Monday

HenRy MilLer is Dying

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-
its


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.






Deleuze is dying come to Paris.
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.


Henry Miller is dying come to Paris tomorrow

  Deleuze is  Dead  

The Hamlet Letters


Genet was dead, and nobody knew
Sartre was dying


Everybody was dying ...





Not So, said the Red King in his Communist flag and desire was a page on the numbers of cans, and toes, painted white as eyespots , or sports of naked bodies, their asses held high in that gleaming theatrical sky, the hands of dolphines wipin' them clean




And the logics of hatracks, harlots and desire-members was a printed page inthe sky




in the clan of hope the calendar of rainbows and the forgotten thought and the new female grass that waited on the Longfellow wind weir in the posture of a boot polished glanced off its death and its raiding sunset ripping down the boulevard as Mozart cries hair whirled in the wind




bordello of walking streets
broken word before broke promise
and the comma sits and stares by Emily's Chair


                                                                       
And my Doctor was Deleuze was telling us all that


Our Father in immanence and in no cence

Saturday

that makes six

That makes yes six of them boxes with blues in their bowls




words in their crowds through Fanny -- from behind in other
words -- came American and English litter from words
of the sure thing that is literature and my delay replay
relay of the momen't maximum toxin
Incredibilize --- what was that other word I was saying
on the street bodies cold bodies flowing cold
cold flowing and bodies between cold flow
And fly of flow and go
like Huzzah Hossanna Or Huzza buzza
Permutated letters places and speeds of meaning
god blowing int he wind it blew my mind my mind blew
my blew my blew it blew yes a letter writing a reading



So my lovers Mona Eurydice Sappho where are you
in the you in between the gendered strata of
desire and night as I speak the legal trait of our discoursee
which makes women see her place in the stepping ladder
of time's mean clock like our calibrated jewels and neclaces
O sunder of womb where woman wears and I close there today
to you today you there close today



Originally she said bowels, the bowels of the earth ~~ earth eater, in her thunder bowels. SOme like an Old testament prophet in my veins of her love.

and so Jill

Tuesday

Gorgeous

and then others||\\\\|||| you know what I mean, nodding her head. bending her back

_________________________________________________Before Jill was written tribal she was trial.


Gorgias was gorgeous she thought when he whirled through the
agora thinking to his selves. Whereis that word? Whereis that Parmenides
Where is that empty space from which the science-fiction of concepts is
derived?

Gorgias was like Bella Lugosi he was hooked on heroin.
and thank you thenotes written nowhere into outer space
assholes answer know the meaning of it

and so it was with Agathon
the fake

who Murdered Gilles Deleuze
and murdered Felix Guattari
and Paul Celan
like the others
O mother fuckers
et tant d'autres et tant d'autres

deboRder conTInUed track

** SO there will no place to lift the victim "after" the revolution.
No, that was Tzara from before and the many unconsciounesses of the
literary mind. Or other things which rattled the antioedipal flavour of
the body electric and the lip letter error. What shall I err? he said.
Nay there is no err
There is no
as it stutter mutters and memory plays the prank
so close to the edge of the waters of the phoneme
and other close calls
like near reading which is the eye upon its thinking text. Called
deferral of the gift.
So then Franny said to Guy: I cannot my love, I cannot I am reading too
much of the body of others. IN the madness which suffers so much so
long.

******** Il faut ... retourne...

Mona 24 2xTimes




Mona was a bird of flight. And Franny was too, before the night was
young. So the molecular paths were past past tenderness. Was the anxiety
of deferral greater than the anxiety of influence? was the strata the
bending then bedding of noun and preposition, or the verb of
proposition. God what deaths one found in the de-politicized.






Franny wrote to several narrative selves about Jill. Jill was the
lesbian double author of her own texts called Schizophrenia and
emphysema. Then Paul said I shall be: Some young boy tried to steal her
ideas.



Now for Spain Some Repetition and Differences



_______________
Mona wore new clothings one day. She had a shamble shack with all the
deleuze-o-guattarian accoutrements possible. She had a noun vase verb
possible, and an adverbial qualifier. Other things like night and
slippin' past the pediment pavement stone. With all the wrecks in St.
Denis, and the old shag hotels her father Genet had lived in, camped in,
slept in, jerked off in and wrote masterful books in. While dying of
cancer and other diseases. Oh but Jill new none of this was true
especially while wandering in the special homes and aums, the autistic
places of the dead. Like Ulysses and the siren, the nightingale's place
where ripped words chewed the weeds off thought.
Franny called her "one day" "suddenly" and "by chance". She said listen
I got a molecular revolution going here with my fifth plateau, and my
endless strata that have no home.

Was a strata a place or an endless judgement of god?
Was an anxiety of influence the denial of god?

Mona was Deleuze's fantasy of himself when he was her. Then
some - If I am many I contra-dict the word verb of noun praise and it
raises the hell of night.




Repetitions



Mona wore new clothings one day. She had a shamble shack with all the
deleuze-o-guattarian accoutrements possible. She had a noun vase verb
possible, and an adverbial qualifier. Other things like night and
slippin' past the pediment pavement stone. With all the wrecks in St.
Denis, and the old shag hotels her father Genet had lived in, camped in,
slept in, jerked off in and wrote masterful books in. While dying of
cancer and other diseases. Oh but Jill new none of this was true
especially while wandering in the special homes and aums, the autistic
places of the dead. Like Ulysses and the siren, the nightingale's place
where ripped words chewed the weeds off thought.
Franny called her "one day" "suddenly" and "by chance". She said listen
I got a molecular revolution going here with my fifth plateau, and my
endless strata that have no home.

Was a strata a place or an endless judgement of god?
Was an anxiety of influence the denial of god?

___________________

Some dance that was .

Sunday

Mais ou sont

Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?


But where are the friends of yesterday with their hatred, long jackets and songs. Across the plateau we shivered in our dogs and nights, our brogue trapped in our mouths, s's slivering along the contamin of our Irish tongue.


Sometime night was War and its yelling head, not the communication of vessels, not allegory or Jill but just a personae hidden tucked in the folds and jars of things.

Filled with the noise of this verse, and candelabra.


---


Verlainelefou calls this desiring-production paranoia. It is a method akin to the paranoid critical method, mistakes included


so then the dull sorts of names repeat themselves to Her. Her body, or her Face are gruelling. Her ass is a miracle of discontent that she wills and wiggles in room after room of dancers. She is a dancing bee, her mother is a willful be.

He is,no , He Orpheus is the dog of night. sleeping pills can do him no good. Proper oral speech reproduced in dialect on the page don't do him no good EEither. He is AlReaDy a Master.


--- Now Verlaine Le Fou or SomeOne lIke Him Was stealIng His Mail. Post Post Post Restante!
cause she JIlly had written a line sending it to the knave of the post. Shelley was his name, no really it was Tristram Shandy. Tristram Tristram where art thou? In my belly singing a song, I am the new Shakespeare. I have created a thousand characters lines of flight.
Jack KeroUAc's delire and line of fight and flight


I think of this -- Kerouac's delire in terms of the unconscious. Kerouac , the deeper he goes into his alcoholism and the paranoid reactionary investments of his unconscious , becomes less and less, and is rigid with flickers and flashes of the old self. He is less a becoming whatever, animal, insect, rock tree, stage, stone his becomings are stammered into wooden woeful self. Or self number one. The beat and his line. The further Keroauc goes into becoming a non-becoming, the more he is personally dogmatic, frightened, depressed, withdrawn, aloof. He becomes the hated other self of his fears. However his writing does not become less, but more or takes on the characteristic of the supple and fourth line of the four lines of flight GuattariDeleuze discuss in One THosuand Plateaus.
Interestingly Ginsberg becomes less racist more open less pro any nation - and against any war at all not just the Vietnam war -- any nation at all U.S. A., CHina, Britain, Israel - and he is certainly aware of the Palestinians - less religious Jewish and just as aware of the probelm of Christ Koran and Talmudic traditions. Witness his poem about Jawheh and Allah - he is a becomer he becomes more and more more pro world. At least in his work, but and this is not a new point, many find this honesty disarming, this strippingbare of the self, embarrassing, and even maudlin. And there is much of that in his work and there always was.

But as a writer it is Kerouac who really opens the lines of change and movement and flight. GInsberg becomes less a poetry machine -- now wait Said Mona, are you working this out as you go along, or do you mean this literally? _ she Said to Franny -- Franny replies wait let me finish I amnot Clifford Duffy and I got my work to do and got to write it down as it comes So then Back to Kerouac and company -- And so he is, GInsberg, a figure filled with his own ego-deflation-reflation, living the schizo contradiction. bEComing antisemitic is a form of paranoia for Kerouac who on other hand, does not become less of a writer, and even a great writer. Ginsberg's flight which began way back in Xalba days of his poesy, turns outto be the old man in grey the Wordsworth (to say hewas like Whitman would be obvious bt I dont think he was like the old gray poet but assumes this sort of Wordsworth persona, or at least the one of my imaginings) or less of his own milieu and time: I dont say this to slight either poet Mona Exclaims! of course not Franny U Love all Poets --, but actuallly find the whole thing hilarious. And were one to be honest, Id say the music of Wordsworth has sown more seeds, than Howl- Jill InteRRupts! how dAre U I Howl rach Nightly! I am the Howl of the Banshees and WoLoves ! Many Seeds oF DiSSemInaated Joy aND First Breath First THoughT Best ThoUght -- and Kaddish. (but what seeds of quatum does it matter -- both are proper names of intense energy and intensity of flight and fire) .
Orpheus says "But no one quotes Ginsberg better that Guattari and Deleuze in AntiOedipus." Franny goes on giving Orpheus the brush off: They isolate those astounding lines (From KaddiSh O Mother etc...), yet to be surpassed, and High Light the Beauty of theiR ParaNoia - the Line's paranoia. Because all great Poetry is Paranoid And Non Paranoid. But metanoiD and MetaNOia is perhapS a better SolUtion to what is and Must be a way of Life. The metanOiA being the big turn around the Repentence of the Poem . Big shot poets know this as they make a living spouting forth their Dreams. Because after all what are poets selling but an ideology called the Imaginary. I love all this and Kerouac was a great singer of his generation and O mon beau, what a Voice! A great singer of that generation - not greater than Allen or lesser , but different dharmas both lovers of a different path, difference routes, Allen his pal and wanna be lover 'for' gave gave him before what ever he needed in forgiving of his socalled sins, and slanders , racisms. AN the CathOlic Mystical BudDHiSm of Jack will always stand hiM in good SteaD
Jack KeroUAc's delire and line of fight and flight is the tangled skein (Pound Pound!) of his generation. No wonder they slewed the centuries with their love.

There's
also the problematic of Kerouac and
Franny knew there was no problem where there was none, and knew when she was done, she was done.


------- Mona was cuttin' her paper looking for Orpheus who'd run off with the epistolary shoot of Eurydice





_________________

PsssssssssssssssssP

All Literature is Quantum and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool.


It's a quantum in praise of the glory of God -- however you care to understand the idea



Wednesday

Jill meets GherASim LucAs the RumaInIAn Poet

So the palinode the demi-monde the St. Remi Road goes round and round your Ezra Pound, your CircLing Nietzsche and gyrating Nirbana not bananna Anna Banna Anna Freud merci beauco(u)p. And Felix said, Patients ought to be paid to do anaylsis and not



the other way around


Now she to me in her old fashioned portico, that is her pronoun that was bended knee



against her fort and love which moves the stars and other planets

Tuesday

'The first thing to be distributed on the body without organs ar races, cultures



So Jill saw with her EyES one AfterNoon iN her InteNSe Body withOut organs that 'love was the answer' and charity was the key . to the Teepee. Was not. When Guattari came along she was shooting along the coupure of virus and distributing alongthe Side of her body-without-organs.




So it went and she was near the end of her librarian a liberal generosity in her tether, a night of gold and leaf. Like her daughteR she was explaining the campaign of culture glided over the Oedipal formations and her machinic mutant self. Come along leman and dance with I. Nimrod and her castle, pestle of the mortar to the diamond size and her fissures were careful bends in the road


One day she met Gregorian Gregory Forget her name bind of paradox. She wanted a cholera to shield and shelf her child.


  One day and more she's climbing the ambrosial hill to heaven. A marriage menat for fortune and good graces.
 -----------------------------------------------Berth   ~ large and swaying in the hold . between
each breathing word, the stone creaks . Along the ridge of the combers black and blue. 

 And her hand held tightly the ridge.   Ranging its death gold.
   God  ~ .




Will No OTheR

Will no other Know yer name, Jilly, Mona and the seven dwarves, the seven dawns, the seventh seal her mysteries and pituatary glands all along the Harves the wharves of schizophrenia and your friend, her bodies , bodes a glance and down the servers of time and 'legory


Between the second synthesis and its connective rights, what shall it worry but blushing skins and skids to the end of rainbows, and fair weather wheels

by the ladder O compadre and Vallejo's hurt by the grand waters of canal she sat her playthings in the pen

but not close to the escape and its dirty drainpipers and worrysome fathers, their mothers without a son

Sunday

ChoIR StaLL EnD PaNel

ChoiR StalL End PAnEl where OedIpus sat fat as the daylight on Saturn`s beard all her life plunged into a death gardeN of ISolalaltes EpiStemes to the death. cut yer Heart out the IsOlates of Language have DamA ged yer Craw BeYond ExPlanAtions of DeSire and Deity O little kafka that ya are.


OeDipus smoked himself to death oneday with daddy deleuze`s diary knowin` hagbags got caught away with murther. and mudlinks into theshame of bodies.



a repeaTing seasOn fo death and SmoKe. Jill clambered along the molecular pole and fell an ugliness tuMbling her down /// a fascist Naze was in her Face the feaces of desperate desiRe was not the sImilar to desperate to dance.


she read another SorTilage had a puff of winking astrological humdingers, held her tongue to the sky, twisted her little man, deeper to her succubus selves, the selvinga mist of degrees and not types.


OEDIpuS was Not close to OrphEus but she was Close EnuFf to Know He was More reliable than that bitch Eurydice and her run down fort, her crackled hammer



an intricate and elaboratelt carved repression Was her Made Up the divination of dictation and invaginatio. : So then OeDipUs in a body a patrilocal regIme was not the best solution for sliding breasts, treacherous students. and others.


OeDiPus continued. She sought her breath. Followed Mona around, skirts atilting.



He was

Wednesday

DeBoRd and VINcennes

Debord & Vincennes.

Franny always knew her shoes were tied too late. Too late for monads
and pleats, folds and drapes around her Baroque self. And that was Hume
was help, because before Bergson ran to the rescue there could be no
plate from which to launch the selves that she was. To launch unfurl and
discompose the selves in "one fell swoop" was the proverb of negativity
she chose. She was Hegel on days like that, bad days one might say when
the dialectic of snythetic reason became the polarity on which her self
worked, lived and died. Days like hegelianism's temptation to totalize
even leading to a rationalization of facisms and smug self-assuredness,
professorial positions, spurs to a contemporary orthodoxy
notwithstanding one found reason "falling" a part as in the centre which
could not hold and the blood filled tide of innocence subjected to all
nostalgia and malaise held blazes and moments of intenity on any
boyd-without-organs on a given day. Franny got the first call from
Debord when she was still quite healthy and ready to revolt creating
molecular fall-outs of all sorts. Molecular as the train which shouted
in her sleep the sleep of reaon and Kant's aesthetic sublime and the
processual fervor of movement, old recordings, theory and its balanced
counter-take pratice as the reflection and experiment of its
contemplation. SO it was she took a big breath and waited for her
friend. She was getting ready to go to work, where the psychotics were
all the rage, and the transversality of mini movements could be felt
vibrating throughout the building, the "batiment." SO when Debord first
called saying Listen you specualator of the new simulacrum and listen to
the sound of your sisters, your brothers, your genders, your sexes as
they speak the double -tonue schizo tongue of desire.
Then Franny knew she was a homo-sexual. SHe knew she was a disjuncted
synthezier and silence was her other[s] name. Like the many sex beings
she was. Against nothingness and tear, and being before property and
knowing full well that even stones were politics. That! was the
repetition of a difference! ANd what logic there was to that sense of
feeling in the paint dripping across the body of the woman he loved. And
she knew her name, her name was Felix.
Then Guy said: MAke the beachs rattle under the pavement of St. Denis.
What time is she wondered, as he caressed her female leg. So call the
time agains the city of telephones and sexes and shames you have no
desire to go to war against. While the pope prays for communisms and
unconsciousnesses to return. It was like jazz; sometimes she was Miles
Davis, the singer, the taxi-dancer at the dancings at the Folie Berger;
but she was not certain of the spelling. Oh those French words could be
so deceptive and receptive of oppression depression and the voices in
the recordings.
So then his-story was the story of the One lingual pun, and no matter
how much one writ one was trapped in the one. The one and the two and
the many additions it came to.
"So when" Guy called and said be my lover as we prowl the street.
Detourne as any gift.

Tuesday

: Carnivalic D&G

-- always more interesting to live the epistolary than to write it. Then How to PubLiSh letters written on the spur of wind whenthe bourgeoois subject always wanTs SuMEthign MMore to Hang On to
--- That was interesting comparin`Daddiodeleuze with daddiaderridee....
>Interestin`intervention: but as far as I can until folks start seeing that
>Jill was dealing with matter as well matterphysika we ain`t getting
>nowheres said Jill to herfaced-visage Franny. I was tryin`to get folks
>yakkin`bout matterè`gin. Notjesttesxtch.....
Cough cough harumph went Jill
>as she emphysemead once again yet again....



ite. This >>Derrida of his own admission --- is that AdmISsIon to go to the Show Of DeSIreEE?? --- lacks `these` conceptual resources, with the result that for deconstruction (in >>the
>>absence of any notion of connective synthesis) notions such as the body
>>w...ithout organs and absolute immanence remain strictly incomprehensible.
>> >>Indeed the very thought of immanence no longer immanent to something else,
>>so central to Deleuze's metaphysics, could only be construed by Derrida as
>>a >>constitutively self-defeating pretension to the transcrescence of
>>transcendence.
...stupidity's never .... what we need... gaps... silences... solitudes...
>hard to come in the addiction machines.... of which she is plugged into
>numerously
>
-- She wears the deconsructed suit of passi Vity knowing territory is ever present inthe war betweEn Self and other the Other witha Big Capital Se x. That is the Numb deading sex of the body without organs
_________________________________________________________________________


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

Anti-Oedipus

In the punk abstraction of her desire, Jillw as a junior goddess working toward the permanent state of revolt. Not resentment and other enemies of truth, and her desperate drive toward honour and hindu. She was like the night that caved the leader of the taliban and the gangster of Islam and three years afterwards -- no aftersite at all -- put Presidential Bushee in pouvoir

Like Satan she had sex with the distributed gods on her organs and tracts, making friends with me and others. Too bad the Republic of Bush was the family of animuncules and not zeros of the zero hour of incredible More later, and coughed her hair.
The first thing to be distributed on the body without organs ar races, cultures and their gods.

Thursday

thesE

these fictions date to 97_ in /Inception. of Pale and plateau they change as yer face caged unloosened the rifty spoon to spun sun....


what a toothy word some says Mona ash have with her! she heaves her breath to me her belt swooning
the hour of my detail .


These fictions 're filled with pyjamas potatoes rose, cauliflower, old train sets . Remarkable ladies inthe night. In the Eiffel Tower or at Tours. when Maurice rode the big motorcycle of li_groups, pen in his mighty teeth. my lover of old, she says, glimpsing with the sunny smile in her face. Not like areal bodyin the street. Its pitiful annoyance and yer alowness aloneness.

Tuesday

the pure presentident of pOems






the pure present of Poems was the Knight galloped over the cone of void











and then some




was Jill`s stamina against the deterioration of space and the war machin e




as cabled by the State sate machine


gobbling and chewing its inFinite babies




down the gullets of paranoiacs





`cause Jill(y) knew the price of love was gender abandoned In Her Th OuSan D PlA tea Us



and One


and alll the Lord`s MoleCUllllesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss`ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddbeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee oneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee











Friday

father step 1

His name is not Deleuze , it is Beach as in the sand under the pavement



in the crippled city I say crippled because it sounds right and for n o other reason who care what you read er think in yer responses of thinking I know and You know what the hell I am talking about



when I am not talking


who is talking here?



Is the reader speaking talking or is it a ramble like me old Kerouac I prefer the signifier Ramble I am a Rambler ramblin against agin death and its minions, cheap death



Death


Death is a terrible thing , told my sister


hier soir, coffee in the cafeteria, smokin g of course


and some woman at the other end




gawking at me




what can U do I am dead been years of dead now


I am uGlee I am the UgliOsa the old friend of AntiOedIpUs and I rise betwixt cancer




and high noon





about drunk

something he mumbled about not getting drunk , yesterday


Mary, I .... something, drunk, cannot get DrunK....





To day is the day



I have been sober 22 years today....

dying in your crying





cry in your die


as it stares down

the bodies flock back



cold as ice



my temperment of death







Mona's delay in the sides of the wind





father step

He really is dying, the gasping, the body huffing, unconscious he slides slips to god g a w d con sciousness Kaddish Keen Lament Lorry of death SlIps him across stretches his arms on the bed t o grips the railing the pain



pain free



palliative


Tuesday

riPariS Was the SECond POet Her

Paris was the rejected boy of the gorrilla looking for the father. nOte we saY the Father, as for whats his name. well whether he does oR doesn``t matters not a snap fo fingers!

PariS was the SeCond Poet of Her ParanOiA and she ran away daughter of desIres KIllIng as UsuaAL the poet


and what was new about thAt?



EuRyDice was a Murderer.....

she midshipped Orpheus
ORPheuS PaRis and Her UnHip post 90s bUllshit. was ragged and telltom as a french canadian church, all repressed and dead undeRneath and Full of catholic shit



she wanted to say daddy to him

to say daddy when she came

but



was t`repressed t``admit s


o.

the pLace Called Nay

Mon a was raped once by a bunch of secondrated poetasters. they were all killers and assforce fuckers who picked on young harps to get their , violent rocks, off, and smash her face agaisnt the WaLL cause she did Not Doo thIngs theiR way.





they called it a conform,......


she called it a dIctAte


calling A Tyrant a tyrant.


likw other empires.


you see what I mean, you see what I mean?




-------------______________________


but noonereally knew Artaud`s name she was hiding behind the barbed wire of the concentration camp

with other ones.

guttarl guattari was





guttaral guttari rose from the dead was the deconstructed reconstructed deraideres went


down the dingdong as the wept blue bullocks hurried fast the door was shambled rock their necks.



the Second time was the Ascension of Christ! and Gultari was dead, dead as a ped.



yount be gooled by repetitions young people are stupid

guLtarIi guattari was

yes I need to goout more and read my mountains and keep my cunts in order. but masks and jabs keep me outer public as my genitalismen Are I COMPlete GenItalAmEns adn Womens... and yes a aslUt was a Clutter cUlture of theIR vIrtue aNd MiNe

A breath of fresh air, a little relation to the outside, that's all schizoanalysis asks.

take the air in a tobacco trance said Franny one dicky day and she forget her Artaud that manic morning in her melancholy booms



guttaral guttari rose from the dead was the deconstructed reconstructed deraideres went


down the dingdong as the wept blue bullocks hurried fast the door was shambled rock their necks.

les Plages d` imMAnEnCe

after one thousAnd Years of DeReader Jill was LookiNg for the southernDrawl of her belle dresses and vowels her niightreadersand days the escaping paths of mouthsfull of rain. not like the cheap slitsluts of copycats and cheap ontario repressed jackasses, high school princoplies, adn second rate artists, and bumsters of the dead assed highgrade ugly ones.


caUse one thing JIll taught her, Mona, was that there was uGLy oNES.

and Mona was like her friend, the Antioedipus, a very Ughliosa!
and she was not so sad

that the JackydeReader was deadgone.

Deceased & gone to heave


N.





Si


lence

the death of derrida by gilles Deleuze


the d e a t h


o f de r ea der







by





d E LEUZ E

Monday

One MoRnIng


One dawn aube Jill said to Deleuze I love you I am a mathematican// F(r) anny laughed one or Several Miltonzzzzzzz I love my dancer the sigh of the night he dint remember me and maybe thats what St. Teresa meant, Be happy for what you don't have all the way to heaven is heaven for has she not said Her is the pithpath? Giggle saith Mona in her dirndl dress, is that how you pellmellitspell it bagyy? Sock it to me honey I am the swarm of much the night in its tattered wear and stare


AND HE SAID LOVE YOUR CANCER



so then the tanger was sanger in its blood by the rood of the christ of the angelic committes and theIr fEmAle Stoned Angels


by wounded fanny she knew her moleculed revolts were passable pubs and pullables into thee present pasts and their arts.

Wednesday

mental case!!!-- heressyer Efffing Meaning!

ADVERTISEMENT for a worser world. than whirled by william blake and the four decadedent angels of the Cross Corinthians.


Hi Patterfeces, I would be very careful and Not Listen to anything this guy
Bevo says he is not a good student. In fact, he was fired by Guattari
for misrepresenting Deleuze along with Zizek!


hahahahahah Home
Messages





Reply Forward View Source Unwrap Lines Delete
Look at all this sHite of a day book for an Irish transporter or is that an Irish transpoder . So then we space the ankle between the punctuations of graphs and disraphism and soundalikes to gotogetherbetter like suckers do.


And Anti saw, all the messages, gleamed in the Yahoo frost.

Message 1016 of 1016 Previous Next [ Up Thread ] Message Index Msg #

From: "rimbaudboyo"

Subject: Re: Digest Number 312


ADVERTISEMENT this is where the commerical usually is but last where the late birds swang.

_____________________ One has to imagine stairs.



rimbaudboyo"
Date:
Subject: Re: Digest Number 312


ADVERTISEMENT and yet again the Mute dog, the Sign of death and its other cultivations!

_______________________
--- In space and time "rimbaudboyo"the boywondertrouble saith:

wrote:
> some things never change. i remember when rimbaudboyo was ye
mother.
»»»________enuciation is a big scam! hahahahah
»»--- I rimbaudboyo eat E NUnS for breakY


Never???

rimbaudboyo"

Subject: Re: Digestible numbers





--- same old ? oh lordy out of the schizslum and here is what? this
what& come now are thee Sincere? they keep their Sintax anD we Pay. O
facists Rulers of the GrammaR gangsteriSm!


a sexy lover of choice& desire

Subject: fucken mental case





---u are a fucken mental case ! and cannot write anything!!

"rimbaudboyo" wrote:
> Hi Paul, I would be very careful and Not Listen to anything this guy Boovo says hes not a good! student!! what! Yelling! again!
fucking facsist!
not a good student. In fact, he was fired by Guattari
> for misrepresenting Deleuze along with Zizek!
>
>
> hahahahahah



From: "rimbaudboyo"

Subject: Re: Help with a "What is Philosophy?" quote





---dearest reader! it is not clear what U
wish! dea Sir Schizostinker! why dont u go and buy the book!
i mean are we here to serve! You! why should I rimbaudboyO send any
thng in francais to you reader readershrieks!

___________________________ «I have not stolen my own words. I am Milton I am the jewel In the Nile.
> "The virtual is no longer the chaotic virtual but rather virtuality
that has
> become consistent, that has become an entity formed on a plane of
immanencethe body without idiots! its coming to the slander of capitalism all over our assholesss!!
> that sections the chaos. This is what we call the Event, or the
part that
> eludes its own actualisation in everything that happens. The event
is not the
> state of affairs. It is actualised in a state of affairs, in a
body, in a
> lived [..sic.. Sick! Ill give you sick alright!! ......part that is
continually
> subtracted from or added to its actualisation: in contrast with the
state of
> affairs, it neither begins not ends but has gained or kept the
infinite
> movement to which it gives consistency."
Previous Next [ Up Thread ] Message Index Msg #


From: "rimbaudboyo"

Subject: Re: Digest Number 312________ problems with digestion???????????




F
--- u see i told ye its the same damn thing french italisan enaleighs. chines, whatevers.its all shitenguage


a sexy lover of choice& desire

Subject:





for any student of capitalism and schizophrenia this isthe real questions--- that is the FuCkening eCoMy of desIre




Here is the real fucken`economy of the capitalist machinery. SomeOne gets a free ride to go and get money to bullshit and you dont. that is the difference. arsehole!

why is that man so brittle couplets everywhere where

Couples Everywhere


Indead we do:We sometimes behave as though people can't express themselves:In hum drum deydare, though, we are not always expressing themselves. The sorriest couples are the ones in which the woman can't be preoccupied or tired without the man saying, SPEAK!!! "What's wrong? Say something," or the man, without the woman saying... and so on. Radio and tellk, insane amounts off words and images. Stupidity is never blind or mute. So the problem is no longer getting people to express themselves, but providing little gaps of solitude and silence in which they mon't stop people from expressing themselves, but rather, force them to express themselves. What a relief to have nothing to say, the right to say nothing, because only then is there a chance of framing the rare, or even the rarer, the thing that might be worth saying.



On Fri, 20 Jun 1997 jardinee.@teaser.fr


Why is that man so brutal? And such a show off! Mone dieu, has he
read his brains on his asshole! Why is he so cruele? SO anglais with that
arrogance. Perhaps he stidie'd at a English boarding school?? And his
garden who care? Not my friends, for shure. I am sorry Mona, that things
are like dat in your liste. Not so, here in France. I think we should have
a meeting. And you know neither Feli or Gilles was like that. They allways
wanted people to learn. Call Fanny too! Call Kathe too! she will help a
lot.





On Fri, 20 Jun 1997 Fr(anny) got a note she was planning to send to
the list about Felix and Gilles. The note was from Mona, and it said:

"Oh really, Henry, Pick on Someone yer own Size," said
Mona and she ran over to Jill's. And said, "what is his problem?"
and then she said, "alright. Here is what I think."
Then she wrote in a blinding flash of courage and inspiration!
(For those of you who don't know Mona and Jill, they had grown
up reading Harlequin Romances, Kathy Acker, Colette, Doris
Lessing, and Angela Carter.)

"Give it a break Henry, Christ man, not everyone is up your
lofty levels of learnedness. You could try perhaps trying to understand that not everyone here lays claims to "knowing," and speaking with authority about
what you seem so glibly "know."
In any case (tant pis), I rather like your pedantic tone at times, and having
said that much, I appreciate that you would say to Jim, dig this is the epistolary scene and swing with it etcetera.... On the other hand (and being a true Celt In Transit, she was always on the other hand; part of her degendering selfhood etc.) Hand...."
Mona put down her pen and wiped her ass with a picture of a
Parisian intellectual's face. Walked out the door and flew to Paris. Jill
joined her at the airport. They flew fast and hurried, rumbling over the
dromotext of the skyways. Time was no barrier, that is space, she thought.
Meaning she had read her Virilio too. Yes, so they arrived in Pairs in
Paris.
Paris and the Light! But Mona was so upset, she never finished the
note!
They went right to Paris (after landing at Charles deGaulle airport [where
else?), and then planned to meet Fanny and the girls on the Boulevard
Michel to have a conference - a real conference about Manners, Good
Manners and Courtoise! Something their friend Henri, and perhaps
secretly, even a person of good repute once knew about!


Mona meets Her friend Fanny.
Fanny calls Jean Genet's denied daughter.
They decide they want to meet Stanley the guy from Paris picking
on Jim. Poor Jimmy! right of out the deleuzoguattarian list was a little
much at times, but on the other hand he was sincere. Geez thought Fanny,
admittedly these are virtues short in supply these days. But then who
wasn't a "little much" at times. I mean there was that time when everyone
was quoting these abominably long texts in each mail, God they were awful.
Jill leaned over to Fanny, Fanny whispered where there is one there are
many. I am hole with out a part maybhe Stanly can fix my violent streak. I
need to kiss a real male intellectual with his pants down! Oh dear. Mona
was blushing while listening to Fanny. Fanny you see was the first denied daughter in history standing up for her rights and wrongs! Oh my thought Mona, if Henri meets Jill he will love her, and by loving her love me. And then he will
love Jimmy and no one will have to go to the toilet and beat him up.

Fanny blew her nose. Beat who up? what nazi? Mona wrote another
text - well really Jill wrote it, but Mona signed it.


Mona said On June 12:
Who isnt a little much at times, we are all learning arent we?
--> Henry, Henry, Henri, be nice be nice be nice
--> be nice be nice be nice be nice be nice be be nice
--» be nice --- >--- > be nice----> be nice nice nicer nicer nicer nicer nicer nicer nice and your ------> phonemes will rhyme better yer brains will desire more. Yer machines will----> click more, your paranoid reactionary self will be less dominate, your acid wit might help the workers. Yer sarcastic bite might help the street, the end of the wit is the acerbic death of the dealer in wit. Down with you and yer un-nice punches. > >





Then Jill said:

We are violent on many levels . Fine but why? Oh no simple
questions for the erudite learned ones? what ever happened to

all
those
explosions of desire?

desire
desire
desire
delire
delire
fou
a delire
hum of machines
him of schizophrenia
schisophrenize always


who

Finally Kathe said. I like Jimmy.

And I like you
and I gotta use words when I talk to you.

Monday

Mon a Was ham

Mona was hang-dog and hamstrung. She rushed back to her texts and realized
that she was the misreader filled with intense loathing. Projecting and
introjecting she grabbed back her paranoid super-ego and
de-institutionalized it. Her list selves had gone haywire and
weird.However Mona knew the virtues of a great cleansing and purging and
laughter and swifty Swiftian satire. She deterritorialized her selves the
grievers and made way for Plato's intolerance machine re-reading Franny
Guattari's last essay about tolerance. She was resting and wrestling with
a god, as Jacobs ladder was her lust desire machine of hubcaps and wings.
She was the night that said no more transference. No more
counter-transferences either. But an either was a neither when it came to
double negation and exclusive disjunctions. She flipped back to page one
of Poetry and Schizoanalysis. Though she did love her enemies she could
turn away from the haughty and bold like any drag queen and be the
Nietzsche drag daughter she was and was not. She read Sterne and saw Swift
saw hate and heard love. And dialogues was her best book a bed and Keats.
She went to be bed breathing the babies forlorn of born embyros.

Tata

Now let us say someonehas perjured my text and taken some of it, and published it somewhere else, under my name, but it is me I am somewhere. Else. and I am a monkey, and I copy-cat myself.


Or forGet anyHow


On a limb



Mona liked being on a limb and forgot her Hegel as quick as she
had read him quivering and oozing years ago. When she was Jean Genet's
wicked daughter, and they had walked hand--in-hegel-hand with Derrida
around the Paris of 68 with a glas in each finger, counting the
perspectives of plane one, plane two,, plane three and plane that went
from air and time to glide and glance. Somone said, I cannnot remember any
longer why I have these opinions and it was Zarathustra she was sure, and
then said never mind and went for coffee and looks. Or something like.
O! my lovers!!


god gosh??

was that yer god gosh? rapped Jill stepping aside for the rock gathered pool, her silly sanka coffee right down your throat and then some set aside. she knew a flight of desire took space like a parachute opening when the captain lands swaying to his feet and the full body of the earth hovers weighing her arms sometine in June when their fairies lifted their high feet and a man waits for tea makinghis spot on the altar of peace, knowing her face cannot be her body, and he waits for the slow drift of the arms to open exfoliating , like a german meadow, Or when a heath backs down, the lovers sighing their names, cluttered her vows, and the ship`s bow breaks its feet beneath the bow, or when a moor filled with the haunted memories of play by play action huddles its heart deeper into the saving grace of its disappearance, remembers thereis fitting, or when Virgil forgets Baudelaire and the square lips vanished the cones of time, and Achilles spear, and its four favoured city, its many squares and

what they call jewels

And that year the monkeys were down, the stats were right
and the people swore off food, but that damn hurricane was bastinado

And we had cement blocks for horses, and slats for glass,

And there was no air in the place,
Or when a logical connector cannot find a place, and the narrator holds back, her chest heaved sigh a wish for mouths over her tits, and the elbows of the room have no place left, and the logic of the thing breaks down, and you wait, you wait for nothing

``Paris was the first Hippy...` she said

Paris was the first hippy she said to me as I smiled oveR the space of difference between us


hankering her wrapped in the case  the nun knowing  (calling her son take mommy take mommy come mommy come ) it was her from the start her heart                               

spewing  fire

across the time of tables the day we met over the room: You did this


_________________At me the fur and her anus. Prayed the god.  come to me   ~  I am the mother of your son  ~ .

 

``Jill was the first punketariat was the first Hippy...` she said

Jill was the second punketariat in her street. She said to me as I was narrative of her bloc. childhood block of chinese tears. As when she I smiled oveR the space of difference between us


hankering her kisses wrapped «« in the burnous of her heavy vase, hes sloped hips and chin «««--- in the vase of the sun knowing it was her from the start her heart spitting its fire at me



I saw her breasts, as she cried ---




across the time of tables the day we stand near the room the room



and like so many others as the night turns out its flowers, the calls go descending...

Thursday

riooer

w as the way it worked word thru her face plate


mixing salt and vinegar across the eyebrows, asort of pate of nothing and dew and the globe was patterning past it self waiting for the shape to make place... Is that right?


No.


Ok. try again. »No, she says waddling the river banks dipping back int`a her novel, thinking she is a proser. Con-versely we turn the page of lost emjambments twiddled by the emptiness of its compassibility...



Mona -- hagars her hair: More after and wards. Afterwards.




Shall climb another Niveau

Wednesday

In out

----------____________«««««««««« Who can know the date Love begins?? _________________Out In

________________ __________ -----------------


In those days again and those nights again Jill never got past her
monsters the ones in her asshole immaculating conceptions as she misread------
her Mister territory Hegel as she misread her Herder and Fichte as well,
but that was fine it was a misprision of the first order that made things
was they were. Even when she was the double negation of a negation and her
faded tatters of reason were ranged along monstrous couplings and
creation. What monster taken from behind can make her body of thought the
sole place of consistency along the dead zone of threshold and desire?
What place can her zoom lens of close reading lead to her closer
understanding of cloud breath? Why should she read synthesis when there is
phenomena? Why read a reading of Plato when she Plato was the very air she
breathed was conceived and so like any other Plato she read her postcard
and lunched.

I read much of the night, and go deleuze in the winter. April is
notthe cruellest month, you are. No way Noway. I have negotiations in my
pocket rocket and that is the tiny and one thousand sexes of my files of
need and night. No way. What way?

she said my name is Jill Deleuze and I am not reading anyone but
myself. As I suffer from the anxiety of influence and music. And Money.
Too . Economical. IT is ALL ALL economical. Which is why Derrida is dead
and I am alive. Not me, Not me not me Jill Jilly Deleuze I am not dead. I
am not.

Plato told me: I wrote the books because of the beauty of the
youth of Athens.

God is a grammatical illusion. Franny Guattari told me this, in
secret rolls while he wore a burnous. yes I am the one she is . I am the
double disjunction of schizo-place. In French too please. Not the first
book in traditions and its talents, butthe place brokers go when the
subjectivity and the subject is reject in body love. And what is there to
live for, and what is there to live for? She asked Jill and Jill asked
Shem and Shem asked Antioedipus and Antioedipus asked psychoanalysis dead
analyze why there stops in her gaps.


No it was not Plato, it was Palto Alto and besides,, I mean Hegel,
Hegel.. Yes those beautiful passages in Glas. Quote by JAcques deReader
when he was writing about Jean Genet our Father in Heaven. Does that make
me queer subjectivities and other nights? Am I the author if the dead
author is dead?

I jean Genet's restless daughter send you this from the depths of
purgatory and nugatory as it is I am the Baudelairian  strife of
schizoanalysis. I am the double edged scissors cutting the double dustbin
disjunction of lips and ass. My ass yer face? My feces yer faceless face>
is that a strata you got there, or my face in your micro escaping line...
and yer guitar gently weeps and yer cell phone glibly rings, and your
virtuals self is a whore like your real self is, whatever that is. She
said. To me. and to her.


what is a minority philosopherher?
whats a mirror philosphee
?


What is a philosophy but something you wear to bed with your bodies and
brides and bodies without organs. So.

there./ She said. I love you Lion again and again.

__________________________________

Mona said to me said to MoonA some people take this shit seriously. I am an Irishphone living in the dominion of Queebec and I am an oppressed citizen-subject and have been always. we are dimmed and dominated by class and lingo. Its Lingog and Classrog!
as for fictions, frictions leaves of dove
and night, it`s somethingwe do in our spare time.

Fictions of Deleuze and Guattari Copyright@1998-99 Clifford Duffy.``
Reader Yes, well when the text is owned by me perhaps each word ought to pay me a sylabbles worth o` coppers, until I have been crooked!!


Gentle readers: no typos where none intended:please adjust your
grammar sets as given in the -- broken busted syntaxes accordingly

out In



---------------«««««««««««___________________»»»»»»»»»»» Who can Know the Date oF Love



In those days again and those nights again Jill never got past her
monsters the ones in her asshole immaculating conceptions as she misread
her Mister territory Hegel as she misread her Herder and Fichte as well,
but that was fine it was a misprision of the first order that made things
was they were. Even when she was the double negation of a negation and her
faded tatters of reason were ranged along monstrous couplings and
creation. What monster taken from behind can make her body of thought the
sole place of consistency along the dead zone of threshold and desire?
What place can her zoom lens of close reading lead to her closer
understanding of cloud breath? Why should she read synthesis when there is
phenomena? Why read a reading of Plato when she Plato was the very air she
breathed was conceived and so like any other Plato she read her postcard
and lunched.

I read much of the night, and go deleuze in the winter. April is
notthe cruellest month, you are. No way Noway. I have negotiations in my
pocket rocket and that is the tiny and one thousand sexes of my files of
need and night. No way. What way?

she said my name is Jill Deleuze and I am not reading anyone but
myself. As I suffer from the anxiety of influence and music. And Money.
Too . Economical. IT is ALL ALL economical. Which is why Derrida is dead
and I am alive. Not me, Not me not me Jill Jilly Deleuze I am not dead. I
am not.

Plato told me: I wrote the books because of the beauty of the
youth of Athens.

God is a grammatical illusion. Franny Guattari told me this, in
secret rolls while he wore a burnous. yes I am the one she is . I am the
double disjunction of schizo-place. In French too please. Not the first
book in traditions and its talents, butthe place brokers go when the
subjectivity and the subject is reject in body love. And what is there to
live for, and what is there to live for? She asked Jill and Jill asked
Shem and Shem asked Antioedipus and Antioedipus asked pyschoanalysis dead
analyze why there stops in her gaps.


No it was not Plato, it was Palto Alto and besides,, I mean Hegel,
Hegel.. Yes those beautiful passages in Glas. Quote by JAcques deReader
when he was writing about Jean Genet our Father in Heaven. Does that make
me queer subjectivities and other nights? Am I the author if the dead
author is dead?

I jean Genet's restless daughter send you this from the depths of
purgatory and nugatory as it is I am the Baudelairian strife of
schizoanalysis. I am the double edged scissors cutting the double dustbin
disjunction of lips and ass. My ass yer face? My feces yer faceless face>
is that a strata you got there, or my face in your micro escaping line...
and yer guitar gently weeps and yer cell phone glibly rings, and your
virtuals self is a whore like your real self is, whatever that is. She
said. To me. and to her.


WHAT IS A MINORITY PHILOSOPHER?

WHAT IS A MINOR PHILOSOPHY?


What is a philosophy but something you wear to bed with your bodies and
brides and bodies without organs. So.

there./ She said. I love you Lion again and again.

__________________________________

Fictions of Deleuze and Guattari Copyright@1998-99 Clifford Duffy.

Reader



Gentle readers: no typos where none intended:please adjust your
grammar sets as given in the -- broken busted syntaxes accordingly

CD


Tuesday

Sacred Band of Thebes/Plateau 818 BC. or Did U already Hear this Honey

Mona remembered when she marched with the boys of the Sacred Bad
Band of Thebes. That was before Socrates left, wasn't it? Where was the
book in she had read about it?
She scratched her head for weeks, for hours, for half-hours, for
minutes,, seconds,,, nano-seconds,,,, and then she Recalled. The many
sexexs of the thousand phalanxed walkers. The night, Aristotle's careful
reminders to the shock troops. But wait - that was no good. It was more
masculine boys powered by libido a la Wild Boys de William Burroughs in
hindsight. And things like that which she could not articulate. She had a
double articulation problem. She was whirling in the tenses of articles
and senses, articlers too! and she heard the Greek Boys drumming as her
safety belt went latch, and she buskined booted back to penitenary and
praise. Oh the schoolyards of desire, and the markets of Heracleitus and
the memory of the Father. And the thrill of seeing the first enemy killed
with a goddess-driven arrow in the gut,, and the wine dark sea laughed
back to her
face as she misread the answers of anxiety and the achieve of it,, the
flippancy of it. And the violence of her beauty as she crash landed her
sex on the spinning-jennies of a sea-going vessel, a dromos wherein the
memory of other lands lay. And memory was like Omeros as she washed aghast
against the waves of the maker, the builder, the blood inthe making of the
of the intent. She lost a verb or two then in the making of its sin and
her rap song crown. Not even the Sacred Band of Thebes was her motto and
her Genet daddy song as he bastardized all the sexes of the three-personed
god as it ravish raptured its way through night and intent. And where
recurrence was she placed repetition and dance.
Franny said in the person of her G: I might only believe in a god
who dances.
Jill saith: when and where and how does it move the axis of
essence and existence and the bad faith of waiters, gender, race and sex.

and then Franny said: take him take me from behind!! Do do as I am
filled with the anxieties of influence and bad poets, not even minor
poets. Bad thinkers not even small ones, fake ones, not even paltry ones
who hung out with the schizo-solipsists. Mone dieu Je suis con et je suis
un farceur et je suis tres charmante et tres beau. Alors. Mona may I see
you language verbs past the mental health strata? Non? Oh nnnnn sound on
the phonetic walker of faker fakes and better broadcasting and jerkoff
artists on the web. I shall have my body without organs before the night
turns to day!!
Give me a cigarette she said suddenly and would not suffer fools.
How many idiots can one cram into a page of lies and pendants and paranoia
as the language of switch back and forth. Artaud be my mother as I
AntiOedpus celebrate my rhizomatic virus god love. Take me from behind
Franny said Iwas the Hamlet letters of anxiety and marbles. I was a
formalist Todorov. If my joy is to attack the weak and lame then I am the
good girl Nietzsche. I dont always agree even when I am entrenched in my
positon ps postillion. Gift? there is no gift? Love there is love so we
make our charm and move on. Non? Tu aimes ca? Well she whispered it has
been manyyears since I did not read Hegel, but then if you dont read Hegel
he reads you and she was night. So what, is that allegory of bookishlovers
and asses you want oh girls? Oh girls!! She said I am the Spartan flank
and I walk by water!

I have
my Logic of senses and you have yours. I have my
sensationsof logic and
you have yours . Where we breath.

Like lovers of love

and the other planets

and stars

and Love which moves the stars and other planets. And I came to
a dark wood holding a phallus of the fourth person.

______________________________


Mona wrote this in the winter of her disconnect her brokenage, of 1999. no one was there to hear her Jill. and she was ran merry pranker. not before and beside the cold.

One and EpiC SiMile smile

something she could get her teeth into was not guilt and more blobigatons but gategateparagate delevesalve! O belloni!

comment explique
tout ca?









One cannot be chronological about the nonchronological. she wont be chronos by Aeon in the yoke of the promise and the shorn legs, buskin and boots, her butter buttocks no no place comme ca. cest francais et anglais a partir de toute ca. tu cotáime.mphrends? je Oxo makes her Jill filter by her wakesian rules.



RudderS and Orpheus melds her meltdown tuque, Mona.



Jill reads Organs with-out bodies and laughs. all rong rongrong and glitters down the shoe sided stair of detail knowing her cone is bones raggedy on the drollery of back belters, two siders, and people pepsi, forcing her coke to wander the world. inthe undertide of things.

Thursday

single treachery






JILL who is the captain of balanceists, teeters on her head the captivated pancake of


then shadows the praetor of night meantime hunkering down in her West End apartment knowing full well, very well, that capitalist schizophrenia is a Ontario thing, and an Ontario legislated repression haunting all bodies of


aNd Yes, she knows that many others have followed her haloed imitator path a wrath upon them of bordom



there is such DIVERSITY in the forms of _expression, such a mixture of these forms, that
it is impossible to attach any particular privilege to the form or regime of the "signifier".
Deleuze MP. 5. 587 b.c.-A.D. 70: On The Several Regimes of Signs...

Mona likeD to fuck with her pants on, it made in mind of the signifier.! ______________________________________________
Single treachery of the bores and be-ers was something Mona had forgotten... something she knew came from under the plane of desire,


from a place called Ontario with the english colonial tongue hammering its way into the death of others....

poppers and powers and principalities....

Mona shat in their faces
and laughed

knowing all great creators must suffer




for a time


but she turned heckled and laughed

pulled on her billy boots and went the highway of her zones .

Monday

D and D1+2 + OtherRZ


Now Mona monasome likes to do things backwards, so stick that in your pipin and
smoke it!

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






D+D 4





the rest is silence





















______________________________

D+D 3



___________________________________________________
G - I
M JD
A
D G JD
I
N
G+D A JD
R
Y
L
I
N
E
_____________________________________________________



Seperations and distinctions are not reducible to the same. Why
would one wish to make the Same where there is only Difference. Not the
Same is not the Same. Now did U really need to go-ok to schook to galearn that? itswhatu bean learned its just what U been told!


'It is thus the delay which is in the beginning. Without
which differance .... Mona chills her teeth , reading shite like this... Malarky she hollers in her womb!.... orgasm self to sleep...would be the lapse which a consciousness, a self-presence
of the present accords itself. ...To say that differance is originary is
simultaneously to erase the myth of a present origin.... Which is why
'originary' must be understood as having crossed out, .... What does all this have to do with machines, of machines and desire, and cancer docks?... without which
differance would be derived from an original plenitude. It is a non-origin
which is originary ________>







Sartre howls at the black moon`s highwayman`s death














____________________________
D+D 2



FG said I am not saying what Jackdereader is saying.

Gilles neither am I. Get it.

Jill D said: and we agree.

Franny: us too.

so there you have it .

_________________








__________________________________

D and D OnE

Orpheus Scores!| one bat in on the battle for life not death love yer cancer... dancer scanser!



Round two!!


ladies and gentlemen!!


Derrida in the left corner weighing in with the unfound asignifying
writing is coming at his opponents with 24 books, 300 essays, 5600 talks, 3
wives, two kids, and is handsome smart and flashy


In the other left corner, Gilles Deleuze our champion. Weighing in
with 43 books, 2000 essays, four hundred children, sixteen email lists,
and twenty four rhizomes. Gilles is married to Jill who is also called
becoming-woman and Gilles knows Jill can skip any rope any time anywhere
and still find a trope! Jill is not any corner. And she is not dead but
married to Franny Guattari and speaking of Guattari - speaking of any coronary --


In the other other left left corner. Felix G. author of many unread
texts, signifier of machine of desires and fires master of the dancing
voodoo witches... writing-machines and a fan of Samuel Beckett. Prize
fighter and graduate of the PC of France, home of Egalitie, Libertie, and
Fraternitie, reader of Sherlock Holmes and And lover of Franny. Lover of
theword in all it semiosis.


In the middle in the middle ladies and gentlemen.


In the middle where the grass grows


Leaves of grass


the canal


the passage


,

In the middle the referee.

Not the signifiee.
or the employee

of language

as it seperates speak from speech


speech that I may hear thee



Or the

or the

and the

the and theor

the geology of phoneme

something like Glas

and



.

and Franny said I am not Jackdereader where in tarnation's name
did ya get such an idear!! I am the id ego libido of langauge flow is all
and so Jackdereader is my pal when he is not at home./
Oh


my language pets!

of course we are not the same





_______________________

1999

diALogUes ORpHeuS

.. Jilll that love that part in Dialogues where Deleuze says that arguments
and questions are useless or something like that said Franny to Mona one
fine morning inthe middle of their next sexual conflict and she rushed
out the door.... To her class at the Sorbonee with Jack Derrida who had tried
for years to prove she was great than Mona but it never worked. And then
Mona dashed off... a note to an idiot which said and wrote its words like:
Mona said: dont write to me privately again I dont like you and your ideas
I think are a fraud. to me you exemplify everything neurotic and fake and
you are ... filled with that typical
american resentment. I hate your words and youand if Artaud my father was here he would first spit you out then stamp over
you with his great hating beauty." And she laughed knowing the worst
little resenters would eat this lock stock and barrel between the eyes of
theresentful brains.

Franny was here and said watch out for fakes and half-wits,
pseudo-intellectuals, auto-didacts schizo-didacts, resentful academic
failures.

And worse the idiots who claim to be therapists in the name of
schizoanalysis. What phoneys. Those who have never read a page of Freud
or Lacan.

Then they all went to school to get their grades wives lovers
husbands lovers and to be great becomings and not make up bad neologisms
in the English language.


Mona in ViDeo V...Ve...

I am only just getting finsished what I hope will be Volume One
of
the Fictions of Mona and company done... soon begins the laborious
process of finding a publisher for our Fictional friends...so as for
videos it may be some years... but let us reterritorialize and then who
knows!!

CD

YUm

Mona always thought a female bottom the most beautiful

in the world and never ever boring how awesome the lady femle ass
O round ass of desire and desire fire A Lady ass was so much more exciting and tantalizing than the male
ass but then Mona was heterosexualized in athousand tiny sexes and
couldnt be bothered with the male ass . Unless it was her own which
galloped past the desire fields of fucking and mysticisms and addictions.
And lines of flight which leapt off into the exotic territories of alcohol
drugs sex and planet Venus. Planet Venus like Penis was "trapped" in the
phallus. how did one get out of the phallus in the space of ethics that
the femaling bottom had slide past the oils of desire deception perfume
and Saloming through bodies bodies bodies and wise owls that spat where
they sat. Jill called the desire number which was Adam One One nought
cable cord navel cord back to Edensville and the slimy body with out
organs which played against all cages and becomings.

The she shouted: Was desire a truck or a fuck? Was a truck fuck a
desire to impedimentia the disjecta membra of the deferred moments of
gratifications and gratifictions of hunger in the still moment of turning
touring times? Was Jill really her own mother self before the paginations
of night! night! night! Was everyman Oedipus to his own Mother? Mother?
Mother!! I want to kill you!! She screamed finding her morpheme past all
intent and oncology ontology and split being becoming cancer deaths and
learning then that Franny had said:

It is a virus. I am a virus that skits and skirts the hunger of
masturbation not mastication and she turned then back to the logics of
sense and found the teethless mouth of the womb eating her cock. She had a
cock when there was Sundays and Mondays learned she had a womb past the
silhoutte of

yes of. She shade. And make the mince meat of the day come crazy
with the movable calendar of her hunger sainted suitors and their lover.
In the plural intensity of desire's singleness of purpose. Then the
infinite knight of love came her way galloping and galloping galvinating
over gambols of froth filled mouths stuffing their hard gourds with food.
Oh she bid her obediance listen in the auditing of her mouth but could
hear no word in the curling of her time. She was hardy and hardly good in
her ethics of demonstration . So back to the ethics she cracked and
croaked in the sheer of her smile.

Franny "called" whispering O wait for thenight of the molecule
then the machine droves will hum and strum your body long high and low and
wait~ wait~ as it whittles the day dusk and sunset now.

Thursday

really ?

really I have no time to read other people's books, except when I am between things, like life. No , life I mean love acts of love. For me writing was an action, or it was an action leading to a certaindream. That was my father. Your father? yes, not, Oh, not the one you're thinking of. The other one. Okay more later,
Jill.

Now wait a second, who was your father. My father? my father? my father was Jean Genet.


robbed. granite. rooted. scrubland. burrowed. branch. driftwood. undergrowth. harvest.

I tore the copybooks up or they were lost. Somewhere along the way the 'wild way' of that period.

I am not sure I follow. Well, don't follow, look, see for yourself. Look inside. Listen, do you really want to understand what I am doing? or do you simply want to criticize it? are these disjunctions you are after or the sheets of Plato's philosophy?

I tell you he was my father, he was born in the forest, the woods near Alligny-en-Morvan. I came there when he was born. I came from the spider's eye. What is the spider's eye , I did not know they could see. Listen, why him? you're not a homosexual. Oh yes, I am and what does it matter to you? I am not homsexual. My father taught thateveryone is homosexual. at least that is what Franny told me. Franny! Franny now! what is this about ? Don't you ever get tired of names and quotes? No, that is what we are. Names and quotes from other gray matters. Do you ever stop writing? No, not until I am burned out. How do you eat, I do not eat. They eat. For me. They? yes, the crowd of bodies I have in other places. I thought you told me once you were lesbian. Well, that was another story, right, and another time, and it meant something then. Now it means something else, but I am still trapped in it. Trapped in a bus a long time gone. But what was this about you going there when he was born? How could you do that?was it virtual? a sort of simultaneous appearance of your before birth image and his conception? this has never been heard of before. I know, I . I, what? I what? Text talk to me. about the time we walked down the street. The street walked outside I carried her, no she said I want to carry you in my pocket with me when I am at work. What emotion, let's not expose too much too soon. After all a schizo calendar must go slowly. They kill writers you know. They, they're they go again they. Anyhow, it was a long time ago and I was murdered. Murdered what do you mean by that? I mean nothing nothing. It was a bad time, then. I could not explain anything to you if I tried. And I tried already. Besides that I am French and you know that I don't speak about this in English. English, what on earth does English have to do with it? Beauty is created in English. People on the inside don't know what they are speaking about. I can tell you that much. Not a clue. Not even a hint of a clue. They've no idea. Even the best of them don't get it. Yes that's why I like those other ones, like Franny and Jill. Why them? They know the limits, they get it, they know what they don't know.
Are you tired of this? yes, let's go and go to bed. Bed? I never go to bed. I go to sleep.

Night and


I have not brided the end of sorrow yet. We have not buried thedead . We have not buried .


Segment, not figment




Caesura Fragment




a little piece in your eye, the cancer.


in my dream last night , the waken dream, day, night, the recurrence of ,


creates the fissure

Monday

Night

Night Night had come to the city. The sea ebbed. France knew the meaningof praxis and desire. Mona had a friend at the edge of the world, she wasan autobiographer. Now night was here in the sandstones of time, and slowpaces to a grammatical piece and coma. Like breath was in the inside ofsnow. Jill cried, give me back my multiplicities. And then we shallshare the space where all desire comes. The bombing in Ireland made Mona, Franny, Jill and friends sad.Very sad. There was not much to say. That made any sense in the deathbodies, around a square, near a market place, in a small town in a deathrattled country, was there? Night had come with its vultures, and other deaths continued topass and pass more bodies down the sewers. Where the dogs of terror atetheir young. Enough, Basta, said Mona, and the troops of ghosts past on high.But she remembered the live ones, with the amputated legs and arms wondering where they would live, where they not walk and see the days andnights of their arms and legs. Eating its own children. Goya. What does that spook want as itseats its own farrow, the sow that eateth its own farrow. And the deathrattles by, as the man lay there staring at his own hand. And the othersin the morgue, identifying a friend with only half a head left. Spittingout its own gathered cadavers. And the teenager's note, in the world thatnever makes sense. Hence slaughter, in its own name. Its own massacre. Like Kosovo,like Rwanda, like so many others, like me, like you reader. Et tantd'autres et tant d'autres. I have not brided the end of sorrow yet. We have not buried thedead . We have not buried .

what paltry

What paltry plate of a ploteau was that she said!



verlainelefou and Orphee were a desiremachine and could the AMazon arrange
spaces an assemblage would arise but none came from shadows drain pipers and
death
but a tangent.
A tangentleman!

--- I,"janine mackintosh" ofdesiremach


write the words of the Holy FatherHow can there be a reminding of thee father for a schizo?

There can be none, as the schizo, and in this the lines of flight are telepathic epistles offlight, have no parentage. Why is she afraid of scholasticism if at all afraid of it, how does the War machine link up to the individual's flight,how does Mona leave her gender; does it deterritorialize which is not the same as deconstructing. Outlandish was the word used by Prof D. when my lover Parnet asks him about this word: the ABC film; outlandish as an identity of gender breaking at the edge seizing a moment to skedaddle. A feminine becoming isalways by nature more radical than a man. molar, majority strata state bodywith organs power goosing goose-stepping.... Oh, scholars families, andscholastics... "State, Army, family which of these dogs wishes to die first"Nietzsche/"

That was a beautiful photo. And I really love the way you go off. But maybe your just afraid of losing your own passion? What threat does scholasticism pose to you? Do I remind you of your father?"_____________________________"janine mackintosh"



RE: JD and deconstruction///InterviewsThere used to be some exciting Derrrida lists around.. they might stillbe... and there is a good set of interviews that Derrida gave in a book...ooops there goes my memory... I think its called Sign/Ponge. But anyhowthere are some fine interviews with J.D. where he speaks at great lengthabout the deconstruction task,; but it is not about deterritorializing;Deleuze mentions this in a book that he
wrote called Essays Critical andClinical. One is about machines being plugged into other machines i.e.literary machines connected to other machines, and the other simply said isabout prescence and absence and all that, and removing the centre of thephilosophic issue from Being and so on... something like that.. and more andless... Best/J.M_____________________virtual/actual. J.D. has a nice word that straddles the two :theactuvirtual.

I may be misquoting this lovely neologism-----still alive?Is Monique Wittig still alive and writing?think Monica Wittig writes about thisDead from the same lover.; no zones to neurosis., from Paris. J.M., take iteasy.
Go slowly, take the two of your zones,and use them as tactors, outside their usual relationships. You'll Feelingis n matter. Nice work. Your neurotic reterritorializing of deconstruction is the problem; you need to understand that is the problem; love, there are no activists.



RE: //I like this intense...black dot...that//\\makes sobbing teepees with the pixels/\/I don't need your recommandations Llyllyythth. Thank you!Fuera mia salud! Let me alone. I can operate my problems from childhood-on!Tell it then...!


Zina my dear lover professor: can you be more specific about how you see Scholastics and Spinozalinking? After the scholastics were Catholics, and Spinoza was somethingelse as you know... I agree there are crossings, but how they happen iswhat excites me, can I would love to hear more about the maps you might havein mind in this case. Best. J.M.Ps.

Post schizo you know how badly I want you, and your hands.Psychic space and surface meaning//D/?D*G+Artaud- I think that the points of convergence cannot be confused with samenesses.Derrida deconstructs, whereas Artaud is already deterritorialized in bodymind etc. he is in the bwo as it becomes a named experience. I think hisletters to Jacques Riviere are too the point; his experience is not an elegant descent into the unconscious as was the case with other surrealists, but was the limbo and hell he had to live and suffer, that is what makes him precisely what D+G will celebrate and praise, and this is another project than JD's. You know, when Deleuze took his own life, I don't think anyone was shocked, they were sad felt grief and so forth, but mostfelt - at least those I know and knew that this was part of his territory. Same with F.G. who died while at work at La Borde Clinic. - I cannot everimagine J.D. dying a violent death, his work is of another calibre andanother order, there is no temptation to violence as with Artaud and hisgreatest admirers, if I can choose such a phrase, G + D. My points, at least for now, are that they see Artaud with a different set of loves andhates; D+G come to him with the honor of deterritorializing and connectinghis work to the other machines that he Artaud had already begun, and Derridareads Artaud with another type of love. But the projects are distinct, theycannot be identical, similar paths are parallel but not identical. But ofcourse we know that, but do we know it at the moment of writing and readingwhen we lose our thoughts to the predictable, the banal and ordinary lossesof thought; we shld. desire the bifurcations that Artaud suffered, as theyopen to us what he suffered, we can coast perhaps and master perhaps what hewas killed from. Best to all Best paving. Under the stones , the children.J.M.-------------



Eurydice Subject: badiouBadiou - didn't he write some letters to Deleuze and for a whileit looked like there was going to be some new cowork a la Deleuze Guattariand then it fell apart? Didn't C write about this on thelist last year? Am I confusing him with some other guy who wrote aboutTime?----as someone suggesting Cecile was a cyber-robot, a flat spaceescaped into this list?> >Destructivation: no problem with words no more.>____________________________, by the following chatter lines, I think you prove unfair to>your correspondant: she was just making a comment about the way sheo face to you, she imagines yoube haptynyme with filling a membrane with>gleaMay be she's human, more human than you. If she is(i>can't tell you which or which body is human: grasp it: it would run>amock your programmation.) If she is not a prother, just>accept her humane-feminity-sides, the ones she got from this planet ,>and she wants to recuperate after each trans-mission into "the zoo->sphere". The fact is, after some time, if you observe these traces i>propose you as lunar-guides in the darkness of this life, you might>custom your swimming-moving-zones into some grenadine-pasta-rendering>and, with a bit of luck, generate its infiltration of courant-contra->colorant into your correspondant analysers, if this is what you>really want. writer from paris, Janine was born into ever been to LaBorder>Clinque when I was there? Should I remember you from therapY?>>> Who is Frannny who Is Jill?, the face behind the mask of a neuromancer?__Best - J.M./_________>> 'back to torment'>>

Dear I am just so busy these days and months I have hadno time to be active on the list. I am working on several projects and oneis the erstwhile book epistolary novel about Franny Jill and Mona. I havenever seen your name in the list until some time back in the autumn. It isan interesting and exciting list, filled with drama and intelligence. Youare adding to it as well, as I can see, and I am certain others do aswell. Oh, my English is so bad when I write this way. But thanks for yourpassionate interest.... y__________



re: bifurcation. Which D+G at least partiallyderive from Artaud's early letters. In those letters the French writerdescribes the problem to an editor as to why he cannot write "normal"expository prose and likewise why he cannot write "normally" unifiedpoetry. And it is fascinating and interesting that D+G bring this to bearon their plateau work, and their geologizing if you will. The inexacttakes on its own validity in their way of thinking. Not mere metaphor -not that metaphor is ever mere, but sometimes is degenerated into merefigures of speech - but actual questions about matter and its relationsto the schizophrenic descent etc.> equations ... But there are also essentially inexact----e mackintosh"



Subject: Re: The Uses of MetaphorDate:

This sounds like a reference to any number of Guattaris. How manyapproaches did he have. He had one in the clinic and others in politics, yetthey all worked like scissors. I forgot to answer your quer. I wasthere as a patient/client. Private then later in. I had the impression youwere someone I had met there. Felixs approach, well books are written aboutthat. But a woman/becoming has to escape the male stratification. There is atranslator who says the same thing he wrote in a book about them. Not thatthey were simple sexists, but that the complications of sexism still haunttheir work. This ia partially the basis of the critique of E. Groz, of L.Irigary and others. These strata have to be opened in the work, and F. wouldbe the first to say so.>What Guattari's approach?----------Wed, 26 Jan 2000 18:52:19Finally a reply that comes from experience. Not an abstraction . At last. Ablack hole experience, and not a distant star. One must live these things atlevels not abstract them. Or of they are going to be abstracted let them atleast be abstractions of experience. See the matter unfold before labellingit.Uses of the Black Holes---------how does the subject of a-signifying enunciation transmit theintensities to another without keeping in line with the black hole?it truly is, not a problem, the black hole, as i am now in a black hole, ittakes control of my life, i am in line with it, out and from its spireorbitating around you, there's no way out. from The black hole materiality(light), doesn.t makes itself manifest to you.The issue is to get an idea that the light when travelling, sweeps by onthefringes of the black hole accrescence spires, feeds Informations from D/Gandother sub-related media, fools the mind to brains.Keep your eyes open. Read between the chat lines.Best from darkness,Cecyly R.E.R..s.t.!.s.t.==========There are different ways to constuct metaphor; it sounds like whatPaul Bryant was describing was more allegorical, and not metaphor. In factmetaphor is more like a motor of transformation and metamorphosis. Isuspect D*G's critical stance towards a certain idea - a very carefullydelmited idea of metaphor and its abuse - was aimed the reductive misuseof metaphor and not its richest use, which is in poetry. Which they bothof course wrote about at length . So there is allegory or weak metaphor,the popular misconceptions which invent figures of speech, tropes based onfaded grammatical structures, maxims and cliches strung together;howewverall this also works as a collage, a textual aural collage, a bricolage, anassemblage and a desiring-machine that crosses the over machines, a bif oftransversaility works the machines and niveaus; it works if you work it.Of couse the use of metaphor as a reductive thing is a favorite tactic ofpolitics who want to wrap an artist up in bows that make him lessdangerous, just as politicians constantly use dead metaphor to control thereception of their speechs; it never ends, turn over a metaphor and youfind a lie, turn over a lie, you find a dead allegory. turn over yourgeology and find and schizophrenic discharge, hurling inside a black hole,a navel gazing king of catatonia masturbating herself to sleep withdesires, pedals, and black holes, metaphors. And desire delire machines."Man be my metaphor"morenext time"That's it folks""back to the Hotel, she said, and weaved my way."- These are marvelous sentences of desire and female becomings. Searchesinthe labyrinth. The traditional rhizome was the labyrinth.__________________Vrooom over the black hole habitus!____________How can we escape the black hole. But habitus/contemplationconstructs habitus, if not its conceptualisation. Why D/G tend more for theevent as object in the concept. to liveoutside His God (and why is it so?):scary.______________________________________Has anybody on the list an idea why Deleuze doesn't want conditions betweenconcepts, restricting us from explaining A from B, habitus or haptic fieldfrom intense difference, object=x?, i dlike being told why philosophically Delzdenyes the use of conditions and says in french " conditions par defaut ")ifnot by the mere answer he was atheist?---Sicily R.E.R.----===___..."but are producing matter...." this is lovely.Merci.______________________________concepts don't explain anything, but are producing matter. It'sanother reading of the book Diff/Rep. (see the foreword at the begining)Best Listening to you,Sicily R.E.R._________________________________________________________..."but are producing matter...." this is lovely. Merci.______________________________concepts don't explain anything, but are producing matter. It'sanother reading of the book Diff/Rep. (see the foreword at the begining)Best Listening to you,Sicily R.E.R.-------




____________________________________holes adding a plue-value to the list's black holes mass-media activity)the fact is janine understood this also and wanted to write a black holetextin turn.in turn, you are the one serious there, wanting supervisation of the recentmultplication of black holes in this list. Why is it so?R.E.R.become legislative but i hope nosome provional statements re the emergence of D and G's thought surroundinglacking and full BWO's. i hope very much that people will add to them AO are shared rhizomes._________on becoming'serious' there are two reasons whay i am strict with myself andwhy this may be read as an attempt to legislate 'over' others.a) by making these trajectories through the text-i can not avoid expressingwhat is 'black hole' for me in the movement through these thoughts-. i makeno legislative statement for others when i proceed carefully here!b)related as i have said before, i have had some quite serious express the traces of becoming- so- very- nearly- dead and the returning of sensoryawareness, hearing, speech etc. so for me, this results in some veryordinary non/-pre attentiveness. i am not phrasing this very well but ishould imagine everybody has different intensities with which to go throughthenuine' experience and whose are not? how doyou and vroom 'really know' black holes.ruth-The Name Ruth means Sad -We need to be disciplined, yes. With becoming of desire, in the same way that Irigary reads Nietzsche in Marine Lover as her lover.________ avec affection, in a scottish accent as that is what I am.---

------- OneOne of my favorite lines, or sections from Antioedipus is when our friends saidtalk about all writing being pigshit. They are making reference toArtaud's piece by that title. This is in the context of a discussionabout neurosis and writing. They contrast this writing which is notwritten "down" against that of the "usual" writers whose words are onpaper. How these words, the "usual" words are false ones, andhow at least the neurotic's suffering isreal, and that her words are not falsified by the pretensions ofliterature and the desire to communicate. The neurotic possesses a scriptwhich cannot be read or deciphered. It is a script with no producer onecan say, its desire is fucked and blocked off, not in the blocs ofbecoming a la Kafka, but as covering defense which make the neuroticscript "abnormal" but not quite mad. The schizophrenic's writing, if hewrites at all, and he does write, but usually goes mad, well that isanother matter, a la Kleist, and not the false replicas, the simulacras,the false pretenders as D. says in Logic of Sense. It's always a pleasureto remember these things, remember them again, and learn whilerecollecting what needs to be remembered so as not forget and keep in yourmind not to quit that it is not He or She or It that you Belong to. To endthis missive quoting Bob Dylan. And so it is deciphered by a Freudian, aFreud and becomes attached to an interpretation, and that is where, theschizo escapes, and that is when the problem, for the neurotic starts, sheis left, alone, because she is left alone. Her alone is not solitary.----___ Dear merciful one. I am not "colonizing" as you so quaintlysuggest. I am suggest another route, road, perhaps one you have notconsidered....._it's rather presumptuous on yer part to suggest this in me. Who are youafter all? What is your connection to this work of schizoanalysis? Is it sodisinterested, academic, non-bodily,??? Yes, indeed Mona garnered her skirts skipping why, and saying where? I repeat O h repeating is so completing and says nothing that she did not Id and know -- that reading what feminist ~~ become become woman! becomings~~ writers have said about the concept of "becoming-woman" needs to be ~~ Yes, well She loves Virginia is that not enough? to spill the waves of woman. reflected on: bit by bit not really -- Surely not really. Surely -- Hurly Burly -- this is not colonzing, but being helpful.She does not want your help. She is past that . Whereas your choice of word, if I can suggest it, is aimed to injure and associate mysuggestions with a capitalist imperialist posture. Which is crazy.-- Dear Mericiful sad rue ruth, Don't be ruth-less.please don't colonise----- It is interesting. When I say or suggest in a an admonishing tonenot to supervize, one gets back this rationalization . A good andinteresting one, filled with loops, flights, and leaps. Thanks. Its moreinteresting than a neurotic who supervizes. To learn something aboutsomeone. However, Janine is more of an addition to the things and are exciting and learned,and easy to read. Yes, she is all these things that make sex. between partners easier.I have no desire to give it away I am - no do not give a supervision away; there are none left. You need to --->be paid like Guattari said for being a analysand, and then what happens is schizoanalysis. THere is no More Supervision. This is a dangerous choiceof word.________ What one earth is resiliation?? - It sounds very sexy and close toresolution. Or like fucking FRANNY G. GET PAID.