Monday, November 28, 2005

L'Ange cont'd

"Dance is innocence, because it is the body before the body."
-- Alain Badiou

A drawn out time
of pictures
are twigs of us
are twigs of us carried
carry us twigs of us and milk to parry

To parry of us the forgetting
of us broken
and forgotten again
across time
broken and the almost dark
forgetting of having watched

In trance
painting is in the strokes
the strokes
of painting frozen
and stopped stopped but not broken
on a vast
desert of paint

Is us watching one climb
a case
of image is us watching
the body
move the body ascend

Is to repiece replace the body again
as image this again
of animation to ascend
the image again

This body thought it was not one to comprehend
it thought the body again
in all good hearing of image
it thought this body falling to accrete to ascend
in one tableaux in another it thought
this body again

Repeatedly of parries of twigs it thought
the burden of seeing again
of enduring these tours of the dark

I am not one for spilt
milk I am
not not one split for split pictures
I am not one for
the whole to be broken
for the hole too broken
so I could be

The stuttered body
picture a thought
for stuttering
the whole of a falling
light a failing

I am not for the composited split the deposited split
I am a light source again stuttered
and falling through a painted source

Which is light for now

I am not for not spilt milk
I am the paintedness
the stop and start of this hellish
body the body we remember
to intend

I am only an instrument
a light box when I want
to be a sky
as it rolls over and darkens a sky
of bluest paint

I am part of the fallen
I am of the risen again
the risen discretely I am
an image of paint departing
from light sources uncertain

These are the holes we make in hellish dark to descend to rise to descend again

This is

The body
we remember
to attend
I am a reason for this line
of dark the line
of light
diagonals break
the dark
of climbing
figures I am merely
a picture
an image recapitulated
of the body

We remember
to resuscitate and
setting into motion
flight of burden
flight of of and twigs to be
resurrected and descend again
on projected wings

I will not be split milk and I will
not be entirely a light
accreted by these sensed figures I am

Riven into the light
dawns draws twilight of flayed flying
I intend clouds a sense of flying
if you will make like an animate dance
histrionics are hell

Reacting the line activates a line again of light
driven risen into
no longer
a no longer to be hell

I have passed the time parried
I am
a puppetry of disjunctive
image parries
an angel climbs an angel again
in discernible pictures

I am a grade I am a degrading
of angel image
parried to be for the body

Reunite with the body
like film projects in a light
box to be projected
blow like that imminent
wind his wind of late day

Over time
this re-acting landscape over
and over
this insensuous

The Kleistian line then dances an Antichrist
diagonal lines of stairs to descend to ascend again

A line to descend is not to decline
in grace to descend is not to decline
in grace the painted night it is to cover
night light paint to repulse these makes
these masks of paint

It is to ascend actually and weightless not unlike

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