The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman. This woman, who died long ago, was one of the primordial twins. She was one half of the divine syzygy. The purpose of the narrative is the recollection of her and of her death. The mind does not wish to forget her.
I grieve Christina still alive but our friendship – the Kindred, a divine syzygy – remains dead Many times in my past, I have become that Kierkegaardian Knight of Faith: I have believed in the impossible resurrection of the Kindred (multiple times), the impossible resurrection of my friendship with Taryn (documented in the third volume of the Book entitled The Apocalypse of Taryn), and in the revival and transformation of my friendship with Asia (still ongoing but I feel proud of our transformation together), but as I get older and as the months without Christina go on, I find it difficult to hold faith in reconciliation and to grieve her absence fully nearly impossible. I may have to recognize the Kindred as dead in order to properly grieve, remember, and archive the Kindred. I don’t tell the narrative of a woman dead, but of the Kindred dead: ourselves, Ben and Christina, the primordial twins, and each of us halves of the divine syzygy.
Awake her waters: awake waters further sorted secrets from the Book of Adam
Her waters awake it tells about the death of a woman…
These fragments feel inadequate to express my grief, but I continue to scratch myself through this canvas to find a grieving space and a grieving language
I grieve and I gaze sea world serpent: I grieve world serpent gaze word ocean I grieve sea endless summer gaze Taryn chases and Taryn chases ghost wave wave wyvern (Yahweh wheel wheel wyrd worship it tells about the death of a woman) I work sea: I work sea grief gazes endless sea I work sea grief serpent sleep weep visions
I grieve and I gaze a sea grief seaweed woman I work her visions invoke see see saw see salt visions I salt her visions cobalt vertical signs and wonders word: her word, a whirligig of grieving visions I gaze grief signs gospel and infancy gospel: I frame the gospels dead souls dead gods (Someone take these dreams away that point me to another day... They keep calling me and they keep calling me) I gaze ocean grief sort glyph glyph giant eye I grieve gore ocean horn salt conic sections I keep conic sections / her conics call me cellar door
The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman.
I listen to The Flaming Lips song “Suddenly Everything Has Changed”: Putting all the clothes you washed away and as you’re folding up the shirts you hesitate Then it goes fast you think of the past and suddenly everything has changed… I think of Christina I think of Christina and how she transforms my life with her presence and even more so by her absence I think Christina and her apparition appears and reappears in every melody and song lyric Christina appears in “Everything Reminds Me Of Her” by Elliott Smith (I never really had a problem because of leaving but everything reminds me of her this evening So, if I seem a little out of it, sorry But why should I lie? Everything reminds me of her) Christina appears in “Black Balloon” by Goo Goo Dolls (Baby’s black balloon makes her fly I almost fell into that hole in your life And you’re not thinking about tomorrow ‘Cause you were the same as me but on your knees) Christina appears in “The Background” by Third Eye Blind (The plans I make still have in them because you come swimming into view and I’m hanging on your words like I used to do The words they use so lightly I only feel for you I only know because I carry you around in the background) (I hope future Ben makes something beautiful out of this monotony – otherwise cut it) (Leave it – transformed or not by Future Ben, leave the wounding and raw and messy as possible both to honor myself and Christina) (I leave it in, and I leave the mess of my grief and I amplify it: it feels overwhelming and I feel the flood blood fuller of grief and grievings)
The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman.
The death of a woman tells of the vision of excess / the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom Her death exceeds death: her death keeps calling me and calling me Her death excessive earth unearths earth her death Her excess excessive earth stressed nonharmonic tones…
The changing information prophesies grieving in excessive fragments Fragments coagulate in crucifixion visions / I went down to the crossroads fell down to the knees Fragments lead to the palace of wisdom: it tells of the death of a woman
It tells the death of a woman and she assembles these asymmetrical fragments Fragments snow similar fragments repeated television snow / snow winter music sheets of sound
I grieve texts and Christina bodies nonlinearly, and I loop shoot nonlinear mess or mass
I read about the sonnet sequence The Dolphin by Robert Lowell, published in 1973. In this work Lowell includes poems about his daughter, his ex-wife Elizabeth Hardwick, and his newlywed wife Lady Caroline Blackwood, and he incorporated and altered private letters from Elizabeth Hardwick without her permission. In a letter from friend Elizabeth Bishop, dated March 21, 1972, she chastised Lowell:
“Please believe that I think it’s wonderful poetry… I’m sure my point is only too plain… Lizzie is not dead, etc. – but there is a mixture of ‘fact and fiction’ and you have changed letters. That is ‘infinite mischief’ I think… One can use one’s life as material – one does anyway – but these letters – aren’t you violating a trust? IF you were given permission – IF you hadn’t changed them… etc. But art isn’t just worth that much…”
The relationship between the personal life of the artist and the artwork fascinates me and at least in one stage of my writing (multiple ages), my writing was consisted mostly of autobiographical elements with little division between my life and the art. One must write ethically – even if one must discover the ethics in the process of writing. I still interpret conversations and letters in my writing – especially now, in my grief of the death of the Kindred, my writing reeks of autobiography and perhaps even exploitation. It reeks of autobiography despite my attempts to obscure and obfuscate language with repetition and syntax experiments (I repeat visionary experiments and syntax fuck up tetragrammaton revolt, and it still utterly reveals Benjamin and Benjamin + KRYSXTRYN Asia Rhizome). I sometimes edit conversation – not alter words, but cut and condense for better flow and more clarity – is that ethical? (I was just openly wondering if I write my book to exploit you, I say to Christina. No, I don’t think so, she says. You don’t keep things secret from me, so that’s the biggest part. Plus I think you keep true to our truth. What's our truth? I say. That’s not a question with a simple answer. I just mean you don’t veer from the truth to suit your needs. You stick to what you know or I know or we know to be true, she says.)
I continually assess and evaluate myself to make sure I keep prophesying the truth of Ben and Christina, and the truth of Ben and Asia too.
The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman.
I leave the narrative of the Kindred unfinished (When I’m playing, I’m never though. It’s unfinished. I like to find a place to leave for someone else to finish it.) Christina can finish the Kindred from beyond sheol / she can speak her seven sermons to the dead
Someday, my grieving and mourning will attain mystical significance, like the accumulation of the mystical interpretations of the crucifixion of Jesus or the apostasy of Sabbatai Sevi Perhaps too I descend to the other side or an underworld or I harrow hell
Unfinished fringe furniture Unfinish unfasten furniture atonal farm fire Unfinish unfamiliar flesh sit microtonal Unfinish microtonal watershed and water levels Unfinished microtonal mysticism / xenharmonic xenomorphs
The fire we can no longer light, the prayer we can no longer know, nor do we know the place. All we can do is tell the story and that too, proved sufficient.
I light the fire fugitive physics I light the fire she lights the lights the bridegroom moves to her
It Tells About The Death Of A Woman
The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman…
Philip K. Dick writes these words in his semi-autobiographical novel VALIS (I’ve found you’ve got to look back at old things and see them in a new light) I look at VALIS and I look at valis vision lagoon or lagoon loch ness I look at old and new light loch lock intersections, and VALIS tells the narrative of a woman: not a woman dead or alive but the liminal loch woman and woman liminal lagoon VALIS tells the narrative of Kindred: Ben and Christina, recorded and remembered through the pungent pink punctured brain of Philip K. Dick Christina, my primordial twin, one half of my divine syzygy: she exists for me not alive but in an increasing state of ubik entropy Christian exists in an ubik half-life, and I cannot communicate with the dead and her dead I tell the story of Christina and I grieve Christina through the graveyard of gods
It tells about the death of a woman and all I know are assemblages All I know are Christina assemblages and Kindred assemblages and I stitch together incessant Christina holy ghosts
It tells about the death of a woman word word desert / I only know assemblages I only know assemblages diabolical desert deviled adonai I assemble a woman ardent contrary emma earth urgent comic assemblages Inside assemblage: Christina tumble turn it up turn it loose
I tell stories about Christina to remember. I do not want to forget Christina. Asia sends me a video on mourning and the speaker says: “The thing about loss is you don’t lose someone once. You lose someone a first initial time, that is the inciting event. And then if you live long enough without them, you lose them repeatedly for as long as you are alive and they’re not and that means you have to get accustomed to burying someone repeatedly, which if not thought in a way that’s generous, can be too daunting to live with. But on the other hand, if you believe as I do, that grief is kind of just an emotion that’s knocking on the door and memory and asking you to recall something, then there’s a real gratitude in recollection… […] It reminds me that I’m losing a person over and over and over, but in losing them, I get to return to the site of their living I can recall, and that is celebratory…” Asia acts with incredible patience and empathy with my grieving Christina’s absence, and her sending me the video is one example of her empathy and support. I have been writing down and collecting Christina and Kindred memories, but I have been secretly hoping we’d reconcile through this unknown. I had been secretly hoping we’d reconcile through this ubik X entropy and X Christina, the utterly unknown and variable vertigo. I feel in my spirit (if such a spirit exists and that spirit resonates with other spirits) that the trials and obstacles of life completely overwhelm Christina and I wish I could help alleviate them. I experience severe depression, doubts about my other relationships, and difficulty creating without Christina. But without god and without Christina, I continue to prophesy. I continue to prophesy Christina and Kindred and my prophesy animates and shakes Kindred holy ghost while I await her impossible parousia. I awake and wait like a Kierkegaardian knight of faith in impossible parousia, living the not and knot of parousia.
The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman.
I assemble death in the desert I assemble death draw devil stone and desert drips stone drone I assemble draw rock devil driveways / wick watercolour multidirectional I draw desert assemblages stone minimalism and I arrange minimal assemblages stones in desert
I delete desert backwards assemblages I delete desert decalogue death as demiurge and her Zoe conquers death and deaths I delete desert doorstop or doorstop decalogue disintegration
I delete street straw hat machine I delete street straw hat machine sun attack / attack task pilot pull up I pull up deserts deserts delete death task tusk I tusk desert taryn assemblages
I only know assemblages but an intimate assemblage that overlaps Christina with Christina An intimate assemblage eye Christina vision of excess and even Christina’s absence exceeds street desert and street death Christina’s road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom Christina assembles excessive earth / earth stressing nonharmonic tones (tusks tone taryn desert just intonation) Christina stresses desert death and valley of the dolls phronesis / Christina accents desert assemblage video half-life absence
The desert means hostile language. The desert drives a hostile language with John the Baptist eating locusts and honey. The desert means weaves hostile language longer word. Christina's absence stresses longer word length and the desert duration extends all languages. I endure this desert assembled by Christina and Christina’s absence. Desert assemblages brawl long duration liturgy of the word. I endure Christina’s assemblages desert by praying a silent prayer and this prayer drives spirit spikes into sands. I imagine myself in the extended desert woman of the dunes and I do not escape the pit because I continue to await for Christina’s parousia.
The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman.
Desert accents accidental deaths / accent asphalt string quartets Strange Christina voices her desert string quartet / strange accent death
Intricate eye Christina assemblages calcium iron fossil crucifixions (Christina her voice accepts the deconstruction of my languages) (My language disintegrates in the wrestling rhizome of grieving)
Sea crucifies how strange her voice Taryn surfs such soft seas Taryn surfs soft sea surf salt A salt cedar solar anus creeps dark salt visions of excess (The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom) (Excess calls-and-responds to virulent visions)
Sea crucifies how strange Christina’s voice Taryn surfs soft turtle sea Taryn surfs soft sea sleep surf salt turtles: turtles salts cedar solar anus (A creeping solar anus barrages the earth’s atmosphere with 174 petawatts of radiance) Solar sea seats saw Taryn surf south gaze I creep dark salt cedar salmon leap Taryn surf immediate / Taryn surfs immediately uncrowded surf Taryn surfs immediate uncrowded surf and she rides perfect wave variable wobble I ride rhizome word wobbles and wobbles surf eclipses woman (Death is a woman: this narrative tells about the death of a woman)
I only know assemblages and it tells about the death of a woman
I only know assemblages awaken waters Awake waters for the asymmetrical assembles Similar asymmetry dashes snow sheets of sound I assemble sheets of sound snow I only know assemblages snow awakes waters sheets of sound hot rod bodies Hot rod water bodies snow Christina carousels: water bodies delete decalogue Christina legion logos
I know assemblages and when I’m playing, I’m never through I play unfinished and I like to find a place to leave for someone else to finish I know assemblages and when I pray, I’m never through I pray unfinished and like to leave a place for someone else to finish the prayer
I pray a prayer and story of Philip K. Dick, and Benjamin and Christina: the changing information which we experience as the world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman. This woman, who died long ago, was one of the primordial twins…
Trying to compose a cohesive narrative worthy of Christina and the Kindred confounds me. The task bewilders and the task overwhelms. I feel around and I only find Christina fragments and fractals: I only know her assemblages (You cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images, where the sun beats… My images beat a ben hinnom solar anus, a dark erotic earth that carves out prayer to a liminal-woman and a between-woman I pray to a liminal Christina but she burrows beneath / sea hauntologies). Trying to tune a Christina melody worthy of a Book Symphony proves elusive and I only field a ground bass expanse of broken images. Nevertheless, without god and without Christina, I continue to prophesy – but I leave my prophecy unfinished. A place exists, a desolate place and a secret place for prayer, for someone else to finish it.
I don’t consciously devalue or minimize our friendship, I say to Asia. I wonder if I made you and our friendship feel very small and inconsequential if I want to end my life. Your friendship is very valuable to me, and I think highly of you. I describe you to other people in conversation as “Asia, one of my best friends.” I’m sorry for minimizing and devaluing our friendship in my absurd suicidal ideation. May I ask for your forgiveness? I say. No, because there isn’t anything to forgive, says Asia. You didn’t devalue anything: you just focused on the pain. Emotional pain is like a shadow – it doesn’t exist on is own. It just shows that you loved something, says Asia. I still want you to know I unconditionally care for you and I don’t think I care and love Christina more than I do for you, I say. I think I care for you both the same, and the only difference is Christina and I have a really long history. If you were absent from my life, I think I would probably write the same thing about you but with Asia-specific metaphors, I say. I wouldn’t assume that just because miss Christina, that means you value our friendship less, says Asia. I know but I don’t know if I know that, I say. I’m realizing I feel a disconnect from what I know and what I feel: I can know I don’t value our friendship less but when I feel suicidal my actions don’t reflect that knowledge, I say. I’m still not going to forgive you if you didn’t do anything because you tend towards self-flagellation when you’re in a negative mood, says Asia.
This unfolding narrative tells about the death of a woman I pray and play but I leave the narrative unfinished (Unfinished fringe furniture Unfinish unfasten furniture atonal farm fire)
I leave the narrative about the death of the woman unfinished (Unfinish unfamiliar fleet sit minimal Microtonal watershed leaves skyscraper levels unfinished)
The mythology of the Kindred remains unfinished
I Devil Decalogue
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom
I stress excess visions of excess Excess exceeds earth stressed nonharmonic tones Vision stresses phonetic / vision asphalt accents Accent asphalt folds four: flower her flesh folds or her flower swords (Her flower the configuration and color of revealed corolla) Her flower configures stress constellation pollen traces my body embedded dirt Pollen stresses prayer plays material pollen polluting language I let the pollen play my language excess over flowers flowering (her configurations and colors flowers other invasion of the body snatchers) I snatch flat sword flat flower canvas
The secret Book achieves narrative excess. The Book oozes the excess of secrets. The Book exudes incessant secrets as blown flesh pus and brain blood blisters. The secret Book documents and ornaments a stressed narrative and an excessive gospel. Book exudes and extrudes a gory gospel and gospel secret guts. Book steals secrets thief in the night and narrative dices excessive stained glass. I stress the excess of my storytelling (I prophesy her: KRYSXTRYN + ASIA RHIZOME. I prophesy Ben Adam + Asia Rhizome). I story the female gospel in my guts excess.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom
Excess stresses the restlessness of her secret and her voice reveals secret displaced into secret silence I speak spool how strange her voice I split spool speaks how strange her voice silence: her voice the texture of time Time exceeds stresses time times half a time what wash ocean
Excess stresses the stretch of ocean: now opening of the eyes ocean Her opening of the eyes ocean excess time excessive waters Her eye ocean time the spine as fossil record and I record the rhizome I record the rhizome cameraless film flash ocean Now her sound opens the eyes ocean open and the open exceeds radically open
Excess stresses the stretch of ocean, the site towards which all eyes gaze Tamar gazes at the opening / Taryn gazes at the opening Taryn gazes at the opening towards which all eyes gaze (no god but graphomania) Taryn gazes at the opening towards which all eyes gaze and says, may it be the divine will that I not leave this house empty I leave empty I leave house haunted wolf holes Empty, I do not enter but leave (how strange: her voice a localized deafness a localized desert ben hinnom) Empty, I explain my earth body explicit pornography (Alien influence has bean blamed for the mysterious pregnancy of every woman in the town of Widich, England. When asked why extraterrestrials might be involved, a spokesperson for Torchwood replied: ‘Every cause we investigate involves alien shagging – why should this be any different?’)
Woke up to this message from my uncle, says Asia. Are you convinced to surrender your life over to Jesus? I say. I don’t even know what he’s talking about, she says. Maybe he should actually talk to people instead of getting vague feelings during prayer and running with it. It just sounds like a general turn your sinners life over to God message to me. What sparked it, who knows. Maybe posting about free lunch for school children did it, I say. Or maybe what my mom told them about what happened between us, says Asia. Sure, it could be that too, I say. You’re good though, you know. You’re better than you’ve ever been and your family is sometimes full of big buffoons who speak a lot of clashing car horns that don’t signify anything meaningful… You OK? Yeah, I’m OK, she says. It’s just I’m over vibing, working hard, striving to love life and I’ve had a lot of beautiful things that happen in my life, striving to love life and my uncle comes out of nowhere and tells me I'm full of bitterness and sin. It’s a little hurtful not going to lie, says Asia. Yeah, I can understand that, just remember it’s not true, I say. It’s hard sometimes, says Asia. Every once in awhile I can feel those old neuropathways trying to pull me back into the fear of secret sins, she says. Yeah, I relate and I know those feelings, I say. You grow up with so much guilt and shame that even when you shed it, it sometimes tries to reclaim you. It fucking sucks, says Asia. It does, I say. I feel the current Asia, the Asia you are today, is much better than when I first met you. You’re much happier, much stronger, and yes, much less bitterness. I like who you have become and are still becoming. It does suck for it to try and grab you back but I know you’re resilient and will overcome it… It’s like the struggling with my self-worth without God and trying to find trust in my relationship with you. I do feel the temptation sometimes to go back and find that God. I do feel sometimes I lack trust in who I currently am and in our friendship. You see me struggling and hyperfixating on little things in our friendship like what it means to be best friends. But I think ultimately I will overcome it and be better. I think you’ll always overcome this terrible God and terrible Christianity, I say. The worst part is, says Asia, if I were to “surrender” and “make room for god” I would lose the best things in my life or be expected to give them up. It’s frightening how Christian culture can alienate people from others and cause them to dehumanize those around them. That’s not your niece anymore, that's a lost soul that needs saving. And you don’t need to talk to them or empathize with them, just vague ideas and during prayer and run with it, says Asia.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom
I stretch excess no gods no masters: no decalogue but strata strata stretch No decalogue but strata strata stretch molecular chains channel lines of flight finger rupture rhizome No decalogue ruptures excessive rhizome circles of convergence Not anvil but watch attic gut assemblage chisels chantilly lace and a pretty face and a ponytail hanging down
I devil decalogue I devil decalogue bedeviled body possesses porous transmission
I devil decalogue and it disintegrates in the excessive desert. Desert explodes or implodes impossible excess and it swallows gods, Christianities, and commandments. I devil decalogue in the antinomian desert, and Asia and I discard Christianities for our own anarchic agape and visions of excess. The excess interprets the Bible in its infernal and diabolical sense, and I record the myriad of interpretations in my own Book.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the road to excess reinscribes the book in excess Excess gazes open ocean open and I open Book radical rhizome reinterpreting the bible in its many diabolical senses
I gaze diabolical graphomania modal jazz / I improvise desert dorian derelicts at my own death (I improvise desert dorian bedeviled decalogue and decalogue disintegrations I improvise desert dorian diabolical decalogue and demonic decalogue, and I reinvent a radically different Christianity / Christianities) I jazz gatling gun jazz eye ocean eye triad erosion / gaze funk fusion Triads fuse funk extended erosion flat seventh stretch sabbath I gaze secret sabbath from the Book of Sabbath and this Sabbath slips slime jazz Sabbath sin slick jazz shadow hazard body horror (The ultimate dimension in terror, stereo vision 3D… The most realistic film process ever developed HOUSE OF WAX) Sabbath word wax waxwing slain body horror I harvest body horror edit edit eye fusion erosion (Mistress of the Deathmaster sharing his hunger for human flesh, his thirst for human blood, his evil lusts that even hell cannot fulfill! COUNT YORGA, VAMPIRE)
Anarchy is weird, says Asia, because it gives you good concepts, but no way to actually act it out, but even if we never achieve anarchy, it doesn’t change the fact that I believe all people are equal and that all kinds of authority should be questioned, analyzed, and held accountable. If they have to exist, that is. I don’t really see anarchy as a type of government, but more as people coming together in solidarity to help each other in spite of the pre-existing power structures. It’s people without power coming together to have collective power in order to gain dignity, says Asia. You have a good head on your shoulders, I say. I try, but I wish I acted on my ideals more, she says.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the road of excess extends anarchic Dandelion conveys expansion Dandelion conveys color field canvas / color field canvas cut anarchic Dandelion conveys desert dense anarchic desert dense dandelion Desert dense extends excess this dream of dust Dust scuffs absurd smurf blue dandelions Dust scuffs absurd anarchy blue lion’s mane mothlight and lark light minimal (In the line of development: two points where movement can see no further without external help At two specific points, I apply an additional impulse and extend into the external At this point, everything needs impulse: otherwise it moves no further This law of seven exists everywhere and allwhen: in chymistry, in physics, the law of seven structures of the musical scale and it completes its insect metamorphosis with the octave)
I convey the desert dense with dandelions as a page-canvas. I convey the canvas desert dense with page dandelions and passage dandelions. Dandelions passage desert point pink, a penetrating pink punctum and counter-punctum. I convey the desert dense with additional dandelions and the dandelions pour over anarchic pink. Two pink points move through desert monoliths mothlight a sight towards the line of development. In the line of development, I suspend dandelions in the air of the desert, and pink punctuates deserts. Pink conveys the desert impulse: pink punches to desert dandelions pure impulse anarchic.
I devil decalogue I devil decalogue dress dandelions and dandelion daemons possess my body porous radio transmissions Ben Adam body misinterprets desert diabolical figure with meat / needle drop matador watercolours Decalogue disintegrates into pink pigments pale watercolours and I wash dandelion flesh fermata I walk dandelion flesh infernal names names networks
I dwell the extended desert and anarchic desert daemon dandelions
I dwell in the desert excess and anarchic dandelions, and decalogue disappears in art deco crab canon materials I disappear desert material a mathematical way to cut, paste, repeat, and extend a very minuscule piece of existing composition
I Have Also The Bible Of Hell
This secret appears in the Book of Adam. When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell, clinging to that conflict. At the seething fury subsides, a conflict of a different type arose: a conflict of love.
I repeat the Book and I repeat the secrets of the Book I repeat the excessive secrets of the Book ben hinnom harsh noise ben adam Book braid Book bell basketweave her repetition: Christina a couple down the road from the book bunnies kitchen kits kiss come in my kitchen Book repeats book street Christina sun eclipse: Christina clip can you do something don’t mad
Christina Book cling hell cleaver and Christina claw hell cats (Frightmare! Born of jangle witchcraft! Created by a curse! FROM HELL TO CAME)
I discover the Book for the first time many times: I discover her Book, Christina’s Book, many times for the first time. I discover her Book one desert many deserts and her circular ruins reveal a new story and a new narrative each time every time. I sometimes love discovery and rediscovering this desert, and other times I feel overwhelmed and overcome by her desert: I have no choice though but to repeatedly traverse the desert. I traverse her desert like the Israelites after the Exodus, and I search for the Christina Shekinah also in exile. Her spirits appears to me in erratic and unpredictable outbursts – I have not detected her gamma ray bursts in a long time, and I find alone in my exile. I keep exploring and keep documenting her seemingly empty desert.
Art Chad says: The only way to make art that matters is to not kill yourself. You can’t make stuff when you're dead so you have to make as much things as possible while you’re alive… I make art and I make as much art as possible: I write as much as possible and I write to survive I write many volumes of the secret Book of Adam and the enfolded Apocryphon of John and in my documentation of these many Books. I realize they all speak in the shadow of Christina (I write Christina – I always write Christina – I never not write Christina. If I copy from the Hebrew Bible, it only means Christina; if I copy from the Nag Hammadi Codex, it only prophesies Christina; if I copy from the Zohar, its sages and rabbis and assemblies only describe the Face of Christina and the Throne of Christina forever and ever. The Book writes Christina before I was born and the Book will continue writing Christina until I die and beyond my death. Christina I miss you. Christina I miss you; you are the one who writes and the one who is written. This secret appears in the Book of Adam and Christina prophesies Adam into Ben Adam and the secret splits alternate alternatives avalanches anarchies. I write Christina as much as possible to survive)
I make art I make as much art as possible and I write to survive I write and copy the ossified memory of regionalizing and segmenting spine I make to forget I miss Christina and how I don't know if I can survive in Christina’s absence (I will survive Christina’s absence because her empty tomb still prophesies Her empty tomb continues to write longer and longer endings to the gospel of mark She continues to add secrets to the Book of Adam I obscure her absence through her creation and I obscure her absence through chaos / her holy ghost cuts interrupts cuts chaos tehom
This secret appears in the Book of Adam. When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell… I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments; Jesus was all virtue and acted from impulse, not from rules… I have also the Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they will it or no.
Decalogue disintegrates in her desert: written word melts in her wilderness Written word flows whirlwind fluid through and to human flesh and flesh flings word wild Her flesh slings swing malleable word and microtonal word, and her words whips wicks fire fires
Christina loosens decalogue din detour dog star: dog star slings or swings dark deep desert Dark deep locusts drink desert destroyer / destroyed decalogue dog star I detour decalogue dark dart desert desert
Christina loosens decalogue destruction destruction / dive decalogue destruction wilderness Christina drums a desert delirium deletes decalogue decalogue again dense (to attain the multiple, one must have a method that effectively constructs it) (Christina constructs the multiple through the delirious repetition of desert deconstruction)
Christina loosens the decalogue dress undress mess desert diamond tonality Christina loosens desert miamas magma malleable mutiny Miasma assists mistress stressed human neat marionette mattress
You told me once that you can't separate the Book from yourself, and I’ll be honest with you, I thought you were deflecting when you said that, says Asia, but I’ve thought about it some more and now I agree with you. You are constantly being created and recreated by the relationships you have with others and that’s what your Book is about, and when others read it, they experience that too. We are all in symbiotic relationship with each other, says Asia.
I make art I make as much art as possible and I rework and repeat the arc of the art Art repeats the multiplicity and intersections of myself and my relationships with others I do not obscure Christina’s absence through creation but rather grapple with its unknown abyss, its double knot aporia knotting her absence: her absence cannot be resolved but only traced and retraced, written and rewritten and repeated I create and do not obscure but grapple the rhizomic god of Christina: the utterly human Eloi Eloi Lema Sabacthani cannot be extinguished even through impossible resurrections I create and leave the creation radically known and radically open I create into the promise of the messianic and parousia…
(How strange: her voice, which I know well, and which is said to be the very texture of memory (“the dear inflection”), I no longer hear. Like a localized deafness) (From Mourning Diary by Roland Barthes) Christina’s voice vowels no god but generous graphomania No god or Christina but graphomania gap my massive spine outstrips my spine My massive millipede spine outstrips my spine spoon spelt split fields: field graphomania mines mitral mallet quartet mercury No god no outlet but this exposed ben hinnom optic nerve: nervous annihilation no god no Christina but anarchic creation Create the ossified memory of the regionality and segmenting spine spool thread tenor saxophone improvisation No god no outlet wax wayward word work: waves vowel train whistle
(The only way to make art that matters is not kill yourself) I contemplate killing myself and I look towards death: death details desert word dire wolf segmented spine awake Awake, Christina segments my spine and revel in the word spool I speak spool how strange her voice Strange her voice the texture of time Her voice spools time times half a time waxwork what ocean mash work whittle
You said I prophesy the marginal and liminal and the prophecy opens up spirituality and break down hierarchies, I try to Asia. What does the Book prophesy to you on a personal level? What prophetic truth do you take to heart and learn from the Book and me? I say. I’m not sure, says Asia. Not saying that it doesn't speak to me but it’s not something I’m sure I could identify at the moment or translate the words… In a simple interpretation of your prophecy, you prophesy me and the positive effects I have and how I’ve grown. And you prophesy how you have grown and you prophesy our friendship, says Asia.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam… I have also the Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they will it or no. One Law for the Lion and Ox is oppression.
Christina disintegrates decalogue in desert: Christina disintegrates decalogue into the multitude of deserts multidirectional Christina disintegrates decalogue developing variations and the desert music attacks detached distance Desert music develops disintegrations long legato logos and rich sea of reeds rubato rhizome
Christina disintegrates my logos and languages I dialogue diagonal raindreaming Diagonal rain dreaming drone desktop tabernacle / tent descent Disintegrations descent decline develop I disintegrate decline repeats developments detached desert Desert attacks detached my languages lego and I detach dark decline descent Descent decline develop durable desert then dubious desert (I depend suspicion dubious desert)
Christina disintegrates my decalogue language into desert jazz dolphin dance Desert jazz djent dubious onomatopoeia (I always remember Christina as the darling of the desert)
I too disintegrate and descend into desert. I descend the desert into a dialectical development: desert both directions at once. I develop desert both directions at once, which is the simultaneous disintegration and repetition of the desert. Thus I develop the desert dark descent and desert deepening desert. I share this desert with Christina’s disintegration of the desert. I attempt to remember the desert as desert and remain in an eternal desert, but Christina ghosts stir up the desert into abyss and chaos, and I must once again create (recreate) our desert. This is my sisyphean task, the making and remaking of our desert.
Descend desert decline and document disintegrates desert Descent desert dark photographic developer Develop desert darlings: develop desert darling Christina dunes army monoliths Desert develops Taryn Trickster and Taryn Turntablist Desert scratches screech owl long desert lilith (A DJ vinyl turntable system, consisting of two turntables and a crossfader equipped DJ mixer) Desert develops Taryn Trickster and Taryn Turntablist, and Taryn Tetragrammaton disintegrates direct-drive turntables cutting the backspin double back Taryn Tetragrammaton types desert turntables tallman sonic artifacts
I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments. Jesus was all virtue and acted from impulse, not from rules. I often read the Bible in its infernal or diabolical sense which the world shall have if they behave well.
I act from impulse and my languages prophesy disintegration of the desert My languages pulse and play a thousand plateaus I act from impulse immediate metric modulation / disintegration developing variations
I act from impulse no mediation but amplitude modulation machine mercenary I act from impulse party startle reflex fast fourier transform flow Flow floor fungus network fingers desert fire fringes back-and-forth no slack Christina holy spirit I act from impulse desert disintegrations drive drive deconstruction Desert drain drag disintegration din decline deserts: all I know are assemblages All I know are assemblages awl anvil artichoke antiassemblage wildernesses Assemble desert assemblages / assemble wilderness wild assemblages
Perhaps I only write assemblages: I only make assemblages. Even Christina consists of assemblages, fragments of memory, pieces of conversation I collage and bricoleur (If so, the same can be said of me writing Asia and my friendship with Asia as well). I do not think I am antiassemblages but it feels disconcerting that all I make is so reducible, so moved to such an easy foundation or simplification. I suppose though that assemblage itself anticipates an anarchic multiplicities and beauties exist in the arrangements of the multiplicities. Assemblages all the way down, I think, and prophecy after all is a movement from reception to interpretation within the prophet itself: by arranging these assemblages, in interpreting their prophetic content, I am reading the Bible in its infernal and diabolical sense.
An old conversation with Asia when God provided me with prophecy:
God destroys me often, I say. Bruh, your relationship with god makes me uncomfortable sometimes, says Asia. Sorry. You don’t have to apologize, it’s just that you actively seek god while also constantly saying that god destroys you and tears you apart. Do you want to be torn apart? I’m trying to understand the appeal, says Asia. When Philip K. Dick encountered God, he said “God injured me”, I say. God was simultaneously healer and destroyer for him. He said (taking a line from the opera Parsifal): “The wound can only be healed by the spear that made it.” God is the spear that wounds and heals simultaneously, I say. That makes sense, says Asia, but I hardly ever hear you talk about being healed. Philip K. Dick also rarely talked about being healed, I say. He said God injured him and refused to heal him yet he was the only source of the healing. That sounds toxic, says Asia. Yes, toxic Christianity, I say. When the heathens and pagans talk about latent Christianity as toxic suffering, that’s what I am, say.
I conjecture my experiences with the God of Christianity influenced my own toxicity and difficulty in my relationships: God treated me this way and that might have been partial unconscious motivation on why I had difficulty forming healthy bonds and also inflicted suffering on my friends. It took the absence of God to finally help me build healthier relationships with others.
Disintegration Of The Decalogue In The Desert
This secret appears in the Book of Adam. When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell, clinging to it in that conflict. As the seething fury subsided, conflict of a different type arose: a conflict of love.
The conflict of the book concentrates and compacts the conflict of the Book The conflict of the Book wrestles the writing wrestled towards the conflict of the book I wrestle the writing of the Book and I enrich the ripieno of the book and the riptide of the Book reveals the sea of reed rhizome I wrestle the writing compact time and concentrated time, and I turn the time taryn tessellation In the time of the Book of the time and I’ve found you’ve got to look back at old things in a new light
The conflict of the Book concentrates new light new nightshade Book sweeps sound (the conflict of the book burns bonfire sheets of sound) book beams new nightshade between ribs sea of reeds and ribs round tone rhizome (Book what night ben adam shade)
The conflict of the Book bands nightshade gnostic shadows: midnight nightshade meridian bit in the mouth
The Book in conflict mouths Christina underground and Christina cave mouth Christina ghosts crucify the Book bloody conflict and bloody comet (a portent of an apocalypse)
Christina continually crashes into the Book. Christina, whether present or absent, continually crashes in the Book, and she crucifies the pages. Her holy ghost scourges the Book at the pillar and crucifies its pages. Christina disrupts the desert of the Book: Christina deconstructs the undifferentiated desert of the book and transforms the desert into her combine and assemblages. Christina accumulates and aggregates other deserts onto deserts (John Luther Adams’ Become Desert). I become desert and my desert stirs deferred to an absent Christina. I don’t know how to (re)write a Christina hauntology.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam and its architecture implies Christina ghosts Its architecture constructs Christina ghosts as palimpsest and her diaphanous palimpsest still suffocates She gardens a haunted architecture: ghost concrete, ghost rebar, ghost brick-and-mortar Her architecture sculpts a porous palimpsest as many ghosts and I look at the harlequins I gaze harlequins my body displaced by a thousand bullet holes (I hang coffins Then like this in these coffins Then like this THIS in their coffins then these Then this this and thorns sprout coffins, the rays of the disk that follow the Great God: Christina of the Netherworld Christina the Mysterious One Christina the One of Caverns Christina of the Coffins Christina Who Combs the Catacombs)
This secret appears in the book of Adam but Christina appears archival apparitions
I join her jubilee year with split spark spiral catastrophes I join her jaws jagged ghosts: I join her jaw wolf worship and I worship her ghosts at the funeral pyre I worship the nude wolf body and I map Christina canyons earth porno armature / armory wolf appetite I jump ghosts jubilee year yat yur juliet wolf jaw glossolalia: Christina glottic glosses ark amplifier Her ghost amplifies morphemes mutate machine nonsense (I nurture nonsense annihilations holy nothing) Her holy nothing knots alexander amyl cathedral gnosis / Christina stop glot gnosis awry a my sun ra arkestra automation
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments Jesus was all virtue and acted from impulse, not rules…
Decalogue disintegrates in the desert: written word melts in the wilderness I hammer rigid word malleable malleable wild wind whip wick fire fires Decalogue dog star strips deep dark locust destroyer / I destroy decalogue dark desert desert Decalogue deconstruction deconstruction dive decalogue wilderness
Decalogue disintegrates into tonality diamond desert (to attain the multiple, one must have a method that effectively constructs it) Dress decalogue undress mess desert magma diamonds / I undress multiply bodies I undress multiply ghosts gown ghosts magma Christina Dress decalogue undress mess meanders desert magma Christina as magma and miasma molts human melt mannequins and queer marionettes
(Decalogue detached distance disintegration legato rubato)
Decalogue undresses detached distance disintegration loop legato rubato disintegrations disintegrations
Decalogue directional derivative dreams dossier Decalogue deciduous obliterates dossier obsidian / decalogue diagonal rain dreaming
I have been revisiting some old conversations I never recorded in the Book, I say. A theme of your advice is: Your vision doesn't come from God but from you; your vision is about you connecting with others and very human experiences; you can make God whatever you’d like and make God a better God for yourself (Over several conversations dating back to 2021). You change your mind a lot more slowly than I do and you’ve been consistent on those themes still I think. I have been reworking them into the Book and realizing it as an anarchic community of Ben and his friends. That's how you’re a co-author of the Book, I say. I’m OK with that, says Asia.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam. When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell, clinging to it in that conflict. As the seething fury subsided, conflict of a different type arose: a conflict of love.
The conflict of the book orchestrates automatic arkestra afterburn bark bone char chaos chronology The conflicted Book ornaments automatic metals microphone titanium white / white join gyroscope light scatter stained glass mustard gas Book cuts stained glass mustard glass glint no god joint arithmetic ghost architecture Ghost attic tiles tumbles ball glass eye body / bark joint I gate no god I jazz no god trench warfare word made flesh terrorist tetragrammaton
Christina interrupts the impossible spine of the Book. Christina slices through the surplus of the Book, and she exceeds the Book. She exceeds the Book and I cannot describe her architecture or her ghost gardening: she eludes the language of the book, the language of Ben Adam and I disintegrate in the desert live the decalogue. I miss Christina. I keep searching for her in this endless desert endless nameless her name.
This Secret Appears In The Book
This secret appears in the Book of Adam. When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell, clinging to it in that conflict. As the seething fury subsided, conflict of a different type arose: a conflict of love.
The secret of the Book reveals Ben Adam attached to the side of Christina Mara, waters of bitterness The secret of the Book submerges into bitter waters the secret of the Body I wrestle the Book as a body and I box the body bitter the underground leaves of the Book
I wrestle the writing the Book written and rewritten I wrestle the writing secret documents into the desert
This secret appears in the Book of Adam and I approach my body Ben Adam as anarchic asymptote and I wear the word wire whirlwind of the secret
I wrestle the writing Book written and rewritten rhizome and the rhizome reigns richer rhizome a palimpsest of rivers (Rivers meander a developing variations of visionary palimpsests)
This secret appears in the Book of Adam and I arrange its anarchic fragments further fragments fire lights
I wrestle the writings of the secret Book and I discover the Book deep secret I discover the Book dark desert and the desert aroused the darkness
This secret appears in the Book of Adam The secret discourse diverges towards the entrance of the desert, which is the marriage of heaven and hell I wrestle the writing and I do not wrestle the writing and the Book beckons as the Book The Book beckons as this Book and the Book beckons as the secret Book towards the site which all eyes gaze
I search the site this is where time becomes space: I search the site a species counterpoint towards the speculum that doesn’t shine I search site eye error interest in the beginning and this Book opens in the beginning This Book opens the secret of the Book which creates words, worlds, and universes
I search site open eye interest in the beginning I search eye sound sight shard search sharp benjamin bereshit
Book begins the secret of Ben Adam and Ben Hinnom Ben Hinnom begins bringing in the sheaves saturated bereshit I eye the site of bereshit saturated sap serpents (serpents twin twine the tree of life upside down)
Book begins but I do not know where to begin with the Book. The Book shrouds itself in secrets, that cloud of unknowing and that cloud of forgetting, and I too forget how to traverse the nonexistent map of the Book. The map of the Book beguiles the map of the garden of eden (A river rises in Eden to water the garden; beyond there it divides and becomes four branches. The name of the first is the Pishon; it is the one that winds through the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold. The gold of the land is excellent; bdellium and lapis lazui are also there. The name of the second river is the Gihon; it is the one that winds all the way through the land of Cush. The name of the third river is the Tigris; is the one that flows east of Asshur. The fourth river is the Euphrates). Like the map and travel through the Book, although the description tantalizes with some recognizable landmarks, the way to and through ultimately remains lost. I imagine the Book, like Eden, inhabits the entire Fertile Crescent, and its sprawl spills endless. Book begins and I merely boat through its primordial chaos. I drive wild through its dark that clings and coils hell, and I perform secret acts to write heaven and hell.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the site towards which all eyes gaze I gaze towards the Book secret serpents, twin fires that circle the tree of life upside down Upside down details desert a long screw and screw saturate site burn light jazz loft Screw saturated site human muscles bereshit downtown music
In the beginning downtown music improvises an endlessly mutable melody that spells the ciphers for hidden codexes
I wrestle the written Book and the Book written again ben adam I look ben son of man and its manic light liters letters jazz loft boxes
You should try stacking your cats like that, I say. That would not go well, says Asia. Your cats don’t like each other? That tolerate each other. They bond by beating the shit out of each other. Oh cool, that’s how I used to bond with my brother, I say.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam. When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell, clinging to it in that conflict…
I quote the Book as if I invented the Book I inscribe the Book as if I bound the Book in its originary writing and its human skin but Book inevitably writes Ben Adam Book creates Ben Adam bereshit you are the one who writes and the one who is written Book rescues my soul midnight materials material mineral marble and it stacks my souls silver cats and cat book beatings Book salvages my bodies pirate ships / keelhaul khora crane katabasis
I stack the Book onto Books a profane palimpsest (She gave it away all over town: BOOKMOBILE BAD GIRL) I stack the Book on Books wheel in wheel crooked creatures (SIN ON WHEELS My husband is done for the day. Come on in and I’ll prove it) I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments
This secret appears in the Book of Adam, an antinomian Ben Adam and Child of Humanity
It’s like five good poems put in a blender and then compacted into one mass, says Asia. I really enjoyed the first 100/200 words and you had a lot of really profound lines but they didn’t have room to breathe. I think adding more more space (maybe having distinct divides where there is a new idea / topic introduced or a change in tone). I also think that it might benefit from having some kind of consistent force that guides the reader through the piece to give it a little more cohesiveness. Like parallel structures, repeated phrases, or an idea or topic that you keep visiting and building on. I liked the part where you insert yourself with “I” – I felt like it recentered me while reading, slowed the pace down and gave me something to visualize. There are a lot of great parts and pieces but I got lost reading it, says Asia.
This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the repetition of the body and the repetition of the desert This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the repetition of woman and the repetition of KRYSXTRYN + Asia Rhizome I too get lost in the Book and its density bewilders me: its dense compact stations of the cross crushes me but I bricoleur and continually repeat and rearrange the fragments
I crack cork body Christina cross stop blacksmith (I search for Christina Blacksmith in online obituaries; many Christina Blacksmiths have lived and died but I haven’t found my Christina Blacksmith) I look towards the site which all eyes gaze but it does not give up its Christina secrets but only constructs taller towers of large cardinals Christina’s large cardinals creep cute all the site towards which all eyes gaze I gaze no god I gaze no god no body articulation molecular gastronomy hinge joints (I gaze no god no Christina absolutely deserts Desert details superimposed desert details stacked cat Book) Her being joint jabs enjambment ball-and-socket joint
Christina always disrupts the Book and the secrets of the Book of Adam splits in Christina blacksmith sparks She hammers the secrets and the Book breaks obsidian brittle bone (He left our frustrated shores behind and embarked on your book You have not left the book since You could not have but sometimes the space between the lines is so large that you seem to tread new ground The margins are so wide The book chains us together) (The secret of the book of Adam space so large I fall lost between the four rivers that surround the garden of eden) (Christina chains the Book to the Book and secludes the Book secrets)
I quote the Book as if I invented the Book I inscribe the Book as if I bound the Book in Christina’s skin and I sometimes I think I have but Christina invents the Book and binds my bones to its spines, a coptic binding of bones to paper letters Christina writes and rewrites the Book ben adam even in her absence / you are the one who writes and the one who is written Book resides in the leftover residue between Ben and Christina, and I continue trying to rescue and salvage the Book without her
I’m struggling without Christina and I feel alone without her. The feelings of being alone makes me feel like a bad friend to you, because you are here for me. But I have a hard time shaking this particular loneliness I’m feeling. I don’t want to be a bad friend to you nor undervalue our friendship. I feel very frustrated by the whole thing… But you are my best friend, Asia. That’s undeniable at this point. So I have faith we will be OK and I will be OK… You probably don’t think I’m a bad friend if I’m one of your best friends. I’m just struggling with my grief and with Christina’s absence and that’s OK. Grieving is complicated and not a reflection of our other friendships, including ours… I’m going to be OK, and our friendship is growing and good… I agree with what you said, says Asia, but you missed something. Grieving is not a character flaw or evidence of a character flaw, says Asia.
This secret appears in the book of Adam. When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating hell, clinging to it in that conflict
I wrestle the writing dark and the writing hell, and its hell hurries Yahveh of hosts and hosts in heaven…
I wrestle the writing desert dark and I’ve found you got to look back at old things and see them in a new light
Dark drives wild delirious and I sometimes entirely disintegrate in dark; the light does not resurrect but merely reveals the open drone of the dark. The dark rules over light, like the breath of Elohim hovering over Book abyssal waters. I wade in those bitter waters Christina Mara dark. Dark divides and writes simultaneously and I drive highway hypnosis dark. I drive desert dark looking for Christina absolute darkness.
I wrestle the writing dark but I’ve found you’ve got to look back at old things in a new light
New light delights new nightshade New nightshade blacksmiths between ribs what night musics Nightshade sneaks midnight music meridian bit in the mouth
Nonsense Is Nonsense
Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room / I like the coincidence I like the coincidence the vine suggests sweet potato but notice the cradle of thorns I like coincidence: I like coincidence and synchronicity I like synchronicity surprise happenings Happenings surprise secret name Christina happens secret code Christianity I like the synchronous violence to vision (skiff ferry militarized)
Nonsense is nonsense and Taryn names and renames time forest Taryn renames time forest rhizome and I live the coincidence I like her forest happenings Taryn happens forests a forest body happening that creates: Taryn forest creates concealed in the covenant and contained in the covenant Taryn forest repeats happenings and forest leaves my body unfinished nonsense My nonsense as gnosis: gnosis Taryn Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil
Nonsense is never merely nonsense but reveals something apophatic. Nonsense unveils something cave primal: cave salamanders searching for food in subterranean waters. Early modern humans inscribe the cave walls with aurochs and hunting magic. I too hunt nonsense and the nonsense opens animal: the nonsense opens my body as ox or as other beasts of burden receiving the burden of vision. I receive the burden of vision at first as nonsense but it slowly unfurls itself in my flesh as a kind of prima materia and I distill its language. I distill the nonsense into desert music and the melodies make apocalypse.
Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room I like the coincidence of Taryn’s forest Her forest happens in the echolocation of winter music and her forest happenings remix the musics new covenant Taryn enters the rose riding forest as nonsense happening but it reveals new knowledge: it reveals Taryn Tree Knowledge of Good and Evil
Taryn enters the rose rising forest her tree of the knowledge of good and evil
Taryn tips tent rose forest in a series of nonsense imitations and transformations She transforms nonsense into nonsense a renamed happening
Taryn forest reimagines image into imago gods metamorphosis Taryn renames and recreates image into imago, a metamorphosis of the covenant sown in forty-two couplings, her name engraved explicit name and explicit happening Her name engraves nonsense anew reveals forty-two letters in the act of creation
I create nonsense and I create nonsense is nonsense. I create nonsense name and narrative and I narrate act of creation. I narrate act of creation and the creative nonsense plays in the intersection of divine and human. Nonsense interprets human as divine and interprets divine as human; prophets and seers mediate in the interpretations. The interpretations always play rhizome and multiple. I create multiple nonsenses and multiple revelations / acts of creation.
Someone asked Jacques Derrida if he read all the books in his library, I say to Asia. He said he’d only read one book from it, but he’s read it very well. Perhaps we need to learn how to read one book or two books very well, I say. That requires slowing down, says Asia. Sometimes I think the world moves too fast. One time I had a conversation with my aunt about heaven. She said she hopes that heaven would be a place to learn and discover for eternity and never run out of things to learn. I agreed with her but now that I think about it, why doesn't she spend now doing that? Living with an open mind like a sponge, curious and full of wonder? Why wait until you die? says Asia.
Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room I read the book in intense nonsense and I read the Bible very well I read one book, the Bible, very well, and I spend my time copying the Bible into the Book Book extends forwards and backwards nonsense written myth and mythologically written Nonsense plays curious and open and the language pursues polysemous Language chases a polysemantics, a love supreme multiplicity Nonsense secretly encodes a word with the multiple meanings of a Book and then a library
Act of creation contacts forest syntax Creation kisses forest syntax jazz swing rhythm Creation wide rhythm riddim body forest ship letters Letters surge large Taryn Elohim Letters left large Elohim hang Taryn hauntologies
Forest gorges gods gorgeous george jazz jam Forest gorge ogres places cross crag Christina (Christina secludes herself in the action of creation and Christina vanishes in the nonsense is nonsense) Forest gems gorges crone megan chronos Forest carves chronos gorge glut gut janus as her name crass cave mouth metallic / clouds taste metallic Taryn Forest Taryn tags tears crag gore ghost gods / gods a place of affliction or lamentation gods a place of affliction weeping gods a place of sadness singing gods I speak the place of gods this is where time becomes space with great speed: speeding spaces forest spindles
Story idea, says Asia. Person is in a haunted house but all the ghosts turn out to just be alternate versions of themselves. Nice – you going to write it? I say. Hold up their partner – let’s not get carried away, says Asia. I was thinking there’s not much difference between poet and prophet, I say. The poet makes connections, knits together disparate images to make revelations, and arches towards the divine. They use whatever material necessary – the sacred, the profane, the pulp, the pornographic, other traditions and religions – to make the connections, I say. I believe that we use the chaos, the “vapor”, the fragments around us to cobble together meaning and divinity, says Asia. Like a quilt, she says. What makes some of us more adept at quilting than others? I say. Perfectionism, says Asia. Waiting until we have the right material instead of working with what we have, she says.
Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room I like the coincidence of the pulp room and the pornographic room converging towards divinity (Triple distilled horror… as powerful as a vat of boiling acid! SCREAM AND SCREAM AGAIN) I distill nonsense into a prophetic body horror gologtha forest guts and crucifixion I distill an apocalyptic acid that reveals the avalanche of nonsense and Christina cataclysm and Christina stations of the cross I prepare the nonsense as pulp prayer and pulp psalter (Rabid, drug-infested hippies on a blood-crazed killing rampage! I DRINK YOUR BLOOD) I drink her blood nonsense and forest happening (Amen, amen I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the son of man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you) I drink Christina's blood a Christian cannibalism and transubstantiation nonsense, and her name materializes fragments of the true cross (Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink) (Eats: the verb used in these verses is not the classical Greek verb used for eating, but that of animal eating: “munch” “gnaw”. This may be part of John’s emphasis on the reality of the flesh and blood of Jesus, but the same verb eventually became the ordinary verb in Greek meaning “eat”)
Nonsense is nonsense and I drink her blood Nonsense is nonsense and I chew her bone fragments of the true cross and I gnaw her flesh the tree of knowledge of good and evil Nonsense is nonsense and Christina’s discarded shoe looks beautiful in this room I like the coincidence of Christina and Alice nonsense / nonsense salts the cross I like the coincidence her vine suggests spiders and serpents but note the crown of thorns I like Christina coincidence chasm cadillac and her chasm surprises in quilt chaos Her quilt keeps surprise happenings, the happening of her secret name Her name sharpens sweet potato happenings and her corpse surprises secret code Christina Christianities I like Christina Christianity violence to vision and I have many Christina vision happenings
The noise of nonsense prophesies a quilted noise and a mystical noise. Noise notches itself into a nylon nonsense, a nonsense that knits itself through and through the noise of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Nonsense prophesies a noisy insect swarm (cicadas crowd or cloud stations of the cross). Nonsense prophecies impossible insect noise and the swarms assemble human incarnations.
Nonsense is nonsense and forest finds stone Forest finds stone stony soil places and I place my nonsense language into long stone plains Plane language shapes plain stone shaped-canvas forests Forest languages cast kabbalist amulets
Forest stones throw nonsense sounds but I assemble the sounds into a music I assemble an aggressive music, a take no prisoners wall of sound I assemble an aggressive aggregate of forest stones wall of sound bells together Bells together telegraph ben hinnom nonsense and I speculate on the nonsense and turn it into a noisy species counterpoint Bells together speak ben hinnom tongues of fire Forest sings skin grapheme (I do not grapple with graphomania but simply give in) I do not wrestle the writing but realize new regions for richer rhizomes
I throw stones farther forest and the stones turn the site towards which all eyes gaze I throw stones farther noise the site towards which all eyes gaze jam free jazz Site sits site stone nonsense: site sits site now sound Site sits ht side wind nonsense stress stone sound Site sit shore sound sword slim into rib nonsense
Stone sound stresses forest syntax / sound sound aggregates Taryn tree grammar I stretch the stone sounds until they prophesy mystical nonsense The nonsense always prophesies towards the site of Christina
Site sounds stone sit suicide slight death / my deaths toward Christina death Site sound stage spoken suicide speed without Christina and stones spiral the staircase of Christina’s absence I speak Christina’s absence as nonsense and her nonsense prophecies the Inferno’s forest of suicides Christina shreds stone sound site south short sword Christina short sword site bow staff cross bow space (This is where Christina’s nonsense becomes holy spirits / this is where her time becomes space) (Her space spells stone ghosts bow ben hinnom)
Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room I write an aggressive music for this room The room reveals the rhizome and I do not grapple with graphomania but simply give in I give in to the forest gusts between gods, and I’ve found you got to look back at old things and see them in a new light
Conversations with Asia 08/19/2020 8:07 AM
I’m trying to figure out how to use my bullet journal now that I’m working, says Asia. What is its purpose? I say. It’s kind of a grounding activity, says Asia. But time is limited. I might use it to plan blog posts and set goals. I want to write a post about what tarot is and the theme of being called to align with your higher self, she says. Are you aligned with your higher self? I say. Probably not, she says. I’m still lazy, self-indulgent, and petty. What is your higher self like? Strong mom energy probably, says Asia. Someone who looks out for others, has a strong intuition, isn’t anxious, plans ahead, and stands up for what’s right. Tarot helps you align to your higher self? I think so, she says. Look at the Fool’s Journey and the evolution of each suit. Yes, I say. You are a lot more adept than me at tarot. To be fair, I was a literature and art nerd in school, says Asia. Breaking down symbolism is what I love. Honestly, that's what I enjoyed about Biblical studies too, she says.
I grow with stones and I fool with noise I grow stone the site towards which all eyes gaze and I fool with noise nonsense is nonsense I fool noise nonsense is nonsense and I’ve found you’ve got to look back at old things and see them in a new light
New light new nightshade New nightshade: between ribs what night shades Nightshade nonsense but her secret name gnostic shadows
I’ve found you’ve got to look back at old things and see them in a new light. I look at different lights and each light is a woman. I look at different lights different women in the desert. I look towards a Christian light and a Christina light, and Christina appears as Christian apparitions approaching night light. Her night light nightshade snares gnostic shadows and the catch of the Nag Hammadi Codex. She keeps me in the light of ghosts and the kindred wanders undead (Are we dead? Will I miss and reminisce Christina perpetually? Christina continues to ferment and fester as the spiral staircase open wound or the Fisher King Waste Land). I survive the different Christina ghost lights, each whispering a diminished triad. Christina diminished triads surround a trinitarian light striking desert diamond tonalities.
Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room / I like the coincidence
I Play Flat Forest
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out… and I try to stop on a high point to leave someone else something to do
I edit forest and I copy the forest until it becomes four or five forests I copy forest forest agharta funk big fun I forest dark magus magnet fun funk…
I lack play I lack play and I still miss Christina Christina also chews a chasm through and to the Book birth irrational vision viewing irregular (irregular time irregular forests) (I copy irregular forests forests in time out of time Time itself has a history and I copy its forests irregularity Time itself has a history vision herma vulgar inferno vernacular vision) Vermin vision irregular pulse play Christina Palm Tree Garden Gardening, not architecture: forests, not furniture Gardening not architecture arm alm palm tree garden jump blues vision
I lack play I forget my first love and I abandon the play of vision and the vision of play I do not play flat flat funk anarchic with multiple isolations and dislocations This chronology – time itself has a history – outstrips my human experiences and leaves only subterranean forest X forest Underneath forest out other raven multiple isolations and rhizome ruptures (She was like someone you always knew would get there, but one part got there ahead another) Christina sometimes got there but she strives for death before me
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing and eventually I copy the forest an exact forest, forest shadowed and doubled I copy forest a one-for-one forest and the forest face fauna onto film Forest forest fan film both directions at once and I pass through forest syntax I play forest passages and passions, and my forest prayer arises inferring from this conflagration I play forest syntax and it serpents forest sidewinders Forest serpents sound collider rollercoaster tone clusters
I keep playing because I keep searching for a new sound. I search for new sound forest and new chord Christina. I search forest underneath. I search submarine forest and subterranean forest. I play the forest underneath narrative and myth, and this myth meanders the Christina chasm. This myth moves and maneuvers through Christina chaos and I copy him chaos onto this forest. I copy the forest newly Christina and I remember Christina: to make myth from her left behind chaos.
Forest syntax arises serpent-time and time has a history Forest syntax contrasts syntax tusk contradiction and transition and I transition towards the forest copy and forest X forest Forest X forest copies forest tunings the cup of blessing which rests on five forests
Five forests fauve quark flavor fire foe Forest stresses copy forest Forest copies rolling stress Christina forests I copy Christina into five forests and the forest crucifies my bodies five ben adam avalanche forests Five forests flirt Son of Man and Child of Humanity ben adam Five bodies superimposes on five forests and the forests feature Christina onto skulls her films
I lack play I forget my first love and I abandon the play of vision and the vision of play I do not play forest flat anarchic where witch multiple isolations and dislocations Christina chews chronology – her time itself has history – and her chaos outstrips my experiments and experiences I experiment out other older raven multiple isolations and rhizome ruptures (I watch a video essay by the YouTube channel Nerdwriter1 on Robin Williams, entitled “The World Is Open For Play” and one theme of the Book is play Play and experiment and find new ways to express languages Expand and extend the languages in play and experiments I hope I continue to play and I view the page and a world open for play)
I do not play but I play flat forest and anarchic forest and I play the chaos of Christina She was like someone you always knew would get there, but one part got there ahead of another Christina gets there and I follow her chasm and chaos
I can’t play but I sputter pretension without prayer (Once she kicked me in the forehead another time I dropped her head on the floor) (I want me and Christina to dance violently violently detailed desert) Play violence varna virk zip visions warp Christina shore ghosts Play violence silt vulbody sorry (she had a big reach and always looked like she was grasping space, reaching right out to its edges) Play edge no edge erosion / no edges I miss Christina Erode erotic play rose rove desert nerve notations / notations first mapped onto earth’s superimposed strata Play punk salt flat stone
I was thinking earlier about how “thinking with numbers” has a negative connotation to it but math is neutral, says Asia. When we use that phrase though, we aren’t really talking about doing math or counting. We are talking about the mentality of owning or measuring something that can’t be really owned or measured. Like in the Little Prince, there is a man counting the stars. Him counting the stars isn’t bad, but him claiming ownership is, says Asia. I haven’t really heard that phrase thinking with numbers that often, I say. But I might be stuck in my math world. I watch math YouTube and read about math, I say. I think you are rubbing off on me, says Asia. That and getting into sewing. Cutting patterns is geometry. Figuring out how the pieces fit or how to manipulate the materials into a certain shape, she says. I’m glad I’m such a good influence, I say. I like math because it’s beautiful, like aesthetically there are beautiful connections between seemingly disparate things, I say. I want to learn how to draft my own patterns and you have to think in geometry to do that, says Asia. I saw a video recently that connected a summation problem (given such and such many numbers, how many subsets are there that are divisible by 5) and the problem was solved using complex analysis (calculus of imaginary numbers), I say. It was a wonderful connection. Geometry is my weakest point, I say.
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing and forest tunes Taryn letters time Time has its own history which contains Taryn and her forest letters fawn Taryn faun tree bearing fruit with its own seed in it Taryn time cut into trickster time and her forest body creates concealed in the covenant contraries in the covenant Taryn enters the rose riding forest Taryn time tent rose forest: imitations / transformations Forest imitates forest and I copy Taryn Time: forest transforms forest and lamp Taryn without time tent forest
Could you tell me a story from your childhood? I say to Taryn. One time I was roller blading and not paying attention and I ran into the stop sign and I knocked my tooth out, says Taryn. Permanent tooth? No, thankfully not, she says.
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing and Taryn perpetuates play Taryn plays perpetuo moto and her machines manipulate play, the absurd and irregular time of the Book. Taryn plays a complicated figured bass for the Book concerto grosso and her ornaments decorate the Book with existential absurdity. Taryn plays roller blade rhizomes and her teeth tessellate time thunder languages.
I copy the forest into the forest and Taryn Time ferments forest mapped onto body ben adam Fermented forest maps ben adam concealed in the covenant contained in the covenant chaotic Christina
Christina chaos crowds loud desert crows and forests foam cloud of unknowing I create additional chaos snow forests
Forest wing wing winter Taryn wind: wind slim slings her insects Astringent insects swarm adjusted arsenic Forest wing word Taryn forest image and imago and her image gods metamorphosis: image of covenant sown in forty-two couplings, her name engraved explicit name sown in forty-two letters of the at of creation
I look at the letters which are her letters and her letters illuminate the Book as oxbow lake. I look at her letters and her letters strike ben bone: ben adam bone and ben hinnom bone, and this bone sparks light harmony and light Taryn timbre. Taryn shifts the letters through timbre modulation and book frankenstein klangfarbenmelodie. I look at her letters and her letters map the forest rain light and river light, and I travel through forests by her letters.
Five leaves as five layer five roses around the root and room of the forest
Five letters outline the rose room and root Five letters outline rose particles an ocean ouroboros outline Five letters outline fire letters ouroboros ostinato napalm (five serpents serve five gates by which one enters the divine realm)
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing and the forest edit looks letters
I Tell The Story Of Christina
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out… and I try to stop on a high point to leave someone else something to do
I edit forest I edit forest further agharta funk / forest dark magus further funk / forest dark magus further funk Further fat funk formless form funk forest and I further into forest dark funk I further fat funk forest cut across the soul sample spirit sunk Her spirits sample swamps ben bog body without organs and further organ forest ostinato
I play forest edit long edit inside flesh fire erotic earth I edit long light flesh fire fire forest and forest edits forest frequent fires Frequent fires flutter forest forest flatter and I edit tape cassettes record erotic earth Tape cassettes cluster erotic earth immediate earth forests Tape cassette clusters rave earth magnets moat magnetos
Magnets highway merger mercator map memory and my memory manipulates magnets magnets moments of symmetry Earth strips symmetry cycle asymmetry stretto magnetos: magneto moles forest midst mixtures Mast forest mist cell mixtures cult shadows hidden the depths alternate sails
Morton Feldman said: That was how John [Cage] taught. John told me I should write a little bit and then copy it and as I copy I get close to the material, can see what I’m doing and then go on and get ideas. It always works. I write for half a day and copy half the day…. I too copy: I copy texts and I rewrite texts, and I copy and rewrite texts – including my own – to find the new in it or discover a new form or expression. I sculpt texts and move texts around like Morton Feldman sculpted and worked on different permutations of sound. I always move in both directions at once but the cardinal directions sometimes shift: sometimes I shift desert multidirectional and multidirectional through a glass darkly. I explore the dark through copying and repetition. I explore the dark texts gruppen and texts kontrapunkte and the texts reveal through the copy of the dark. I move both directions at once through the dark forest magneto. I copy the forest into the forest and the forest dark unveils new cryptids and new nag hammadi codexes. I copy the text codex and scripture.
Forests sail soft flesh baskets / ben basket bodies maneuver by blood meteors Ben basket bodies weave words bloodlet fingers and fingers fingerlessly glaive forest glade gore Forest glade gowns meadows in gore
Forests sail soft flesh baskets and I basketweave a bloody word I basketweave weapon language / the wound can only be healed by the spear that made it (I dwell in forest dark and without god and without Christina, and I continue to prophesy)
Forests sail soft figure with weak meat blue crucifixions Forest crucifies and immures figure with meat into monastery cells / bloody word wall
I feel better after talking to you and Asia, I said to Christina. Did something happen? Or just existential stuff? said Christina. I couldn’t write well, I said. Someone once told me even Jesus didn’t write his own story, and that made me feel better, said C. It was a playwriting class, said Christina.
I dwell in forest dark and without god and without Christina, I continue to prophesy
She doesn’t like fancy rich douche bags who happen to have a little talent? said Christina. I expressed my deep doubts about if my obscurity and inaccessibility secretly covers up no meaning, no depth, shallow play, I said. I asked her if she thought that was the case. She said no. I think you’re trying to say many things at the same time. I would agree that your writing is not accessible, said Christina. I also don’t know if that’s necessarily a bad thing. Your writing makes me have to learn things, said C.
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out… I dwell in forest dark without god and without Christina and I continue to prophesy (The Baal Shem Tov used to go to a certain place in the woods and light a fire and pray when he faced an especially difficult task and it was done. His successor followed his example and went to the same place but he said: “The fire we can longer light, but we can still say the prayer.” And what he asked was done too. Another generation passed, and Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sassov went to the woods and said: “The fire we can no longer light, the prayer we can no longer know: all we know is the place in the woods and that will have to be enough.” And it was enough. In the fourth generation, Rabbi Israel of Rishin stayed at home and said: “The fire we can no longer light, the prayer we no longer know, nor do we know the place. All we can do is tell the story.” And that too, proved sufficient.) I keep playing and editing and playing and editing, and although I dwell in forest dark, I continue to copy the forest in hopes of discovering the fire and prayer without god and without Christina, I continue to prophesy a fiery prayer and I pray a dark prophecy I prophesy a propulsive tyger tyger burning bright in the forest of the night
Forest forest into terns and onto film Forest forest onto film both directions at once I pass through forest syntax I flow flesh through forest syntax: cell egg figure with meat flask syntax
Forest syntax torch taryn syntax forest Forest syntax arisen inferring from this conflagration Forest syntax arisen serpent infers sidewind wound sound sidewound rollercoaster
Forest contrast tusk contradiction Forest tone contrails tent turn taryn travel forest tunings Forest tunings the cup of blessing which rests on five forests
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out I edit forest dark and without god and without Christina I continue to prophesy without god and without Christina and it proves to be a difficult task, so I tell the story of the forest and the fire and the prayer, and through the story, I myth the forest and fire and prayer into existence I storytell and it keeps the fire of prophecy without god and Christina
I copy the forest again and I storytell the forest again: I attempt to discover new prayers carved into its root systems or leaves of grass
Forest forest flock terns as onto film Forest forests films onto flocks both directions at once / at once the holy spirit drove me into the wilderness Forest forest films into flocks both directions at once and at once I pass through forest syntax I fly flesh through forest syntax and I cook flock flask alchemies I cauldron forest flask organic chemistry and organic ostinatos / incessant insect rhythms I scribe new scripture syntax: I scribe syntax torch taryn forest syntax I storytell syntax arisen inferring from this conflagration I psalm syntax arisen serpent infers the sidewound can only be healed by the spear that made it Forest tusk as Christina cunt wounds me sidewinder word and Christina basketweaves bloody body without organs Forest tusk wounds contrast stations of the cross I translate stations of the cross into string orchestra and forests tune its fires Forests tune fires the cup of blessing which rests on five forests
I think of that conversation I had with Christina about identity, I say. I told her I felt writing and prophecy was entirely my identity, and she asked me, do you want to change it? I felt that was a very good question, I say. There is a pattern I see in Christian deconstruction where people move from believing to being critical and angry and if you aren’t careful you can get stuck there, says Asia. The anger feels good sometimes, but you can’t stay there. You eventually have to start building something new, she says. Yeah, I think that’s true, I say. I don’t think you can have a healthy relationship with something entirely negative. You can't have a worldview based entirely on a negative tearing down, I say. I agree, says Asia. You can’t just live your life being against something and not for something, she says. I think that’s even creatively true in a way, I say. I told you about our dialectic: I am always striving for anarchic deconstruction of language, an almost totally apophatic and unknown language, while you push me to form and accessibility and elaboration of ideas to form consistent themes. The synthesis of those two approaches make for new constructive language, not merely a deconstructive language, I say. I would agree with that, says Asia.
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out, and I identify as a prophet and writer in this dark forest I dwell dark and I construct new language from the prayer fragments and ashfire and ashglory I dress dark and I continue to prophesy without god without Christina and the new forest tome contrails tent turn taryn travel forest tunings Forest tunes the cup of blessing which rests on five forests
I repeat forests and I repeat fires of prophecy. I listen to Crow, Pt. 2 by Mount Eerie: But when I’m trying to, I see you everywhere, in plants and birds and in our daughter, in the sun going down, and coming up, and in whatever the myths that used to get told around the fire When a seal’s head pokes up through from underwater crossing the threshold between two worlds, yours and mine We were skeletally intertwined once but now I notice ravens instead I don’t see you anywhere… Christina is not dead but I don’t see her anywhere and God might be dead and I don’t see him anywhere but I notice Christina everywhere in my book and prophecy when I’m trying to: in the plants and dark forest, in the purple martins and ruby-throated hummingbirds, in our daughter that never existed but perhaps I had a dream about her, and I repeat the forests and I repeat the fires because they continue to storytell Christina. Our myths keep the Kindred alive in the Book. I confess Christina rosaries and stations of the cross and I repeat the forest tunings and the five forests on fire to remember Christina and Kindred when newly new.
Forests tune the cup of blessing which rests on five forests
Five forests fauve quark flavour Five foe for forest stresses: stressed salvation salvation seeps vowel accents Vowel accents around ground girl forest ben adam Ben five bodies forest five ben adam bodies (Christina always invades the Book and she loves Ben Folds Five and I listen to her favorite Ben Folds Five song: I poured my heart out – it evaporated, see?)
I Keep Playing And Editing And Playing And Editing
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out… and I try to stop on a high point and leave someone else something to do
I edit forest I edit edit forest agharta funk / forest dark magus funk I flood fat funk forest cut across the soul sample I play forest edit long edit inside flesh fire Fire flutters forest forest camera shutter I forest camera and shoot from the hip happenings / I shoot from the hip happening the marriage of heaven and hell I forest camera and shoot from the hip large hadron collider helicopters / I play edit earth particle collision tape cassettes I tape cassette tetragrammaton gamma funk magmatic automatic machines / tape cassette tetragrammaton rare earth magnets Magnets highway merger mercator map memory / manipulated magnets meander moments of symmetry magnetos I move movement mast forest mist mixtures
I keep playing and I imagine the Book as a musical composition or jazz standards. I keep playing and I explore the page as a series of chord changes or as sixteen measures of D dorian followed by sixteen measures of Db dorian. I keep playing and see the page as process musics and aleatoric pick-up of repeating motifs like Terry Riley’s In C. I keep playing and the Book copies John Cage Music of Changes. I divine improvisation with my improvisation transforms through flow and intuition. I divine improvisation divine comedy and I apply the Book of Changes to the Christina Channel Book as scripture and Book as new language. I play and edit improvised divine and improvised comedy / comedic stations of the cross. To introduce new material, the charts alternate between mobile and immobile states, and its content immediately cell new material.
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out…
I play pour time vision invasion I play pour stick pinion time pack stack vision Vision versus time tempers local vocal cut galaxy: active radio galaxy generates active time I keep time Taryn flesh enfolded / ben bold body in terrors
I play pour time interior body vision rat fat fog glowing human body active galaxy Vision outstrips vision human experiment mapped onto earth’s superimposed strata Vision plays stratified earth gruppen garfish local group starfish
I have a story about my daughter for you, says Asia. We went to the waterfront to pick her up and we go by the water and she goes “It’s high tide” and I’m like “… How is that a part of your vocabulary?” SHE’S TWO, says Asia. That is awesome, I say. SHE’S SUPER SMART SHE’S GOING TO BE A WRITER, I say. And she’s over her here like some old fisherman “Yup looks like high tide,” says Asia.
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out… I play time tide time high marriage of heaven and hell I play tide crack khora chronology local group garfish gruppen gelatin I videotape tide Taryn gruppen high gloss chronos I videotape taryn tide torque tent of meeting marshlands waste lands loud chronos shrink ray I play video vapor vapor vision verb vision / visor verb vinyl vault full frontal assault Tide time maps mine monkeyshines slow book cinema (Can it be that, in the Book, dying means becoming invisible to all others but decipherable to yourself Could it be that in the Book, writing becomes legible to all others, but undecipherable to yourself) I do not decipher myself but I detail the desert I detail the desert and I vomit vision sand indecipherable / tide flat flesh splat split sprawl maw cave mouth I do not decipher but vision tides undecidable / videotape desert dust clarion Desert clarion clash ben hinnom detail dust carrion / visions versions tide vertical vultures tier taryn total differential Vision views tide undecipherable voyeurism and its light remains illegible Book interrupts illegible dead tide and her tide juts alive
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out… And I try to stop on a high point to leave someone else something to do
I try to stop on a high point high tide any I edit the tidal forest I edit the lunar forest lantern light lateral light forests I edit forest I edit edit forest agharta funk farm felt / forest dark magus tide funk I edit and play funk fat forest cut across my lard body with lunar craters I edit and play funk forest set the fort on fire I sample the fire forest soul El Shaddai I play forest edit long edit inside flesh fire and I push the fire tidal improvisations I push the improvisational lunar light hour of the wolf / word wolf soul samples I sample forest soul edited earths
I keep playing and editing and I try to find new ways to repeat. I look for new methods of repetition and to repeat reveals new narrative. Repetition reveals new narrative and new revelations, and I play and edit to discover a developing variation repetitions. I keep playing and editing and trying to find novel repetitions and I reveal the repetitions playing and editing. I keep playing and editing the repeated forest and the repeated earth, and I find neolithic vinyl records and cassette tapes buried in the cave mouth monolith.
Do you like this poem? I ask Asia. I mean I don’t hate it, she says. It’s not Mending Wall. I don’t like Mending Wall but I haven’t read it in awhile, I say. Why do you think Stopping By The Woods is so highly anthologized? Do you think it’s because it’s a good poem? I think Robert Forest is popular because his poetry is accessible but not simple. Like you don’t see Wallace Stevens anthologized in primary school textbooks, I say. I agree, says Asia. That is why I like Robert Forest. I like it the more I read it, she says. Why do you like my poetry? It’s certainly not accessible. It’s grown on me, says Asia. I don't know if you find this to be the case, but I find when a work has grown on me, I like it even better, I say. I think of something like Miles Davis’ album Bitches Brew, which I found totally incomprehensible, but because I grew with it, it has become a little extra special for me. I should say Christina, in addition to thinking my work is powerful and prophetic, likes my writing because it has her in it and she has a big ego. Taryn has told me it’s because the Book is a unique voice that conveys raw expression that is not contained anywhere else. I will say accessible but not simple is the hardest kind of art to produce in my opinion. It’s easy to hide fake profundity in the inaccessible. I worry about that in my own work. Do you think my work is fake profound or secretly shallow? Like beneath the surface of play and game and scripture, there’s nothing there? I say. No, I don’t says, Asia. I do think that you try to say many things at once and that makes it harder to simplify, she says. I like that assessment, I say. I think what you say is true, I try to say many things simultaneously. I used to not like Robert Forest at all but he’s also grown on me but not in a way where he was difficult before. I just didn’t see the depth of his accessibility. I see how Mary Oliver is like that too: she is accessible depth, I say. That is my favorite kind of art, says Asia. A lot of greats that used large complicated language and complicated prose put beauty and art and intellect behind a wall and the overall message is that beauty and intellect aren’t fund in the mundane world. When Mary Oliver said that she looked for god everywhere she meant it. And what I like about Robert Frost is that not only did he write in ways that everyday people could understand, he wrote about everyday people too, says Asia. Do you think that the mundane material world is the best world to speak about? I say. I think reframing the mundane is the best way to shake up the way people think, says Asia. But also, why wouldn’t you want to live your life with eyes wide open and seeing all the fantastic amazing things around you instead of thinking that beauty is only in foreign lands, behind glass at museums, or in the worlds that don’t exist? Why wouldn’t you want to show people that wonderful things are right under your nose, says Asia. Do you feel my work idealizes those things or do you think it engages with the mundane world? I say. I would say it does engage with the mundane world, says Asia. A huge bit of it is you digesting and recreating bits and bobs that you collected around you, says Asia.
I keep playing and editing and playing and editing myself out… And I try to stop on a high point to leave someone else something to do I keep playing forest and editing forest I edit forest first peopling of the americas or I edit and play archaic human souls sampling others souls tent of meeting transmigrations
I edit forest I edit forest agharta funk and pangaea prayer / play pray dark forest magus funk I flirt fat funk forest cut across soul stations of the cross I sample cross sped-up soul snippets struck station to station and I play saturate station explosion I play forest edit long edit inside flash fast forest circular ruins Ruins repeat rhizome ring modulating forests (Forests fluster camera repetition tape cassette ribbons)
I edit forests magnet highway merger
Vision and Mysticism 