>

2005/07/29

adage

Actually her
take on the Burroughs statement 'language is avirus'has always been to say: If language is a virus I am going to createan epidemic. - For She the words always work as joy. The Burroughs cut-uptechnique and the fold-in [variants more or less of the permuation systemhe devised along with Brion Gysin] sheI admire greatly but do not actuallyuse myself. I have always found it either not fast enough, or not reallyproductive for my purposes... . However I do second Angela Carter indescribing old Bill [old Bull Lee as Kerouac dubbed him; or in his ownfamous signature, Inspector Lee] Burroughs as probably one ofthe writerswho people will read down the road in 100 years or so and say, he paintsthe 20th century inthe vivid colours that it occured in. Speaking ofAngela Carter, she died the same year as Felix Guattari. How sad that yearwas. I was on atrain in the BC mountains of Canada when I picked up anewspaper in the bar smoking car, andthere was her photo, all of 47 I thinkshe was. She had just given birth to a couple of children in the yearsbefore. I remember reading about her wonderful machines of desire andDoctor Hoffman and what a wonderful writer she was. And that she liked andadmired Burroughs was a sign of her generosity,her magnanimity towardsthis writer whose work and life was so controversial. I met WilliamBurroughs once and he was very kindly and his hand shake reminded me ofwhat I had read about Joyce's hand shake soft tender and not at all'masculine' in that awful sense so many men are forced into acting out....And Kathy Acker admired Burroughs and learned so much from him before herown untimely death last year. How strange that She and Burroughs died thesame year. Et tant d'autres et tant d'autres.' to quote Tzara's L'HommeApproximatif. And arent we all approximately women becoming men becomingwaves becoming sober becoming the white giant's thigh as we wander ourway throughplateau after plateau?(And speaking of Angela Carter --- who was...on this track...., translator and student of Deleuze andGuattari, wrote a master's thesis not too long ago about Angela Carter andDeleuze Guattari)::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**** O Stars!! Opretty Pictures!!! O writers of the research and scholar lovers!!!!Becoming writer finally as I feel the words joy and for me the wordsthewords are joy as I stutter mutter past the sexes anddays. O Virus ofDesire! Let my Hopes Steel High.in arabic as Father Genet said there are no capitals. And one writes fromright to left and how the world changes with the mirror thus being sodifferent. Different. So Mona, and she turned to her virus and staredinto the heart of loving, loving her lover in secret and clandestine. And "If one wants to gain even the slightest understanding of theworld, one has to get rid of resentment' Genet had said to her that nightas they stood by the grave of her father fathering the night. Unlearningresentment is the hardest lesson, and a life time's work. And it is not tobe confused with overcoming or denying the injustice of the world. Or itsadversities, but how to live, how to love, how to live overcoming them andcourage to stand against injustice wherever you think you must stand. Andher eyes were worn yes' in the moment of her brilliance. And so she stoodwith him in the cafe in Tangier, and she was 19 years old. And she was aboy.'Ihave become capable of loving, not with an abstract universal love, buta love I shall choose blindly, my double, just as selfless as I. One hasbeen saved by and for love, by abandoning love and self.' so she read thewords of Franny and Jill from the milled plateau book they had authored Oso many years ago. One has to find the machine that makes you more productive andnot addictive,, the prcure is worse than the disease. from.. the Burroughs statement 'language is avirus'has always been to say: If language is a virus I am going to createan epidemic. - For me the words always work as joy. The Burroughs cut-uptechnique and the fold-in [variants more or less of the permuation systemhe devised a..................long with Brion Gysin] I admire greatly but do not actuallyuse myself. I have always found it either not fast enough, or not reallyproductive for my purposes... . However I do second Angela Carter indescribing old Bill [old Bull Lee as Kerouac dubbed him; or in his ownfamous signature, Inspector Lee] Burroughs as probably one ofthe writerswho people will read down the......... road in 100 years or so and say, he paintsthe 20th century inthe vivid colours that it occured in. Speaking ofAngela Carter, she died the same year as Felix Guattari. How sad that yearwas. I was on atrain in the BC mountains of Canada when I picked up anewspaper in the bar smoking car, andthere was her photo, all of 47 I thinkshe was. She had just given birth to a couple of children in the yearsbefore. I remember reading about her wonderful machines of desire andD,...octor Hoffman and what a wonderful writer she was. And that she liked andadmired Burroughs was a sign of her generosity,her magnanimity towardsthis writer whose work and life was so co....ntroversial. I met WilliamBurroughs once and he was very kindly and his hand shake reminded me ofwhat I had read about Joyce's hand shake soft tender and not at all'masculine' in that awful sense so many men are forced into acting out....And Kathy Acker admired Burroughs and learned so much from him before herown untimely death last year. How strange that She and Burroughs died thesame year. Et tant d'autres et tant d'autres.' to quote Tzara's L'HommeApproximatif. And arent we all approximately women becoming men becomingwaves becoming sober becoming the white giant's thigh as we wander ourway throughplateau after plateau?(

O Stars!! Opretty Pictures!!! O writers of the research and scholar lovers!!!!Becoming writer finally as I feel the words joy and for me the wordsthewords are joy as I stutter mutter past the sexes anddays. O Virus ofDesire! Let my Hopes Steel High.in arabic as Father Genet said there are no capitals. And one writes fromright to left and how the world changes with the mirror thus being sodifferent. Different. So Mona, and she turned to her virus and staredinto the heart of loving, loving her lover in secret and clandestine. And "If one wants to gain even the slightest understanding of theworld, one has to get rid of resentment' Genet had said to her that nightas they stood by the grave of her father fathering the night. Unlearningresentment is the hardest lesson, and a life time's work. And it is not tobe confused with overcoming or denying the injustice of the world. Or itsadversities, but how to live, how to love, how to live overcoming them andcourage to stand against injustice wherever you think you must stand. Andher eyes were worn yes' in the moment of her brilliance. And so she stoodwith him in the cafe in Tangier, and she was 19 years old. And she was aboy.'Ihave become capable of loving, not with an abstract universal love, buta love I shall choose blindly, my double, just as selfless as I. One hasbeen saved by and for love, by abandoning love and self.' so she read thewords of Franny and Jill from the milled plateau book they had authored Oso many years ago. One has to find the machine that makes you more productive andnot addictive,, the production machine is the creative one. So Mona read her notes backwards.


Adage 1: Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.

2005/07/26

UpSidethe series Us

UpSide the language of


the language of

love

hate



.



false hates

a flask


not a mouthful of grammar

2005/07/24

phillipe soupault poet, translator













PhiLlIpe SouPault Poet




Soupault poet, dadaist, and also perhaps  less known  as   one of the translators of Ulysses



History  is always a bit unreal until you meet the details right up front.


89. Photograph of the "Déjeuner Ulysse," June 27, 1929.

Among the guests at Monnier's "Déjeuner Ulysse" were some of the most prominent figures in French literature at that time: Léon-Paul Fargue, Eduard Dujardin, Paul Valéry, Jules Romains, and Philippe Soupault. Also in attendance was Samuel Beckett (he is not in the photograph; the rumor is that he got excessively drunk at lunch). None of the translators were in attendance; apparently by this time relations between them had become exceedingly rancorous. As the lunch took place eleven days after June 16, it could be considered as the first Bloomsday celebration. (Buffalo owns the original of this photograph, with Monnier's penned-in names for some of the guests; this is currently on loan to the National Library of Ireland and so a reproduction is displayed.)

(of course there's dripping with irony there  the irish borrowing back  that Joyce material)



I was in Buffalo back in 2000 checking out a university programme and meeting with a painter and poet  there and we  visited some of these exhibits .

 Over that week we saw a lot of interesting literary archives and materials seeing some sites and at the end of the week we drove to New York City ______________ and that's another story.

____________________________




Dimanche

L'avion tisse les fils télégraphiques
et la source chante la même chanson
Au rendez-vous les chochers l'apéritif est orangé
mais les mécaniciens des locomotives ont les yeux blancs
la dame a perdu son sourire dans les bois




Sunday

The plane weaves the telegraph wires
                                 and the spring sings the same song
                              At the coachmen's headquarters the apéritif is orange
but the train conductors have white eyes
                              the woman has lost her smile in the woods


________________


Exclu pour cause de littérature


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

2005/07/19

TheEastVillage.com

`

TheEastVillage.com

Quick time format of John Wieners reading. Other links on the page .

Doncha just love the way Wieners (the cool old geezer) takes off his glasses as he reads, or really takes them off, and puts 'em
back on.

that gesture is a verse in itself.

who said poetry is word

how about the words between

and

all the other things

we don't say

. Watch those Gestures _


once made a video tape that was broadcast __ in fact I made it in 1979 with my old friend John Pippus __ On some television show on cable __

it was called

WATCH THOSE GESTURES


its about 12 minutes max

it's me walking along some spot
a sort of edge as I walk toward the camera
it jumps two three maybe five times
bouncing me around toward the viewer
in synch sort of with this poem
I was reading
called All the Other Reeds .

Beats beats beats

All the other reeds lie down the street.

I am wearing a sort of blue raincoat
I look a bit down and out.

but not.
later that week we got very drunk
if we were not already very hung-over.

Drinking drunk and Poetry
in them days was commonplace
it was received opinion
you could say.

So many poets have alcoholic fathers __ in Canada. I remember P Lane telling me about all the poets whose fathers were alcoholic.
He forgot to note that so many poets are already alcoholic daddy or not.

But alcoholic or not,
there is a wound and lest the wound
become resentment
, let me call on Jean Genet



Beauty has no other origin than the singular wound, different in every case, which each man bears in himself, which he preserves, and into which he withdraws when he would quit the world for a temporary but authentic solitude.

From Genet's essay about Giacometti . Eng. Trans. 310 Selected Writings of Jean Genet

.

So why then call poetry a way of life,
it is more and less.
It is a way, a way of being, a situating in the world, a tilt of the head the heart, an angle.







2005/07/18

the

it deepens with each 'bad' poem written. the sickness of resentment , disguised , very well disguised as happiness, even as contenment . thi s is the way of the world . as Nietzsche unraveled its .

poetry of the mass pedlars

-- the case of joyce and his daughter

a.l.p and the one daughter of H.C.E.


I add this image not for causitive reasons but

juxtapos\ed













tell me tale of ___

2005/07/17

ah !anyhhow

anyhow Im not good at talkin about this. I prefer doing it. expository prose or talk is for the birds.

for the birds is funny
for the birds the birds and the bees the zoos and yer hand like a spoon inside a ditch a dithyramb of forests pikes and fir trees


where does that line end and begin? think of Whitman's vast lines, the

sweep of them

I mean

I mean think of the beats in a song like Mirror Man by Captain Beefheart. That is pretty way outt. there. when I was a kid, an d listened to Hendrix a lot, the rhythms I was interested were those.... Combinations and combinatories of rhythms as opposed to fancy effects.

the lyrics in the Beefheart song are deceptive in terms of simplicty but the music is a tide that washes over ya. the voice or really the voices in the fictions do a Dozen. Meaning they do a dozen or more. Our voices, as such , have been taken from us. That is why Artaud interests me with his schizophrenize. One has to wrench the language to make it light.

a paradox of rhythms.. all devices are usuable. Anything that works is possible.
unlike the imperialisms of the new poetics .

the measure

The ear the ear The EaR is all... the EaR EyE


I’ve never heard metrics in terms of feet. You know, on and off, weak and strong, in regulated patterns. I think of a whole phrase, no matter how long. And I think of what they call ‘tala’ in Indian classical music, which may be a sequence of as many as eighteen variously accented beats, which gets repeated as a unit to improvise on. Clark Coolidge


interesting to know what his ears hear... i am not that familiar with Clark Coolidge's work... how does one hear? many sides. but to me this is interesting because I think in terms of beats beats some strong and weak and others between but it is the idea of many, of long ones. I am not aware of talas are.

"Deleuzoguattarian Fiction machine" is how Aren Azura describes the fiction blogs. And how on earth do I line those?

Ive gone back to something but not sure what. rhythms . images of broke . other matters .

but "the voice" pours out. I ask: But whose Voice?

2005/07/16

Love

Still capture from a film _ POetry as cinema head collage



Got yer head iN a tizzy???






Montage of strange space __


mountain of desire climbs
outreach bodies
out of reach
each
a dare of impossible
the elephant man
the enunuch
the nun
the spare part imposs'ible
le freak
lesbiennes d'acid


tape cuts
fresh cut
cock cut
cock brush
cock burn
love shad
shed flies
she'd fly


de

2005/07/15

Celestial Timepiece : A Joyce Carol Oates Home Page

Celestial Timepiece : A Joyce Carol Oates Home Page



"We tend to think we are good people and that we have God on our side. But the other nations think they are good people and that they have God on their side. It’s just the way the human species is constructed, to be very myopic. Each person thinks he is the center of everything else."
Joyce Carol Oates _ for the text of the interview Robert Birnbaum follow the link in the title of this posting.





"The Internet is very much verbal. You have to be able to type. To me that is very surprising....There must be many, many millions of people who can’t use the Internet because they are not literate. Maybe our culture is dividing into two—the internet culture and then other people."







2005/07/14

typewriter|keyboard | lover man




it's the bus pass of my heart
I love you I miss you I 'll never forget you
this is only the first poem I promise


these are the last lines of a book
I wrote Blue Dog Plus

conjugation's

  • One potatoe 2. potatoe 3. potatoe For

2005/07/13

Wings of Desire / Wim Wenders - The Official Site


____________________________________________________________


























Cassiel the Angel with Old Man Homer, the poet who recites the poem by Peter Handke





Wings of Desire / Wim Wenders - The Official Site



The image is of Bruno Ganz as he meditates on the city of Berlin before he has chosen to become human.



(Some of this was later picked in Omeros the poem by Derek Walcott)



__ This text is the one spoken by the narrator as one of the angels walks the city of Berlin with the old man who is , it turns out, Homer _ .


Song of Childhood
By Peter Handke


When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.

When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.

When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.

When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?

When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.

When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.

It had visualized a clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.

When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.

When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.

When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.

When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today.
__________



Ganz, the meditating angel after he's become human, and had his first coffee, coughed over his first cigarette .


















_______________________When I was in Berlin I  walked along  that same patth  but I gotta say it's  a strange place of consciousness Berlin is it's hard to read as I imagine it was hard to read back then and back even earlier in the 30's._________________________

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

2005/07/10

Wings of Desire by way of the bloggers cuts
Collage Cuts Coupures

Collage Cuts Clifford Duffy

il paradiso dei calzini

viTa da...equi(LIBRI)sta
http://dannata.blog.supereva.it/
La mia vita e' sempre perennemente appesa ad un filo di rasoio...
ad una lametta bollente che oscilla tra la vita e la morte
ondeggia tra i balenanti umori e la passioni vissute in ardente desiderio di volere....
la vita mia è attanagliata ad essa stessa
ed essa stessa mi stringe sui fianchi
di modo che non possa mai sfuggirle..
rapisce i miei sensi e stordisce la mia pace
già in precario equilibrio mentale


decollo verso..la morte o la sopravvivenza stessa della lametta
....questa non e' infelicita' ne disperazione
è cosciente consapevolezza del mio rapporto con la vita
....e con i fili.....
mi piace l'idea di sospensione......
leggera..
l'idea del vacillo...del pericolo,
l'idea del gioco...
di equilibrista illuso....
o disilluso da se stesso....
mi piace vivere così se così non fosse,
mi sarei già lanciata di sotto...
di dannataofelia at

two ||Ali: Fear Eats The Soul|FassBinder

___ Fassbinder brings us the satisfaction of death, the rattling snake at our foreheads. And our desire for it, for death, and self-destruction. But there is more, the expression of moments, o f this and that. and I wont say because I cant
Id smear the words in inexpression






the Poetry of Cinema __ it is a commonplace, but one nevertheless which is valuable. Deleuze describes the history of 20th century as a long martyrology.








The Criterion Collection: Ali: Fear Eats the Soul



Directed By: Rainer Werner Fassbinder
Starring: Brigitte Mira, El Hedi Ben Salem, Barbara Valentin, Irm Hermann, Elma Karlowa, Anita Bucher, Gusti Kreissl, Doris Mattes


Fassbinder: The Life and Work of a Provocative Genius


horsechamp

HERE


Rainer Werner Fassbinder died in 1982 at the age of 37, shortly after having completed his final film Querelle, adapted from Jean Genet's Querelle de Brest. Upon completing Christian Braad Thomsen's book, the reader will wonder at which point Fassbinder, who divided his time between the cinema and theatre as director, screenwriter, producer, and actor, lived but for his art. Seen this way, Fassbinder's career becomes one long passion, in the religious sense of the term. The insatiable need to create appears like a pathology of exuberant creation and suffering, which he inflicted not only on himself but on his many collaborators, which accounts for the theme of masochism which recurs throughout all his work. What Fassbinder accomplished in such a relatively short time is simply stupendous, and it is highly unlikely for a contemporary artist to aspire to be as prolific. As Thomsen remarks:The speed at which Fassbinder worked and his workaholism must be unique in film history. Directors usually manage, at most, a feature film every two years; Fassbinder rarely made less than four films a year, always based on his original ideas. Only rarely did he enlist the help of others for a script. He made 33 feature films for cinema and TV, fourtelevision series (consisting of a total of 23 episodes) and four feature-length video films, which makes a total of 60 individual units for film and television within the space of thirteen years. On top of that, Fassbinder wrote or directed 30 plays for the stage and four for the Radio. As an actor, he appeared in a large number of his own films, as well as in 12 films by other directors, four times in the lead role. From the start, he was his own producer and only when his films were more successful commercially was he able to hire out"

t.v. dinner

.


t.v. dinner is for sinners


sinners of the american way

not a day
goes by
without your t.v. dinner.
your t.v. diner.



the way


was pure joy back then



why not tangle the desires of the rhizome . making clicks where clacks.



.

2005/07/07

Ahhm SuchA PrEtte MonSter

`



POetry will Be made by everyone or by No One.
Dufters erlaineimbaudboyo
AlmOst Doctor
THat LiteralIsm of the Imagination I call Poetry
THat LiteralIsm of the Imagination I call Poetry
from the great depthSZz of MY InTellECTual Heights

I wanna say
MY Favorrite AuTEUR
is Jilly J and ShRouD EVee
and I LoVe U All
'nd I stare at the Nave
all Day
Ravin For the TraIn
and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night
Im suCH a Monster
A porourS Perty Pretty Monster
I give a roar and
Rant at
AlL THe Ones I Like
So U gotta See
Im STubBorn
as a Mule
But Ok
as a Thule
when IM NiCer 'n a LamB

in wool nicer' an a lamb in Wool
White wool and Ah Pull
like a Black sheep
a big bo beep a big black
Lamb of the god
im a N Old HIppy anD a NEW Poet
ripping rarIng to go
to CoNneCt with U so W
we
gottA Flow
In the KNow
Of yer BoU
n' ye R Zen
Ben ADam And EVe

an'thEn We

ShaLL Be FRee

from the great depthSZz of MY InTellECTual Heights
I wanna say
MY Favorrite AuTEUR
is Jilly J and ShRouD EVee
and I LoVe U All
'nd I stare at the Nave
all Day
Ravin For the TraIn
and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night
Im suCH a Monster
A porourS Perty Pretty Monster
I give a roar and
Rant at AlL THe Ones I Like
So U gotta See
Im STubBorn
as a Mule
But Ok

as a Thule
when IM NiCer 'n a LamB


im a N Old HIppy anD a NEW Poet
ripping rarIng to go
to CoNneCt with U so W
we
gottA Flow
In the KNow
Of yer BoU
n' ye R Zen
Ben ADam And EVe

an'thEn We

ShaLL Be FRee

WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios Factory
Im a sacker Monster
In My Big
m such a Monster Monster
Im such a Monster Monster
I sack all My FRIEnds and Scare'em away
Im a sacker Monster
In My Big Bad Cave
And I stare at the Nave
all Day
sack all My FRIEnds and Scare'em away
Im a sacker Monster
In My Big Bad Cave
And I stare at the Nave
all Day
Ravin For the TraIn
and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night
Im suCH a Monster
A porour Perty Pretty Monster
I See
Im STubBorn
as a Mule
But Ok
as a Thule
when IM NiCer 'n a LamB

from the great depthSZz of MY InTellECTual Heights
I wanna say
MY Favorrite AuTEUR
is SHrOUd uD ADam Dada
anoVe U All U all Too Two U almethenU

stare at the Nave
all Day
Ravin For the TraIn
and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night
Im suCH a Monster
A porour Perty Pretty Monster
Liive
a roar and
sacker Monster
In My Big Bad Cave

stare at the Nave
all Day
sack all My FRIEnds and Scare'em awaysacker Monster
In My Big Bad Cave

And You stare at the Nave
all Day
sack all My FRIEnds and Scare'em away
Im a sacker Monster
In My Big Tent
m such a Monster Monster

Im such a Monster Monster I sack all My FRIEnds and Scare'em away
Im a sacker Monster In My Big Bad Cave And I stare at the Nave all Day sack all My FRIEnds and Scare'em away I a sacker Monster Ig Bad CaveAI stare at the Nav Day
'avin For the TraIn and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night Im suCH a Monster A porour Perty Pretty Monster I give a roar and
Rant at AlL THe Ones I Like o U gotta See Im STubBorn
as a Mule But Ok as a Thule when IM NiCer 'n a LamBTHat LiteralIsm of the Imagination I call Poetry

from the great depthSZz of MY InTellECTual Heights

I wanna say
MY Favorrite AuTEUR
is Jilly J and ShRouD EVee
and I LoVe U All
'nd I stare at the Nave
all Day
Ravin For the TraIn
and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night
Im suCH a Monster
A porourS Perty Pretty Monster
I give a roar and
Rant at
AlL THe Ones I Like
So U gotta See
Im STubBorn
as a Mule
But Ok
as a Thule
when IM NiCer 'n a LamB


im a N Old HIppy anD a NEW Poet
ripping rarIng to go
to CoNneCt with U so W
we
gottA Flow
In the KNow
Of yer BoU
n' see HIm HIDe

ADam And EVe
an'thEn We
ShaLL Be FRee
See
See ?

See Jack RidE see HIm HIDe

ADam And EVe
an'thEn We

ShaLL Be FRee

See
See ?

See Jack RidE see HIm HIDeye R Zen
Ben ADam And EVe

an'thEn We

ShaLL Be FRee

See
See ?
See Jack RidE see HIm HIDe

ADam And EVe
an'thEn We

Shstrong>
Recall the line that what Maldoror Lautremont said and which Breton Loved TO Quote
POetry will Be made by everyone or by No One.

Drlaine

AlmOst Doctor
WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios Factory
Recall the line that what Maldoror Lautremont said and which Breton Loved TO QuotePOetry will Be made by everyone or by No One.

DuffSAlmOst Doctor
WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios aLL Be FRee

See
See ?

See Jack RidE see HIm HIDe


A And E
an'thEn We

ShaLL Be FRee
See
See ?
See Jack RidE see
ters Verlaine


AlmOst Doctor
WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios aLL Be FRee

See
See ?

See Jack RidE see HIm HIDe


Dam then Ve
an'thEn We

ShaLL Be FRee

See
See ?

See Jack RidE see HIm HIDe


Recall the line that what Maldoror Lautremont saidich Breton Loved TO Wruote
POetry will Be made by everyone or by No One By Everyone and Not No One
Recall the line that what Maldoror Lautremont said and which Breton Loved Too Quote
POetry will Be made by everyone or by No One No One No One No One

DuffSters VerlaineAlmOst Doctor
WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios Factory

Im a sacker Monster
In My Big
m such a Monster Monster

Im such a Monster Monster

I sack all My enemies andfriends Scare's 'em Away!
Im a sacker Monster
In My Big Bad Cave like a slave
they call me Grundel GrunDel and
I am a Bundle a BUNdle

And I stare at the Nave
all Day
sack all My FRIEnds and Scare'em away
Im a sackeR sacre montsAH
In My Big Bad Cave


And I stare at the Nave
all Day
Ravin For the TraIn
and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night

Im suCH a Monster
A porour Perty Pretty Monster
I give a roar and
Rant at AlL THe Ones I Like
So U gotta See
Im STubBorn
as a Mule
But Ok
as a Thule
when IM NiCer 'n a LamB

from the great depthSZz of MY InTellECTual Heights

I wanna say
MY Favorrite AuTEUR
is aMEsrthesame allegory and ShRouD ADamEve's mystery

and I guffoVe U All


And I stare at the Nave
all Day
Ravin For the TraIn
and DOn Give A Hoot sometimes
for day and Night
Im suCH a
Monster
A porour Perty Pretty Monster
I give a roar and and and and at Yer DooR
Rant at AlL THe Ones I Like a tike in your nose
So U gotta See so its simpler than a rose
Im STubBorn
as a Mule
But Ok
as a Thule
when IM NiCer 'n a LamB
im a N Old HIppy anD a NEW Poet
ripping rarIng to go
to CoNneCt with U so WWee
gottA ow
In the KNow
Of yer BoU
n' ye R Zen
Ben ADam And EVe
an'thEn We

ee HIm
HIDe


Dam And Ve
an'thEn We

ShaLL Be FRee

See
See ?

See Jack RidE see HIm HIDe
ADam And EVe
an'thEn We
ShaLL Be FRee
See
See ?

See Jack RidE see HIm HIDe




Recall the line that what Maldoror Lautremont said and which Breton Loved TO Quote
POetry
will Be made by everyone or by No One.
Durlaine ecall the lMaldoror Lautremont said and which Breton Loved TO unyerQuoteOetry will Be made by everyone or by No One.
DuffSters VerlainelmOst Doctor
WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios Factory

RecalAlmOst Doctor
WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios Factory
the line that what Maldoror Lautremont said and which Breton Loved TO Quote
POetry will Be made by everyone or by No One.
AlmOst Doctor
WorkEr In the PoetIc UNCOnScios Factory



`

Mix the page and the lover`s discourse

`


There was Mona mixing and molding her buttocks of the day the shy squeak of desire . Over the oceans and nights.


Eve Laramee wrote that Roland Barthes: wrote
words mix the page and the lover's discourse across the taste of lips in
webbing words made song
Duffy wrote
A sidereal order of movement toward the discursive moment. It appeals to each reader/viewer differently. How easy to lift the moment from its page Barthes remix

Sjoukje van der Meulen is
Looking forward to your comments,
FROM FILMSTILL TO SAMPLE//// Breath By GOdard Or say MIRACLE OF THE
LILAC
(.....TO BARTHES "A Lover's Discourse")
A Lover;s inter-Curse. Will rich Lovers never Die?
Will Lovers ever Love as they distance the page of each moment?
sensitive thought delicate thought as it preens the page.
about (Roland Barthes) own
taste Barthe had no taste for the labour of love except as it was
hidden and that made him noble in his way;
for the discourse of Lovers, a Discourse about bodies melt
a tender kiss of distance and tactile cementing of unknown selves in the
loneliness of the universe fundamental question about the essence
(of)
"The amorous catastrophe" There is no more depth only Surface.:
(which has been called in the)
psychotic domain, an 'extreme situation'
flux or mobility Desire Is desirable. I would prefer
a Beautiful aristocratic bitch to a dead Sign.
A body unfolds as theDay of desire . Schizoprhenia is a Virus.

I mispell the drawers of the Brain and find the

THe Court of the Lovers where the Lady Says I will the Man
says I die.
a permutational unfolding
still,
a theory is desirable.
"Bring your lips to mine" Bring your hips to me
so that out of my mouth -- so out of my sex its river
my soul may pass into yours & my Sex pass to
yours
lay bare 'the inside of the fragment', a fragment of lover's lips
over Time space and an Ether where Two have not
Met.
'the internal' No more internal nor External but a line of flight
(is not a fragment) a part that is whole to itself no more fragments.
'chemically...' belonging belong to the chemical of love the
molecule of your hand body over me in space over ether I Love you
I have no skin I am the body without organs, the body with Disease
(except for caresses) Caresses of eyes which kill and harpoon my sex

then yours as we never Meet here.
whose existence exceeds the fragment'. whose essence is stochastic
still one can not say, ecstatic Still as bodies
Barthes concludes, One can Say:
the...instant and the movement the dance and light wisp
permutational play ever folding Ever ravelling
étorché / flayed Fourvoyer/ Lost
I am rendered vulnerable,I am rendered in your Arms
defended by your Touch --defenseless to the slightest injury
Stronger than before Than ever She holds Him to the Close Spot
and the aleatory combination, and no chance resists it.
that should be theorized that is contemplated by her eyes
"I love you" I Love you She Said I Love you Her Eyes.
has no meaning whatever; all Plenum and Full Full Plenty of laden lips
of Harbinger Meaning
it merely repeats the it repeats, repeals with Mystery not code
enigmatic code, But gesture and ritual
the slight differences, I was hungry and went on a fast
the alteration, variation, And your body changed
permutational calculations(.) One delciate limber unthinkable
It comes out of language, It comes comes with song your lips lapse
it divagates---where? it divines the veering of your lips
guided taken by the pilot of her Kiss
by mysterious mathematical algorithms. My body changed.
on the basis of a sample, A Number that could not dance
So I accede, simple as the beat of your distance walking
fitfully, over mine in the mirage away In Fits
variants A word with noun held stands and smiling verbs as she moved
her bright arms and to a language without
adjectives. (... even at the speed of a virus) At the speed of a
Seedling
"When my finger accidentally..." "Our fingers wore rings which bumped
contacts Omthe bus when you bent over when she bent and He
any interior discourse did too Any exterior intercoursing.
stilled and accelerated (it) Movement song Urn still Dance
(makes me believe that) it MAkes me See hear which "I.D." working
Desire Then Lovers Spill one another....
has become necessary to think possible to Feel again
"a fever of language... the heat of flesh words and Books dream
a parade of reasons..."
the basic material, like the ** A parade of opulent naked
ones. As in your breath Her breath My Breath. She signed: Breath.
filmstill for film, Still after Cinema Mermaid Naaid.
in the hands of a IN her feet which discoursed as the lover's foot
Lover In the Romeo Juliet kisser Kiss kiss.
permutates and plays. Plays with the counting and multiplying.
Sampling...a sampler is someone Tasting.. a taster is one who
who collects disseminates not collecting and Idea but the body
"Every object touched MOments of mentations and every Subject
touched Felt and caressed and rubbed pulled In to Her/Him.
by the loved being's body" the Beloved Kiss as the Body spoke
mixing, morphing and/or deforming them, mingled. Forming/reforming
pitching...up and down, and Picking Reels the sediment of it. It.
rendering them into something Picking her render me up into the down
...hardly crossing voice of her sexing me. Hardly a
breath hardly a pulse hardly seen hardly tapped hardly heard
hardly known ... there now. See. Seen Now. In the

Cd editing and Citing and cuttin' and intercutting Cd and Eve Laramee

2005/07/05

poems et machines desires

/poems/et machines/desires/
some might this text interesting... I wrote it someweeks back...
... find this interesting//... was just re-reading interviews .../
Brion Gysin. His inter-view talks with Terry Wilson in -Here To Go Planet
R-101. He says: Who said and taught that poets should think? - they should
sing. He discuses the permutation generated imagery he was making with the
assistance of his friend Ian Sinclair. Long scrolls of repetitive/variants
spat out by 'writing-machine' programmes. perhaps one can see this as a
desire machine; if a machine makes a poem, it is however only because,
as William Burroughs states in the Third Mind, someone has made a choice.
In other words, there no fear that machines will make poetry. Machines
have no will as of yet. But machines do cooperate with us - is more like
the idea of making machines generate desire,, with desire there is
(But on the Other Hand - There is No fear that poets 'will' make poetry.
Hu,ans have no 'will as of yet. But humans do cooperate. Humming wires
machine parts mixed with the cement [donne] of consciousness], the
chemistry of parole [tzara] and the verb of linkage.)
volition, and with that combination one could say that machines 'make'
poetry, or rather that something Between human beings and the machine
makes a poem. After all//the unconscious is a factory as deleuze and
guattari
point out, and so one is dealing with production./: thus Labour of
unconscious produces/seduces poem -replaced Muse.. Muse machine
factory/olfactory desire works.. and days of hands and nights.
That 'something between,' as far as this 'I' can tell is perhaps
nodifferent from what has always occured when a poem is written. We speak
of a poem being 'written' and saying this in the passive voice, at least
as faras English goes, would indicate a passivity at work. Being passive
before the machine oflanguage; the Muse was a type of machine - metaphor
or fact?? - where does one draw the line between actual and metaphor
between these fine lines, within these realms where biology, chemistry and
metaphor would seem to integrate into new domains? The 'inspired'poet is
also an instrument, and thus she is also part of a machine. If a machine
is defined as phylum and cuts across sectors of experience which include
the egoic, the social , the historic and onwards to the cosmic then one
can easily imagine that machines write poetry. What is poetry after all?
We know it is not something personal, although it is 'generated' by
people. 'Language speaks itself through us' and we ' words which ride the
glazed look of the dead' so how can we not see that indeed we are
machines? I suggest [following deleuze and guattari's ideas] that we
re-interpret our notions of machines, and recall that a machine is simply
an assembly of parts that work more or less in some order that it is
productive and that there is labour involved. Thus the poet is one part of
a labour process, more or less voluntarily inscripted into a work
force....
With reference to Mallarm'e statement that poetry is made of words, well
this is interesting, but it refers to only one aspect of the machine
ie. the
words themselves....the words are parts but no more or less important than
what surrounds them.. Every poet knows this who writes, and knows the
disaster of silence which can greet her words...
... Poetry is made of silences, and words and bodies and air and night and sky and between the spaces which
these events generate.
And the disaster can also be a celebration as in Whitman
and others... O'Hara... and his Second Avenues and Lunch Poems..../
Or the cries of Artaud and the betweens of Celan. Hearing his
voice one knows there is a poem there a voice body cry which speaks past
the machine's hesitant desire to become, to become human/becoming-machines
of desire/where desire can let itself plug into spaces between the
semiotic-technical/social machines... the writing machine of Kafka.
Acker's cut-ups and re-writes of '"others"' memories, Burroughs' cutinand
foldouts..../ Gravity's Rainbow.
[[ Each voice is a point of view a place of departure. No exposition of
poetry can speak its words]]
[All prose poetry is a comment on poetry -- Bloom] [All commnets
are parts of a whole that never was --- all machines are lovers we never
re-cog--nize -- An essay which sings?? Ah, yes the mermaids call eachto
each as 'the gramaphone of 'the']
Poetry is also a way of living - Tzara
That literalism of the imagination I call poetry
I M A G I N A T I O N
the word which all of Us Dream
Literal imaginations
Imagined Literalisms
Thedesire machines connect at all levels. All this machine speaks
mail emal the timbre of its softness tuning...



this text written in 1999

2005/07/04

the poultreeeeeeeeeeee

hard on luxe Posted by Picasa
har d on LuXe

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ the poultry of frustration

i am

i am in my ghost she said
whispered to my ears

2005/07/03

this tenderness such a smile| Collage streak

something about god and love
and other fragments


this sort of beauty is "Giselle" her beauty when
she dresses in black and
afterwards she is naked before
see how she sighs

her sigh

is breast to me

"Giselle" whose name rhymes with belle _

whose name rhymed with nothing
refusal
reflection Park Avenue
Ariel her son
the blonde kid
and she
said to me

that I should come over
watch a video

after the storm

and so

so her black pants and artist's blouse
made a very nice match
but it was cancelled
the video veil broke down

some other time
when cummberbunds sang their song

This accumulation



an expose of image constructs? a taping of ends a sidewise

swipe


reading from the side


as Genet perceives according to Sartre \ but what are desires anyhow?

cheesy romantic as it were...


for the corrected versions of romantic verses pastoral dandies

jinx and high jinks

2005/07/02

this accumulation




an expose of image constructs? a taping of ends a sidewise

swipe


reading from the side


as Genet perceives according to Sartre \ but what are desires anyhow?

Genet lives on the side, or rather I read him from the side. like someone I know who says she loves me, from the


side



.




Dada

'the futurist cries Red!"

Quoted from a poem I wrote in 1976.