oh my black-capped absence
“The
Unyielding Receipt of Manure”
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“To Trust, as to Smother and as to awe, as to This Entrance”
Does the Figure figuring my Evasive Maneuvering,
and the City, the Unexpected Seizure of an Event, Detonate my Maneuverings, and the City, Seize the Event~?
“For every New Interpersonal Notion, the Detonation of the Mold.”—
ß----------àin other words: ß----------à
“A
Lightweight Elegance after the Battle of Piles”
As It doesß----------à“as”ß----------à(as) Shit (as) was it as Shit (as) Does
What Survives is the Location of what One is Missing. ß----------à (A Location is not the Appearance of an Advent.)
But a Location can be Figured: In the Dips of Joints, in the Detritus to be Removed from the Rims of Memories, in the Forms of Debris, on the City-Shores where Enacts, the Dispersal of “Thine Own Self”.
But a Location can be Figured: In the Dips of Joints, in the Detritus to be Removed from the Rims of Memories, in the Forms of Debris, on the City-Shores where Enacts, the Dispersal of “Thine Own Self”.
(But Figuring the Figure of an Event which Collapsed is not an Event I Sought to Sought a Figure or (so)
I Figured.)
The Beginning of the Event to be Figured. And “What I Could Not Find” just fucking Figured. When I Touch, the Side, of your Face, it Leaves, an Outline, in my Memory, but does not Leave, a Trace, an Outline, of your Physical Surface.
My Origin is the Absence that the Absence of this Physical Outline
Becomes
This is This-This here: ||-------------àThis could be a small Advent of Hesitation’s Precipitation.
This is This-This here: ||-------------àThis could be a small Advent of Hesitation’s Precipitation.
Thus: -------------àthe Terror in which, I Sought This has its Limitations
in other words: -------------à“Blowjobs have Their Limitations.”
This (or) could be the facepunts
an Absence.
The Sketch
of a Figure figuring the Sketch of
the Event to be Scratched.
Even if This Absence can (itself) Become a Figure of an Event Absenced, and even if-------------à “My Own Lack was the Vest Pocket Watch of my Presence,” there Will-Be Omissions that once were a Warning, as in: a Dog Running-Off, down the Street, and Not, into your Heart.
Aye, that Son-Of-A-Bitch is Scavenger
of This City; And Yet: there was Something that
I wanted to Say about Being Social,
too;—
Let me Tell you
a Secret: “I Have Such Disdain for My Hair”
Although, I could not Imagine, Moving-On, Without It.
“And
Sadly this is (in) Trooth”
And So Here Now, And We are Here: I will Scare the Stench of This Absence Right-Out-Of-You-------------àlike the Stripes of a Skunk or, a kablooey Proceeding a Laconic Breeze
“But
Baby, I Ain’t Got the Heart for This (or) Is
It”
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"Ron Silliman"
