how else where else


How else can one write of those things which
one doesn’t know, or knows badly?
It is precisely there that we imagine having something to say.

We write only at the frontiers of our knowledge, at the border
which seperates our knowledge from our ignorance
and transforms the one into the other.

Only in this manner are we resolved to write.
To satisfy ignorance is to put off writing until tomorrow
_ or rather, to make it impossible.

Perhaps writing has a relation to silence
altogether more threatening than that,
which it is supposed to entertain with death .

Deleuze__ Difference and Repetition

everything i s Juxtaposition aleatory

the link to Varese is grand _ Edgar Varese the Father of Electronic Music


exCuse me ?

did you say?

it was Mozart?

or PoetrEe?

was that sound?


supported by self-pitying audiences
suppor the self-pitying public pooper!!

U need new readers

dear these


or no

so named



lets see ther-ese readers will do you more harm than good

remembeR the prob. is TransCeDenCe versUs
ImmaneNce some ducks dont get it

to be good ya gott
abe bad



now its time to eat bread widow window
as we three sat personed as any god
willing the wind and gilded shadows sated
late against altars and bright eyed fowls
where foxes stood and kids brayed
some bad poem to harry the day along
of forts and ravens or hillside pools
and other platitudes that legalize
your contempt for booing and natural
sockets wearing the night away its
called freeing verse that equals its weight in prose
forgetting what to say except a sonnet
keeps it like your only begotten fiddle
a simile of an eye gazing over a hill
swarming the earth
with your bodies and hands

O sometime she is there
standing in the breeze



ligature to crack....signature

a crackling line

time signature

It's Mozart's birthday __ strange notion. haunted concept. a death disappears you
a birth spits one out , not the usual pettiness "thought." twenty questions.
when did Mozart die, when
was he born,
was he Picasso's last cousin?
did he lunch on his way to school? was he a river
bender? did he undestand the semiosis of
chaos? what words of territory did he
pack in his pocket?
was he his body in bed? with whomever he
slept and fuck'd with ? who was hiss
wife's body? was he the sister of the god Moon,
the god Sun?

wAs Mozart the becoming ready-made object, art or otherwise?
who was Mozart
was he '[t]he voice of bird on coral '

Or 'fainted
stands for rain
her allegory of heart strain oboe...'

'the divine Mozart' How cld.there be any other.. . But divine ..
the vine crawling along from heaven
to this earth ...
ears angelic ...

vomiting readin' whats writ about him

Dead at thirty-five ....
get the work done... die...

___john Berryman _ the poet has a line in a poem, and I have never been able to recall which one, he
speaks of Mozart fainting at the age of 12 or so when someone played the trumpet too loud . read that at 18 never forgettting cutting my
ears 3o years plus...

Anyhow the CBC is doing
some good playing his music even though they dont understand it or what Mozart was or means...Mozart was a machine-man...

Mozart desire machine man :click click click not some
sentimental paranoid

not a whore this musican...


Bloggers of Mozart

the grand One
not Canadian
not even Austrian
not a

"A bit of real Mozart scribbling... "Se vuol ballare Signor Contino.. If you want to dance Mr Count... from an ariasung by Figaro (the Marraige of Figaro) ...displayed in Vienna at the "Figaro House", an apartment at the Domgasse where Mozart lived for three years."

there's a so-called Grade B Version of a Mozart film made by this guy I really cant remember his name or the name of the movie. it was about, his Mozart's death, and "showed" it seemed to me, at the time,
more of the actual event of Mozart....the Event of this force...
not this cultural appendege he's become for concert halls... radio concerts.. take him out of there... Please Listeners... move him to deserts, to alleys.. hospital wards...graveyards... jungles... where bodies lie in wait to resurrect...

what is it when Mozart is played to distinguised guests? distinguished? by what or whom? some formal wear, in a semi private institutional whore hall of the classes that define culture... culture?
play him in cancer wards... foodbanks welfare recipients... the shame of culture...or visit his music to the great gulags... mix and meet... the deaths of the world to bring , Mouth to Life.
but not even this. Nothing.

Play him to the Artic.

"Raise your ass to your mouth...ah, my ass burns like fire, but what can be the meaning of that? Perhaps a turd wants to come out...Yes, yes, turd, I know you, I see you, I feel you. What is this _ is such a thing possible?" such a gem found in A/O 325 'Having come of age, he found the means of concealing his divine essence, by indulging in scat(!)ological amusements' the God Mozart

Picture Artaud as Mozart... the hands the crazy glaring eyes...
before and after the beauty ...

Maybe only Glenn Gould understood Mozart for the last 75 years... perhaps only his ears could Hear him... and play..

Notes flying in the air
that cannot breath cannot be breathe d


besides that we get sick of him too. his operas. sweet felt deaths. lets not over do this endless sickening. those tinkling piano keys in the Magic Flute __nauseating . at times. Tink tink tink! And that yodeliing over some faint love by some German . going on and on. sorrow filled wakes to delight audiences for 250 years. How tiring.


the ears break.

The Divine Mozart becomes a motor-mouth.

Motor mouth Mozart.

Comedy in order here

Ladies and Gentlemen.

No one understands any of this. Chaos. Symphony . Piano sonatas. F major Sonata.

Comely Comedy in order



Ibsen Year 2006.. And so

It's Ibsen year this year... how interesting... let's see.. the
young James Joyce taught himself Norwegian at 17 so
he cld. read Henrik in the original.. he also wrote him a letter, and even received a reply... a letter Joyce no doubt cherished...

Denmark Sweden Norway ... the country of Ibsen's imagination and work... Joyce also had this idea that Ibsen was a better dramatist than Shakespeare..

the external link is to the Official Norway Ibsen site in Canada... well... there you go a strange kind of poetry as
drama but Joyce is strange too.. spooky to say this about Ibsen... the Doll's House... oh we cld. speak of Strindberg too.. a much crazier dramatist.. Or the author of Lenz ... and other shorts... So many dramatists of life and death on and off the stage on and off the telephone off and on the demigods
of the medium those who imagine they see and dont... .. as for I

well cant say I am a fan to old Ibsen... but

its nice to nice to a fmaous artist,
imagine saying that 'its nice to be nice to a famous artist!'

But we really ought to forget the crazy
dramatists and writers like

with his Lenz
his Leonce and Lena

funny about that word Lenz Lens. I wrote a poem way back when in 85 about the suffering I was undergoing over Susan _ I performed it with my then poetry ensemble Nietzsche's Daughter... back then on St. Lawrence boulevard... back then .. where is back then Lens? that poem was a lover's lust song, a rejection song, a dead body song, an inarticulate ...ticulate
it's a bit like deterritorialize reterritorialize... .. later there were more and she and I came and went back and forth together again ... then not then yes, then knot knotting.. not knot so many ... love love's Not and Knot....

and so many others
you never heard of ... so
many unofficial sites of iNiVisible DiViISibbbbbblllleeee

escaping in the mircrodot night
the white out night
the whited out spaced out night of what is the not known famous...

the infamous the notorious.. the fame of great criminals....

the fame and game of great debt...
the tradition of debt.. goin back far farther forever....