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

Beetles Accompany Me In The Forest Search

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetles in process     I process beetle prayer pungent aporia     Beetle prayer plays process the initiation of actions and happenings     I attend my beetle body blue bastard pigment and black bastard pigment     I attend my beetle body bill and ted’s bogus journey or ben adam cowabunga body     My body nail nunchucks chuck beef beetle solar barge gnosis (I door knock gnosis flared nostrils)

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetles in process     I gather bright beetles my body equally beetle art deco decoration     I decorate ben beetle body and deco desert and the desert receives nuclear weapon tests     Desert flares flask mask photon annihilation nude name improvisation     I improvise random and pseudo-random rhizome seaweed and wreckage (in rhizome wreckage I climb mountains   scale the mountain I live the mountain     in beetle process I birth the mountain mountain body ben mouth mothlight mountain – the mountain crumbles)

I play with process.  I play with process what process and I experiment process.  I experiment process plus process plus process and the process mimics locust swarms.  I swarm with locusts and the stochastic glissandi of Iannis Xenakis’ orchestra strings.  I play with process beetles’ wings and woman wing dragonflies.  I pray process and I pray with the play of insect prayer.  I prayer process beetle psalms and I rub my wings to accompany the psalm cantillations.  I play process music and process theology, a series of gradually transforming cells: each cell a psalm and each cell a god.  I copy cells and I transform cells and I copy what Steve Reich said about process music: “Not the process of composition but rather pieces of music that are, literally, processes.  The distinctive thing about musical processes is that they determine all the note-to-note (sound-to-sound) details and the overall form simultaneously.”  The Book plays melodic process and water process and insect process.

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetle in process     I play process wax felt latex latex clothes long naked she lights the lights     Latex clothes long paper positions naked notch knot nude annihilations     I scrape my body mobile desert missile mobile unmetered bodies: ben bodies eccentric naked in irregular insect arrangements

I arrange ink insects, impossible cyberpunk beetles     I stagger golden stag beetle stagger lee

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetle in process     I process beetle prayer and I arrange ink insects, an impossible cyberpunk beetles     My beetle body cuts clay crane paper cadillac     I crane cadillac beetles and I fold my wings word process     I process cadillac crucifix crossroads repeats cutting hanging drop irregular alphabet insects (goliath beetle glyphs rotates irregular animalcule alphabets)

There’s this lyric from the song B.I.B.L.E. by GZA, I say.  “Why should you die to go heaven?  The earth is already in space.”  Right? says Asia.  I have my own version of Pascal’s Wager:  “What if you are wrong and this is the only chance we get and you speak all your time, scared out of your mind and being an insufferable bigot?”  or something like that.  Fundamentalism gives you agoraphobia.  I grew up scared to watch the wrong shows, or read the wrong books because it could lead my astray.  I was afraid to read science books (outside ones about bugs), says Asia.  Hey, they have creation “science” books, you know, I say.  I know, says Asia.  My grandma got me a creationist DVD set.  Did you watch it?  Were you convinced it?  Yes and yes, says Asia.

Bugs breach my brain but it’s OK because they’re pentecostal missionaries sent from god

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetles in process and bugs in process     Bugs breach my brain vapor visions / vapors parse passing blind beetle unbounded surfaces     Visions vapor surfaces sleep snow (beetle snow cone conic sections)     Visions vapor this mess we're in / vellum velour the city’s sunset over me     Bugs breach my brain vapor anatomy tomb variable tomb     Bugs volt vapor anarchic anatomy tale atom ben adam (an organisms tendency to disappear into its own ganglia and enter its own glottis)     I scope god ganglia modular gang god goliath beetle     I gloat slope god genera cerebrospinal ensconcement / microphone beetles machine semantogenic englobement     Beetles vapor volaes palimpsest and minotaur manuscripts

I sometimes get lost with the bugs and beetles but they are good company to be lost with.  Bugs make good company and we listen to Philip Glass’ String Quartet No. 2 “Company”.  Ben and beetles participate in theater as a company, and all the movements of our work light monochromatic and in loosely related movements.  We process gestures god transforming as god and the gods arrange beetle companies into string orchestras.  I get lost with the bugs and beetles, but they prove themselves good companies to be lost with.

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetles in process and I get lost with the company of beetles in dark forest

I frame forest     I reframe forest the forest     I furnish forest with forest ben adam frostbite     Familiar forest flesh flings faucet fountain mountain meddle metal     Familiar forest bursts burgs unfamiliar forest     Unfamiliar forest conducts Bruckner symphonies during alien abductions     Beetles abduct my brain fanned leaf forest     I photograph open-winged UFOs oscillate oneiric oxen overlapping UFOs     Unidentified flying forests furnish my flesh beetle company and beetle colony     Unidentified flying objects fix oxen objects

I’ve been reading Octavia Butler, says Asia, and she wrote that god is changed and can be intentionally shaped.  Yesterday, I was watching a video of an interview with Mary Oliver and the interviewer asked her about the poem Wild geese.  The interviewer said that a lot of people have said that the poem saved their lives.  Mary Oliver said that poetry is a form of religion, that poetry is a spiritual experience and that poems can become a part of you.  You read it, it becomes a part of you and you own it, it's yours… It is bad that I felt jealous when she said that?  Other people owned my poem too, says Asia.  I was sharing my favorite version of My Favorite Things by John Coltrane in a server, I say, and it’s a more obscure version, and someone said, that's my favorite version too and it got my dad into Coltrane.  I was like, man, I wanted to experience the sharing of My Favorite Things with someone and they already have it.  They took that gift away from me, I say.  Mary Oliver said that being a poet is a lonely pursuit, says Asia.

I write a lonely pursuit but I share this company of bugs with Asia and this Book forest and forest leaves of grass

Forest fuses forest Liu Kang flying kicks     Forest fuses forest frame format flesh fastens flesh     Flesh farms forests vorticist Taryn volumes speed green

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetles in process and I frame forest     I reframe forest fistula foam finger fisticuffs     Forest handcuffs hardcell cyclops slow circuit offset     Offset oxen swell charge stall forest stomachs     I nomad across lost outlay opaque pancake forest oxen

In forest, I find peculiar cryptids and UFOs, but I do not report them.  I want to keep the secrets of the forest.  The secrets of the forest keep their forest secrets well and forest swells nautilus shell.  The spiral nautical shell appears everywhere: in the human body, in the Book, and in the forest.  I keep the forest secrets and the secrets secrete bombardier beetle defensive spray and exhaust spray from beetle-shaped UFOs.  I find peculiar cryptids in the forest including several ghosts of Christina but they all elude me and I can’t capture photographic evidence.  I still know Christina is in this forest.

The sky sees many stars starve forest and stars streak stadium naked additional oxen     Oxen multiply forest maps skull movements macaroni and cheese     I chew chinese chess forest oxen open UFO triangles / imaginary aurora sightings

I dwell in the forest and I look for any evidence of Christina: I know Christina exists somewhere and anywhere and it might as well be this forest     I search this forest while the beetles keep me company and I listen to the song Duane Joseph by the Juliana Theory:     You always know that I’ll be there / cause summer time is coming near / my closest friend you’ll always be / you are a hometown kid like me    […]     Why can’t it be the way it was / when pain was only plastic guns / my closest friend I couldn’t say / you are a million miles away…     I miss Christina and I continue to remember Christina in this Book and Forest

I gather sort collate associate pattern beetles in process and forests appear in umbra unidentified flying objects umbilical     Open multiply umbilical forests and the forest maps mop skull moments macaroni and cheese     I chew cheese forest open triangles and triangles cut trickle forest tinge flesh     Forests tinkle watercolour wash whales as unidentified flying objects and oxen objects project quarters clears quartz cave forests

I reminisce about old conversations I had with Christina.  I’ve copied this conversation before and I will copy it again like I continually copy bugs and forests: Was I difficult to be a friend with in high school? I say.  Sometimes, says C.  Especially if I had a boyfriend.  To be fair, you had shit boyfriends, I say.  Christina laughs.  You didn’t like Damian?  No – I’m glad you didn’t marry him, I say.  He was so slimy, says C.  Really?  Was he a lizard person?  He was very moist but I meant more in personality.  He had anger issues too.  He scared me, says C.  Then why did you get engaged to him?!  Because I had daddy issues?? says C.  And no self-esteem.  Dang, I’m the best dude you've ever known – I’m sorry, I say.  Ha! says C.  I’ve known some nice people.  Never dated them though.  I think I’ll make better decisions post-divorce.  Probably! I say.  You’ll be OK, I think.  I will be a little jealous when you date again but I know we will be OK.  I don’t see myself dating before the kids are out of high school, says C.  No one wants a cripple!  I want you, I say.  Until you have to wipe my butt or deal with my bonkers kids.  I know how to wipe butts at least, I say.  You know, that is truly a great skill to look for in a mate! says C.  What do you do if your spouse is grossed out by your butt?  T and I have wiped each others butt.  Make every opportunity to moon my partner and making farting noises at the same time, I say.  Leave an upper decker in the shape of a heart, says C.  Make puns at the same time, I say.  You mean I have to deal with this shit?!  I’m always putting up with your shit! etc.  Oh that’s good! says C.  I’m very funny, I say.  You are, says C.  You’re funny and wipe butts.  Double threat! says C.

I continue to look for Christina in this forest     Forest frequents flesh vortex     Forest vortex cut flesh cyclops claws point park place     Forest pattern angles antler oxen estuaries     Forest blasts mud bath / Christina’s beach sand asshole

I continue to look for Christina in the forest forest x-ray activity     Forest feigns estuary movement and activity / ben beetles fuss mysteries and imitative cinematography 

I continue to look for Christina in the forest forest taryn textures magenta colored opalescences     Forest disintegrates in the look and gaze fisher king waste land / fuller forest fires with unidentified causes     Force fires flesh forests deep inside weights     I look forests and I gather goat collage associate pattern beetles in process

I Eat My Own Severed Head

I eat my own severed head: a large round mushroom

I eat my own severed head a large round mushroom     Mushroom rhythm sounds an harmonic chamber child of humanity     Harmonic chamber clamors child of humanity     Child of Humanity hunts haunted harmony / woman wild hunt     An harmonic canon fires pace of the twin savior the child of the child 

I eat skull girls gather golgotha     I devour skull desert desert girls dance olive oil gethsemane

I eat skull incises precise silver incisors sword centuries century rolls deserts     Skull stone repeats pitches pitcher plant in an even tempo interrupted by work arcs keyways holes small violence     Small violence flourishes voluptuous violet (I listen to György Ligeti’s Viola Sonata: sonata slides slow glissando gut sabers)     I sometimes collect skulls scratched make sounds with stones / amplified glitch silver gethsemane

I like skulls.  I like skulls and I lick skulls.  Any skull appears beautiful, a glinting gorgeous bone.  The skull shines like silver, precious bone and precious bone.  I like skulls and I lick skulls a delicious desert salt lick.  I sometimes accidentally eat a skull.  I accidentally eat the first human skull but purposefully devour the second human skull in the desert.  I digest the skull like the desert digests monastery ruins.

I eat my own severed head a large round mushroom

I archive / I storytell     I archive skulls / I storytell skull     I archive skulls ancient of ancients massed gasses / massive gods gestate skull genealogies     I archive skull genealogies and I storytell lemon twist triceratops (Taryn gores with three horns / Taryn twists with non-euclidean geometry hell hounds)     I archive skulls / I storytell Taryn swamp stomp tempest     Taryn tempest tent turnpike divide / magnets caught in a metal heart     I archive metals skull metals mason and dixon     I archive skull ark arm point arkestra     I archive ark her skull automatic letter animations: her animates archive armageddon     Her animations archive armageddon desert desiring-machine mount megiddo

Went to an Asia food store today, says Asia.  I also got miso.  UBE IS BEST, I say.  I’m so excited about the ube! says Asia.  You have no idea.  So I was born in Guam and I don’t remember it, but it means that my parents had a lot of Filipino friends when I was growing up and I went to their cookouts all the time and it was great because I was the tiniest, hungriest little white girl around all these Filipino ladies who were like “you too skinny, you need to eat” and we also had an Asian market in town when I was a kid and I would get treats there all the time, including ube snacks of all kinds.  They had this really good ube ice cream that had coconut in it.  It was heavenly and I kind of want to break out my ice cream maker and try making vegan ube ice cream, says Asia.  This is Asia lore I had no idea about, I say.  Of course you know I grew up on Filipino food so this is such a cool connection we share that I didn’t know! I say.  I miss lumpia and pancit everyday, says Asia.  Maybe I’ll figure out how to make it vegan.  I love Asian food markets so much.  They are so homey and full of good food and friendly people.  My daughter is always a big hit in any Asian food market I go to – it’s the dimples, she says.  That's awesome, I say.  This is so dumb, but I feel really excited to have learned your experience with Filipino food, I say.  God, food is such a powerful thing, says Asia.  I accidentally seasoned by bean soup yesterday in such a way that it tasted like crawfish boil and I almost started tearing up, because I can’t eat crawfish anymore and a part of me misses the foods I grew up with that I can’t eat anymore.  I miss catfish frys.  It was a big event and a bunch of people came over and you ate outside on tables covered in newspaper.  Just fry up big batches of catfish and dump it on the table for everyone to dig into, says Asia.  One of my favorite things as a kid my dad made was fried catfish.  He doesn't eat catfish anymore so I haven’t had it in awhile… ASIA HOW DID I COMPLETELY MISS WE HAVE SUCH A FOOD CONNECTION, I say.  Like I said, food is powerful, says Asia.  You’re right, I say.  That’s why we are friends: for this very moment when we find out we both grew up on Filipino food and catfish, I say.

I eat my own severed head a large round mushroom

I eat my severed skull secluded radio     I change the channel on the radio and each channel has a different guitar solo     I archive metal skull guitar glyphs to alphabets / words architect additional time     Words ark skull time endurance endure dark     Words stone skull ark endure desert time Taryn dusk     Skull depends on dusk dust dark desert dark sneak duration (The shark hind disintegrates and leaves not a skull but a jaw)     Word duration drones time dusk human husk hauntology     I hint hauntology with human skull: I hint hauntology glow row rhizome Christina golgotha     Christina’s skull haunts twelve-tone row rhizome oar archive retrograde-inversion

(A skull that rotates in retrograde appears as a skull.  A skull that translates through inversion strikes as a skull.  A skull in the middle of a nonretrogradable rhythm sings a skull in the middle of meddle language rhythm.  A skull functions in symmetry and symmetries splice through it skull and skull: totally skull.)

The word of the skull and the skull of the word walks psychogeography, generation of inscribed time     Taryn’s skull skips desert détournement and archives genealogies of time scriptures     Words weird walk collage blood clot assemblages / I assemble human skulls into the helicopter glyph of words

The word of the skull and the skull of the word collapses collage gods gore suspended skulls san francisco gold rush     Gold rush braids skull reeds sea rhizome and I speak the skull of sea     I speak the skull rush shush sleet snow slush rhizomes     Skull snow slush sludge rhizome din downstream sleep     I sleep skulls at the same edge of skulls: I sleep skull ski stop slope (my eyes saw sleepy from the sky above)

I might plant my ube, says Asia.  I might have to wait awhile… Out of season for planting? I say.  Yeah, she says.  So one of the things on my cook list is vegan sausage made of okara and then I’m going to put that vegan sausage in a vegan gumbo.  I’ve never made a vegan gumbo but I have to make more soy milk because I used most of the okara to get some vegan cheese going.  I be making all sorts of things.  Years ago, I hyperfixated on fermented food, and I can feel that hyperfixation bubbling back to the surface.  Just manically making yogurt, says Asia.

I eat my own severed head a large round mushroom     My severed skull sprouts spores and the spore network communicates apocalypses

My eyes saw sleeping from the sky above and a star falls from the sky becomes one eating pasturing among the oxen     (I leave the skull out in the rain and oxen oxidizes elephant aluminum)     Skulls overlap oxen: oxen overlap oxen outlet outset oxygen catastrophe     Skulls overlap oxen open onward Christian soldiers     Oxen open skull air glyphs to alphabet blast cap sleep     Blast cap skull cup sleep deep desert alphabet

As a kid, I went to the local Chinese restaurant regularly and I learned my sign or animal in the Chinese Zodiac: the ox.  I identify as the ox and the ox works.  The ox works and the ox writes and I pull language across the page.  Ben the Ox drafts desert fire.  Ben the Ox plows and pulls and I thresh the grain writing gods.  I write the little circle of animals, zodiac vision and vision zebra (Christina camouflaged in the cook of the Book).

Oxen open oscillation / pendulum oxygen autumn strands stain autumn leaves     Leaves launch leaves of grass / strange celestial oxen gore gods     Leaves launch leaves of grass / oxen gore horned skulls cone god ice cream scoops     Oxen skulls grow leaf skeleton scaffolding and I sleep meat cathedral     I sleep meat cathedral kingdom of the skies revival

Oxen occupy opposition: oxen absorb contradiction

I eat my severed mushroom head and oxen occupy its oppositions     Oxen occupy my skull opposite processes, the perpetuo moto piston of process musics     Oxen absorb skull contradictions contradict online oxen assassins

Oxen occupy opposition: open absorb contradiction     Oxen into terns as onto film leopard syntax / syntax sieges city the microcosm of a skull     Syntax sieges city window widow wall woman batwings     I eat the beat of blue batwings beer binge beetles

I slow cook oxtail for a stew and I cut off my tail for storytelling.  I tend to storytell with the skull or hand rather than the tail: cutting off my oxtail has minimal impact on my mythmaking.  I would slow cook other parts of my body, but losing too much impacts my storytelling.  I would slow cook my hand but my lack of hand would make it more difficult to write; I would eat my tongue, but without a tongue, I would have difficulty speaking prophecy.  Therefore, I feel confident slow cooking and eating my oxtail, because I still storytell without tails.

Oxen occupy oppositions: oxen absorb contradictions     I study desert skulls opposite of desert skulls     I study the bone of the Book and Christina’s ghost gathers rocks and bones from the desert floor: Christina assembles the desert bone into brutalist architecture and the Bone Book babels through this architecture collage oxen     I gather sort collage associate pattern beetles in process     I process beetle prayer pungent aporia (I process painted skulls: ram’s head with hollyhock   deer’s head with pedernal   a desert scene with a deer skull with vibrant wildflowers)

I eat my own severed head a large round mushroom     I obsess skulls, human skulls, and oxen skulls stone hymns     I pray these stone hymns and rock skulls: prayer process aporia the initiation of actions and happenings     I garden god skulls and desert oxen (gardening, not architecture)     I eat my own severed head gardening, not architecture     I never garden     I never garden I grow palm tree garden…

Random pest control guy came by saying the company he works for sprays my neighbors’ houses and that I could get a deal if I signed up, says Asia.  Told me that they would kill all the bugs inside my house, and all the bugs in the yard, including spiders, wasps, and dirt dobbers.  I started telling him that I liked spiders and spiders and wasps play an important part in the ecosystem and that I wasn't interested in killing every living thing in my yard.  He was just like “… Oh well, most people don’t like bugs.”  Sorry dude, better luck somewhere else, says Asia.

I devour my severed head swarming with bag beetles and bug desert and the beetles garden in my skull     Beetles punch vision into my vagus nerve vowels     Beetles garden my severed head in opposition and contradiction with oxen: oxens contradiction counter-sun and counter stations of the cross     Beetles improvise skull block chords visions viola vigil     Beetle visions vocalized violent nameless narrative (I storytell with my bleeding buttocks missing its oxtail / oxtail details bottomless pit)

Beetles storytell and narrative nameless through my skull     Beetles rhythm ragtime narrative through my mouth nameless teeth syncopations     Beetles vibrate my teeth tempest narrative hands heap vision syncopation (my hands hold visions dreams with vaginal teeth) (I dream the stallion leaps over the sea without hooves   hooves heal hands host beetle bodies)

I eat my own severed head holds beetle barons and beetle church bells     I never garden but I grow grand guinol beetles and they stage body horror in the amphitheater of my skull     I never garden but I grow palm tree garden superficial girls     Girls garden grave grace: girls garden grove grain and grain gerrymanders sheol

I garden and I attend the imaginary gravestone of Christina.  This gravestone resembles a monochromatic shaped canvas superimposed onto a human skull: I imagine it’s my own skull because she inhabits my head.  She inhabits my head like these hercules beetles inhabit my head.  Christina as the ghost of Harmonia axyridis inhabits my skull decorated for Halloween: my Halloween head decorated by Christina harlequins.  I visit Christina's imaginary gravestone often, and several species of spiders keep her grave site clean (coincidentally, these same spiders keep my skull tidy).  I visit her nonexistent spider-skull gravestone and I think about death often.  I watch the film Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai and it quotes the Hagakure: “The Way of the Samurai is found in death.  Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily […] and every day, without fail, one should consider himself as dead.  This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai.”  I meditate on my own death almost daily, but not in the manner of the samurai, but in the manner of the manic-depressive.  I dream of my own death but I also dream Christina too.  I garden the dream and I garden death too, and I still worry Christina has died or will die soon; I hope even in her absence, she doesn't die.   I hope we reconcile and not at our grave sites (I imagine we will be buried in the same burial plot).

I eat my own severed head a large round mushroom     I eat my own severed head sprouts garden grave grain     My head garden grows green gangrene wasp grain     My head grain gardens grape colorless green ideas sleep furiously (Garden ghosts sleep furious generative grammar / fuck spider syntax fuck syntax spiders sprawl spike rhizome     Fuck rhizome syntax slack twilight tunnel tunnel syntax tinnitus     I tinker twilight garden harden earth erection     Tinker twilight straight rhizome snap syntax     Snap syntax cusp cask core occult     Occult occludes garden rain wreckage (wreckage hinge hand hole catch hang haruspex heart jaws wires)     I hang hinge her hands shake hauled wreckage hemlock     Hand horror garden hemlock unlock mandrakes     Unlock mandrake warlock rhizome syntax     Syntax rhizome wedlock Christina's cock

I eat my own severed head a large round mushroom

My Hands Experience Direct Visions

At once the Spirit drove him into the desert, and he remained in the desert for forty days, tempted by Satan.  He was among wild beasts, and the angels ministered to him.

At once, my hands distort the desert / at once, desert distracts my hands     Hands scratch desert vision the very vision unveils veil     Vision the very vision drives out desert valley desert and valley volleys tower tomb wound rhizome     Desert at once drives wild woman and wild women my wounds in desert

At once my hands distract my hands / immediate the desert distracts my hands to tuned distance     My hands to distance vision the very vision discard hands an empty tomb     At once I discard my hands haze tomb languages sackcloth clock tower

My hands experience the visions directly.  My hands directly receive dreams and visions without any other mediation, like a spinal cord reflex.  My hands vine vision the very vision and this vision drives my hands to desert.  My hands document desert wild beasts and the burden of vision.  My hands experience the vision of vision and the valley vision directly.

At once the spirit drove him out into the desert     Spirit drives immediate vision my hands marry heaven and hell     Vision vore my hands volumes vertical voids / I stand hands my spinal column vertical to the earth     My spinal column vertical to the earth receives hands erect bone     Vision void dip my hands beetle dig hell vision diagonal / my hands multidirectional voids     My hands hole bone hell vision veil viol vena vela visions doubled by hands     I verb vision hands hundred spheres hears hands heres hearts

My hands experience the visions directly.  My hands act visions happenings and performances, and the visions realize themselves in the hands of verbs.  My hands shape verb vision as shaped canvas.

I verb vision and I verb vision     I verb vision and I verb vision bark hands hole circus / hands circus striated city circulations     I verb vision jagged voltage (gagged jagged titanium gasoline jam line)     Vellum vision warps hands words holes her hers words woman wild language / my hands directly disintegrate the languages     Languages vellum vision palimpsest I wear my sunglasses at night     I wear my sunglasses at night nude now vultures

My hands experience direct night vision and night music.  My hands conduct night melodies and the nocturnes sneak underneath my fingernails.  Night insects surround my hands and mimic the sections of the orchestra.  The orchestra colors timbres stations of the cross.  The identification and pinning of insect species in shadowboxes reenacts Golgotha.

I wear my sunglasses at night nude now voltage vultures and vulture nocturnes     My night body hands vellum revolver or verb vision written and rewritten     (My hands write and rewrite vellum variation and punctuated cone palimpsest)     Write and rewrite renihilation on rhizome Asia Among Rivers     Rapid vision vespers Asia Among Rivers / Christina the witch woman’s cunt had teeth in them

At once the Spirit drove him out into the desert and he remained in the desert for forty days, tempted by Satan.  He was among the wild beasts and the angels administered to him.

At once my hands hear night music and Christina hymns     Her hymns gather my hands ghost hyle and Morton Feldman’s Piano and String Quartet     My hands hold hush night music and hands write and rewrite avant-garde lingerie vision

I listen to avant-garde music and I experiment with the written form: I experiment page as shaped canvas or page as an extended chamber piece like Morton Feldman’s Piano and String Quartet (upon reading the score, Steve Reich found that many of its quiet, mysterious chords, were in fact inversions of themselves, and that repetition of material were never exact repetitions) (I want to write more repetition – inexact repetition and irregular repetition, a post-minimal repetition where words on the page molt more infinitely modular, fractals breaking off and growing more fractals)


At once I listen to Pierre Boulez’s Rituel In Memorium Bruno Maderna, probably his most accessible and immediately beautiful piece and I contemplate what he said about his Piano Sonata No. 2:

I wanted to eradicate from my vocabulary absolute every trace of the conventional, whether it concerned figures and phrases, or development and forms; and then gradually, element after element, to win back the various stages of the compositional process, in such a manner that a perfectly new synthesis might arise, a synthesis that would not be corrupted from the very outset by foreign bodies – stylistic reminiscences in particular.

I feel more in common with Pierre Boulez’s brash bash deconstruction of any sort of tradition or obvious form than I’d like to admit.  Superficially, I claim to adhere to a repetition, albeit a repetition that produces difference (Repetition is a form of change, as it says in Oblique Strategies), but when Asia correctly critiques my tendencies toward haphazard through-composed one-offs, I resist and try to justify my loose adherence to (non)structure.  I too try to eradicate not only any trace of the conventional in my vocabulary, but my vocabulary and style itself – my vocabularies and styles bore me.  I frequently bore myself and my own creativities bore me so I attempt to demolish and destroy and burn but I never succeed.  Ben residues remain: ben bone bits blood tar skin smoke spontaneous human combustion.  Benjamin haunts benjamin body horror compulsion revulsion rabid ravage ravish / ben bodies hack holes holy sonnets (I often lament I do not PUSH the language enough I do not PLAY language against agon contra language / I eradicate my vocabulary from my vocabulary).

I think about a conversation I had a long time ago with Uriel: he was a mystic and monk of an episcopalian marian order and frequently flirted with heterodoxy.  We had a discussion on my writing and vision and prophecy:

It may be that you believe in some part of your being that if you were not compelled, you would stop the journey, so you need the feeling of being compelled to continue, says Uriel.  God does use what's there.  So if you’re feeling compelled, God can use that.  If you’re feeling Sunday Morning Coffee and Newspaper with God, God responds to that, too, says Uriel.  I appreciate your perspective a lot, I say.  I appreciate your thoughts a lot.  They give me ways to reframe things, I say.  Briefly put, says Uriel, the Shadow of the Cross is absolutely an address where one may sign a lease, but one may just as easily move to Emmaus, or any other of the Externally Recurring positions of the soul.  God doesn’t need you to suffer.  God has suffered completely.  You may opt to suffer with God, and that is a legitimate choice, says Uriel.  Yes, I have decided to pick up my cross and go to the cross, I say.  But I find peace in Holy Saturday and joy in the resurrection, I say.  The intensity that is generated by living in the Shadow of the Cross doesn't necessarily translate (into language) outside of its singularity, says Uriel.  Its effects however are felt everywhere always.  The path is the path, but we shape it as we walk it.  Christianity is the ultimate “Find what you love and let it kill you”, says Uriel.  Yes, perfection description, I say.  I”m curious why you think I should read Lacan, by the way.  Because you're flailing against the walls of your “subconscious” which is itself (per Lacan) structured like a language, and if you start to see the structure, your work will deepen beyond self-referentiality, says Uriel.  Assuming you don't mind bruises, have fun I say, but if you’re looking for something more, then it’s necessary to employ even more meta-cognition, he says.  I’m honestly not sure what I’m looking for, I say.  I think it’s safe to say you’re not looking for what is, says Uriel.  There really isn’t any way around the fact that language is a tool we use to perceive the vertical axis of being (synchrony, eternity, etc), and so a deep look at what language is and how it functions is a necessary tool in any serious encounter with the deep interior, especially if a person wants to say something about it besides the fact that it’s a circle, says Uriel.  I have been looking for a stylistic transformation because I think I have always been intoxicated by style and not content, I say.  Or I figured my content is always the same and I’m trying to find new stylistic ways of expressing it.  “My content is the same” is the verbal equivalent to the expression “I write like me”, says Uriel.  Or “I write about the things that capture my imagination.”.  Well, yes!  Why would you write about things that you don’t find interesting?  If you write about those things in the same way today as you did upon taking your last English class, what a lack of growth!  Transformation of style is a result of transformation of perspectives.  It happens in kairos, which is exactly when it’s supposed to happen, and not a moment “before” or “after”.  Your job is to prep the vessel to be ready for God to act through kairos (sacred time), says Uriel.  Is Lacan going to result in a transformation of perspective? I say.  Maybe? says Uriel.  There's really no telling the active catalyst requires for each subjective experience to encounter change, but encountering concepts that challenge the boundaries of what we think we can process is good, regular, exercise, he says.  In what sense is my work self-referential? I say.  What would it look like to go beyond self-referentiality?  First question: where, in your work, do you refer to anyone or anything besides yourself and the experience or nonexperience of God? says Uriel.  I wonder if it’s not somehow an expression of God, it is not worth writing to me, I say.  I mean that’s probably not true, but I think I want it to be true.  There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing, says Uriel.  You asked where your writing is self-referential.  At this point, I would say that your writing is like mirrors reflecting mirrors.  For people who know how to navigate the situation, it’s not a big deal at all.  I know (at least generally) what you’re going through, and why it’s being written this way, but the relationship between the Unmediated Interior Reality and the Mediated Self is not the only relationship.  It has enchanted you and you’re a little lost in the maze right now, says Uriel.  Ah, I see, yes, I say.  What other relationships are there?  I say.  I think that’s the main thing, says Uriel.  The material is always there in some ways according to the Psalters, but more complicated by centuries of additional sacred image motifs.  Although there is (at least in today’s offering) a tension between the desire to conform / be comforted and the frustration of exile that tempts Total Rebellion (which would have never found its way into the Psalter, but only because especially that kind of radical doubt wasn’t allowed for at least 2500 years post-composition), says Uriel.

I bought Ecrits by Jacques Lacan based on Uriel’s recommendation but I still haven’t read it     I still transform or at least tease transformation of the text, and although the Christian God did abandon and I do not remain in the shadow of the cross, I continue to write and prophesy (my hands experiment direct prophecies and experiment direct prophecies     Asia and my friendship with her have invaded my subjectivity and self-referentiality, and I write and prophesy our friendship)

At once the spirit drove him out into the desert and he remained in the desert for forty days, tempted by Satan.  He was among the wild beasts and the angels administered to him (The same spirit who descended on Jesus in his baptism now drives him into the desert for forty days.  The result is radical confrontation and temptation by Satan who attempts to frustrate the work of God.  The presence of wild beasts may indicate the horror and danger of the desert regarded as the abode of demons or may reflect the paradise motif of harmony among all creatures)

I dwell with demons in the desert; I whirlwind wild word and I prophesy to wild beasts     I dwell desert and I eat my own severed head: a large round mushroom     My mushroom head razor round sound-chambered cranberry child   chamber clamor child of humanity   place of the twin savior the child of the child

Jesus Christ Jams Free Jazz

Free jazz jams human bone parallel play spinal column

(Free jazz jams human bone parallel play spinal column)     I superimpose spinal column onto column a nonsuperimposable mirror image insect imago     Mirror images imagine nonsuperimposable secret insects / insects seclude in my spine secret bridal chamber     Open body free jazz jar only rain holy ghost radar / insects radar nonretrogradable rhythm spinal column radar insects     Insects radar secret bridal chamber manipulation of the spine as a twelve-tone row     I improvise insects open body free jazz jar only ostinato: open body ostinato round cylinder seeps holy ghost invasive species

I improvise mirrors and I meander through the forest flash of the mirror that doesn't shine     I meander insect mirror a scanner darkly and mirrors meet mirrors hurried haunt into melancholy     I mine melancholy mine moon microphones a photoelectric lamp burning amylacetate     I mine more mercury misery body without organs melancholy     I mine melancholy move crucifixion mass mime mermaids (Christina as mermaid disappears into silly string sea and sea of reeds)

I miss Christina.  I always miss Christina.  I miss Christina because she knows the secrets of alchemy and how to construct the elixir of immortality but she has yet to share it with me.  I miss Christina because she has a hidden copy of Jean Sibelius’ Eight Symphony.  I search for her in the Garden of Forking Paths and in the labyrinth of the minotaur, but I do not find her.  I meander through her mirror garden and I gaze into my face face medusa and minotaur.  I miss Christina and I always miss Christina.

I miss Christina and I construct a Book of Christina mythology in my melancholy     I construct a Christina mythology and I construct a Christian mythology: a photoelectric lamp burning labyrinth Book and Book garden of forking paths     I construct a Book composed of plateaus that connect across microfissures / multiplicity connected to multiplicities extended rhizomes      Rhizomes repeat a form of change / change channel Christina     I charge Christina change cross and crucifixions reckless admist an uncanny refulgence     Christina mermaids sea of reeds refulgence rhizome marsh light low where I will live     I live where Christina melancholy and alchemy like Sabbatai Sevi from melancholy (and Saturn is the first and last gate, and there everything will be united)

Free jazz jams human bone parallel play spinal column

Jesus Christ jams tenor saxophone free jazz and he shreds sheets of sound apocalypse (The fifth angel, who poured out his vial upon the seal of the beast: and his kingdom was full of darkness, and they gnashed their tongues for pain, and blasphemed the God of heaven because of their pain and sores, and repented not of their deeds)     Christ improvises on bone saxophone and holy ghost joins in cutting contexts     Holy Ghost reveals spinal column eschaton stations of the cross     Holy Ghost stirs abyssal melody and melody spirals estuary water moccasin waters     Melody moves melancholic waters and watery apocalypses     I jam and join in crucifixion waters / word woman Christina sea of reeds

What was the verdict on the cookies? I say.  Did your students like them?  Yes, they loved them says Asia.  It was funny, some snooty girl turned her nose up at them then after others tried them she came back to me like “Can I have one?”.  Also news must have spread because by the time fifth block came, one of them was like “I heard your cookies are really good”, says Asia.  That’s AWESOME I WANT SOME, I say.  One kid tried to argue with me that it wasn’t a cookie then told me they were OK.  What was his argument they weren’t cookies?  Not round enough or something, says Asia.  But the same kid when asked to write a narrative essay about his favorite meal ever wrote about frozen pizza.  I had an odd but strangely sweet southern compliment.  A student told me that he bets that I make better biscuits than his mom does.  He wanted my cookie recipe.  I explained it to him and made him write it down, she says.  You are a cool teacher, I say.  You’re changing the world.  One cocoa egg at a time, says Asia.  (Since this conversation I have had some of Asia’s cocoa egg cookies – they are amazing)

Free jazz jams human bone parallel play spinal column     I spinal column threads saturn sector seven slums / I do not sabbath but I work sabbath son of man     I work sabbath kabbalist laughing gas languages: I work gematria language I’ve been breaking glass in your room again     I film light gas as a projector from another room another way dark room waves and I print landscapes     I print landscapes shaped canvas crane curves     Cranes curve burr black paintings, room waves black painting curves canvas colossus     Shaped canvas colossus twisted colossus peculiar luminosities of animation     Animation animations aleph photon flesh photon spray zerg spawn sprawl

Frank Stella passed away this year and I meditate on his shaped canvases.  I meditate on his quasi-sculptural painting-as-assemblages and I think of the page at times as a landscape or field, and at other times a canvas.  I've never thought of the page though as shaped canvas: if I think of the page as a shaped canvas (canvases cut and connected to other canvases, triangular and circular canvases and other unorthodox shapes), then what changes about the words and languages and images of the Book?  What if I think of the page as an assemblage or a sculpture or an installation or a performance?  I currently do not have the desire to make concrete poetry or visual poetry (Why no desire?  Some fears to be confronted here?) but rather how to transform and develop the structure of the interacting texts.  If I translate the language of shaped canvases to this palimpsest, then the way texts transform and connect must change.  A long-term project: document and explore ideas and concepts not from writing and apply it to writing and book prophecy (e.g. other art mediums, geologies, philosophies).

I shape canvas brain spike     I shape canvas cocoa egg cookies and I cut cookie cookie crisp cookie cutter shark subtle brain spikes spool shaped canvases     I shape canvas spike tales from the punch bowl     I spike punch bowl brawl boxer-puncher Christina let’s go to pound town     Wild I print canvas shape shell shit electromagnetic excrement     Excited I excrete electroacoustic oscillations swerve shaped canvases on lost highway

Free jazz jams human bone parallel play spinal column / I combine owl in daylight into onto on the corner

On the corner overdubs shaped canvas turntables and music concrete free bone     I look to my hands together turntables / I look my hands at my hands wholly veiled     My hands veil unveil free vision verb verb     My hands verb together turntable free jazz and scratch on the corner     Hands hang heat hand hands hash grasp turntable scratches     Hand scratch sample settle hammer horror (head hand horror the corner verb unveil)

I miss Christina.  I always miss Christina, and here, Christina missing new moon and full moon.  I work with my hands and my hands do not reveal Christina and she remains veiled, an absolutely apocalyptic vision and woman of the apocalypses.  My hands work an apocalypse of Christina and I experience Christina in perpetual parousia.  I miss Christina so my hands make her myth.  My hands make her myth free jazz and more form in free form / Albert Ayler ghosts and glossolalia.  My hands make transformer scratch Christina turntables and I sample I miss Christina.

Often the method used to transmit information is as or more important than the message.  I bring it up because I was thinking about experimental and avant-garde art.  Is the way and style I write in transmitting a theme all on its own?  If it is I hope it is one of anarchic and flat relation.  Breaking down boundaries.  No hierarchy, just being.  Being love or something.  Art is useless but governments all want to censor and regulate art, because creation itself makes new myth or new story.  The story we tell ourselves changes.  Art changes the inside not the outside but the inside is as expansive as the outside.  I hope the way I write is anarchic insides.  I write anarchic and the story itself – the medium – is anarchic and our myth is anarchic, and as a result our interior too becomes anarchic… Do it, says Asia.  I think your writing is that.  Its overall format and structure defy expectations.  It’s not narrative or poetry but its own beast and people have to read it differently when they read it, says Asia.

Free jazz jams human jaw turntables: free jazz joins free human book of judges turntables     Hard scratch eye socket turntables Christina disappears beneath the record needle     Christian trades subterranean missing person samples journey jazz deep earth

Free jazz jaws human jam turntables: free jazz joins free human jams book of judges turntables, a twisted colossus Christina

I Live In This X, The Unknown

content warning: pornographic imagery


I combine owl in daylight into onto on the corner

I combine owl in daylight rows and columns and I project the columns into the corners     Corners check corners cure isometric projection

I only use twelve-tone rows for melodic constructions, with only the occasional harmonic exception     I make melody: I manufacture melody in rows, columns, and projections     I make melodies factory mutations and metamorphoses     I milk melody maw murk through a scanner darkly and dark draws rows and columns desert dance melody     I dance dirge rows a series of funeral responses between bass and treble instrument     I project melody written language music long melody     I write melody line line nonlinear lights melody / light melody corner rows and columns     Melody emerges melody and melody merges melody owl migrations     Melody mists amorphous melody atmospheres (propane future / champagne supernova)

I continually look toward a more melodic line. I feel my prophecy and oracles exist within the music-poetic tradition, and my oracles obsess over sound and melody.  I truly speak an oral prophecy, an oral tradition and oral invention, and an oral Torah.  The oral oscillates in sound rotations and sound syncopated syllables.  The prophecy means to make music.  To oracle means to invent melodies.  I merge the melodies of prophecy and alchemy and musical free improvisation.

I combine owl in daylight into onto on the corner     Corner keeps strange bone peeks pink light (before a formation of bone exists, the animal clays a round cylinder)

I combine owl in daylight into onto the corner and I work oppositions     I work melody and corner chimera oppositions     Oppositions corner alchemy ore and out of ore, chimera onto the corner     I corner cambrian explosion alchemy and the alkahest digests burgess shale body without organs     I combine organs without organs and these body oceans basin the roots of the four elements / fundamental melody     I move melody and combine melody earth and dark sediment black painting: I paint peculiar pigment percolated from black sediment and the cave walls themselves / shaman human distillation     I combine dark sediment and Book desert a scanner darkly and I dream dark tonality     I dream dark diamond tonality doubled distillation     With corner combines I distill dark desert dodecahedron

I enjoy the desert expanse: I enjoy extended desert flat and dark.  I feel an unknown deep in desert dark and I attempt unknown experiences and experiments.  Unknown circles and nears X, the unknown variable but also the variable vision of Christ and Christina.  I nomad flat desert multidirectional searching for X and X in her excess prophesies my sheets of sound.  I enjoy the desert expanse and desert emphasizes dark: dark X and dark unknown, the needlepoint puncture or punch-pow of Christina as divine feminine, and her excess migrates through desert dark in exile.  I pursue her desert point, the parable of buried treasure / X makes the snow (I arrange snow in columns and rows).

I combine owl in daylight into onto on the corner     Corner keeps crypt and kelp bone peeks ocean light / primordial light peaks Christina pink pigment

When the secret of secret wished to reveal itself, it began to produce a point of light; before that point of light broke through and become apparent, Absolute entirely hidden radiated no light.

Absolute joins undifferentiated desert as X: I identify X as this Absolute, endless secret and secret cell secret (hidden apocalypse and gospel).  Absolute X inserts an erotic excess and excessive X flat desert and I dance this desert dark abyss.  I combine the desert music with its abyssal dance equally dark.

Desert rectangles no lights all incandescent lamp-lights alternating red light and lilac light     Desert rearranges Absolute X no lights rhizome no lights: X lamps lilac lights David Bowie’s Low emerald light alternating red light and lilac light sound and vision (blue blue electric blue that’s the color of my room where I will live)

I produce a point of light peculiar bone and bone peeks pungent light blue blue electric blue

I combine owl in daylight into onto the corner     Corner keeps aquarium bone aquamarine dream room (before a formation of bone exists, an animal clays a round cylinder)     I spike animal spiral fusion jazz     I spike spiral desert a point of light fused plastic (freer body movement   massive action painting)     I produce a point of light color field canvas and every canvas points to X: Christina     I point CHRISTINA in mad giant alphabet and big body letters (how to write a BIG WORD or the long long bog body book melody sentence)     I live in Christina canvas and X window widow hitch visions     I live in lines X flat desert length look point light nonlinear     I live in X line lilac light alternates red light blue blue electric blue that’s the color of my room, Christina – I look flat in your desert light flat bedroom     I live in lime X point canvas but look owl in daylight each hand a nonsuperimposable mirror of each other

I superimpose X on the corner into onto X on the corner pink rows and columns     I superimpose X position Christina canvas ink play play pause piano graphic earth     X plays on the corner slope slalom shell shiloh my body clarinet clarion jerusalem (Christina buttresses my body’s excess and my baroque melodies with endless decoration)     Her jerusalem germinates golden ratio golden poppies / opium ostinato gospels


Would you be OK taking a look at a few pornographic lines in the Book and seeing if they are used effectively? I ask Asia.  Sure, says Asia.  [I send Asia the following excerpt]:

The complete secret of prophecy / spirit of prophecy leaves me     Elohim leaves me earth empty (an empty pornography / a cliche in amateur pornographic writing that describes a character’s orifices as feeling empty in an inner monologue after a particularly rigorous gangbang)     Elohim leaves me empty his semen drips from my asshole     Porneia inseparable from parousia / Porneia penetrates and interpenetrates parousia 

I have to ask, what kind of feelings are you trying to evoke? says Asia.  In the context of the whole excerpt there’s recurring elements of body horror and like bodily function stuff, I say.  For example:

I feel my body leave my body gods sunk up in my intestines / desert diverticulosis     Desert echo entrails     Desert echo echo mirror house entrails     My entrails empty Elohim / I shit El Shaddai     I shit El Shaddai sheol the animals are coming

It's honestly pretty loose but just this recurring images of flesh and prophecy intermixed and not being separated.  The bodily and the material not separate from prophecy and vision but it's admittingly free form, I say.  On its own that last line about semen dripping from your ass comes across as shock factor, says Asia.  Especially since there isn’t much connection to you and the event previously in the excerpt.  I wanted to know: is this supposed to be a positive thing?  Something you enjoy.  Or something that robs you of autonomy and was an action forced on you? Says Asia.  Oh, I see, I say.  I feel like there’s some trauma involved I’m dealing with.  The abuse of god, but I haven't fully processed at this point yet, so there is both emptiness when God is gone but also abuse when God is there.  But I haven’t figured it out yet – or past ben hasn't figured it out yet.  But yes, it’s traumatic.  Does that make sense? I say.  Understandable, says Asia.  Maybe you should refrain from writing about it until you are ready.  What makes you suggest to refrain from writing about it?  Because you are keeping it at an arm’s length.  You feel there's not a recognition of the trauma?  Detachment maybe?  Yes.  Any suggestion on not writing detached?  Well, two questions first, says Asia.  Do you think you are ready to engage with it and what type of feelings are you wanting to evoke? she says.  I think writing is part of that process of learning to engage with it, I say.  Writing as therapeutic and healing.  I don’t know what feelings I want to evoke.  I just want to work through and write and process it.  I don't think I decide to intend: this image will invoke this or this part of the Book means this.  I think one of the essential elements of my Book is mysticism and the ineffable.  When dealing with that, even a radical material anarchic mysticism, I try not to impose myself on it.  Techniques and image make certain impact but I’m often open to the multiplicity and overlapping contamination of it.  I find myself concerned with writing: beautiful, new, experiment, improvisation, exploration, never done before.  Doing beautiful and never done before is a hard combination, I say.  I get that, says Asia, but as soon as you starting using “I”, you forfeit that because you are writing about yourself.  If you are trying to write about yourself without imposing yourself, you are going to fall short.  Or it’s going to feel disconnected.  I’m not saying you have to impose yourself on every single part, but this one you kind of have to, says Asia.  Here’s a question: does a unified “I” exist? I say.  I am still not entirely sure what made you feel disconnected from the paragraph though.  You were writing disconnected from the act you were writing about, says Asia.  Mostly I think it needed more imagery but I can’t tell you what kind because I don't know what kind of feelings you were going for, she says.  Is recording the experiment not enough though? I say.  I’m documenting what’s happening to me.  I don't think I was going for any feeling except to record what happened.  I don't’ experience it as disconnected – I experience it as embodied.  I wasn’t suggesting just recording a feeling, says Asia.  I was trying to suggest more imagery to provide a better connection because there was no lead up to the action, says Asia.  God doesn’t do foreplay with prophets, I say.  I’m not talking about foreplay, says Asia.  There’s no anything, nothing about your relationship with God, nothing, just a line that sounds shocking with very little indications of what it means to you or others, says Asia.

(I always initially feel defensive any time Asia offers critiques of my writing, but after further thought, I usually feel her critiques are correct: I do detach myself from my experiences and events that happen to me.  I still continue to detach myself from Christina’s absence and how I procrastinate in writing my prolonged grief.  Christina’s absence pains me more than YHVH’s absence, yet I obscure it in the desert melody of Book and the blue blue electric blue of intertexutality.  I take Asia’s critiques seriously: I document the event for myself, I see its body for myself, but I fail to animate and give it flesh and breath life into it.  I prophesy as Ezekiel before the Valley of Dry Bones, but I only document the dry bones and I fail to give them organs and spirit.  I now must prophesy both direction at once and multidirectional: to oracle and language a total music, and give zoe and gnosis and ghost, to give the full interplay of foreground and background that Asia justly demands.)

I combine owl in daylight into onto on the corner     Corner keeps strange bone and string bone cat’s cradle on the corner     Book string body move malleable on the corner pink out of the corner     I corner queue cut plastic bone free jazz     Bone string body move bilateral symmetry serpent bone     Bone cinch cut seek saw symmetry along the sagittal plane     Plane saint spits sagittal god split fat spin     I spin fat flat the X of the desert

I Write With My Eviscerated Guts

My eviscerated guts glue together gallow genealogies: genealogies nail my pelvis downward to the ground

I glue guts and gore together as novel paper airplanes     I plane flat the plow of my body origami guts and I glue guts to guts     I glue guts to guts and I obsess over the body horror bow string and bow drill (CRUCIBLE OF TERROR a mind so evil it could lock its terrible select inside beautiful bodies) (on the abode of beautiful bodies, the bevy of beautiful guts: beautiful guts ben adam)     I pour my guts into the crucible and it crutches or crutches coalesce into the Book Body

Book Body abides in Ben Body and my body ropes guts     Ben body ropes ringed guts gush rhizomes: rampant rope celestial terra angles     Book body guts gush begin again bereshit: again ben adam     I begin again by bone and book     Ben body begin books barbed insect barbarians     Insects barb guts blob and blowgun body / insects seclude secret slow lawnmower language (slow lawnmower language languishes in grass gore)     Lawnmower mashed blood bare bare shoulders shield volcano

Beware the shield words for they barb with boll weevils     Beware shield words which swear stinger volcanoes / I vowel volcanoes barbed alphabets     Her volcanoes sharpen orange eyes     Her volcano language eye orange mushroom haze her archaeological horizons

My eviscerated guts glue together gallow genealogies: genealogies nail my pelvis downward to the ground

Barbarian insects invade crater and caldera human bodies     Insects barb human body floor lawnmower and insects shield smashed stashes (insect injects cocoon ejaculation earth body god blood)     Crater cradled barbarian insects: her insect crater connects compact body boxing ring bull billiards     I search for Christina corpses in these guts and craters (this isn’t bad writing – I like this writing – but I keep looking for something beyond this language     A language body and bloody cataphatic yet beyond language letter leather apophatic) (The only way to discover the language she lights the lights supernal letter super-luminary darkness: writing without ceasing     Write through and between all possible prophecies     Prophesy Christina crater through all known permutations of her names and alligator jazz aloft anew     Keep work and keep write and keep prophecy – that’s it     That’s it Christina here in the prophecy)

Christina crater compact crack open my body numerous dark insects     Christina crater crushes my body open dark age body beetles     (Christina appears and reappears continually through this manuscript whether I will it or not: Christina remains a part of me and she always permeates the narrative and myth.  I explore the empty crater and somehow Christina reveals herself in the rock and stone.  Christina speaks the gospel of thomas: lift up the stone and I find Christina, and I split the piece of wood and I find Christina.  Christina remains and runs through the rhizomes.)

My eviscerated guts glue together gallows genealogies: genealogies nail my pelvis downward to the ground.

Christina crater cracks open my body and my guts fall out rubs gar fish Judas Iscariot falls to the field     Christina crater cracks open my body beetles bite sackcloth spinal column / I collapse my spine stick celluloid camera eyeless compound frames

Christina as crater cracks open my body and my guts spill out grub guts glue garfish / ben adam

Christina as crater cracks open my body karst korakoram and cicadas swarm out of my corpse / ben adam falls headlong and bursts open in the middle and all the insides spill out     Christina frames my flesh beetle invasion (bicycle barbarian crayon corvette)

Book begins with my body and my body bursts waves or waters against the languages and languages begin with the body Book    I stumble through the language this language messy guts and my guts narrative nonsense: I become comfortable with this nonsense     Nonsense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room     My body-as-guts-messy looks beautiful in the room and the room roams Christina crater

I feel like you were an opossum in a former life, I say to Asia.  It’s possible, she says.  I racked up on good karma by eating a shit ton of ticks.  Then I got to be a human with worms in my brain.  If you didn’t have the worms, you’d be too powerful, I say.  Very true.  God, life is so hard without medication and I’ve only been on medicated for like two years.  How did I manage that before… I know the answer to that, not well.  I was having breakdowns, all the time, says Asia.  Christina said the same thing when she started ADHD meds, I say.  Ben, collector of ADHD women, says Asia.

My eviscerated guts glue together nonsense as nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room     I roam room additional room for other ben bodies and ben guts (here my guts and here my internal organs: they reside in open room and in open space.  My guts glue the pages together: bloody book and guts gospel.  My guts jut out messy and often nonsense but the nonsense sometimes reveals the mystery.  Nonsensical language both adheres to the guts of the language but also stretches and distorts the word intestines / the book stomach inflates to solar system and I have visions of nonsense languages orbiting in not-simply connected intersections.  I don’t want to make a language a complicated and obscure language for the sake of a complicated and obscure language but rather to discover a language which reveals the human body in its entirety, to express the earth in its entirety, to encompass the solar system – and the universe – in its entirety.  I believe in this sacred nonsensical naming of languages.)    My eviscerated guts glue together nonsense and mysticism / I work oppositions in closer chimera alchemies     I work guts oppositions in the development and demise of repeating human figures     I trace figures porcelain hands human alchemies

I work my gut language and my guttural holy ghost language: this language languages contradictions     I work my guts in contradictions chimera cambrian explosion alchemy / alembic burgess shale body without organs

Repetition works opposition a language chimera and I repeat desert dialogic     I repeat desert dialectics (I drew a picture of Pando with gel pens, says Asia.  I love the Pando, I say.  Pando is the love of my life, says Asia.  I hope I die where Pando is and my body becomes one with its massive root system and I too am Pando, I say.  I want to be assimilated and become one with the birch mega-organism, says Asia.  We are on the same wavelength, I say.  The Pando wavelength, says Asia.  You were in my brain just now and I yours – WE ARE PANDO, I say. Finally, says Asia.)     Repetition works opposition and the Book chimera collects engine insects / honey bee microcosms     These waters bathe in the roots of the four elements and the coarsest of these, the dark sediment black painting raven’s head, stirs the process of distillation

These waters bathe in the eviscerated guts of ben adam and I row through the roots of the guts snag alligator rhizomes     I bathe in bloody waters and in dialogic desert

Do you think liberal or progressive Christianity is a dead end? I ask Asia.  Honestly, yeah, but that’s because I believe that the Christian god himself is irredeemable, she says.  I respect people for participating in the act of recreating God but if God is a real entity then it’s either that a bunch of people are completely wrong about their version of God or that God has many faces and is multifaceted.  And if the second one is true, then that means that even if I created a more egalitarian god, the fascist version is still contained within the multitudes and I want nothing to do with that.  I believe in the people though, the ones trying to create a better system out of a cruel religion, says Asia.  I think I agree with you, I say.  I came to that realization recently.  Here’s a question then:  What God is the Book creating / recreating if what you say is true?  That recreating this God is a dead end?  Am I / we creating something else than this God then?  In the past, you’ve told me the Book speaks to a more loving and inclusive and unconditional God out there for the healing of others harmed by Christianity.  You've also told me I prophesy me and my relationships, I don’t need God, that God harms me, and rather the love comes from me and my relationships.  Can both be true or only the latter? I say.  OK, let’s reframe this, says Asia.  I don’t think god is the best term because our allegiance is shaky at best, your past abusive relationship, and our current loosy goosy shared definition.  Would you agree that you had a spiritual void that you were trying to fill?  And that now you are trying to discover different ways to be spiritual and spiritually connected? says Asia.  I do feel I had a spiritual void I was trying to fill, I say.  And I do think it’s accurate I’m pursuing spirituality in other ways.  OK, says Asia, spirituality is just a journey or quest to nourish your soul.  That whole feeling, that “all is well” feeling is what people are chasing and what people attribute to god.  But nourishment can come from other places: your community, your tribe, your art and creative pursuits.  Our souls are still very earthly things, says Asia.  I enjoy your reframing, I say.  I can see also under that framework how our friendship is a spiritual practice and creative practice at once.  Exactly, says Asia.  Stop reaching for the heavens.  The heavens have been inside you all along.  “We are the universe experiencing itself” as Carl Sagan said, says Asia.

My eviscerated guts glut together gallow genealogies: genealogies nail my pelvis downward to the ground

My eviscerated guts inoculate Escherichia coli on a petri dish

My eviscerated guts prophesy the following eschaton: the nonsense of god belongs to the nonsense of god

Nonesense is nonsense and an old shoe looks beautiful in this room     An old shoe slides unsure plastic footwear two sizes two small     The cracked heels hang over and I hang hell hosts     My head cracks heel bone escapes ice and bone burning     Ice bone burns iceberg continues without being consumed

I collapse contradictions and nonsense into the same god.  I compact contradiction and nonsense into beyond the same god, and the language approaches the asymptote from above and below.  The language breaches the asymptote and the language penetrates the curtain dividing the holy place and the most holy place of the tabernacle.  I play and prophesy a god language and beyond a god language.  The language lights the lights of a human language.

I bring it up not because I feel I need god but rather I feel at peace without god and willing to engage and reinterpret scriptures and prayers now in my own way, I say.  I remember what it was like to always be pouring myself out and constantly grasping at smoke trying to fill myself up again, says Asia.  It wasn’t fun: I don’t think we are supposed to live like that.  Jesus said, “When I was hungry you didn’t feed me, when I was naked you didn’t clothe me” – I don't think it’s too much a stretch to say that god lives within the people around us.  That’s the only god I believe in, says Asia.

My eviscerated guts glue together gallow genealogies: genealogies nail my pelvis downward to the ground

My barbed bones crush Christianities (The fifth angel, who poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast; and his kingdom was full of darkness; and they gnashed their tongues for pain, and they blasphemed the God in heaven because of their pain and sores, and repented not of their deeds)    My barbed bones barbarian crush Christianities, the spiral fracture eschaton enlaced stations of the cross     A spiral stairway estuary wedges water moccasin waters, aqueous stations of the cross apocalypses     (These gods like this in the caverns, the netherworld: their bodies in darkness: Unripened One   Terrible One   One Belonging To The Cobra)

My eviscerated guts glue together gallow genealogies: genealogies nail my pelvis downward to the ground, and gods grow from the blood, table of generations

I Look For New Insect Languages

An intimate divine invasion reveals my skull intact holy ghost

An intricate divine invasion reveals my skull intact holy spirit

Holy spirit insects divide primal dark dark chaos     Darkling beetles divide dark prima materia     Dark try to sleep see large bright pink     Pink hemispheres chamber right hemisphere however habitat unhoused     Pink haunts unhoused hard oak open apple (Now I’m 22 what the fuck am I going to do the world always burning)     I give up sleep large bright pink (Look out the window, tell me there is anything worth leaving for, leaving for   I mean really inside here it’s safe and warm and I don’t need to leave)

An intimate divine invasion reveals my skull intact holy ghost

Holy spirit insects span no spare punch     A stinkbug punch purple plumb line lean purple drink     Insect spear divides primal dark chaos pink cranium hemisphere     I rearrange the halves and hemispheres and I slice conic section ladybirds sandbar pink     Pink hustles haunted body black box Christina (Christina unhoused haunted cockroach hiss and abyss)

Pink punches holy spirit laughter     Pink pierces holy ghost Yahweh yawns dawn abyss

Try to sleep see large bright pink / I give up sleep large bright pink     (Pink haunts me.  Pink haunts me somewhat homeless except an easter homily.  I usually give the sermon on easter morning, and the dead resurrect from their graves at my words.  The graves open gut ground BRIGHT PINK and PUNGENT PINK body without organs.  Pink haunts me like it haunted PKD and therefore I prophesy pink.  I prophesy pink resurrection and pink mystery and pink overpowers.  I continue in pink and I dress pink, my body poured out pepto bismol liquid and pink halo pure light.)     Try to sleep see large bright pink / I give up sleep see large bright pink

New directions for the Book, which is really an old direction, I say to Asia.  Inspired by the Bible: telling the same story over and over again in different ways.  Like Genesis 1 and 2 or the two flood stories or the gospels.  I am going to take an idea, and repeat it differently over and over through the piece.  Use it as a refrain and repetition and contrast.  I will also be copying and editing and copying over and over again like a Bible Redactor would do.  I’m still going to be using all my other techniques in addition to this – narratives, free form, conversations.  I think you’ll like this idea because it gives cohesive and repetition and form.  It also allows me to experiment radically while still showing readers structure.  It might look something like this:     Main idea 1     Main idea 1 variation     Narrative related to Main idea     Conversation     Main idea 1 again     Main idea 1 variation variation     Narrative     Etc. etc.
You can see your influence on this idea too.  I feel you in addition to the Bible is really the catalyst for this, I say.  I am your god now, says Asia.

An intimate divine invasion reveals my skull intact holy ghost     Divine invasion ignites sly insect locust neon: xenon angels invade apartment body apartment     Strange locus locusts congregate angles many-angled / extended spinal axis argot     I taste seraph fire sketches ovum overture turing tests / tetragrammaton testicles

I insist on other sketches     Other sketches intersect somewhat suspect insects

An innate divine invasion tricks intense insects suspect intersections     Insects stir bone are fire     Insects sketch iris iron bore bone boll weevil wheel bodies

I like insects because Asia likes insects.  I liked insects before Asia but Asia intensified my interest in insects.  I like insects because so many types of insects exist, and they vary wildly in shape, size and specialty.  I have to have a lot of respect for a class that has been so successful at their niche and have been able to proliferate so abundantly.  According to the great Bible of the internet Wikipedia: “Insects are the most diverse animal group with more than a million described insects; they represent more than half of all animal species.”  I adore Insecta multiplicity and I aspire for a similar multiplicity for the book.  Asia and I like insects.

An intimate insect divine invasion reveals my skull intact     Insect insects holy ghost locusts

I look for new insects     I look for new insect languages and insect improvisations     New insects invade as new holy ghosts pink pigment tongues of fire     New insects interpret insect swarm invasion / improvised insect inland empire     I look for new insects and I steady the stir bird of spinal axis and insect trace the continuation of the earth’s radius

(I do not experiment enough and I need to experiment the language all the more, but I do not know how to experiment / I experiment a biblical language and an insect language)

I experiment intersect insects draw larger loop insects looper sketches     Copy compressed radius rudder other     My pelvis pivots earth downward

She’s going to throw hands, I say.  She’s lovely, says Asia.  Mantises are known for fighting anything.  Will they fight you now?  I say.  Yes.  I will also fight you now, I say.

An intimate divine invasion reveals my skull entirely interesting insects / all insects interest whole holy ghosts

Experiment intense insect interrogations and insects interrogate ben body intersections     I segmented body secludes phylogenetic clades made easy oven     I oven elongated creepy crawlies and the gelatin pries open sesame     (I embrace the subtle shimmer and Morton Feldman shifts that slow process process of copying, editing, and reducing produces… Scribal transmission can’t help but produce palimpsests and experiments…)

Insects seclude secret gnostic schisms     Darling beetles braid offerings to orphic serpents

I interpret different insects and incarnations of Christ and incarnations of Christina

An intimate divine invasion reveals my skull into the intersection of intricate insects

Book broods the multitude of desert beetles     Beetles book basilica bastard columns     Bastard Book – this Bastard Book broods two column canine beetles and beetles in columns claw isosceles     Beetle Book crack isosceles sarah sai sarah stations of the cross     Book stations herculean beetle at earth poles several directions into the marriage of heaven and hell

Book broods beetles in honeycomb prima materia.  I look into Book and it reveals the swarming intensities and intersection of beetles, catholic materials, and frankenstein laboratory equipment.  I look into Book and beetles braid abyss into newer bereshit.  Book reveals insect intensities and ben insect bodies.  I look into the Book and it begins ben adam beetles.  

A delicious desert divine invasion reveals my skull entirely earthworm words and centipede pedal point languages

An isolated beetle at sea sea stow stingray stations of the cross

I look into book and I find Ben Adam and Ben Hinnom: I find me, Ben, the one who writes and the one who is written.  I find this Ben who prophesies and Ben who sees and Ben who writes, and the Ben beyond the Book and between the book.  The Book contains all, so it contains every Ben yet a Ben exists both inside and outside the book simultaneously.  I wrestle with the Book and the Book wrestles with me.  I look into the Book Human One and Child of Humanity and my humanity hastens toward a human Book.

Book Basilica beetles carved body: body slice king kong clean     Beetle stained glass combines the Empire State Building and the Empire never ended     Book stained glass animates beetles friction eruption

An intimate divine invasion reveals my skull intact holy ghost

I Draw A Line Upward From My Head

I draw a line upward from my head into the heavens and downward through my pelvis into the earth

I draw towards a new technique and new understanding – an anamnesis and gnosis – of the Book and its coming-into-writing.  The Book has always been a geological work and a work of palimpsest and multiplicity, but now I must explore its deeper palimpsestic repetition in excess.  I look towards the multiplicity of sources in the Torah, and whether composed and redacted according to some form of the documentary hypothesis or a supplementary aggregation, its frequent use of doublets and thematic repetition form an archetype and model I aspire to.  Similarly, the doublings and parallel versions in Samuel and Kings and Chronicles further the model for doubled writing and palimpsestic parallax.  The synoptic gospels too excess in this doubling and repetition-in-difference.  I experiment and work the doubling and repetition and this movement towards doubling-repetition synthesizes the two poles of the dialectic that exists between what Asia envisions as the ideal Book – cohesiveness, accessibility, modularity – and what I envision as the ideal Book – experimentation, anarchy, constant transformation of language.  Repetition in doubling and repetition in desert difference drives a wild way and woman wilderness in this Book.

I draw a line upward from my head into the heavens and downward through my pelvis into the earth

I draw lines upward lift lights     I draw lines upward horror and the heaven pond hand horror     Heaven pond pony hand horror a verdant line and a voluptuous line     I draw an absurd line and voluptuous pink line and I’m going to keep on dancing at the pink pony club     I draw a line upward open door / upward is heavenward and I’m going to keep dancing at the pink pony club

I draw a line upward, an orthogonal pink beam PKD vision

This process of doubling and redoubling projected into the play of the desert, will require a ritual working: I copy and copy and I redact and experience my intention editor’s fatigue.  Texts accumulate and some repeat similarly and others diverge into a strange language desert.  I redact the rhizome and it remains an even more realized rhizome.

I draw a line upward from my head and downward through my pelvis into the earth     I draw drop sound     I draw drop sound lamb loops iambs islet watercolour bone / light bone burn     Light bone burn bonfire frequent still fires     Fires fit fall translate animist singles single fire fit syncopates syllable frequent fire singular / similar triangles

I draw upward line word sound soft tissue injury     Tissue cassette tape injures invasion sound brutalist brass     Brass blast draw stucco invasion bitches brew brash funk     Brass blast funk draw solid stone ceilings

I accept myself as a prophet, I say.  Yes, but you go through cycles where you feel like god has left you and being a prophet doesn’t help you, says Asia.  We need to look at Ben the human, Ben the mundane, the flesh, the mortal.  I create things, I say.  OK, good, says Asia.  A good start.  I am an artist and a writer.  Good, good.  I nurse sometimes.  I write myself as a master of spirits, a shaman and mediator, a prophet and priest.  I am a son of God and a son of Humanity.  I contact the Divine and the universe in writing.  I synthesize and connect all systems of the esoteric and occult, I say.  How about this one, says Asia.  Through writing, you create yourself as a prophet so even if the spirit of god leaves you, you are still a prophet.  Because you wrote it and the writing is still there, she says.  What will I be a prophet of? I say.  Humanity?  The Universe?  The prophet for the lost, says Asia.  For those floating in liminal spaces, even if the message is “you are not alone”, she says.

I draw a line upward from my head into the heavens and downward through my pelvis into the earth

I draw different earth distance dumbbell human body

I drown in drawn stones.  Christina draws stones from the crucifixion.  Christina draws the glyph of ghosts from golgotha, and the stones stink spirit sermons spitfire.  I stack stones my head and my skull ossified into my stab stone / petrified forest percussion.  I drown drawn stones and golgotha becomes a desert.  Golgotha becomes desert ocean and sheds stones.  I shed antlers which are themselves with stones: forests from stones, and I drown in drawn stones.

I draw a line upward from my head     I draw a line upward from my head feral hog stations of the cross     I draw a line upward from my head it was his sled / I shed head horses     I draw line upward from my head     I draw a line upward from my head

I draw upward from my head and insist on an indoor invasion     I insist invasion influx fluxus indoors / water yam YHVH   (YHVH sprites lights small letters in luminous red and gold and raised like a glowing scarab)     Tetragrammaton invades prison inmate / the empire never ended     I do not end but sketch text invasion / I draw my pelvis downward into the earth     I sketch text work in progress and I measure the angle between my extended spinal axis and the earth's axis of rotation

I draw upward towards my nude embarrassment and anxiety, and I draw the moon mixed with beer barley / barley straw ben hinnom

I draw open embarrassment upward but I still hope my word prophesies to the liminal, the light-in-lost, the lamppost leopard, to Christina keeping night-watch at the basketball court middle school…     I prophesy anxiety, embarrassment, and agitation (They want me to speak to go out and speak!  Speak about what?  The Kingdom of Heaven.  But I don’t care about the Kingdom of Heaven.  I like earth.  I like to eat, sleep, see a woman without my head being torn in half.)     I prophesy Kingdom of the Skies     Skies rain stones and strike obsidian lightning     I prophesy Kingdom of the Skies squirm serpent signs and snake sigils     I sow serpent signs, skies stations of the cross

I do not end but sketch text invasion / I draw my pelvis downward into the earth     I draw my pelvis downward and there is a desert on the moon where the dreamer sinks to deeply into the ground that she reaches hell

I sink into dreaming desert

I desert dream sinking dream and I disappear into desert dream

Let the day disappear, the day I was born, and the night that announced: a man’s been conceived!  May he not summon it, Eloah from on high: may nothing luminous shine on it: let the darkness, let dead darkness expunge it!  Let hovering cloud engulf it!  Let daytime eclipses obscure it!     Perish the day when I was born, and the night which said, a boy is conceived!  May that day turn to darkness, may God above not look for it; nor light of dawn shine on it.  May gloom and deep darkness claim it again; may cloud smother that day, blackness eclipse its sun…     (Using multiple translations of the same text doubles and deepens desert multiplicity: find new ways of using multiple translations of the Bible and the Nag Hammadi Codex     Look at the repetition of the ritual in the Bruce Codex and mimic and model its sacred repeating and doubling)

I draw a line dark upward from my head dark     I draw a line dark upward let the day disappear

I honestly don't want to survive a lot of times, I say.  It’s been a struggle.  We survive for each other and we survive because we can, says Asia.  And if we survive with each other, we can survive to be silly for another day.  If we survive with each other, we can survive to make good meals together, and share stories and make the world more bearable with each other’s company, she says.

I draw line dark upward from my head dark     My head details dark the kingdom of the skies disappears the kingdom of the skies descends into earth dark     I too sink into a dreamy hell, a hell hot hearse sodomy

Would you be willing to take it with me day by day?  What would you miss if I died?  I will be willing to take it day by day with you, says Asia.  I do unconditionally care for you.  I don't know what I would miss – that’s not really something you know beforehand, she says.

I sink so deeply into the ground I reach hell

I draw a dark line upward and I ascend kingdom of the skies stiff hell     I sketch sky hell dark moon and dreaming desert     I sketch work in progress owl in daylight delicious desert

An innate divine invasion reveals my skull intact holy spirit     Divine invasion stash sly insects angles angels extended spinal axis arson

I draw dark upward and my revealed skull contains chaosmos and chaos     The divine act of creation draws dark upward and sketches concrete and visible forms of alchemical processes / God as spagyrist distills my skull an anarchic alembic     An unknown God, perhaps Christina, divides my skull into primal dark chaos and chaos comic prima materia

Let the day disappear and perish the day but let dark sketch upward towards the heavenly skull same skull hellish     Skull sketches chaos comic cosmic horror hack haw bodies     Skull sketch rough-dark hacksaw messianic bodies crow crucifixions     Skull skip downward dark (dark upwards and dark downwards no difference but desert) crucifixion serpents / seraph sarah alchemy     Serpent skull crucifies alcheringa glitter glossolalia     Serpent skull salts slow seraph sawmill crosses

I draw my skull and a dreaming moon and a moon that descends upwards hell     I raw cross prima materia mississippi riverrun circular breathing     I rush skull rhizome: alchemy and alchemy ascends riverrun circular breathing blood circulation     Blood circulation imitates bloody cross and bloody incarnation simulated realities

I sketch a riverrun reality bloody robotics body without organs botulism

I draw a line upward from my skull and botulism smooths the sketch of head smooth-flowing alchemies     I draw my body moonbow brutalist creation and I create concrete contact concrete     Concrete cabbalist cannibalize complex numbers a new god gematria and the circulating riverrun flows rotation around the complex plane

Moonbows descend ben adam ben hinnom and I dream my moon skulls as a sketching sailboat hell     Ben Adam bodies rotate rack octave register keystone / continuous self-vibrating regions of intensity     I stone intensities stones eclipse and cloud bodies / I rock intensities rhizome blackness eclipses as a solar anus     I prophesy intensities and body sketch keystone and I catapult the keystone upward from my head     Keystone casts concrete intensities and intersections of intensities and intersections of intensities     My skull develops desert intensities and their intonations exist without orientation and without a directional teleology or extremal end     (I work an undifferentiated multidirectional desert intensity     I work Book of Sand endless summations of summations Book of Sand     I work multidirectional skull chaos continuous self-vibrating regions of repetitions rhizomes)

I draw a line upward and I word upward her witches.  Asia witches and bewitches book and she hexes Book with rhizomic repetitions cast in concrete and hex bolts.  Asia prophesies a documentary hypothesis for the book and I copy the Book nameless endless repetition.  I copy Book concrete palimpsest contact insects.  I insist on insects and I draw the insects.

I draw a line upward from my head into the heavens and downwards through my pelvis into the ground

Teo Macero Invades My Membranes

Teo Macero invades my membranes and I sculpt texts from hours of rough jams long language jerk jaguar jaws

Teo Macero invades my membranes and I sculpt texts X texts from hours of rough jams long language jerk jaguar jaws     I leap language random diameter dragon multidirectional: I leap multidirectional long languages     Lord languages gash gap gulf god bone beetles: beetle wing multidirectional

Long language randoms lamb loops loops vertical bone / long language random cuts lamb loops loops vine wine bone     Long language random cut cut clip clearing distortion   distortion distanced diagonal distortions     Language long random cut lambs lops loops vertical bone / language longs random cut lamb vine wine vertical bone     Standing bone sink cut lamb loop left syllable: syncopated language stand bone     Bone starve carve star vertical

I sculpt text hex Christina haunt part bone

I sculpt text fragment hex mixed assemblage texts     Christina invades my membranes charcoal crucifixions and I sculpt tree text time temporary