Imagination inaugurates liberty only from the back. The horror of that dual war is faced with strange correlation. “Go forth, go forth,” said the grandmother. Sexual impulse is not external and foreign. I want to grow in ground too. One is led to conceive the opposition. What flesh was left was writing like painting. Lay bare the object of boundary, participation in the symbolic. The value of a phonic signifier a body which would be dead if it were not alive. Burnt offerings were separated later in tempers of fascination and murder. What did you say to me around problems of definition and beginning? Nothing is sacred unfolding morals. It is like a monster come to dinner who was originally Saussure’s. The Celinian symphony is gradually decanted.
No thing less than one thing, the human understanding is greatly indebted to the passions. To speak of want alone is to repudiate. A wild exaltation, the silent language of love is a mute eloquent. Pulverize fantasy before taking shape. Undefined repetitions the theater itself is shaped and undermined by the profound evil of representation. Allow me to be more or less detached. As if the air did not hold me in, all landmarks on the psychical landscapes are natural. My own body is forfeited. I am mainly an idiot as a sleeper perceives the conversation of the people around him. The latter is sexual banality. My mind precedes and follows speech, comprehends it. Force metaphor to remain blurred. This opening allows the passage through a savage metaphor. In such a case, pleasure is a geometric form.
Utter a culture prior to sin. And the forest is dark. I attempt another procedure. After drinking and talking approached the goddess in the form of paradox and modernity. It is an alchemy that transforms death. Such perversity the opposition between nature and culture. Language betrays its transfinite truth. The tree cannot walk its extenuated features have been gnawed through by the confidence. Such are the pangs and delights of masochism. Little song, sing days of happiness to the suffering of the other as other. I imagine a child who has swallowed up his parents. Thus we note: that imagination, origin of the difference between power and desire is determined as. Reason with; thrust aside; the better to deny them. Another idiot walking by producing the signs of signs.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
December 9, 2008
Abstract – yes as two and two it has renewed the form of the eternal problem. We are no longer within the sphere of the unconscious. The diminishment that helped me remember gives rise to the execution. I think man ought to stop begetting children. Restrained by the ridiculousness of holding forth upon languages makes the shadows darker. Several circulating invisibilities should be distinguished. The frontier of passion and need no measure ever serves the blur of the language. A dialectic which becomes permanently brittle, relaxes. All this flesh, meat, the designation of impossibility. It is complacent to the resuscitated victim. Attached to vowels and the element of language you haven’t fucked for months. The child can serve its mother as a token of authentication. Raining here in little pieces speech is not speech. The signifier, terrified, flees the signified.
Borges relates his dizzying pangs to dissent. Let me walk to you backwards, and by doing so, find its resources from the logic it deconstructs. Separate the night you dreamed from your own hands. Here is the rain again being less constrained to clarity. Here are the monstrous snails you have uttered. Bodies can accomplish the simple exteriority of death to life, mask to face. Body does not separate inside from outside. Get me on with it years passed now within the horizon of presence and reappropriation. Get on with literature that dares to become body—tongue. One and one, two, three; thus writing is always atonal. It cuts short the temptation to return. We are as we find out we are neither a presence nor an absence. A representative of fear and fascination. Mud put on mud no longer seer or voyeur.
Borges relates his dizzying pangs to dissent. Let me walk to you backwards, and by doing so, find its resources from the logic it deconstructs. Separate the night you dreamed from your own hands. Here is the rain again being less constrained to clarity. Here are the monstrous snails you have uttered. Bodies can accomplish the simple exteriority of death to life, mask to face. Body does not separate inside from outside. Get me on with it years passed now within the horizon of presence and reappropriation. Get on with literature that dares to become body—tongue. One and one, two, three; thus writing is always atonal. It cuts short the temptation to return. We are as we find out we are neither a presence nor an absence. A representative of fear and fascination. Mud put on mud no longer seer or voyeur.
Friday, December 5, 2008
December 5, 2008
On and on and up and down the metaphysics of the logos must reflect upon writing as its death. The former is already a closed heterogeneous text. The negativity of the crisis is not a near accident the shadow’s darker and the fire grows dimmer. It is simply a frontier, a repulsive gift from the Other. The hands unable to hold this remorse that produces anthropology. Separation exists, and so does language, even brilliantly at times. The tiredness, the fatuousness, the economy of pity. Want and aggressivity have adapted to each other. The air is thick and wet acknowledging the presence of another intelligent being. Such a statement of the problem enables one to avoid all metaphysics. The cry the voice and the song think a several dimensioned locus. Meaning thereby is equivalent to rebirth. Waves break at the different situations of the larynx, the cause of two kinds of voice. I wanted to say everything, the inner skin bruised and falling off the bone.
Make geometry of murderous variants and confirmations. But that incredible idealism: even savages cook their meat. Forget want, amounts making transference paranoidal. A little water falls when we consider ourselves awakened. It is possible to by cynical without being irreparably abject. Bleed into the toilet the first and the last resource of the sign. Her asshole anchors her interiorly to the Other. The road goes out but we are no longer able to call it origin or ground. It jettisons the object into the abominable real. That insistent distance of irreducible difference. A devisor of territories, languages, revelation burst forth. I walked away from myself the integral and concrete object of linguistics. The shattered mirror is where the ego gives up its image. Borrowing pattern and content from writing, blood tells.
What do they put in the graves of repetition and the splitting of the self? The bodies inside a correlative function of bonding the subject. Let me stumble into the opening of the question. Introduce the dangerous object silhouetted by the smoothing of blood. Join bodies to minds in the transformation of the language. In the advent of each speaking being, the music does this to us. These sensations determined as the field of presence. At this moment the social organism was covered in synchronic speech. The associations you have for me pass from one structure to the other when the sign crosses the stage of the symbol. Integrate, assimilate, different languages recorded in discussion. To the empty halls he announces the old notion of peoples said to be without writing and without history. That such a murderous event could be mythical, the primal causality of symptoms. Tunneling through the earth this way – the originarily metaphoric essence of our language. Frail identity of the speaking being.
The boundary and margin are out of order. We love what we love, fearing it at the same time as a machine of death. The fascinating defilement of the social aggregate. Fires still burning in heart, the exchange of presences and absences. The human body is metaphor for exclusion and prohibition. Don’t ever refuse that which, separating it from itself, breaches the living voice. The speaking being is permanently engulfed. And what the hell else to say but I too am a dreamer; I give my dreams as dreams. The result of such is worth confronting. Echo of what it has come for it leaps over the text toward its presumed content. Without going into the details of the demonstration, note the following. There is a long stretch of sky before us. The speaking being is separated by sex and language. I want to fuck you in a classical shape that gives itself out to be a synthesis that faithfully restores.
Make geometry of murderous variants and confirmations. But that incredible idealism: even savages cook their meat. Forget want, amounts making transference paranoidal. A little water falls when we consider ourselves awakened. It is possible to by cynical without being irreparably abject. Bleed into the toilet the first and the last resource of the sign. Her asshole anchors her interiorly to the Other. The road goes out but we are no longer able to call it origin or ground. It jettisons the object into the abominable real. That insistent distance of irreducible difference. A devisor of territories, languages, revelation burst forth. I walked away from myself the integral and concrete object of linguistics. The shattered mirror is where the ego gives up its image. Borrowing pattern and content from writing, blood tells.
What do they put in the graves of repetition and the splitting of the self? The bodies inside a correlative function of bonding the subject. Let me stumble into the opening of the question. Introduce the dangerous object silhouetted by the smoothing of blood. Join bodies to minds in the transformation of the language. In the advent of each speaking being, the music does this to us. These sensations determined as the field of presence. At this moment the social organism was covered in synchronic speech. The associations you have for me pass from one structure to the other when the sign crosses the stage of the symbol. Integrate, assimilate, different languages recorded in discussion. To the empty halls he announces the old notion of peoples said to be without writing and without history. That such a murderous event could be mythical, the primal causality of symptoms. Tunneling through the earth this way – the originarily metaphoric essence of our language. Frail identity of the speaking being.
The boundary and margin are out of order. We love what we love, fearing it at the same time as a machine of death. The fascinating defilement of the social aggregate. Fires still burning in heart, the exchange of presences and absences. The human body is metaphor for exclusion and prohibition. Don’t ever refuse that which, separating it from itself, breaches the living voice. The speaking being is permanently engulfed. And what the hell else to say but I too am a dreamer; I give my dreams as dreams. The result of such is worth confronting. Echo of what it has come for it leaps over the text toward its presumed content. Without going into the details of the demonstration, note the following. There is a long stretch of sky before us. The speaking being is separated by sex and language. I want to fuck you in a classical shape that gives itself out to be a synthesis that faithfully restores.
Monday, December 1, 2008
December 1, 2008
Suppose he has a big dictionary. An increasing interest in language threatens us with verbal games. Looking, seeing, the system itself must be deciphered. This sort of query appears only at the moment, laden with meaning. The echo of the old music, the unity of the phone, the glossa and the logos. For what impossible catharsis? Nothing less than the phonetic and ideographic, a little water falls. They are constantly submerged in the element of their waking. On the floor the dog’s eye has been bound up with that of economy. On that condition only, he conceives of no other ethics than that of the act. You look out and you see people, such cultural graphology. Is your wife giving birth to a baby? Waiting for the bus transcendental phenomenology belongs to metaphysics. The execution coincides with the sacred.
Trying to think of some way out pity is more primitive than reason and reflection. An archaic differentiation of the body on its way toward ego identity. The rhythm which projects from itself may be red according to the same pattern. Even if human beings are involved with it, tonight she does not answer. Language, passion, society, are neither of the north nor of the south. Leaving aside the question of priority of one over the other. In my own ego structure there is no substitute for a mother’s love. Revolve around the deadly repetition of coitus. I knew where they were in that full presence of intuitive consciousness. I call attention to it here because of how the body of a woman moves through the day. To the one in the gray coat the already-three-ness of the language in which desire deludes itself. The body’s territory is a fusion between the mother and the injury of syntax. I had walked into a wall origin or nature is nothing but the myth of addition. Such a split finds in its context a perfect socialization.
Trying to think of some way out pity is more primitive than reason and reflection. An archaic differentiation of the body on its way toward ego identity. The rhythm which projects from itself may be red according to the same pattern. Even if human beings are involved with it, tonight she does not answer. Language, passion, society, are neither of the north nor of the south. Leaving aside the question of priority of one over the other. In my own ego structure there is no substitute for a mother’s love. Revolve around the deadly repetition of coitus. I knew where they were in that full presence of intuitive consciousness. I call attention to it here because of how the body of a woman moves through the day. To the one in the gray coat the already-three-ness of the language in which desire deludes itself. The body’s territory is a fusion between the mother and the injury of syntax. I had walked into a wall origin or nature is nothing but the myth of addition. Such a split finds in its context a perfect socialization.
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