I Write This Mess

I write this mess and I don’t have any idea its direction and directions, and I feel the texts as torture / four horses attached to my limbs four different directions     Read the Book in its entirety also forms a kind of torture, a terrific hanatarash tarantism that traffics my mirrored monomania / my monorail monomania monotreme taryn monotheme (Dancing mania on a pilgrimage to the church at Sint-Jans-Molenbeek, a 1642 engraving by Hendrick Houdins after a 1564 drawing by Pieter Bruegel the Elder)     I fail spectacularly and I write spectacular failures     The Book eats my failures; it consumes my pretentiousness, my self-indulgence, my narcissism, my bipolar disorder and self-diagnosed borderline personality disorder:  Book doesn’t distinguish between my good writing and bad writing, between scripture and low-budget b-movie exploitation emesis – it loves all, eats all, digests all     Book only needs MATERIAL and TEXT

If I must write in fragments and aphorisms, then I write fragments and aphorisms

If I must write in endless paragraphs no spaces no punctuation then I will write endless paragraphs no spaces no punctuation

If I have to write in small insignificant failures and spectacular super nova failures, I write that too – what matters is writing the writing and creating the creating (Sol Lewitt in his famous letter to Eva Hesse can be summed up in the line:  JUST STOP AND DO…     He also writes:  Try to do some BAD work – the worst you can think of and see what happens but mainly relax and let everything go to hell – you are not responsible for the world – you are only responsible for your work – so DO IT)     I write bad work – everything self-aware, self-indulgent, pretentious metapostmodernist dead pool fourth wall nothing whatever – I do it – I laugh and think this bad work will be Asia’s favorite of hers because I finally write in explicit first-person, vulnerable, egotistical – she wants me to have a stronger ego and eliminate my self-doubts and preserving delusion     Stop, says Asia.  Stop calling yourself worthless.  You aren’t a false prophet and your friends aren’t lying to you, she says.     

Cropped curling bop lines, tri-tone heavy bop harmony, fast and spiky bop rhythm: benjamin bebop and rocksteady spikes spark stimulants, and my rhythm rests not sabbath but the apron apple orchard of messianic ages: Christ courting Sabbatai Sevi and their messianic drama and dissonance drive the Immanent Now into the Mysterious-Mystical-Transcendent (Paraclete     Parousia     AMIRAH’s second coming or Jacob Frank’s daughter Eva manifesting as the Shekinah or Mary Mother of God / feminine fog feminine     I write in the parody of writing the present: impossible present in the play of parousia and paraclete      I write in the parody of writing fully-present Yahweh, Yahweh impossibly experienced as the complete impact of the apophatic: apocalypse annihilation, radical negation of Yahweh but the Human Christ remains     The Parades of the Messiah and Kingdom: present presence always-already here-and-coming     Derrida writes my vision venir, the To come, of course contaminated by the present apophatic presence (present already future already present     Venir volumes vision, spacious space and space enspacing / Khora K2 and Khora Korakoram)

I have access to more notes but the logic of my playing still plunders jumbled jazz, still chaos coral chaos chymistry     I have access to more notes, more texts, but I still concern myself with noncontinuity (or other kinds of continuity: chaotic continuity, nonlinear continuity, dynamic continuity)     I concentrate on continuous camel bone concentric circles because continuity – connectivity – cohesiveness – comprehensibility – continues my weakness and in my weakness, the resting weakness of Yahweh

I continue noncontinuous the cicumfession of the cross     I cut carnival car crash many crayons the cross colors cool blue circles / desert seemingly discontinuous     dreaming truly discontinuous no continuum but the crosscut risk in cross

I had a dream that my family in Louisiana wouldn’t let me leave until I worshipped god, says Rainey.  Which god?  Their god, the Christian god.  I was hoping the dream didn’t specify – then you could pick your own god, I say.

You were in two layers of my dream last night.  I had a dream with you in it, and then I had a false awakening and I told the second Asia I had a dream about her.

I write in the Book Yahweh participates in the same processes I participate in     Something contaminates Yahweh or renders Yahweh incomplete, and that unknowable or mysterious something contaminates me and crops me incomplete too     By prophesying and writing not only do I perpetually move myself towards perfection, I move Yahweh towards perfection too     We both lack the divine feminine – not a new idea, not entirely     In mystical Judaism, the Shekinah or feminine aspect of Yahweh is in exile with Israel     By performing the commandments with the correct intention one helps unite the Shekinah back to the Godhead and make it whole again     The very act of creation fractures the Godhead…

Anyways I create my own God, my own Yahweh – or a version of Yahweh

I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s… I will not reason and compare: my business to create (Los utters these words in William Blake’s Jerusalem The Emanation of the Giant Albion...     One of Blake’s strangest objects to Orthodox Christianity: it encouraged the suppression of natural desires and discourages earthly joy…     In the Vision of the Last Judgment, Blake writes:  Men are admitted to Heaven not because they have curbed and governed their passions or have no passions, but because they have cultivated their understandings…     The treasures of Heaven are not negations of passion but realities of intellect from which all the passions emanate uncurbed in their eternal glory…)

My business is to create / the very act of Creation fractures the Godhead and I immediately eiffel iron isolated in the desert     I immediately or impulsively inspect the desert and John the Dipper / Jack the Ripper prophesies:  I lay the axe at the root of the trees; every tree that does not bear fruit I cut down and throw into the fire      I immediately enter the desert and the spirit immediately drives me into the desert, and I remain there forty days tempted by Yahweh     I remain forty days and I mimic Jesus Christ envisioned or manifested in Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ and I draw the diamond circle of sand detuned dune desert     I’m not going to leave this circle, says Jesus, until you speak to me… No signs, no pain, just speak to me in human words… Whatever path you want, I’ll take… Love or the axe, or anything else… Now if you want me to stay here and die, I’ll do that too, but you have to tell me, says Christ in the desert and Christ of the desert..