February 3, 2009

But the supplement supplements a fissure of leaking it adds only to replace. Distinct from the crumbs on the word of Christ. But the scandal of reason is grease on the hands. One that prohibits ulterior aversion. Seduced by this fatal advantage he seized the stain of love upon the world. Ambivalent hostility harbors a tactile image. That edge of the black night sweeps into a sort of economy of aggressivity. The hemorrhage subsumes the others. All the grass dies in front of us. Every time a man touches those areas is carnal concupiscence. A crazy orange sun; we cannot conclude wickedness from non-goodness. Conception is confronted with inaccessible folds. The fall of feet dancing in the different situations of the larynx. I’m the buffoon at present.

This technique brings into being a full sentence. No wound deeper than death, not knowing, the cause of two kinds of voice. Statements bare commentary. Truth is a scrawl born of harmony alone. Mark lacuna in the clause. And what do distances have in common with our passions. Follow prayer or atonement. When the rain stops that violence is waiting. I disguise my slowness in the limits of identity. The sky is black leaving reappropriation breached until death. In one breath, cutting and chopping. Such a distance produces what it forbids, makes possible the very thing it makes impossible. Hold the unsaid effective meaning of text. Push against a huge and unending door, an economy of signs is organized.

He was the teacher that famous masturbator there’s pleasure deep with hands he has a philosophical wet dream. A language now manifests itself in a women’s dormitory. Over and over not your face not your simultaneous bundles termed phonemes. That symbolic law is not necessarily the superego. Some other experience deepens in the air of language, after having been its servant. Stop the hemorrhage by stressing taboo. In another dream I’m hanging on to the blank part of the text the index of a differance. To preserve himself he becomes incompatible, a forever irreconcilable term. Nothing to worship but myself, my own body and the closure of the episteme. What a fuss was made over the body being beaten. Moment to moment the body seems to me to be the battle of proper names. Accompany me to a non-object of desire. One’s come now to the graveyard in the theory of relationships. Does she not overly seek the surety of the professor?