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2010/07/31

Jacky and the lunatic slaves




                 Jacky and the                                      
                                                                                                                                                                                             
A poem coming soon. To a theater near you. 
Theater of the real. fiction adds to quantum of                                                                                   reality. reality as addable 
pliable thing. making measure to the things you love




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2010/07/29

wanted






I

 
 
welcome




you
















2010/07/27

quite close







  CD : this is quote funny as it evades the pioneer completely. oComplete.
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is this your brain violin and trumpet. strange string of stranded up bass. bassoon clogs its throat. but an opera of this sort dazzles mind opening soul broadening heart_ crackling the pail gust of sentiment unlatching the pale face existence  clattering along its submarine  fault-line . this way we free the notas of fine arts. bit by bit resuming positive parities O poles of remittance along its strong clambered pelf.





none say they know the hiss this garden mist ganders the place. unexpected juxtaposted your self blandish rempli along a  pasted 


hug hunger acts the butterfly's part. Some suspect this is the One. but we shan't say over our hissy wrath, the path of return its banking feet.  Some You suggestering  thinking dictation. Dictator not the misery gamin. Come along ford these beckons wont hope pace.


But wont space cow the prize mule on the sop grand standing?  go along you geese  here and her.


If what's reel is gesturing it far goes un autre direction des vers  ~ ______________________













2010/07/26

almost


______________________




Bingo!


it's almost that time


  8





_________________________




2010/07/22






Monsieur Map   ~___________________


A map canIt can be drawn on a wall, conceived of as a work of art, constructed as a political action or as a meditation 


be torn, reversed, adapted to any kind of mounting, reworked by an individual, group, or social formation


                                                       Thousand Plateaus_________________ p. 12 






2010/07/19

return of fouIst









the mother of motel fouism know a word is not property proop poop prop or etym of morpheme and phoneme. not power trip of . game artist. body without organs claims i am a fouist spy. I am all things to ALl Eyess Including you







in thos 'hour you got a foot in the gate



a text flowing ever flowing cutting butting





dont hold yer idea too much





for some a name is just place departures






sweat night




will it be your lovers as it stands down the sun  her body song, bawdy bad buttocks roll in their stroll -- her sweat peals to  mouth lip of upper lip sweat in the levantine sun oh the jiggle of the breast as it tops the day 


naked heart beat pounds across the desire machine that`s your heart 


Forgotten to write of thing across mouths and sand 
now your night vase is a stand over fortune and day






like memory you think of it the sanded wordless checker in the petulant sun maker and mocker as it rattles your cage fit for a road and royal pardon the only one weakened by bets and rallies the false flask of pairs 


and like this you always turn by the crest a word in your hand man with a tooth comb switch guess rope of hangar desire her back limbering sent by battalions and momentary slips elapsed in the meal hovering between the beats of your life mortal and immortal you stare other days you are goaded by the wax metaphysical 


shade of dowries conflated by a wheel held by a lair stuttering along the sidewalk ringing in your notes not classic in its disappointment but rueful in its borderline a perfect nose causing craniums to think fright to flee 


disappointment to break not laced by the additives your fortune bares to the sky its firmament a local lust trapped in place standing stepped in that repeated pace



guerdon and the kettle open their heart mamba man makes his peace a drug store bottle composed of light look there he goes the guerite able at her post switched the swathe of pronoun little sockets hod hold the train 


your emotives win the moment run into your nick foul as the storm at her shelter

the sublunar light


___________________________

__________________________this 'digital' collages and artworks are almost childish... the collages we did that i did in the 70's were gigantic and contained hundreds of bits, of element| I can never be persuaded that the internet is a visual medium. It is a textual and musical and but it is not for the visual as such, as painting, a s collage. it has no texture and can not have any ever .. it would have to become upside down or something. in the meantime it is a fantastic textual medium ` writing on blogs is like writing in longhand....









rites of ... face, passage, glue on , earth


oVer every cabinet _ machines . the fire of earth works. body her body dance.
spatter . colle






.

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The artist and the writer are working without rules in order to formulate the rules of what will have been done. 
Hence the fact that work and text have the character of an event; hence also, they always come too late for their author,


or, what amounts to the same thing, their being put into work, their realization always begins too soon.

Post modern would have to be understood according to the paradox of the future (post) anterior (modo).





The sublime feeling is neither moral universality nor aesthetic universalization, but is, rather, the destruction of one by the other in the violence of their differend.

This differend cannot demand, even subjectively, to be communicated to all thought.' –














2010/07/17

un livre


________________________

I sent you a book. Un livre de poésie ~ ça doivent arrive Lundi ou Mardi C'est un livre, un cadeaux que j'avais acheté pour toi, comme un cadeaux pour ta fête, et aussi quelque chose de dire hello hello....

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2010/07/12

The What Four

I just saw The What Four,a jamboree of a band whose membership seemed to shape and shift . Right there on Stage.. and whose range consists of 70 years and older! . An interesting and eclectic gathering of two guitar, bango, voice, steel guitar, stand-up bass and for three of the numbers two youngers singers. And as it turned it was the bango player's daughter.

John Knowles opened with a cooler than breeze low voice, almost hinting of growl, into a shady and old time blue grass number. He led the


A solo singer




One of the MCgarrigle sisters played steel guitar

Andrew on guitar and blues songs Cool clear water.
Steven Barry on stand up bass

2010/07/11

molecular


.




you were , or are changed about mister monsieur __r__?


i knew all along supporting molar politics is a waste
it was fun
if it lasted
however molecules don't stand up for molars

______ and their  'party' are not a party but a molar haphazard conspiracy

____________________



.





2010/07/09

At Oxford with the word daze




One of the senses of daze  construed by  Oxford dictionary...    But what hoolyhaw a dictionary is... that garbled rapture to crackles and looms in its precipatant  Worlds of crevassed span and cherished belief.        Clamber roust and gamble on the boards                its relief.




1529 SKELTON Ph. Sparowe 1103


She made me sore amased Vpon her when I gased..
My eyne were so dased.


1570 B. GOOGE Pop. Kingd. I. (1880)

11 They are but trumprye and deceytes, to daze the foolish eies.  



1631 HEYWOOD Fair Maid of West II. I. Wks. 1874 II. 

352 To daze all eyes that shall behold her state.  



1847 TENNYSON Princ. v. 11



The sudden light Dazed me half-blind. 








1864 SKEAT Uhland's Poems 

152 Shall earthly splendour that strong eyesight daze?


____________________


to be_____________ & to fictionalize

 ------------------ most of my writing these days is at the fiction blogs/  

radio deleuze, and the others   ~.as the writing is an un autre. 

fictiondiction|drew of machine goining on and on groined by the   architecture of its place ~  .
------------------------------------------------

to a writer the subject of your love must be greater than your grief

this tallies up with what Genet said 

To understand the world at all


you must get rid of resentment completely. _____________________ 






each of us follows the track of our strongest necessity,

                        and our highest promise.

                        even at the cost of personal humiliation and perceived failure. ___

for the writer of fiction there is no failure

/thus failure
is a delire
created by others___________________________



2010/07/06

a conversation

 ------------------------






that's it my life's a conversation with them that speak.. (and those that don't )  those alive and dead and between




between the works/all of them them there and there


and there/between broke and broke
and not broke/ half there to here


and way to half its half and half-not     `






my life's  a


thought


More of this later


it's hot

o
one thing for sure it's not a capitalist adventure


(gig
rhyme
game
)




(toss
n
turn




in the middle


of night)










____________



 and the day is hot once it renews its . you pick up. pieces. how doe s it falter the win  d       a n                  d  s u  n




                        and the hot river blows


___________





read in g ~

  Blood's A Clover    ~ James Ellroy    ~





Wake: the silver dusk returning
Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
Strands upon the eastern rims.


Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
Trampled to the floor it spanned,
And the tent of night in tatters
Straws the sky-pavilioned land.


Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying:
Hear the drums of morning play;
Hark, the empty highways crying
'Who'll beyond the hills away?'


Towns and countries woo together,
Forelands beacon, belfries call;
Never lad that trod on leather
Lived to feast his heart with all.


Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber
Sunlit pallets never thrive;
Morns abed and daylight slumber
Were not meant for man alive.

Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;

Breath's a ware that will not keep.

Up, lad: when the journey's over

There'll be time enough to sleep.

A. E. Housman poems: A Shropshire Lad
(1859-1936)
"Do you know Prof. Housman's poems? --- No; I supposed not." --- Rupert Brooke

________And there's this website dedicated to Ellroy ~

2010/07/01