Wednesday, April 7, 2010

For Those Whose House is not the Human Face

[or: The Dream of the Jamoke]


“& now, when I look out the Window, I see dead birds. Hills of dead birds. & I feel sorry for those birds.”



so disorienting, to move forward within Braille, engulfed

in a production of my own-------------->your Face, is not

structured in form, yet beautiful

as it fades,

slyly away.


It’s transforming—along my body, fluttering as a chilled force. It, like my own inability to concrete my thoughts, are beyond the ability to grasp. Tiny attempts at the peeling of the object. It is a fragment, fragmenting even here. Because there were fragments, there were birds. A plethora of Black Birds, back. Because there were Black Birds, the City turned in my vision again, silently screened out, to Black & Ash.


Thus, I couldn’t see the Figure, so I wrote. I couldn’t see the Face so I wrote. It’s eyes were black, so I wrote. It’s hair was black, so I wrote. It’s mouth was black, so I wrote. It’s cheeks were black, so I wrote. It’s nose was black, so I wrote. It’s ears were black, so I wrote. It’s hands were black, so I wrote. It’s knees were black, so I wrote. It’s thighs were black, so I wrote. It’s back was black, so I wrote. It’s feet were black, so I wrote. It’s entire “body” had gone black, so I wrote.


Thus, anxiety me, back


Open your eyes now,

to find yourself alone,

in the middle of the street, staring at an Empty Store Window




Face, Folding in Face

"I appear to be in peril"-"within my own defecting"-"space, tumbling over, myself"-"what I might have, torn"-"modes of lecherous labor, grill"-"the great internal threat of the, everyday"-"emancipating myself from my"-"own discovery is not space, or even"-"my intentions are postures of doom"-"in ill-defined extreme, I face"- "assembling my body, in an organization of contorting postures"-"the dipshit density of the object"-"we must now construct"-"an attempt to undefine"-"I suppose I'm just a formalization"-"wounded, around doubt formed"-"what I shall term, man in still, turn"-"in conditions I perform the growth of sensations"-"even this line is archaeological"-"any sudden disorder in life I'm fine"-"objected the disassociation of my body, hole"-"my figure then is in what lacerates me"-"I'm conceived as the great gulp of Recession"-"by disappearing, I consumed the entire field"-"moment by moment, the storm went"-"this is an attempt to remove the obstacle of form"-"a project of stasis"-"I'm outside the organelle"-"function, a study of suctions"-"it's anatomy dissolved upon appearance, my tongue there"-"to employ as a means of marking the"-"fundamentally forming the fucking event"-"in other words"-"I exist as fucking I'm mass"-"the most troubled form, is the direction of this subject"-"in face"-"as face, I parody the spectacle"-"to open, I want you on my Lap"-"on which you meet me, alone"-"loin a fashion me interlacing through & thump"-"the rest of what I produce I consume"-"a retaliation to a past, thinking body"-"I possible a form, or"-"at this point, I obscure perfectly"-"in some deep sleep"-"expressing the intracortical of the groan"-"the articulation in which, I divest the subject"-"in form in which I traversed I'm social"-"in the throes of the strange"-"capacity of a constant consumption, can"-"to work by which, I'm satisfied with my increasing widths"-"speaking into mutational, shits"-"more or less, the interior engulfs me"-"by Bum speaking"-"stutter[err] & finally structure the distance that separates the"-"up again & against, I'm gone"-"th'outer slope, there I'll soap"-"this sputtering sense of personal representation"-"opening thus, thy deploy & fucking destroy"-"each gesture is already pronounced, I gas"-"to those who act, my dance"-"marveling in mirror at my own facial distortion"-"the thrust, I man"-"an erosion of an intimate impression"-"at first glance, I could say plunk the body, thar."-"subdivided into extensions of elliptic executions of"-"I function as eruptions that interrupt"-"my dearest hiccup"-"Here, I'll man, the edge of a verbal trace"-"on the other hand, the first cry I omit is"-"Ma, I'm fucking doomed."