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...."