She was dwindle and dish.
A marsh entered the head and the bee buzzed
but the brags did not a good.
and shall be of the writers fluid it seeps in the vagina between body text and quoted vedas veins of precipitate things
so these waters swish
as our skirts do I the drag Queen of Desire
O U thing you My goulay and gondolier! My gondoloahloa and we ate chocolate that evening in Les Deux Magots with Felix-Franny and she slipped her hands [her many ones, all disjuncted!] under and into my experiiences of doubles articulations
indDear __as you know you are the Christ figure of the minorities become _ that Deleuze has your name in her pocket, her pick pocket.
___ yer novels are wondrous wings of ideas smoothly slinking down yer sex.
____Baby you are cooool WHy lower yerself to the debating drivel of dull academics
Not so for a novelist
Be a novelist
Not an academic born in the mists and farted gazes of Aunty Del and Uncle Fran.
nirvana of boys there is.\\Swindles Once ther was a dullar ddssz in these here lists turned out she was not So and
thought to rescuse and recusant against our author functions.
we kissed her cunt
and her name was ruth by the wayfarers of Leman I sat down and crept/by these topologies we knew not their names.
as fer YOu: let us see your knickers and the valley of bliss behind them
darling when u come tonight say our many multitudinous names.
Mona felt her hand on her cock mouthing the name of moony eyed whores [pronounced with a long oooo as in irish] but __ superwoman draggin'
was a dominatrixks sometimes when she whipped her dills and dales over Kant and not ass.
Ass of languour.
THe real question was:
Would a filliping drag know to piss?
When our author function was in London last summer confering with Nilo [under the table blowing our things playing our flutes!} says old R. she the nag tag tapper teacher!!
We laughed afterwards, and ran up the steps to meet Jill.
at the far end where he waited her body in the taming nights the shrewish winds blew around his ears, the sand of storm not war or the war of bloody pates and the inside of painting and secret . was this unnamed that tore at his coat
I will not speak for 400 days he said pulling out his rosary knees bent to the true piece of the ground his bones ringing with her tousjours like a god he cannot forget, a pain you call it an abject misery, some tortured solioquoy of night the word is mispelled this is free poetry and its mate Come to Love Come to Me Lover your name spelled around the ceilings of my window the ceiling of my letters
shaped by your mouth.
A dictionary table was seized the moss the stelae moment in the desert what you left of lips and
in the hemming of hurt
hinder the choice of free man and woman
B.W.O. to organ , to sinthesize your knight and guerrila, yer phoneck and reneck, your whitewash and Whitehorse, your whilom AnD Leman lema by the daughter of the father without a mother a mama no got mama papapthen some like a package deal misspelledlike the student in the Sudentenland is hat wore orthography in a spelling bee -- pell mell --like the edges of imbRicated other
specialitieswidow windowmy body without its organs like yours believer bellwhether in the kinky wind
Imagine a republic of poetry. ANd the question of the secularization of the unconscious mind. Protestant backgrounded poets become the centre of 'oral' and spoken word poesy, others becoming the ritualist of language and parole, becomings of Catholic backdrops. Drop drop of the back back back
She was very tired
Jesus gets to Poetry land
with a copy of the new testament in hand except he doesn't write it's all in his headhe uses his finger once on the ground for a healing act except no one remembers what it said the strangest text of all is the shortest the resurrection signifieds which aren't governed by a Signifier at allNeither Daddy or a mystical Apostle Peter punks it out and hangs upside downSometime later, much laterlike any language wouldhe climbs the crosscrucifying his signifieds all for the sake of a Signifier what a french philosopher later names a despotic Signifier. The Father. In the Name of the Father This is my body this is my blood. HOC EST ENIM CORPUS MEUM.FOR THIS IS MY BODY.HIC EST ENIM CALIX SANGUINIS MEI FOR THIS IS THE CHALICE OF MY BLOOD.
And you thought you knew Latin, on your knees in the stairwell near the altar praying all night for the bloody sacrifice the sandwhich of meat in your mouth.
Well , Jesus found the text, and it was corrupt. Centuries after, God was Dead, said to be dead, a certain Zarathustra saysI met the Nazarene, he died too young he died too young, had he lived he'd have changed his mind.
Another religious throng claim(a desert lot)he was not even at thenot so rosy crucifixionbut an impostera picture anillusiona resemblance.Now stick that in your crawand try and sell that in the Gaza strip,Mister hold-down-a-job.
Moon to void to full half-fill to land to fill the sun
Jill worried a bridge not the war machine but the neurosis of spee ch. She came the hurried wish of times past and played her pediment self, the corset and crossing of laced up dresses and low cut blouses her honest hung down noons made her pages and the wet days. Some nights were endless
depth of weeping and the furnace. Not a match to blare the hounding tooth of hell and setbacks. Set backs against furniture and the delay's of divinity's fine touch, her harlequin hair. The staring furniture of her self and sometimes in the quay her walk pointed one way.
Parentless she shamed herself seeking "love" in the wrong places. "In allthe wrong places" was her whore self. Not the deterritorialized becomings of self . And other. Her raiment and coat, satchel and bag and the necessary ingredients of her god. How did you spell god, she thought wondering at the rapier at her self-throat and the moon-wield come-long day her nave and throat stuck in the perched dog self. And the misery of her head, her never alone-alone, the bone of betrayal and brisk. This was the lake belt she skewed on. Making her ears self pay the pitter patter of never returns and face saving gestures and miseries cut-a-shore. Not the Shroud of Turin and other scapulars, of medals and unburnished self. Or her Artaud uncle screaming in the prison, the bedlam of madhouse. ANd once on Beaudry she was happy for a piece. Some creature came along to woo her ,keeping her dry , before the alcoholic sands, and she was always thirsty.
Of character she knew nothing, knowing the freedom was in the freeze-down and love was dead, that had never started, but stones were not songs, and stone was not song, and no stone was written in song, and not song was written in stone, no stone was written in stone.
And her nights
»The cheat has a real future but no becoming at all …« An anti-productive schizo-scholasticism 1 has alimented the reaction against Anti-Oedipus and A Thousand Plateaus which considers them as dated by-products of ’68 thought. And we know how many people would like ’68 to have exclusively been the phantasm of some mauvais maîtres … Yes, yes, yes, scholia to her humdinger slide. Of the ferris wheel, and chiding mates. Cocamammy growers! her lover, skids to the beat of a hand made dress. A flight of tiaras, a fractured staircase, because she shoveled the turn. Mystical conceal its astral shadow fingering the pate of her dying love. Ember to a long canal, or song by shrift its frosting song.
a body then
prisoN of eyes her sentimental was not fundamental as language worked its tricks out
some shaman ass shame
not the power brokers of odd verse, shall say the name of prose.
Dereader Found Correspondence:
Of shem and othersAltered Found C.And Michelle no one here beleives I know Jacques. I met himthrough Jean years agao. Oh well, I never believed he was the exclusiveprivelige of the masses either...> Shem, thanks for the message. Indeed, I didn't know that your dear friend> Jacques was coming to Montreal. I called the Centre for Architecture, butn> thisnnseminar is by invitation only -- how very Marxist! Last night I> mentioned to Peter that Derrida would lecture. He's interested in going. Are> you? Why not call him, he should be home after 3pm. Anyway, thanks for the info.>>>Michelle> At 11:37 PM 3/17/97 -0500, you wrote:> >> >> > My friend JAcques is coming to destroy everyone's minds.> >Including yours and mine, whatever is left of them. Hahha> > This subject is just a pained body of subjective painful> >consciousness these in the neck and back as I ache my way through screen> >after screen and page-screen after page screen of my little projected> >consciusness outward into the books and collective consciousness of our> >readieng collective selves.> > Shem> >> >> > > >.m. lecture at the Bibliotheque Nationale,> > 1700 rue St. Denis (tel. # 873-1100)> >> >Tick085 between 5 and 6 p.m. on Friday, 21 March, and> > presumably the following Friday, the same place and time
Orpheus death notes
a voice churning
in the underswell of the prow pushing
the face near the bet of its off-course swimming
the harridan rages
rags akimbo flutter in her face
this is death's wish
of fate, of fate's cheap child
not the tawdry dress of working girls
but the body
and lies, the children they breed the shit they bring to you and others
years later as if it was your fault they came to
put their shit on using you using you as a dead piece of meat and
death to the maiden .
in the schizoanalytic flower its fusion and Paris plays, the drama of bastarding and the river clapped around her ears steadying its verbal charm her ornament arms and beaching the
if she had no brains it was because of the balustrade and the abutting tilting balcony and the torture of bodies . in space . and the punishment of god. the breast rest tilted forward to the death. contrary . to the reality of loneliness. death to thyself its stabs . stabs. the eyeball. she stayed in the station in the shade. her body was backwards balking a prayer a praise to the sun. AntiOedipus cried in the park at least twice today cemented by the demons, not the denominations and nations . was a friend. can't recall the body. not memory a black out re-hash she was typical another pained friend creating desire fields she was a liar unlike B.
but that of your full lips
a word that cannot be found under the navies and
in the cement place
where the soldier s fell and the
of what cannot be punished or held hostage
fortysixth plateau of
. Over the pit over the sill over the window I heard the noise of breath, her breath it beats stir quickens the breath . Not maniacs to hear this name of
spell bound pray
of spell bound prays ....
was celerity its place of connect
the gather of intensities in the spirit
funneled in love
the sweet uplip of .
reverence the hour
the revel of its single
is this the body then?
infinite soul over the forest of city glen and fragment farce, the night switching lanes , talking parks, car bound tenements novels onthe sly, winking hands in the shade of its prescience and the like to like tongue of our simile and
its smile afore city and city
plain and plain steppe to steppe the hoar frost figures in the
long wind that was bearing your grace
grace of slipper and feet
in it it in it the pleat of her dress
the cut of her blouse
In la chanson la chanson
you left the light on the river
the tower of your heart
bridging the gap
In the stone the stone the clothes
were taken off taken off
your mouth was sift and soft
not store bought
not a store
in the plateau of infinity and love and the hound was moon and the carry was pear and fruit over the cleaving side of the earth this earth her body
in the dance which moved and shook the floor of frenzy was warm the noontide throng night's stable reward the noun not the forward glint of her eye
in the grimoire of the tent of her smile when sometimes the step to the shore was like a moment cut off by the arrival of a space where you mouth had meandered not some adjective of praise but as a furlough taken finally after so many wars, so many battles and love's trooper was going home heading home . heading headed home to her arms her whole her body welcoming you the last one refugee of a desolate tents and alone body in beds alone body in bed in bed body alone for and so many so the city has cleaned out the
And Mona was digging digging and He was digging digging into her skin so long so after too long love's rent
Aphorism of deity and love the Aphrodite shots across astral space
of vectors and the simple hand of her desire the weight of love and its seventeeen forms the twisted nape of gulleys
but the ten cars hesitant as labour waited on her call. ANd Infinity waited but woke the preamble of lender and borrower not able to predict the word of the future its shy weak forest of tender and her imagination and then Jesus took off his cross giving it to her , but he had dizzy spells and no one knew
and some were into themselves others were't not
but their bodies spoke .
Love love no more Intrepretosis the disease of less
Love love this train is yours the destined one what calls the name of one day?
the song not the filter.
Simple jewel of fragment was not love's happiness. but of the happiness wanted but a taste morsel and the day broke . some got some did not
then the path to death falling
head over heel appealed pulled like its carnival bluff
the difference between life and death
meaning no more shit
excrement peddled by its own waste
not the fakery of happy endings when bullshit was the prime product coming out of the American way of life even its culture an imperium of domination and aggression and anger and hurt but the teeming millions the pulling power of the restless body was not a word to master a mass to enslave to corral so mass so mass
music god hung the dry populations dry hanging their hanging their hanging their
and Jesus came over
cigarette in hand
Jesus came over he said Clifford Clifford I know what's wrong, I know. I know what's rong rong, I know I know what's rong rong . Staring Clifford in the eye the eye eye eye eye Jesus staring in the eye the Nazarene a tad older now, acting like a big guy, some big shotism still hanging hanging around him
not his Resurrected glory beholding him or the reputed after effects of eternity but some fellow
like me like you and
no like some woman who at a meeting of spirits thinks she has a vision of knowing imagines she has an angle on a step that leads to truth bossing her sponsees as they follow their hearts but there is no heart and knowledge is just god gone crazy anyhow
and Jesus had no sponsor jesus thought his Father was a good guy he wanted his Signifier to mean Love and Care, but no one knows what the word Signifier means not even professor Deleuze who was my father you know that don't you, you know that don't you, asked Jill holding her hands up in the class in the course where her black skirt shone in the dark, you know Daddio Deleuze Professor at Vincennes was mon Pere. Mon Pere. and your eyes are on me love. your eyes are on me.
No one knows what the word Signifier means. No one
It's not finished . Non Consummatum est
hair and love is the wave holding up your heart
as we dance song the furling chops of trees and flight
that is how we saunter sister my love like a page for your mouth
and Jill turned his head half-profiled to insure the message came over loud and clear as the light of the void
its smile settling on her skirt
on her skirt of
See how her mouth upturns to him . Orpheus calms the night the rooks fatten their wings
the night bound still of stroll its hand made slungs all awake and her voice inmy head love love love your body in my hands and so much more you give you give and the happiness of my heart
not spilled but broken by love's crucifix ..
And the engines hummed the intensities wore words weren't enough
wrought words history was sooty stuck
with pasts and pests
and neurosis the cold sick of death
and she felt then his vibes all over
all over her body
and then some
endometrium cow girl are you there? absent in the space of this second ?
absent in the round of your hilly hipped self? is that a hip or thigh you pressure against me this time of year? in its sun made self.
Over the bulk of the building where May was built down and over the downs and inside the Cinema the movie was your saddle and our sudden seizure a path of crocuses marigolds and petunias lifted willow lips to the sun
its romance and the characters back-stage their lyric thud
and the night
and the rail the balustrade the
she is sorceress she said about the One mouthing the words
she is a sorceress and it s so much stronger in French in French she said those hefting words not so hefted in English
fetal lover conception key, lip of limb and skein of zygote, the pressed belly-button of your navel is my son . the one the one . you gave to .
me but others oh the w
not fini sh
Now blackbirds and wood thrushes
tiger lilies in tiers along your fingers trailing
along the avenue of retreat
So was it Mona? Or Franny, Oona, the new one, and Jill? Orpheus the one not to be suffered lightly not a callet for anything's temper, a clemcy of behaving ....Antioedipus knew his name his sharing on the stair well of stars.
Gorgeous was apples and knees shone clean by the grass in the long day's hug .
and a scroll the night without bodies .
on the balcony of his wooing , no, on the black wrought balcony of their backdrop he was a collage pasted in, pasted into the window of her self.
like some kind of seizure! what? a seizure! yes, a hush be down in the thing, in the nature of things, the cycle of things, their come and go and go and come to come to go a go to go to come a go a go-go and the strong collar.
collar? yes, you mean, collar of her body, or of her desire? some deification of desire marked the place , marked the zone where the body went.
Jill recalled her wild ways, her naked self a body to the tenement building of his love.
Ten thousand ships paused at the harbour before. before letting themselves, no, letting her in. She was a lover, come to claim her love god, and his wayward fast ways. Along the doodle-do of Love and its ancient ways. Or days. Not sure, here Doctor, some expression is narrative to the hilt, others is just hilt to the expression . Bone, sinew,
the stretched calvary of muscles. Blood.
This is my body, this is my blood. Said the fellow with the tie, taddling her teeth, the teeth of her love, her lie.
and it was not california dreaming in the lucky stroke of dusk below the bellows smith of pillows and shores where twinkling lights flickered on . Her honest John hold me down hail-fellow well-met of the after hours chew the cud of the clatter matter.
Now raised a hand raisin to the custom sun and the white cedars , the cranberry bogs, and the quick sand where her feet, boots and all melted, pelted down with the earth, the earth that continually spins . spins
spins . Late winter and isles drifting up with the mist and the growl of ice in the something or other of winter in the field. rumpled over the shadow wash of the forest and the pines in the hundreds. some thing like a gathering of dresses and breath. sheaves of something and a hand a mist counting the sky opens itself to us and we speed across the pray , the prarie coming into view, into sudden view. and the Lake the wide lake, the sea of things sunk beneath underneath Behemoth. Is there a nightingale , in the slippery day? some afternoon of presence ?
everywhere the afternoon is holly and fortune bliss on the blood and the packing staves of mystery the fretwork of mercy its pains and bliss gathered together in one hoop .
So Jill so Orpheus in the orchards and play hour the gooseskin feathers the handed gown the rilling world of its sleep
cache down hole well it merges
she wakes the verb
knotted by parts rea ch fit
come back back come back come back back to back face to
inside the little place counting
Single in off set was the whacked by a library book
then a vapour engine _ no! what? is this is schizo spill? mouth works around stellar clip of his mouth a situation / distortion mummy an organ machine . breathing cupping ....
poverty and the skin flay over the arm of her whistle he was stymied by trucks and wayfarer bills
cropped with tent
over the face that borrowed the time Jill wore his hair down that was the night of vicious predators and punketariat
fare to fare engines that milked the moment hour its fast contour a sweeping down
his Hamlet mask a trail and borrowed bodies
of borrowed bodies an d his mothers the lovers the gilded trail
petitions the hour of chamber the distort of her car and seat belt the body bashed as it hit the
what did you call that? ground the accident loomed up her eye was mush to the hour of cry . Now she'd venge the instant of its succour to his passive wean.
1200 : crossin the christian theos with tribe ware: chicken and dog fence thatched roof a coyote roughens the field . St. Francis? not possible or the Irish Brendan in his columns silly boat of bare-assed the waves' salt tears of his hearing one thousand tow to a thousand wait the breath bitter hear it columbine spurious blue of her navel I kiss .
I kiss beg.
hearken to the emblem of the void . disappear wish a country road
hangared your flesh Mona mentor by lonesome pell half-noun over rigged body
The event willed knowing the smooth of flack the flask of repeat preposition not in the ground
unrecognize 'character' of palimpsest your circling around him
? pardon me
you said that was a body held by the something wish of and the comic flare hence forward the cabin's filter castle
it's come now punishment the old scorn to torment you
an easy way out? not so the dirty sucking in of th e water call
that water call it a thing cal
l it pul
ward the insane asylum deterr
not a word to a mouth
force s the body
no consolable to the
gagged one his memory a pile of sheaves and shit
lip hold hand froze body mold, clipped dare. Lubricious by dust by pine, yearn, long, forest, fell, dagger end of alphabet, a people to become a woman to see, her eyes inside his outside. A body to compare. Franny finds the wattage making her head spin, his watch a pair of glasses in the sun. Some plateau of walking, walk with me, walk with me walk walk walk. Walk, and then some.
Over your mouth your bridge bricolage the pasted teeth against the impasto, the shadows hurling backward. No, they cannot hurl backward, they slip, slide, nah. Shadows merge into the darkness of its mouth. mouth marries the dry tongue into fitting rooms drouth of this thigh.
the place yer mouth most.
the take care of
and the seated song
and the trapped bear
and the twinkling outspaced and the weeping shorn, and the stinly sink, the outspread toes, the watered down head, the sieve stuck in the past, the present verb of the mutter, the desire to be before, the reaching for inexact, anexact, a fable tune of
heavy bear of
somber share over the willing date
maximize the plate she buckles the chair
where he stands Orpheus AntiOedipii
the sing-songer and her nutcracker sweets
what hold me hold me I am love to you and tousjours
always all ways .
In the flat feet in the gelid of summer her shaking hands met him. Orpheus wields the ax the axis of centres and decentres makes the moment meld.
in the plateaus of history she was a running gag, something like a preview, a pro-veil, summer down nights on the knees, not paranoid but loving and the shimmer dress of wakes, something like the cartoons
of Michaelangelo and the grand bodies of
or thunder and the Viconian scaffolds
the hammering heels of gods and their entourage
hang on a sec
hag? what wilted thigh of cripple is this? this belonging to ruth and lie
rue the hour kick the seed
sheets of simulacra make the patient sick her wounded thigh is a cheap knee, plastic in the North-American style , what style is that asked Franny funky, no style at all, the stylus of denial's tawdry funeral.
Like a kinked coastal beach with no one on it but the lies of masturbation and the fed-ups of using this succubi buried his poetry. In her bitter thigh and lying hips, what sickness pervades her mind, giving birth to choked up flames ? Is this poetry
asks Franny when the bitter of neurotics wields up the flames,
galvanzied by death and the potatoe chips of well-made homes.
She woke him with her long-distance masturbation claiming an insurance default on a package that didn't exist. This was the paranoia of not-readers, fantatics, obssessives, charter travellers, dead-beats on the consumption racket.
What language is this?
French? English? Russian, Classical Greek, auditory images of Bulgarian- Italian hoofing and buffing the heels?
Shamble tales. Shamble dates. Shamble stereoes. Insanity for a woman on a road to hell paved with good intentions and masturbating tank tops, naked on the phone, naked on her couch, thriving in her angers to men. So Franny examined the patient
cut up in her brain a neuro-synapse not an apse of a church a cathedral, but
bitterness born of pathos.
Like a river without any men on it. Logs rolling down stream, death death and its wakes.
-- laters in the breeze ruffled stole of mink
But why not the body sailing softly
down space where she loves
where she beloveds?
Is the water salted or sprayed? Is it her mouth whispering down to you at dawn, or her humming breast reached out to
mouth you suckle you kiss you?
But I can't make you
I can't make you and me.
Hear this Lord hear this Lord and Lady
She can't make anything but smears
across her mouth and this
Her strata are data not dates on a plate over the split side of laughteR not pasta on the panda Bear. What? what is this christ like body wounded by dusk and prayers? was whisper of hunky self-deceipt sickness assault lies and guilt.
WOuld Artaud hear our prayers? In the inverted chemistry of hate, there is no reply. A record spins the dog dates of July round the misery paste of embellished deaths, scrolls of ruin, rune for prediction is false, no one knows events.
No one knows, in her knowing, no one knew, none can . One cannot. Know. Know Know. Know Know the future the past, one cannot say this he knew beforehand. This is even not a choice, but a paranoid
a paranoid transcendence reaching
for its own power
to justify guilt
So Satan's ruin is God's
though he god and his minions
male and female
propagandize the contrary
So Madame. Thy eyes are ruined. Thy ears are puffs. In the tanker. In the banker so the ruin goes, and Anti (Oedipus) goes in her filiation.
You can do anything
But you can't make me and you
Hear this Lord and Lady .
raggin' the steps as she balances toes on feet. What foot, whispers the engineer of desire , the rap hip hop twist of the air-guitar her basement spent self, in the fortyninth palaver of her reckoning down, and the phrases take over ruddering along the bay .
freeze frame puncut_uate U ate? Ate what? ate night and its mouth. "suddenly" Siddhartha Buddha and the standing evensong the elevator of her skirt billowing dress flying up around her highs hello's and goodbyes and there were the flows that choked chock a block by the dead and dead towed as previously indicated village to village two ton town to town, the village idiots staring into the past, and their deaths, not like my father's at all, at all .
at all at all,
at all the call to plunge and forward, now shake it . step it, gas it laddies! the humdinger down of her dainty .... line of flight ...one two... tree as the Irish say and my mouth is full of Irish odd song and straw mater dolorosa, not the European tradition at all, but the dead one of the underground and her perverse prayers or rosaries of other __ what??? Other what ! for Christ's sake! Christ! Deleuze fucked my ass with his hammer and saw! the Lucretious deadline, the plumbline down south, the lion of death! be a handmaiden! Like Merrry baby be my wax saint! candles a frayed in the gust of the church's and its crappy altars.
Artaud is my mother busted up guised pediment
not Jacky Dereader and his hummed up struction and the pietons and the piegons their merry way a standing intent to tarry their throng.
Throng a throng of her bodies
a crowd her body a crowd
morpheme of disaster and sister
the between shape of
the silent over the page
Saunters up to the thresh
lies in wait the breath
swashbuckle not predicting what pain brings what she wishes in her sick heart of not seen
or heard the life giving oils of the master
his pasto and impasto a sheer bellicose to open
the eyes of paintings and ribbons
bell tower cathedrals and mussing tents of
king s lovers princes bodies her naked
smell over the haunt the room
sniff it .
later in the threshold
they are intense
of brilliant eyes
and the garment of clowns
she found him
close to the silver at dawn's popping hour
spent chairs waited for their bodies
re-arriving in their selves
she'd given him an astral self
but now was the strata
and her death
perhaps a disguises for other lives, other bodies.
deep fat deep fat freak!
hahaha she rasped hugging this body of charm to hers the swept across street her name and a lyric fuck her surrogate of death and not the mattered trysts the truths of lovers, but the cowardice of hate
like some pornographic sheet she rips off a novel penning her name on its spare cover, she holds his hand in her cock, her definition of dominance and deianance a power trip to hold her in the decades before, and her lives imagination of lies, invagination of idiocy, imbecility.
the body returns reruns home a movie, __ staggered mess of the other her cheapness a ragweed a week of journalism's fake fate.
but hang on here! says the narrator of gulps and desires this bitch is an oasis shes pride in her death and wealth in her hate. one cant go like this to the simile of rhetoric and the pause of roses.
disconnect my wires while the seers cut their bodies molecular path twinging twining into coupling like any other staring whores and their past
not the other tangled foster mouth of lips
that enriched flour of
sometimeS the drama of the French was too much thought Franny and then she hopped on board the superiority of the others lines of split, vamoose, scram, beat it, run off.
closing breeze a ceremony
not like the other weddings of lie and deceit the
receipt of her kiss was
in her confinement her straight-jacket .
a witch of anus? not so was the right wing tweak of her arse, Mother of mouth and kiss and Mother of thought in the south, her winged arse in his face the shit of the oedipal fantasm its weaked pallor goat of death.
this filth the altar where a pyramid no, burns
a huff for her body. a kerchief a jerking off machine for her cherry stem for her fate
is it so she said to him the books and leaves covering head
her eyelashes down to him a song and deat h
a song and death
repetition on the chant
repetition the chant
the chantry packed with orders and monks
in the Stultifera Navis
shouts cries hollers no word for the impossible compossible
tack tack tack hammer hammer hammer for everyone
and no one the
hour of nun
cannot becomings the cat queasy the beatings
flog and scrog and flog and scrog
scrog coffee coffee sloop on the bilk of
O the heave of it
the sick swell of stomach yer egg self batter
bacon puffed up yer guts
hours banged up yer nuts too your nuts yes your cock wanting
oh dear she said that word is worrisome in the simple rip of
by the boat's edge the rage of its ending the silver slip off of the boat the paranoia of the reader
Ship of fools
town to town tow it to village to village idiot town crier
something to torture a body a sprig
of welfeed disease and
fortune and navigate the plum tree of her hollow cheeks the breeze stone of her eyes not some nice pleasant aspect of the folly of mores and comic bent ruins off baked sunsets and rivers of
some time in the library was Jill a make and a mate was something in the air she sniffed the hound its mocking rule the gust of please and the macaroon of detail something rinking only a pose of fur smooth as the smooth spaces of clipper nights at sea its heaving breath her only contentment and he the
waking one by her sides multiple doors to her desire's next
Inslide an iNsiDe where talkers talk
what ? hamadryad buffled-headed 'll stake her place this body that wrapped the fleece of a thousand jars?
sheesh says Franny we need this lecture like a hole in the head , the fan drones
days of bees
trickles of hornets
trails of wasps
buggery for the month!
is this the lyric sauce pan of your waste?
would she slide over this shit? was her name a slut blowing in the hefty east wind that hanger on of cheap dates and high five o'clocks?
Then he feeds cohush an abrupt melody to her mouth her head
enzyme treatments stir the pilfer deeper into her poison a sickness to rattel the science fiction maker over walls to the subway and other regards
definite as a mouth
definitely not a solor anus
sunbeams on the crock of gruel and shit
its hanky days a play on harm's day
So Jill on the 40,000th down and the cattle
the stared text over the stratagem of neurosis the wiggling soot the storage of bodies in the
in circles of charcoal and chiarscuro over lamp and shell sheath of narrow and shape the statue its forsaken naked by the hemp and the heart tag the shelfing of her feet the marble buffo
lank over the hill inside the desert
narrow gauges for Jill to meander his feet her foot a role of spun gender bodies mix meld over some line cut between the two holes of head and mouth
carnage of this plate she said tipping it up with her teeth
and her face
a buckle repairs the gangly hysteria of predicted futures
sutures to click the heels of liar neuroleptic phones dripping ooze of voice voice mail and the deterritorialization of bugeyed hours
is that at yer feet Mona
Mona hies the instant a nano
of reflection kickin' off
the peer eye of his comment
her head beside his
a halo shadow
buttercup of there and then its serration ferry over the meadown its succulent pose my name
there was a Mancini and a trapeze
there a funambulist
like a night that has worn down all its patients, and when an ambulance covers its tracks foraging its way through ropes and trap doors, some dabbling plate of fixed forms and sherry pop sodas or other errors where mares and doors do not close,
stared the only one of her face
a wire walker across the face and more
and something else
the audience thrilled hushed to hear Professor Deleuze speaking illusions in the name of god and other prayers
beside triplets of cozened roses bunches gathered at her ruff some king like Elizabeth sparing the sap and space.
there was a man
orthographic knight of the true desist deist of memory and snaker charmed of parlour
velour cut mouth
by breasts as will
speaks sidewise to sidewise mouth
there was a girl
and inthe miracle of stampedes and rides
galloping hooves thunder of clatter calvary
"But could we understand that "God" is immanent to life?Could we understand "God" as the flux without name... a flux that is just transformation metamorphosis ?Isn't it a
Jillydeleuzian perspective of "God" ?Can we hold the truth near our skin, the flood of flesh invading us?"
So the night was ears along its ridge the apostle hidden in the leaves of wood and the shamble of shanks , the female wakes and deaths....
a sad covered drainage of mouth the ages of hospice and her garter belt yanked thigh high
was leg of shank thought and sex of rue night of sound her only mouth a clattering to trunk to hide her thoughts and disease in?
a sentence .
rose english the saxon of conquest her rose named heel calibrated to muss the scent of
the secret of things
so not so. Said Franny what is this shit that does not ecologue its heart of schizophrenia the neurosis of intent and child like registers the denial of boom and bom, the pickannny assault of trial and redemption.
Oh Redemptrix! of Mary muckaround in the middle ages of swamp slap slap belly to belly
not so near Said Franny oak to the medlar the wool of warp and weave her hand maid extent of her card like jewels her finger the scent of
on my face
never made the top, toppling its seeds over the face of repetition and its shimmy shimmy shakes the quiver skin of light blades and hot simmer, the dance of a lip before the screen, the finger in front of, before the face, the walked on paved beside fortune and misfortune faith and predators the wolverine of, the red maple where, hence its forward waddling, an
ululation of breaths to her hot pant a sand in the tucking of wand
the lengthy shield held in palms the platain something or other the river of places of only the litotes of sure and not the only yet the not yet, the owl like frieze, the dryads timber the murderer's absolute soul,
the abandonded monkey,the weird tiger not known, the tiger without stripes and the word made flesh, and the insult to salt the only name her father had known before the auditoriums of place shall hold thy name in
in side her belly and the ring around her tongue
Mona tasted flicked the page from the bottom of Difference to Repetition its sameness always her awkward moment and her
water was prophets weepin' or sobbin's was the german of pause
the rhetoric of clause
the salamander of freeze
and not a thing to be thought the aching of books the leaning spines of pairs and the lovers smoothed out by crush was nothing but the last straw of catch as catch maybe can and then some a mouthful the canny the unheimlich of borderlines the matrixial spare part of her only lone dare to dare date the sender of fail and the waker of caught
things like that always made a thing a something something in the cafe
lets hang loose on the streets the avenue
le devenir the diviner
she writes like a little pig snorting up my plates
a writer a gown for trestles and plates
garner its feature its what Jill says
the curtain falls the veil crumples
kapoom to the floor! its evil a left over hate from dead done days.
something just tiltingly before the end of the earth
but the earth? she questions? what column is that? a cave?
may this be Orphan? O atheist of the burial and his face hidden as usual on this city of fence and defence...
Jill picks up the satellite her ear pressed to the moment,
the other moment.
that shimmied along the end ofher ankles
her ass bare to the sky
wishing her spirit very well
wishing her spirit-body very well
and her dream body well
her astral selves the desire of wind
he hears "god's delays are not god's denials" shifting sands of her lips smiled to him he loved her all the day long and night
her heart a twirling whirl where words spoke
a twirling spoke where words spoke
a night with cambric
bricolage and he knew her smell beside him would be alright, in any case, alright beside him in any case, in any world.
she carpe diemed all diamonds
shuffled by spirit and gaze and
the tomato hawks were very tasty that day
hearing her void
it was simmer and camber
over the open door of the flooding nape
her ring me down stairs
an executive suite of welcome
desire to me she said all over me come all over me
one day Jill Saw her in the street of a city
she'd not been in decades past and forlorn
as the apple of his eye he wished her wishing her well a sweet baby lady she was to his foreign self on stepping soils of strangers' lands
and her hand held like a branch frozen in
the neurons was the plateau
of captive but he gloved her so anyhow
it was ship to his barter
and her body a flood to her delight and deluge
and the humid sleepless of her sex
he wished on her mouth
the kisses of now
heard in rainby Jill the foster-child listening to Daddio Deleuze archived by book his words about love.Wars, big and little, are behind me. Voyages, always in tow to something else, are
behind me. I no longer have any secrets, having lost my face, form, and matter. I am now no more than a line.I have become
capable of loving, not with an abstract,universal love, but a love I shall choose, and that shall choose me,blindly, my double, just as selfless as I.One has been saved by and for love,by
abandoning love and self.
So hearing Jill in the midnight howl
rain and rain and rain and columns of rai beside bach in the region of radio and the air-waves flowlong beside the cells of Paris and where he wasa cell a molecule to make peace withnot some weak kneed idealist promising nothing but the fir and fair of deceive
she was the gender that lender
her language was a fith solemn oath to the sun
and the may flowers
her hair like a skirt drawn down to her knees
her body in the dream with man
a drachma to desire Italian pillars
in her heart
columns of trees standing down in the sun
of her welcome to me over space
and then Franny said we got no territory to undo
and they walking thru things
they never seen
heard in quotes
heard in rain
by Jill the foster-child listening to Daddio Deleuze archived by book his words about love.
Wars, big and little, are behind me. Voyages, always in tow to something else, are behind me. I no longer have any secrets, having lost my face, form, and matter.
I am now no more than a line.
I have become capable of loving, not with an abstract,
but a love I shall choose, and that shall choose me,
blindly, my double, just as selfless as I.
One has been saved by and for love,
by abandoning love and self." So hearing Jill in the midnight howl rain and rain and rain and columns of rai beside bach in the region of radio and the air-waves flow
long beside the cells of Paris and where he was
a cell a molecule to make peace with
not some weak kneed idealist promising nothing but the fir and fair of deceive
One day a boy a puppy who wished to wax Phicosophic rites an email to an author, a real legit one, not some mamby pamby who's stuck in the phrase and the past
the day came
some sentences got said
but when the writer of the email
said let me publish yer book of Fictions
Jill knew he was in trouble
and knew also the emailer was a big puff of rhetoric
and high grade helium humhum!
Litigate a poet
was like Watergate
and the mailer of the email ne'er knew
the author was smarter than him
Being Prof Deleuze's Son!
So hail the litosis of words and their chairms and loves and not the booming bullshit of a bullshit sounder unable to hack a character from the mud of strong!
Fictions are epistemes in the sigh of
not a mere cheapo idealist whorehose to be published by vain and cheap awantto be writers!
She laughed and slept soundly!
waves across the page..................
the caring wait
the oat of
something about infinity her eyes the telling difference of treat and the slack summer of shipping and billing the angled ages of weirs and the contemplative nun
the slacker before dawn and the brisk sun of the business and wayload of her popping guns something
of the similar and the gelid hours of moment and then the swirl of the kneecaps
something else escaping the eyes the valve
the christian kingdom
and the poppysands of love