The Arm Bached, Back & The Choral of Repetitions that Ensue

“….the p[h]assions of the Marginalized Life, obscened in the Turning over of Hands, uber Evening & the City Devours toothless isn’t Deep Enough” – Boris Izsus

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In his First Image, He sought to become what was hidden from his own View: The Embodiment of Personal Harmony. But upon Opening his Eyes, it was all, all before him, lacerated on Bached Borders, hidden in his own Impending Sum. & as the rain began, outside the Window, he broke into a Belief of Lack, without Reason

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But in the Second it was, as his Ideal Image was Fading, apparently Hidden by Subsequent Strained Events, the Black Birds began to gather & descend & it appeared they began Cutting into his Cheeks, so he Paused a Moment, to Prosecute the Belly, of it All.

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I have the Sneaking Suspicion, that I am on an EL Train slowly climbing to Hell. The Sluggish Qualities of Man, make it necessary to think about this. & one does------>The Voice will Tremble, as if Suffocating in an Octogenarian Sleep, or the Air that grows Heavy in Summer from a Loose Door ajar--------->The Hand that Settles.

& the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles the Hand that Settles----------------------------------------------------->Sorrow’s Grating Gravity.

or------------>the difficulty living with a Person.

The food slowly being exposed to my Vision in the slack-jawed Man’s Lips.

If I am Opposed to this, than I am surely Shameful.

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Thus to continually sleep in a flooding mouth of Dumbness & to awake again fucked through the force of a YAELP from a Head, displacing again, my Body here, there, everywhere into each fragile cracks the Face, towards an expanse of a burgeoning repetitionhead----------------------->within a disavowal of the staid Structure gutting down to the Meat---------->The Body, that is mine rummaging alone in a furious pace from Frame to Frame waiting to fury the fuck out----------->a Violence of pure surmise which I shall call the internal speech of an abyss------------->sectioning itself off from it’s old Form tumbling forth in its own combusting Howling the Trumpets we Sum----------->To which, I can respond, I have no place in the Entrance of your Appearance------------------------->Thus first to shed the miserable Force of things upon, upon me they’re against---------->My first Sound then, shall be the Principle of the Historicity of pula in my mouth, come----------->The di-lip: my entire Life in Repetitions--------->a Pharmacology of Dirt, the----------->non—civilized, please & the shuddering skin, assembling me towards a Subject, shall be of fucking,-------------------------------------------->& I shall be fucking subsumed thereafter.

In other words

In other words

Everything Ends, Everything Falls Asleep, Everything gets Beaten Down------------->

------------------>to only fucking arise again where I’ll assert my New Sum.

Or I'm Sore.

Wait (Or, How We Mask Our Passivity Through An Actual Action)

A taxi turns and I strain to look at who’s inside.

Someone goes around the corner of the building next to mine but I cannot catch their face in time.

A store owner drops something, behind the counter.

N’s writing in a notebook.

A girl named Maria is suffering from a horrible cough, or something more horrible, I can’t tell.

I order the chef’s special. It doesn’t taste very special for some reason.

My intercom buzzer buzzes but I haven’t ordered anything delivered. I am not expecting anyone either.

These are things she also calls shapes.

I get the feeling I am forgetting something.

I had a habit. I made a mistake. I had a heart that remembers.

It tastes faintly of something warm.

The Bedford Cheese Shop has stopped selling my favorite cheese which I never learned the name of, specifically.

I want the exact address.

When thinking about tying shoes, I forget how to tie shoes. I need the shoes on my feet, me looking down. Then the motions manage.

There’s a French chef behind this.

Like first things first.

No matter how many times I muse my mantras, the missing things stay missing and their memory murders me in my sleep.

This thing here smells like a dead dog, wet.

It doesn’t come with a vibrator.

Summary and opinion in the same sentence.

How do you say “yes”?

A glance at the titles on a checklist.

Yes, I know what’s involved here.

A man phoned and said we should meet.

I sometimes wonder what they did with my foreskin.

They took a bath. The towels are all gone. There are soap stains on the curtain, vague but there. There are hairs of various length in and around the drain. Venice is beautiful.

Is this person interesting (or am I boring)?

I don’t like talking about the things we don’t talk about.

The subject comes out of the building. It opens an umbrella. It walks down the street and hails a cab. It closes the umbrella and gets in the cab. It rides away.

There was so much light there I couldn’t begin to tether it all.

He gets up, disappears for two minutes, comes back and pays.

For an entire year, he obeyed.

It was possibly supposed to express.

Typo.

It was probably supposed to express.

All I could take then was running and jumping for a half second. Running and jumping for a ull second. Running and jumping for a half second.

Is a black tie necessary for this function? Bow? And why so long in the face?

These emails are poems, really. But what toast? What accessories? What time in the bed beautifully accepted?

I take great walks around this town, toward nowhere but this town and myself somewhat secluded.

You have noticed, no doubt.

How do I make it actual?

False menacing mouth mean anything you want and ask for praise for the privilege.

You: then & now & in your own head.

Mom, I’m sad I must die. I have doubts, but they reassure me.

They love the writing of intimacy. It makes love mean more.

Action action, action, writing action, waiting for action, waiting.

And then I’ll say “there must be some mistake” and there will be no one to confirm or deny it anywhere, anywhere being the place I need it the most.

And then I’ll kiss you, sweet someone somewhere near.

And I will wait, writing these scribbles knowing that knowing means waiting for a long time to come.

The Repetitious Attempt at Giving Definition to this Body

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“Being the First to Fall, I lay a man at rest, after throwing my Hands from my Head” – Boris Izsus

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So the Bitch of the Body broke down Today.

So let’s go, a little back then, from the FRAME [repetition to] wearing down that structure------àa rear motionless articulation of a verb-------->on the side, stretched-------->at any root th’absorb th’torso-------->neglected for an instant the---->

------>Blow the-------->

--------->the disheveled breath, to see that deterioration there, perceptible, for a tumbling Texture------->an Occupation, occupying my own representation--------->a simple one------------>a matter of pl—ure atrocity-------->is a ceaseless EXCHANGE---------->angled th’ro the FACE---------àthe extreme, doubled on its formface, on the face, on define it defines the surface----------------->a placated & inevitable my Trap--------->& as it passes through, the Body, fallen on the ground defines------------>from a space within it[self], a repetition “Ma I’m falling Ma I’m getting up” & reveals without a doubt, a perspective of chewing--------->of the Body fallen in repetition

“Ma I’m falling Ma I’m getting up”

The matter here---------->my own Body is an inaccessible composition presiding over the Action------------>one that st[r]ands out[ward], bursts through the Frames-------->the flesh or of depths------------>it is not that words are inadequate to Serve my Repetitious nature------------>never resides in images-------------->reveals “what I am saying is contracting Space”------------------>deployed by my voiced syntax----------->is merely artifice------->where one speaks to the relation, deterioration, decoration of language------------->an Obstacle, to be avoided so as to erase------->little, by little--------------->

“Ma I’m falling Ma I’m getting up”

-------------->who is to be reflected---------->interrogate that reflection in repetition---------->by the continuous movement of marched effusion by means of a violent movement of pure surmise-------------->the more lateral Flood of light------------->in the silhouette--------->my weight-------->bent-------->observing----->without being on, the other side of the Scene---------->being contemplated by that hidden Space--------->in flesh & boom indubitable------->irruption between the interior & the exterior Body----->now entirely------>in pro[de]file--------->a Body caught at the edge---------->of its own fallen swing-------->challenged by the One appearing----->in the opening of an entrance------>opening in---------->is ROT--------->to emphasize the fluttering attention of the spectator in a repetitious spectacle revolving around various Eddies & all the fucking fools fall suddenly motionless------>through the possibility of seeing my Depth-------->is this superimposed Fault on my face now----->emerging from a similar function------->a fashion-------->a fraction------->the perpetual gridiron of Things:

“Ma I’m falling Ma I’m getting back up”

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---------->thus, the Specter of Repetition [which we are discussing]-------->is a burial exterior since, there

shall be a point, to markpost, at which point--------->The Body Shall Descend-------->possibly as the projection

& the diffracted ideal of the Internal Spectacle itself----->or

------------->Quite simply------------>I’m a Shadowspace-------->The Anonymous face

Or------->a segmentary trajectory signaling the corruption of the Head-------->whereby, slings the Human Trace

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There is a fundamental resemblance that fucking says what, of the Other?

Shit, I am the Hero of this Sing

“Ma I’m falling Ma I’m getting back up”

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Confronted a daily Shifting Fault Line------->Me--------->as Firmament-------àbound, like a Thief surrounds The Body’s Eloquence, astounds at the Joints, point towards------------->a repetition of the animation of the Faceclenched:

liv[err]ing

the Head

drowns itself

down

where the Daily Struggle begins in the lawroar part of the Belly

“Ma I’m falling Ma I’m getting back up”

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Thus, this entire Proposition is a Hole, thus I unfold--------->formed of Holes, until that there Speaks---------->thus I unfold------>in & of myself--------->thus I unfold ----------->but I’m still Repetitiously Empty----------->thus I unfold ----------->Opposing a Life of [non]Consumption-------->thus I unfold-------->by a Process that cuts across the Gut------>thus I unfold------>Skin---------àFaces---------->thus I unfold------>a [re]Reading of Intimate Discrimination----------------->thus I unfold-------->intersieving me & Break them Sounds--------->thus I unfold------->nibbling the Fist, below------>thus I unfold-------àlies the Low, the------->thus I unfold----->The Hunted we Map---------->thus I unfold-------->a Poultice to Chew------------>thus I unfold------>Perhaps I’m raving Mad------->thus I unfold----->as if I could Hear-------->thus I unfold------>a Repetitious Body------->thus I unfold------>thus I suffocate the--------->Horrified Arctic Ham of the Self or--------->

--------------->“Ma I’m falling Ma I’m getting back up”-------------->or:

I’m a Paw to the Bone------------->a Concept that Isolates me----------->I’m a Paw to the Bone----->contemplating myself again, as I is [non]Mobile-------->I’m a Paw to the Bone----->a convulsed [non]symmetry--------->I’m a Paw to the Bon-----> a Bodily Landscape------->I’m a Paw to the Bone----->in which, a Trap----->I’m a Paw to the Bone-------->the Face smashed to the side, Frame----------->I’m a Paw to the Bone------>rejoining one thing to another Thing---------->I’m a Paw to the Bone------>that hasn’t yet appeared--------->I’m a Paw to the Bone------>but the Inevitable Appearance shall affirm---------->I’m a Paw to the Bone -------->my Internal History--------->I’m a Paw to the Bone------->in which I will be Judged--------->I’m a Paw to the Bone------->through the Interrogation of--------------->

------------------>Today I was Incredibly Bloated