Tuesday

Foucault's Suicide

Jill got home one night. One knight among many, AMong many multifarities multitudinous murders as in Macbeth I am thy daughter's sheet. Not ghost silly. She saw that Orpheus was telling tales again again as in riverruns past bend of wake by pluralities of faces and depths ofdivers. She was a having a love-affair arrears in affairs of wakes of aknight. In infinite faith of oriental delicate body on the metro. and Other K places. So it was. Orpheus was makin' more stories and narrativesthan you could count on the fingers of your toe-nails and emails andshe-males and boy gals such as her body was. She hada body sometimes andit was nice. She had a pregnant girl she was in love and in love with inlove and in love and love. It was like Glorious and traced down all herlipstick slides around traced girls thought and thighs. So she found atext that said I am Clare Parnetti I am the climax of love and sorrow andI am th e smoking lungs in the light I am the silver dwarf of bendedthought I am the face one next to your text. She was sometimes good atgetting back many moon and week later it was like that she was the onewith Mona who hot-wired the text. So like a puffed cheek she was and itwas magic Theatre Mirror and factories of connections and bodies andhands between. The sheets and skirt of frilled underthings and scallopeddesigned skirts that swirl in the spring winds of rain on the tip of herlips and tongue and pushed then shovelled it was against the rip ofmatter in the canvas and she was the one____________________

Friday

1 pla te a u two many

yer Ass


_Le Q uestion did yo do yor degree i n Paris? Yes I did the doctoral degree dissertation et la j'ai le dissertation blu es_______________
Well, said Mona, when this nasty literalist idiot assualted her.

__ Is this the deterritorializatio of matter of speaki ng? In deed In deed____ resuk me then, love __.
We stoop to conquer. Mona found her copy of withering wee snyopsis
of 'Someone' was calling Lyotard. It was clear also that some on e
hated her cousin Chomsky. But why? Was there something wrong with Not
agreeing with Deleuze and Daddy? geepers thought Mona, maybe I should
masturbate more often and not let those nasty brainy cells get in the way
of the dance of the seven veils. Well, maybe someone's ideas might be
useful for caca rolls;used toilet paper, snot rags, sperm wipers,
dingle berry cleaners. Who knows? wHen things got Nasty well Mona knew how__ Dung Dumpers!
to Fart in your General Direction, and wave her hermaphroditic balls in
yer Aunty's face. She knew all this.
She was not afraid of her arse or her ass, or her asses, or her
shit or her cacapeepeetalisms or her bodies without organs and without
limbs for that matter. And who cared if some mental case thought Mona
wanted her Daddy__[and so she did and did not, and it was raining and was
not].
Only those who have lost Daddies knows what it means to
search for them. 'Daddy, Daddy, you bastard, I'm through' said Sylvia.
Nor was Mona afraid of Lacan, or Freud or JFL. In fact they had been
lovers in the long morning ofthe 70's. Haha But only an academic would
attack a welfare recipient, only an academic would deny what Franny
Guattari had said 'there will be irreducible antagonisms between groups
and let it be so' yes, so why herd us all into the Same mental case
anxiety of we are All the Same. What shite caca sneezed Mona and Jill and
Franny.
Franny said we can demonstrate against the jerk if you want. - or
perhaps a frustrated delirious paranoid academic who hated anything feminine and not wearing what wither thought were lyotards. Mona wore lyotards all thetime, she also had a Libidinal Economy that suited her fine.
But what can one say a new comer idiot? Nothing. She and Franny got Jill.
Jill counselled as usual ignoring the idiot. Best war is retreat when
dealing with idiots, literalists, and nasties.

She came back next day wearing shoes plaien socks and hair rigs or ringlets roundr tie A belt bleat the sleet sheep of resurrection.


-- Frann y yells you mea convection right?
--Jill I mean it gotta bea subjective pamplemouse to get the thing over Ou r hair is like this a ray a wave of o comig field Thi s the s bjective. O r ass is
sweater than honey and rarer.



2
Comes round Mona

Monafound a long lost note written by her Daddy. To her, and her
alone. She knew Jill was her mother father. Her Fama Her fatima. Her
Famamamatima. And she was Christ Deleuze of the thousand stories and
strobes.She openedher notebook one night and there was the note translated
in golden glittering letters. Something her mamapapa had left heras a
legacy. How to Understand the thinkers!!!

'Lyotard calls 'childhood' this movement that sweeps away
language and traces an alwasys repressed limit of language;"Infatia what
does not speak to itself. A childhood is not a period of life and does
not pass on. It haunts discourse...What does not allow itself to be
written, in writing, perhaps calls forth a reader who no longer knows how
to read, or not yet...." See,___ Jean-Francois Lyotard, Lectures d'enfance
__Paris:Galilee, 91__ p 9.'


So Mona always find a place between thinkers where her selves the
word grievers strode the way. And so it was . And she was. and so was the
Dada Christ Deleuze with Jean-Francois and their divagations and ....
This little quote may be found in the beautifully translated Essays
Critical and Clinical - 1997. But really it was her chilhood, her infatia
which enchanted enraptured. So she became a lover to the lovers .

And Mona knew these words translated through the byways of scrolls
unravelled in time space over space times cyber word were her Daddy
Deleuze's last words to her. Then her Dada, said, she said, her dada said
her Maman said, I ain't got no Mama Papa.

3

Mafa mapa est g uroo de temps



CommentAAh~__ to the glossed text


So, Mona is worse than the Lacanians. They, at least, are only looking for
the Father. But Mona's looking for "daddy". Schizo-sisters of desire my
ass.


"Schizo-sisters of desire" and "your ass"?

what an interesting conjunction....