August 20, 2008

I said to my friend make this face that is to say we ascertain through vengeance upon linguists. They know that my body is phantasmatic, a violent act of expulsion. Look at the light of this Saussurian language, of the signified and the signifier. The wombs of women raped the fantasy of the born body. Going around groping either by mind or hand between a man one mentions and the man one addresses. I am always facing an interior associated with decay. If it rains the woods will not be so dry one sign gives birth to another, and essentially one thought brings forth another. I’m in the next room fantasizing about the bowels of a precious fetus. The plan is the body, the plan is the body. Everything is different now, between the body and its limits. Staggering, you know they fall forward to exclude the very thing which had permitted exclusion. I followed you as far as the bone in a placenta that is no longer nourishing. Indifference to the phonic substance of expression is impossible and illegitimate, the plan is the body. Dead, double dead, dead, very dead, dead, dead, here.

It moves from side to side through a fantasy of self-rebirth. Flat faint sky of faded blue reduced to the voice to epos. I am stretched out neither banished nor cut off. Holding out his hands to both; where’s the evil?—one will perhaps ask. But I did not look away into the narrator’s vision. Then as the shouting grows and grows louder and louder; why should the mother tongue be protected from the operation of writing. How else to honor ellipsis than of morbid relish. Moans in the hole in the floor in the wall, why should the transformation be only a deformation? The hoarding the bleakness cold towels wrapped around your head. What is the form is the grotesquerie against a force of desire and repression, breaking its song into articulation. A bifocal porthole in the context of this ambivalent portrait. Anger, irritation, fury, disquietude, the drunken derision of composition’s accident; we both fell. I don’t remember its bony longings, but also what leads it beyond religion. I think to compose a sonnet that the positive (is) the negative, life (is) death, presence (is absence and that is governed by a horizon of presence.