turn to it

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Cp________You claimed in this segment ' turn to it ; that That 'no one, except my self, my inward self, was harmed by them. ' Now can you explain this a bit more? You've said you don't hold with the 'inward self' so how then can it be the buttress for the above claim. To wit, if you don't believe in an inward self how is it you refer to it in the above statement.

Duffy falls down with a sore head. He's naked; imagine his cock; he's brought to the cross. It's a red cross.
(O my what strange symbolisms of bustededed allegories twist you reader)

Cp_ it's red .. it could be red. I wonder what red connects to the haphazard yodel of your ass. Wait a minute here what is going on? I 'm changing becoming you. I am not you. I am not read. I am blue. Blue and yellow. I am a dark fauvist coupable coned image hanging.

CDuffy__________ you ask too many questions. So you became me momentarily . A question. what is a question. let me ask you then what were doing in France all of those times traipsing around like a real simile a slut of a machine always wanting me yet never speaking up. Is that how a woman conducts herself in this age of depassement and enunciation self to the death with subjective signifiance?

Cp I never slept with you I was sleeping with others. Women to be precise. Sleeping with you I'd have lost my forte for becomings. You are molar and so you ache with blues, and that makes you a maniac and perhaps it contributes to your poetry. but to sleep with you would entailed entering a molarity wanting to become another molecularity. So you were not welcome but you did come and become a thousand times over. Far more than I ever imagined or foresaw or conceived a man could come. A man's coming this way is a becoming to the other wave of pushing self it its degree of what I am not sure. CDuffy__________ Becoming? me? You are me. CP_ Yes, oui. I am you. I am oui I am you we ~ .

Cduffy_ let's start this line off in the direction of becoming a flea, and ? and then it's a fork in the road of a woman coming. She bears the child of his lust. Not love, lust. Yes plain lust. A good wench carries the infant. of a king. She's raptured by its beauty. it's not beautiful its something tawdry and plain. It's a word. CP__ Come here and hold this mouth of mine. Keep your mouth crossed to mine.

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Performance iNvisble dans une boite `

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