Thursday, December 29, 2005

nari pol

it is here and there, skunk! dont ya see winter's cot
is summer's boot?

She twiddle her thumb on his leaning down care.

Here and There equal parts to equal different heart.

Why 'd would one fiction be its beam huntin off the other, when its love was both in the choose
of its hankering?

Keep the language gaged flow flux of its reaping. Weep your tear of sanction near to his sex
its yers always ever in the hidden hair of your hand. Like a thief who's given up,
you're caught by the dare
and lair.
The dares and lairs.

unconscious is turned to the future here.

II

Silly ! the future's contained in both places, sense of plane
back and forth why put one rather than the other.


Keep em busy storage and sortilege
add leveling grins to the forest.

Lovers keep both lodgings.



whoosh!

II


every future is here in its presenting
of prophet's pair

and pace

.

back and forth
is not cancel can can
dialectic
.

hegel's skipping rope 's not our mound.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

thee future

the future cupped to his nape


its vase


flu

flies buzzed over ice and summer leave hunkered
in her knee the goddess shat

pardon me, inquired Madame Fanny clumped by the hill of the Sorbonne
hidden by platitudes in the cafe Flore where he adored
her mating.

Grim grinner of skipper and pill
pilot place of grace and her forearm's skin
he smelled not words for a kiss,

kissed.



fictions3

Saturday, December 10, 2005

move yer feet

Move your feet in the hyperboletext bowl of yer sandwitch's brew. Stew
that tack plying the trade of shoulders and mothering wear her down.
Of pillow smacked shored face.

How could you speak that way,
when not speakin Franny wren
a vase
transomed by the plate
her gaze starry eyed
upward to the satrys of the star
over head a constellation of ripping teeth
the Bear & Dog her wimple head
peers for to its hot blink
she's always home

Friday, December 09, 2005

distatt stiff staff

stuff fer yer turkey

lakes and bent becomings we're wishing toto'd recall the pent senses
of the river balked choose.

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!

we have dispatched our special brigade of molecules to intercept this conference and all its indulgent supervisors and others of secondary and anxious affect.

the mastumi monkeys shall not relent!

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

remember the Affect! the BWO the DIsJunct!!



schizoanalysishere d wrote:
dear translator of deleuze and sometimes guattari
tell me , tell us, why yer conference is so pricy. In reality ,

it ought tobe 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 Canadian
school the event ought to be cheap if not next to nothing.
shameful
shameful
and more shameful on all of you and yer wily ways of keeping out the
Masses and Keeping in yer own wee wanking crowd.

II.

A canadian does not exist, we are american bodies without organs
hanging by our teeth on the scholars of pity and pleasure

reek and ye shall stink yer high heaven bound ware nape.

Hanging from the boardwise sign.


Knowledge should be for everyone and not the exclusive enclave of the
priveliged.

Gointo this sort of thing should be cheap.

Instead you are paying out to americans to come here and preach to us.

big names in the small deleuze industry. big exotic names of men,
mostly or a handful of gals who bou d around the globe year in and
year out talking to and for each other. most ofthem hate the arts
have no love for artists
and Unlike Deleuze and Guattari are Misfits! and 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.

3

Big game huntress holding package for becoming of tiger keeps
her mouth open for the meal...

Here tigress come to his lap.


4

of the sentires and seventy-two orders of paraonia.

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

It wont stop you and me from dying. Fanny hooted her owl
baked dissent.

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

rugby was her game over amethyst and diamond
chewing the fat with the old philosophers

Ontos and principia ...

over the dragged fathom of the forest.



diction

yer expected to hold yer diction
in past full breath
and full bellied throngs

like a gathering pregnant
woman holds off her lover
come to me baby with willows and whippoorwills.

Is that it?
Not sure certain said the song.

Of forest elves
and crippled staves
Hop-along-cassidy
cream cameod .

What shouted Jill spring up her library carryin it close to the space of Parnet and her dialogues of flight and emission particles working over the wend of the tale....

Thursday, December 08, 2005

in plateau

In plateau there're no dates, shifting signifiers
expression of plate and cheek

swiftly unpeel time and chronos
the Eon kicking back the eon

.

Swift moving garden rakers
carry the weight


. A hand-maiden aunt's always ready to take a place.

each hook

each hook contains its own limited text, that wearies its reader

. sort of like a radish that chews better its bitter.

Now bunions spare d the foot of a forgotten goddess
her ass squeezed the air from his sun.

Broken necks made for Picasso weddings


weeds for the forest of doubt, Dostoevsky doctors
for the freak....

What assonances skilled with derring -do and alergic faces

tarried his freight.

She's holding his cock in her imagination ,
wont ever tasting it by her side,
like a lover
pull her into his loving

his heel on the pavement hurt the feet that wear it.

She wills his body on hers.

He wills the imagination to earth
.

Like any two singers, over the tree,

in the city, by the river,
they meet memory on pleasure


she's holding back his heart
in her prophetic

hands.


Prophetess of pleasure and prayer.

Friday, December 02, 2005

The Unconscious is Turned Towards the Future

ringring



announces all future fictions are going to be at

One Thousand Blogs.
So for the purposes of some sort of chrono_ or development episodes here are no longer to be posted! or hosted!!???


what she says?

and sez:


See:The Unconscious is Turned to the Future


In the meantime this machine blog desire space'l revised vised and advised. A vice for a verse.

So then off they go: Mona, Jill and Franny moved.
With the whole gamboling gang.
What's here stays but what goes goes, and goes Goes.


II

Silly ! the future's contained in both places, sense of plane
back and forth why put one rather than the other.


Keep em busy storage and sortilege
add leveling grins to the forest.

Lovers keep both lodgings.



whoosh!

Thursday, December 01, 2005

kick off

kick off summer with a bananna and poridge,

or say summer's oat's come , or your teeth are high
in debt, ridged by debut and summer's date
and the long crying tears of the prophet
as she stares her song
.


Of cornering the other and forcing paranoia
forced perpetual propetry and
trapping.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

into the milky

Into her milky way she set a plate cuppin
up the star faded air of the culled waif
its time to look over its share while winning the twin shiver of its mating
some tete-a-tete being necessary here. hither come wait
its hoyden travels over peak and pot her espying gaze
governs. She sees over the
puddle of the black hole.

Its where the body met his.

Jill sambas late in the night
cornering his split finger .


So friends we leaving earth
whispering the professor of jules and verne
urn bearers cast aside their fates!
curse the avenue of its earth bound weight

we heading fer space, he says,
get yer kip readied!
Huff and piuff her kidsome ass
lags a mirror moment or two
dialectical hour of gyre and hindu baits
its kalpa and sudden skies over head
the sidereal panic

. we 've push'd off earth's surface
defecting to spaces of crushed curves
prairie of infinite dual jumpings in
or around as needed by space putters.

here my molecule body cuts thru the rim of wall.
wall bearings to soothe the stuttering pen
can U feel this undulation of matter?

Mater Dolorosa my roasting rosaryprayers!

cup off my yueltide _s_ spac eboat.


Other virtual papers.
and paper maches.


tic:tic:
journal.fibreculture.org/issue2/issue2_roe.html

She might have mutter'd
words to this effect:
those darn deluvian priests and their deluded poetics of astronomy (not science, poetics!) ... in the old archives of space and spoon the sopping wet nouns of truth.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Yes Real Word

Yes__real__Word__child :Plateau 01.

Rush of leaves:dinosaur, alleged clay , cave drawings,

stir of tea, bangs,

crib, ciborium of rust,

close of further. Lily, rose,
wove of taste


.




Our mothers themselves declare.

Why have we kept our own names? (we have no name or place to stay) Out of habit (habit is the vomit the dog goes to, returns), purely (what is pure, puree? or nurture? a mature spout of mult?) out of
habit... ( we are out of habit, out of habits, no clothes, no
house, home or choice, please your moto to cry
leer of gust __ no habit to place over the head
of commingling)


Also because it's (becomings)

nice
(be nice be nice, he said to me that time in Paris, after
the long seminar on metallurgy)

to talk like everybody else, (you mean like everyone 'else' else what? Or else! beware she giggled with a big fat smile),

to say the
sun rises (the Sun Also Rises indeed she does dear Mayokovsky and Ernest) when everybody

(everybody is nobody is everybody is no one is ....)


knows it's only a manner of speaking.

(A manner: Manner s at the table of thought
and disease: Mannerism a prac tice of Art
manner of courtesy and knight
of approaching love; chivalric code)


To reach, (to reach to boldy go where no
other thinker has gone where no everybody has been
in the bin of yer bucket of love)


not only the point where one no longer says I, but the point where it is (I III me memememememe no more me I)

(the point no more jagged sharp hurting javelin but an I jamboree)
no longer of any importance whether one says I. We are no longer (never was yourselves myselves the ... b, the g,)


ourselves. ... Each will know her own. We have been aided, inspired,
multiplied. Them good old multiplication tables of lore!

remember? O those day s of memorizaiton something the spoke word types 'll never get .
or know .

how could they?

how could they know?

Nous avons ete aide, aspires, multiplies.

How lovely in French with


the aspirant of aspire itself the verbal mimicry of the
aspirational
multiplication of self.


Like beauty's smile


So yes, saying to the child where is the flower and is it real is
quite legitmate and most of All Pragmatic_. And that is what we have in

GuattarianDeleuzian machine making. A practicality.

as we describe our art as a Pragmanticism programme. Blogs are machines to click and whine across the suns of the virtual


.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

wor d __ for

word
To Jill_ baud

word





there is no word like the real. a little bit of the outside.


Jill called it Pragmantics. Combine the real/le vrai varia

avec the actual. Anyhow.

So Mona breathed and sighed and read stories to her child.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

All ....reviews

for her repeats there was nothing in order but the passive tense, its tersile mother a word to rub across his paws, her claws,

the shamble clause of what was broken and semi-claused the subclassified clause of the subclause in the grammar sham and its milk weed flow, the sunflower, the tiger lily the geranium its minimum hit


Jill fostered these statements of There and Others authored by one no less than Doctor see dee
and her pinion.

"One night Jill heard the herald of bashing and knew a stutter was (it was quite a knight he remarked to her telling!)
in order. She lifted her skirt and felt for her schizoanalytic cut, and (the cut! the cut! the coupage!) (she was a writer)
seeing her sex was still in place: She spat all over the writing that does (does and does the does does does, dance of the six do and do her do dadiddydo
)
not plough the crap of being: the rowifn toward the awful harrier. or something.



She thought of a book she re-editioned, but couldnt recall her English enough to know
a subject from a noun she needed
a sex to help her know the difference,
and not the (she married a texts, a thousand minor texts) differAnce. So it was.

She called Franny and said: who was that fellahin (O Franny was ever there for her him)
doing a book on codes and poems schizoreno, Franny came over (in any case)and masturbated for (it being Guattari's wake and all what else was for it?)

Jill cause cld. not 'have' masturbation anymore and she knew two folds
were better than none. That pretender neurotics on the international
circuit of conferences who babbled endlessly were the same as sluts on the
divine road to promiscuity . So she said: I am the allegory and I am time.
Time for your ass to lick mine so we can see the end of the AxIMAtic and
the stArt of the Idiomatic. Or something like that. And lover was her
cuntface in her preface she was the quasi other self she always was.
Franny kept writing cartographies. And the beggars of scholars kept
coming along with the hordes of translators. And shit like that. I was a
virus that infected you she realized one day and fell asleep masturbating
again.Spat that last book out like any elite lung. and then fuck them cogitators and agitators of stealing books and ideas of the others one time bounce you Schools and order words, stale rooms, that knew nothing Of Our 68 Hopes. Nor our 99 hopes, our 2000 visions, our utopic gulps of lovers and sides. Oh you Whores and Mores and so like any surplus slut she felt the lust that is the
anagram of body. "


So you hear there was more to the always more of the text.

And something later in the muteness of money and paid chairs. and
what else.? She wondered where her schizo idiolect would lead.




What do with a drunken sailor? what do you with a drunken schizo early in the morning. Keel haul the bugger and stick him in an oven, keel haul the bugger and stick him in an oven, keel haul the laggard and stick him in an oven early in the morning.


Now what? on earth was that? she hushed her brains gathered her clothes and lef, a scandal written all down her middle class face.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Jill senseD something was Hup

She sensed soemthing was hup hip and hep her memory was escapading her. She slipped a text past from past text knewing her shew was too sure of its Mozart to camber the violio and oboe. So her mouth played the harmonica and bottle neck guitar the blues svelte song of her lover and his down home swamp, a real alligator of a guy with the trying worries of mountains, minuetes and volcanoes. but she was cool, she was in_together to herself, out_spaced and desirous of him and memory was their carrying stave. A safer bet for returns. Good bidding my love! she said.

Friday, November 04, 2005

when

.


Some corner to crow to crowd the hugging into the body some ciceronian vision ...


... come the crowd of imitators who re....pair the umbrella with something vaguely resembling the vision, and the crowd of commentators who

patch over the rent with opinions:


communication. Other artists are always needed to make other [other horrible workers - Rimbaud] slits, to carryout necessary and perhaps ever-greater destructions, thereby restoring totheir predecessors the incommunicable novelty that we could no longersee.

(204)


Indeed! Mona shouted to herselves the believers ass she rattled past wheels and doubt. not her own truck driver to drive her drivers of desire down the machineries of clout and not doubt! her mather a lather on the dominion of soap. A rumpus it was and shall be. Not the taunting of backstabbers, losers and tree climbers! that would veer her off the chosen path, the golden pathof her psychopathia sexualis. Is that she whispered to her body, in Latin, en Latin, lame latin, a lingo to extraterritorize her sensation of throat and rest! Whas could be that? her burlapped tomb , wrapped around her garment of self, the gamble of arm and leg, no, body, of body and gamble. of gambol and down that boreen she shall


Meander as the pleasantest hill of desire! in heR eye. she soothes me follows me sooth! some amble of family gatling.
Mona inspects the hoof finding her dingle dangle starry waved away night a whinny in the divine distance alerts her to surgeryand the passive sentence of now. she lights a cigarette to presage her moment, arriving the savage intent of want. her thirst a throat


for his.



Promise s that come that go in the hammer in the handlad promises that come to speak and offer the assistance of night that come going in the assistance of its tannery and the glancing backward glaze of the go that wont speak that plays the edge of its nature come to call to caul its arrow its moment its seizure its fee .























[204]

th In Memoriam

Ten years Since the Death of Deleuze


_ from Anaximandrake`s blog link above
04.11.2005
In memoriam
« Silent... leges inter arma. » (Cicéron)
*
« C'est en ce sens que l'amor fati ne fait qu'un avec le combat des hommes libres. » (Deleuze)
« Oui, Deleuze aura été notre grand physicien, il aura contemplé pour nous le feu des étoiles, sondé le chaos, pris mesure de la vie inorganique, immergé nos maigres trajectoires dans l'immensité du virtuel. » (Badiou)

Il y a tout juste dix ans, le 4 novembre 1995, Gilles Deleuze se défenestrait. Il avait soixante-dix ans. En 1969, après avoir mis un point final à sa thèse (publiée sous le titre de Différence et répétition), il est hospitalisé d'urgence. On le découvre tuberculeux et l'on procède à l'ablation d'un de ses poumons. Sa santé se dégrade lentement au fil des années et la fin de sa vie est placée sous la dépendance d'une machine : un respirateur artificiel.Il est évident que le question du suicide de Gilles Deleuze reste un problème qui, de plein droit, fait partie de sa philosophie elle-même. En effet, en passant outre l'interdit spinoziste, il choisira de se retirer de la scène à l'instant de son choix : c'est bien le stoïcisme que ce philosophe vitaliste a choisi face aux forces composées qui s'appropriaient les parties extensives subsumées sous son essence de mode. Mais peut-être la question de sa dernière philosophie s'avère-t-elle, en ces termes, mal posée.... "
___________

And there is this link to
Au Lait
Charko’s Weblog from Tokyo Part II
Scroll down to the Entry

Mille Deleuze

Posted by Charko on November 11th, 2005 — Posted in Bookreviews, Philosophy
"It has been ten years since the death of Deleuze...."

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Franny had

Franny had fistulas to hearken her back beckoning her back and forth

This is cufflink to the gage forge. A removal to air. A snack to treat. Giddiness. A foghorn sneaks her out. Off the pleasure coat, and her hemming

not quote Mona's cup of tea.

Or pie for that matter. What is this rabid desire to be?

What foxy suite sacked her job, dichtomy of some feet, his arm around hers , the afternoon, her waist passing into his, the threshold overed, the past barriers past. A story tell of narrative and intent. Joins the bodies, enjoin them hip sex to sexhip. Lovers they are . In their way.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

in th e fl a g

In th e flag of immanence innocence the mouth wrought upright Mona knew what was coming what mingling

passsive and rapid she falls, fell , her head, out of , the dark "blue night" hunkered by the satrys breath, the stair well of contained heel , breath, and fortitude hoarding her beret her breast to herselves the charming feet of her chant an aesthetic easy pleasure on the denial of fretting. Fretworked tampered her face the wintry blues of her cabin "lost ashore" a finger tabbing a lip


gazing into a space ancient night her friend, not acne the tawdy powder of baked up women. Not Russia and Siberia was her lace to tie her down to the earth its eating baking and cooking not the exceptional font of her gruel. But the day by day passive of death, hers his and the others. A tune a twat to bat morality mother out of the window death and tis rank, not so ree



fuds it (t)here word hook to her Nose
Ose


relents she calls up the eternal on his side And? musters an allegory, symbol pitch of weak and ravened thinkers. some times her ass is on the side and she fires the gallery bastinado to the wind gasping pelises, pleasures and other gnomic struts to her comedian come down self - farts across the room knowin her erection is his, her neck a swan like evocation perks outward, her high caught breasts, and

his mouth in the rainment of decoding the resistance of self, she has the halfway house to gang in.


Marched backward and forward she does.
A Hoop to dance her deterritorialzing sex to his flinging shout, her collar dismayed by the chatter, the talk of

naked ness


. Nard the gift for Kings!`s brought to her, him. Meantime Jill invites pooride, Irish stew, and blankets in the rain, balconies in the high cost of the down wind while, lovers compete A one handed woman she is not a lout to her curliest desire she maidens him in the rain of oh to go, and none to stay, so Judas and so Satire.


However in

the existential they find another place, not called Toronto or death, or America .



Not a bad ending as endings go, that is not an ending at all.

Friday, October 14, 2005

pounce

a sensational logique of pounce when she landed on her street, or , meaningher feet, but the body decayed, calcified with memory? memograms off to the

n

e


u


r

o

l

o

g

i

s

t



the player went, whence a brain jewl was clustered, swooning off the edge of death. Jill was wrought the cymbal of tympanum and marvelous bog of breast and phoneme, a mouth-filled full is a space a s a somet hing whole ut really its an itnensive quantity ... not a phantasma or Asthma speakin of the bill quakings of ducks and hand filled creases where the te deums spoke and the deposits of his soil into her hand woke.

Not that. Knot the league of flecking high note C to come between the air and themselves
risking the Hulltimate


nounce renounce reknown the unknown the _ speed a heart learning eye to rescue Kit and the Duchess from the slag hop of the anxious bile

not so a love never borne by the feel of the hand along the caress of the ass her vocalizing take it take it

wont say ever ever nervouser than the feel of her unknown the speed a heart learning to fracture its loves speak to me all the way width hither and thither the blinking dawn imperceptible becomings of her hand flicked over the way it held the air between provinces cities and states of time, time and memory, what was it, that hurt me so, hurt her, the air, a dogged name for hope.

bodies

others


hers


mine

a coupling in the clamping eye, but not an imagining but a real.


Mona raises her eye-patch, the Reel? the eye latch when lip stick spoke its name, her stocking s bedraggled over the floor of my awning ... .

Sunday, October 09, 2005

fend

fend and mend the burning gate the mouth its pretend for to hoarse and pave pray the muleteer will soft to say to stay her mouth a gay wipe of spread the special heart of dismay


befriended void



moon


sun void

the fictions come a close

close caesura

ending void


ending vacuole


.. each mouth
opened offertory again the circle spokled close to the Huzzah the Hurray!


That day Mona phone Professor Gilles to say what was the simulacra doing beside her body in the wreck dream of the tatters of her mouth and the south saying crime of her woo to me in vale and hill to becomes the soldiers and sayers of her boots,a cry to heavenward heaved up the saucer of her song


and her let by play back!


was fleering her eyes the body on the south side desire plux the machine hay the have knot and the wire clause, ebbing beteen the days caught

Saturday, October 08, 2005

re-nounce |renounce

renounce renounce renounce endings are starts, fits and farts the parts of orpheus fairy fail the girl can't breath when her stocking feet hit the floor a fetlock of pail and lyre her mouth stopping the vein from speaking was a drama to play end, a buskin buddied shirt to lend the stages of communion and wafer ville, a cote-St.-Paul of the mind a tree never brilliantly met Eve and Adam in the sexual nouns of their place, her bad girl attitude, a hard headed one fretting the day it was born, a forgetten speech on the pavement of walk



and what do we do about

  • Antioedipus


  • how will its children walk ,

    our children lover of the banes and nights

    .

    so here then our continuity is discontinuity its flavoured mouth not the honour guard of old and its surge


    -- Franny renounces
    Mona nonces
    no announces
    Anunciations of glad gildings. oracular verse of tower.

    Jill enunciates O sister .

    Fictions forward

    The Fictions of Deleuze and Guattari's becomings .... have come to an "end" and their continuation if you want to call it continuation , because it's more like sidewise chronology are to be... found
    at
  • FictionsTwo



  • [but not really always an announcing not an ending]
    "Naturally" the two cross refer back and forth to each other in all sorts of manner, underneath and around cross and bend back around over twice!again. Begin start and shoot forth. Watch for the Third Fictions to Appear SOon! What is a Fiction after all, but an Appearance and a form Substance episteme and illusion. Each Mona, Franny and Jill, dancing their own jig. Is that the spelling of its own orthography, a drill design for forward faring and dance tongues in de night. I say they are herein "ended" knowing "full well" well-full and well and knowing herein its starts a design for movemente over to the starting line. But from a pure blogging view, the posts are too much! so many hundreds and thousands of words. Follow the links to the burrow the path-trail the desire-pragmantics to find the yellow sheet, the soiled sand, the tricker's heat, the lover's phone call,. the yelling voice, the gracious parting preceding by god's caper, the precession of skeptical oasis and the clouds of globes and glove of peasant sheet s hocked by hands. Ah! my fictions, my old girls. all the years they've baned us, and waned us in the tooting o f the moon and her medleys and spoofs the scorn of hope and love. A pen master to toot her ownsome horn the bellowed body of old septembers and meagre fathers, their feathers of accents and the tremendous drum of their sharing, not the rich priveliged lieges of travel and bower the power monger's suit, the travel of betrayal, the lover of old, the stage of new, her sweet kiss a death knoll on the hiss of bye bye not a kind way to send a staging way to free free and freedom.

    Franny lifts the sheets
    Jill points the way, the flogging of matter deleterious,
    Mona pavannes her dig, and worries another sudsome heat of digs finding the lover's nape.

    Good luck! my pretty ones.













    [very liberal ]















    http://onethousandblogsbyduffyandbutler.blogspot.com/

    Sunday, August 28, 2005

    cinephile

    Jill Deleuze was a cinephile suffering fools ghouls other knaves was not her game. but the cinema

    was a ridge



    a poem

    int oo the doxas


    the dicta


    anD




    docks of




    thought






    and



















    all its desires

    &



    deliresssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss


    dlire

    a vowel cut OFF

    Thursday, June 23, 2005

    to them

    to them it was no good was what good a busted fr_A _ga spoke
    in the intent of Kant





    in her lane a lame brain on her stalwart
    skin
    parchment face and radical veins
    veins of troops flutes of blood
    seeping up the top of her damn
    her well forth mouth outpushed
    cushion of her sigh
    she huggered him down
    wrapped him the grown Antioedipus
    over her hips thigh in home lent
    space of her vacant

    Love did this not harm
    as if love was a figure not aprocess
    of threads in the lane the carpet strewn
    across her backs
    her meadown fields a flake of night and packs

    So the by-ways by boys the millions soul
    the soldiers of her ridges and what she wanted to

    this becoming was at last two heads
    not one borin' despot of cheap genes
    but yes a spring for you
    yes spring
    spindle needle of the desire
    the dear door darting to her love
    some becomings were restless weaves in the between
    of morning and dusk
    a cairn of jewels and night.


    Who said wondered Franny why you can't use the same word?
    what word would not be used again the stage bounding with their delight the roar of them the scream of them
    Hurrah! Hurray! Huzzah!

    shouts of Crees near borders of states
    her lace fallen down for him to lick
    off the sides of her face
    was her not a king's secretary in his becomings . O tong of
    night
    and her grab bag of citrus and orange

    mellow like the stones and river-bedded stuffs of her desire
    plot to win him seduction a plain stone in the river socket.
    regionalist of pamper her buttocks swung to the sun. this was the desire sheet of his river. the hammer swinging backwards
    won his way.

    o yes, this close to plateau the merge on . And she was Franny done and


    and she was Franny done
    not a reive to raid his heart piece where the box sounds spoke rejoice and jubilation

    on his solitude the test the mouthpiece. this will be the bodies of space in a summer's night

    Saturday, June 18, 2005

    there was a mist a fire

    There was a mist a fire near the moon of her hugging
    O open cup of her maze was her mouth
    made into his and the night
    beside the pin of fortune the glazed cup

    her handsome hand was his for the taking
    breaking lips furled the crack before buttocks
    and the salient picture of her self

    was book Two when Jill marketed the self to subjectivity and the rising tone of morning
    her happy hammers allayed him, somewhat. Then before the period her gushing self was .

    that night when the thighs brushed down and the oracle of wombs was his name he found the brushland of the plateau the mesa of misfortune marked the place where they stabbed his back and

    back to back was the schizoreno cereal of the grain lady and her swept boots prior to the afternoon of the book,

    and the licensing song was their name
    lacking in nothing they spent the name the serpent
    and cloud tree and news were balked by books
    and the titles carried the wave
    on the main artery of their tongue
    her tongue
    reached over to his
    cutting the space of jam in night block and matters
    he was her lover

    then

    a tongue hanging out to speed
    her savoir faires and loves of the night
    like some wild apache Indian
    a old movie cliche she could not damage but holding her sex to him she said It is yours Hold it in your mouth
    Take it to your mouth
    as the believers slipped away beleaguered .



    how open can he be with space in
    his tongue the deterritorialized shave
    before heads
    alore in the plenty of plateaus and fold.



    Thursday, June 02, 2005

    More good book

    BEcomings sea was the rather of the will when god died splitting her sides laughing was
    the start of atheistic panderings
    god made the will to die but was what god a literalist interpretation of a poem? so sighed the gear across the lather of becomings I cant get her inside of her vision range neuroleptic visors wont see her. Celerity was the happpy name of Mona as she sped her path past boats not some

    broken down page of the challenger! draft beloved was to you the single most pained item in eternity and the lovers laughed across the tables of France and they shot the communards

    C was for Castro and the pendent ears and nose rings the castration of phallus and the ballast of meaning loosen yer shakes and be reprieved!

    Wednesday, June 01, 2005

    first off

    first over time was Jill and her smiles wiles she was the highway woman of his body . knock knock knock was the sound of the betraying drum of her name some day they met the geology of thing that worked insight and out not before the river not before the music of old and gray or the unhappiness of accordians and suited philosphers holding court by happy night she hollered her hand to him


    Jill knew Mona was returnings woman her becomings a dance of her last lust to him after so fine centuries not bad music though please!

    so long since solitude was my name! I am a victory vampire!
    she was
    keeled over by these pieces of love he sent in the mail
    So SOS it was her hurling down self calling his name. but Jill
    was not impressed not in the least bit, or the last for that matter.


    Come close to my hand whisper! she sheathes the Knight her sounding heart besting his brilliance of it all disjunctions, allegories hills of pills and what not.

    So do come back Jill said the geology of ____

    dingle __ jack __ Mona's cousin _ re-writers

    -- and --



    and then one (day supposedly_) Foucault's son got woken up by the telephone ringing. (it`s the the death of derrida derrida derrida)
    It was Francis Bacon calling saying hey there, where is my mother as I (derrida is dead is dead dereader DeReader is dead dead and gone and Not CoMing Back to defer hisPurr) ALl hath Referred )
    walk to the next plateau, and then I am the nothing that is all discourse
    and its regulated powers and hours. Foucault's son was called, I Pierre R.
    having been a schizophrenic son of a homosexual father have no mother I am
    generated by the multiplicity of division and vision of face and many
    faces. She was my mother before I was oedipal. She was the one of many
    plateaux and faces. She saidto me I am the one. I Foucault's son have no
    child of my face; she said these to between two voices between two faced
    about knights.





    _________________

    some in a past spare Mona wrote them ones tickled pink at her uproarious sense of umOUR ... thinkin of


    Uncle Jarry and his toothpick. Pick .



    but then he became wordsowerwords' son ambling in the piety
    gambles
    his preferred choice her lovers.

    so like the sundown of Sabbath he prayed and
    meandered
    over the Preluds of passageways where Americans waltzed

    and ending wars
    stopping their dears
    fabricatin' the imbrication

    of elegant
    day

    of her forsworn lips







    ___ _______


    be pleased in yer depressive
    angles


    Open yer eyes to her Mist
    she tangles my soothness
    over the bridge and hopping the dun pallors of day
    its monstrous moments of gain



    Say Says Mona is this the path to the disjuncted synthesis? I read Marlow and the eternal return against the shore of amber and gold paved
    lips


    see then they are mine, your song too __ the prose poem

    aches the stage clearing the stowage a fellowing of verb and hound __

    Thursday, May 05, 2005

    plakeo

    Plakoe who knew everything knew nothing and




    so it was the went of dish and song and dish song the honey of her hocks

    her hips a horse wave in the sun a promise of nothing

    fulfilled

    Tuesday, May 03, 2005

    poetic objets



    before other mothers speak the name ofthe objet d' presto!
    what sense maketh nonesuch!











    we need to create poetic objets __ that shall by .. their famby farmy poesy of
    Mona was habbin' a fit as she scoop'd her Miklton and her penserosa and allegro her nativity and born again boinkyboinky.

    Jill said what was that? I don't know we just ignore it.

    not the thing of making machines. mulchs of moths mouth machines.

    create ob

    jectials

    objectivity to objectivity.



    Said Mona that morning bedding the gerunds


    waking the thousand genders

    of her


    desire spars








    weMona saw junctions - disjunctions across the hand lying in space was a body-without-organs and its knight gallopin across the animate plain. so somber was the toil of her night, she was knight and knighted by the Quixote of her style and its mesh round sane.So she, Jill, waves the blind man across her passage from deus absconditus to day minus light

    Thursday, April 14, 2005

    aristotle who knew everything

    Aristotle systole who knew everything carried a chastity belt a transmission device to unhand her worrisome and others. Aristotle the Athenian had a head, a shaved head, was bringing the brink back from the dead. The hogshead of words was her song. Mona met Aristotle waning on the dudgeon of Alexander's weight, Peter's pall, and other enlightenment vices, her voice of vice for verse was their clatter wrong and her Franny was the silver suds feet of her murmur.





    When her body had been young she was his but his head was turned and turned off and elsewhere. He saw her folded arms over a street traffic river one afternoon in the dusting day of city desert. Like any lover he couped-de-grace spending his feet on her song, her breast a sigh felt heave on his rest desire to be wake with her over the song down tumult waves of her remove over and over over over it's rapid demise the torrent of phrase was her body, no explain the eyes of , and of and before there was something , she asked why are things rather nothings on the Greek island that day, Lesbos sauntered the sandaled sand, glittering ocean of spray in her eyes, knowing the wrapped fold the field of her enlightenment could only be the pain of his song.





    You smoke too much , a human computer of reading and
    He yes, but your body is too far,
    conversation is clarity I need lips to hold and hook to mine over the wents and tatters, the stage of night.





    And someone was stealing her poetry, from the blogs, where fictions fancied food ...




    other long days



    over the desert




    but when the sun became the warehouse of docks and sighs she saw, recognized his body over the walking page becoming him and his lover





    always over many lives and laves

    Friday, April 01, 2005

    140 plateau iNsiDe aN inSIDe

    the authorial authoress fiction was not celerity of memory to recall when she had .



    scriPted this

    _____________




    When Mona and Jill first got together they were students studying but now they were men, and men were women most of the time, when the let the waving boots of their skirts show, or when lovely waved curled faces spoke back to the bollard which held them to the ground of identity identity kit, gender, social insurance number, medicare card, grave yard number, high school graduating book, photos from previous lives and love, strange hotels from the dream, hot water bottle beteen the Scud missle that Abdul sent, hoping for the maritime peopke of the Sea to win a war that could not be fougt, not be won. And one and one was two when you won the fingers and figures right that made you count right as lisping number was her name and game, and O my love you are there O thou, when Mona Jill first saw her name in stars between the double disjunction of Christ and Jesus Oedipus and Jesus Christ Deleuze sailing out the window with Spinoza there to greet him as he shot down a bolt out of spaxce into space becoming a crufix flying falling, a bolt a crucifix shaped by Spinoza shaped figuriine that waS Spinoza the old philosopher entering the grave with his name on the grave, shooting from out of the sky, a firing, a velocity, a hit, hit upon the ground cracking, sunderring open : yes, Jesus Crrrhist Spinoza Deleuze with Guattari schizz-flows included, and when she saw that she knew her future lay in the future of men, and she said well I wont drink anymore, but answer your posthumously posed questions Claire, as I am your nomad bastard fathering - a ebb becomed man then changed sex of soft skin, asking her for a light, and she thinking it was a come on, if only she was, if only it was, of only it was Claire and the others. O My Parnet!! How many eyars ago it was seeing your book with him in 1977 or 79 when I was still with the big G, you can't get away from the Big G!




    ______________________But sure she knew Sire of wordsLips it was good good . good. was lips of good.

    Thursday, March 31, 2005

    once








    Once Deleuze had had his shoes shined, he had horn rims shaped into the heart of


    the fold


    nothing could be brighter than this taken

    behind like a golden doll


    a calf.



    things becoming unequal was in the nature of things so it was. and many wards Aion and Creon
    were the developing stewards of his jame
    Jocastaswasher name the scrolled
    script running running
    always
    from
    her
    lips


    -----------


    Friday, March 25, 2005

    Qu'est-ce que Multitudes ? What are these Multitudes

    Qu'est-ce que Multitudes ?

    yes what are multitudes littel molecules running all around
    lilliputian desire machines cannons firin' off into rich neighborhoods
    over mountains of city
    a thousand wee sexies
    naked bodies
    bolden attacks on golden girdles running Bacchantes in the boulevards
    larded necks and anointed feet
    whoops and howls are heard about the books
    of bibliographies and free states of consciousness walk the lanes
    yer sex hanging out
    multitudes are men and women eating freely
    living each in their own chosen space
    end of borders
    end of cages

    freedom utopia not U tip ia
    Metanoia not Paranoia

    Jill Knew

    Mona heard theword of the Prophet __ at least heard these words when she was 21 and younger, ringing in her head the freedom of the spirit and the liberty of desire and the voice of god crawling down her name. and there were many such instances when she was a free sprite of the Enligtenment finding god and deEss at every door step and she was sorry for her old girlfriend so afraid of life and pain she had to take pills.


    If you talk to God, you are praying;
    If God talks to you, you have schizophrenia.

    If the dead talk to you, you are a spiritualist;
    If God talks to you, you are a schizophrenic.


    --Thomas S. Szasz, The Second Sin,
    Anchor/Doubleday, Garden City, NY. 1973, Page 113.



    Whereas Mona, like Aeneas knew carrying God on her shoulders was agood thing a dancing thing a lovely thing. Like repeating the same word twice, adjective desire, blood, an d love.

    so she came to

    she read later the words of Laing who she had read first, who Saved her from a Bad acid trip it was Gary Kezar who introduced her to R.D. Laing and his books articulateness & intelligence saved her brain, placated her worried body and fears, while sitting at the counter at Harvey's in 1972 reading Laing trying to undeRstanD and finally smoking a cigarette, whipping around the whip cream
    in the 'hot' chocolate
    and she didnt need no school of poets to tell what was and was not the case
    then She found Antonin Artaud reading him in the summer spring of 1972 and she was very amnesiac aphasiac then

    and later, not too long
    or between there was I mean Between there was the History of Folie in the Age of Reason and she flew on a plane to see R.D. Laing

    later becomings an alcoholic finding out Father Laing had drunk his brain stupified but this didnt subtract from the achievements

    But it was to be a few years, the end of the seventies, 1979 spring she found the book AntiOedipus and then

    recalling she had been at the Lectures to hear the book

    and all was well

    very well
    with schizophrenia and so and so on and so on and so on and so on and so on and so on and so on and so on and so on and so on


    the night went

    Friday, March 18, 2005

    The FiCtiOns a BiBbIbLiOGrapHEE

    ScroLLed BibIlOgrapHies



    for yer eaRs and EyEs to SLumber my leman


    or

    other places of the skillEd Doctor almost


    serations and concertations ________


    Place
    Time
    Character
    Names
    Allusions
    Links
    Bliss
    vague future moment
    concetti
    breaks and stretches
    lakes of nonbeing
    becomings navigator

    your smile prior to feathers


    the end.

    Monday, March 14, 2005

    Pierre Klossowski ..Baphomet...

    Pierre Klossowski, self-declared 'monomaniac' painter, writer of novels, film... translater of Latin silver tongue ...


    Pieree, the nouveau Baptiste, the skettledum was hopi Indian in her myrmidon dress. Was the head off, at the side, in her address? was the
    there a the? an article or article of faith, blind proposition. He wooed the woman from afar, her poems an ocean apart on the feet.


    Uncle Pierre Klossowski at his ease ... a friend of PapaDeleuze... Posted by Hello

    His Lilliputian drivers saturating his intent, his was the come of peace and love, Jesus Christ! she shouted her extraordinary drivers flooding his carboraters. Her calibres his size, his supreme simulacra.

    Thursday, March 03, 2005

    Fictions of Deleuze and Guattari:A Biography

    So then, Mona, enter the burrow, the barrage, the mirage of tables, indexes, times, dates,pale stars, wings, riddle raddles, marriages of knocks, closing shades, miracle whip weaves, melancholy fakirs, diamond sluice meltdowns, sloughed desire storms, caged sundowns, deconstructed passages,h--lines which cut, forlorn stacks of adjectives forcing the weepdown rake

    from ---- Fictions of Deleuze and Guattari:A Biography.
    "Fictions of Deleuze and Guattari is a biography that escapes,
    flows and becomes, runs, wheels and steals mingling fiction, fact,
    literary codexing, allusion, things, objects, persons, genders, stratas,
    becomings, speculations, translation, footnotes, hyper text, image,
    recording, audio downloading, bibliographies which terminate nowhere,
    picture and drawings, sex story escapades, formulas for revolution,
    Deleuzoguattarian trivia, false leads
    to dead questions, personal
    revelations, endless photos of form and content versus expression and the
    Father; the secret love letters of Derrida, Foucault, Deleuze and
    Guattari;pictures and tales of Claire Parnet; inter views with the children of the
    famous Rhizomater; schizz flows and flowers with Felix and Franny in their
    walk through the tunnel of love; remarkable moments with the analyst and
    his patients, secret recordings of Guattari and his lover differance;
    conferences with Guattari and the secretive Toni Negri; a brief moment
    when Genet meets Guattari; Simone de Beauvoir and becoming Cixous not
    Sixous; Sixeee and the Banshees do the Rhizome
    dance and the Screens fall

    She spooks the sun. Jill recalls a lover translator, a barrieR to milk light nights calibrated over weddings of desire and her Sister Shy

    this busted up sheet is yer text

    apart as the latent and manifest dreams papers are folded on their
    Leibnizian ete rendering of the thinkers's channels of denial. The
    clandestine meeting betweeen Jill Deleuze and Gregory Bateson at an A.A.
    meeting. The early letters of Guattari to Daniel Cohn Bendit; how the
    first editions of Deleuze's books were falsely translated by C. Boundas;
    why Helen Lane no longer works the deleuzoguattarian translations; what
    ever happened to those early heroic translators; Picasso comments on
    Antioedipus; the first draft of Kafka a minority like no other. How
    Artists read Deleuze and Franny. Comments of the children and others on M
    the spoils of the becoming of children and other strange pathways. Notes
    from the schizophrenics who attended the lectures at Vincennes. Guattari's O
    final apostrophe. A ouiji board gathering wherein Jill and Franny speak
    to the ghosts of Hamlet, Oedipus and Freud. Bergson's letter to T
    (posthumous astrally written Postcard) Spinoza and Spinoza's encounter H
    with Jill at the moment of death.
    E
    “A splendid piece of cartagrapy for the R
    reactionary years of the 90’s.” Le Monde Diplomatique
    "A revolutinary tool box for backward readers."Semiotexte.
    "I loved every moment of it" Dalai Lama
    "I couldn't put it down" Adam Dalgliesh James, acka acka P.D. J
    "A tour de force in contemporary anti-fictions, the forthcoming "Fictions"
    will surprise everyone, delight many, and horrify others. No matter, it is I
    truly a Deleuzoguattarian Biography, a 'real' simulacrum." Bellisimo Massumi
    "The anxiety of influence has never better been portrayed." Hanky Bloom. L
    "A exciting read written in the classic episodic serialized style
    of a minority machine mistress C.D. continues in the late 90's L
    where de Maupassant left off...Mona&Jill are fascinating, a Bachelor
    machine working its devil best." Ringo Stivale
    "A real rigamarola CD!" Concept Acker, letter to the
    author.
    "The differance of deferral was moving at sign posts of the trembling
    signifier" "Truly the son of Genet, Radio Genet" Derrida in conversation.
    "More more more" Vogue
    "I completely identified." Sa[]man Rushdie.
    "To the author who is not, from the oodles of fans on the Spoon Collective List, and various other
    sundry lists,
    we love you and your work!"
    "Dear, Ringring, I wanted to send you these notes as a word of
    encouragement."
    Unsigned letter from J@hotmail.com

    The thirdtalent isn't abundant
    in a minor literature, there are no possibilities for an individuated enunciaon t woulbelong to this or thmaster" and that could be separated from a collective enunciation....

    Thursday, February 24, 2005

    When the Saints go marching ---in and out

    ____________________

    Jill gazed her gaze of Orpheus

    thee only answer to this

    is nonjudgmental striations of d
    e
    sire
    de
    Sire of words
    You are the sire of words
    and yer mask falls down

    keeping yer pants around yer ankles!


    No pliaations for Franny! shook the tree in the wholesome soup of love and her many faces, not feces! lick my shit will you?
    Ah! my dear, that is death, and I the daughter of Henry Miller shall tell ye so!

    No we shall not makee politicsee, its boring we are the slavers of life and forth folly froth. Between thebuttons, around the cheese, entre deux lesbians, les gals de summer, the neuters de nuit, the trombones of thunder, le tonnerre de deux, the roup thorax of repeat, the petition of contrition, the mend of bend, the wax of wave, the saunter of forest and the great bend of foxforest sword number one!

    what shouted Franny!

    Mona's escaped!


    _________________

    Saturday, February 12, 2005

    Poetic SuBjects

    "We have to multiply poetic subjects and objects,
    and we have to organize games of these poetic subjects.
    This is our entire program which is essentially transitory.
    Our situations will be ephemeral, without a future: passageways."
    -Guy Debord


    GuydeboRders was her Bestestfriendwhen she fried the jewels of night and its handmade plates, conning the imbricated nethers of her pools

    she knew it was flew
    over impassable louvers
    paddering by fathers said with an long Irish a b c

    not so nice
    as Northumbrian rice
    her face was thrice
    its weight ice
    a Cambrian spice
    tipping her dice

    not the infinite roll of blogs and bogs where Irish kept their place kleptomania of mania delire rifted between paranoia and schizz-figures shafting the unconsciousness ffff'''' of broken
    and other
    meritocracies she was bend and send
    her arm a native thing to end
    the night of hammers and friend
    imperfect as her thyme and lend
    her tilt to backward tit and then
    ANother!!!!



    Monday, February 07, 2005

    ga UnclE GayTaRry EpI Sode 89 ExcerPt

    Ah! EmmanuElle deux fois! Alors cest bien et bene dètre a thousand little sexes, and the pick me up thought of the dialogues of Dadadaddy and Clare as a bell in the hirondelle morning... So merry Mona reads...






    ``a close friend who just happens to be called manu (the well known diminutive of emanuelle) reckons that emmanuelle g. is _absolumente_ guat.....tari's (Lies ! Lies she forsooth Lies!) daughter and she got that;;;; name cos he was highly religus - in fACT he was
    god most of the time when he didn't have a headache. But what manu woul...d really like to know is _which_ of the many Tls reviews conceals the gaytarri ....e raving called Plotinus!) and wondered if the review was ... as future the fiction of reckoning in her desire sands... about that same little book?


    Re: And, and, and ....TLS.


    Mona read the review in the TLS of Jan.2/98. But the concealed
    photography cannot be found in that particular journal. In fact, what Mona
    said she had heard about, was a photo in a biography of a former gay
    rights
    worker in France. Mona never saw the photo-graph herself. Sorry
    But she was wondering what substance there might be to the contention
    that Felix was bisexual. A thousand tiny sexes, was it literal or a
    figurative movement on the body without organs? Mona sighed, called the
    friend
    who had seen the friend at the party who had said she saw the photo in
    the
    said
    biography. Now the biography seems to be about a fellow whose name she
    didnt know. Who knew the answer, who knew the truth? How would
    she know with out the evidence? Was the plane of consistency a traversing
    plane across the lives and bodies of the authors and friends of the many
    travellos who had circulated all along and across the northern shores of
    desire and speech? Was there a name to the sex that could not call its own
    name? Was there a minority sex that dared not to speak its own name?
    Mona called Franny. Franny called Jill. But Jill was dead, and
    Jack and Jill had gone to fetch a pail of water.

    Monday, January 31, 2005

    out of a stroke for then

    Now when Jill red that noncents she was tipsee and knotty her ben was pen and she was deprespian and had a thespian rongon her route a flute to boot her moot and could not proseed beyawn her tuth a ruththing indeed ittwas. and she was bellows and below the thing advansing from the thunklker of jevHovatentchezvous.
    Not so well was the sprungingburd of her lord, the mayfair of anoush and ka the Ka of Anous and her beside her manner Noia was para debola. what was Noush de ka?
    besides her mother of thighs and the simple hammer down of me song?
    sumthingin her was joystick and merry
    the merrier the better becomes the two of us in our
    loves for yourselves my hand yours sex yours in the
    lips yours is mine the lip that is mine
    is yours

    ________________

    Mona wasthe darLing machine of the mass


    she wore coloured sticks in her hair



    and had feet on her tongs!






    ________________


    A schizophrenic out for a stroke is more excit'd than a morning filewith teeth. It’s death on the night undone unsaying the coeternal beat of the light faded by edifyng glances down the strange of time. Knot some saying along her back playing the girl of night and her hummer back… not lived as nature or walnuts between the tasting teeth of L. the dark lore of her huddle eyed picasso elf eye So much apple in the nut is pleasing. Various gaits not the gate to the door that opened to Song see and its partial place of knock and wood. Then the mist appeared. It was vase and the optic place steered and the high down dead feeling a finely tuned machine by Sheila’s roses we walked. A fantastic tatoo a repression silence drunk deeper than night and Hilda’s highs. Over the ship overboard and starboard the buckets of sheep were crying. Murky caves spade of hand shuffling the deck a tape made in the tee black copper and a candlestick stretching the stellar canvas of her posh her pish posh look gem as in the gleaming not swirled in the lyricism another cynicism in the cunningness of things. Not the unread letters returned the absence of warmth cordiality and near courtesy of day stepped to night. A glass a glass my hand Franny says it does not mean we are tying nature to a pole of schizophrenia but we’re making a pleasure boat that turns over the capital vehicule. Is that possible Jill’s daughter shouted as the check spun in the air fluttering to the ground. What is a stone sucking candy mouth but the motor of its intent, even if that is spurn, and not day says done.


    So single in its intent 'must be love' like her body flowin' in the courtyard, the Coupole of sanction and tea, and an endless deluge of w

    o

    r

    d

    s



    awards

    Saturday, January 15, 2005

    Deleuze happy, smiling, thoughtful, a cigarette --...


    Deleuze happy, smiling, thoughtful, a cigarette -- To have done with the judgement of God.... Posted by Hello





    ArChive DelIver


    Deleuze happy, smiling, thoughtful, a cigarette --...
    WHoever Fights
    the death of Deleuze
    Flinger Fugue
    Looked at NoOne In BeTween theRe is Poetry Says Lucas by the Syracuse
    slinking to
    death derrida, jack
    Couples EverYWhere « all yer blue mondays come to back to haunt yer...
    sufI ReSoNances End Game? MoNA ReFuteS Some Old SuFi Pie from Son of Genet
    they and Us Usssszzzzzssssssss





    Saturday, January 01, 2005

    WHoever Fights


    Mona was Deleuze's daughter, a daughter son of Nietzsche, une

    becomiNgsfemme, ~~ a creature of the authorFuNCTiondesrebloc. ~~ MonA

    liked to read her daddy Deleuze's father Monster she was loyal

    to the demonstrative prowess of the goddess. The goDdEss I surrended,

    taken by her my head into her hips between her sex my mouth swallowed

    uPThere, InTo her, swept down and up, 'away' not like any maxim, not

    like any cock into her vessels, but as a profound lather of night's
    bearing on the balls ofthe sea, and its hypnotic train.

    Hypnotized hypnotized hip no tized haptic prized by the train the rumbling rambling deepgrowling inward thing bang sound of the train it hypnotized her train flipped her head out of the personal and swung upward , Hurtled High like the Buildings by the powers of dynamic captialism's youthfulsmiling hip swinging upward bounded Energy. O ENerGee. Gee of E and the E of mCsquare, the ballocking hammerslam of the yammerstam and its glamdam the love of godand night. the words runtogether like a smilinglip and its hip shadows a century later, and the phone conversations of a thousand years.


    So she read that Father Deleuze was reading 'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process she does not become a monster.Ah! yes a Monster, I ama pretty Monster my Lover, not my louver! ... when you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.'Oh! it looks at me! and seizes! seing a son of the Muse (her abstract fates! de-songstructions, designs,fiddles,belttransmission manners, numbers, equations,baroque cages, neurotic tumblers, etc. other things of metre and might.) And dear O dear she was Re-a-reading Kant with the glasses of Daddy her superego not her superior ego. What was it that Picasso said? Take that sculpture and smash it! What? said Henry as he bounced down the streets of Paris in his particular narrative of desolation and dice, and my narrative is neither desolate nor dice, but the Big One's will as she understand the thing working me a song over the laved sihouettes of desire and her marryings.


    She, Mona knew beyond good and evil was a monster's perogative and the submissive of her body was a wept palace for her beatings, her cock a summer song on his thigh, a balanced sheet of whippings and blaze.




    Those werE the nights of whippings and blaze, the toe snapping shoes of the arrogant raceof the tribal mannerS, and who gave a damn, was the debted artist paying her dues. Her dues! she thought! what an exclamation! to speak! like this! some dead ! Pah! I've Sung for Cotton and sung for Cities Ive not heard of these and their rank knights! what kind of biographer are you? I am supposed to pursue my own road. The inexact wording always fasting down yer daze. She was Deleuzebetween the sheets and the nighttime horse and the k's of fortune were her body , the lips blowing out ...


    And outward



    So somber.



    We perambulate then and no one believes us it was the death of Derrida.




    Dear Son, he wrote, I am not dead, I am merely a ghost living in the past.



    Son, she hummed between her teeth and the gown of her sex gleaming at me,


    I have not revoked your first class poetic licence. This licence is a licence to love!


    What she said, smiling her teeth a round song in his head, a body a loose garment of paves, not meaning to force representation




    Re Moona ~~ was a Daughter of Nietzsche, Nietzshce's Daughter, nOw me what is More Poetic than that, the eternal return of