Mottoes of the

mottoes of the ...

of the unfinished With schizoanalysis One no longer... the
mama langue

With schizoanalysis is the inverse.

..she Unsets out to write a novel... Three no longer wants to
make a definite object... They does not want to enter into a pre-
established program. You, unlike me, are Oedipus Mummy, whereas he tries to live the field of the possible
that is carried along by the assemblages of enunciation.

We started novels, prose pomess but dont know how it is going to finish perhaps it
wont even named a novel, or even titled,

... But precisely that would be an (You see these are my branches, kisses, to you, kiss branch to you, a process, of unfathomable love, love.)

analytic process; you thrown yourself into an analysis without

without without,
knowing what you are going to , find to seek, to see, to hear, to hear , to heart, to, find. It is precisely that notion of
process that to me is fundamental. Instead of disappearing in a puff of smoke up yer own fundament... fundament, fundament...
we and she and Franny we did , we did, abandon the idea that you
seek to master

an object or a
subject -

Heshe am am no longer either master of myself or master of the
universe .... and neither are you, are you, my dear, neither am I you, I am you,

I am you, you my mouth .....

because of the mama langue and the I/Non I the discursive enfance of
the tongue and its yearning for something in the 'after' and the
after and its partial organs are sites for the scoping of the drives
in the eyes of the sight, the hands of the ears.

Yes the mamaN tongue over your eyes, your eye blind lied...

for us this is our method.... yes. Indeed, as it was the method of
Genet as he lived and wrote..... How else live at this moment in
history, when it unravels its ...disease each day, nay each hour. On
the edge of nerves ....

Genet writes a book while jerking off in a prison cell and signs it
with his cock to the invisible bodies of his lovers.

Do you come on the walls of your electronic cell? O ward master of
desire only writing can write the way, as only

language can be Ism'd and only schizophrenia
escapes the four Isms
of death an d truancy

it is only schizophrenia that allows the nonchange to into exchange
and therefore allows an absolute outside. that is why the
schizophrenic is mad.
anyone who believes otherwise is kidding themselves.

more and more

quoi donc!

quoi donc!

"all_la_borde" said with a Sign in the Fare :
schizorrhea im plinth mores des abwärts gerichteten rektalen Endes
oder der Orange nicht für reimendes unzulängliches Detail 122390 des
Privilegs Werdenversammlung lala!
E t «orphee! dits|

--- Dear A (A is a Lacan doctor of castration and castratoeism), my
brother Rimbaud, who is a girl, asked me to send you a message,
because she is weeping day and night now,
she asked me to send you this message,

...there is no castration, there is none, that is the point of the
movement started by others, and she, Ariane and the others are
del...uded and deceiving the Others of the Other, she is like so many a
good meaning but wrong, maybe dangerously in errance to be passing
on such doctrine. It is not her fault, that she does not understand
what she is saying and doing. God bless her, but God help her
clients, whoever they are, even more. Lastly, I suggest that she and
her fellow priests quit their profession ...

I know it sounds nuts, but she was sobbing and crying for days after
she read what you said, and also some of the others . Rimbaudboyo is
a homeosexual who is not into homo castrato, so she would not bear
the sort of theory and doctrine you are spreading.

I am her only self that speaks in a normal language and I was a
student of another sort of thinking, but anyhow. I had to say this
to get it off my chest. No hard feelings, .

Dear friends read the letter of thebold and briny with melancholic !

Poetry ... a real dictatorship of the mind...

After flee __ the fleer eye of the orotund heading of the passageway on the cult song and the moving no and the cripple hip fake and her using mode the others a lineage of tarts using abuse then struck dumbdeaf mute blinded by encyclodpedic envies __ her mouth a shit log of waste cell, what wanting seed was this her empty straw hap? a harlot taste in the gutty mouth of her sand papered south. Soya beans to trays, treasures to cheap change on the long distance belly of her blow-out a what not who want to be a hate it healthy of the others, her lame torch, a flame to fail the benign suds of hope, the benighted envy of his betterness. Her cripple body a twisted limb petrified but prettified by her looks long looked after her entire titty life a can of worms her isms dragged her arse, she was the witch of cheapness and swimming in a sea of mothers she wept her easy way out leaning on a teacher an all talk no action suit, so Jill kicked her arse one more time and Eurydice landing from Paris came to his action his passion for her fruit a distinct choice unlike the whore of _______________.

Fictions be burnt on her sleazy


Not suit was not suite but her eyes were boggers spies obssessed with lie double dog deceipt making his unhappy, she was happy he was unhappy her goody two shoes desire to happy him whored him used his gooder nature as she did the fake fainting spell once upon a time a decade before when she needed actually to grasp a decade of a rosary leaving it and him be, but coming back for me more she was a punisher of self and other and His Most of All she hated wishing to punish him.

She spewed out three dead babes from her sinful mota of womb, some Death and Sin offspring stench

not hers but but not his

her bisexual evasion a con job on the hates of her mist. Used his used his one day the poison kicked back she found demons unexpected Unforeseen. he galleried her, warned her of the devils to come,

but she did not did not she not did listen. she could not as she was , so she thought, in her unthinking way, she thought , in her half-assed, quarter arsed manner her shit sticking high in the air of the room, when her ass hanging stank, she thought demons was a joke, but the joker swooped, switched on her head, the shit stink of her own tears, such as they were as they listen they were sort of a tear, he didn`t wish to hit, to hit to wish to hit such as they were her half baked fears, her middle crass tears,a girl that never worked, a day in her breath but to fake her fondness of her selves, she hated, the others, she forced, and cold , conned, her faked in way to his heart, his heart, heart heart heart.

Later Felix Called with Franny saying in Paris your cure is here, with Eurydice and her hearting string hope her heal mend make. she knew a god when she saw, she knew, Eurydice saw, a god, when she was with her eyes, her ears open wide, a god when she, when saw one .


of this FakeRee SkilDiggerrreedo

Jill was thiking of her old young pal: Jacquesdereader in the midst of things the rhizome dirts scattered in her faces and her bodies politcs and she Said one day to the Young DeReader: Read this and Believe I Abou Benny Deleuze have seen the end of matter the gulf of time and yer diamond legs baby.
So here was his freshman's textwest.

"the difficulty of principle is that there is no unity of occurrence: fixed form, identifiable theme, determinable elements as such. Only anthemes, scattered throughout, gathered up everywhere. If, for example, the machine only selected words or themes, it could draw them all into a net of three, three and a half pages:" (208bi)

Mona read the above notes and was,gasp! horrified . She fell backwards shouting the Lord has come, my Lord my Lord, has come back , come back come back come back come back come back and left us this country with no daisies and dogs to peel upon working our open oppositions and lie on the table like a song of her eyes her breast size filled the room on the table between the preposals of prepositions she was sung dame down.

"In this (h_)_essay, I wish to explore and compare some of the differences between the concept of deconstruction (Derrida) and the Deleuzoguattarian concept of reterritorialization-deterritorialization.

"In" the "process"
of doing this,
doing this
doing this
doing this doing this doing this this doing this this doing doing this

I will, in fact,




a schizoanalytic procedure

A Ritual a Ritual Bloodletting

or practice. Schizoanalysis,

and the procedure it invites and suggests,

is a counter-model proposed (when Jill proposed to Franny she was alreqady married by that did not matter as they were Sartre and Beauvoir and they were multiplcities of manysomes who lov ed manysomes )

by Deleuze and Guattari)

to replace

replace replace

replace your face

and displace



where you hearken
where you recondite
where you live

where you haunt


The schizoanalytic approach requires a combination of different concepts which, because of its style of thinking about words and things, will result in a praxis that illuminates new areas of thought in poetics, theory, and criticism. In particular,

I want to examine (you do, do you? smart alek)

how this process (How?? well How ? then??How how w How?)

can applied to an appreciative reading of poems.

Call this the desiring-machine and this essayist’s attempt to read the ‘little machine made of words’ (William Carlos Williams) as an act of poetic invention, retaliation and an effort to think of the economy of the text, and not of its structure or form.

This is not to suggest that structure or form are negligible, but that the economics of a text permeate all its structures; one might go on to say that they determine them. In pursuit of this deterritorialized deconstructed reading of texts, my text in addition to being a first proposal of such an event, will itself be the occasion of, and an instance of, the type of reading it proposes. It will read itself as a deconstruction reconstruction, reterritorialization deterritorialization (process). In the Deleuzoguattarian sense, this essay will become a desiring-machine.

However, I need to remind the reader that since ‘desiring-

machines only work when they break down’ (Guattari), the

processes described cannot help but embark both reader and writer, on a journey, that may have unpredictable outcomes.

But Mona Mona was a fraud! a bawd and a shame a shame a Maryjane with her skirts rolled around her thighs, a cheap falker of stalking beans of her body a glad halo of prose and monkey maims. Moan and Mona was not meant to be a plain

explained jane working toward the playful design of truth, yet made poetry of the out takes and not the outlook express of relatively benign and benighted corporations .

read this text to the end for microdaubs! dibs and drabsZZ!!
Duffy, Clifford The Poetics. Oxford U P, 1992.

Burroughs, William and Brion Gysin. The Third Mind. New York: Viking
Press, 1978.
Deleuze, Gilles and Claire Parnet. Dialogues. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and
Barbara Habberjam. New York: Columbia UP, 1987.
Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. Antioedipus:Capitalism and
Schizophrenia. Trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, Helen R. Lane.
----- One Thousand Plateaus:Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans.
Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: U Minnesota P, 1987.
Deleuze, Gilles and Claire Parnet. Dialogues. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and
Barbara Habberjam. New York: Columbia UP, 1987.
Derrida, Jacques. Dissemination. Trans. Barbara Johnson. Chicago:
U Chicago P, 1981. the real question was

where the hellheaven was Klossowski her old father?
-----. Glas. Trans. John P. Leavey, Jr. and Richard Rand. Lincoln, U
Nebraska P, 1986.
-----. A Duffy Reader: Between the Sheets. ed. Peggy Had Enuff. New York:
Columbia UP, 1991.
-----. Acts of Literature. ed. Derek Attridge. London: Routledge, 1992.
Routledge, 1992.
Leitch, Vincent B. ed. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. New
York: W.W. Norton, 2001
Rylance, Rick. ed. Debating Texts: Readings in 20th Century Literary Theory
and Method. ToBreakall texts she shouted rom her toronto balcony and knew love was in site in sight insight in site of the 'view'ronto: U Toronto P, 1987.

What!! Cheers

are you a rhizome or a box
married divorced or between all the betweens
I am a GOod searcher and I am a knight of infinite faith!

We never submit to anything but love, certainly not having any desires to submit work we love to any whores of literatures and other middle class luxuries.

Sing SIgnature of Jill loves Mona ___ Franny the funky.


as pouncE

as pounce was wherebe? consolable astrolable in the mouth dangled dilly dagger as pounce was have fides will travel

she hurled her gunsling on the floor

armed by the tapestry of her self she waited him

nodding in the night. In the sound of the tinkle. And the gong. And the petty tree walk. and the sigh her want. his body wantin and her wanting over the step of the lave, and the mark along path of her hand held wanting glade Some in her mouth across the willing of her want to the river , and its bed flocked. and the rilling of her hands, the twisting of the sheet and the forgery metal bond

and other



before his had arrived. his hand arrived harried in Dublin his belonging lost since the absoncded rile of Celt blessed by his feet


as shall be


dogs and cats meow in the hungry of earth
night and day sing a broken face over past present
(bowels turn place turn tail in the geologies of among
repeal is insouciant we are ornamented)
tormented like the sun by waste repeat ‘makes’ its day desert
the quick night its letters flowing back a dearth
of objects makes the petit objet ‘a’ less than its sign a hurt
never ending infinite refinite analysis in the machine of desire
cut cut cut I Cut Eye Cut
‘the rhyme’ an ‘eye’ starin’ back the alveolus of castration
its bent neck humbled over shoulder and head content
to demand space its sense between spoken and not spoken
spooken by the ghost of a highway song
highway man robed in his resent
the recent past of hatred and its civilization repent
before night and day speaks wrath its old giant
whore less than and more in the pleat of hysteria impelling space
no ghost in the prelude becomes you a millionaire phantom of happiness
dreary of discontent and murder


sonnet of play and death harbingers the cyclones of time the word
slipping (lapsing slippage)
its mouth twisted at the table roped ripped across the bodice
its fine lace thing undertints shape yesterday zero content
of its understanding narrowing the ampersand of the notion
one man was good and the other bad
making the flit waves back
bolder than it was
pliant as the share that stood Gabriel’s gun
dizzy with the alcohol of memory and gin
a food making its way through the vessels of the body

comment the unconscious machines of desire


maladroit Mona took a spill
a picket line of kinaesthesia
her solution and so many others many bottled medicine for the soul

savours makes dense the existential wound
death by one’s own is hand is deferred but preferred
a fancy space gives the seaside girl swivel sown swoon
one-half desire engines force plateaus work woof woof
wolf-man in the crowding
Orpheus muddled the Antioedipus
in its extended self


rhizome buckets
words like sin junked
nothing left but desire
paradise desire

__________ AS Was


as was the ship that tatatata stank and saned froth on the swart silk the hammered manikin keen onthe helped night of yore lips my dry your chore dry lips I want to take you out of that hell andthe the city burning burial faked pace
the ball of sun yellow lankerd over her lipped buttocks spoke
spoken for in the prose of its impossibility its heaved hunger my knight on a cark the crank dam day its Ajaz like peel non makes the high as you do culled in the parse of its
fortune and the jack self bound mate the nightmoon mad Rilke by the shores and Michael coming home in his tumbrel worn suit the shy of march the wheel of trepid verb dangered by the felled wood war cone of hearing inside her mother done won she returned to England her sun face round wrapped inthe carnival of her fisher her buttocks` face speaking back and forth a dot on the sun faired loud

hitchhiking for thirst over the phase ofher egyptian feature her lip scented hunt
once more time one more time in our crime of lifted off rhyme and sediment the close word sought the haught word organ slung in the padre sun pour

close the tonnage space wrap by quantity and lap her bell wether steer the slaughter campaign rose the

noun satryed

but Ireland the heavy weight was the mouth of the its link past paste

her body loud long the voice crippled song heard the tiny teared


Prose poems rose poems the only way t o break the 'that' pe rsonal vo ice introdu ce the fr ee flowing turre t the machiner y of language to let it walk on its own feet s macking the night hippin' the waves of balled feet not so poetic as to ma ke life death and death li fe but to mak e the two meet

the great prose poems o f the p a st R the present not athEory but a doing

simulataneity im manence and movement in it-self

Ce n'est pas, ce n'est pas l'ecriture. C'est par la repression que je lutte contre l'oppression. La psychanalyse a inventer une police, une inquisition: l'auto-analyse. Il faut substituer a tout cet litterature de la nevrose une ecriture de la pyschose. Pierre Guyoat.
And I add the psychoselarose

"We shall never ask what a book, signifier or signified means, we shall not look for anything to understand in a book; instead we shall wonder with what it functions, in connection with what other things it does or does not transmit intensities.... A book exists only through the outside and on the outside. A book itself is a little machine;( 4)

"A book has neither object nor subject; it is made of variously formed matters, and very different dates and speeds....( 1)

"there is no language in itself, nor are there any linguis tic universals, only a throng of dialects, patois, slangs (argots and brogues, accents and idioms)and specialized languages.... (what I call my narrator - my idiot patois-self) Language is a community, a broken and spare parts community - There is no ideal auditor-speaker, anymore than there is a homo-geneous linguistic community...." (7)

"We shall never ask what a book, signifier or signified means, we s hall not look for anything to understand in a book; instead we shall wonder with what it functions, in connection with what other things it does or does not transmit intensities.... A book exists only through the outside and on the outside. A book itself is a little machine;()

a confession that does not confessbut digresses to avoid the punishments inflicted on its various narrators
"The trinity Hoderlin-Kleist-Nietzsche already conceived writing, art an even a new politics in this way: no longer as a harmonious development of form and a well-ordered formation of the 'subject', as Goethe, Schiller or Hegel wanted,

but successions of catatonic states and periods of extreme haste, of suspensions and shootings, coexistences of variable speeds, blocs of becoming, leaps across voids, displacements of a centre of gravity on an abstract line,
conjunctions of lines on a plane of immanence, a 'stationary' process at a dizzying speed which sets free particles and affects." Dialogues

One can add others to this trilogy, ____, especially the bits and businesses about speeds and states of haste and so on; this is celerity itself with modern writing; this text -- _______________.

Artaud is of course implied in all of this; He is, Artaud the plane of consistency in all these writers - the very mud of their creation.

the Fictions by CD. and his Orpheus Quartet.


Very Funny wrote back her to I, in the seething of instant of nomad homeless mouth

lip adrift

never was

Very humourous wrote newer publisher to old I, and new I, when book was ready in readying.

Here heshe conceals the title secret poison page bitter pitter of the absconded emblem embalm to the burps old glups marine navies, rose i n thy garden puffing at the flaws in the sky blue scuds of cloud, a prow gilded by the way glittering in the lark`s face of the sacrficie beatific suds and the barge watering ,a life belt hefted royal buttocks of beauty rose after her the bitter pitter of she went under the feet of his taking to fold her kidneys, her liver plastic as the soft heat of her death, into my mouths she waned not knowing fast soaked wads of eyes and worsted hemlines the weedy stonework near it, the breath, cenotaph, sense of propritorship, the property values, valley of Oedipus, her projecting I cowardly bod, grope the crucified angle folding his hands, his silhoutte mouthing, by the tram spotter, a gunwhale, the bollard fastening the stock night of her engine and cliche, her stockings a Turkish moon, and green slippery was the oval of her body and the vessel knocked or rocked slowly rocked and knocked slowly against the wheel the whelming hither and thither

a welcoming hip her clacking against the sides of navie

hithering and thithering hither and thither were the hips


I wood


I would kindly admire to have me a kiss said He. The telephone rang, it was telephone poles wooden climb to star-case of heaven leaven bread, and the occidental deluxe papier-mache of her eyes. Never knowing but (butt) the taste of institutions, ablutions for candle happy hairy self to breath on. Upon. Kindly admit to have a kiss between the he of her telephone ringing across the Alps of her thighs. Some missed jag of supple youth, in them was the daze. I admired a glass of fruit lips of your taste, a fripperie of baked lips and tomahawked ass, especially when she said, never to be forgotten, take my ass, oh the night was a death march afterwards, the Chopin prelude of hopeless stirred in my ear memory. A phone ringing her voice crawled crawling underneath the table, it did me, did us, did me did her did her her her me her me her me, it was rolled, a pavement piler rolling me under, but what did she matter, married as old bell st. peter herself, an Oedipus slip complex to herself around her ennui and

not that she was unforgiven, because who could not give before to a one such as this cheatin`herself and him of her only fire in between her dampened legs and sheets, she silled the ledge break of dawn



Killed him.

Are you happy now, the happy hunting horn of death maidens called, a vengeful sprite, unwilling to lay in her bed, a gas of leaves, a tenement of deceit, not so, a collusion too cowardly to act, and her humdown bed

not his own, as she skipped the awesome pay of love, saying

I love, but she loved not, mothering another`s children by her married one`s veins. A trick a lie a hurt plain

to leave a body a man she wanted, but what was this, that ragged her soft tooth trestle down, in his rags,

on the street her strong ass to


wave to him after the years of his loneliness.

not some cheap baking soda song, but

biological real lonessome. meditating on death and ions, muder and river, real death, the kind that kills,

with pills and wills,

documents to bleed to death

and she could of rescued or come to meet

encounter to see the raw flesh of her lover,

her beloved in denial,

and what song of peddling breath was that?

Was that Jill`s way? no, not so. Knot sow to break the hammering leak of wrong and not bound by the dual lie of marriage and its bond of

em pit sour grapes

empty song


But desire guided her nose, her laughter long and her rocked around rims her thighs like wreaths came to him

No, baby, not death, but your love.


Who knew the bodies of wet and strong her jet bound train ride to his southernmost glimpse?

space between lips glimpsed of , between disease

made spent watch,

She wanted the second book but too prisoned, too cowardly to ask,

to address

she hid in her absconcions

behind a cowardly sheepdog of a tent.


Franny wrenched each day a flood of worse, than weather, her cried, his tears.



cache in the latin

cahe in the latin dogma her belly swol said

cache it iNN.

like a sanctimonious nun

who`s killed her lovers


a lighthouse for the scholar her eyes

raying the night of him

across the star and river of his Irish

not so the divine light

that punishes him down

hurl down tent

rent to find a mouth



Would be the first part the door opened by the side of a rib, the rub of Hecate transforming her cowardice

tawdry belts in the day and night

is this page egg a trap to rig her back
ring her back
a noun

sideways to a mouth

never missed but had always across the speed boat poem of death _ dont insert a question mark "shout-ed" Franny. Dont shoot that sentence.

The water of the river`s nemesis`s met yer sacred mouth.
Jill kill the one you love you love one you love love kill the mouth you love the question hanging afore them amorous body in the dust daisy.


deleuzoguattarian fiction machine

i n her deleuzoguattarian mobile she was cool as the something that could not okay then she was the knight summer day of castle to face the statue standing high the cigarette, the beauty of,

the smoke of a , non-puritan age

i n her deleuzoguattarian k i m o n o sh e was naked as the bush that saw her rise from the stage

I saw her naked

betweeen the rafter


before the rocks

between the buttoms

the creamy buttocks

the buttery creamy soft buttocks

what butt talks this way from her squealing self to me in Athens I stand her goddess in the modest plane of her rigged tent

outdone by the flanks of her


sensational logic

sensational logic

Jill saw the lovers quarell and knew she had sparked a juicy and washappy contented in her orgams!A guattari for her flapping feelings, she was.

.No, I'm not CERTAIN about anything Deleuze says,.

AlmOst Doctor

I am almosting it said Jill staring at the double betrayal of man god and some element rudimentary of desire machines, closets, kings, rude-trucks, dinky toys enlarged, novel chargers of antique horses, some lover in a package, a benthos for playing dolls. Rolling buttocks, high hammer jinks of her sundry arm, a body in death, astral travelling to encounter my flight to her longed for taste

WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScious Factory

an olfactory that does not work or produce but an organ machine pulling a baby machine fostered by the infant of death a breath busted the heart wishing, sick of , wishing, wanting to want .

here then

the eyes

some unre cognizable voice yelling

in to Alexander Grahame Bell's toy plastic communicator, a rooming house ornate as the sun

was the sun ornate???

she cheered blanketing the honest most of her desire

hefting her breast for , her breath,
held , for him

him him.

come to the night of white flowers


te te te

te te te the stuttering machine suture machine
the glance

around the corner of
your usual selves that table the climactic spoon of your event be worthy of the wound be worthy of the event ~ vent the plane the direct viscous place of tears, snot , blood and roses.
your body clamber

Mona parried the thought upholed the mint, flung the matter, fling-matter , a vacuole for rent

between every toe legged clamber
the tee


of tweens and legged two clamber offering the clamber of the toe between the rave and upholed by heathers fields, forest weeping with forests legged in the between of , the bet then, the bet then breath then over into there there place a this that between the calm clambering legs over the tent resent the re-sent molecule of the time . not obssession

but place

making a true fish