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)
(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
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 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.
The Knight has no Organes when saving is the treat the stinging self when it waiting.
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.
She hear Jill say Geology geology geology my love is worship of the satyrs and star.
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
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
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
she come to it then.
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.
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
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.