Vem Bre 1 9 9 5

the death of deleuze
it was the death of deleuze 1995

the death of guattari, 1992

Henry Miller is dying, come to Paris, tomorrow.

Dying, dying, dying, dying in your crying, child. Dying in your Deleuze, dying in your guitar of a thousand plateaus, and Sartre was dying, Foucault was dead, Genet died in Paris, 86

dying a refuse to mourn to grieve your death

O Father O Stepfather O Mother

Jillwas dying for Deleuze was dying out the window with Spinoza the Baruch there to catch him in his nape of caught neck in the broken down step of their death,

Nietsche`s daughter was dying but the gods reinvented by the nymphs had their pleasure and the goddess gray-eyed cried out, yelped the.

Mist came over her .

And the pancreas failed , broken, squeak machin-e-

broken in its token andthe fire tore down the tall of Paris, out the right size highrise window

Dying in your crying

the digital voice rethundering the echo thudding across the playing field.s. And the was no poetry in that, that lyric strained rebacked inthe American voice, that is the simple seed of the complex phrenia of her loving, her bodies many one.

Now, not tomorrow in the clickety day
mapped hands freckled with time`s disease
Something like this
And someone else`s body speaking

Cheeky like a sunset and the death went clown around the down gone sun, into the drink of his body big ship in his deathwright sail. So many others. Not named across their speeds of history, their rseeds a hysteria of mulk and mighty.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Flinger Fugue

Mona dipped deep in her father of the cycles of her story arounding the seven hills of city, town, village, hamlet and river whirled with cuneiform cuttings: she reads ....she reels in the night of dark, enveloped by earliest antiquity, so remote from herself the selves of severn lake where shines the eternal her place she has the most beautiful,  considers them wily and profound countries...her countries... standing still the crossroad stationary boulevard.....Her ABC of hi and low sing sweet chariot swing...

a country for cows and pains, where silk masters pave the route of her offense and den


Jill knows the afterwards of her repentant metanoia, speaks the silent tent of ring, word, slander, carve, zither, mourn, dagger, tough, mastered by the pool, desecration of her body that muders all, hugs all takers, in the glass of desire when the whirl speechs its place,  her hams and thighs quiver in the ox of hunger she felt leaves hover her eyes stuck in their volition rearrange dawn aubades mothering intents and ....


This ways she knows the path to the void is filled with vacuoles, simple as a hand held to branch which banks its neck against the sills of windows

otherwise known as horizontal widows
where bodies where bodies platitudes stuck to the genes shirk their duty

duty being a dirty word Mona spills the beans, flicks a flea, meanders to a dairy of Jill where JillDeleuze sexy as long blue carpets, owns her head, nears the fight and the fall. Then Mona counters with her jab, a cogito to play again the harlequinade of her capered sleeve, a closeted self.

later she played the fugue, the librarian.

it was love, it was lust, it was shining, it alluded

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Looked at NoOne

Jill reads, re-reads 'late' in'to' the night. as they call it , thispassageoftime that is a gruelgem some sloggeringinto haptivity and after dis Missing the lettres of an old traitor reads the older epistles episteming in the gladdening the glade? the galleon? yes a galleoned somethinged shipped hipped

'I'm not saying that the machines don't differ in what they do. Or that
they are the same.>>>> A choice,a choice , did you say? >>> But that a choice between capture or flight is either EIther??? How's That Either?
--- ethical and molar Or a matter of taste/style/ect. (i.e. doxa). Not that I really care, for I am sort of tired of ethics.....
Personally I like dirty little bad little Baudelarian flows that
create shit and sperm drains that bust open FILTHY DRAIN PIPES SAid
Mona: Yea.
> >

cause them to flee, too.

Mona Looked at realized Nobody was right or Wrong! none were offthe
mark! But! that flows were flows and and and and And and not either/or.
was Where it was at.
Of course some flows are razor sharp and others are awfully gooey Andy
warholish Disney Goo.
Mona Says NO: But what does she
but what does she

(no) ~.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

slinking to

If One dayday a poet was writingto kathy`s Acker and received her M.A. from Deleuze and Guattari she was dreaming, that is,a reverie of soaps and suds making her thrft past night and noone to love her. She was the crap mistress of the several in their many and mulitude ..

now between breaths there was

that was
like a body

VeRlOO knew SomETme Death was Coming on the train on the bend was becoming its death is minority shrinkage in the pillage of its prey.

Some maw of reap and rape

and the political knackeys of immanence would not do the trick

even for a court jester of her calibre.

So then slow motion reading was ouT of thEE Question


was Revenge and Similes

and she sat down in her short pants riddling the night with her fantasM!

she marrieD a Woman NaMed FriDa K.