Content Warning: discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation
I speak space. I prophesy Sun Ra space. I prophesy Sun Ra space rhizomes and the time-becomes-space mycorrhiza minotaur arcades. I spark arcade and spill arcades (the whipping acts as a hygienic massage the same time as it stimulates).
I stimulate screwdriver arcades
I compute space absurd arcades attacca arcades
Speech arcade Speech space prophesy Sun Ra space (the impossible has been tried and failed – now it’s time to try the impossible)
Speech ironworks foundation space Prophesy Sun Ra space: prophesy Sun Ra space rhizomes and the time-become-space arcades
The Garden of Forking Paths prophesies mycorrhiza minotaur arcades
Spark arcades spill prophecy
Stimulate im/possible arcades
Coupled arcade absurd space
Nutting Associates of California has done it again! Again brother! The only innovative idea and concept in the entire industry. Tired of driving games? Tired of the same old cabinet styling and game features? So are the players! Introducing the completely all new Computer Space!
An amen arcade arise Cain rose up arcade games (You can set an exact resemblance of this veritable crown of thorns in bike shop windows today as part of an advertisement for puncture-proof tires) An amen arcade and audits anatomy again anatomy arcades I spill interstellar space run uncountable space – an impossible space
//
I speak space but rain interrupts. I interrupt rain – rough rain on tin stories. I speak space speech space suicides and rain interrupts suicidal ideation. I fantasize about my own suicides but I never die, so I simulate the suicides on arcade cabinets (I speak space but the melancholy never leaves me).
His exile from Greece culminated in death from starvation, caused supposedly by his own abstinence
Field facts – death and disaster series – riding with death – danse macabre
She had attempted suicide two days earlier by hanging herself with a vacuum cleaner cord in her New Orleans home (I belong to every death and every suicide, a manic-depressive Christ)
His money troubles led him to commit suicide by swallowing oxalic acid in the Oriental Hotel on Broadway and Thirty-Ninth Street
I swallowed death – swallow street photography death.
I swallowed dentures and vibrating heavy death and its détournement
Throws tanning manic / machine gun tearing my body
He suffered visual hallucinations and anxiety over the fear he had inherited his mother’s mental illness
I inherit death. I inherit movement to more
desiring-machine manias.
The consensus in news accounts of the time and among historians subsequently is that he died by suicide by drowning after he jumped from the Benjamin Franklin
I always jump get up and jump
Dance macabre. Mark of Cain.
Macabre suicides / unlikely
Survivals.
Can I get your advice on writing ideas or concepts? I say to Asia. I am editing some writing that heavily involves my depression and suicidal ideation. Is that kind of writing useful to others? Does it prophesy? I say. How do you usually respond when you write like that? she says. I know you have before [questioned it]. Also other people experience these things. Are you sure you aren’t questioning it because it makes you feel vulnerable? says Asia. I find it embarrassing to myself indeed, I say. I asked you before I saw this comment but apropos. On Sylvia Plath: “I’ve only read The Bell Jar and a bit of poetry but to me she seemed really mean, self-obsessed, and racist. She seems to elevate her own suffering above the suffering of others.” I think it does make me feel vulnerable but I also don’t want to disappear my own asshole, I say. Do you feel like that is all you focus on? says Asia. No, I say. I feel a lot of writing is in dialogue with other writing and creative works. I also feel I write just as much about our friendship and my friendship with Christina as well. A lot of it is experimenting with scripture and being in contact with the divine, I say.
I continue my melancholy. I continue living under this sign of Saturn. This something saturnine resides in my body oozes residue melancholy mixed mania Jimi Hendrix distortion dagger a private language. Melancholy plants a private language – an imperfect language – an even apophatic language: empty of everything but melancholy.
No cause of death was immediately given
Continue inside – interior – depth – deep? – depth – surgical incisions – inside melancholy. Melancholy wilderness sound. Soul mercy sounds – several sonic booms bombs bombard my body bombardier beetles – boombox private hoax inside continue.
He was heartbroken at being able to see her once again and expressing deep regret of having hurt her, the dearest thing in her life.
//
I speak space and prophesy Sun Ra space Speak space arcade amens anatomy apophatic anatomy
I spell a special a counterpoint interstellar space. I spell a special counterpoint stations of the cross: first of all you should know about the spells, and before that you have to picture the apparatus itself. I spill arcades in space inventions and invent new arcades. I invent arcade lost work ironworks this is where time becomes space (I work a lost midnight: midnight within a midnight migration. I work arcade monarchs north of monarchs, this torn meniscus mixed menses. Blood doubles swollen skull travels).
I smoke skull arcade appetite halos. I smoke skull arcade ant antennae: army ant antennae and fire ant invasion intersections. Skull invades thrown termites taryn thrones, a new clarion vision. I vision arcades and Asia with her thrones threads insects. Insects – beetles and dragonflies mostly – stretch wheel within wheel weevils.
The only innovative idea and concept in the entire industry – only arcades. Industrial arcades. Melancholic arcades speak space and prophesy Sun Ra space which invents all new Computer Space.
Only arcades prophesy Sun Ra space
Tag: depression
Book Suppresses Time Ashes
Content Warning: descriptions of suicidal ideation and descriptions of deaths by suicide
The Book suppresses time ashes
The Book suppresses time ashes towards the relation of nonexistence towards the relation of eight printed pages Eight printed pages interpret the distance from point to line and a measurement of musical parameter
Distance squeamish nonsense monstrous moonshine
Moonshine slipbar shaar cylinder
Print a host of notations
Print a host of notations in Solo For Piano
The Book suppresses time ashes: ash mirror echolocation Ash echolocation – mirror most echoes – ash lateral littoral Ash coats labrador lavender lights linger (Book lingers lights larger eyes and Book lingers. I linger in Book scissors: scissor lasers sleight of hand geist. Geist spreads and compacts ash into glue ghosts.) Book squeezes time ash into geist grime grind gland ghost gold / ghost glue gold geist sly shy
//
I take a potsherd to scrape myself and sit among the ashes
Intensities circulate my brain engine. Intensities incinerates my brain amplification-destruction. Intensities agitate my brain burned all ash (prions – pylons – praises – palimpsests).
Intensities interrupt my brain circulates circulations brains in a vat batwings (suspended roller coaster intensities / I feared my shoes would fly off during Silver Bullet).
Intensities intersect intensities immediate my brain immediately (My fiance asked me to marry him in June. I don’t think I would make a good wife for anybody. He’s much better off without me). I wouldn’t be a good wife for anybody. I wouldn’t be a good partner for anyone. I scrape myself with a potsherd on my heap of ashes. Son of Man, you live in the heap of broken images. (At the bottom of the Empire State Building, the body of Evelyn McHale reposes calmly in a grotesque bier, her falling body punched into the top of the car). I wouldn’t make a good wife for anyone. KRYSXTRYN + Asia Rhizome would be better without me. To jump. Asking Asia if I should jump. Asia puts up with a lot of my shit. To jump the very pulse of the machine. I never jump into the ashes of the Book and the Woman Field Word Marriage.
I take a potsherd to scrape myself and sit among the ashes
//
The Book suppresses time ashes
Suns to box made of wood hyena
Spoken specimen in the jackal language
The Book suppresses time ashes towards the relation of non-existence towards the relation of eight printed pages Book scratches eight printed pages in moonshine slipbar shaar cylinder a host of notations in Solo For Piano (Book amplitude duration overtone sculpture frequency Point of occurrence within the whole time frame)
I obsess with working and reworking text and texts: this obsidian obsession stretches the time of the text – texture of texts – time all texture terra time. I fold texts tenor tectonics. I fold and fold folded time to pli selon pli play tenor tectonics (time increases and I obsess time open text). I tread-trace-thread Taryn Tehom and Taryn Tohu Wa-Bohu. I trace increased time spinal catastrophe catastrophic catacombs. I trace-tea-tape Taryn Tiamat time alltime racing manic and ecstatic bebop tempos and I improvise a furious flurry over serpent changes and ocean changes / sea floor spreading).
The Book suppresses time ashes and Book time tremors tehom Book time tremor Book Book tremor answered by measurement of a dropped perpendicular Book time Book tremor suppressed time ashes (It is the principle of music to repeat the theme. Repeat and repeat again, as the pace mounts. The theme is difficult but no more difficult than the facts to be resolved).
I (re)read The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams. So much depends / upon / a red wheel / barrow / glazed with rain / water / beside the white / chickens I have told this story-narrative-myth before but I encountered this poem in middle school in one of my textbooks. It struck me – it struck me because I thought, is this truly a poem? If this is truly a poem, then surely anyone can write poetry! Shortly afterwards I began writing poetry. When I read the book Silence by John Cage, I understood how William Carlos Williams ignited my desire for writing poetry:
Question: But seriously, if this is what music is, I could write as well as you.
Answer: Have I said anything that would lead you to think I thought you were stupid?
A radical openness towards the ordinary of creativity – creativity as a daily activity, an incessant activity, an activity for survival – The Red Wheelbarrow and William Carlos Williams taught me this. It is the principle of music to repeat the theme. Repeat and repeat again, as the pace mounts. The theme is difficult but no more difficult than the facts to be resolved.
I read Finnegans Wake by James Joyce and I agree with John Cage: Joyce invented a wonderful idiolect with novel vocabulary and word play but Joyce still adhered to rules of syntax and grammar. Aaron Copland said something similar about Alexander Scriabin: Scriabin invented a new harmony but shackled it in sonata-allegro form… John Cage used aleatoric techniques to destroy the syntax of Finnegans Wake. I borrow aleatoric methods from John Cage to slacken my syntax but I also attempt free improvisations – non-idiomatic improvisations – altered states of consciousness – ecstasies and frenzies – to slacken the manacles of my mind (to quote William Blake). To make the language entirely foreground and present and not otherwise present (how impossible!). I copy Finnegans Wake to open my selves and writings: a text for generating texts.
The Book suppresses time ashes and the Book phoenix structures spiritual instruments. Book and spiritual instruments gathers all texts and re/creates texts. Every writer has worked in the Book without knowing (Orphic explanation of the earth is the poet’s duty). The Book foreground performs and forms formless texts: the same writing forwards and backwards. The text carries form forwards and backwards and invents new readings. Writing forms multidirectional and exhausting all orders and permutations of the Book exhaust themselves (impossible exhaustion). I attempt to abolish the inherent difference inside the book and the world outside.
//
I scrape myself with the potsherd and lay in the ashes
Intensities intersect intestines immediate my brain immediately (impossibly intense icicles dagger skull freezer desert) Impossible brain fire intensities (inland empire my brain inland empire black iron prison) Impossible brain fire white fire on black fire fused into the singular intensity of my body fucked by flames
Eyeball intensities / retina ray rabies rip through my skull cathedral lightning bolts (bolt told shoe insoles inland empire bolts) Eye erects intensities multiplicities compound eyes combined with many simple eyes (eye island inland empire)
(I can’t see myself at 40, to be honest. Surprised I made it to 30). I can only write about death. Everything I write involves death, especially my own death. Writing directs me to death and I lay full in desert depression; I lay float in Dead Sea 1400 feet below sea level, and I drink salt dead. I drink Salton Sea float wildlife dead (On February 28, 1970, Oliver Steindecker, Rothko’s assistant, found the artist laying dead on the kitchen floor in front of the sink, covered in blood. He had overdosed on barbiturates and cut his artery in his right arm with a razor blade. There was no suicide note. He was 66). I would leave an elaborate and overwrought / overthought suicide note. I hope it’s ugly and messy and not beautiful. My suicide should be spontaneous, impulsive, stupid.
Suicide (Purple Jumping Man) depicts two images in sequence, recorded by a documentary photographer, silkscreened in black ink on a purple background). My brain flooded by purple resentment hinting at my destruction in America / Bonnie and Clyde Death Car
Death monomania / death monomyth (I disappear in purple monomyth)
What Came Before The Book
Content Warning: discussion of depression and suicidal ideation
I can’t remember what came first, us or the Book. What came first: Book arrives first flesh and first fire. The Book arrives bereshit blessingway and I arrive way Witch Woman. I arrive Women Witches and I dream too youth. I dream the youth YHVH asleep.
I can’t remember but I remember Kindred Book tangled Kindred Book
The asleep center last supper
Asleep the center semicircle last supper
Asleep centaur semicircle signature
I can’t remember but Book remembers body lighthouse house body steam fucked lone (Our love can put an end to this fucking world and I dream Kindred now fucking. Kindred dreams now fucking and now fucking and our love lifts ladder lighthouse many Books. I can’t remember what came first but Kindred reigns King Felix). Remember Kindred signature and signs gospel and gospel cycles epicycle epistemology. Gospel misremembers and repeats canonical gospels.
//
I recall / remember gospels and Book First Fire / Flesh
(We will go to the Trinity Monastery, and you will make bells and I will paint icons). I continue to paint incessantly: I write and rewrite the painted Book and the Book black body canvas. I paint and repaint the icon of Christina, and I cut her portraits into shaped-canvas minimalism. I pour paint over her face and her mouth emanates pink beam hydrogen bombs. Her mouth drops big fucking bombs. I paint and repaint the icon of Kindred and my mouth expands Philip K. Dick pink beams
Her mouth drop blonde
Mouth blossom ben breast
I breathe bereshit I breathe the Beetle Book bereshit Beetle Book bark Beetle Book bereshit / Book wings bridges Beetle Book bereshit Beetle Book bereshit breaks the beetle (Beetle breach beach / bark breathe books bereshit Book)
Break beach breaking Book beach
Break Book ben hinnom upward
Bereshit breaches ben hinnom upward, the coral reef of the Body Beach (The beach of the Body brooks beetles brush stroke ben bodies Beetle Book of Birth)
Her mouth drop beetles
Mouth break beach beetles
I recall / remember Book gospels and gospel Kindred
//
I can’t remember what came first, Kindred or the Book / Book arrives first flesh and first fire
I’m having a hard time, I say to Christina. I can’t articulate anything. I’m sorry you’re feeling that way, says C. Miles had a bad meltdown this morning. He said his brain was running away and he didn’t even want to try and get it. Relatable, I say. I figured, says C. He just wanted me to stop trying to help and just sit with him. He was late to school, but I told him sometimes the consequences are worth it when we need a break. I’m getting him an Icee for when I pick him up from school. I highly suggest you get yourself a treat, says Christina. I feel like dying often, I say. Same, man, she says. For me, it’s a part of life. I struggle with wanting to live. It doesn’t go away if I don’t acknowledge it. What’s your preferential response? I tend not to make a big deal, I think. I’m not sure how to deal with it, I say. I would love for you to learn to love yourself a little better, she says. Do you love yourself? I say. To some extent, says C. There are some parts of me that are harder to love than others. It’s something I continually work on. What parts are harder to love? I say. What some stoics call “the creature”, says C. Shes’ the one who comes out when I have bad depression. She doesn’t shower, she makes bad decisions, she’s a bad example for the kids, etc, says C.
I can’t remember what came first, us or the Book – Kindred or the Book – Book first first flesh and first fire Book arrives I tend not to live Book arrives it doesn’t go away if I don’t shower / she makes bad depression
First fires I’m trying treat if to having it
First I love a help
//
The Beetle Book barks the brash bash of my Beetle Book
(Book I don’t than hard and feel acknowledges others time)
My beetle body bursts open into the Oneiric Beach and Book Ouroboros / metamorphosis with beetles’ wings
I sit dying what’s something can’t with often your I articulate her
I’m was far I or sorry late me ties
Beetle Body brooks hooks rhizome blues Beetle Book
(I’m sorry you’re feeling that her. Muses had a pad meltdown this morning. He said his brain I am running away and he didn’t over wind to try to get it)
I listen to “The Microphones in 2020” by The Microphones. Its nostalgia and recollection of personal history resonates with me and I want to write my own nostalgic journey but it’s my first night back at work in a week and the night shift destroys my brain and I have no memory. My brain archive disappears with my dilapidated body. I copy Past Ben – he always wrote nostalgic beetles and beaches (Christina memory – Kindred memory – shared memory – our memory – before the Book).
It’s Always Everything
Content Warning: discussion of alcoholism and mental health
It’s not stealing if it’s everything
I give speech and I spare no speech, but it strikes spear chaoses. My speech spins whirligig chaoses, soda cut matches eye machines. Speech at eye-level levels skyscrapers room for more speech. Speech spies speech split liminal. I speak from original human – Child of Humanity and Daughter Of Men. I speak transforming-word and transfiguring-word new heaven and earth languages. My human one splits liminal total human experience – obscene graffittis, pornographies, pulp fictions, graphomania multiple maniacs.
It’s everything: multiple maniacs / gangster emblems
Multiple maniacs son of a hundred maniacs blue suit medicine men
It’s everything: puzzle piece aporia aporia palindrome puzzle
//
It’s everything: body, death, stolen body resurrection
I die easily – how difficult and how easy to kill a body, and body drinks death stealing new life over and over. My body electric shocks early polarization / depolarization / v-fib fractals. My body dies while Christina drinks to her early death. Christina breaks three years of sobriety and I give her the benefit of the doubt until she drinks enough to get kicked out of the comedy club and vomits in her car. I love her anyways and sometimes she’s difficult to love but I find pleasure in loving her. I love her endlessly and unconditionally and unconditional pursues speech death / fractal fuck creation. I love her everything – drunk Christina and sober Christina, Christina suicidal and puking her guts out. My body and Christina drinks: I speak prophetic bodies and body humanity and Christina drinks. Everything Kindred steals death and resurrection, and we survive through self-destruction (creative deconstruction). When I talk to my therapist (I have a therapist now), we talk about tools and activities on how to measure the severity of my bipolar cycles and distress. For level 5, I say my emotions resemble plasma – everything including anxiety, depression, agitation, restlessness – all mixed and one excited state – completely tangled and undifferentiated – it’s everything. I mention my drive towards self-destruction. I imagine Christina also, whether consciously or unconsciously, drives towards self-destruction.
It’s everything: body, death, self destruction, inevitable resurrection
//
It’s not stealing if it’s everything
Suzanne explained the film to me / Christina explained to me
Thrills and chills from the screen!
See hypnotic love create shocking bestial desire!
See beauty subjected to frightening horror!
You actually see the weird fantastic ritual of the headhunters!
Terror Of the Bloodhunters
It’s everything: I laid down last night I laid down last night – I laid down last night, tried to take my rest I laid down Christina lights across the body I laid I laid down her lights across the light embedded in my body (body self-destruct towards stolen resurrections) I laid down downward word toward body (devil words and deviled egg words) I laid down demons, daemons, and devils I laid lay lady lay across my big brass bed
It’s everything: I laid down last night I laid down last night I laid down last night I laid down last night Last down last I laid last night even everything
//
Surreal steal from you but also have to do anything because we do love your life anymore and I was thinking about reaching the ground grind by all the different places or the way I think like it’s hard alright! I just mean I can chase it for me and grows it not true abort god damn. I love the first thing that comes from insincerity to the process of being more
Surreal life places charge first steal any or if thing
Tarantula corona close my brain boiled bastard potatoes concentric circles
You and way me comes but I from
Concentric circles surrounded by a complete network of fractures
You can think grows insecurity also thinking like it to have about it is the
Thing are always different they are always the same
It’ s always everything. It’s not stealing if it’s everything.
//
Surreal steal from you and I steal from you everything Surreal steal from you but also you have to do anything Christina and everything Christina and I love your life anymore I love Christina any more and more this steal grows ground
I Blade Open The Book
I blade open the Book and the Book dream dreams me equally open. I blade open the Book always open and the Book comma commands me to me / write Book. I always write Book first time every time. I blade open the Book broad carcosa and intensities of the Book fire broad blonde. Blonde Book branches breakaway Book branches additional beak intensities. Blonde Book raises its banner of love over me.
I blade open the Book cascade slate locusts. Locusts swarm Books death and deaths. Book swarms warm death crucifixions as if the locusts crucify (for dying is manner of seeing invisible insects).
(A labyrinth fully known A labyrinth fully gnostic A labyrinth fully mazes madison)
Book grows the dandelion labyrinth Book grows dandelion cellar door opens cellar door leads cellar door continual doors (Doors multiply in the ribcage of the Book)
I’m having a hard time and I’m continuing to try, I say. I’m not going to give up… You still love me even through in struggling, yeah? And we are still Pando even though I’m struggling? Yes, says Asia. I feel like a drag, I say. A drag queen? says Asia. Be a drag queen whose whole shtick is being depressed. Like blanket cape and slippers, she says. Here she is… BIPOLAR BRIANNA, I say. And then you’re like “COULD a depressed person DO THIS?” says Asia. And you show them something crazy niche artwork that shows you are in fact depressed, says Asia.
(A labyrinth fully known drags open the Book A labyrinth fully gnostic kneads fire fully blonde A labyrinth fully library struggles through the maze murder mystery)
I blade open the Book ACT and DO: I’m still feel depression like DO Blade intensities of Book caring love like blanket THIS Book cascade called call girl girls drag in DO (she was ready to try anything)
Book swarms erotic crucifixions / I was a surfer’s orgy girl Book hard even drag and show (soft flesh and orgies of death)
Do – do whatever this crucifixions calls crucifixion. I do the call to crucifixion before the Book blade cascades. I’m not too clever, you know – I just continue to carrying these crosses and write the Book wider and wider. When the Book drags, it leaves wider labyrinth behind it. Book hard drags and shows time mates through slippers. Do and continually do, whether show through slippers.
//
(Can I 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? For dying is a manner of seeing the invisible…)
I steal the above passage from The Book of Questions by Edmond Jabès and translated by Rosmarie Waldrop. I exist in this book / Book and this Book always re/writes my act of dying. I act in death. My invisible death to myself but open – opening of opening and the blank of the Book scarred with blood – to all others. I do not belong to these others – I only belong to this acting dream of the Book. My so-called body opens and spreads out its surfaces. Surfaces disappear into the Book invisible / surfaces erupt into crack train korakoram. Writing inscribes the unknowable upon the apophatic avalanches. Negative snow covers the Book not-quite-legible but existence.
My body is dying – all bodies die in recognition of the unknowable Book but my body dives in process possess death. Book possesses death a different death which drags glacier labyrinth. Book spins death pirouettes (Book wines and dines death silhouettes and shadows sketch excess death imposing the excessive line sketch sketch death).
My body dies in sketch pursue death stretch unsteady (I feel I’m going to die and paralysis stretches my body unsteady – not paralysis but stretches my body unsteady – but paralysis parathesia) For dying is a manner of seeing the invisible
//
I blade open the Book and open the so-called body (body spreads out its surfaces) My body spreads out Book and invisible death and undecipherable Book
An open body overlay down to osseous overlay
An open body often other body blood blood this grass body
This grass body gathers gross bodies This grass body gruesome bodies
(A labyrinth: we are in fact depressed like a drag A labyrinth depressed like blanket cape and we artwork that show then your could a drag A labyrinth a drag a drag a drag a depressed blanket cape)
I’m working on a blog post where you tell me about poems disintegrating language and the poem “Beware: Don’t Read This Poem,” I tell Asia. How that kind of poetry you have to learn how to swim. If I want to write that way, I have to expect people having bad initial reactions. I then use your conversations and the poem and disintegrate the languages together, I say. Nice, says Asia. How do you interpret the Ismael Reed poem “Beware: Don’t Read This Poem?” I say. To me, says Asia, it’s about the stories we consume, the news we consume and how it shapes our reality. I see that, I say. I interpreted the poem as a mirror and how writing inflicts a certain kind of violent transformation if we aren’t careful. Don’t read this poem because it might devour you cogitohazard, I say. [I send Asia the snippet incorporating some of disintegrations.] Enjoy this stanza especially, says Asia.
[Oceanic park dark oceanic swallows modular dark her antler word (beware her word anarchic antlers beware her word oceanic antlers / antler ambulance blues) Park dark oceanic swallows beware do not read this poem and this poem has had you up to here]
And MULCH MULCH MULCH, says Asia.
I blade open the Book, and in the Book, dying means becoming invisible
Open the body create other
Open the body create one other body bronze body without organs
Can open body orients onward word open
Blade open oceanic large MULCH on Dark Book MULCH then through dark MULCH
The so-called body spread out open its surface ocean (my so-called body surfaces upside down depths / upward roots and radials)
(A labyrinth fully known branches post your swallowed body A labyrinth fully gnostic where conversation modular and brush A labyrinth fully library you and dark large and you drag mazes)
I Float Above My I In The City
Content warning: mentions of suicide and depersonalization/dissociation
In the city, time becomes visible This is where visible time becomes space: this is where visible time insists visible space
Slim time terror hammer matter
Slim time tremor hammer hangman and NBA Jam hangtime
Slip different times visible in the hanging
In the city, time becomes visible: this is where time becomes space. I spin space on my spindle spin various mathematical singularities. I spin space memorable singularities and it singles this is where time becomes space. This is where time becomes space: the speculum that doesn’t shine. Space mirrors infinite space visible time (time tumbles through singular time sharp bark through spaces). In the city, time becomes space, the varying wavelengths of light (light lurches left lift lift left lurch light church lightning). Light lurches church’s holy space, the unscrolling often light (a little bit of light splits the city into water and atomic waters and radioactive waters and waters islands of stability). Time becomes visible text.
//
In the city, time becomes space: this is where times become spaces
In the city, my voice disappears deterritorialization In the city the voice my voice deterritorializes The voice my voice disappears city delirium
In the city, anarchic ayahuasca anarchic cryptography
Codes and ciphers divine names
My name disappears in her divine names
(The so-called psychosis… The person in whom its invisible agony reaches
a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person
will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise…)
I never jump but I understand the jump – Christina understands the jump too. I never jump but I never but never / I never jump but I understand the jump because I jump and survive. I survive jump apocalypse apocalyptic material message. I survive but I disappear in the city. I disappear strange city and I do not exist and the jump does not exist (The city does not exist except in the residue of an abandoned human body / haunted house hungry). I disappear strange inside always house interior radically interior city disappearances.
In the city, time becomes space, and the interior room / space swallows my body entirely. Desert disappearances awkward jump.
(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 quotations in the queue of the city – in other texts and texts-space-rooms and never my own textuality
(But that you see, my dear Kermit, would be altogether impossible. I could
never be myself… You see there is no me, I do not exist…
There used to be a me, but I had it surgically removed)
Perhaps I never existed. I disappear from times and spaces and cities. I do not knot of previous existed and now have becomes nonexistent or if I have never existed. I do not exist in this time-space and space-city
(And if he left off dreaming about you, where would you suppose you’d be?)
(With relief, with humiliation, with terror he understood that he too was a mere
appearance, dreamt by another)
Freely, that you’re seeing your thoughts, feelings, or body or parts of your body from the outside For example, you may feel like you’re floating in the air above yourself
The sense that your body, legs, or arms, appear twisted or like they’re not the same shape
A sense that your memories lack emotions, and they may or may not be your own memories
In the city, time becomes space but the space swallows my body outside of time My body exists outside of time and outside of history / memory (I do not exist / Christina leaves off dreaming of me)
//
In the city, time becomes visible: this is where time becomes space
In the city, I feel like a citizen in this parking lot county fair
I feel in time drifts to greyhound and come back as space-time put it all in one body
City city
City gate for the dead / dead drift sift slow sweep copper
City gate is open solar flare sidewinder book of sand
City of the mutinies solar flare missile silo
(Missile silo grain silo sackcloth clawhammer halo)
In the city, time becomes my absent consciousness and conscious city seeps into my skull haunted
Park Dark Into The Stone Of My Head
Content Warning: discussion of mental illness and suicidal ideation
Park dark dark park Park dark dark stone of the head: stone heading crown of my cranium
Park dark card shark suits central park in the dark Risk dark – always risk – risk fool juggled fool park dam precipice (dark ben hinnom precipitation – participating rain runoff dark body ugly) (risk park dark ugly – even ugly in the dark)
Any truly new art seems ugly at first / risk persistently ugly and perpetually ugly and ugly ungulates umbra – my face the shadow knows
Drowned park dark porno drone Drown drone dark park porno grooves / drone porn rocks is less than legs (My body – budding rod skull – blossom volcanic shields drones round park circles and the park drives circles around downtown. My body buds my body pornographies play away hums and drones and bomb blasts of the body. Bodies in general drone an erotic horror almost as kelp forest gods. My body buds ugly – legs breast buttocks – hard stones and tumors. Tumors tighten and constrict my body around dark joints – pits which double as pornographic peep shows.) Drowned dark park plays pork peak skulls Drone climbs my skull jacob’s ladder and shekinah on the eight rung of circumcision
Drone porn rocks is legs is breath Drone porn dune dark park sharks fucking Dark dark fucks erotic horror (The virgins sacrifice to the gods of a ghastly galaxy The Terrornauts) Drone something else – something risk new ugly the bare beware vulnerable
//
Melancholy becomes a pornography and I exploit my depressive episodes for creativity (or sublimation?)
I disappear from the face of god and his face of the deep. My melancholy exploits and I hope I die. I hope that I die (I hope our few remaining friends give up on trying to save us). I wave and work to die and I never die but to die delivers difficult perpetual motion machine clutch crutch ben body. I think always a death and my death turns sideways and orthogonal death, and I ascend into death kingdom of the skies. I hope I die difficult drone dune pornos hidden in sand cats, and how difficult death scavenges (In my life I hope I lie and tell everyone you were a good wife and I hope you die I hope we both die).
What does a poem about death and suicide look like? What does this poem look like – what does this poem die to itself die – what does this poem bodily death and ego death – why does death go for poetics and theopoetics – a poem that destroys itself in suicide. What does this poem cook like? Death poem – I want to write a death poem before I die – bad poetry but true to myself – risk ugly and ugly (I’m going to make it through this year if it kills me).
Death demands an ugly body – body bruises ruse detective stories – bullies through the back of the head or through the jaw – my jaw falls off from licking radium brushes. Death demands death additive death and multiplying death, and how strange the ears and hard canals death (the most remarkable thing about thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you and you’re standing in the doorway). My death is but a doorway – I will be back. My death jams drop-tuning doorways, and remarkable doorways and door drones porno ugly ben mangled bodies.
If I stopped existing in your life, you’d live on and continue living and doing life things and becoming a better Asia, but you also wouldn’t be the same, I say. That’s true for just about everyone, says Asia. That doesn’t give your life any less value. We would want our loved ones to keep going, finding beauty and making beauty, says Asia. Do you mean everyone experiences this with relationships in their life, or do you mean this is true with you with everyone in your life? I think a lot of people experience it, yes, says Asia, but what I mean is that everyone learns to keep living when they lose someone. That people in your life still keep living their lives doesn’t say anything about your value as a person, says Asia. I would like to explain where this thought came from, I say. Christina has been going through a hard time. Yesterday an event happened that broke the camel’s back and she experienced severe suicidal ideation. She alluded to us doing a suicide pact and in that moment I realized something odd for me. I thought I could never live without Christina ever. This is what I wrote her:
It could be I could make a suicide pact with you. Today is probably not the day though. I feel today I have much prophesying and creating to do and I cannot die yet. […] I would probably unfortunately live without you. I would write and prophesy my grief and even in death you’ll affect me as you did in life […] I wouldn’t be able to follow you if you did give up but I will take it into my body and make it into something else…
She is safe currently. I felt sad I didn’t want to give up with her. I felt I betrayed her a little. I couldn’t go gentle into that good night. I know that might sound silly to you but it’s a big revelation to me. Her death would become a part of my living instead. That’s how I imagine you’d feel. My death would become part of your living. You’d turn my death into something else in your life, transform it. Your living would mean you valued me because you’d take me wherever you went, I say. I’m so happy to hear you say this, says Asia. I’m also sorry that Christina is going through a tough time; that is an important revelation despite the circumstance, she says.
Do you think it. Failure do you think. Do you think death unrest death. Death determinism (superdetermined deconstruction). Death do you think if you mean you’d want me living. Do you think it I’m so happy to give on any less valued yeah you right.
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you and you’re standing in the doorway (But when you are a young writer, boys get this idea that to really… to really show a woman the depth and purity of your love, what you have to do is something drastic and stupid, right? And uh.. and young writers think it would be really intense to have a guy, uh, always harm himself real bad, and y’know, and tell stories. So well I was a young writer once and here’s a story about a guy who travels someplace with a gun.)
I still think myself a young writer – I still think myself young and immature, and I only experience BIG emotions and INTENSE emotions and I travel somewhere any woman and the woman stands in the doorway (the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway because it’s you and you’re standing in the doorway)
I hope I die in desert – supernal desert and supernatural desert and my man bodies entirely death-desert. I hope die door nor story living else in you in you also something and conversations a death poet look like – a third of the stars go out. Out out bodies and the stars go out out. Side slice bodies tennis court oaths what am I doing here – it’s all desert. What am I doing continuously smoking stars (watching X-Files with no lights on).
My melancholy becomes a pornography and I exploit my depressive episodes prophesy death eschaton eschaton desert
//
Park dark drone porno / dark gonzo journalism Drone porn minotaur horns your writing world write and she experiments to be OK or not she (She alludes drone horn morning not she alluded to is legs is breast)
(Your life world becoming I’m so happened that: that what death dune park park sharks fucking)
I live dark and park droned death death desert death poem central park in the dark (park dark undetonated explosives)
I live central park in the dark and death contaminates everything. Death connects to everything and death follows everything.
Each Line Equals Its Own Hole
Line loom lure equals its hole whole Line loom lunar its own complexity / holes made by motion
Changing line – unchanging line
Line loots line liminal hole threshold Each line equals its own completion / each line equals its own complexity
Line looms lure lure loop loop Loop holes only made by motion / wholes only made by motion
The whole vowel intones holes in my body. My body in holes vowels these vowels and sounds punch holes in my body leaving me naked. I feel sad. I feel melancholy. (To acknowledge FEELING without any redactions). I feel sad. I do not know. I do not. This feeling. Sad embedded in my body – sad embarrassed. Sad embarrasses. Sad embarrasses cursed candlelight earth. I watch The Sandlot and I kiss city ball melancholy. Milk of magnesia melancholy magnetism. I watch The Sandlot and one reads Ulysses and Gravity’s Rainbow (these midwives emanate nonsense and in nonsense, gnosis. I accept nonsense but not my sadness and melancholy. I accept my nonsense too contains midwife melancholy, and it births sad gnosis. Gnosis searches my body: gnosis searches my body holes wholly trash layer. The PKD trash layer and science fiction schlock – my sadness and melancholy – burst through the speculative fiction clouds and reveals Zebra and the number of the beast emblazoned on Richard Nixon’s name. 666 and 616 selects my sadness as a conduit and I speak sad beasts and valley of the shadow of death. The Soviet Union conceals my body with satellite rays which cause hypertensive crises. Satellite rays punch my body full of visible and invisible holes and the vowels ooze out black bile melancholy. I always exist in crises. I exist in that anxious claustrophobic space that splits my skull in halves and each half crumbles into holes.
I feel sad and melancholy and I let the melancholy fill the holes and orifices in my skull. Melancholy fills my skeleton like Wolverine adamantium. Melancholy fills the space in my skull and I regenerate skulls and I regenerate livers toxic tongues licking holes in unsettled bodies. I keep finding my bodies in old soil soylent green deck sealant. I allow my absurdity space and I allow the nonsense to produce melancholy, and my sadness persists heavy metals in my bloodstream. Sadness eats my thoughts and I try to outrun the sadness like The Sandlot / baseball diamonds. I cast lots for Christ’s clothes in center field.
I try to remember human voices in my melancholy. Voices orbit the moon carried by aether – when under ether. I swim with parrotfish and I parrot Metal Gear and Metal Gear adheres to my skull half rain forests. I parrot metal melancholy punching bodies time card holes. Melancholy rains nonsense dollar dollar bills ya’ll. Rain nonsense many amens (Sometimes I only speak in song lyrics. Sometimes I can only speak in other texts. The bluest eyes in Texas are haunting me tonight.)
I feel minimal melancholy and minimal melancholic music, sand sad melodies voice moon rays and satellite rays – holes in the aether. I submerge beneath the ocean to the hole at the bottom of the sea. I submerge beneath ocean pulses sad satellite pulses pulse ocean continual melancholic circulation. This is why events unnerve me – they find it all a different story – Notice whom for wheels are turning – turn again and turn towards this time.
I feel foolish and nonsense and I feel sad. I feel melancholy and I do not know. My sad nonsense leads to immanent eschatology and I appear in this picture of the apocalypse / my face surfaces in the star Wormwood. I feel foolish in time and out of time (Time out of mind. Melancholic mind. Mind dematerializing and only holes remain.)
Each line equals its own hole and holes hint at an unknown complexity Holes hint space loom line lines what line (What line? This line. This line cut halves by holes. What line? Line threaded through loom melancholy lunar forces. Celestial spheres / speak melancholy and lines point holes spread my brain across space holes.)
Holes only made by motion wholes only made by motion Holes hatch marginal marriage of heaven and hell holes Holes lines happenings drop art marriage of heaven and hell – hell holes chase slack paces paw and rope
I line my skull with holes holes nonlinear loom loon (What line? Line liminal linea loupe loop loop line. What line? I line my skull space holes whole open sores gore space. Where and what line? Line questions the whole and its what happens line my skulls.)
I like the line “I knock threshold no door but gnosis”, says Asia. And I like the lines “Asia prophesies fuck syntax and they hand sew syntax into my exoskeleton.”
I like the line mostly holes Line mostly holes melt shake hell cell snakes Hole shake cell snakes fuck syntax Syntax lines “Asia prophesies fuck syntax and sews syntax and sews syntax and the lines Shake cell lines slaked praise in flux of fire / construct clouds fleshing balances
(I like the care “I knock threshold no seek but gnosis” and I like the tower “Area prophesies fuck cycler and then busy sews cycler into my skeleton.”)
Holes cycle cycle syntax lines holes gnosis exoskeleton like I into prophesies Asia the fuck threshold and knock sews but I no I. My and I door syntax
Each line equals its own hole / wholes only made by motion
I Burn The Letters And I Never Die
I carry rod of Aaron and staff secret names Secret serpent gnosis and snake-of-mirror causes all things All mirror creation opens a fan from the night near night hidden (night of the hidden nails divine serpent) It pours out from the Outer Circle Taryn tetragrammaton and her mother letters air aleph
I carry aleph and I carry aleph to aleph and aleph with aleph, and the aleph sometimes carries me. Aleph and alphabet carry me widow of the letters (be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves). I carry aleph ant colony alphabet and alphabets carry my prototype body within alphabets and aleph permeates with the carrying and chariot.
I carry the numbers hand minimal where when how to through numbers (noun number member noun how) I carry and announce numbers noun neon pet numbers (announce net net notch knock network announcement)
//
I carry death with me and I often meditate on my own death (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 dead.)
I carry dead with me, and whether Kindred present or absent or gods present or absent, death speaks through the barrierless barrier and ambushes. Death ambushes hidden in aleph and alphabet, shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves.
(Oh death you hector me and decimate those near to me you tease me with your sweet relief you are cruel and you are constant)
How what witness but death moves – but death bores Death bores for whom the bell tolls What death with but death bores whore of babylon (babel death brick ben hinnom) Death bores through thought I had more to say (The ultimate in suspense Die Screaming Marianne) Death bores aleph and alphabet death ambushes (When the dead start to walk you’d better start running… The Dead Pit Drop in any time)
What death with but death bores where hair (my tired body clashes whore of babylon slashed / I am Caligula glutton of gluttons men over man over woman the whore over man)
Death dune buggy bell bottoms (bottom texas hold’em bottomless pit pit rain death – dire dire docks death) Death dupe dunes my body trespassing bell bottom for whom the bell tolls (as a chemical engineer, he might have chosen a better way than jumping into a narrow stairwell with the risk of remaining paralyzed)
I carry rod of Aaron aleph death and rod reveals its secret names: death and death and ben death: aleph fucks death death fuck my flesh carry: death carries ben bodies shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves. Death carries alphabet delicious death (death drumming death death endless gun violence babel my body – my body endless drums ripped apart by minigun bullets and blowdart bullet ants)
I would like to die (I don’t know how you house the sin but you’re free now won’t you settle down baby here your love has been heavenly father it’s definitely lava why don’t you carry other names). I would like to die. I don’t think I can explain that to you but I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. Do you understand what I mean? I want to die.
Multidimensional death multidirectional (her body was badly decomposed and the precise date of her death could not be determined.)
I carry death with me and I meditate or death but death never takes me (oh death clearly I’m not ready)
//
I carry rod of Aaron water mem fire shen I carry rod of Aaron pronunciation of names and numbers Letters loop serpents lathe ladder of Jacob and ladder of laughter Laughter loops leviathan letters (inner circles with ten divine names in sparkling cycles) Letters loop sparkly cycles followed by further helixes detailing the Christian-Platonic graded cosmos / Taryn ash
I burned the letters. I burned that letter. I burn the letter letter and letter interlaced letters (lacewing letters larger). I burn the letters larger longer. Large the letters together burning Taryn ash. Long letters gather ash passes long letter sludge and I carry the letters continually burning. Luminous letters lengthen aleph ash and aleph death and death looms luminous letters. Luminous letters look into the serpent mirror of luminous letters, and aleph shines all death sleeping letters. I carry rod of Aaron burning letter and luminous death.
Some days, I don’t feel like I’m going to make it, I say to Asia. It’s hard to live. Life is hard, says Asia. I don’t think anyone needs me around so I don’t want to be around anymore, I say. That’s a weird way to think about life, says Asia. You only have value if you are providing value to others? Yes. That’s a recipe for always pouring yourself out and feeling empty, says Asia. It’s also very reductive. You wouldn’t talk about anyone else like that. OK, but I don’t feel happy that I feel nobody needs me, I say. Define “need,” says Asia. I don’t feel I add anything irreplaceable to anyone. I’m replaceable. No one does, says Asia. I’m not really here. You are very much here. Nobody adds anything irreplaceable to anyone? Depends on what you mean by irreplaceable. If I die, I’m replaceable to other lives, I say. Oh my god, shut up, says Asia. I meant that no one created anything that lasts. No one will leave anything behind that lasts. The only thing worthwhile is our love and relationships. That’s what we can offer and it’s the only thing we can leave behind, says Asia. I feel really hurt you told me to shut up, I say. I don’t think I did anything wrong in how I expressed myself and you told me I’m always able to express my feelings to you. You kept going on about no one cares about you, says Asia, and you don’t mean anything to anyone and I’m tired of hearing it and it’s insulting […] That’s what pissed me off because it felt like you just bulldozed over what I was saying, like you didn’t want to hear it, says Asia. […] I was just thinking about Christina, I say. I felt so easily discarded by her. Replaceable. Could you elaborate what you mean by the only thing worthwhile is our love and relationships? I don’t want to be replaceable. By “worthwhile,” I mean outlive us, says Asia. I really try to be worthwhile in your life despite conflict. I try hard to be “irreplaceable” and make a lasting impact on you. Am I worthwhile to you? Am I irreplaceable in your life? I say. Ben, all your friends value you, says Asia. The answer is yes.
I carry rod of Aaron / rod burns letters longer Rod burns luminous letters Taryn ash Ash lives ancient of ancients tria prima (letters linger tria prima primordial will ouroboros materia)
You know I will never die. I carry the rod and aleph ash and ash rains secret letters serpents. You know I never die and some days I don’t feel like I’m going to make it but you know I never die. I carry luminous letters look ash swings sheets of sound. Aleph sheets of sound share hard death and erect death and phallic death but you know I never die. I pour out my body aleph aleph aleph until empty (way aleph weird way way ash death), but you know I never die.
I burn the fiery letters additional fires: I burn the fiery letters additive fires (fire recursive fire flirts fiery letters)
I burn the letters – I burn the letters – burn the letters (I burn the letters longer fire and larger fire) I used to feed that fire
I burn the letters later lateral lateral: I burn the letters left swift left larger (Larger fire water wavering) I burn aleph death but you know I never die but I keep burning (wavering radiant Adam radar fire fever rhizome)
I carry rod of Aaron and staff sows secret names sprout serpentine (serpent burn aleph and you know I never die)
I Oracle An Original Religion
content warning: discussion of mental illness and suicide
I prophesy a novel religion from root to root: I oracle an original religion and it plays transmigration of souls
Remember the Shaman when he used to say man is the dream of the dolphin
Birds always chirp tritones / nonsense games Nonsense names salvation: nonsense knocks doorway gnosis
The dream eats me. The dreams eat me often into the dream but dream also devours waking. The dream eats me awake. Dream eats me (eater even earth that either over eternal). Dream eats my man awake – Ben Son of Man and Ben Human One and my humanity dreams the dream eating humanity (eaten emit dead mall mystic now enhance chase mace maul scald skull). I dream the dream and the skull devours: skull scrapes shell swell dream shapes tape taller.
I prophesy a novel religion and a religion aleatoric: open form religion and flexible religion possibilities. My stomach spills vegetation through a glass darkly (dark glass disgorged and expands pencil eraser and eraserhead). I spew a magic: vegetative magic and violent magic, and this alphabet sprouts vigilant and virulent. My disgorged head channels grimoires / green lion. Glass casket tears through my skull four seasons of the scythe.
I prophesy the rootless root of religion and this religion without religion demands the deep. Deep in my Christianity without Christianity, I dig around in all the things I packed away and everything I fear unravels. My fears unravel into chirping bird tritones and dolphins dreaming humanity (The universe machine creates gods and the Universal Turing Machine creates god hypercomputing. I dream my universe painting and I dream painting the universe and I resurrect infinite paintings: universes painting universes.).
(People deep in Christianity cannot know themselves on a deep level so therefore they cannot really know others or allow themselves to be vulnerable, says Asia. They cannot know themselves because they are afraid to…) I fear and I fear myself. I fear myself as my self and I feel myself intensely. I feel intensities in myself intensities – through a glass darkly and through the density of the Palm Tree Garden. Not deep in Christianity but deep in the Book and in the entangled mythologies of the book. I confess I am both this Book and not this Book, and I hide away my vulnerabilities and embarrassments, but those embarrassments and vulnerabilities are me – and they are the Book. My bipolar depression (and hypomania), my bouts with suicidal ideation, my struggles in my relationships – I prophesy these and I prophesy my Human, my Ben Adam and Book Human One.
In the poem “Wanting To Die” by Anne Sexton, she writes the following stanza: But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters, they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.
Which tools: WHICH TOOLS I tinker tools tool language lottery language tool latency Language lectures me on Batman’s tool belt (Tool belt? Utility belt? Ben skull recess bell batarang) Tool bell ballroom beetlejuice joy division post-punk suicides
I am going to be struggling with suicidal thoughts for a time to come and I know you’re with me despite that, I say to Asia. […] I do care for you unconditionally and I know you do for me too, I say. You can feel free to tell me you are feeling a certain way without hurting me, says Asia. Like “I currently feel like a bad friend” or “My brain is telling me I’m unworthy of love.” That’s just telling me how you feel […] Reasons to survive. Create stuff Eat good food Continue to build friendships Heart corny jokes Tell corny jokes Read poetry Look at art See cool bugs, says Asia.
Which tools: create stuff and see cool bugs I root around deep Book and deep divine, and I prophesy deep Book: create stuff and see cool bugs
I prophesy a novel religion from root to root: I oracle an original religion and it plays transmigration of souls
The final type of Green Man: The Bloodsucker Head, which sprouts vegetation from all facial orifices (e.g. tear ducts, nostrils, and mouth). I meditate on my mouth both a disgorged head and a bloodsucker head. I meditate mouth to mouth, the mothlight of many kisses. My mouth melts into the kiss khora and kiss kenosis (an empty set and reset). My mouth emerges from insect mandibles – create stuff and see bugs. My mouth emerges from molten moths and occasionally the meat of animals and birds the food is steamed with pleasant odors.
We suck young blood. I suck vampire blues absurd animal mouth (Christina chupacabra sucks young blood). My mouth manipulates a memorywork magus machine medicines (create new medicines and magics – prophesy with beetles and stick insects). I mouth medicine – grasshopper medicine and cricket medicine – and I machine medicine magic. I create stuff – Book stuff and collage stuff and prophesy stuff. I create medicine magic doubled blood. We suck young blood.
I create stuff and I mouth a bloody exploitation (Too much for one man… Russs Meyer’s busty boxotic beauties… titillating… torrid… unstoppable… Too much for one man!) I enjoy the words buxotic and buxom and bosom – they amuse and field fun. Not amusing but playful: the play of my buxom body without organs and my bosom burden of valley of vision (I dream a buxom Christina, a voluptuous Christina tilting whirlwinds as a buxotic Quixote. I mourn Christina in the sense of missing her and knowing her absence, but I do not mourn her in the sense of profound and quaking pain and ache. I hope I rework us, our archive of Christina and Kindred, with more joy – more context – more gnosis and understanding. I create archive and memorywork, this full stuff of Christina Creation.
I prophesy a novel religion from root to root: I oracle an original language and it plays I plays buxom and buxotic book
Vision and Mysticism 