2014/04/23

about: like a saint on barbituates

_________________


 Mister Duffy can you explain the last two posts... and how a  reader persusing this blog ought to read them?

C.D. hhhhahahah that'sfunny,e xplain? what did I once state quoting someone from a long time back ...'and I don't explain because I hate common sense...'


 like a saint on barbituates

____________well O, maybe when I return. when I get back. as the poem's machinery settles or the couch  ... or after reading another crime novel, or Althusser  .. or Anthony Bugesss I mean to ... say .. to say a kiss is like a song and when two lovers meet?

_________________And hail ho! O me hearties!

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2014/04/22

like a saint on barbituates


___________________________________________________


 Something I wrote  and which is incomplete, which is, it goes with saying, incomplete as the aesthetic I work with here, in this blog and others, is that of the Unfinished dadavinci   ~
_______________________________________


like a saint with a my twisted thumb your mouth's grimace is grimoire to

the overbearing pulse of a god burning thieves with fire and humdinger

to one single truth ~ the forfeit fire burning at your feet

tinder, timber, a clasping ash creates passage to your lent spent through

your trusted servant the little devil with his eye in a poke

or say a cheap tale of four rooms one with the dead Indian, the other crammed

with imitation Shakespeare's, rough ditties, nudes boxing shadow upon shadow,

shared windpipes, invasions, and evasions beyond repairing, a city absent of

dead angels

like any saint witha twisted tonsure you thrust the needle through your thumb or

this bastard with his boat in London living the bigshot life while fellows in the college

starve or half starve while he gets the best capitalism has to offer a hidalgo of

shit, you know, diamonds, furs, chrome plated sideboards, gleaming dishes,

and babe after babe of whatever gender a particular lust and moment requires

the last thing anyone wants to see is a man riding an ibis!

riding a bicycle in his bed!

 like a saint in a shitty book




__________________

    poem as sketch?
_______________

'as a saint

                                            _______________________


  like a saint with a ny twisted thumb your mouth's grimace is grimoire to
the overbearing pulse ofa god burning thieves with fire and humdinger
to one single truth   ~ the forfeit fire burning at your feet
   tinder, timber, a clasping ash creates passage to your lent spent through
your trusted servant the little devil with his eye in a poke


or say a cheap tale of four rooms one with the dead Indian, the other crammed
  with imitation Shakespeares, rough ditties, nudes boxing shadow  upon shadow,
  shared windpipes, invasions, and evasions beyond repairing, a city absent of
  dead angels


oR
   like any  bum saint with twisted tonsure you thrust the needle through your thumb or
 this bastard with his boat in London living the bigshot life while fellows in the college
starve or half starve while he gets the best capitalism has to offer a hidalgo of
   shit, you know, diamonds, furs, chrome plated sideboards, gleaming dishes,
and  babe after babe of whatever gender a particular lust  and moment requires


 the last thing anyone wants to see is a man riding an ibis!
  riding a bicycle in his bed!




  only the name Miriam makes you beautiful   ~

.
._____________________________

 Hmm thinking of this And: so, i'd say it was a  draft, but  i cannot stand that word/ It reeks of hidden perfectionism   ~  so Its not a draft, it s a  version , i don't mean that in some lazy way, but I wrote it fast, as I write nearly everything / fast/ and that's a habit from performing   for some years with musicans and writing for the idea of live performance /

writing for blogs is  a little like Live Performance except it ain't 
ina  live show
you can't re do a post!

  So here's the thing writing for blog/performance is
                like being between a recording space
                                 and a  live performance
                       that's the best to think about it

-----------------
So say I write something with some idea in my head

   and post it here or any of the 20 blogs with different thematics I got on the go

                          its a virtual connection to the print or typed work
dig?


__________________- But bodies ? what a re bodies
                    if they are neither printed or read
                       if bodies are virtual are they 
                               kind? 

________________________________ i have known some kind virtual bodies
                  and i've knownthe other type
                                                                           the world is a type-

but to rage because it does not conform to one's preconceived ideas  is a useless gesture   ~
_______________________________________
                                                             i say turn the blog writing machine into something you can own for yourself
                   as one did and does with any other promsing artistic medium









_________________________

2014/04/20

“Resurrection,” El Greco, 1579

compare ElGreco, The Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane & Carravaggio 's ecco homo

https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EvCKSTAm12E/Te5vA5YkuJI/AAAAAAAAACY/dD9-Sm6Oqiw/s320/89-141_CaravaggioEcceHomo.jpgEcce Homo Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio
Olio su tela 128 x 103 cm
1605 o 1609
Genova, Galleria di Palazzo Bianco

Rimbaud ....& Schizobliner








____from Book 8:___________________________________




Rimbaud   collects verse ~2007 ~  the rings of Klossowski, the woman with the green tune, the red foot, the wrangling tree, struggling


                                                          ___________________



                                 
              Rimbaud holds a ribbon 
   Verlaine was working over-time  ~?



----------------------------------



   schizo your heart's friend


   


 schizo your heart's friend





 schizo your heart's friend




                


      schizo your heart's friend






 ____________________________________



there were letters, and words
et les mots les paroles d'une   ~ 


________________  Rimbaud went for a walk . She lived with ____in Ml. Rimbaud was a woman's pretending to be a becoming cloud a sun-filter and rain. it was a working home with pedestals in every room and mirror.

---------------

 Signature ~ Clifford Duffy
_____________

Antonella Piroli




My notebook at LA SCRITTURA DISEGNATA pt.2

h

est ce que?

~


"'dits me moi Clifford est ce que tu a aimer Nantes ?


  our j'ai beaucoup aime et toi aussi

tu parle comme un ange
et toi aussi tu a des doigts d'un ange '" ~



copie de la  texte    ~

~

2014/04/19

'if





'its almost easter/ i wonder if this year/

everyone’s going to rise from the dead?

it wld be amazing if they did

imagine that

i figure if the whole world’s dead

rose or were to rise

the world would be over right?

& then strange things

wld happen

like the world wld prb. get bigger

 so everyone wld. have a  place to stand

  & the lion ‘d lie down with the lamb

 & swords’d be turned into ploughs

  & and the super rich ‘d  would give up their loads of extra loot

   & and the rest of the human beings

…it’s hmm im not sure im tired.. my brain’s goin

 and im half watchng the Pillow Book by Peter Greenaway

which is about love and tatoos &

dreams & desire

& i keep forgetting to buy some mint tea

& some more tetley cause i just ran out



.




... Rimbaud... Verlaine....schizobiner sChizoBliner artist in the chaosmosis

... Rimbaud... Verlaine....schizobiner are a  series of poems that I found myself writng recently that I was posting in time


  after I came back from Paris, and the South of France _ in early March ---- snow snow a Montreal
 Rimbaud 
   asks me to repost them 

purely fictional characters generated by their names

   and the idea   (of them ) so to speak



sChizoBliner artist in the chaosmosis

 

  'schizoidbliner:



        G: Can you tell me about your friends?

        W: I always think that everybody is my friend.

      Question: then why unfollow some tumblrs & not others.

    Rimbaud: too many fashion posts, too many just about me posts & I lose interest.

    Question: Are you a son of Andy Warhol?

    Rimbaud : I could be couldn ‘t I or a daughter?

 Another Question: What do you mean you could be and then a daughter?

Is that a gender statement?



Rimbaud: well, ok. I am not, obviously Andy Warhol’s son or daughter in a real sense and as far as I knowhe didnt haveany kids. But I meant in the sense that I am a son , (yes I am a guy ) or a daughter in the way that I share some sensibility and perhaps a certain way of looking at art and life.


its similar to these poems I post on here being Rimbaud and Verlaine and changing their pronouns and genders so to speak: I mean it’s fun right you take something making it your own … originality has be hyped to the point its suffocating. Whole art movements have now moved away from this paranoia about original this and original that. I mean think about it:

who is original ? I didn’t invent myself my parents did and I share some of their characteristics and in the same I share those traits with people all around me both in ‘real life’ and in the internet.

Being ‘creative’ is often trying things out and seeing how they go. It’s like dating someone it doesn’t mean you are going to necessarily be with them for life. You don’t know how it’s going to go.

 

 

_____________________________

 

2014/03/19

....' everything...

,


__________________________________

 Everything you wrote is fiction?

      Yes, everything. even what was 'real' is fiction.


                                      the whole project was fictive in cluding the font
    the caves, calls, ring, moon, mud, lake, fire, gem, green, zylophone, optophone, latin,m, greek, the rule, the absence thereof  ,
   
                             All                 F i c t i     o       n

  

   )))))))))))))))))))))__________________________  I made it all up

                                                                                             Clifford Duffy




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