At some point or throughout use electricity Search some other electricity Search urgent earth electricity Electric hard hole hole what you like the plain object
At some point throughout, use electricity
Search some other electricity
Search urgent earth electricity
Electric land hole. What you like the plain object.
Plane objects plane play plan Object animal Object anvil oval animal
Many electricities: many plain objects
I couldn’t write today, I say to Asia. I wrote one page and that was a struggle. My soul feels depleted. Empty. I’ve been thinking of editing some conversations I have saved of us – and me and Christina – and just build little pieces around them. Maybe writing about our friendships directly will be helpful in reigniting some creative energy, I say. Maybe you should take a little break from writing, says Asia. If you are struggling like that, I think you should try to find a way to take it easy, she says. I see what you mean, but it makes me feel depressed not to create, I say. You can create in other ways, says Asia. Or do microwriting like minute poems.
“Fermat’s Last Poem”
Asia says: You can create
In other ways. Do microwriting.
I write a truly marvelous
Poem which this margin is
Too narrow to contain.
You like my micropoem? I do, says Asia.
Use electricity throughout: electric plain objects and plain myth in common meter myth. I wrestle – what other word besides wrestle or struggle – with the myth of the Book and electricity of the Book. I fight contra Book its intimidating myth I have created from it / for it. I continue to write the Book, even in its painful electricity. To paraphrase Philip K. Dick, when I create, I am crazy and when I don’t create, I suffer from psychotic depression. I prefer crazy: unhealthy obsessive? – creation – over the psychotic depression. Wrestle with the fear and cycle of not being bold and brave enough yet not wanting to risk failure. Wrestling with the Book in uncreative delirium forces me to risk and make something ugly or silly or embarrassing.
This Note/Book becomes ultimately malleable and inclusive. The climb of creating Book forces – gives permission for me – to include all processes, all experiments, and all research. Poems, diary, lyrics, research, me fucking up. The space for breath – anxiety – breath. Breathe turns long screw anxieties and I breathe music blisters / second degree burns in my ears. I listen to emo revival / fourth wave emo: Camping In Alaska, Marietta, Brave Bird, Sports., Free Throw, Snowing… Never grew out of being an emo kid – I grew into it more securely, more assuredly.
I listen to the song Nineveh by Brandston. I haven’t listened to this song in a long time:
If for a moment I could overcome my fear
I wouldn’t have to hide this friction wall
Sometimes I wonder how I call myself your friend
A failure to myself a failure to him
What if I told you would you reach for him after all
Would you fall down to your knees
Would you walk away from it all
Would you fall down at his feet
None of Brandston’s songs are as great as this one. However, I do like their song “Grace Think I’m A Failure”:
She said that I’m a shining star in her sky and I feel that far away…
I feel that far from any god and I feel that far from myself, this Ben Adam / Ben Hinnom. I feel that far away but I continue to create, even to the glass breaking in my room again.
At some point or throughout use electricity Electrical activity maps brain onto brain / exchange of ions painted or nylons you must construct additional pylons
Throughout use electricity plain objects. I work electrical material and material electricity. Electricity cut spaces: electric space variable timings (I act in electrical activity. I act activity active electricity).
Activity characterizes by process essential purposelessness Activity Activity action acts of the apostles activity Activity anarchy actively anarchy
At some point, throughout electricity: fucked up eclectic At some point, go keep going somewhere else somewhere fucked Nowhere point at some point use electricity throughout
We decided to let [our daughter] help pick out the color of her new bed, says Asia. I’ll give you the whole color picking story and you’ll get an insight of the four year old brain. I decided that I needed a way to narrow down her choices and I was trying to figure out how to do that. At the same time, we went to Goodwill the other day and she got a bag of paper confetti and was super excited to use it. I thought, “What if I hodgepodge the confetti to the bed?” So I then decided to take a picture of the confetti and make a color palette. Here’s the palette we ended up with. We went to Lowe’s and picked out the closest colors (or at least ones that matched). And we ended up with these. I had her pick four favorites and we ended up with these. Which look like jolly ranchers. Guess which one she picked? One of the four. I’m guessing the green, I say. Yup, says Asia. So imagine this is a huge piece of furniture and her room is just bigger than a walk-in closet and it’s fucking electric green. Technically, “apple jade”, says Asia.
Search some other electricity: hazard catastrophe hodgepodge happenings Search electric green throughout
Search fuck out and I picture out the closest and ended that I needed to use it (Search my inclusive electric green and my hodgepodge Book cut confetti)
I embrace my love for the nostalgic and overly romantic and sentimental. I embrace my love of quotation and lyric and drama. I embrace my creative crazy and recording of my embarrassing emotions without metaphor or obfuscation. This belongs to me (my sins they belong to me).
This jolly rancher electric green belongs to me
I thought what if I hodgepodge picked out of these belongs to me
I had her help picture out the same time belongs
I disembark hodgepodge play electricity throughout confetti
I miss my youth when I was getting into second wave? – third wave? – emo and discovering bands like American Football and Mineral and Sunny Day Real Estate and Further Seems Forever…
(Too nostalgic. I notice my anxiety subsides in the music.)
Cut space: at some point or throughout use electricity Electric act and we went to narrow down her choices and was trying to let we Cut space electric green
Action Action Act Process
Activity characterizes by process essential purposelessness
Electric green: anarchic activity Act music nostalgic anarchy
Tag: creativeprocess
Cut All This Shit
Cut all this shit something else Cut crisp kiss something else nonlinear
(Cut nonlinear remains nonlinear Cut nonlinear slides align nonlinear)
Cut all this shit something else Cut elephant guardian gods gab glut gut assassins
Cut all this and I watch the white dogs of dawn. I crow crow her god body: I crow blood circulations. Cut circulates sawcut bone cut marble circuitry. Cut into circuitry: cymbal circuit strike hike skirt serpent. Cut into circuits: skirt serpent skin saw. I wear the skirt and saw simultaneously (saw and skirt and interlaced hula hoops), and my skin splinters stone white. Cut skin: it sees splinters water bog drawing evening shadows across waters. Cut into Ben Body bodies body without organs birds.
Cut all this skin something else: cut into the saw song
I’d rather be the devil than that woman man
I’d rather be the devil deviled eggs
I’d rather be the devil delivered
I’d rather remember
Cut all this skin and I’d rather be the devil than that woman man (Devil cuts my skin Taryn and Taryn twists the cut lightning Taryn Telemachus titans not terrestrial but trickster)
Cut all this skin devil woman and daemon woman (Trickster Taryn telescopes telescope arcade tokens time timaeus demiurge Taryn transformer transforms train tables train times tables train water table tabula rasa)
Cut space: cut space skin scandalous Cut space spark space cut across / across school fragment of variable timings)
Taryn time timings trimmings from the entirety of the cut
Cut space (at some point or throughout use electricity. Search urgent earth electricity. My electric land holes tophat wears what you like the plain object.)
Cut space plain objects plane play plane
Plane Trickster Taryn twists
Plane Taryn tricks my skin cut this shit
Plane Trickster Taryn contorts the Book devils
Timings object animal Book Object anvils oval anvil
//
I cut into the shit and abject of my skull: I bore holes in my brain excrement. Cut it all away, to the bare bone up the texts.
I think too much in allusion: allusion / quotation – other texts. I quote Qohelet: there’s nothing new under the sun, including this quotation. This text is mine. This text belongs to me and erupts from my brain shit and abject excess. I claim this text direct from my experimental excrement (exit does not exist). I always exist elsewhere, sometimes in the intersection of the Trickster unconditionals.
I cut into the skin shit of my skull and I recognize action action. Asia shares how much – action and action. I recognize action in the act of the art (actions descend into art actions). I act in odd recognition even numbers / infinitesimals.
//
Cut space: cut space skin scandalous Cut across chaos rollerblading fingers Fingers flaw forest fan man Holyfield versus Bowe II Cut all this shit something else (I see it this way. Horror is part of the human experience. So is disgust, terror, anxiety, and the sublimation of those feelings. I don’t want to leave those feelings to those people. It is too essential to being human for me to cut it out of me and leave it to others. Even if I have to objectify my own body to carve out space then I will do it. Because that’s part of being human for me.)
Cut frequent forest skin sand Book of Sand Cut scan slam Book of Sand Cut scan skin essential to cut it out of me
Cut well anxiety is leave I see
Cut and too it will it the essential to do
Book of Sand this sublimation to others
//
For me to cut it out of me: disgust, terror, anxiety, and horror
I suddenly feel intense anxiety – no reason why and sudden onset. Breath in breath out. Deep breaths. Write the breath as I breathe each breath, and I breathe into the pit, this rift (horror human experience: disgust, terror and anxiety)
Me to leave to cut in this way / horror is to leave that’s part of me to leave it out space I breathe into this rift – this pit – tobacco pipe – chemistry pipette – rift open beetle anxiety – anxiety fucks me up – it fucks up cup crown around cauldron fucks and anxiety destroys other
(Anxiety leave it to those feelings I don’t want to leave that’s part of being human Human Human anxious for me to leave to leave to leave it out of them anxious)
(This notebook becomes malleable into anything. Poems, dairy, without directions, anxiety fucking me up. The space for breath – anxiety – horror – quotation…)
For me to cut it out from me: disgust, terror, anxiety, and horror
//
Cut all this shit something else Something else: woman of the dunes cut Book of Sand space horror woman of the dunes (Sand material dune material material Gospel of Mark marriage)
Cut all this shit the sounds of my skull (Trickster Taryn takes a bone sample of my skull telescope Telescopes bone arcade Taryn transformation the cut into my skin glowing transformer)
This Has No Direction
In no direction, a freedom of memory and archive exists An experimental freedom exists
The flight of the non-euclidean fly intrigues me I fly wide weird up the gut
Fly between possible and impossible
Impossible eye engine
(The possible has been tried and failed – now it’s time to try the impossible)
I fly weird wide way non-euclidean excess (The possible has been tried and failed – the possible has been tried and the world ceases to transform toward the divine – now it’s time to try the impossible)
The impossible intrigues me: the impossible of the impossible intrigues me and I fly fire fires flip fires floating
The impossible intrigues me – the direction and without-direction intrigues because it gives possibility of impossible without-transition and the sounds-existing-as-themselves. The impossible intrigues and I fly spherical and hyperbolic embolism / fat embolism flying air embolism coordinates.
Fly floating impossible oscillations
Strange wave rogue nonlinear
The chaotic and nonlinear intrigues into abyss mystery (abyss mystery mystery of mysteries non-euclidean holy spirit)
This has no direction but I let no direction fuck up my brain differently. No direction foams brain wallpaper and I fear. I fear getting early onset dementia. I fear almost everything almost panphobia.
Nothing I fear anything and everything
(my brain dies apocalyptic)
I fear my apartment because a pocket apocalypse will occur here. Soon I will disappear / how to disappear completely.
I listen to Für Alina by Arvo Pärt and the transcendent melancholy of tintinnabuli strikes me. I imagine melancholy as always transcendent in the same way I always imagine my mania transcendent – everything miserably immanent and local, localized in the immediacy of my own brain. I fear my own face and my own body and I almost despise my body in the impossibility of my body.
My body body burden of the valley of vision This is my body given for you, the body body burden of the valley of vision (My body caves into the sink hole and black hole of absolute melancholy – melancholy center-of-the-earth melancholy. The descent of the ascent of my body transcends marriage of heaven and hell. My body enthrones the throne of Merkabah mysticism – the remarkable mysticism of my body my body absolute apophatic.) My body blusters blisters blunder bull school bus
School bus blouses blue bell blossoms
Body bursts burrs bursa
My swallow body nuder intertextuality (body entirely text text test tar tables entirely body)
This has no direction No direction / a word of meaning far from its sound
Far from far from sound Asia rampage rhizome rhythm juxtapose rain chant Rain enchants Children of Men / mallsoft malabsorption Alpha radiation metabolism
Molotov cocktail metaphysics
Her rain enchants cantor for me little jazz jackal
Jackal jazz ajar
Jackal jazz Jacob Frank future flutter flatter cluster
Cataclysm comb apocalypse
I copy apocalypse into my body: copy apocalypse into apocalypse and apocalypse within apocalypse I copy without direction and into apocalypse without direction
This has no direction and I direct my body into multidirectional apocalypse without direction / my body chaos. My body bursts blossoms-into-seventh-trumpet apocalypse and chaos bowl of wrath. I appreciate apocalypses, at least until they strike the dead (death welcomes the overture of dead / my death vibrates bel canto Ezra Pound’s Cantos contaminate my body).
This had no direction because too much reference quotation other texts this text in time
Not since Frankenstein walked on earth has the world known
so terrifying a day – or night! Black Frankenstein
This text in time / this time is time. This text belongs to me and erupts from my transcendent-immanent body. I claim this text. I claim this no direction. Direction direct drive turntable / exit does not exist.
The direction does not exist: it always exists elsewhere
This Is Called The Transformation Of Things
Universal perpetually creates Universe perpetually creates Christ and Cross
I create: create milk carton insect geometry
Young man intrigued by the flight of a non-euclidean fly
I create youth devours YHVH. Youth here here wholly happen. Young guts grab guts and my guts jello allow big gelatin gallows. Long board surfs surfs youth gallows girth god (her god grabs god generous god gumbo). God intrigues me as a large yellowfin tuna. God intrigues me as an ocean sunfish. God intrigues me impossible inscription and I inscribe illuminated manuscript (shoot from the hip / shoot as a hipster and shoot the hipsters). God intrigues me in fires in fires and fires within fires. God intrigues me fuck with fires and up the guts.
Universe perpetually creates Christ and Cross / Christ crosses universe and universe makes re/mixed marshes and swamps, and the sulfur and fiery ghosts flash new creativity
Universe translates and rotates harmony of the spheres: universe coalesces / converges bells together one sound chamber in which the sound of both horns (both hands) interact and intersect Universe never isolates but gathers god sounds and the sounds intrigue me because they sing the name Christina: I phrase her name so it creates a continuous sound
//
Universe sounds god / god sounds intrigue me
(Back and forth theology / metaphilosophy / divine ethics back and forth divine names)
I phrase the sound of continuous names and I name the name of her name. Her name intrigues me and I name her name heteroglossia / heterogeneous names.
I phrase the sound as continuous void and continuous apocalypse. Perhaps I’m doomed after all.
Big body apocalypse accidental anchor language body
I feel doomed you know. Inevitable apocalypse. Repeated apocalypse / it’s not dark yet but it’s getting there.
Back and forth fork theology – this twin thesis til this philosophy –
sunrise indistinguishable rhythms
Universe perpetually creates doom / back and forth bath Book certain apocalypse. I phrase the sound of the name discontinuous (the four instruments in unison imitate songs and trumpets – the first six trumpets of the apocalypse – followed by various disasters, the trumpet of the seventh angel announcing the consumation of the mystery of God).
The universe perceptually creates dreamlands dreaming the universe dreams (I’m writing about it right now. Thinking about dreams and apocalypse. You were in two layers of my dreams the past night. I had your dreams – I had a dream with you in it – and I had a false awakening and I told the second Asia that I had a dream about her…)
(Marin: If I was a seagull, I would fly as far as I could! I would fly to faraway places and sing for many people! … If I wish to the Wind Fish, I wonder if my dream will come true…)
God as Wind Fish intrigues me. God in the heteroglossic unison of the apocalypse intrigues me. God in the third of the stars and the third of the oceans bloody and the third of the earth scorched intrigues me.
Apocalypse comes to me in dreams – dreamland mothlight – seven swans (I saw a sign in the sky seven horns seven horns seven horns I heard a voice in my mind I am Lord I am Lord I am Lord). Am I doomed? Probably. Probably. Probably with with width apocalypse. Probably.
//
Universe perpetually creates apocalyptic memory and doomsday memorywork
I remember I recollect I repeat
I recollect I repeat I remember
I repeat I remember I recollect
Repeat revolver room resolution / resistor key keystone octave key Krystal keystone khora
(Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakably Zhuang Zhou. But he didn’t know if he was Zhuang Zhou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that he was Zhuang Zhou. Between Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly, there must be some distinction. This is called the Transformation of Things.)
Universe perpetually creates and I remember you about for
You about for and who
Were her
I’m many doing had
In writing people as dreamt
Two about if he he
I remember and I recollect and I repeat perpetual creation / perpetual dream and apocalypse (apocalypse intrigues yellowfin tuna and ocean sunfish and dreaming fires)
I Am Fine Wine
Content Warning: discussion of mental illness - bipolar depression and mania
I do everything at once simultaneous movements: movements and movements myths and mythological machine metallurgy (I machine moment of symmetry symmetry simultaneous)
I machine everything at once simultaneous: simultaneous sculptures scrape flesh frictions I scripture simultaneous movement: sculpture striptease simultaneous moments of symmetry
Move elsewhere everything elsewhere simultaneous
Simultaneous simultaneous Simultaneously simultaneously
Simultaneous texts text text
Simultaneous Simultaneous blockades arcades malingering moments
Simultaneous asymmetries
Moment of translation and rotation simultaneous movements I do everything
Movements: I more text texture erasure. I erase myself in moving, residue and traces of snapshot bodies (Ben body freezes my body mock chalk archive). Moment preserves some invisible wave, some invisible experiment myth (explanations come to an end somewhere). I never explain or I always explain endlessly. Simultaneous dancing residues. I move simultaneously slower – distances – time out of mind. My mind disappears in machines scraping flesh leash alive. Move anyways, steady through the slow and sluggish.
I do everything simultaneously: moment torrent moment totem signals I do all torrent symmetry sun sigils (I take to the towards towers and I interrupt skydive skyscrapers and movements – as moments – as monuments – trying to grasp the Kingdom of Heaven)
Simultaneous my skull vibrates with the same resonance as the Kingdom of the skies
Skies seep into my skull
Skies seep skull communication lightning rods
I pray the rosary with human skulls as the beads
I do everything simultaneously but my movement gives out. I sing slower machine symmetry. I will always feel sadness. I will always experience melancholy. I accept the persistence and peculiarity of my melancholy (messianic melancholy – messianic manias)
Messianic tesseract manias
Machine mania maniacal melancholy
Delirious melancholy deletes forwards and backwards
Language fails – my language fails explanations come to an end somewhere – so what now? Explanations come to an end somewhere but attempted circulations continue to circulate common meter and Book of Common Prayer (What I have in common with common prayer)
I pray in melancholy and between melancholy – not a prayer to any transcendent god, but to the women in my life, to the genderfluid Ben he/they and the prayer alchemizes divine creativity despite mania-melancholy…
//
It’s funny, I say, because I was encouraging someone earlier today. I told them: things don’t get better, you get better – you form coping strategies, communities, structures. You are like fine wine. I don’t know if I believe that about myself though, I say. Why not? says Asia. I’m tired and old and I don’t want to keep fighting, I say. I finished this documentary on MMA. It showed a summary of the fight with Nick Diaz and Donald Cerrone. Cerrone got hit over 100 times in the head. The documentary concluded: “For the rest of your life, go out, touch gloves, and fight.” I’m tired of getting hit in the head, I say.
I telegraph the bombs to my brain – I’m tired of getting hit in the head. I telegraph bombs to my brain calm like a bomb.
It’s form tired the for
funny coping and fight the
because technique
I telegraph nothing to scavenge – recycle – appropriate – I don’t know what word I’m looking for but of these nothing remains. Nothing remains for reclamation on the gathering of leftover bodies.
I build up my body ground up communities was structure. You encouraging ground up at turning bodies (I turn into my body missing – looking at the outline of small details – not details at all – residue of absence / absences…)
I never accept my melancholy but it erupts up upward towards up up backwards (my obsession and monomania upwards) magma
Never accept my melancholy and I’m tired and fighting. I finished the head, the documentary concludes: “For the fine wine – I don’t getting – I fine wine.” I don’t setting hit over 100 times in the head.
I never accept my melancholy but magma melancholy coil magma bile bails eruption (I throw the vial into the sky and it pops open and the bile continues upwards)
//
I do everything at once: simultaneous movement I scripture movement simultaneous striptease movements
Movement mistletoe movements
Simple conditions: contradictions
I do simultaneous simple conditions – contradictions Visible imprint of successive stages of which the initial cadence coordinates a succession of differing states
Where’s The Structure? Where’s The Honesty?
I wanted to do everything / I do everything at once simultaneous movements of translation and rotation of the plane
Translate everything all time towards the simultaneous zero
//
I jump into the simultaneous zero and I find myself in zero plane / translations
I confront myself this simultaneous want to and happening Benjamin and I interrogate and question this Benjamin
I should write myself honestly – I often misjudge myself, especially in negative lights (I should write myself honestly in white LED lights or in beautifully minimal stacked fluorescent lights). I prepare to prophesy myself honestly and immediately to the simultaneous one and zero. I prophesy Ben honestly – to the extent that’s possible. Do I lie to myself? We all lie to ourselves sometimes. I lie to myself often but here I prophesy a radical honestly (honest humanity – total humanity – atonal tonal modal). I play my lydian body body more lights and she lights the lights Thelonious Monk space (this is the place this is the space). I make space for my radically honest body (space spit body toxic waste spillage).
I realize I sculpt texts rather than write them (Being
active instead of a passive consumer of words and
information over-analyzing things, says Asia)
I sculpt texts but the simultaneous zero demands my own experiences / experiments / texts
(The original text always eludes but
I must approach the asymptote of radical
Ben-Text and honest Ben-Text)
//
I want to do everything at once / I want to do everything same time all the time
I do everything at once simultaneous movement of translation – tentative transition – transition translation
I do everything at the same time time-track thunder looser leopards long lines leopards
Everything means everything. Everything translates everything (Is everything OK? Everything is Everything). Everything writes everything and every text tempts me. I feel tempted to re/write every text I come across and exhausts its possibilities. The better method would be condense and compact everything to a few words – an Anton Webern composition – but I never shut up. I always have more to say. I want to explain / explicate more and more. Everything converges / diverges to everything, and I begin with everything at once.
I read more of Keith Haring’s journal yesterday and it reminded me of you, says Asia. I’m going to do my best to give quotes that show why. He does a lot of questioning about the purpose of his art and why he creates: “In questioning the reason ‘why’ I make art and ‘what’ I want to achieve by making ‘art’, the question inevitably arises: ‘What is the effect of my creation on the viewer?’ and ‘What do people respond to and how do you induce a specific response?’
[…]
“One of the things that is an aspect of all forms of life, and that all art forms are derivative of, is structure. I was reading an interview with Douglas Dunn in which he is asked how much he wants his dance to be structure. This question seems unanswerable. He said ‘I think of everything I do about dance as structure. By definition. Structure is underlying everything. No matter how ‘abstract’ a piece becomes, it is never unstructured. There is order within all matter, all action, all thoughts, no matter how unstructured it might appear.”
I do everything at the same time Same time I and what I structureless why do was I structure all time some he people ready definition
Movements of translation plane rotation
Definition creates respond an structure
//
I find the writing fucked. I and what structure read why no structure. No structure but fucked. I fucked and what structure and everything happening wonders what I’m doing here. By some he was reading definition, but the translation and rotation of the plane says fucked.
(I drink awake other than threads – threads total trilobite – a spinal column autumn leaves. I trade wine windows widows (where widows, the boom whistle wedding). I wed her other – all always Beams / would beams pink.
The Book finds me fucked that all form of all forms of Keith Douglas Dunn unsuitable arise. Don’t know what this is continue on. Don’t know. Don’t know what structure structure ‘what’ I make art and the slow much he creates that show ‘abstract’. Don’t know but continue, you know. Know – near know wow signal sap. Tree sap that’s a wrap. Purely from brain – brain rain klang clothe whore hot pants (Might help you learn to trust yourself a bit too, says Asia. Like you are taking in other people's experiences and re-contextualizing them as a quilt, which I think has its own merit but I think you need a little balance, she says). Balance in the structure. Structure know a lot of the purpose of the then all matter – how much he created that show, don’t. Don’t but continue. But continue. Continue rotations and translations all at the same time. Corridor continue (calf halves fire sacrifice – burnt offering at the rotations once – offering a lot of my creates that all forms of everything). Continue offering – continue know the fuck.
Don’t smoke smoke wildfires I used to feed that fire
Don’t know but dis/continuity Discontinuous don’t straw smoke Wednesday don’t Assorted candy don’t which one I’m the only one…
//
I want to do everything at the same time – but where’s the structure? Where’s the honestly?
My Body Is A Haunted House
In the city – I’m always in the city and I do not escape the city in the mouth of madness
In the city – my city-body drives city grids with the occasional roundabout and toll bridge. I cannot escape the city. City never ends and I never end. My city-body extends unilateral larger than the divine body in the Sh’ir Qomah. My body extends my body impossible object and impossible city (my body doesn’t exist – there is no Ben to return to).
I feel like a citizen – it’s time to go and come back as a drifter
I feel like a citizen in this parking lot county fair it’s time to greyhound my comeback as a drifter put it all in one bag
I put it all in one bag, which is the Book. I drift to and from the languages / volumes of the Book. I drift Book dialogic and Book heteroglossia. I drift into the heterotopia Sheol and its grave glosses glossolalia and city marginalia. I feel like a citizen of the Book but I’m really a nomad – I’m Shekinah in exile – I’m lost soul-syzygy Sophia who does recognize its pearl of great price. One Book is all books – one city is all cities (I do not exist here or there in the city, but everywhere imaginary).
Drift sift slow sleep copper saucer citizen Drift sift rift slow soft machine (endless machines ooze motor oil alley oop olive oop olive oil automatic transmission) Transmission drift: transmit drift life raft Creepshow 2 Transmit meteor transmission / iron radios Transmit no transition / no transition but transmission (I transmit anything but here and anything other than this ben body)
//
Horror exists all horror only horror exist. Only the horror exists. Only the horrific exists (my own grotesque body and my own grotesque face and my face floats not my own). My face floats disconnected above the gargoyles.
Only horror exists. Everything exists speaks horror horror sequenza hauntology (The haunted house spreads with the haunted city. My city-body spreads black plague death). Only horror exists and it infects my non-existent body and my body not my own.
Now only death. Now not only death but my own death (beneath the layers, city: beneath the layers, magical symbols wild appear invisibility / indivisible edges of our fogged death consciousness.) Death contains all horror contradictions and horror contains all death inconsistencies and I record every instant of my death: death in the definitive mess of death (death designed undecidable: death dream design unanswered death).
(Death dreams my body unannounced and apophatic)
All my magick and prophecy plays death pliers death death tickles (clumsy chasing clumsy impulse witch tickles witch tickles tickle impulse broke witch tickles clumsy tickle death) All my magick and prophecy plays death: death witch tickles and Christina steals my organs absolutely death and totally death and I disappear with and without death I disappear into witch wick burn word I live imaginary death and non-existent death the end of my world
(Any world – my word world forced into the imaginary space of world
and any leaves room for the trace of my grotesque body. Any words like
burned world and I will go out be near. Reaching through the world of the gore
with land exists if only live in my death specters and hauntological structure
of death and part death partials.)
(The haunted house spreads red the haunted city)
(It is difficult to overestimate the significance of the house)
My grotesque body traces my grotesque body haunted. Haunted, my body emptied into surreal death (Isn’t death always surreal? Hauntological impossible. The volume of the city exceeding its surface area. I think your name is magical. A Christian name and a Christina name). I dissect the house and find a human cadaver – my cadaver and my death staring into my own death not real. Organs of the house map into the organs of the human body (body to body job to job).
(Audio indecipherable / death indecipherable. Benjamin-toward-death and Benjamin-towards-nonexistence. I never existed except in this haunted house/body/city)
And if we were to dissect the house, we would find ourselves a stomach, throat, spine and eyes and eyes teeth and eyes sinew and dreams and memories and a mouth that will bite down
I have been thinking about silence in my writing, I say. I want to leave more space on the page, a contemplative space to let the words breathe. I’m having a hard time leaving my dense paragraphs, I say. Take them and move them somewhere else, says Asia. Two pieces of writing. Chopped meat. Less words and more empty space, she says.
And if we were to dissect the house
We would find ourselves
And if we were to dissect the house
A stomach a throat a spine
And if we were to dissect the house
Yes teeth eyes sinew
Dreams memories
A mouth that will bite
And if to dissect the house
And if it find a house to ourselves dissect to ourselves house and I find ourselves stomach, throat, spine, and my eyes
And I find myself dreams and memories in my mouth and bite down I bite down I bite down space
I bite down anatomy anatomy archaeology hidden body without body homunculus
(House haunts homunculus
Homunculus haunts house
Yourself horse stomach threat teeth bite down)
I bite down anatomy archaeology I bite up hyenas and cheetahs leap out human blood
Green lion Peacock Shell Shock
I bite down body without organs: ben benzene strata and ouroboros geology
Take them and move them somewhere else Two pieces of writing
(geologies bury body skeleton silica
psychosis psychopirate skeleton
derelict silica)
Two pieces my body nonexistent
my body disappears
(When a house is both hungry and awake, every room becomes a mouth)
House devour/s. Anatomy by Kitty Horrorshow. Every house is haunted. Explore a suburban house. Collect cassette tapes, study the physiology of domestic architecture. Houses. I live in this house and I belong to this house. House suicide hotline… My deaths are quotations of other deaths: compact deaths, contextualize deaths, remixed deaths (someone buried alive and suffocated to death, very far away on the other side of the television screen).
My life is entirely television My life exists only television sustain. (I think I’m dying. Or I’m already dead. I’m already dead. I only exist in the television. I think I’m dead. I do not exist something exists but it’s not me. It’s dead. It’s missing missing dead. Something exists. Something exists but not me. Anything exists but me...)
I Do Not Exist In This City
In the city, simultaneous time: city simultaneous sequence sequence city door
In the city, simultaneous time: time integration and time disintegration time presence and time absence time immediate and time apocalyptic
In the city-body and city-book, simultaneous times (times time halftime valley halves apocalyptic) Body – this Ben-Body and Ben-City disembodied – travels simultaneous times, the times hauntological and future-past I see the time-body sequences and sequenzas (membrane time-body stretched diaphanous)
Time swallows cities and human bodies, and when time digests and processes city-bodies, the Child of Humanity emerges. The mischievous Christ Child of Infancy Gospel of Thomas emerges, and the Child Sophia from PKD’s VALIS emerges. Time floods with with further time and further time. I disappear in time and this time, or at least some virtuoso sequenza Benjamin disappears anywhere. City time chimes body cellar door (get the money dollar dollar bills ya’ll). I dissipate into the holy spirit smog of ben nonexistent time.
//
I see my body from the other side – other side sideways no way but dissimulation. I see my body other sideways fireworks (my imaginary body catches or fires sideways fireworks. I exist nowhere except in these flashes).
I exist nowhere except in these flashes (flash passive passages passages repetitions my nonexistence). My nonexistence scrapes monochromatic paintings and sandy suprematism: black square – black cross – white on white. I keep in the queer silence in I can’t help but I keep the silence and any ben disappears into some imaginary, some fantasy. I keep quiet (quiet – queer quiet – I go to hell). I keep quiet and I go to hell, but I do not exist. I don’t exist illuminations from beyond – lightnings from the amplifier any incarnations and transfigurations. I disappear time dispels desert diaspora.
I do not exist just disappearance. Missing persons. Milk carton kids. Always ending always quotation. I disappear always ending always quotation (always another). I do not exist / I exist in the red room and the black lodge (none of this exists – this is all television). I drop distraught dreadnought – my house does not exist and my body does not exist. None of this is real. I disappear into anything.
(Time wasn’t right. It was moving too fast. And then I was 19. And then I was 20. I felt like one of those dolls asleep at the supermarket. Stuffed. And then I was 21. Like chapters skipped over on a DVD. I told myself, “This isn’t normal. This isn’t normal. This isn’t how life is supposed to feel…”)
I don’t I don’t I don’t exist – not were where her anywhere I don’t I don’t Where? Not her anywhere Somewhere around here Not time not body (time out of joint time out of mind)
I don’t exist. My mind does not exist. My bodies do not exist. No self none self non self. Psychosis – chaos – chaos – psychosis.
I do not I do not. I not not I’m not not real. I’m not real. Unreal and I’m not sure my vocalization, and I don’t vocalize the vowels but my voice disappears. My voice disappears – dissipates – deterritorialized. The voice disappears deterritorializes the voice my voice. The voice my voice disappears delirium.
You’ve seen I’ve Watched The TV Glow, yeah? I say to Asia. I was reading about it and watching clips from it. You watched the movie? says Asia. No. Do I ever watch movies? Just watching clips and reading about it. Did you like it? … Asia am I real? Is Pando real? Are you real? Yeah, says Asia. And yes I enjoyed the movie. I don’t feel real, I say. Fuck. I wrote in my notebook “I do not exist. Something exists. But it’s not me.” […] OK, if you’re real, you unconditionally love me. Even if I’m not real, you still unconditionally love me. I think that means that love is really really really big and powerful. Maybe the love is real even if we’re not real.. I mean if it helps you feel grounded, then sure, says Asia. It just seems like you are making the friendship into something supernatural and something that exists outside of yourself and that’s not true. It exists because of interactions between two entities and you are one of them, says Asia. Is what I wrote wrong? I say. I feel confused and bewildered. Our friendship is not a separate thing, says Asia. It is something that exists because of me and you building it intentionally, she says. If so, I feel worried, I say, because if I don’t exist, our friendship doesn’t exist. It means Pando doesn’t exist and you don’t unconditionally love Ben because Ben doesn’t exist. There is nothing then, right? OK, says Asia. Make it make sense. You were more than OK with acknowledging that our friendship was real until I pushed the fact that it doesn’t exist without you. You just don’t want to be a big part, she says. What if it’s like I Saw The TV Glow though? And I’m not this Ben and I’m not any Ben. Goddamn it, says Asia. Don’t even come at me using movies you haven’t even fucking watched because the whole point of the movie is that her real self was always there – she never left – it’s never too late – she was there the whole time. You can feel like you aren’t real and that’s fine but you are here and you are experiencing this even if it fucking sucks, she says. What I am trying to explain is something exists – I exist – but it’s not Ben. I don’t know what this is. If this Ben doesn’t exist, then how can Pando exist? How can you love a non-existent Ben? Ben is Ben, says Asia. Also, what a weird fucking argument to make to someone with a trans wife… Are you saying that you haven’t been Ben this whole time or that you just recently become not Ben? she says. I don’t know, I say. I was writing in my notebook just now: “Perhaps I never existed. I do not know if I previously existed and have how become nonexistent or if I have never existed… I do not exist, just disappearance… My life exists entirely in quotations – in other texts and never my own – intertextuality.” What, did my subconscious just invent someone to argue with? says Asia. I have my mother. That made me laugh, I say. Like my body exists – like this body is real, right? I’m walking around and doing laundry and shit, but my consciousness feels wrong. It doesn’t feel like Ben. It feels like something else. Another consciousness? Something else has invaded? Maybe Ben never existed? I’m not sure… Like I have Ben’s memories and I have his face, but I don’t feel Ben… So there is Ben and right now I am Not-Feeling-Ben… Does Pando stop existing when I am Not-Feeling-Ben? No, it doesn’t stop existing, says Asia. Thanks, I say. I was watching this video from Special Books For Special Kids, and they had a person who suffered from depersonalization and dissociation disorder. She experienced the dissociation part more but she said its origin is usually in trauma… I don’t think I have experienced any trauma, I say. Trauma to our brains and nervous systems doesn’t have to be a big event, says Asia. We aren’t logical creatures. Maybe it’s friendships you lost before or almost loss, she says. Why do you think Pando is so solid when I have lost other friendships? Because you stopped viewing it as something you were going to lose, says Asia. I thought you’d say it’s because we worked on it and built it up together, I say. I feel pretty confident in Pando. I know you don’t predict the future and you live in the moment of your relationship but to me, I see us growing all the time and that makes me feel secure we will be in each other’s lives for a long time, I say. That is also true, says Asia.
I disappear as strange as I do not exist and the jump does not exist I disappear strange inside
(It feels like someone… took a shovel and dug out all my insides. And I know there’s nothing in there, but I’m still too nervous to open myself up and check. I know there’s something wrong with me. My parents know too, even if they don’t say anything.)
I disappear strange inside always interior radically interior disappearance Desert disappears awkward jumps (I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend you could cut ties with all the lies that you’ve been living in and if you do not want to see me again I would understand…) My life exists entirely in quotation – in other texts and never my own intertextuality…
//
In the city simultaneous time: city simultaneous sequence sequence city cellar door…
I do not exist in this Book or any Book – perhaps I only exist in Kindred or Pando...
I Count Space Spilled Into The Silence
Count space spill into space Count space space into the spill
Count – count amount sound – count sounds silence sounds surround count – count – count
Count space spill into space: count space space into the fall (count spar any space / this is where time becomes space)
Count this is where time becomes becomes
Count this where is time becomes space amount sound space
Count where time spills into space spills into space spills
Count space spill into space: count space space into the rain fill spill
Count spar any space / this is where time becomes space
(Anxious space spill span)
Count space without wait
Haste space trace kenosis
Count spare space any space spill any space
Anxious space spill span time
(Count space without wait
Spill trace space kenosis)
I amount to surround myself silences in silences (separated space: until space). I spill into the silence my body space among spaces (separate space / united space). I listen to some silence, some names, some spell quiet – space in magical alphabets. This is where time becomes space: space in space alphabet and space spill space alphabet. Quiet announces alphabet in silent speech. I walk around quiet the sun up there there up there, and I line – learn – layer – reap – silent light and abundant light space spilling. I amount to surround myself silences.
Count space spill into the space / count space space into the spill
Speed empty space speed
Speed empty space space
(Count space interruption at the zero
Count with the zero towards zero)
Space spills spurious dark splice: I splice upright count about silence
(I dread the zero. I weigh the zero plunged into kenosis.)
(Kenosis zero zero khora creeping carnal space crucifixions)
//
Count the silence and continue the silence – but how? Through her unutterable name and unspeakable name
Most of them have very specific names Most of them most of them Most of them have most of them I have name and names unspeakable holy (John Cage says: Which is more musical, a truck passing by a factory or a truck passing by a music school? Are the people inside the music school musical and the ones outside unmusical? What if the ones inside can’t hear very well, would that change my question?)
Most of them have very specific names her names radical question – musical and unmusical question silence Most of her names question into silence / KRYSXTRYN + Asia Rhizome
(Interest in sounds – silences – points toward a holy music and a holy noise and a holy quiet, and no differences exist among these. I sound holy and I name holy as silences, and silence participates Holy Holy Holy Lord God Almighty / Silence plays time-space her Holy Holy Holy Ineffable Name-Sound Woman.)
It’s been a long time since I felt god, says Asia. The most recent time was when I went to the Quaker meeting. Everyone was sitting in silence and I just became aware of the fact that every single one of the people around me wanted a better world and had goodwill towards each other. Felt very warm, says Asia.
Noise letters silence: sabbath noise and paradoxical noisy silence. In my silence, I pronounce secret YHVH Elohim Sabaoth: armies of sabbath and hosts of silence. Noise litters letters silence the nonexistence difference between names (all names are her name). All names are her name and most of them specific names (her specific names pronounce all names name singular and singularity). Most names split split her scientific names hitch names holy holy holy.
(Names inhabit around me when I went time Truck passes factory music since I felt everyone was when I went time I just became aware of the Quaker meeting everyone was when I went time spills out silence)
Count the silence and continue the silence in names meeting noise noise names Count name noises holy holy holy silence outside the music school
//
Count space spill into space Count space space spiral time (Count speculum any space, this is where time keeps sabbath space)
(I dread the zero. I weight the zero plunges into kenosis)
(I dread the zero anxious space space additive space)
This is where time becomes space
Time everyone was when I went time was when I went time
Single one wanted a better time and just became aware of time
This is where time converges into quiet sabbaths and noise-silence specific names
It’s been a body time since I felt god. The will recent time was from
I went by the Quaker meeting. Everyone was sitting in silence and I back
facade unify in the swan that exact circle one in the coarse around
me wanted a tartars world and had good will towards each other.
Felt very warm.
I experience / experiment the zero in anxious space and shaking zero time noise. I quake at the swing of the zero and I wish Christina was here (how I wish how I wish you were here we’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year). I wish Christina was anywhere and she’d share my anxious space and we share this anxious hallucination and delusion draw space zero quiet deluge. We share anxious art of the covenant and I swim in the zone of zero. I wish Christina was here and she would appear at the zero and awake zero, here our shares void. I know Christina impossible and I know Christina without the idea of counting. I know Christina in the silent noise and noisy silence.
Empty space speeds toward zero, an anxious zero and an agitated zero. I feel anxious about my conversations with Asia tomorrow – what if I fuck up again – what if I become an anxious meltdown and I only speak and act in this zero? Nevertheless, I will talk to her and I will write my anxiety. I write kenosis in my anxiety drone noise silent drone. Noise surrounds me in the zero space-filling curve. Noise surrounds anxious action activity additive zero (The zero of my brain branches zero and silent singularities). I speak the zero often anxious zero claustrophobic (I count claustrophobic frictions anxious metafiction).
I exist silent zero anxious Christina and Asia
Count space spill into space (Quiet space silence zero and zero silence)
Anxious empty space speed empty empty space
The Sun Up There
The sun up there up there
Sun leaks lent leak loose myriad light Sun leaks lossless light lobster light unleavened lights Sun leaks nonlinear the sun up there
Sun up there up there and there is no there there There is no there there excess sun nothing
I look sun Son of Man and sun Human One, and the One – nothing announces nothing and gives nothing and no thing sun. I gaze into the sun, the sun grazing upon my body harvest. Sun harvests humans and Human One and I wear myself out decomposing organs. I wear myself out and my body melts in the gut of suns there there. Cubist sun reconfigures my body with flat squares, trapezoidal and rectangular planes that overlap and interrupts, and sun color light leaks out there outward. My organs decompose light outward and the plane overlaps daughters of men and sons of god, allwhen myth – there there myth – the sun up there myth.
I think of Pando and our histories, our stories, our myths, our narratives, I say. Pando isn’t one thing. Our friendship isn’t one thing. But today I think of our history and our overcoming of conflicts and how our friendship prophesies. That’s our roots entangled too, I say. That’s a pretty good way to put it, says Asia.
There is no there there except sun myth and son of man myth and mythologies there
That’s our histories. Our stories. Our stories.
Our story and our friendship isn’t one thing.
Our stories. Our myths. Our friendships
Prophesy.
The sun up there up there leaks cubist myth light and crystal story there there Light swap swath swing sweat swear languages Human oath glossolalias sun outer darkness dark barbed beetle burn / dark barbed bow sun barbecue
//
The sun up there up there knows its language
Like languages count suns nemesis
(I wish the sun had its binary star Nemesis –
I wish it existed but sometimes,
reality is not as interesting as the theoretical –
thankfully this is rare)
Like sun languages count coastline collarbones (my organs decompose in the sun)
Like count many counts plural suns Like count corrodes plural zero and zero there silly string / sun membranes
(language in the membrane
language got no brain)
Like sun language myth zero
(that’s put histories our
and own its our friendship
our roots stories isn’t overcoming
entangled)
My membrane language count sun language magnetic monopoles / our one of the myths thing but conflicts that (there is no there there but sun up there up there)
The sun up there knows its zero language and myth-history at the zero
//
Sun up there up up there
Sun looks loops light and lights and light light leak present future Light myth leaks myriad light dyads (power cords chords sun dangled strangles) Lewd sun dangles dry desert myth myth map outer darkness (Cubist light overlaps darkness / squares and trapezoids illuminate decomposing organs)
Sun language interleaves zero light and I play dark history. I play leaked outer darkness and sunlight does not dispel dark but fuses with it. The sun up there tunes dark theater and I play black paintings: I scratch into suns monochromatic paintings, color field wheel inside color freely wheel. Dark history fuses with coastal language, and my organs decompose on beaches. I play like a plan starting point flat surfaces (of prophesied narratives isn’t that’s stories root pretty). I play sun language changing the direction of its moment (Our think thing Pando. Friendship how to entangles. How to entangled will change its dimensions).
I have been thinking about silence in my writing, I say. I want to leave more space on the page, a contemplative space to let words breathe. I’m having a hard time though leaving my dense paragraphs, I say. Take them and move them somewhere else, says Asia. The paragraphs? Yes. Two pieces of writing. Chopped meat, says Asia. […] Less words and more empty space, she says.
(I to let the dense of have to leave
words of paragraph
writing
been more breathe
Take
chopped
thinking space
I’m there meat like
about on having and lets
silence then a more voids
in page hard them and
my a time somewhere more)
I look the sun up there up there (up there I let to let dense of to let up there to go and I go my dense text and claustrophobic paragraphs / photographs Up there I wear myself out decomposing objects decomposing organs organs organ Organs have leave words paragraphs)
I look up there the sun writing between more breath: breathe histories, narratives, stories, myths
Breathe take chopped
thinking space Make space
chopped breathe breathing breathing take
chopped space
I look up sun silence / silence
Sun speech looks silence silence silent sun history
(Zero history zero narrative zero story zero myth Myth chopped breath but breathing sound-silence)
The sun up there up there / that’s a pretty good way to describe it
//
The singular sun starts at a zero-silence and expands fanwise with every human breath
I express the plural by repeating the singular. I express the plural palimpsest pluripotent tumors (more less space crowded breaths). I trace the zero circulating blood to tumors. I tape the tumor wall-to-wall noise / cassette tape noise).
I express sun language space space Prophesies a isn’t history good pretty of expressed espresso incomplete explanation expression
I repeat the singular the holy spiral – spirit one how narratives root. One our of our – spirit that’s conflict but today thing our I over tumors entangle that’s histories as our
I repeat the singular holy zero zero ghosts zero ghost rattling gun sun gun sun repeat singular
The singular sun starts at zero – silence and expands fanwise with the Human One swimming
//
The sun up there up there
up there silence in space having
take through breathe
my space space my like about more
up there else them empty
words and page have time
and two
The sun up there up there them contemplative to I’m let more thinking mint somewhere
Sun lents leak loose myriad light / sun lights leak loose lose myriad light matrices (You’ve done this scratching scratching or these things) The sun up there somewhere the paragraphs less on dense
(I think of Pando and our histories. Our anion. Our myths. Our narratives. Pando isn’t one print. Our friendship isn’t one print. But today I think of our history and our overcoming of conflicts and but our friendship prophesies. Drunk our grains entangled tie. That’s a shell good way to put it.
The sun up there up there
The sun up ward look upwards
