Connect a line from "A" to a line from "B"
A.
What you see
What you hear
What you touch
What you feel
What you smell
What you taste
What you think
What you know
What you sense
What you understand
What you grasp
What you recognize
What you perceive
What you imagine
What you believe
What you fantasize
What you hallucinate
B.
Put your fingers in here
This is not the sky
Your ass is not a hat
For thinking (a thinking cap)
Fucking (what you fuck)
A feeling for unearthing
To end "oppression"
The oppression in both living and dying
I want to know we are here
I want to know we are not only here, that the face is not only
Nor the legs of logic
This long walk through the woods to a clearing in space, a pyre upon which are images/models we call thinking
We will call the burning thinking, the ash what is thought
We will not hear them calling our names through the woods
We will hear them calling our true names
This glass, this floor, this leg, this breast
Eroticizing the unknown, the invisible, the cinched
His narrative comes from nowhere
For that's the point
To hear sound beyond sound
The sounds of walking, errancy, appearance
So fire forgives
Whereof meat
Whereof the mind
The mind is meat, frozen for years
The years also frozen
The face eaters/the face eaten
Whereof bread
Is hunger or meat
Reclaimed for the Open
The open spaces, three paces, an open sound, the wood of appearing dogs
The crumbs reclaimed
Wicked and joyous women
Beloved of ice and meat
Do not imagine sound as seeing one's breath
Imagine hearing as holding one's breath for as long as one can
The flocking of these bodies, the inherent doubleness of things
Which conclude in a name (every name)
Beheaded we enjoy the body
Beheaded we forgive time itself
The body awakened to no thought before it
His narrative comes from nowhere, but is not nowhere
It is the sole position of our alibi
Tell us of our first guilt
Sound design pokes me in the eye
Contact extracts contact from contact, blue from blue on our common palette (parlances)
Like gesturing to a sky writer unseen
Waking in the wings of the withdrawn (the photography which is not of us)
For time there would be an image both of ourselves and not of ourselves
Which could sing us to sleep
A narrative which would wake us from drink
This body sinking to earth, regardless of surface
This gaze sinking, drunk on gestures
Blurred by the rule of their crossing
Walking down this city block close your eyes as if you were not a camera for the world
Spin as though the world were not revolving
As if the world should not be revised
Act as if you were not an actor
Falling and falling to sing these boundaries
Not of them
Flocking (as in this dance)
There is erring and there is error
There are guns and there are guns
Yet a gun is always a gun, errancy not always error
There is repeatability and substitution in a hell of images
There is the ghost of forgiveness's promise
The body becomes parsed, the mind severed
There are recordings of this
Their privilege is to move about in disguise
The truth is a disguise
That is the meaning of these doubles (a whole cultural literature of doubling)
To tell stories, to endlessly talk
That these exigencies repeat (are repeatable)
Forming a series of living events
A feeling for the fire of our future.
Monday, April 24, 2006
The Imagination of Hell ("into the fire of our future")
Body stratum spill
Guts spill wine mud pigs tits
Head will feed on hell
The acephalic the void
The fire will be fed
Endlessly on this blurred earth
Camera turning earth
Amuck alcoholic
Transcendence aether of the
Head
Wings down not up
Descending to acsend
The endless body of sex
Thongs breasts skin
Drink the dogs in
For they are the friend
Of horror hell
Of men not on earth
But in heaven
Walking in hell
They will yet succeed us
And laugh the hearty
Breasts the drink
Of men the women who cry
Fire
Who chewing
Will be chewed by men
Bread transcendence
Make a face
At the camera
Of the camera turned
To the earth no more
Burned than hell
No more turned
The imagination no more
Drink dogs in
For they are gods
Plows in an errand.
