November 20, 2008

Days we die are particular. But there is more to it than that. Like rings extending in water the forgetting of the voice of nature. That discourse is audible. How simply for another to take possession again of our own lost voice. It is not part of himself, vital though it may be, that he is threatened with losing. Never stop blowing and hearing the melodious law, the twofold voice. No subject, no object: petrification on one side. When he got into bed he was dead. The body descends without any fuss. Oh god god god he said identifying with a being who suffers. Twenty-six ways of longing. You know the world is a contrivance structural and not factual, relational and not substantial. They do spread out the logic of speech even to the most inaccessible folds of significance.

Hunger gives way to a whole range of sexual or moral prohibitions. Stone like stillness or tool and thought recapture the unity of gesture. And when I came upon her corrections the borderline patient speaks of paralyzed legs. Another idiot walking by the rebus and the complicity of origins. What repercussions foreclose this disconnection? The circles, the wholes they made turn and return these sentences. The experience of want itself is preliminary. The ground by the sea, sky overhead the suffering of another and as the threat of death. It is pure and simply splitting. Little pieces falling the strange workings of the historical process. We frequently throw zeroes over the lining of a single origin. Pleasures of pain the situation of pure dispersion which characterizes the state of nature. I am threatened and attempt to escape fear. There is no one there neither detour nor anonymity.

This is an ocean of vagueness that signified within the full presence of intuition. To preserve himself from reverence, he is ready for more. The first to be born horizontal joining the two posts. Such a frontiersman is a metaphysician. Ashamed even trembling penetration into the lost word. A strong concern for separating the sexes, lacking a central authoritarian power. A rage to keep development out of alignment. A language now manifests itself whose complain repudiates this synthetic fabric. The difference between the glance and the voice when they come to get me. You live somewhere beyond the marrow engaging in ellipsis. The imitation and what is imitated, of voice and song, all the people I’ve ever known. I remember the oiliness of fingertips, a monologue spread over the material body. The monster you love is home again. How dazzling, unending and eternal.