Friday, September 17, 2010
you have trapped yourself in the wrong body. the plural of universe between. you hot-wired death get in and drive away. re-perform the taste make lover dream ghosts. the dirty shorts of a summer fat man. there is some use in shadows. i've never had it done so gently before. spread into seabirds. he killed her with the shock of his body. a sentence a very open shore. you're dealing with words one word at a time with all the circuits that are in your mind with all the things that impinge on you. there is no body this is not mythology. in fact some of them really are just that. which is itself double and distance, distance in the ears and heaviness in hearing. old war tapes. how a symbolic system articulates itself in a political one.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
his hand is one of the unbearable mysteries. don quixote was a spaniard, he did not imagine things. and don't let any smooth old voices ease you out of it. i go to the funeral hall where it wrenches presence absolutely. this time in the bathtub i bit what i thought was his hand; it came off in my mouth. repetition and variation, then, is you here. i can disappear before your eyes, killing you. a charming thing, a disconcerting thing, the first social institution. that's like getting married and thinking you can crack your wife or husband. off into the raptures you you are mad. there is a dragon under the sea guarding a pearl. remakes the anatomy without pity. then i count the lines on the page, and then count the letters in the line and find one of the letters. so then picasso has his splendor, destroyed as never been destroyed.