Was he, were they A? were the comic i.d hour glasse pericopes predicated by pestle & mortar of booze and guzzle? an ole gussie might know the booths of tears lead th e way, inward the closet dawn of their rare truths

If Mona knew a rhizome baby then down thee stair of translated ontologie and ontologue they swept.the gleaming star of . it. yes. inward the rose banter. outside smoke furled a coarse hour, a ladder of spirited steps dismissing each and every moment ~
conjured that for Love ~ . alien word to philosophy and love, the gloves of quiet interpretation contemplation. call the nightingale ~


citation fiction

every little citation diction fiction
Desiring-machines work only when they break down, and by continually breaking down.

or the wreath cut verini vern oscopee by way of mouth. not fancy grill work effects.


he ar t

ring time persona transformed into figure

he rhe a r t

In her heart lot ruins - as when a parking lot's chilled by the baker's dozen
next dooring its rarest tent catched the voice clog. Waggled by the truck of her arse,
he's shifted breasts to his mouth.A ural as any calling bard.
Wants to .

Yes, you said Sir

a ruin of lots and timber! timbre timber!

for each ruin's brain a knock down dead forest cluttered memory. body ache. broken fell bell angelus de death. s's body strapped across the case.
fiction as it's done


one Jill or Many

one Jill or many around her repetitious difference the Viconian slider ruler of her heatless wench, wrenching.


diagram deleuze moonful

diagramm deleuze. deleuze disagreeable.



that was not forward fast foraged to catch kipped stars baked stores rummage closet. keep the clear coast wax. as was to see its hymn down embrace. lover dover.



Jill marooned chucked her gloss aside. Side window the pray down misting its belle-lettres her best beray. Not married to a bell she see bell-hops maids, and honours to flay. she's best known by her name theory of surplus ding-dong bells ding-dong bells!

Flateau eighty-nine to her merringoround .



Readers! I the episteme master, and epistolary lover, wish for you to delete those three texts which I've just sent. I am not happy with them and they going back to the repair shop.


to ORpheeus

Cd to Orpheus HimSelf

it's cute the way you don't bother to check your spelling

as if you didn't care tossing it offhand like that



as windy as ligthtening and rafter to calibrate the spoon of river and thought. as when a big grand truck goes by rumblingthe low lying apartment buildings blind.

so it go. she creepeth up around the strata. trapped by ray light, cumbered by body spirit's kiss-ass weed.

each view is a night without stars


as windy as lightening and rafter to calibrate the spoon of river and thought. as when a big grand truck goes by rumbling the low lying apartment buildings blind.


mona 24 drafted light

Mona 24
Mona was a bird of flight. And Franny was too, before the night wasyoung. So the molecular paths were past past tenderness. Was the anxietyof deferral greater than the anxiety of influence? was the strata thebending then bedding of noun and preposition, or the verb ofproposition. God what deaths one found in the de-politicized. its always tousjours comme ca, a sonata of water, delirious to the play zone , a parlay of orchids, and smother rose, carried to end of knight. she stared at the catatonic place of his quilt. You read, this, you read this knowing your heart was stable.

You knew this: lender lover ~ .


fellow sun

fellow sun to her beckon. reckon with cloud-burst, pole-vault, yanking tree, gibous moon, gape to her weed word. sigh to her silent. of the wide apart bursting at seam and yellow ribbon to her loved down plait, her hair as willing as any sign.

Grieving is not seaming. Or wearing tented gowns to bed! you silly becoming!


follow moons

they call it France, Fanny aims for France. her sweltering self a box to follow moon ~ .


Mona has a shock truck. She's stuck on grumble and gum, accidents for her bum. She's trucked her waving banner high as a byte. She wont wear clothes and sign checks. She's checkermate to her sated pate. Clothing wear, and ball bearings keep her safe. That is, safe not as in cod and fish, net stockinged or china. Something whistled forward her kissed dive. A face the Natatorium, a lady sauntering backward in the sea. It's the way its hung. As Venus de Milo to her vessel, the sea the seven seas. Her mother her brother her sister. Shell fish to her weeding pelt. Not a citied care to wonder bra, she's caught her colt. Not a piss and vellum suit, nor a tie to tear her cigarette puffing chew. She's borne to her five awkward sense. Blight_ening and thunder.

Follow an empty finger to the loon ~ .



When did she first cover he was homotextual? after bridge of thought was clack to sick. Excuse you? Was word to blind its bearing ball round? can wait to fair a mask wreck gamble? or waited by drum call to perihelion the beauweevil? Shike! yer eye's grown wasted with the bear of i.t. Imagine they asked me to write expository discourse prose when you do this so bloody well its insignia is sign to post its beauty best weared hindquarters to her wearness. Adoring. Avoiding all glances in the avenue passing boulevardier. Mean he was tracked to her as she was masturbate to her ten tone heat.

Mrs rhizome

Mrs rhizome came home with her shoes on backwards. Married Mrs Deleuze her cunning drafting wakes did not good. Not a good to world was done with her pun and mun. What pardon pun was that, lexicaled by the strata of her state? her phoneme was the simple compound of luster and glitter. Glance alock the lane of tune-up willy and her softward software puddle.She was aloof to any desire..More after good blog- home came as when a baseball bounces down field and the whatchamacall it stoppin it splits his pant. leg. cocking her Ear.Lesbic to her true 'haunt' self acloud of knowing dhows surround her.

in june

In June Jack said to Mona who was hiding away in suburbia.I like to rock n roll, andI like to rock an' roll with You!Is that my fault ?Is that your fault??A little machine got knit between us, and thereAint nothing wrong with that,There aint nouthin' you or me can do! Achoo Achoo! Jack said to Mona: It was a day a day like any other, Or something like that. Yes something like those so and so like that 'Not those of but that of" yes of others.....
                          Like that he said turned the corner of my desire my wildness Mon territoire, et j'ai dit, je ne sais pas . The train might be going with me to good old Toronto down the 401 or the plane, or. So we gotta see, and 1030 is so early make it 11.
 And then the Philos are thinking and Yes it is and and One combines them to find the alchemy of contact the machine rings and the desire machines buzz and hum. till then" Said Jack and then Mona sighed with relief. Cause she knew Jack still like her, and more.

   And and and and so on so forthwith a therorem of therofore fore seeing? is it ring a twosome drifting a pear ? 

 Saint Jacky didnt know the difference between a beat a pulse and an annotated conotated revision of a fifth printing between her sheet of calibrated blue.

____________HHmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm speed it up! Will ya?


they call

they call recall its swart size tome its. ankle. breast . high float. age. her eyes,over numbering as this does, leviciticus. would expec t a man with a name to tower over 'his inferno' as any purgatory do auctorial uncomposed by hourly knell, its sheep bound blaze. as this was the mother word, no one could tear its compromise of fist and promise, the child absconded her ways, silence a dog dayed night to mutilate? maleficate? madicate her song. not remembered in the body's cheap fog, its memory a sampler of peeve and lust. So Jill then, marrying her heart to its song, the cheap strap waist band a deadlie weight to vary her crop her cripple, at the sauntering .

Mona hanker to her geology of moronism, as would a dictator of despot, not desporting a fair angel, a crooked house and horse. Sir Minimum.

who recall

cheap cheek cheek! Mona the hook! was splinkeD to Her Jill as watch this and these as it spring to her face forward check and balance.

grapples hooks -- spiders its connections Guattaree pens a missive : t'a Mona and friends

  • GuattariComplex

  • Dear Mona, I know the performative is valuable. Fear not these nuts in the dèstablishment. they are deadbores. not performative. Yer friend and mouthlover DadaDuffy is the true CroWn Prince of the Potatoe. he has many spudlings as amiable pals and cheerful suds of friendship and fellows that invent the fellows of the thought that flollows.

    these new so-called "Establisments" are the worst most reactionary one of all of them in the worldin
    all history! I pindar ponder

    "from the council right through to the publishers, the critics, the reviewere, the whole kit and kaboodle and

    it has not changed "

    [so you say]

    it got worse
    [yea yea yea bla bla]

    One is censored
    [two are censored not One the censoree and censored]

    kept out controlled
    [micropoetics of control]
    then there is the ____ that national radio "broad" caster __ and that horrible horrible programme "Frighers in Compnay!"
    (an what a n Obvious echo of great Sylvia Beach's Shakesepare and Company the woman who published one book by one man)

    and that horrible gang of Middle Class controllers
    [dont ya think yer being a little bit general?]
    across the Country who maintain and control the machine

    even the most far out

    and intelligent of poets/ writers get caught captured imprisoned by all that Bs

    Look at what Deleuze and Guattari say by way of Artaud ...

    Every writer is a Sell out....


    it is so..

    So sick and neurotic so concerned to expose their students to what they imagine are the true and right values of writing

    So sick and concerned to sell their little expression their little puny expressions

    and the "clicks" that formed over the years

    the wanky spoken word lot

    I am so glad I am living in Mongolia now

    where none of these twits can bother me and Martha.

    Martha my doll

    Martha my wrap up Poetry Queen

    Martha my Dada wife

    shes my babe

    and I dont need any Scribble Woman teachers or any of the rest of them dead busts from Candeada or Usamuckia!


    Listen we breath better in the mountains

    The phone rang, Oona calling to say, we don`t believe in any of our own opinions and are as willing to drop them as a draft.


    In ThOSe

    In those days stuttering Deleuze met Guattari who met the plate plateau of
    translations and anguish. She was not what she seemed. He had been living on
    the molar line which is why he experienced paranoia. I mean the molecular
    but projecting onto the molar. Haha, switch-switch. So it went till he went
    pop goes the weasel and went nuts. Then he heard from her who had seen
    Frantic Felix in his clinic of La Borde of Love and Hate and Other things.
    So it was like that. and was.

    Let me explain for all the fools who do not write. There is always an
    agent. Always, it is called decision and the machine is the decision. So. I
    decide albeit the I is no longer I. So much of what secondary readers of
    philo do is make rules the master[s] cannot contradict as they are dead. I
    like to approach books and authors - and being one myself I really
    appreciate this -- with that Deleuzian idea in mind - dont make the author
    you a re writing about weep or turn over in his grave. Which image comes
    from English literature and dates back to Sterne and Swift . So why be
    fooled by the silly generalizations which "people" make about writing. When
    they do not write. As William S. Burroughs told Daniel Odier in THe Job when
    asked about the cut-up method and about whether it was too machinic or
    mechanical, he said. I always make a decision, the writer is always there to
    make a decision.

    ---- There are nothing but signatures of writers in the world of desire. Do
    you believe your own theory? Not for a second replied Antioedipus Clifford
    Duffy. With love and many conflections. O Philosophers!!!


    RicharD the ThirD -- Mona_ thir third

    says to me is yer implicature discourse based? or shell bound? how is yer reflex modal logic? come on, hold on to yourself, get a trip on yer rib. I am the lover of this treacher'd terrified king, king pin to your rollypolly sides.

    good book!

    more afterward
    Bad King!|||||||||||

    More Yet! good Queen Mab!



    at the drop of a (schizoscholastic) hat they were lovers.

    nowchunking lovers
    mouth ahum
    akimbo arm
    leg awrapped around her
    his around


    wHen Mona really thought about it, here's what she thought, she thought this below the dialogue was dialAlog. A love Log. was Out aNd aWaY FligHt. A lover's log.Alovblog.
    Dialogues Gilles Deleuze and Claire Parnet English trans.
    New York:Columbia Univ. Press, 1987


    from first chapter :a Conversation: What is it? What is it for?

    It is very hard to 'explain oneself' __ an interview, a dialogue, a conversation.
    Most of the time, when someone asks me a question, even one which relates to me, I see that,
    strictly, I don't have anything to say. Questions are invented, like anything else.
    If you aren't allowed to invent your questions, with elements from
    all over the place, from never mind where, if people 'pose' them to you, you
    haven't much to say. The art of constructing a probelm is very important, you invent
    a problem, a problem-solution, before finding a solution. None of
    this happens in an interview, a conversation, a discussion.
    Even reflection, whether it's alone, or between two or more, is not enough.
    Above all, not reflection. Objections are worse.
    Every time someone puts an objection to me,I want to say
    OK, OK, let's go on to something else. Objections have never contributed anything.
    It's the same when I'm asked a general question.
    The aim is not to answer questions,
    it's to get out, to get out of it.
    Many people think that it is only by going back over the question that it's
    possible to get out of it. "What is the position of with philosophy? Is it
    dead? Are going beyond it?" It's very trying. They won't stop
    returning to the
    question in order to get out of it.
    But getting out never happens like that.
    Movement always happens behind the thinker's back, or
    in the movement when he blinks.
    Getting out is already achieved,
    or else it never will be."

    (first page first page first page
    first page page first first page first
    page first page
    first page first)

    (forest page junction
    Mister Artaud to Monsieur Deleuze)
    (Mme. Parnet)
    (Mme Mountaintop)
    (Claire clair e_clair clear clear as
    On a Claire day you can see all the way to the Pacific)
    (When heading West West becomes becomes becomes
    East ) (Easting yer West Westing yer Easterly winds)

    I've this wonderful photograph of Deleuze striding across
    a beach pensive as the Norman wind
    pensive as the Necromancer


    As NoRtHis To Her NiLE

    as North is to her Nile her line's south of the equator grass of the greener quarters. Not bent to an
    East of 'terrible' windings. Or say winding to her trail, a spinner spoofer off trail. Not banked by progess and professorships,but other gods grilled at the roast, heats eaten alive.
    guts dropped and sag.

    Her LinE is North to her Nile but south to her hindmost part, pearl to her clattering stove. Not her stove pipe hat, but to other umbrellas and feet, the Irish language of her clothed heart, its sewn backed baked god embroidered to the back. What a sexy incurving back it was, favoured by all seen by none, as for touching? kissing? etc? well, repressive language wont let you see, what she cannot feel.

    No one knows her polyamourous self . Ecosophic to her thousand and one plateau hat,
    shes sexed to her ruin, boy in her name, and body in her sock.


    Mona had

    Mona had a foot. She spilled her foot. Mona has a land. A place she call dome. Dome where the thing was letter reside. Not resident K as in other de_tail, but tale to detailetory she is histheory to her name on will after will commingling its blessing . Hmm something as witch to witch is this. Its tantrum

    Mona had a buckle. She was not a sword swallower.She had every pencil page in her pocket a broken locket. Huckstered by "the wind and rain" . Kellogs to her any dollar store stop name.

    Mona was "loose and easy" a strong simitude to her something something something.
    She was fox in gold the trucking wheeze her gathered game. Report and repetition book to gather her snarl. Not lambasted over any trucking wheel, her forest feel was god. A predictable sentence. of smarts and fleece. Symbol ofthe word made thresh. A clock to smooth her every hour.

    chronicle of the schizo-organes

    as the Knight was sad sick and sad, or was the Dulcinea read Knight's eyes cossetting the plain or was that dancing in the rest of the bucolic space which each river cried. but what was the gerundive of correct? sitting by his body shes holding he shore to each not wishing a loll distance to detach her cream coloured her lesbic make-up or the heavy lean to of doubt

    The Knight has no Organes when saving is the treat the stinging self when it waiting.

    chronicle of the schizo-organes

    as the Knight was sad sick and sad, or was the Dulcinea read Knight's eyes cossetting the plain or was that dancing in the rest of the bucolic space which each river cried. but what was the gerundive of correct? sitting by his body shes holding he shore to each not wishing a loll distance to detach her cream coloured her lesbic make-up or the heavy lean to of doubt

    The Knight has no Organes when saving is the treat the stinging self when it waiting.


    As maze to her real repeat shes partitioned her knave selves to cully the branches.
    Ardour to her love hub-cap her busting bully to the same.

    come my dear

    Come my dear make it faithful to old cow on the hinge. its speaking crate's stolen yer left wing total. as totalizing brigs 've wasted their furniture. through and through impasse to this geology of shore.

    She hear Jill say Geology geology geology my love is worship of the satyrs and star.


    her north

    her northern line's secondary to her name.

    is that it? Mister Deleuze? lets check? cheek to her roughsmoothworn face. Doge to light dogged to night. A fairy fell.


    Jill's Northern LiNe

    Jill's Northern LiNe

    is the space of S's distant flight away from the daddymono Pop . Heading north the tribal S heading wingaway to ~.



    draughted yer cut. king to q.3
    cross-wove the dress.
    always a cross, she
    a dresser off power fool.
    when things the guised reel
    feel then.

    Ok, Mona, she is bored wheat. over rain. their need
    understanding over edged foot. Come on, yer dance is
    this need to punish over other. repressed. back. to

    density of thought. and achievement of big hotting. Come one Mona, we
    hug a nun rubbing her clasped breast breathing held-up breath.
    She come as hold her. And priest? priest is beleaguered bugger of
    this man she hold for her gendering posture to mud her fake
    involuted covered glass. She pretend to understand. No
    can stand this under of foolish prate? she compose
    beat stress beat stress stress beat huspicating
    her ass over a wheel drawn barrow. A nun kissing
    her click clock cock. He has hard on to her mouth
    narrow to her gauge. She scream pope as she come . Her muscle
    thigh sinew to his bound.

    --- as for the simile of god
    and his marching platoon of piresi priest
    for god sake keep the festoon cleric far
    hence to this peace of language
    cape coveted by dead and living

    shush to yer nagging truck
    holding back of flock


    huspicating is pun or jeu-de-mots
    on the word Haruspicate


    over WheN

    when Mona got crenellated heat she knew she was centaur not breast to her brattled breathing .
    of some rider in the tucked out forest.her fisted march calvacade to her bushwhack shes got near far close and serendipidity to her tuning Yorick. So it goes ball head as the grave soot
    fought tack.
    she come to it then.


    Mona's hooped watch


    Mona's hooped watch lady to her heart was indexed by hearting jointed knee hand slipped in silk sack of

    first moon_ed month checked cheek perfumed by love's far fistula. A ringing touch to the heart of its peaked

    white cap wave on green after green girl becomed the not knowing of her lord. Look to the marry rule of the papapapaws

    of her papap. As he asiding her glance a murmuring instant up the looming gray stair well swept up

    in the wallpaper of envious evening. In her mind's good eye a yesternight of star

    pressed hand clapping this these gentlewomen heard on the air rustled mark secret

    as the hound of hurrying. Love's apparition's come. On platoed potatoed platform over


    bedding of the afternoon's lazy azure.

    Jill's abiding otiose slim sinker. Over wood march. Matched the couple.Does green carry the bed? the ebb glow of regarding charges? or silver slim wish . Say the kelp festers geology, says Jill. Not over any harlequinade or romance bounced across the preposal of time. Time! time's haughty wish spite itself, spumes past the Elizabethan manuscroll in circulation and exlibris.

    Franny call it the faith of choice, not spitted out spoiled grammar of I, me, my complain I am the onlybalonely one to two to hunderstanded the poetics of sheep or whistle of tingle tinflute. Lover cover name, lover covet name.

    Please. Veri, verify.



    cuts 2 there

    cuts the imaginary heart|curses

    (over rhyming and sputter soup)

    in the stagger'd of the 'superego'; after return from France

    long before the goodbye of night and day ~ .


    YuM_ tWo tow to

    Mona always thought a female bottom the most beautiful

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

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

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

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

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



    yea yea

    the nights of wisdom yea yea yea year by year the toll the rolling dog of bay and breath its sheer fright rouh to ten edge of toil
    some have heard its keen ledge not frighted by day.

    the wisdom of prism and dice. or kept princes. not puffed up day. or piffle in mouth over blowing overward the orchard of carrying on benders. Jill hunker inthe wind. Mona trailin` geese near by a petition of lithe. Hands to keep her lover. Not staired by weir and other pacing beasted demon come to her him in the middle of night. Breath. Ah, this, this , her , lover. Indeed.

    What begat Jill to hunt her theory of the freed babe by the loss of lust its eye wind along the turned banister of its evocation spent and confectionary as any museum soldier. Not wished by boot and prayer, or bot and bitpiece. not Some flood of Tamburlaine over buggering war its enemy smashed city killing soldats. Their doldrum the deadending the death of others always, hard voice, roupy thought. Its caught death in ruby wake up twilight.

    Not of the gods, and other things, but other things.

    Some words of the ghost TeXt

    Some words of the ghoSt TeXt

    Ghost Guattari haunt Mona,d Jill passed then by the window slowing snowed her bodies into the pavement, missing the inventions of gods et dieuxz... the belly button that unhooks to leave the arse falling away...v oids upon voids dripping its ooze and primal slosh.Here were the words Of Uncle Guattari`s :I am God most of the time when I dont have a headache, when Ithink of everything and nothing, when I'm not slipping down any Satanic slope... Then I understand quite well that one might settle oneself downin God or that one might settle him on a pedestal. I will not repr oach --- Jill was happier to read this than any day.anyone for that.On the other hand, I can conceive that artists may feel obliged to - Yes on the other hand, of Mona`s double delivery articulations, there was an arcane =--uproot that sort of comfort. Consider neuroleptic divinity; consider the vertigo of abolition; consider the extreme moment of creation.Is that to say that God might only be the privelige of thesimple-minded? An atheist like Pascal screams out God like a wild beast. And that is intelligence stripped bare.It would be advisable to distinguish God from belief. It is from the latter that all fool[folly]-ery stems. God is only a spell cast upon existence. He comes along like hail, sometimes dew or storm. Bel ief in turn, puts onairs of freedom; ups the stakes; imposes itself; stretches itself out over the socius.Isabelle Stengers wrote me one day to ask on which conditions and at what price I could do without God..... The answer is not speculative; it is a thorn in the flesh. All of that costs a great deal. It's inconceivable!Unbearable! Sauve qui peut! And God for all.thebreath worketh the night.heart beat, huffed and revved. bustedup guff. be well in a hurry. chair of light. settle downing dustling.

    .Can You dig saith Jill deReader how it works, now.. as Mona tapedeck is busted wheel of nirvana she is wall by wall sideway walk to the saunter field. of Raise the dead. the Riant lute of summer.

    I, Pierre Felix Guattari the Second(e)

    Jill reading Tristram d'amourish moorish reading the old bore. was song to felt then ending old trade of this day ward piece from loggers field. it was knighting not dignified. cussing.its woo_ward play of
    The nice thing about Baudrillard is the way he dies;
    real rock n' roll, all simulation and not suicide, all prat falls and no blood, no blood on the tracks and noknife at the throat a la Issac

    (the story of

    , Pierre Felix Guattari the Seconde.
    Now if that is not a phony signature what is it? is it the tail of Mona metaphor,or Jill's Franny on the high hill of breath^
    come now all old ye faded full preachers of denim and coil.


    and and

    And, and, and.... Franny and Felix went for a walk,a perambulating stroll across the talks oftimeand their howl me down stairs...Rena called and asked in her telegrammatical:And on a completely other topic, here are some questions about the Felixer culpa side of the Deleuzion of grander desire machine of mysteri deleuze and guattari. Was Franny Guattari Gay-tarri? While reading the TLs review of Alliez, Goodchild and others Mona saw these words:"Guattari was a militant gay activist..." Now was Felix all gay or part of the way; was he a bisexual built for two? Who was Emmanuelle Guattari, a daughter? a lover? a wife? Mona snorted and stamped her feet.Of course He was a million minority sexes and then some. SO what did itmatter?A photograph of Guattari in drag with Genet recently showed up ina biography of a former gay rights worker in France. Also was he not in astate of desirous pederasty and yet still fathering children on the molarlevel? Was he in the transversal translation of denial and in effectsublimating his hetero-sexual connections by donning the gay mask ofrebellion?So Mona sighed and wondered what had become of her lover.There are 'scandlous' re-lations [amorous and others] be-hindevery list, as there are be-hind every list of lovers. Was Jill the loverof the Fanny fanny man? Was Jill a lesbian pretending to be a harriedmarried mad professor? Will only the final episode reveal and disclose thesecret clandestine sexualities of the guattari-deleuze couplet?Mona sighed. Franny laughed and all good lovers went to bed.


    Orpheus loVed FriDa

    Orpheus loved Frida because he was Frida, like she was Artaud. and so it was the schizophrenic fire burned all night.

    In his


    in her broken


    in his borrowed brokenness of all the wars fought down by the dogs of time,
    the daughters
    of time.

    Nietzsche's Daughter.

    Mona was thinking herself. Its life she said.

    the SUNLIGHT

    Each second shes my child, my newborn babe, every little while, every day, two hours and more holding this, he is my own self

    shes holding his rag to her face ....
    ....The most interesting thing about the so-called lies....----ego is that, sooner or later, the ones involved in the imaginary tale get angry, not because of the lies, but because of the truth contained in the lies, which always comes forth....

    "Being the ------ is the most marvelous thing in the world...I let him play matrimony with other women. ----- is not anybody's.... never will be, but ---... is a great comrade."

    In a letter to a close friend Frida wrote, "You too know that all my eyes see, all I touch with myself, from any distance, is ---.".

    and this pain her body burned was his, was like his, was his metaphor his her metramophosis


    Doctor Difference Duffy Almost

    worked in her noetic consciousnesses
    Everything is Deterritory

    and now.


    biographeo guatariodeleuzo ~

    biographia Guattarodeleuzo

    Now Sir do you think this new? as yer sides or thighs?


    Oh Franny! said Jill one fine dadadata day I need a word phiter
    for my finny reelof spinning difference. Show me the way to the deistic
    master-piece of Mr. teste and Madame Virgin. I need to translate nails
    into holes, and troubles into wholes. Where is the night which speaks the
    name of fold and fairytale, the schizo sorting out machine of short-cut
    and unkempt in the brain trails of the word which was Mr. Plato's? Franny
    stared at Jillwith disbelief. I am your wife-becoming not your research
    scholar or editior don't you realize that?

    Mona called and came by reading a book backwards on prose poetry
    and falling in love with letters ever written glasses on backwards and
    said remember me: I am the video of memory and desire, and the night is
    the first molecular revolt. Then recordings which work backwards and
    desires that peel. I have no summer halt on my brains. I am the non-dead
    precursor of summer and wind. Recall the good old days when anxiety was at
    a premium and the stores were filled with thought and the rainbow was the
    ever receding horizon of our future.

    Like that said Jill and let the book rest in her lap. After coming
    back from Spain they played the rhizome-rat scattering in space's seven
    dimensions and disappeared through many passages in long books. And itwas
    so good in French.

    But O O O that Guattarian rag its so elegant so intelligent.

    'On nous a reproche d'invoquer trop
    souvent des litteratures. MAIS, la seule question quand on ecrit,
    c'est de savoir quelle autre machine la machine litteraire peut
    etre branchee et doit etre branchee pour fonctionner.'

    Tzarazthustra called Jills and Franny weeping after these words of
    flood and fled.
    In Spain we were very real.