I Settle In Her Silence

A simple in the silence onto an approaching hovers

I sum her silence silence some fragments Fragments fear forest fog

Simple silence A declining Maine sea town: I move from the ocean inland Silence sister her silence: sea sin sine wave ocean woman Silence or quiet Quiet sin steam stream leopard pill box hat woman Sea lion woman dressed in green wears silk stockings with golden seams

A quiet green and a silent green A simple seam in the silence green seamstress honey

Sometimes I need the silence: often I need the silence. I tend or trend towards a maximum and a wall of sound, and I build up the text with the tapestry of intersections, clusters, and found noises. Sometimes I need the silence. Sometimes I need the this is where time becomes space. The space allows for freer movement and the space shows a visible silence. A simple silence spreads more quiet space. Silence seeps through the pages.

A simple in the silence into an approaching hovers Silence slow snows Snowy silence sleets rain remix moon and medicine Slow slow snow its not filler it’s exploration Silence I explore sprawl spider leg dinner plates Simple snow I explore cave geologies and desert geodesics Geodesics snow quiet spiral column dime time / chronotopes have a tendency to leak

My skull descends a simple in the silence Silent my skull descends earth earths halves hemispheres Skulls descent quiet earth depths dry ice bone surface A simple into silence surface salts surfaces weird west fiction

I sleep strangely and without silence. My sleep likes sounds and loud sounds. Sounds separate my brain from my body and the dissociation takes detours through noisy dreams. Screaming cicadas crowd my dreams. I sleep with strange insect swarms and not silence. Wide beetles draw their guns in weird west dreams. I sleep stringing together the slalom of sounds but silence still seeps through. Silence stills and stranges separation. Silence stills single separation without separation a steady sine wave dream.

A simple in the silence into an approaching hover: hover her space A simple see-line woman dressed in red make a man lose his head

Simple I sculpt silence Silence I sculpt strange word scrap metal I sculpt strap word light mine shaft Silence shares the shaft her quiet (her quiet morro bay milk shortstop automobiles) Silence sculpts shortstop skin see-line woman She signs simple a sculpted skull and skull ruptures seaweed car crashes Quietly I carve the skulls I carve skull scrap incomplete coral or lunch pail metals (metals milk welfare mothers make better lovers) She signs simple a skull shipyard and metals milk three blind mice build a better mousetrap babel

I babel a silent bitches brew. I cool a cooked cauldron stewing human skulls. The forest flows with free jazz witches. I babel witches windows in a silent way and the see-line woman dresses in red fires through the triangle windows. I’ve dreamed her before but with noise as silence. Her witching silences occur more rarely.

A simple in the silence into the approaching hover covers witch windows I trumpet through windows wild word and weird west insects

I was watching an old Jenna Marbles video and she said “I was a worm in your pockets kind of kid” and I thought, Asia and Jenna would get along as kids, I say. I was definitely a worm in the pocket kid, says Asia. Did you ever carry worms or bugs in your pockets literally? I say. Yes, literally, says Asia. And frogs and toads. I would try to show people and if they reciprocated, we would become friends. I did have a friend that I chased around with crickets though. He was afraid of bugs, says Asia. Makes sense why you carry around rocks and show people, I say. The rock made me happy so it makes sense that would make others happy, says Asia. I was really happy when you shared that picture of the rock, no joke, I say. I got really excited to see it. It’s a very pretty rock, says Asia.

(I realize now if I share my writing with others and they immediate vibe with it or are intrigued by it, I know I should try and befriend that person)

A simple in the silence into an approaching hovers or hours Simple I hear hours in silence silence hovers Silence scales bulbous tubers tunneled tar-tan-tattooed automobiles Cars trumpet a scandalous silence Silence trumpets legal tender lanterns tuned additional trumpet choirs Trumpets pickpocket plateaus and theater talkboxes

I tried to learn to play the trumpet once. I bought a cheap trumpet online and looked up fingering charts. It was not a successful endeavor: woodwind techniques came to me easily, but brass techniques felt completely foreign and it took much time to even produce recognizable trumpet tones. Eventually I managed some Ornette Coleman type trumpet playing but because I didn’t know anything about trumpets or how to maintain it, the valves rusted shut. Thus ended my trumpet journey.

A simple trumpet splatter watercolor silence A silent trumpet false fingers talkbox tundras and plateaus

I move from the ocean inland I move or maneuver hover silence Silent moon silent her tune I listen hours silence A simple stream in the silence seamstress hovers: I hover her hours Silence to make it possible to write at all Space to make it possible to write at all To make write rapt silence and silence wrestles a rascal forest Forest fug fumes a noisy silence the nature of the sound New folds always a simple alternation of the right and the left

I alternate between noise and silence. I crowd my spaces but the space envelopes more space dark energy. I crowd my space and space alternates noise and silence, folds left and right left and right. I fold the silence into the space and I fold the myth into narrative. I storytell a flipped magnetic north, a simple alternating of left and right. I dream the noise and its cicadas alternate with impossible silence: the two tones of the bloodstream and brain’s electricity. It’s not filler – it’s exploration. It explores the space and silence alternating crowd and noise.

A simple forest noise approach forest silence and she hovers her forest hours Silence forests noise and forests simple alternation left and right: left forest flight flight right forest (Forest hovers her silence hours Hours quiet forest free physics free music slow motion minimal effect Effect forest hovers her hours)

Silence seems absurd. Silence seem absurd but also appropriate: appropriate for grieving Christina’s absence from my life. Silence feels appropriate but I can never be silent. Wittgenstein wrote: Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent – but fuck Wittgenstein. I cannot speak of my grief and mourning Christina but I must keep tracing and retracing this Christina-shaped wound (an endless abyss and bottomless pit). Never silent yet I settle in Christina’s silence. Her silence seems absurd and her silence hovers in recurring fog and forest fragments.

A simple in the silence into an approaching hover and I frequent the absurd silence of her fragments

I Arrange A Central Sun

I write a central sun around which four smaller formants revolve and I vary their space and rotation     I vary their seeds and orbits through points and blocks     My body points to blocks, the alternation and then mixture of bodies

I arrange a central sun around which four smaller formants revolve forests and I vary their space and rotation     I arrange and rearrange (All the information processed by the Brain – experienced by us as the arranging and rearranging of physical objects – is an attempt at this preservation of her…)     I arrange and rearrange the bricolage of our bodies, and bodies basket burden of the valley of vision

I grieve the end of the Kindred.  I grieve the end of the Kindred but this end does not feel true to the Kindred.  I write the Kindred dead and I grieve the Kindred end, but it feels false.  In my beginning is my end, and in my end is my beginning.  As long as Christina and I lie, I believe the Kindred lives (The Kindred is dead; long live the Kindred) (BIRD LIVES / KINDRED LIVES).  As long as Christina and I live, Kindred lives and I believe we will reconcile.  Whether it’s tomorrow or 10 years from now, Kindred lives and we will reconcile as long as we still breathe (Somewhere out there if love can see us through then we’ll be together – somewhere out there out where dreams come true).  I believe in Kindred and I believe in the love we have for each other.  Soon we will break out record for the longest time not talked, but I choose to have faith in the Kindred.  I choose to be a Knight of Faith, and I hope in Kindred.  I live Kindred pistis and charis and sophia.  I know somewhere out there, Christina loves me too.

I write a central sun around which four smaller formants revolve and I vary their space and rotation     Rotations reveal rotations and rotations remember rotations     I remember Christina as a series of rotations, eccentric epicycloids

I miss Christina and feeling her absence means messy writing and erratic thoughts     I miss Christina and her absence saws cave shards saw conflict and sometimes in the contradiction of my experiences, I feel the gore grief horn hell: sometimes I feel hell hope hopeless     Witness this mess and contradiction rotations to rotations and wild wheel in wild wheel: I miss Christina wild

I arrange a central sun around which four smaller formants revolve and the four flare four figures of Christina     Christina in four trades fours a friction rubbing and rubato cutting contest     Christina revolves around a central sun and her shadow figures split into four formants with chaotic orbits     Christina revolves around colt single action army revolvers and she shoots the central sun six times / my body six bullet holes

I write a central sun which is Christina / I write a central sun which is KRYSXTRYN + Asia Rhizome     I stretch sun reach secret gospels: I stretch a rhizome repetition reinforced by soft sledgehammers

I arrange and rearrange bone language     I arrange bone maiden middle language: bone maiden middle language spin snow drift little black dress     Central sun pop bone spot slow rot stop cell shone whore rask haruspex super specs     Bone ben on broth only onanism     On bone ounce weigh gash war whore help I need some body help not just anybody     Help bone host graft man o’ war son of man     Male bone machine iron industry     Bone language bayou     Bone language abandon birch beetle blister bird     Tongue bone language ball bell cell

I arrange and rearrange bone language and the bone breaks away exposed.  I arrange and rearrange this exposed bone: not to cover it or bind it, but to dig at the exposure and reveal more bone.  I expose archaeological bone and bone middle language snows spin the bottle.  Bone barks redwood forests for exquisite corpses.  I arrange and rearrange this bone: bone sun bone ice bone snow.  Bone snows soda pop and human intestines, a cannibal's cloudy with a chance of meatballs.  Bone rolls up into fog balls and I arrange and rearrange the bone smoke.  My language shifts between the continuum of bone and smoke and I repeat its heavy clouds.

I write a central sun around which four smaller formants revolve and I vary their space and rotation     Formants and figures act on a forest     Forest furrows a stone steady state and Christina strikes stones against stones forest music     Christina slings a striking forest music and forest rotates stone Foucault’s pendulum     Forest stone centers soil book of the seven seals     Forest centers stone John the Revelator burial     Forest stone reveals Christina rotations and Kindred revolvers

I arrange a central sun place of round stones round-stones-places

I arrange and rearrange a central sun between forest steel wheel whale stone: her sun swims an equally central sea     Four formants figure forest formwork stones with whales     I steady whale in forest soil and formwork wheels human flesh     Forest rotates formwork falsework (the false Kindred is dead / the form the Kindred is dead long live the Kindred)     Forest rotates formwork human flesh (traditional framework human flesh     engineered framework human skin     I eat your skin I drink your blood     permanent insulated framework flesh forest flat stones     flexible framework sin flaps skull flaps)

I frame the forest with the same camera as the central sun.  I frame the forest with the work of the frame and it shares the same frame as the sun.  Sun frames a forest with a central sun the forest centered.  I frame the camera with the undifferentiated blaze of the central sun.  I frame and reframe and I arrange and rearrange: different suns the same sun and different forests the same forest.

There is actually only one Waffle House that exists simultaneously in multiple locations, says Asia.  This is why so many weird things happen there because Waffle House itself is an anomaly and causes disruptions in time and space.  Every time I went to work at Waffle House, I entered a different timeline, says Asia.

I arrange and rearrange a central sun around which four smaller formants revolve and I vary their space and rotation     I vary their seeds and orbits through points and blocks: my body points to blocks, the alternation and then mixture of bodies     The colony of bodies arranges and rearranges human activities     Human bodies boat hedge clipper heterotopias and language suspends the body forest teeth     Forest suspends bodies wound repetition     Bodies repeat wound word wild repeated bodies     Bodies repeat wound word simultaneous timelines in the Waffle House with side wounds     Bodies repeat active body fire fire diabolical desert / forest of flesh     Forest flesh repeats long duration desert extends desert repetition

I wrote quite a bit of material mourning Christina and the suspension or perceived end of the Kindred: I don’t think mourning is the correct terminology although I miss Christina terribly.  Mourning implies something gone permanently, but if I have faith and hope in our reconciliation and still believe in the power and love of the Kindred, what happens instead is an anticipation.  The Kindred, although present, becomes apocalyptic.  It prepares itself as the Kingdom of the Skies Within You simultaneous with a potent parousia.  I love presently but I wait anxiously: Kindred exists now but its full reconciliation and fulfillment takes place in the future.  Christina and I have become fully messianic and fully apocalyptic.  The mourning just means missing her during her temporary absence.  I record my process and mourning and my conflicted feelings about Christina’s continued absence, and I take comfort in my friendship with Asia, which has become stronger and healthier during this same time period.  I let the times and times occur simulations like the temporal distortions of the Waffle House: grief and missing Christina too shows itself as a temporal distortion.

I arrange and rearrange a central sun around which four smaller formants revolve and I vary Christina’s figures through shifting space and sapphire light rotations     Her central sun projects the human central nervous system / nature attempts to escape itself by creating a nervous system     My nervous system straws stampeding escape velocity     Vision vat velocity invokes spinal column megalithon / bipolar lithium

A manic mourning diary written for an imaginary death and a known absence unknown

I Measure An Emergent Experiment

I measure an emergent experiment

I measure an emergent experiment meadow meander I obsess meander: I obsess the human meander and the machine meander and each path paints broad the cross I obsess a magic meander meadow and I measure meadow magic I measure a magical multiplicity and multiple magics I measure a longer meandering line and line lakes magic waters / waters underneath name a wet word

I measure an emergent experiment: experimental languages and satellite languages Lunar language emerges a werewolf word I worship experiments experiments waters

Would it be too discontinuous for the Book if I alternated grieving Christina and continuing writing Ben and Asia at the same time? I say. No, I don’t think so, says Asia.

I measure emergent experiments and alternating experiments I obsess measurement and I mediate between mediums (I voice the medium of the animal and the medium of the monster) I obsess measures and monsters and I measure the horror of my grief (THE CREATURE an unbelievable thing emerges from the murky Amazon jungle… A monster!!) I measure creatures cracked open as pepper corns Creatures experiment spiral staircase wounds wound wasteland

Measuring the Book and the direction proves a difficult task. I measure but my mourning interferes with the signal of the Book. I measure and measure again and I bricoleur material into something resembling the Book. I alternate measurements and I circulate numbers but the task of summation still eludes me. Book demands a calculus of variations from my abacus without Christina, and although the task seems unmeasurable, I continue to write and prophesy. I prophesy not a summation or glory or creation, but I prophesy exile, crucifixion, and stoning. I prophesy with and through the task given to us.

I measure an emergent experiment and the measurement repeats meteor showers I obsess with the meander of meteors and interpret their iron through icy hermeneutics: I obsess hermeneutics this hazard heap of languages I measure and I axe outward language: I axe long blood oak magic language and interpret human body as primordial ark (I secretly construct the Ark of the Covenant using Homo erectus bones)

I measure an emergent experiment composed with industrial bone Bone smokes central nervous system Bone smokes slow salt celluloids and I sip tumor sleep I measure my sleep I measure sleeps immediate medium (many voices measure my mouth and my tongue modulates the multitude of spirits) I sleep immediate marshmallow sleep immediate missiles sleep scissor iron escalator

This is a shout out to my friends who tolerate me constantly pointing out bugs and birds and pulling apple snails out of ponds and having them in the air saying “it’s invasive, who wants it?”, says Asia. The fact that I still have friends is the confirmation you need to go out there and be weird little freaks. That is an order, says Asia. Did you really pull out the apple snail? I say. It was the size of a baseball. Real hefty fella. No one wanted it so I put him back. I didn’t have a place to put him in the car. If I had a fish tank, I would probably take some, says Asia. It’s not illegal to take out wildlife? I say. No, not when it’s an invasive creature, says Asia. This is one of my favorite stories from college: I had this little biology professor who looked like a dwarf, and he was putting together a booth about invasive organisms for an earth day festival. He was almost 15 minutes late and he bustles in all out of breath and with his nasally voice goes “Sorry I’m late class, I was busy collecting snails.” He’s my hero, she says.

I measure an emergent experiment I measure an emergent experiment and it invades other experiments I experiment with an eccentric eclecticism / an elliptical heap of language I experiment escalator enter edit elevator Escalator experiments enter edit elevate eccentric kingdom of the skies Escalator accelerates enter edits elevators explicit stairwells I accelerate escalator industrial central nervous system and I sleep systems music / meteor minimalism

Long ghosts trust me with the task of discovering an industrial bone music and repeating its bone alphabet

Escalator invades elevator drop tower and freefalls bone barrage or bone savage…

This task eludes me. Without Christina, this task eludes me. Christina’s ghost tusks gore my task. I prophesy exile: myself in exile with an empty book. This task of continuing the Book without Christina proves overwhelming and almost impossible (The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman). Christina’s absence and the end of the Kindred invades the Book as an army of apple snails. Apple snails improvise an incessant species counterpoint Christina contra Book as invasive species. This task eludes me without Christina.

Sorry, says Asia. I fell asleep and talked to my sister on the phone. How are you feeling? she asks. Up and down, I say. The universe feels unjust. You know, Christina and I took many years for us to be better and finally not be toxic and actually have a loving, caring relationship. The past couple years have been the best Christina and I have ever been and now shit happening outside our control has separated us. If God exists, fuck God. That’s some unjust bullshit. We were doing great and it feels so hopeless. Like nothing I do matters. Fuck the universe, I say. This isn't personal, says Asia. Christina went through a divorce shortly before this happened. It makes sense that she would want some space to work on herself and not form unhealthy co-dependent relationships. It doesn’t discredit the work you guys did, says Asia.

I measure an emergent experiment: I measure an experimental emergency I sleep in the secret of experiments and I experiment with different bone repetition Long ghosts or loud ghosts trust me with the task of discovering an industrial bone music I mold char from an industrial bone music and I repeat bone alphabet I repeat and repeat bone alphabet and I fear repetition I fear repetition but I experiment to discover a different repetition: repetition extends both directions at once Repetition realized arhythmic multiplicity and undifferentiated desert I obsess with the meander of the desert which always repeats and reveals again desert Desert reveals and reverberates repeated desert

I measure a glowing repetition and it experiments additional repetition Repetition adds repetition desert experiment and I obsess desert I obsess desert meander and experiment oxbow I experiment axe outwards and I repeat axe language, which sometimes shares Christina’s language Christina repeats Christina…

[I love you unconditionally and you unconditionally love me. We are best friends. We create and prophesy together.] Did you see this? I say. Yes, says Asia. I’m feeling really low, I say. May I ask for your affirmations? Sure. Did you disagree with this? [I love you unconditionally…] Why would I disagree with that? says Asia. No, I don't disagree with it, she says. I asked you because I thought you’d agree with it. I didn’t intend to be insulting or surprise you. I said I didn’t disagree with it, says Asia. Sorry for sounding short and frustrated. It’s just a little frustrating and I know you can’t help that so I’m sorry, says Asia. Did I frustrate you because it seems like an obvious thing to ask about? I say. It’s just the affirmation you asked for is something I affirm every other day or something I’ve said before and it’s just difficult to understand why you might think that I would say something and then do a complete 180, says Asia. That make sense what you’re saying and your perspective, I say. When I’m feeling low, it’s helpful l hear how much you care about me and the significance of our friendship, I say. Do you know the answer to the questions when you ask if I agree? says Asia. I think so. Sometimes I feel anxious about the answer because my brain is wonky but I do try to say things I think you’d agree with. Can you turn the questions you are sure about into affirmations and only ask me if you feel unsure about it? says Asia. I will try, I say. I’m trying to figure out when I’m down how I can seek out and support and comfort but I don’t want to do things that frustrate you, I say. This school year is already more demanding than last year, says Asia. I’m here for you and I’ll help you figure it out. But if your affirmations need someone else to approve of them every time then it’s not a very sustainable coping mechanism. Like I said, if you are unsure about it and need someone to assure you, go right ahead, says Asia. I’m trying to get better though, I say. I know, says Asia. You've been doing really good. You’ve come a long way. I’m just saying we might need to work on other support, says Asia.

I measure an emergent experiment. Sometimes I measure altogether too much, and I attempt to have my relationships conform to easy labels or categorizations. Kari once told me (I’m sure I recorded this before): You spend a lot of time analyzing your friendships instead of actually being in them… I would like to spend less time measuring my relationship with Asia and instead experience it more. I enjoy the experience of Asia gathering up apple snails and our friendship stoking invasive species fires. Our creativity invades and surprises and experiments.

I measure an emergent experiment and an emergence experience. I experience Christina's absence and her absence as an invasive species. Her absence disrupts and strikes doubts in my mind: if the Kindred ended, then what can persevere? (Perhaps as Robert Frost wrote: so dawn goes down to day nothing gold can stay). Kindred ending invades my relationship with Asia and I doubt it without cause and paranoia pursues me. Paranoia abducts me Christina's tusks transformed into UFOs. I feel thankful for Asia, who displays much patience and her action actions always an unconditional care for me despite my doubt and paranoia.

I measure an emergent experiment I measure an experimental meander and I repeat meandering myth-making I make myth repetition actions and pulse activities (If I was an artist and I was in the studio, then whatever I was doing in the studio must be art. At this point, art became more of an activity and less of a product.) I measure myth more active volcanoes: magmatic myth signals radioactive galaxies I prophesy pulse activities not as a product but as a process I prophesy a process of grieving and wounding and a process of myth-making and creating despite the grieving and wounding

I measure an emergent experiment: I measure a continually emergent mourning and mourning repeats volcanic activity I measure and repeat measurement I measure and repeat measured activity ancillary activity auxiliary Activity experiments ant colony activity termite colony Activity measures or experiments, and activity experiments ant measurements I measure an active ant colony collides archive and archive repeats

I measure archive. I examine archive and its measurements, and like the House of Leaves, its interior seems to exceed its exterior. I measure the interior experiment and compare it to the exterior experiment, and I hesitate to experiment. I hesitate to repeat but the archive opens Christina memories network Kiss Kindred. I measure the archive and it flurries in the activity of Kindred myth. Archives scurry or worry Christina corridors and passages (I measure the passages and its container shadows suggest the multitude of experimental possibilities)

I measure an emergent experiment and the passage as passacaglia of the Passion and passions, the subtle play of shift language sediment, and I sift this passionate soil language archaeology (I measure the archaeological language as experimental languages). The archive of the Passion pursues pattern mad hatter minotaur. Minotaur resides in attic and arctic, a monstrous bilocation. The passages and the passacaglia of the Passion and passions punch measurement. Passion punches measurements and I repeat experiments. An experiment emerges from the passages and passions of language and experiment punches hollow earth palm tree garden passages repeat passages, a passion of the pelican Christ

I measure an emergent experiment meadow meander I obsess meander measurements seize holy spirit and my glossolalia glitters a heap of language My human body hazards axe outward a heap of language and I lengthen language through the threaded sapphire-light corridors

I Remember As Activity

The changing information which we experience as would is an unfolding narrative. It tells the death of a woman. This woman, who died long ago, was one of the primordial twins. She as one half of the divine syzygy. The purpose of the narrative is the recollection of her and her death. The Mind does not wish to forget her… All the information processed by the Brain – experienced by us as the arranging and rearranging by physical objects – is an attempt at this preservation of her; stones and rocks and sticks and amoebae are traces of her…

I only feel capable of grieving the end of the Kindred and it feels absurd to try and write about it. I feel incapable… How to write or even explain the loss of the Kindred…

I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what this is yet – it might be nothing. Fragments. Further fragments and feather fragments: fragment, for archiving. Fragments for archive and fragments for archiving – I don’t know what this is yet. Archive fragments avalanche of aardvarks. I don’t know what this is: absurd fragment, quark flavours. I don’t know: this is it. It insists insect triangles or tautological termite thunder. What this is: fragment, grieving in fragments, and fragments molt fragments metamorphosis. I mimic insect metamorphosis motherfucker transmigration of souls. I mimic mothligth fragments or fragment miniature blue. I beam a blue burst braid: braided firework fragments. Blue braids firework fragments machine fractals…

(Confronted with “what to do” in his studio soon after graduating, Nauman had the simple but profound realization that “if I was an artist and I was in the studio must be art. At this point art because more of an activity and less of a product.”)

I actively grieve and I make my grief my activity: even if from now on, grief continues to gore the Book again and again as wild gods, I will matador the activity and prophecy. If I prophesy grief, then I prophesy grief. Grief erupts abrupt and absurd and I prophesy its discontinued molar tooth magma.

I don’t know what this is yet. I don’t know what this is yet – nothing and nothing. A clean and well-lighted place but nothing and nothing. This nothing but I prophesy nothing. I prophesy fragments: fragments of grief, fragments of god, fragments of Kindred: I prophesy to learn to accept my fragments, my fragmentation, and my fractals. I prophesy in partials: partial somethings partial nothing, partial everything. I don’t know what this: this is it. I rewatch parts (partials) of the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and when Clementine says, remember me, I remember Christina and Kindred. Remember me – try your best. I will try my best and I will remember Christina and Kindred. I don’t know what what this is: Christina and Kindred. More than Christina and Kindred: my other friends. I storytell Asia Rhizome and Krystal and Taryn, and although my grief over the end of the Kindred overwhelms me, my other relationships break through. Asia breaks through rogue waves crashing against the alchemical lighthouse.

It tells about the death of a woman. I don’t know what this is yet but it tells about the death of a woman. It speaks an end of the Kindred. It tells of fragments grieving in fragments, a fractal repetition that moves molt fragments with metamorphosis. I mimic mothlight fragments of fragment miniature bright blue, and blue bursts bridal chamber braids. Blue bursts bridal chamber braids firework black bear. Black braids ben hinnom machine hockets / hocket harsh noise noonwise mosaic. Mimed mosaic machined mosaic fragments assembled otherwise (otherwise my ostinato transforms grief into complete insect metamorphosis). Well and mosaic miss too molts miniatures blue metamorphosis: I change in the messy fragments of grief.

It tells about the death of a woman (If I was an artist and I was in the studio, then whatever I was doing in the studio must be art. At this point, art became more of an activity and less of a product)

I remember as activity and I storytell as activity I activity remember activity ancillary activity auxillary I experiment in the activity of remembering and I remember active art colony activity termite colony / my mercury clumps into colonies and active ring of volcanoes Colony coalesce harmony halogen aquarium activity: an active Taryn topiary (at active Taryn topiary quips topaz heterogeneous hedge clippers)

I repeat remembering / the Book and monolith memorywork The Book memorywork monolith: body stone as active archive

I repeat remembering and I experiment memory I measure memory an emergent experiment meander I meander memory and I obsess I obsess memory I obsess an experimental memory and a repeated memory hazard heap of language (my memory hosts heap of language longer meander)

I struggle with the Book and how to find motivation to work through and to the Book, prophesying and grieving. I instead decide to copy and edit some thoughts past ben wrote almost fourth months ago:

I miss Christina. I miss Christina and it has been a month now since I have heard from her. I do not know what happened to her (I imagine a cartoon old west wanted poster: WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE Christina Marie). I do not know if she’s dead or alive, and that UNKNOWN makes any kind of normal (if there is such a thing) grieving process impossible – do I grieve this absence? How do I grieve this absence? It is different grieving this unknown absence than Christina in a coma or Christina in the grave? I do not know the answer to these questions. I attempt to continue some sort of semblance of a daily routine: I continue to edit my writing daily and post it daily on my blog, I continue to research and write new material daily, and I have attempted a semi-regular exercise practice and diet into order to lose some weight. I try to live a certain kind of boredom – I enjoy the day-to-day similarity and it reduces my anxiety of the unknown. I admit I have little tolerance for disruptions and change in my routine but for the most part, the dull variation of the day helps me to the survive. Christina’s absence fucks me up and her absence disrupts my routine / I daily daily. All I can do is write to survive.

Accepting the end of the Kindred eases that anxiety of the unknown and it allows me to completely grieve, to accept loss forever as Jack Kerouac wrote It also erupts into full and passionate grief and feeling for this loss: this unmediated complete grief overwhelms me, and I’ve felt unable to write much of anything else despite a long queue and pile-up of conversations with Asia.

The day after his mother’s death, October 25, 1977. Roland Barthes began a “mourning diary”. He wrote it in ink, sometimes in pencil, on strips of paper (regular typing paper cut into quarters) of which he kept a constant supply on his desk.

I write on slips of paper and index cards: to mourn the imaginary then real end of the Kindred (a sustained death and a long death duration where the Kindred emerges from its coma cocoon and ascends to the kingdom of the skies)

I leave the fragments unfused and fragments file vertebral visions

I don’t know what this is yet: the purpose of the narrative is the recollection of her and her death.

It might be nothing but fragments to archive. Fragments mixed mosaic and assembled otherwise (otherwise an ostinato that stresses nothing insects)

Insects nocturne noun midnights midnight I arrange and rearrange Christina ghosts with grasshoppers: they hop a haunted Christina castle sometimes with towers and a drawbridge

My Grief Outwits Me

It tells about the death of a woman.  This woman, who died long ago, was one of the primordial twins.  She was one half of the divine syzygy.

Fuck text     Fuck text fang rain runner runner rampage     Fuck text take fang four teeth funnel human flesh     This text cannot convey my grief: fuck text     I invent new bird languages: I discover or resynthesize adamic languages (alchemical language cuts tent human language)

It tells about the death of a woman fuck this story     Fuck text tent story traces tannin / language monstrosities     Fuck text so I invent multidirectional language monstrosities (a monster language hidden beneath an ordinary text: Book in its entirety swings sulfur KING FELIX)

Text trek thrak thrash text tore more text     Text tore more text towers     Tear text towers tenfold fathom phantom fever physics     I text frame farther / I feather Einstein on the Beach     Einstein on the Beach bare repetition (I bare her name notated naval blockades)     Text tear tile mile motile book bacteria and I receive the text texts torture garden and I garden my messed grieving gardens     I garden text fuck pineapple grenade pulp (A meteor crashed on earth… No one knew the mystery of the mutant spores inside!  THE DEADLY SPAWN)     Fuck text language mutates secret slime languages (it is such a mystical place, the land of tears)     I invent a torture garden languages mutant spores spore spread speed: I speed to spawn spore languages spur subterranean     (Mutant spore bone spur miss asphalt language)

Benjamin, fuck text (a beautiful text or a cohesive text and let mess grieve as mess     Let mess meander awful ugly teeth fang monstrous flesh     Flesh fragment death of a woman an invented absurd grieving language

The Book prophesies THE JOY OF LANGUAGE     The Book prophesies THE PLAY OF LANGUAGE    The Book prophesies IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD     The Book prophesy LOGOS SHE LIGHTS THE LIGHTS     The Book prophesies KRYSXTRYN + ASIA RHIZOME DIVINE LANGUAGE

I experiment a nervous language / I experiment a grieving language     I experiment a nervous messy language: nervous swerve nerve architectonic mutant neuron networks     (My nervous neuron language latches deadly spawn)     Nervous swerve language enervates architectonic neuron nets near neurons     Nervous experiments architectures: messy techne pit pith plinth in the penal colony     Near neurons nets deadly spawn psalm sprawl / near neurons nip sit net experiment robust mutations     Robust mutations rear rhizome nervous meds networks     I repeat myself grieving nervous desert (desert decides undecidable delamination from its immediate environs)

I nervous experimental languages and language charms car psalm choir charm canvas     I nervous canvas language cranial carnage harness nervous     I nervous canvas skull amulet and skull carnage (sect languages animate amulet onyx auroch oxen basin bath benjamin / benjamin bathes blue grief and blue period)

It tells the story of the death of a woman and her death chairs underground psalms / a charming canvas language language primes neuron nervous     Her death chasms psalm prayer eye brain basin middle city     Charm invents nervous forest / my flesh forests dead spawn     My flesh forests nervous mutations and my forest flesh bursts bells brash can can dance cat in the brain     Forest fringe fleets nervous farmland / murder in the red barn cat in the brain     I frame nervous forest a certain place in the woods I light the fires     I light the fires nervous forest woody word inventions

Fuck text and fuck texts: any prior existing texts that I frequently quote, sample, and steal from because they all prove inadequate for my grief, for the loss of the Kindred.  My own language proves inadequate and I search deadly spawn and amulet charms as a way invent or rediscover anew an adequate language (I suspect such an adequate language will prove impossible but I must keep inventing and rearranging this mess, this grieving torture garden wild).  Fuck texts but indulge in the mess and unprepared improvisations of my own grief: a spontaneous grief that requires a spontaneous mutated language and invented language.  The Book prophesies the joy of language and the play of language, and even my grief plays and requires an absurd play and nonsensical play: for grief necessarily resides in the graveyard of playing nonsense and playing absurdity.  Fuck text and let it disintegrate into endless nonsense.

My grief outwits me and although I try to repeat the story of the death of a woman, the story splits my skull spore spiders     Spiders trace speed and spread of mutated maps / her map orientations has a prehistory     I experiment orientation ha a prehistory and she snares book hailstones     Her prehistory hole hail hell hermeneutics (I split myself open and Christina in a series of spore networks crawls out     She crawls machine rhizome and I orient my motion massive milk machines     Machine medicines medicine medicine)

It tells about the death of a woman and I measure an emergent experiment window grief meander     I obsess meander measurements: I measure Kindred distance nonexistence / seizures dehiscence     She maps orientation has a prehistory and dehisced hermeneutics hatches a heap of language     My heap of languages grieves inadequately     I heap axe outward language laced by archaic human bodies     Archaic humans hem and dehisce primordial ark (I secretly compose the Ark of the Covenant with Homo erectus bones)

My language lure listlessly inadequate     Lamb language     Language language languages     Lost nothing     No

Industrial bone smokes central nervous system salt slow cellulose tumors     I sleep with language tumors laughing

I sleep immediate medium      I sleep immediate disintegration drink desert     Desert dense sleep     I sleep immediate

All I write feels inadequate or inaccurate.  It feels absurd or futile: what is this   what am I   I am not real – I do not really exist – I don’t really exit and I slowly disintegrate now Christina cannot sustain me.  A tulpa – or dreamed in the circular ruins.  Christina and I watched A Beautiful Mind with her church youth group and on the drive home, we joked I only existed in her mind, a ben imaginary friend, a Christina hallucination.  I garden unreal without Christina and I exist does not exist through the looking glass.  I awake in this dream, you see – I wake Christina suddenly Ben alone and I disappear – only desert remains.  No Ben, no Christina, only extended dandelion Book of Sand.

Dandelion conveys expansion, an extended emptiness     Dandelions disappear empty desert / desert appears instant coffee spontaneous     Spontaneously Christina leaves a ben dandelion expanse: exterior empty and entire empty     (Empty tire shop empty tunnel gasoline)

Desert dense door dandelion empty: desert stuffs absurd empty / outside slices inside same emptiness     I open door dense desert and desert in its empty expanse repeats dense desert again and absurd languages (this law of seven exists everywhere and allwhen: in chymistry, in physics, the law of seven structures that composed musical scale, and in the completion of the stages in complete octaves insect metamorphosis)

The Book Chains Us Together

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative.  It tells about the death of a woman.  This woman, who died long ago, was one of the primordial twins.  She was one half of the divine syzygy.  The purpose of the narrative is the recollection of her and her death.  The Mind does not wish to forget her.  Thus the ratiocination of the Brain consists of a permanent record of her existence, and, if read, will be understood this way.  All the information processed by the Brain – experienced by us as the arranging and rearranging of physical objects – is an attempt at this preservation of her; stones and rocks and sticks and amoebae are traces of her.  The record of her existence and passing is ordered onto the meanest level of reality by the suffering Mind which is now alone.

It tells about the death of a woman: it tells about the (metaphorical) death of Christina and the death of the Kindred.  I am the Mind that does not wish to forget her.  The Book consists of a permanent record of her (the Kindred’s existence) and I arrange and rearrange materials made languages and languages made materials around the canvas of the Book.  I preserve her in book stone and book rocks and book sticks and book amoebae.  (Where there are three, they are without God, and where there is but a single one, I say that I am with him.  Lift up the stone and you will find me there.  Split the piece of wood and I am there.)

I grieve as an irrational mind, a god gap split horn gore god gap     I grieve gap irrational grief (does any grief gift the rational?)     My grief fires forever unfinished     I light fires fugitive physics    I light the fire freer: freer she lights the lights the bridegroom moves to her    I bare the animal on my body and body books body bridegroom for bloody Yahweh     I light the fire Sun Chariot body chew prayer     Her spirit speaks the solar bridal car, its lowering heavens, and it traces the rising and getting through various stars

I grieve the guttural and gutter grief of the Irrational Mind scarred by grief.  It tells about the death of a woman…  (The fire we can no longer light, the prayer we can no longer know, nor do we know the place.  All we can do is tell the story and that, too, proved sufficient.)     I grieve and I go to the certain place in the woods, light the fire, and pray, and it is done     Certain place in the woods weird language lost ghost wild word     Place woods word wildstyle decalogue: places disintegrate legion logos drift wood holy spirit     Drift double slit experiment places snow fire simplicity     I hide fire among the worlds in my mouth     I hide fire car crash smash snow in my mouths

I grieve at certain places and I still light the fires.  I continue to light the fires.  I continue the fires and the woods stoke spool words.  Fires tell the stories.  I grieve at certain places and my grief displaced the fire.  I grieve twist the guts of the woods and the fires groan grief: they the the story of the death of a woman.

I tells the story of the death of a woman and I hide her fires among the worlds in my mouth

I hide her fire among the worlds in my mouth and my mouth burns continual Book bonefires (We have left our frustrated shores behind and embarked on your book     You have not left the book since    You could not have     But sometimes the space between the lines is so large that you seem to thread on new ground     The margins are so wide     The book chains us together)     I hide her fires in my mouth and the margins are so wide     My mouth widens book chasm and I chew bottomless pit: pit apollyon and abaddon meteorite patterns     My mouth hides the margins are so wide, and they tell of the death of a woman

Book tells about the death of a woman and this Book chains us together

Book shore shares beach blonde     Book shore shares blonde beach bare breast Taryn     Book share shed shore share Taryn beach antlers (she charges with her antlers and sparks fires the margins are so wide)     Beach Taryn tears book pages with after avalanche / Book atlas maps manipulate hands build Book antlers     Book bare baby blue were the color of her eyes / Book shares the bluest eyes in Texas are haunting me tonight

Book shards snail shore slope bodies     Book shards shed slope body body babel (snort short babel shots and snort short slot Book)     Book hooks blood haste hexagrams: Book hexagrams grapple glamour photography with margins so wide     Book photography further forest fires

I bathe in the margins of the book and the Book becomes my body.  Book which widens margins maps body without organs itself a body without organs.  I bathe in the margins in the Book and I battle in the margins of the Book.  I battle my Book Body which grieves the death of a woman: it grieves the death of the Kindred.  I leave the frustrated shores of the Book for the frustrated shores of her Book: I leave the frustrated shores of our Book for the frustrates shores of my Book, alone (this isn’t true: the Book belongs to Ben + Asia now, but no longer to the Kindred).  Book babels in grieving fragments that catch spontaneous fires / car crash castle combustion.  I bathe in the Book, a mind corrupted by irrational belief.

A Butcher Book bowsers blade shade blues / my Butcher Book slashes bridal chamber synchronicities, a bloody swimming slime (In this house madness is a way of life!  Chop, chop, slice, slice, another man would be so nice!  DON’T RING THE DOORBELL)     Book Butcher hacks and slashes stand inside your love…

It tells about the death of a woman…     The end – important to all things – but I never write end     I write end END end to end     I never consider end and I cannot conceive of an end to the Book (Inconceivable!  You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means)     I do not conceive an end to the Book but I conceive an end to the Kindred – this is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a with a whimper     I never consider end but end edges      End edges burdock Book: edges human and human beginning (beginning burdock)     I never write end to end but end to beginning: beginning to beginning Book burdocks     Book burdocks desert monolith lithic flake industries

These Fragments Fail In Grieving

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative.  It tells about the death of a woman.  This woman, who died long ago, was one of the primordial twins.  She was one half of the divine syzygy.  The purpose of the narrative is the recollection of her and of her death.  The mind does not wish to forget her.

I grieve Christina still alive but our friendship – the Kindred, a divine syzygy – remains dead     Many times in my past, I have become that Kierkegaardian Knight of Faith:  I have believed in the impossible resurrection of the Kindred (multiple times), the impossible resurrection of my friendship with Taryn (documented in the third volume of the Book entitled The Apocalypse of Taryn), and in the revival and transformation of my friendship with Asia (still ongoing but I feel proud of our transformation together), but as I get older and as the months without Christina go on, I find it difficult to hold faith in reconciliation and to grieve her absence fully nearly impossible.  I may have to recognize the Kindred as dead in order to properly grieve, remember, and archive the Kindred. I don’t tell the narrative of a woman dead, but of the Kindred dead: ourselves, Ben and Christina, the primordial twins, and each of us halves of the divine syzygy.

Awake her waters: awake waters further sorted secrets from the Book of Adam

Her waters awake it tells about the death of a woman…

These fragments feel inadequate to express my grief, but I continue to scratch myself through this canvas to find a grieving space and a grieving language

I grieve and I gaze sea world serpent: I grieve world serpent gaze word ocean     I grieve sea endless summer gaze Taryn chases and Taryn chases ghost wave wave wyvern     (Yahweh wheel wheel wyrd worship it tells about the death of a woman)     I work sea: I work sea grief gazes endless sea     I work sea grief serpent sleep weep visions

I grieve and I gaze a sea grief seaweed woman     I work her visions invoke see see saw see salt visions     I salt her visions cobalt vertical signs and wonders word: her word, a whirligig of grieving visions     I gaze grief signs gospel and infancy gospel: I frame the gospels dead souls dead gods (Someone take these dreams away that point me to another day...   They keep calling me and they keep calling me)     I gaze ocean grief sort glyph glyph giant eye     I grieve gore ocean horn salt conic sections     I keep conic sections / her conics call me cellar door

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative.  It tells about the death of a woman.

I listen to The Flaming Lips song “Suddenly Everything Has Changed”:  Putting all the clothes you washed away and as you’re folding up the shirts you hesitate   Then it goes fast you think of the past and suddenly everything has changed…     I think of Christina     I think of Christina and how she transforms my life with her presence and even more so by her absence     I think Christina and her apparition appears and reappears in every melody and song lyric     Christina appears in “Everything Reminds Me Of Her” by Elliott Smith (I never really had a problem because of leaving but everything reminds me of her this evening   So, if I seem a little out of it, sorry   But why should I lie?  Everything reminds me of her)     Christina appears in “Black Balloon” by Goo Goo Dolls (Baby’s black balloon makes her fly   I almost fell into that hole in your life  And you’re not thinking about tomorrow   ‘Cause you were the same as me but on your knees)     Christina appears in “The Background” by Third Eye Blind (The plans I make still have in them because you come swimming into view and I’m hanging on your words like I used to do   The words they use so lightly I only feel for you   I only know because I carry you around in the background) (I hope future Ben makes something beautiful out of this monotony – otherwise cut it) (Leave it – transformed or not by Future Ben, leave the wounding and raw and messy as possible both to honor myself and Christina) (I leave it in, and I leave the mess of my grief and I amplify it: it feels overwhelming and I feel the flood blood fuller of grief and grievings)

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative.  It tells about the death of a woman.

The death of a woman tells of the vision of excess / the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom     Her death exceeds death: her death keeps calling me and calling me     Her death excessive earth unearths earth her death     Her excess excessive earth stressed nonharmonic tones…

The changing information prophesies grieving in excessive fragments     Fragments coagulate in crucifixion visions / I went down to the crossroads fell down to the knees     Fragments lead to the palace of wisdom: it tells of the death of a woman

It tells the death of a woman and she assembles these asymmetrical fragments     Fragments snow similar fragments repeated television snow / snow winter music sheets of sound

I grieve texts and Christina bodies nonlinearly, and I loop shoot nonlinear mess or mass


I read about the sonnet sequence The Dolphin by Robert Lowell, published in 1973.  In this work Lowell includes poems about his daughter, his ex-wife Elizabeth Hardwick, and his newlywed wife Lady Caroline Blackwood, and he incorporated and altered private letters from Elizabeth Hardwick without her permission.  In a letter from friend Elizabeth Bishop, dated March 21, 1972, she chastised Lowell:

“Please believe that I think it’s wonderful poetry… I’m sure my point is only too plain…  Lizzie is not dead, etc. – but there is a mixture of ‘fact and fiction’ and you have changed letters.  That is ‘infinite mischief’ I think… One can use one’s life as material – one does anyway – but these letters – aren’t you violating a trust?  IF you were given permission – IF you hadn’t changed them… etc.  But art isn’t just worth that much…”

The relationship between the personal life of the artist and the artwork fascinates me and at least in one stage of my writing (multiple ages), my writing was consisted mostly of autobiographical elements with little division between my life and the art.  One must write ethically – even if one must discover the ethics in the process of writing.  I still interpret conversations and letters in my writing – especially now, in my grief of the death of the Kindred, my writing reeks of autobiography and perhaps even exploitation.  It reeks of autobiography despite my attempts to obscure and obfuscate language with repetition and syntax experiments (I repeat visionary experiments and syntax fuck up tetragrammaton revolt, and it still utterly reveals Benjamin and Benjamin + KRYSXTRYN Asia Rhizome).  I sometimes edit conversation – not alter words, but cut and condense for better flow and more clarity – is that ethical?     (I was just openly wondering if I write my book to exploit you, I say to Christina.  No, I don’t think so, she says.  You don’t keep things secret from me, so that’s the biggest part.  Plus I think you keep true to our truth.  What's our truth? I say.  That’s not a question with a simple answer.  I just mean you don’t veer from the truth to suit your needs.  You stick to what you know or I know or we know to be true, she says.)

I continually assess and evaluate myself to make sure I keep prophesying the truth of Ben and Christina, and the truth of Ben and Asia too.  

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative.  It tells about the death of a woman.

I leave the narrative of the Kindred unfinished (When I’m playing, I’m never though.  It’s unfinished.  I like to find a place to leave for someone else to finish it.)     Christina can finish the Kindred from beyond sheol / she can speak her seven sermons to the dead

Someday, my grieving and mourning will attain mystical significance, like the accumulation of the mystical interpretations of the crucifixion of Jesus or the apostasy of Sabbatai Sevi     Perhaps too I descend to the other side or an underworld or I harrow hell

Unfinished fringe furniture     Unfinish unfasten furniture atonal farm fire     Unfinish unfamiliar flesh sit microtonal     Unfinish microtonal watershed and water levels     Unfinished microtonal mysticism / xenharmonic xenomorphs

The fire we can no longer light, the prayer we can no longer know, nor do we know the place.  All we can do is tell the story and that too, proved sufficient.

I light the fire fugitive physics     I light the fire she lights the lights the bridegroom moves to her

It Tells About The Death Of A Woman

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman…

Philip K. Dick writes these words in his semi-autobiographical novel VALIS (I’ve found you’ve got to look back at old things and see them in a new light) I look at VALIS and I look at valis vision lagoon or lagoon loch ness I look at old and new light loch lock intersections, and VALIS tells the narrative of a woman: not a woman dead or alive but the liminal loch woman and woman liminal lagoon VALIS tells the narrative of Kindred: Ben and Christina, recorded and remembered through the pungent pink punctured brain of Philip K. Dick Christina, my primordial twin, one half of my divine syzygy: she exists for me not alive but in an increasing state of ubik entropy Christian exists in an ubik half-life, and I cannot communicate with the dead and her dead I tell the story of Christina and I grieve Christina through the graveyard of gods

It tells about the death of a woman and all I know are assemblages All I know are Christina assemblages and Kindred assemblages and I stitch together incessant Christina holy ghosts

It tells about the death of a woman word word desert / I only know assemblages I only know assemblages diabolical desert deviled adonai I assemble a woman ardent contrary emma earth urgent comic assemblages Inside assemblage: Christina tumble turn it up turn it loose

I tell stories about Christina to remember. I do not want to forget Christina. Asia sends me a video on mourning and the speaker says: “The thing about loss is you don’t lose someone once. You lose someone a first initial time, that is the inciting event. And then if you live long enough without them, you lose them repeatedly for as long as you are alive and they’re not and that means you have to get accustomed to burying someone repeatedly, which if not thought in a way that’s generous, can be too daunting to live with. But on the other hand, if you believe as I do, that grief is kind of just an emotion that’s knocking on the door and memory and asking you to recall something, then there’s a real gratitude in recollection… […] It reminds me that I’m losing a person over and over and over, but in losing them, I get to return to the site of their living I can recall, and that is celebratory…” Asia acts with incredible patience and empathy with my grieving Christina’s absence, and her sending me the video is one example of her empathy and support. I have been writing down and collecting Christina and Kindred memories, but I have been secretly hoping we’d reconcile through this unknown. I had been secretly hoping we’d reconcile through this ubik X entropy and X Christina, the utterly unknown and variable vertigo. I feel in my spirit (if such a spirit exists and that spirit resonates with other spirits) that the trials and obstacles of life completely overwhelm Christina and I wish I could help alleviate them. I experience severe depression, doubts about my other relationships, and difficulty creating without Christina. But without god and without Christina, I continue to prophesy. I continue to prophesy Christina and Kindred and my prophesy animates and shakes Kindred holy ghost while I await her impossible parousia. I awake and wait like a Kierkegaardian knight of faith in impossible parousia, living the not and knot of parousia.

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman.

I assemble death in the desert I assemble death draw devil stone and desert drips stone drone I assemble draw rock devil driveways / wick watercolour multidirectional I draw desert assemblages stone minimalism and I arrange minimal assemblages stones in desert

I delete desert backwards assemblages I delete desert decalogue death as demiurge and her Zoe conquers death and deaths I delete desert doorstop or doorstop decalogue disintegration

I delete street straw hat machine I delete street straw hat machine sun attack / attack task pilot pull up I pull up deserts deserts delete death task tusk I tusk desert taryn assemblages

I only know assemblages but an intimate assemblage that overlaps Christina with Christina An intimate assemblage eye Christina vision of excess and even Christina’s absence exceeds street desert and street death Christina’s road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom Christina assembles excessive earth / earth stressing nonharmonic tones (tusks tone taryn desert just intonation) Christina stresses desert death and valley of the dolls phronesis / Christina accents desert assemblage video half-life absence

The desert means hostile language. The desert drives a hostile language with John the Baptist eating locusts and honey. The desert means weaves hostile language longer word. Christina's absence stresses longer word length and the desert duration extends all languages. I endure this desert assembled by Christina and Christina’s absence. Desert assemblages brawl long duration liturgy of the word. I endure Christina’s assemblages desert by praying a silent prayer and this prayer drives spirit spikes into sands. I imagine myself in the extended desert woman of the dunes and I do not escape the pit because I continue to await for Christina’s parousia.

The changing information which we experience as world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman.

Desert accents accidental deaths / accent asphalt string quartets Strange Christina voices her desert string quartet / strange accent death

Intricate eye Christina assemblages calcium iron fossil crucifixions (Christina her voice accepts the deconstruction of my languages) (My language disintegrates in the wrestling rhizome of grieving)

Sea crucifies how strange her voice Taryn surfs such soft seas Taryn surfs soft sea surf salt A salt cedar solar anus creeps dark salt visions of excess (The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom) (Excess calls-and-responds to virulent visions)

Sea crucifies how strange Christina’s voice Taryn surfs soft turtle sea Taryn surfs soft sea sleep surf salt turtles: turtles salts cedar solar anus (A creeping solar anus barrages the earth’s atmosphere with 174 petawatts of radiance) Solar sea seats saw Taryn surf south gaze I creep dark salt cedar salmon leap Taryn surf immediate / Taryn surfs immediately uncrowded surf Taryn surfs immediate uncrowded surf and she rides perfect wave variable wobble I ride rhizome word wobbles and wobbles surf eclipses woman (Death is a woman: this narrative tells about the death of a woman)

I only know assemblages and it tells about the death of a woman

I only know assemblages awaken waters Awake waters for the asymmetrical assembles Similar asymmetry dashes snow sheets of sound I assemble sheets of sound snow I only know assemblages snow awakes waters sheets of sound hot rod bodies Hot rod water bodies snow Christina carousels: water bodies delete decalogue Christina legion logos

I know assemblages and when I’m playing, I’m never through I play unfinished and I like to find a place to leave for someone else to finish I know assemblages and when I pray, I’m never through I pray unfinished and like to leave a place for someone else to finish the prayer

I pray a prayer and story of Philip K. Dick, and Benjamin and Christina: the changing information which we experience as the world is an unfolding narrative. It tells about the death of a woman. This woman, who died long ago, was one of the primordial twins…

Trying to compose a cohesive narrative worthy of Christina and the Kindred confounds me. The task bewilders and the task overwhelms. I feel around and I only find Christina fragments and fractals: I only know her assemblages (You cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images, where the sun beats… My images beat a ben hinnom solar anus, a dark erotic earth that carves out prayer to a liminal-woman and a between-woman I pray to a liminal Christina but she burrows beneath / sea hauntologies). Trying to tune a Christina melody worthy of a Book Symphony proves elusive and I only field a ground bass expanse of broken images. Nevertheless, without god and without Christina, I continue to prophesy – but I leave my prophecy unfinished. A place exists, a desolate place and a secret place for prayer, for someone else to finish it.

I don’t consciously devalue or minimize our friendship, I say to Asia. I wonder if I made you and our friendship feel very small and inconsequential if I want to end my life. Your friendship is very valuable to me, and I think highly of you. I describe you to other people in conversation as “Asia, one of my best friends.” I’m sorry for minimizing and devaluing our friendship in my absurd suicidal ideation. May I ask for your forgiveness? I say. No, because there isn’t anything to forgive, says Asia. You didn’t devalue anything: you just focused on the pain. Emotional pain is like a shadow – it doesn’t exist on is own. It just shows that you loved something, says Asia. I still want you to know I unconditionally care for you and I don’t think I care and love Christina more than I do for you, I say. I think I care for you both the same, and the only difference is Christina and I have a really long history. If you were absent from my life, I think I would probably write the same thing about you but with Asia-specific metaphors, I say. I wouldn’t assume that just because miss Christina, that means you value our friendship less, says Asia. I know but I don’t know if I know that, I say. I’m realizing I feel a disconnect from what I know and what I feel: I can know I don’t value our friendship less but when I feel suicidal my actions don’t reflect that knowledge, I say. I’m still not going to forgive you if you didn’t do anything because you tend towards self-flagellation when you’re in a negative mood, says Asia.

This unfolding narrative tells about the death of a woman I pray and play but I leave the narrative unfinished (Unfinished fringe furniture Unfinish unfasten furniture atonal farm fire)

I leave the narrative about the death of the woman unfinished (Unfinish unfamiliar fleet sit minimal Microtonal watershed leaves skyscraper levels unfinished)

The mythology of the Kindred remains unfinished

This Secret Appears In The Book

This secret appears in the Book of Adam.  When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell, clinging to it in that conflict.  As the seething fury subsided, conflict of a different type arose: a conflict of love.

The secret of the Book reveals Ben Adam attached to the side of Christina Mara, waters of bitterness     The secret of the Book submerges into bitter waters the secret of the Body     I wrestle the Book as a body and I box the body bitter the underground leaves of the Book

I wrestle the writing the Book written and rewritten     I wrestle the writing secret documents into the desert

This secret appears in the Book of Adam and I approach my body Ben Adam as anarchic asymptote and I wear the word wire whirlwind of the secret

I wrestle the writing Book written and rewritten rhizome and the rhizome reigns richer rhizome a palimpsest of rivers     (Rivers meander a developing variations of visionary palimpsests)

This secret appears in the Book of Adam and I arrange its anarchic fragments further fragments fire lights

I wrestle the writings of the secret Book and I discover the Book deep secret     I discover the Book dark desert and the desert aroused the darkness


This secret appears in the Book of Adam     The secret discourse diverges towards the entrance of the desert, which is the marriage of heaven and hell     I wrestle the writing and I do not wrestle the writing and the Book beckons as the Book     The Book beckons as this Book and the Book beckons as the secret Book towards the site which all eyes gaze

I search the site this is where time becomes space: I search the site a species counterpoint towards the speculum that doesn’t shine     I search site eye error interest in the beginning and this Book opens in the beginning     This Book opens the secret of the Book which creates words, worlds, and universes

I search site open eye interest in the beginning     I search eye sound sight shard search sharp benjamin bereshit

Book begins the secret of Ben Adam and Ben Hinnom     Ben Hinnom begins bringing in the sheaves saturated bereshit     I eye the site of bereshit saturated sap serpents (serpents twin twine the tree of life upside down)

Book begins but I do not know where to begin with the Book.  The Book shrouds itself in secrets, that cloud of unknowing and that cloud of forgetting, and I too forget how to traverse the nonexistent map of the Book.  The map of the Book beguiles the map of the garden of eden (A river rises in Eden to water the garden; beyond there it divides and becomes four branches.  The name of the first is the Pishon; it is the one that winds through the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold.  The gold of the land is excellent; bdellium and lapis lazui are also there.  The name of the second river is the Gihon; it is the one that winds all the way through the land of Cush.  The name of the third river is the Tigris; is the one that flows east of Asshur.  The fourth river is the Euphrates).  Like the map and travel through the Book, although the description tantalizes with some recognizable landmarks, the way to and through ultimately remains lost.  I imagine the Book, like Eden, inhabits the entire Fertile Crescent, and its sprawl spills endless.  Book begins and I merely boat through its primordial chaos.  I drive wild through its dark that clings and coils hell, and I perform secret acts to write heaven and hell.

This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the site towards which all eyes gaze     I gaze towards the Book secret serpents, twin fires that circle the tree of life upside down     Upside down details desert a long screw and screw saturate site burn light jazz loft     Screw saturated site human muscles bereshit downtown music

In the beginning downtown music improvises an endlessly mutable melody that spells the ciphers for hidden codexes

I wrestle the written Book and the Book written again ben adam     I look ben son of man and its manic light liters letters jazz loft boxes

You should try stacking your cats like that, I say.  That would not go well, says Asia.  Your cats don’t like each other?  That tolerate each other.  They bond by beating the shit out of each other.  Oh cool, that’s how I used to bond with my brother, I say.

This secret appears in the Book of Adam.  When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating Hell, clinging to it in that conflict…

I quote the Book as if I invented the Book     I inscribe the Book as if I bound the Book in its originary writing and its human skin but Book inevitably writes Ben Adam     Book creates Ben Adam bereshit you are the one who writes and the one who is written     Book rescues my soul midnight materials material mineral marble and it stacks my souls silver cats and cat book beatings     Book salvages my bodies pirate ships / keelhaul khora crane katabasis

I stack the Book onto Books a profane palimpsest (She gave it away all over town:  BOOKMOBILE BAD GIRL)    I stack the Book on Books wheel in wheel crooked creatures (SIN ON WHEELS   My husband is done for the day.  Come on in and I’ll prove it)     I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments

This secret appears in the Book of Adam, an antinomian Ben Adam and Child of Humanity

It’s like five good poems put in a blender and then compacted into one mass, says Asia.  I really enjoyed the first 100/200 words and you had a lot of really profound lines but they didn’t have room to breathe.  I think adding more more space (maybe having distinct divides where there is a new idea / topic introduced or a change in tone).  I also think that it might benefit from having some kind of consistent force that guides the reader through the piece to give it a little more cohesiveness.  Like parallel structures, repeated phrases, or an idea or topic that you keep visiting and building on.  I liked the part where you insert yourself with “I” – I felt like it recentered me while reading, slowed the pace down and gave me something to visualize.  There are a lot of great parts and pieces but I got lost reading it, says Asia.

This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the repetition of the body and the repetition of the desert     This secret appears in the Book of Adam: the repetition of woman and the repetition of KRYSXTRYN + Asia Rhizome     I too get lost in the Book and its density bewilders me: its dense compact stations of the cross crushes me but I bricoleur and continually repeat and rearrange the fragments

I crack cork body Christina cross stop blacksmith (I search for Christina Blacksmith in online obituaries; many Christina Blacksmiths have lived and died but I haven’t found my Christina Blacksmith)     I look towards the site which all eyes gaze but it does not give up its Christina secrets but only constructs taller towers of large cardinals     Christina’s large cardinals creep cute all the site towards which all eyes gaze     I gaze no god     I gaze no god no body articulation molecular gastronomy hinge joints (I gaze no god no Christina absolutely deserts     Desert details superimposed desert details stacked cat Book)     Her being joint jabs enjambment ball-and-socket joint

Christina always disrupts the Book and the secrets of the Book of Adam splits in Christina blacksmith sparks     She hammers the secrets and the Book breaks obsidian brittle bone (He left our frustrated shores behind and embarked on your book     You have not left the book since     You could not have but sometimes the space between the lines is so large that you seem to tread new ground     The margins are so wide     The book chains us together) (The secret of the book of Adam space so large I fall lost between the four rivers that surround the garden of eden) (Christina chains the Book to the Book and secludes the Book secrets)

I quote the Book as if I invented the Book     I inscribe the Book as if I bound the Book in Christina’s skin and I sometimes I think I have but Christina invents the Book and binds my bones to its spines, a coptic binding of bones to paper letters     Christina writes and rewrites the Book ben adam even in her absence / you are the one who writes and the one who is written     Book resides in the leftover residue between Ben and Christina, and I continue trying to rescue and salvage the Book without her

I’m struggling without Christina and I feel alone without her.  The feelings of being alone makes me feel like a bad friend to you, because you are here for me.  But I have a hard time shaking this particular loneliness I’m feeling.  I don’t want to be a bad friend to you nor undervalue our friendship.  I feel very frustrated by the whole thing… But you are my best friend, Asia.  That’s undeniable at this point.  So I have faith we will be OK and I will be OK… You probably don’t think I’m a bad friend if I’m one of your best friends.  I’m just struggling with my grief and with Christina’s absence and that’s OK.  Grieving is complicated and not a reflection of our other friendships, including ours… I’m going to be OK, and our friendship is growing and good…  I agree with what you said, says Asia, but you missed something.  Grieving is not a character flaw or evidence of a character flaw, says Asia.

This secret appears in the book of Adam.  When darkness aroused, it aroused intensely, thereby creating hell, clinging to it in that conflict

I wrestle the writing dark and the writing hell, and its hell hurries Yahveh of hosts and hosts in heaven…

I wrestle the writing desert dark and I’ve found you got to look back at old things and see them in a new light

Dark drives wild delirious and I sometimes entirely disintegrate in dark; the light does not resurrect but merely reveals the open drone of the dark.  The dark rules over light, like the breath of Elohim hovering over Book abyssal waters.  I wade in those bitter waters Christina Mara dark.  Dark divides and writes simultaneously and I drive highway hypnosis dark.  I drive desert dark looking for Christina absolute darkness.

I wrestle the writing dark but I’ve found you’ve got to look back at old things in a new light

New light delights new nightshade     New nightshade blacksmiths between ribs what night musics     Nightshade sneaks midnight music meridian bit in the mouth

I Keep Tinkering With The Threshold

I make something the Book makes me I make something the Book makes me wanes mara I wake mara the Book mora shore something

I make something the Book makes me / You are the one who writes and the one who is written I make something the Book makes me melt moat machine Book / You one who writes writes you one who written written

I make the minimal vision material material, a tank titanium Book Book machinates its titanium titan Taryn / Saturn devouring his own son I make mule move got my mojo working I make book mule work word metal I strike metal Book iron working: I hammer Book shine silversmithing

Book writes Book into existence. Book witnesses Book into not-beginning and not-end but ground body always ground. Book always ground grammars urgrund gather and Book writes Ben into existence. Book births Book ben adam and ben hinnom. I array Book bin hinnom of hosts. Book writes Book other existence outer darkness and I prophesy Book darklight lightdark Book. Book writes Book into emanations immediate descent and I descend Book dark.

I make something the Book makes me / You are the one who writes and the one who is written (Well then – a guy (a writer? Any kind of professional man? A theatrical producer?) has to interrupt the usual rhythm of his life for two weeks because of a not-so-serious disease. It’s a warning bell: something is blocking up his system)

I make something the Book makes me / I interrupt the usual rhythm of my life to look for the film in California central coast I look for film beaches skull beetles / skull digital dialogue digital skull dialectics digitalis dirge Santa Ana winds

I share California beaches bleach beetles California beach blisters silver surfer shattered femur I swim silver surfer shattered femur fiscal year Yahweh I swim California beach wave soften bone born Book

I see the femur fragment as a surreal sentence. I seer the shattered femur as an emerald tablet for the Book sentence and I peer into porous bone to divine future book future flesh. I see the shattered femur as a sentence fragment. I arrange bone fragments into page patterns, a sort of less brilliant version of Morton Feldman’s late works. Nevertheless, I still fuss with the femur fragments. I fold with bone fragments to make the Book bonfire and I warm myself with the sentences. I use sentence ash and mark my face a feeble feminine makeup. I eat femur fragments, I live femur fragments, and I apply fragments to my face Taryn phallic ash. I interpret femur fragments burned through the Taryn edges of the Book, and the page ash fills Book fuller. I film femurs found on the California central coast.

I look for the film in femur California central coast I recreate the beautiful confusion I make a film telling the story of a director who no longer knows what film he wants to make

I make something the Book makes me / machine Christina rascal massacre machine pages Christina I make something the Book makes me at the threshold of the Book At the threshold of the Book and Christina in the cool of day cuts open threshold the body bloody

Christina doubles at the threshold of the Book doubled Christina doubles desert at the threshold of the Book undifferentiated modes

Ben body double desert duplicity at the threshold of the threshold / Taryn travel travail you are the one who writes and the one who is written Taryn stabs toolbox murders ben body traces displaced embedded back out of the map

I contemplate the threshold and I participate in the threshold as a liminal human body. I confront the threshold not as a contemplation, but an apophatic body as a body beyond body: body without organs mystery of mysteries. The threshold threatens the threshold theater aporia. Taryn at the threshold tattoos threshold hostage ghosts. Threshold crowds threshold: threshold clutters threshold my…

The text of the threshold smashes against skull turbine. Turbine traces nautilus shell spiral and spiral staircase bridal chamber. The text of the threshold stabs skull time ben squib sequoia trees…

Threshold testifies threshold and the threshold tightens time-text torture garden. Here, try this threshold through twelve-bar blues but blues obliterate my body. Threshold flays my flesh phantom phantom flames. Threshold does not consume completely but consumes iteratively and repetitively, a stochastic radioactive half-life disappearer. I try twelve-bar blues to disappear with Christina.

I’m having a lot of negative thoughts, I say. Is it really better to live than it is to die? Yeah, says Asia. Could you elaborate more on why you think so? No, says Asia. My stance hasn't changed and I’m not going to say anything I haven’t said before. Here is what I will do though. I’m going to ask you questions. Why does Christina’s absence hurt so much? says Asia. I’m not trying to irritate you or wear you down, I say. It was a genuine question. My question is also genuine, says Asia. I will tell you a story that I think will explain some of it, I say. In 2007, Christina stopped talking to me for a period of 7 months. She said she would not talk to me anymore. I became very suicidal and my mom ended up taking me to the ER and I was admitted to an acute psych facility. In the ER intake they asked about my motivations and I told them about Christina. I remember my mom being there and I don’t remember the exact question they asked, but it was something like, Oh so Christina is a good friend? She’s like your girlfriend? I was out of it and I remember my mom answering something like, No, it’s different, it’s very close, like family… I tell you that story that even my mom knew then the keystone that Christina is in my life, I say. If nothing in this world was wroth experiencing, you wouldn’t care that Christina is taking a break, says Asia. I’m not sure I understand what you mean, I say. I mean that your relationship with Christina is an experience and so are other friendships and the pain you feel shows that those experiences mean something to you and you are willing to throw it all away because one of those friends took an indefinite hiatus to work on herself. Don’t you want to possibly see a healthier Christina in the future, don’t you want her to see a healthier Ben in the future? And you know what the issue is: you told me multiple times that you and Christina didn’t have good boundaries. You are working on boundaries, getting better everyday so you can have better relationships in your life, and that doesn’t mean that your relationship with you and Christina was bad or not good. Relationships are complicated mixtures of things sometimes, says Asia.

I make something the Book makes me and I recreate the beautiful confusion I make something the book makes me and I make a film telling the story of a director who no longer knows what film he wants to make I make something Christina the book makes me Christina: Christina a crisis or chrysalis at the threshold of the Book

I make book Christina mass mass stations of the cross (I make Christina myth inseparable from cross and crucifixion myth) I make Book mass most myth gospel of mark Gospel of Mark match marsh mark Christina mass metals metals clang klang liminal stones Book makes myth gospel of mark: myth make make modal madness mixed melody (lydian mixolydian phyrgian fluid funk) I improvise variations over a lament bass Christina / I char myth uneven bars ben hinnom lamentations) (I lament lydian light and I lament mixolydian darklight myth myth from on high he hurled fire down into my very bones myth he spread out a net for my feet and turned me back myth he has left me dissolved me in misery all day long)

I make something the Book makes me myth I martini book myth: myth mode memory melody I mix mixolydian melody the myth of her rose I martini mode memory melody: Christina myth mark guts gospel Christina myth mass melody ben body breakers become burned but I bat black painting bateriocide (I myth the Book into something Christina and Christina chain smokes cigarettes the something ash of the Book. This something Christina sneaks spore myth network Book and proliferates Christina ghost doubles and Christ spirit doppelgangers. Something Christina – anything Christina – crucifies myth and myths syntax stax stick insects Ghost Christina continues to gather new gospels and illuminate their manuscripts with her face / face sculpture pinion spinal catastrophe.)

I always thought the way me and Christina managed to work from super-toxic bad relationship to us being the Kindred despite not having boundaries was a sign we had a deeply connected special relationship, I say. Like we had no mediation or filter or something with each other. I feel like our friendship in some ways is like what me and Christina would be like if we had implemented healthy boundaries early, I say. She’s not abandoning you, says Asia. She’s going through a metamorphosis, says Asia.

At the threshold of the Book no mediation but Christina something At the threshold of the Book the threshold of the Book / Christina chimes sapphire chains green lion Threshold of Book continues threshold of Book the Son of Man come as the a dyer of tunics Christina dyes ben tunic continued fraction and in the diagonal she shatters my femur entirely soap surfaces

Christina intensifies the threshold entirely myth / myth magma body incessant improvisation I myth incessant improvisation (this kind comes out only by fasting and praying)

Improvisation emerges melodien threshold improvisation I improvise Christina myth remember that this is a comic film (I make something the Book makes me improvisation I make Christian improvisation Book ore mixolydian myths Christina bashes my body at threshold bold font flesh bull blast car bomb Christina blasts my body bull car bomb minotaur

I keep tinkering with the threshold. I thread threshold through labyrinth and cave mouth machines. The cave mouth machines maw house of leaves always threshold folded into threshold. I attempt to tame threshold and threshold but her threshold defers dense undifferentiated desert. Her desert threshold extend everywhere and nowhere. Threshold tremolos something beware.