a word nam'ed MicroSoft

a word name Microsoft in the beginning was the word electronic particles of starter open word feature tinkled Franny's yaya what coed of code stroked the mode? was the genesis of vocabulary the socket of transit? was the night
the fracas which surrounded her face?
was the junky a two-time teller?

was the African poet a maze?
was her body a cock-swordsman
were ploughshares words backass? was word matter, did 'it' matter, was the matter a principle or a principality?
cheap trick a kiss, rathered berries than send down waves, american publishers controlled comptrollers the web? single split schizo
friendszia the zip.file of 'trol, trolling web bots skimping yer sex, ass round as berries pornos? ballad elections ejections of c.d. disc reader, reader not writing? shut down your system, 11$ check, welfare no pay? claim foodstamps, wear foodbank__ dead zones, asscheck, border spot, frontier rats

school debt loan too high vintage fucks, zipped files, ratted links busted bobs perverse territories, not a schizpill? pill? What? Night? exaggerate intent? creep dollar? smashed Zulu, african babies, mangled features? furniture? dyin' tobacco fix? fixed yer arse, slipped in the night, busted yer gut busstiere?is that how you spell it ash face? would you do that? would you fuck me, inthe face? pronto buster come on your ass? pornostored classic archive jerkin off old hag,

slipper with a 21 one year old? is that how she? oh yea, this step yer on is death.

My ass beckoning to you
will you take me like an animal
would you
I am in your womb now
shrunk hormones of birth canal
have my baby?
I have money?
I'm running for senator next?
my wolves hide in the death of my senator a soul between the word phrase. Would you do that for me?

is the send file? wait no picture cut of a room with legs bashed up from death flying backin yer face__ the blood poured spitted __ out of your guts
the astral body was



Jill's jennydots ...

InsidE the Woods of a Canadian house was a forest that treed the planes, capturing the strata whirligiging their spin over the shine of surfaces, visages, faces and nights. Franny saw multitudinous house over the vintage plane of bell towers. Inside the house was a forest of lanes, and tracks where animals led the route.
Her thoughts were the thought of a wood a forest blest with the freed saunter of the walker hooded by the landscape of care.

before and after were nothing, nada to her in the presenting moment of the instant now and folding unfolded in its arm held spaces. Gathered by the thoughts, the nuances, she played her passages in the amour garnered afternoon.



WHen Mona had grown up, and her Cinema head was broken inher vagina anD her DadDeleuze called he said: No, she said to her said Him this :

yes , well I remember writing all poetry is prose \\
poetry, or misrequoting therefore all criticism is prose poetry. but what do we do about the limits of the page, and our own limits at a given moment. the poetry scene , the poetry 'sc\

ene' has it deficits, and there are many. to once a thought was given _expression. it went like this 'spoken word' is the secular

version of the p rotestant oral fixation on the 'spoken' word.

I don't wish to write about this, but minority movements everywhere are saying it is true. but what are the minorities. in poe
and She InterRUpTed with Her Breast In Her MOuth the High Hiway of sOund her
sie. and poesie as a way of life, and a state of mind. and heart too, one might as well add.

W//ell, poetry is about Loneliness. No, it is not. M. is not about balonelyness.

and the more my poetry works, the more it says I love you. Your chin, or some place like that, a place of uncompleteness, the finish burned off your face, your body a song.

That old W
ing I sang the body electric

and her womb was like that radiating in the bed

in the middle of the night

and her hair was like flocks,

but then I stood back saying, flocks,

And how can her hair be like flocks, and Orpheus turned his horn, I mean his tune, her tune was a gender place of no vicious and there was the sick men coming in droves, hounding Ulysses as he stared at the stairway, an other written cliche of her perpendicular self, and he looked no more gaping down the wrong door

And somebody sea shell said something about the American idiot, and she tweaked my curiosity, it was as they say , in thee jargons ` a peak experience` many bodies were crowding the stage the strage coach the variable foot Ha! some voice uttered that and Canadian singers were jerkin` around and petticoats and playguns

and Orpheus said, do you think I hate women?

and then there was the `wearisome` idea that archaicisms existed but they didn`t really if you spoke them loud enuff, right,

and we had our way with lyric doves
and tummy tums
and tum tums and teeteas and other shopragged worn
away shite

her hand like an aura
echoed in her head a rule
not a centime humming her route athwart
the akimbo night her skirt

and that night there were no books in the stages
we had a creek and a water to urge our way past
huddling down the river, capered by the listening photo
and there was ghosts gambolling down
so sometime in spring this fellah comes up to me and says,
Hey , you wanna charge, you wanna blow,
try this saxophone up your ass,
and the gods were stringing that night,
like heirlooms down the side of france
and reader like you I wore my frame of reference carefully prudently
altering my cross as we switched trails
pretending this stanza and that one some one leaned into her ,
whisperin` are there inferior races, No, but stupidities there were, she said,
stupidities there were

And the goddess crammed her knee listening to the savages
sex was like a savage kickin its storm-weathered head
into every fence
get a short fuse, O desire lover,
in every face
with your media matched monkey zones
your Nazi skins, opulent lamps
trick books, slip tone bridges
Others lecturing on the language saying this way
that way and that September night the hurdles swam
past the bridge making salt of nothing
everyone saying, this was the way it was done

then the doggess said, seeing if there could be such a thing,
I don`t know if the line can be too big
But No one knew what big was,
And anyhow she was my Hamburger Mary
Crackling the wind darkened ledgers
Or other key zone spaces and


ORpHEe for SurE

I am Yer

TE XTee Other Sleep

all my words are on parole

SenD SingLE

Send single

She said:

Send me someone soon I can't take it anymore
its burning me and bringing me down downer into
intoo the black hole of Armageddon and
calcium deposits where do I find myself send
me that lover who I can love abandoned ego
flooding flowing into her amrs
like lovers

He Said:

You are like wine, that titters down its path

my lisp and lips of love and its glove not knocked by the knees of traitors

blabber mouth

Now wait says Franny how do we control the spaces of blog chunks? I dont know saith theOther.

blabber mouth your mouth hangs you think love is talk
blabber head microphone face fiance of death

and doom you think death is cheap talk 25 cents a phone
diddle head and the diddle-doo promoted warning and

wake up calls difference with a zero the death after
iambic pentameter with a view limbic default
waters your brain marrow sleep walking
pill popping war mongering man scorning
not love with a five dollar and the privacy act
stand still to mimic death its tawdry pate

not something Jill and Jack wld. do climbing the
hill seeking their power manager the
rib dreamer the folk finder only closer
to liar and fantasist

So Jill so Franny
sow their 'wild' oats
eating bacon & wine
one hundred plates
for donate dinners
you told them about
yes something ordinary
not the ordinary mass in the world
but ordinary time in the hour before Calvary
and its reckoning down and its clowning around
not the like the hammers you carried hating men
denying woman harrying your rhythms to depression
the fifty dollar solution American style
What does She care about the American style?
Franny mingles the matter, the master a moment
seeking genius in every sight
a democracy of squalls democratising your tongue my tongue
the common tongue not the machine mad blabber

So Jill Oona Franny put an end to the works

Mona cried Franny cried the flag came down went up
out with the schizophrenic orgasm they cried!
So please ladies, gentlemen, take your bad poetry
goof-off disappear dont speak to me of art and money and your thousand dollar plates misery manufactures its own wealth not the half-baked shyness of pride __ so then its the too late afterward of the alienated lunacy its pride, not that of lions, but slakers on the beat, not
lovers who long, and spell the night with their arrows, not the perverse__ No, No, the yearning of bodies before tumblers

space the rest eyes lips eyes things we have forgotten __ wars, cities, their medias murdering the form dictators, the cyber gods, the media muscles of death's pay body

Jill retires to the back of the body waiting, like any respectable schizo, cinema camera at the ready


So screw the spaces, use your imagination.


Finnegans Web

Finnegans Web

the heroine of JillMonaFranny an fieldswas tellme tale of

and her long black hair was

and the




one hundredthunderverbwordnounboundbangboomfeartremblequaverquiverfear!overheadtunder!

was that such?


how milkfateauowasthatin her dipdownsays egg knights her eyes!
sees her ears!


Jill 199

So Jill,

This one's for you my pain farandola dark night of soul
and roll with the punches that come crunching along like
the city of pairs and the satellites that cradle them
like these we speak inside to something you call yourself
fold and furl like the winner of a race a peak surpassed
then drop down dead and call something a song
camber on the road
clamber up the room
it's what lovers do


a day


Jill_ en passant ~

Jill ____here is charm! your maxims work like codes and braces on the teeth of bad poetry. Mona received the codes of braclets deterritorialized dillies & dante__ .

Makes love day night summer noon high noon height and
depth imagined imaginary depths of lover chasm span
downward into the solo deeps of desire her jeans
the false jeans which make the song the Egg desire
And the Song

What rapture is it that makes you sing your song
again the rain pours soaking the earth the pavement
trees the walking pedestrian searching here and
there wonders what he is what she is where she
came from along the line of the enjambment as the logs
push against it - One man takes advantage of his voice
another breathes in the circus of desires each night
I switch and play from radio to tool to phone and back,
there is suspending and spending in the process.

So this goes like your smile goes like the beauty
the earth does
What voice calls out as you hurl and leap out
of the hole you're in
the radio voices from France call you back.
No you are not wrong
but near and far makes sense and not to resent
is new knowing the scope of a limit like a hand
turned the sails and flow back so as to see
what it means when beauty looks that directly what choice
do you make approaching the unafraid one step out of the bog
little Oedipus who jerked off into his mother's mouth
making pretence the show making failure the gambit

And you believe in you believed in freedom a seven letter word against which you plyed your trade excepting break
and interruption as part of your show and something
a set of eyes an arm leaning on a post
hands dangled like set in place captivated your capricious
souling the criminal compliment of its tenderness
left you high on the ground way up there what choice
but to go with it emerge work your way in light
what shows were there waiting waiting for you
to single your way in there where other women suffered
longing to know the face and its penetrating mystery.

Like this you were like other men and their heros
bells sang and tolled your freedom liberty skipped
at its boots

there were men and other speaking voices
speaking to you
`go forth and multiply' while trying to be true
you had to turn it against you against him
like the strong waves do the strongest ones curl

you believed in the curl and foam pushed over the back
and a stranger coming to give you the news

deeper than what was true the isolated ones spoke
pulled up against the commodities
objectified by reified other object idoled icons

no breath agency remaining in them
I too am one without breath agented by my own self-distance

hurling epithets at rivals and enemies

jerk off boogie notes

{and that} {is what}

{that is} a desire machine

~ ~ ~

indeed and love and its other things/tings across the Street

Orpheus on the Sidewalk bumps into space across the continents hasasalovethat goes based onthe Unseen/ is it the Untimely/ the Unheimlich?
Uncanny cast of night
the geology of theologies and the court of Christ

She hangs naked on the cross her hard on staring out.
Jesu crispy as the day she was Born a harlequin whore of the masquerade type reading the territories of her breasts, here these hard ones, real are realer than deadzones ofthe cyber ordination.

SheHe knows this but columns of pilasters their lips kept apart
are death signs to both

More to come when Jesu Christ greets the Lost one the rue two of the consanants and


Jillssong in herhead __ elides

Jill's song in herhead
goes like this

You are my sunshine , my only sunshine,
You make me happy when skies are grey,
You'll never know dear how much I love you
Please dont take my sunshine away

Words sung melody passed from Jill to pop consciousness to Jill to Orpheus who sang them as he headed to the woods becoming a difference engineer in gods' worlds multiplied by their fearsome possessiveness a lion's gate in the path.

Still the seizing consciousness , she shouted. The reproduction of libidiosexuality for itself is as akinto god reproducing n' producing herself again an' again a mouth a mouth a river open enemy of rival revelry of love sum. Suma contra lovers et amants et precieux pierres des nuits. and the hung jury tried and the dancing maid worried her stockings of net and the drouth knew better but the allegory twigged

And so on and so forth

Please doan take my sunshine away


reel love bei.... .... .. .. ...

what it is... torture they
in night heads

whirled together

Jill rescue Orphee, Franny Mona the dance around sun, comes to her, smart spent , love? Ohhoho. Love. that ditty noun.

'around the cigarettes she smokes his lips furl curled .

burnt off at the edges. can one rescue __ over day afternoon phone stunned silence reigns dead mind
ache drilled right through the back to the chest. was a cavity?

not so? not so many as dimes?
wait phone card? shall see kingdom come, He don't come that quickly, not a knock back forest for women to 'vantage of, his days are done , quite forlon, forsaken

so then the poetry escaped bewitched brew of __
the fifth tunnel of paranoia. dont go psycho on me, he did. i never knew what an alcoholic was? No, not so the child sized hands reaching for hate, reading my gloves words. lonelY? in yer mountain retreat cav e , is that the sort of eeyrie you hang out in Hitler? drag queen of mixed doubles and the saints go marching in.

Would you do that for me? I am hurting with your absent precinct present, its scatterdom knight, his Quixote of actual real body hunger. pained

To ravel, to see the world to rave! the infinitive becomings of the verb spill forth a forsaken note, the crums of his testicles weeds on the shore of their desire. plural whore monkeys that they are. both . off the machine. ex deux. X-Deus. O sad, not sad Spinozian blight .

somewhere in the charm. not so seduced by words as thee. her share mouth loud his body bits now broke__ n.

the jerk-off boogie

Jill calm clambered her heights and dizzies miss priss in a fist of which way went sunder fucked with her head. Her boy son (of thighs) Orpheus had a glance, a knave. None knew of which he spoke, the supply of love and death . Requiem requiem floated him down along. Jill was the rester of her make, her intended slight a song odd death free. The rhizome wrinkling her portal she was verb and mish-mash the stockings of women's asses the thighs white as inverted latinate englishs, white lacy things , underthings, black lacy underwear, that which she dons beneath her skirt. a skirt to thirst his tongue where song. Easy to hearken to headphones when death approached. Mozart was his name, the reckoning beckoning fruit. Take me like an animal, her ass beckoning him. My child your child, thigh to thigh in the crisp night of his sickness. Not the sickness unto death that is despair, but the sick alone, the lone flute death rattle, rapper.

__ Her cock held high, hold it against me whisper. Fuck me fuckme will you do that, will you? Will you fuck me. I will your baby this baby of cribs is my baby ballerina of desire, your lips round my cockman. Would you fuck me? Would you do that? I will tease your death lips with verb words, I'm wearing my top, no the bottom, the bottom the very bottom of her pussy, her vagina cunt, the shirt off,the head phones blocking the view, is that her? who speaks? what mantle is this? object realities animals riding by the sea, howl to the wolf in the wind, the milk dawn, the garrulous moon. Not word enough for this, dirty words in the dark o'er the telephone exchange.

skimpy _ No.

heart to heart in the stun . no heart to heart in the stutter?
Jill is that?
Orpheus turns the cheese, captured plane heart.

dazzles . No, dazzled. His make down suit is a worn out coat, his bruited brought down eyes down.

Down then, and up with the dawn.


dada knew

Dada Knew that no one's heart was made of stone, except his own and that was the price he paid for Love. Jill knew and couldn't leave him alone except when he needed her. What was that, a contradiction, a dime going both ways, and a night that spoke word. Dogged night wore down its elbows and all its play pleasures of pen, the stone writing inthe water where the marker burned the night. the night, the night the night word repeated season a thou_sand lickers too hard, across the sundry scars of his capillaries and broken vessels, mammary glands dead to the sky, the firmament of death and its other bed fellows a goal oriented duster buster of accomplished disuers and a rag of shellhungered proportions , something for Orpheus and the boys__ rheumatism, arthritis and the bunch of them, legendary cows in their own sand boxes of death's tawdry dry match of stuffed pillow, mastication of aloneggug, match. Not the pain of without, but within . its seven sights blown over city, hill matchbook, knaves, accountants, doctors, architraves. He went out with his family doctor, she kissed his cock making her cry, her sex a death knell for soldiers, and other carpenters, a rug of phosphates, and tooth dry buds.
was cold, very , heshe called Doctor A~
she was coming
to him bent in her pain

Words, words? how do words explain the anatomy, the fibrillation of the tomtom stuck in the tooth, the ribcage collapsed the body nacred and slapped, machine wired to the humdinger of trail and trail , tail of I. C.U., intravenous, fibromyalgia, the crying jointed bordered on hicksteria, steroids, and other joint disasters, muscles relaxants, voices which stole your sleep, whispering fuck me fuck me shadowing herself down to earth, the beaten kettle down back to dust to rust to dribbling body talk, cockleak, wet sink, masturbation mazement, worn sheath, of desire, plus ecstasy , used by people too many times, god kills you, die you die. no more punishment.
O so how then can you see the eyes are gleaming into the fortune waters of her body drifting drifting in the pain puddle the amazement of choking, spitting out the lungs. left over. smoke, dead nose. cold dribble. your body her. sss. uglier than shit piled on wheels of death. warrants. Jill kidnapped by the paranoid planes. God's existence, a murderous death warrant, the Murderer on the Cross and his Fuck in the Ass daddy. Rapist of all time, hired out by gangsters of time, space, riddled with nuts.

the body

Jill peers for the peace chamber

the repose centre


Body cries, Mona cries, I cry. Orpheus murdered cell, watches father die. Martyr, martyred body, star of scars, tissue lame, eyes gone the soap suds of death, not an urn of eye sidewised glance of arrows and years. silver wire silver gleam pole, father man dies, dying, his face unconscious the tears in my face now

pain now, daddy dead, glad daddy dead, out for a cigarette

Go for a cigarette, a coffee cold wind in the box of smokers

room of coffee, vending machines, death, our death, the cold wind comes in

Dying dying ,

come back , heading up, up, down the corridor, around the hallwall, round it go, curving inside , laybrinth, like a woman's bum, the one, the inside, the vagine, the one you never had, god's womb,
along the wobbling wall, it curves here, see,
curves, not word, not word fancy at all

elevator, up up floor hall machines, intravenous blood, drip, count, drip count blood, bottles many gallons, blood blood blood

many blood
bled to the very end how come he bled

so much
St. Anthony
back the hall down the floor,
along the hall
light on what? what?
them there Man Crystal crystal nurse, lover nurse,
body mate death nurse, O

deadgone garment
dead garment
Robin now, robin now, dying , echoland, your dying,
inside, inside the vet, vetting, rot verdigris
shamble candle, the choke sigh, not fuck sigh of rough
relief, calbrated to spew , spit, hack not rouge red
lips of soft mewl cunt sucking in the trail of cockspin penis penetrate
vapid lapse, body, saw, robin, song , fear dug,
not a hospital saw,
a hospice claw __ .


179 Jill

There was no history when Jill was born she was a minority of one and ten and there was splendid down the days and nights of her hoar. Not something like a word which replaces the text in the progressive text of its tensions solidified in its useless lees And uselees. And usedlees. SOmething which desire would make a woman's face seen flashing in the intermittent moment of its videotaped existence.

Jill one seventy eight and the subjective partial organ of !


Jill heard about the great coupled called History and began to love her name and named her love and when A and C were seen to her she saw it was their fortune to love faithing believing everything was a rivered possible laved with the intent of their force sex and .. So it was and she was and saw; and One piece it was of a garment ripped cutting her face and breast for love of him and his loves. O Jill O Mona who loves history in her hindmost parts. What a racket and racketting it was to Love with a capital or not a knot to twist and turn sinew your pages of stealth and health. Not like this thing the lunatic lover and poet shamble and shanked by full moon and hangover vows from the monasteries. After the primal dance the monkey the ape of love ape me.

Jill heard about the great coupled called History and began to love her name and named her love and when A and C were seen to her she saw it was their fortune to love faithing believing everything was a rivered possible laved with the intent of their force sex and .. So it was and she was and saw; and One piece it was of a garment ripped cutting her face and breast for love of him and his loves. O Jill O Mona who loves history in her hindmost parts. What a racket and racketting it was to Love with a capital or not a knot to twist and turn sinew your pages of stealth and health. Not like this thing the lunatic lover and poet shamble and shanked by full moon and hangover vows from the monasteries. After the primal dance the monkey the ape of love ape me. My One THousand Plateaus.


Reminds me of a number a fate from a former time
love flowed
like the numbers of the day and
you were there
-- but through this scrappy life of mine
nothing's been clear
this isn't much of a poem is it , with weak hands weak feet weak knees not knowing what to do next not knowing which way to go hearing the great roar in their graves and past without a woman what's a man a man without woman's not a woman not a man flooded flowed on the river of death hauled him up in a basket to her love that was love like in the old days goes on now and heard the trumpets Flourish which calls its name

one hundred Franny

Franny found
Franny foraged found “one “floundered in the chest of alliteration and concentration, love desire and its other things. She went to rope the melon. It was I desire verse and she shook her head, shaking the lathing out, her two by fours fell down, she prayed on all knees.
“I” wrote one yesterday, a letter today, chop chopvia the electronic factory courier ‘Mercury’ alcor that flies cut cut the electronic monasteryflies, “quick silver messenger service,” cld. be better if it wasn’t so…
cuts through matter, with them in his mouth, mind in the gutterhis feet with wings supposedly, sex with someone you
a flutter with desires for your eyes, flutter’s a tricky little bastard’r letter and words, y’ language of arrows atom, letter words cache of sotissedense pockets, demesnes never known, spearheads into territories your enemy used to inhabit

the kids stand and bend, inside a piece of writing that cannot be writtenturn about in a living ring, things that usually come easy”angelic doctor of theology” [sing.]
Memoirs of a Miltonist,
get rid of the verbs
if such a thing,
it can it can commas comma
can be said
you ‘re saying it,
you’re saying it,
I ‘m saying it
can be said to exist, as love flatters each mercurial day." [emotional day]"with radioactive eyes look at me,
and your medial pause,your suffering woe, [is this a song?] [that melody]how can you think she’d let you go,

the voices are never your own, not even the mechanics.

your ivory beads and tattooed hair your silver throat, at times it is like dust
and your hands like amber which glowed like claws and your sung soul self before the thieves get you
to think your child could ever escape you,
strange blink of the midnight oils
and the mahogany rush of the dancer
the ballads tale and the long straight highway has frightened your wits past stake and soul
your soul filled has mattered me back [molecules]how can you say what moves it moves you?”

a hissy fit in metres
a rhyme that expires"Cities clocked in dead and alive
ransoms paired dualities and drawers ditites and duty
"your" prayers like shadows spin the mist /cutting/
this is the way it goes [down with S’s]
‘you’ sit Buddha like waitin’ for Jesu s
the spring suddenly high

[the spring suddenly high? Is this a sort of personification] [I will tell you: it is the wrong kind]
the memory girl's face

doesn’t take much
two kids in the sun you and I two others sitting in a couch the surface of a swamp”

there are no substitutes surrogates do not work [i.e.thesauras’ don’t work in this case]

“ cowboys cry![?] pioneers wept [excuse me?]

what is with those definite articles/the indefinite ones
“shy” ones
“meld”?? into

the wall of coal [wall of coal – if that]

nights brush the sand [since when?]nights burn thighs [really, this is the worst cliché of them all]

call the cumulus forcing it [i am falling asleep]
base and touch [?]crafts the moment real
speeds past his head you see this you it moves you paddles the way [All of this so bad, I can
hardly say anything about it round your painted aesthetic doesn't do any good as if the gods had said that it should [this really sounds like a song underneath]as every cigarette you smoke is missed [goodness it’s good you changed it]
my words burn fires lighting the smoke that [yer words burn fingers, eh?]chokes your lips [since when do lips choke?]
but the byways of your metaphysics keeps my heart dry
the measure presses in against your passion which keeps me going

only a phrase
like a robber holding any seafarer stowing passage in a ship called a relationship of our love and die our love and dying" "So it goes [my dear???] Orpheus sings in spite of Eurydice's ending the files sing the fig leaves song the mantle piece hummed when the guitar strummedrudders and wheels clamouring around you push me where I never go as the sun shouts the trees moan
forward as
I feel pleasure in your company near the closeness of all that we find where did all this come from, it’s complete nonsensethese are the lips that want company yours to speak the name
of the night its dare donc, finally , merde

circus wheels and daredevils its secret heart recordings as I walk another [some people have an awful unconscious]
boulevard of my feeling sensing my only intent is your troupe and the tripping magic reels through all five and citied senses backward steels and garments make their their path to love" The commentary comes laterNow Mona didn't know what to do with that it was getting close on the smudgy not periwinkle high. Jeremiad of trumps! Jill puzzled the lines like a tithy sailor and swore to read all the books when done. Jill, well ahead of the game was the prose fiction that licked its name in place in the second-hand void, the second helping to be remembered by heart. While waiting she put everything in books.

Mona knew exactly what to do with shit like this, she threw it in the garbage. She was a ruthless cavalier.


one night a day

One night a day Mona has enough of the negative, of the via negativa and wearies her tired bones with talk of the dead and dying. she wants to hear the sun, and her body speaks louder than rain. rainment or not she whirls past the fantasies of disaster moves forward hearing the heeling of felldown swoops and whirling dervishes. she has her hands filled with desire's last cup maiden in heaven that she is, oiling the cloth of tear me down castles and worn dawns not the lakes of swans and other covered kettles. what verb, what noun does speak her splendid place of body and charm, of werewolves and dark nights. One or several wolves is her child over the ceremonial dawns of day and night, not its abstract cousin the sun, but its bear me dwindled laces. faces up the sun she speaks to the rain knowing full well that bodiced laces are not her style, and that kissing cousins inthe park are the left me over makes of her pair. not a fruit to munch but a violin to fling out the door. not then, she has met Antioedipus but her box sandwhich lunch has gone, and acceptance and surrender become her. well then, she heaves the via negativa out the door and her only pair of shoes is socks in the rain, and she has the calibre of a cowboy. she won't wear this pair out, she mutters under her breath flicking past the pages of a Sunday gown. not for the first time has she felt the interruption of highways and plazas, of terza rimas and other clopping certainties countries of her doubts and day.
not so in the in between of sorrow and pay. not so easy to speakk to this Muse she wonders how her thousand plateaus can grasp her saint, how her becomeliness is becomings virtue and woman. And the language cannot control her sniping and snooping into spare parts and willy-nilly languages. Organs without bodies my eye! she thunders clapping the thunder of cages and doubt! descartes son fait! les jeus son fait! and she makes her eye brows do the two bar spin! she is fat, like the sun which spills mellow yellow on her lack of disease, and plenty of bulbous on the forgotten vocabulary of richness and her party spoon. A communist of desire she splays her feet in Satan's head forcing richness to come, to come what ever may over her wilt down head and the merry widow of France, Paris, shrews. Bastinado her london down avenue vocables are rinsed in the throat of hate. Not so, she swears over the beache and captitudes of revolt. she shall find a child inher knees across the saints shall go walking in. Mona has the child ofher knees across the breast of time, knowing the lemon of please and bitter as the yolk of the egg. she plans lessons of degree and temptations of fate. and lastly lacking her shoes on her pate makes her swim six o'clock. and this is the girl who has read Antioedipus since she was six years old! what peculiar esquire like leaps of faith are required of her. A requiem of pillow fellows and matryrs of murderers!

So where she stands the laugher of billows is the well bought burn of .
some thing in the book was placid, was missing not like the waves of the sea-siding girls whose heads they make you simply yearn.

So Mona.
Thus Jill on the forty-fifth day of their ban·do·lier and plateau.

She speaks English between the pages of her book.



La solitudine di un poema impossibile

then the seizure of blood the crown of bashed

you look for words bloody teeth bashed

brain pan quashed

Vico Acitillo, 124 - Poetry wave

you see me Mayokovsky of Richard thIrd folly king body bashed flooded napes and necks sexy women
torn veils
flooded gates of orifices
sliding around the confused blood of stages rampant
with destructive intense
sexual organs
nightmare of tantrum v
oice buried with the dead

day and night stands bene deleuze

side effects notwithstanding 'stand understanding on its head' the body talks the body is a facist

' I met he smoked and wrote too much. How can a man do that? Now is the winter of our disconnect . Made York mad Winter 's dearth and destruction of cannon crashing down on lips broken hips of the schizogenic . I saw the body parts crying fast ..."

Who died then?

Artaud's Body without Organs Le Momo

Artaud speaks:It is not at all a notion or a concept but a practice, a set ofpractices. [TP: 149-150]: I wrote that in a booka booked called myselves.You [lazy ones] never reach the Body without Organs, y
Posted by Helloou can't reach it, you areforever attaining it, it is a limit. A Limit of the limnal and the brain, I carry your hand in her brain , saith Mona[TP: 150]The BwO is what remains when you take everything away. Nothing left, to hit bottom, bounce out of the 'trou noir' returning with black humour .What you take away is precisely the phantasy, and signifiances and subjectifications as a whole.

Artaud not long before... dying Posted by Hello

Psychoanalysis does the opposite: it translates everything into phantasies, it converts everything intophantasy, it retains the phantasy. Yea it does that like advertising, like marriage like so muchof the shite you eat each day. It royally botches the real,because it botches the BwO. It wants nothing to do with the real [TP: 151]At capitalism's limit the deterritorialized socius gives way to the body without organs, the decoded flows throw themselves intodesiring-production. [AO: 140]

Artaud strides howls chuck chuck out sylabble. SylAbabbel of word chunK

The BwO is not a scene, a place, or even a support upon whichsomething comes to pass. It has nothing to do with phantasy, thereis nothing to interpret. [TP: 153]


Artaud parle dans ces mots lui-meme
« Les asiles d'aliénés sont des réceptacles de magie noire, conscients et prémédités. Et ce n'est pas seulement que les médecins favorisent la magie par leur thérapeutique qu'ils raffinent, c'est qu'ils en font. S'il n'y avait pas de médecins, il n'y aurait pas de malades, car c'est par les médecins, et non par les malades, que la société a commencé. Ceux qui vivent, vivent des morts, et il faut aussi que la mort vive... Il n'y a rien comme un asile d'aliénés pour couver doucement la mort, et tenir en couveuse les morts. Cela a commencé 4000 ans avant J.C., cette technique thérapeutique de la mort longue. Et la médecine moderne, complice en cela de la plus sinistre et crapuleuse magie, passe ces morts à l'électrochoc ou à l'insulinothérapie, afin de bien, chaque jour, vider ces haras d'hommes de leur moi, et de les présenter, ainsi vides, ainsi fantastiquement disponibles et vides, aux obscènes sollicitations anatomiques et atomiques de l'état appelé «bardot». Livraison du barda de vivre aux exigences du non-moi. Le Bardot est l'astre de mort par lequel le moi tombe en flasque, et il y a, dans l'électrochoc, un état flasque, par lequel passe tout traumatisé. Ce qui lui donne non plus à cet instant de connaître, mais affreusement et désespérément méconnaître ce qu'il fut quand il était soi. J'y suis passé et ne l'oublierai pas. »
(Entretien radiophonique quelques mois avant sa mort

Les mots que nous employonson me les a passéset je les emploie,mais pas pour me faire comprendre, pas pour achever de m'en vider,Alors pourquoi?C'est qu'en réalité je ne les emploie pas En réalité je ne fais pas autre choseque de me taireet de cogner.
(Suppôts et supplications)

"Monsters cannot be announced. One cannot say: 'here are our monsters', without immediately turning the monsters into pets." Dereader was slinking about the Momo and Deleuze the Progressive teacher of strata and bodies sans corps was there.

Artaud near to the thing Posted by Hello