Surgery. I woke up kind of flailing, fighting them. Knowing I’d been cut-into. Bad Juju. “your body will remember” she said i thought she said. Later it was like there was a sure monster under there, and not knowing in the darkness where the soul of my Left was, as it floated place, place to place. I am loathe to remove, to uncover this wound, though when I saw the Little One she was so elegant, so lithe, so fine – now it is a small horror “are you comparing/ to sexualized violence” Well. Well. The hospital gave me garters. To prevent blood clots. And I realized God was Telling (yelling at) me to WRITE A SCREENPLAY, OR ANY KIND OF PLAY WILL DO REALLY, MY SON. Nevertheless, I feel a void, a moving empty, fixed to a hole, wreaking hurt upon myself retroactively realizing the sacred impenetrability of Bodies, of This Own, shuddering, misunderstanding the flesh of self, becoming cyborg. I did not realize how many knots I tie.
Then, I git so feral werewolf seeing [people try to be making] art; art art the most depressing, the bleakest wretching. Someone in me had been constructing something of a voodoo charm, a monolith against photography, to curse it, render it mute, unetchable.But maybe…. ‘Staged’-'Narrative’. Some seem so wealthy. “Do you like narrative?” Am I blaspheming against myself? Superiority is the worst of them all: if your X causes you to sin, PLUCK IT OUT. (But I don’t want to make any monoliths… or unless if just hella monoliths, right?) wait. someone’s knocking on the glass. Fuck. I’m Outed. …Having realized that to invest my letters with any kind of phonetic or ideogrammatical specificity would cause their sudden impotence – then, perhaps I could arrange them – or, but, when, whell, the linearity of that device itches like a ‘mother – Dead end letter? Every couple supple years I learn that words have the power to Change, to Make-Things-So (like in genesis: why is revelation the end what does that imply. o yea). And how we can deceive ourselfs, our others, with the misplacement of those signifying forms, thrilling in trembling ears. How about disrespecting the audience, taking their clothes off, exposing their ignorant incapable incipient stupidity. Are we that brave, sisters? Horrible sirens wine into the drifting sentience in my skull. I am silenced. Fixed. Transposed. My skin sticks to itself, to my bones, to the blackness of feeling it shirks from, unescaping. GET UP, BOY. MIND YOURSELF. Fuck you. Douche. Get off my back. Darwin, etc. Credit where credit is due. No: fuck you, fuck copywrighting and copyreading, you cannot chain an idea. Glean images from the monotreme tropes of search engines. They’ll catch up to you.
Here’s All I Owe: 1.video of the nutcracker/ the puppet show projected onto itself/ a live feed/ lights/ electronique 2.more recien sounds 3.portuguese i had promised 4.page Dada 5.page Lilit’ 6.all the postcards I had requited to all of you [i miss you, i love you, come to me that i may vanish and be with you invisible] 7. For heads of state, Copi’s Loretta Strong (and oh my darling gawd), Deleuze, Guattari Mil Plateau, some Lasker-Schuler Else, and tens of Jewish Women Intellectuals. The Holy Mountain. 8. So! Those of you in-waiting: The Answer Is Yes. Mexico DF. We Are Going To Do It. Capitals! March Out!
Yes, MK signed my bright pink cast, surely as a gesture of complicity, of truce. Oberlin Earth First is going now, the trial proceeds. But am I a pretty Dealer? These garters speak of – but she has given me a Work to Do, for all the nihilism of my Great Clock: to see on/ signify on K.Schwitters, D.Hammons, JM.Basquiat, -david salle, joseph beuys, francesco clemente and God Said WRITE BRIEFLY ABOUT WHAT THEIR SUBTLE DIFFERENCES ARE. DO NOT READ ABOUT THEM! Here I am, Lord. Yet, somehow the fierce taxidermied Australian Bat has not arrived, and I suspect providence. In all this, please write if you have a comprehens-ible/ive thought on what’s Adultery. The convenience [yeeeaai?] of santa-Klaus as the centering moral compass for a post-capitalist consumer society; & if i am good4goodness’ache i’ll get what i want, right? Furthermore I have decided to erode all existing images and photographs of myself and render all future renderings impossible by describing them as abstract compositions. So graffiti is Not Art Warfare and even to ascribe a gesture would obviate our colletive failure towards any attempt on approximations of thehuman form. Is it, then, that it comes out a mess, all a mess, and I am incapable, or refusing to be cleaned? That there is a certain pride in that grotesquery, in that filth. He has me WRITE THESES EVERY DAY, BOY! DESCRIBE YOUR FLUXING INTENTION! INVENT YOURSELF. ‘ll acquiesce.
Please read about me on the newest anonymous gossip site. There’s no search function, so it’ll take some digging time. Versad k 2 nomas keeresz ellamore de 2 missimo?
