Heading was the knight its infinite catatonic wordshop lips
looking in the air, voice hanging

over a room in the lopsided look down upon street

theres the flow of its diction over the paste of the window

Jill's eave was the forested mackle weight, its
brindled hurricane and drama a footstep
yielding the page,

or something else
tackling an oak pressed leave,

scrolled by winter
harried with rages or some brogue of tease
its terrible monkey, the past.

Not a clandestine brook easing up in its
pain, and cancer treatments, a psychotic painting
waiting her kids broken off faucet and
laggard gifting over the sundown place
the dust in her nose, wrinkling her fur,
her shoulder hefted up wing,
of angel and
her swooning buttocks

shining the song
her sex
a word
in mouth

over the lavender spell the tree
its galloping forth

home to come
folded over hole
burning in the bedroom her cloth of kisses
other face to face of sex to kiss sex
hand reaching into the other's groin
excite the end

of wanted for lifted up
his raising of come to her
double backed jersey
its Mersey of it leaving
and relief.

Was the mellow master of aristocrat its beat and share along,
the back turned off , moving to the door,
words tango out, her lip patch speaks,
of wicked doors and matched hand
and feet her elbow to his,
its utter complete


Of fallen soldiers, she was
his angel.

Ange. mange.

Blacker and white.


is what

is what a man'll speak voice facing the night of
its slender repeal a wooded track when winsome
late the brides behave of calender and sacrifice
and other pens whirled the strata,
was this place of
a question
its heart written
throng when


Was Jill's nonstop aperture the afraid one song.



of it was the said numb. Foal of offal led the forest thru woods
where terriers stood. mackling the spangled
tingle no, not so. Was Plato the behind one in the troops eventual surrender? were the microcdots cloth of Veronica's blue?
was her pale, the light of skin , blue veined as poet s
were wont to repeat....

of petitions and prayer, she ruth like wore
her bandana, across hands and face

haunted and head.over the plane of consistency,
the monsters were taking off,
a little hand gun Molly and
Gabriel the cheese cutter
donned the cloth


Mona and

Mona and the four forests|buggery of love|behind from|
catching |down|cache[ing] down|
she lores me lores me knot of
faces and feces

why say shit is bad?


flamma nota

Flamma Nota

she 's a closer, creel.


hankied Mona

Hankied Mona held her own, a satyr staring past her
good and do to what it was a silicone base to her face
not stoppered by the extension of her whipped up heart
its jagged pane a fine do what it will o' the wisp

she sulked gawked eyeballed her bridge of
cantilevers and her first year was good
sober as a pen and then some to make her ogling
ears a timbre thing twisting its time table
to her place of pose and posture a sentiment to eat the left overs of the sky and its hammer

AntiOedipus had a sober sobriety near her tent of cries



Sometimes she was a strip of stippled occupation in her body was a zone zen of escaped sex. that had no interest in ambition sex. was sometimes the eggsphere of speed boat meter. her kissing eyes helding no content, no coterie to her boderie her boredoms.
her boredom come to by way of not Booking but Blogging the seven seas of sex and blubber. her body mood into it.

Sometimes Mona felt like a mother less Antioedipus . Her Orpheus lover was suicide in the blank blue of his name, his underself worn off the polished gamble of his death, and the others (the gimble gom) nagged to wealth and prescient fish which knew her name. Body cried to the narrowness of spent and immament eyes, which saw the passion often its play . Some her heart was the sweat of its shock, an hind for to want a better day, a phone to curve her ear, her love, his body to twine her forest in the gallop of his courtly wealth . Death
devours his friend Orpheus Antioedipus then and the brigades of his tired, attacked his body eye went to earth its bright balance pushed over the threshold of its awning his yearning to breath. He was she him him to her him to his it was such a thing much of its past folded over the mouth of his bliss to want.

What horse and mule brays the collar of his care,
to want and hear its prose simile beside the body
past went. Whence it say her eyes on his to
grab the land of his past not to make war,
no ego to frame its dreaded marks, a nun
her word escaped veil, her weep quim clared
on the wisp of its rung, waether to foul
on the heart's final blaze, an Irish tongue
speaking. In the simple waves . His loneliness
balconized which never ended body dying for it
for the cause of it lonesome in the rag around off

. What cancelled debt is this , love?

Not cancelled by the logic of dialectic dale, we ladle the sometime soups of difference.

She sheep the song of belonG.



machine maids, night reap
some thing
mickle base
toggle crew
wistful fate
ginger giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggggerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

not the safe bet
on the place

'thank goodness, for small mercies' Mona moo
cow-cow so the burnt sienna
of the page cut
a curved butt she could not say
as A night was swarmed with her moon
in his bed
with the primal ooze
to the cliche
of the first booze

Jill had a
date with the grim and lean reaper
an ambiguity in Mona's brain
pitchfork haying in the place of
mother's body weeps sobs
Mother as the words anus
come out of the mouth
toot-toot a sabre sober
hour in her deep dare weirdness
Antioedipus strips the glare of
its glamour galore ass hole
lean into her feces her faces
prefaced by jewels and bears
the shits stinks to high heaven
meeting the first book
the egg place
ointment leg
after the accident a share of
dead spoons makes her lover
death's boiled over mage
a rhyme to centre truth's
spare stage the raucus intent
of buggers and buglers
Genet's father comes to the stage
of torn raffles and negotiations
pf pears purple and robed afternoon
in the gallery where the whipped her to death



blog racks

And from a blog mutilate.d. plural of fie mouth. A sword trombone . pack of help. smear of misery. would hindus and hindrance of hail-well fellow. aHerd a pack, a crow, a leopard, black panther. signing bulls or many

many, several vaginas or many, some
penises or few!. Freud stares into the hole, Satan escaped from
a determined look on his face, a white wall, of black holes balanced on his nose.

These tears scald waste. a sick person lives in a box,
imitator of pale union,. a faded feel from an incapable one. Who calls itself one, when is not, knot? what pack of
threading knotting , threadbare is that?
a shake of cheese burgers
dangles from her sick laden
fantasy opted head.

repeat same thing
same repeat again thing.

Packaged freight knew no weight.
was dare to hold mystery.


gnashing of feet

gnashing of dactylic feet

trans |em


angela 2

Do you know what a partita is?

party of variants

Angela W


partita party

suite an d solo



Angela : Do you know (what) partita is?


angelus lus ange l'hanche recalls its swerving over swarming necks of mouthing lovers their stare, and witch of this sorceress is the water cress of detail? is it intaglio ?

holdyer little giddy finger here, inside my belly,
Jill stammer over milk and honey married to moment of memorex or cheese cloth and wordless halt. ganglion knee or thewed wood, tappin
its fording over the river of english mariner.

A mask of halloo over beded covering and draped kneeward fires. A mattress for her grotto not its horror_ look at her handling the oboe, tilting her neck back toward the future. Climbing the crib out,
her smile is awful to forget.

He won't and marry it. Clever mover of tree and field. Be civil,
like any forlorn bag of jewels, as any hero clapping his feet
to wind the foghorn past.


radio radiant

our favoured number


Jill had delicate favoured bones.
She is inside riant radio, and boxes of air.
Her name is a triumph to sidewinders and headaches,
hearing aids upon her curtains, when
Law versus Life stampeded her she,
chose, the latter.

O dear was a trumpet a bane on her
viF! she buckles down to fuddy duddy
study the strokes of, and hears the strobe
blight of fast gashers, and cold her million
to a straw hat of late comers and flatter me
silly her halter. She is a horse becoming
imperceptible all yer yawnings down
to the night of her assylum and her
hipothalamus, her cellular mate
wedding a carrier for her gramemes to
settle on. weights wont bother,
her blither is very well without them....

WHen Deleuze gets home he sees
the Logic of his Law festering on the spoon of her page,
a lexicographical error mating in her hair.

So universal or eternal questions
dont dig her, as she wondering how her ass'll
sit down on the page. Her navigating skills
long gone the way of lounging buggers
on the floor.

She calls her boyfriend up(as opposed to down one can suppose)
of old, to mind him, to mind him, her love
her love,him for him, she call to remind

she saunters she saunters she saunters
to the prose cinema of her beloved heart.
to the end of the garden .

Her tell-tale navy do shoes.

none of it

none of it was where he forged. none of it her head. inside the city bone
of reckoning or wearin clothes crimped her claw and naked sat astride his name
galloping him . or say the hex was a candy to hurt the win of pride,
the lion's share of debacle
?_seeing it was her secret lie.



that other lover

switch'd something over
real bodies in actual space


difference between getting better as in less
sick and becoming better as a writer. in this case
there is
No difference as the Difference is between sickness
and health.

Professor Deleuze spoke of this sickness in the writing itself.

Mona's naked body, her taste the taste of her sex, taught me this.
Her smell , the ocean smell I cannot explain.

Mona was the naked self of __

No More.

what friction is this! People're liable to Fuse my Mona
with his Mona

My Mona My Mona.

At Vincennes the Professor taught us.


mayhem bedlam

escapes the brain thousand thought


beckett quote

its so vulgar i wont repeat it


how many books

the poetry ensemble as molecule


musicans, except for the tiniest fingerful, to be ruled with an iron fist.


my fourth lover

was taller than lightening

sheep and goats

sheep and goat goat and sheep it was sheepskinner if was
sheep and skin twas the finest of fine
she was mine and hers was the chilling mouth
of blather blabber lips blue as steam she was
sheep & goat got a goat she was thinner than
copes in rooftops of heeled figments in the air
of call call kiss was a plateau of her girth
calm as ocean battering welkins?

ah me shamble me
high hoppy lairs
of toothsome

drawing to the pull of


thieves and beats

thief and beat
fief and heat
leave room for nothing, shrieked she the hillside wave in her face, aether pouring 'everywhere' in the air, of his hindmost self. was wearing song a blather pilloried throng. its axless base, a never-never land to Lacan Man's lack. of went a capital spoon was bearing the fox, its fur-lined favours , not a pleasant sign at all

come again, we'll do more when the show
gets in town. its fiction, a rapture of bass.
or defiltered by the taffee roll in your pocket,
my love.


some thing

another could taste its face
the sensed testiness of its resolute
or the cart wheeling beside
her rolling skate and running shoes
tasting the sparking cement
of pavement

Antioedipus knew it was the square of
his eye shone glittering into her face
or the bustling rood of its spine
chilled by the bone of its breath
breathing the spume of frost
not actually an alphabet of ocean
but a red dictionary of fingers fretted to will
the space of its joinin to our desire

Or Mona gallantly pressing the goose head
and the sun bucked sea
snagged by the promise of its emptiness
and her sheet will worn
doubled by the dress of her reward
escaping the bare backed nave
or the columnar
breath black coil
of a heart about to fail
twisted recess in its tatter

or over the the bees and the honey
filled breast far off in a forest
of play and tents waving in the park

when he wandered to halt at her step
sitting haunches against sand
the taste of its wet
or looked up gazed at ships harboured
in their lingering hold

and she wore into her flag of
a smile writ in the wave of its fold
necessarily a joy

n o one

n o one was happy with your death beloved desires
or time was it spoke to
hail death its arm-pit razor sharp
or pilfered goods gartered by the knight's arm
her meridian maiden truss a fantastic flame
shooting from her thigh a hair like word
whirled off its awkward claim and
abundant with the sea's willy room
it swore off whales and wattles
or still glades turned over and away in
the sun drowned year a hipped cadence
of mouth to moth come back from the dead
and the thigh of the roof beloved daughters
of his hand and trail its cab over the city's
wild eye its truncheoned bluster passing
again its too soon mature to bonds of love
lax game its chains of salt its wound of bells
and blessing over the river of tea
its plagent mason brickbuilding in
the fairy tooth willow or the stork
nested park and its sun-damp day

some space Mona stood
respecting air
air of the trance she saunter'd by
day and ruin morning and its cousin

its cousins


inspecting rivers

inspecting rivers can't be taught
or traumas undone
decomposed by light

night wont be teeth
tha t hurt day
or livers cured by treatment
your second relapse in as many
weeks killed the things
we built over a bridge
of terraced songs
a neighboring lull
in the perks and the play
the drama of its greek cotillion

of tragedy and its high ass
pain the fare cost to its dull mirror
there is no play
or taste garnering its shame
its not shame sensing the
cash crop its hub of sense
and shyness of your sex

this is my son in whom you
love his body a taught cross
to lovers


Mona stood still an instant longer
that day. waitiign. washing.
the bending thighs of truth.

__ O come on! such lutes of somber
come off it man Anti shouted to her
high disdain of built in shades
and other super-egos
of needles and pins

Booom ! Boom went the giant of stomps
stupidly making a mute paint of
childish rumours and blongs!



better doesn't mean more good
or virtuous
it means less sick

so dont be a smart alek


she was a greek goddesss I think.

so happy.

her flesh sang

hips divided

spread out her thighs
I cant say their

stretched out pavilion


but the taste of it was happiness


which carried me for days.

and though you were my mother

lesbian lover you could not
wear the sapphic veins and veil
to see her ought


caught by the hue of it.


such a smile her whole skin was .

well Jill was a bell ringing
in the high harvest

of its notsaying


wordless apogee


not ashame to say

forbidden .

words before bid to speak their leisure.

nor forsaken by the love
they bore


Mona's _notes nietzsche_ Jill wore a suit a coat

Far more important for Nietzsche than forgiving is forgetting: to_forget_ offenses is a sign of strength, both for the individual andfor the State......he write_ Mona is N's daughter, caring for weeds and things.

To be incapable of taking one's enemies, one's accidents, even one's...misdeeds seriously for very long--that is the sign of strong, full...natures in whom there is an excess of the power to form, to mold....to recuperate and to forget (a good example of this in modern times.. Mona Mirabeau, who had no memory for insults and vile actions done ....him and was unable to forgive simply because she--forgot ...Such a... ladymanbecome shake with a /single/ shrug much vermin that eats deep into others...And. for it.
Deep! deep Little bo Beep!!

Franny's farm
...As its power increases, a community ceases to take the individual's ...transgressions so seriously, because they can no longer be...considered dangerous and destructive to the whole as they were formerly.... Jill's house.Of clapboard clapping shoes.

The justice which began with, "everything is dischargeable,>everything must be discharged," ends by winking and letting those>incapable of discharging their debt go free: it ends, as does>every good thing on earth, by /overcoming itself/. This self->overcoming of justice: on knows the beautiful name it has given>itself--/mercy/.


unconscious of knowledgegenet son of genet radiogenet

Sun Aug 5 2001

Next message: Savoir :Space and Time being political

Finally donc, yes, that was the last he wrote to me before he
blew his brains out. Oh, yes, I was there a few months sometime in the
several years, we went to the building where he did die. It was very nice,
Very Nice. So there other too. But he is buried in Larache.
Fuck You Guillame, all of those stories are fibs and you know it.
you fucking mental case
i am quoting rd fucking laing ok asshole? 'Tell them He is a Nut'
You Fucking Plagiarist.
the whole correspondence is coming with Gallimard, motherfucker. Antioedipus
my fucking ass. Charmaine was right, even joking she
stumbled on the goddam truth.

August:Space and Time Being Political
Dearest Max -- I agree -- these were the private ramblings of a fool who has
forwarded this crap to me....
Having said. I must say. You are rather pompous and boring.
So go write your own elegance.


You cannot find the plot political_ the plot is tryin to kill you. story uncouth to bear and not bear its bean proud wiz. kid. chic humble sweet pie. sweet beans.




mummy what about them that lives
in the drudge and the fridge?

theyre like air plane dive
bombers they come drop their shit
run & traces of jet stream behind 'em
leaving your village destroyed
words aint good enuff t'exorcise
it R explain it.

antioedipus is sitting on his
mother's lap
her tongue diggin into
the hall of his throat
thorax dust