Tuesday, November 27, 2012


(0) That Awful Mess of being Left to (be) Compose—(-d) while Waiting for My Libretto to Arrive

(1) Well, let’s Begin, Again: My Addiction, was always, Elemental

(2) The Winter that I was Slid in a Hid

(3) As if: “being Among” is a kind of Torture, in which, Being becomes to Situate the Self directly into the Trail of a Another’s History where the Grasp of Understanding, is always, inherently, sore (-ily) Marked by Other, Marked by that Bitter, Foreign Flavor

(4) “Asinine, Fraudulent, and most Importantly: fucking Slow”

(5) “Don’t Worry Ma, I got’sa my booty tautly bundled up—[!]

(6) In Other Words: You Come to a Place where an Aggressive, Forward Momentum, (i.e. tete—e—tete) is Prohibited.

(7) The Idea of being so Hermetically Post-Avant-Garde, that “getting-laid” properly, is not of the utmost Importance, but Rather: always knowing what I am Doing, doing Alone, I am not Knowing, what I am Doing, Unknowingly

(8) The Diagnostic Tic of the Intimacy Impulse has long served as Bastardized Form of a Preemptive Strike

(9) Against the Resembling “Coming of Man”

(10) In all of His Muscular Blandness

(11) I Press my Ear across a Penetrating Surface

(12) The City is always an Inimical Figure: Crumpling upon in its Menace

(13) He wanted, so Desperately, what it (is) to Be, must is (it) to Be: the Inversion of this City (be) this, must (it) not Be, (is) but Rather, Be: “Go Ira, for it is but I (is) to (it) Be, about to (it) Become (is) Be—[!]”

(14) Perhaps it is Hunger’s Figure that Keeps one Stuck in the pangs of a relentless Subjectivity, “irredeemably”--------------àwhich gives (out) an apparent Force for Conquering, to help Explain this incessant Subjectivity.  IF SO, a rumbling Ground opens, as a parched Mouth, to the Quest for separating the Self further from the eaten-out Gaps of those Gasping Pleads of “Where this Humanistic Panic Began”.  Thus: tethered, as if, to a Fist, it is a Question of wedging the Self out of this City, and shoving the Self further-into a pure Modality of the Body other than one tied to a Mode of abundant Morality, that is utterly, bereft of Speech.

(15) The Opposite of Restraining Oneself, is to Become, quite simply, the Embodiment of an Aphorism

(16) The Vagueness of “Thank God…” and “For Us All…”

(17) The Way I Face your Face is Quietly Subverting You

(18) You will be, the Woman, Laughing, at the Top, of the Allerton Tip-Top-Tap

(19) I consciously Engineered this all to Forego the (non-) Repetitive

(20) If: if the Signs were Empty, then my Body’s Acts would be Irrepressible, or at least, confusingly Preposterous and Gloriously Free. 

(21) The Gathering Taint in a Motive

(22) That Our Story was Full, implied a burbling Tension

(23) And a Call to Arms: unhinging that Hanger (on) of Anxiety from Socialized Structures, would be the Problem that Began: “Oh, I just couldn’t Forget”.  

(24) And it is the only thing She has ever been sure of: there is always the Hope for a Brilliant Stroke of Violence

(25) And Worst of All:-------àDying, just a little, in late November, just when the Days are Beginning to Grow all the more Shorter and the City has Begun to Resist the Glory of My Parade