I wanted to do everything at the same time
I tell myself: she will die: I shudder (Bone-chilling! The thing is subhuman and it has a knife! The Murder Clinic) I tell myself: she will kill me and she will kill me: I shudder
I wanted to do everything at the same time and I tell myself everything (I tell myself: she will die) I wanted to die and tell myself the deep / depth / midnight miles I wanted to do everything as the miles
I tell myself same times and same ben bodies: she will die. She will die and I will die same times and many times. I drown into times oceanic and I shudder. I shudder dark room and death develops same time (on long enough time scales, events appear to happen at the same time). Simultaneous time develops delicious death / death buffet. Bodies line up to fill the hot plates.
Her death dust dusk in us Her death diffuses difference: different deep difference different dances and I no longer lie rely on linear elements no-rely on a movement towards and away the climax
I wanted to do everything at the same time and with the all-happening, events coincide with one another, but they do not move in climax and development. They move in simultaneous existence.
I tell myself: her death dactyl death Polydactyl death grips detritus death: dome dividing waters from waters Her death digests waters: her death digests my waters (my waters simultaneous all at once divided waters from waters)
Death digestion irradiated enzymes in I thought you’d stay
Death diode betrayal betrays
Death delivers gospel
Sometimes the spirit of Judas Iscariot possesses me and reveals to me secrets kiss codex crucifixions
Death delivers gospel and screwdriver gospel seven angel soma seraphs (signs and symptoms of messenger infections)
I don’t know if I told you this, I say, but he takes medication for ADHD. He’s of your kind. Damn, kid, that’s rough, says Asia. Probably why he’s so much his own person though. Outside the box thinker. It’s what happens when you’re brain is constantly bouncing off the walls of your skull, she says. Do you think I’m my own person and an outside the box thinker? I say. Yeah, says Asia. I know that you don’t have ADHD but spending everyday of your life wrestling with your own brain like Jacob wrestles the angel of God, it leads to some nonconformist ideas. Sometimes dealing with my brain feels like dealing with toddlers. It’s like “I love you but could you not?” Meanwhile my brain is laying on the floor screaming, kicking, flailing, or smearing fingernail polish on the walls, she says.
I wanted to do everything at the same time: I do everything at once simultaneous movement of translation and rotation of the plane
I shape: same shapes I shape cones and spheres abstract sculpture Shape same walls you’re brain feels like Jacob wrestling on the box thinker I shape comes if I told you this own person though I shape cones and spheres flat surface death – angelic surfaces – surface seraphs I sculptural abstract with my own person the angel of you
Will die but could you this but could you you’re brain is laying
On the box this could you but could you
I shape cones and spheres flat surface death and death desert dance dance geometric rhythm form sequences / sequence light shadow sequence void mass (He’s of god – it leads to some non-conformist ideas)
I wanted to do everything at the same time
Tag: mourning
Continue Pink And Carve Out Pink
Experiments come to an end somewhere
Experiments come to an end somewhere / where this experiment exceeds somewhere anywhere (somewhere anywhere pink) Explanations escape experimentations exceed demiurge emanations (The door of the desert depends on the desert deep)
Which door. Which door witch door which door with the where of the door: door outlined pink. Pink outlines the door – pink sparks pink stutter light (light strobes door syntax and the syntax comes to an end somewhere). Which door: the pink door and the door among pink dreams. Dreams anywhere somewhere.
The dome of the desert depends on the desert deep / pink door of the desert depends on desert starlight mothlight The dome of the desert drives deep tree rivers: tree among the five trees of paradise
Experimentations excrete gold and silver her alchemy Explanations excrete purple gold and pink diamonds and Christina cuts open the belly of experiments
//
Continue pink and carve out pink: continue pink dome and pink door and pink death
I tell myself: she will die: I shudder Her death dusk in us Her death different deep different dances and I no longer rely on linear elements nor rely on a movement towards and away the climax (experimentations come to an end somewhere / experimentations come to an end somewhere)
I stole this text from Roland Barthes’ Mourning Diary; I mourned Christina then. Pink shrouded Christina and Christina vanished in pink. I tell myself: she will die. We will all die, even this Ben Adam (And this fire is lit all up and down my spine but you waver and say “we all live so we all die.”). She will die. I will die too. I feel certain Christian will die before me and the pink will take her and she will descend to the pink desert and pass through the pink door. The She is also me: Christina within me and Kindred inseparable from me. I continue to live in her / my presence-absence.
I tell myself: her death dactyl death detritus death dome dividing waters from waters Her death digests Her death dawn digestion Her death dawn digestion irradiated waters
Her death restless detritus
Her death pink dome dividing pink waters from pink waters
Her death digests Messy Book and Book soft radiation
I tell myself: continue pink and carve out pink Continue her death toward pink door disintegrates typical movements (this She within me digests perpetual pink radiation)
//
Experiments never end but revive in pink laser beams and strange satellite gods Explanations excrete gold and silver (her alchemy – my alchemy) Her alchemy activates active happenings / her alchemy happens (her alchemy gins hell as hell and hell) Hell hosts anti-meridian and post-meridian body horror
Experiments never but explanations come to an end somewhere
Dead End No Outlet
I read or misread a slight crack in the gas line I read or misread they had fallen asleep and were inhaling smoke
I misread my body (bodies brushwork juicy and brusque) Bodies brushwork chariotwork bold pigment wheel word Bodies ben fill in the shaped fuzzy edges (I misread body – my body – dead end dead end dead end. I read my body – my body brash and rushed brushwork – misread dead end dead end dead end. Body not outlet outlet no outlet lake body dead end. I sink my car into the lake and it’s not a lake but an ocean. Ocean fucks with fire no outlet. No outlet dead end no outlet bodies bunch / bundle / tied-up branches) I read or misread my body patchwork work quilt silt body archive (no outlet no outlet dead end)
//
Sometimes I see strange. I see strange not quite dissociation but similar to the desert (desert no outlet dead end). Forever, I see the desert perpetual desert desert no clip desert extended into desert – and I never sleep. I see strange same Taylor Swift’s Cruel Summer. I miss Christina and this summer I miss Christina (The barbarians drive us to the sea, the sea drives us to the barbarians; between these two means of death, we are either killed or drowned). Either killed or drowned no outlet no outlet no exit dead end let the dead bury the dead.
I never die but write dime novels explaining perpetual desert and desert desert perpetuo moto (desert pizzicato pipe piccolo tobacco) suicide but I write to survive. I write to survive John Coltrane’s My Favorite Things. I write to survive revival revival text revival merry-go-round. I never die although I like death (I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the boys said to her, Sibyl, what do you want? She answered, I want to die.). I do not die and I never die but I grieve grief and outer space grief and grief spiral galaxy / cosmic ladder star lattices (I hate my body I hate the desert I’m going hard myself when will I be going home). I do not die and I never die. Only Christina dies – only the Kindred dies. Dead end dead end no outlet no exit dead end.
//
I read and misread a slight crack in the gas line I read and misread and I author my eating into my own death I eat my death idolatry I eat my death done black and bone black desert icons (I read my body razor diamond this is a dead end this is a desert. I never escape desert and I eat desert no outlet bloodlet no outlet I misread my body basketcase body desert misreading.) I eat my death black plague ben bubonic plague: no outlet only plague plague plus plague desert plaster I misread my body exposed bone or bone beat certain blues and certain blue bathers
I misread my body desert desert disease and dense diseased bone / bone barters bone (Bone blues bone then black paintings)
I misread my exposed bone as oracles and prophecies I misread an exposed bone tumor body as Book and Bible
I eat serpent scripture but the serpent interior devours my body woman word and logos she lights the lights. I eat my own death and I invent impossible icons (indirect icons archons net armor but paranoids not paranoids but the death of the author). I misread death of the author and my own death in detail eats my authorship. I eat my death reading and misreading and writing and rewriting. Perpetual desert extends desert death of the of the author. Death of the author reveals no limit and no outlet dead end death of the author dead end.
There Is No Movement Without Rhythm, Part 2
I move body nightmare word night Night plays word movement multidirectional and night moves both directions at once (night rhyme rhizome sound palindromes) I move body night nero near zero / night moves cliff weight torches
Move body night aware word nightmares / night rhymes signs above as below Night signs wordplay absurd rapture assholes fart nuclear fusion (I would like to see all nuclear bombs on earth turned into sculptures Turn trunk ter truck track lack human hooks Hook bodies night word wordplay / fold oar card board language Coagulated cardboard sucks slack night language)
My movement makes rhythm and the rhythm roams idioglossia and heteroglossia. My movement creates hotter rhythm and magma language. I move with the colors and pigments splash my body painted rock performance / petrified forest performance. I move small orange monochromes. Rhythm notices in the large store window, a single blue monochrome, with a number of similar monochromes visible on the galley walls behind it. Each monochrome – blue, orange, yellow, red – transforms my bodied shadow with radioactive shielding.
My movement makes rhythm and the percussion (including timpani) must be placed directly next to the piano, behind the piano
//
I move building rhythm and architecture rhythm, and the concrete rumbles kindred bodies
Christina conceals Children of Men (What’s the difference between this line in the Book and this line in a poem? How to make the line more poem-like or less Book-like to disintegrate my style and habits--)
Christina crow lawnmower kiss cabinet Christina chemistry or Christina time crystals (Christina liquid crystal display chemical Christina chemical warfare Christina Christina kills Christina kills concrete compact Christina kill kill switch dead man’s hand (Christina chops off my hand with a cottonmouth clever) A claustrophobic cleaver chops close quarter combat pandemic clusters
Grape cluster Christina gores and god god with genocides Grape cluster Christina balrog balloon gall bladder mad matter
(All these lines are bad. Let’s try writing a compact haiku with Christina’s name)
Christina Christina
A Christina Christina
Christina Christina
(Then tin ten pin ben bowling)
Compact Christina
Candle Christina concrete
Contact Christina
(Does this mean anything? A Christina musical or Christina architecture)
Contact Christina
Castle Christina concrete
Compact Christina
(The order is disorder. This appears to be a chess game)
The poem is I miss Christina filling the page like Nabokov’s Lolita or Jack Torrence in Kubrick’s The Shining. I miss Christina and I don’t think she’s coming back. No Christina no chess game, no turn.
Christina burner
Chymistry Christina
(Chymistry Christina cocktail / Christina lethal injection Ben hinnom bunsen burner or acid shower injection)
Something about the parallels of Christina and Christianity abandoning me (Christina Eloi Eloi lema sabachthani. And when they came to a place called Golgotha – which means, place of a skull – offered wine to drink, mixed with gall, but when he tasted it and would not drink it. And when crucifixion divided clothes by casting lots)
I move building rhythm and architecture rhythm. Rhythm crucifies compact Christina and concrete Christina. Christina shakes concrete walls move riverstone rhythm (The deadly rhythm of the production line)
//
There is no movement without rhythm There is no movement without rhythm riverrun rhythm Riverrun rhythm riverrun Riverrun both directions at once Asia Rhizome There is no movement without rhythm
There Is No Movement Without Rhythm
There is no movement without rhythm
There is no movement without rhythm (Rhythm Rose rhythm slow rose rhythm chopped and screwed Row rouse rose rhythm slowed and throwed / Records played underwater or on an old cassette deck that’s running out of batteries and needs its tape heads cleaned Rose rhythm sort serpents sidewind rhythm Rhythm shock shellac movement sea Slink machine rhythm rhyming bodies / bodies rhythm raw rinse minced onion bodies Rhythm) There is no movement without rhythm
There is no movement without rhythm and I sketch turntable space. I sketch turntable rhythm and I scratch into subterranean tunes rose tinnitus. I sketch direct-drive corridor space harrier hurry these are the breaks. Book breaks open and reveals the gospel rhythm in body. This gospel grows rose bone nude steel and steel strips naked carbon rainbow. I bend bone gospel carbon crossbow piles (bolted into bone). I bend bone gospel long bow body musk ox muskets. I grind gospel gunpowder flash explosions. Flashes light on-and-off rhythm (rhythm rose rhythm chopped and rhythm grows roses slowed and throwed). Flashes backspin gunpowder turntables and turntables torch lights and lights. Turntables torch scorched earth and Book extends scorched earth fires within. Flashes form field rhythms rhythm fires within fires future funk or other samples (I sample earth soil secretes rhythm to extend the Book). There is no movement without rhythm.
//
Movement remembers body rhythm almost nowhere but moves now here
Christina nowhere and now here presents a ghostly parousia. Christina nowhere crowds the letters. I remember Christina. I remember Christina and I knew Christina in her body that moves rhythm / rhythm remembers he body in movement. I know Christina Schrödinger’s cat alive and dead / Copenhagen interpretation both directions at once. I listen to "Malibu” by Hole because Christina loves that song (hey hey you know what to do oh baby drive away to Malibu). Christina dreams of slutty grunge fashion: I drink Christina nowhere. Asia says I should write other works besides the Book: independent works and works complete in themselves. Asia challenges me to extend myself and write full narratives and short stories and poems not related to the Book. I decide to try and write a Christina poem – I do not remember when I wrote my last Christina poem but it’s at least been several years. I draft a Christina poem with the idea of expressing my grief over her absence:
(There is no movement without rhythm Movement remembers body rhythm almost nowhere but gestures Christina now here)
Christina concrete concrete Christina children of men
Christina concrete alchemy catabolism car crash brutalist catalytic converter
(I’m trying to figure out lines / directions. Asia sends me a video on TikTok and the video states: “Creativity challenges perfection because creativity is experimental and disruptive… Go create imperfectly. It is important to make a mess of things, it’s so important to fail your way forward… You need to do things imperfectly…” Get out of my comfort zone, as Asia says. Make some ugly and self-contained.)
Should I even use the name Christina here? Some other name? Are names necessary? Are words necessary?
Phoebe Bridgers: “I hate you for what you did and I miss you like a little kid.” I hate Christina for leaving but I also miss her like a little kid.
Christina in grass Christina in glass Christina in gas giants / God Christina crucifixion Perhaps a Christina haiku or sonnet or sestina (Elizabeth Bishop’s One Art: -- even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shant have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (write it!) disaster). I have not mastered the art of losing Christina. Christina grass a glass gone june gone. I discard this page mess – No I love mess like Busby Berkeley Dreams.
Movement remembers the mess of my body and I experiment into the mess / restless mad mess Christina
//
There is no movement without rhythm Word play weak rhythm / word play strong rhyme sines sound palindrome
Exploring I’m Thinking Of Ending Things
Content warning: suicidal ideation
It’s not filler it’s exploration It’s not repetition but the refrain displaced by time made strange
It’s not filler it’s exploration (The soft variety of soft playing that a single presentation invites Soft risk Soft risk kick quiet rhizome The next step is no sound) It’s not filler, it’s exploration / next no sound slow now slow silence Take a piece of paper and give it a sound
//
It’s not filler it’s exploration I explore mourning Christina although someday this mourning will end and perhaps soon door door soon
(I’m thinking of ending things). Once this thought arrives, it stays. It sticks, it lingers, it dominates. There’s not much I can do about that, trust me… Does Christina think about ending things – her life, our friendship, the Kindred… I think about ending my life. I think about life without Christina – certainly a lesser life than with Christina. I think and I overthink: I think about not ending things and I think about endings things and overthink. I overthink the oracles and the burdens: oracles and the burden of the valley of vision, oracle and burden of dumah, the oracle of everything desert (all desert an intensity of the body without organs). I overthink my organs. Desert corners my organs over: overture sand intensities. I’m thinking of endings things: an end to theses on history and an end to spectres of Marx. It sticks, it stays, I went to school and I was very nervous. It sticks stick insects impale my eyes on sticks strict bedrest. I overthink strict bridal chambers executions and suicides (bridal chamber stripped by her bachelors bare). I’m thinking of ending things.
I’m thinking of endings things and I never end. There is no end but addition. Where there is an end, there is no end but addition: additional deserts, addition bodies bodice bondage book beguiled. No end sends winds and there’s a balm in gilead. There is a balm in gilead grand guinol. There is no end to it, the voiceless wailing. I’m thinking of ending things. End enters text entrails or snail trails on titanium. I tune the titanium to army ant antennae.
In the beginning is my end. In the beginning is my end and my beginning is my end. I’m thinking of ending things. Once this thought arrives, it stays. It sticks steady-state universe her unction. Universe arrives jigsaw pieces. I piece together a perpetual motion machine. I piece together a perpetual universe perpendicular to perpetual universe.
I’m thinking of ending things. I think the theater of the absurd or the living theater. Theater thinks too, passion and mystery play. I end in mystery and I begin in mystery: it sticks, it lingers long light cadillac and ten-gallon hat. Hat lingers lavender gasoline and gasoline guzzles link to the past party pasta. Hostile hat attacks and decapitates. (I’m thinking of ending things. Once this thought arrives, it stays. It sticks, it lingers, it dominates. There’s not much I can do about it, trust me. It doesn’t go away. It’s there whether I like it or not. It’s there when I eat, when I go to bed. It’s there when I sleep. It’s always there when I wake up. It’s always there, always.) I’m thinking of ending things: suicides – side eye suicides – sharpened scorpion suicides – strange loop star sardine suicides – there ain’t no cure for the summer time blues. I’m thinking of ending things thread field fires right said fred I’m too sexy.
It’s not filler it’s exploration and I explore in my beginning is my end I explore never ending but adding as the way up and the way down draw and gesture the same direction
//
It’s not filer it’s exploration – it’s not repetition but refrain displaced by time made strange
I work most material mallard sound mustard seed stray maximum Mustard seed seed of seth sawtooth wave weapon: weapon whip material magic squared stochastic matrices
It’s not filler it’s exploration and I fill the materials with experiments. I fill experiment doubled with experiment: sound waterfalls. Sound material slips quiet sound and sound stranges longer sound, and I mixed the sound with waters. I work the material and material always surprises me: materials construct ambushes and scrollwork guerrilla warfare. I fill the materials and I take a piece of paper and give it sound.
Music emerges immersion bath material / bath ben adam drone material madrigal little black dress (Insect swarms stream lean sound languages light firefly fusion Nonlinear fusion flows flinging icon and fragment with word woman bewitched languages)
I work material exploration and insects scream material assemblages (rose thorn thorax threatened additional thorny material)
It’s not repetition but refrain displaced by time made strange
Bright Stones Scratch Towards Death
Content Warning: Discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation
Bright stones pass bright white the light bringers I bring light bone bright bleach bleach screech book white screech book bank river bank
Bright stones pass bright white the light: bright stones search white the light: bright stones search spontaneous light Stones pass subterranean light spontaneous addition stones add stones pass light (she lights the lights bright stones)
I drop my body as a stone. I drop my body stones and the stones open eyes. My eyes eject jet fumes and insect fumigation. Eye fumigates stone insects and the stones clash folk punk cassette loops. Stones loop no wave funk James Chance and the Contortionists. Stones strike stones contorted cassette tapes and I jam contrabassoon bodies.
I drop my body stone tape and tape melts into magnetic magma: from magma emerges Tetractyls Tetragrammaton
Bright stones pass bright white the light bringers I bring bright I bring bright bright light illumination I bring light minimal bright light height Light brings buzzing stones (bright stones search spontaneous light subtraction-addition Bright stones stick light laugh lamb search light)
(I drop my body stone and bright stones search spontaneous light. Bright stones stick to my body spontaneous radiation.)
//
The light bringers buzz my body mourning morning mourning
I look at the mourning language and its languages something between. I mourn between winnow lines and lure lines longer mourning (I will mourn Christina for the rest of my life). I look at Christina void and Christina looks volume visions. Void Christian mourns at void vaudeville and I live absurd light. Christina a cartoon or comic strip strips desert erotic dancing.
I feel myself shorter fragments: sections spilling into sections cellar door mourning (I fear the fragment but fragments crowd the coastline of my skull) I mourn moss fragments dead mall / dead mall fragments mixed multitudes Dead mall repeats dead mall wake minimal mass minimal mourn mathematics mass spring fragment mathematics I mix mourning with music, mathematics, and mythologies (this repeating math of Kindred, of Christina Christianity messes)
I look at the ocean void mourning. I look at the ocean void grief intense grieving (my grief becomes an excuse to explore grief and experiment grief: my grief becomes an opportunity for transformation). My grief feels like a deprivation of material and I need to use what little material I have and explore at its possibilities and use everything. I use my material to creative exhaustion can impossible exhaustion.
(I watch a YouTube video from Jazz In American, and it features performances and interviews from the band Snarky Puppy. Band leader and bassist Michael League states he wants to use as little material as possible to create and immersive compositions.)
I grieve and the light bringers buzz my body mourning morning transforming mourning
//
Bright stones pass bright white light bringers
Bright stone stick light lamb of god who takes away the sins of the world Stories search searchlight streetlight switchboard stethoscope (I listen to the stones and they beat stone tape arrhythmia) Streetlights scorch streetscapes scrape stitch board bog bodies (I switch from body to body bog blow bog)
Stone streetscrapes a streetcar named desire (Well they’re going to the country, they’re gonna retire, they’re taking a street car named desire Looking at the window at the pecan pie lots of things they’d like they would never buy)
Bright stones pass bright white light bringers / jazz messengers
I bring birds. I bring stone birds and birds fly minimal material. Bird minimal material hold stones and glycogen bodies. I bring bird bodies and their wings embody Books. I bring birds embedded in the bone of the Book and white stones light the background. Birds drop stones on my skull.
Bright stones bring bird lights bamboo stone Stone burn light bamboo body bagatelle tor tetragrammaton / tor taryn tunic stone steppe
I scrape the past sleek the language last scroll / I scrape scroll lull light palimpsest I scrape page park stone submersible book bull subterranean (Store burns screwdriver subdivisions – subdivisions sacrifice desert hyenas – I fist fight sporadic stone fire)
//
Bright stones scratch desert towards death: from death, stone light
I study suicides. I miss Christina and I study suicides, not because I will die but closer to what Nietzsche wrote: The thought of suicide has proved a comfort for many to survive the night (a terrible paraphrase – Ben, look at the actual quote) (The thought of suicide is a great consolation by means of it one gets successfully through many a bad night). I study suicides in geometric configurations and I miss Christina. I study I miss Christina in different geometric arrangements and I wake room for all my suicides. I study my suicides in different geometries and different gods. I open my guts grainy photographs (In the beginning of photography I used to make very grainy things. I’d be fascinated by what the grain did because it would make a kind of tapestry of all these little dots… But when I’d been working for awhile with all these dots, I suddenly wanted to see the real differences between things… I began to get terribly hyped on clarity…). I dot the pages of the Book with the grain gods: barely and wheat and corn commingles in dotted leaves or sheaves. I dot the pages of the Book with rolls of my grainy body in bulwark death / bullhorn death. Dots arrange death in the desert, death details detailing Kindred death always an ending. I dot direct suicide an an incessant suicide brat summer.
Bright stones scratch desert polka dot death and bending dot death
I photograph ben bodies book geometries: I photograph assorted suicides I miss Christina I miss Christina dot canvas disintegration / disintegrations pulverize pointillism death voyeurs (grainy visions sneak peeping tom thomasine gospels)
(I go up and down a lot. Maybe I’ve been like that. Partly what happens through I’d get filled with energy and joy and I begin a lot of things and think about what I want to do and get all breathless with excitement and then quite suddenly either through tiredness or a disappointment or something more mysterious the energy vanishes, leaving me harassed, swamped, distraught, frightened by the very things I thought I was so eager for!)
I work and write endlessly towards death – my own death – several suicides last supper suicides (She wrote the words “Last Supper” in her diary and placed her appointment book on the stairs leading up to the bathroom) I work and write towards my many deaths, each chord in a slowly rotating circle (rotating circles circular rosaries / I pray rosary bead for every suicide, summa circles of hell)
Bright stones scratch desert desert towards death many deaths (October 29 How strange: her voice which I knew so well and which is said to be the very texture…) My writing fails to capture any of this fragmentary grief gulf no… I must give myself permission to record this nonsense and absurdity, the voice textures touching idioglossia… None of this makes sense – this is not how I’d write the Kindred movie and in the movie we would have survived…
Bright stones scratch nonsense and death idioglossia glosses and glisses in the desert
//
Bright stones pass bright white light bringers I scrape the past future language language last lull light palimpsest I scrape stone palimpsest pulse stones submersible I scrape stone fires and I superimpose fire on other light I superimpose sporadic stone fire on fiery palimpsest I translate fire to fire and forest to forest: my stone body
Bright stones bring my body blood in blood gather blue stones bring body blood gather stone blood water dug roses
Bright stones pass bright light light bringers Light brings stone scratched in the fiery desert
I Have Cut The Cut
I have cut bamboo: I have cut book bone steel bar
I have cut the cut and the cut first begins the cut. I cut the cut that which is in locomotion must arrive at a half-way stage before it arrives at the goal. The first begins the cut and if everything that exists has a place, place too will have a place, and so on ad infinitum.
I have cut bamboo and the Moon Woman cuts the circle
I have cut bamboo and ben bodies grow grass apocalypses Ben bodies book apocalypses incisor cut inside cut (Book and Body always begin the cut of the cut) I cut bamboo ben bodies culture jam Jam in C Cut culture jam Jam in C bodies in circulation (bodies improvise circuits and circulations)
Ben bodies book apocalypse Ben bodies culture jam hacked jet packs (jet packs clash into megayachts hacked Yahweh)
Bodies hack jet packs and my eyes eject fumes and insect frustration My mouth foams fragments – this fragment body and this fragment animal grass gulf salt (They hired men with scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knees, bound him above the waist, and served him most barbarously) My bodies insert itself into the cut jackhammer jetpacks (my face hacks my face secondary to the cut and I cut my flesh mercilessly)
I have cut bamboo: I have cut book bone steel bar I cut cant canvas language carnal coffin cask bone I cut cant cane cane can car cross bamboo bamboo bicycle black iron prison (I lean my bamboo body against the body chain itself a bamboo wall. My bamboo body stands on the bamboo floor and I stare at the bamboo sky.)
I cut cant cane secret language cars private language. I construct a private language that contaminates the public language through ciphers and secret sigils. I cut to and through language sigil stiletto and cipher dagger (to the dagger of the language maps into and onto the dagger of the desert). I construct the cut close to my body and my language, and language liquefies into lake cut and clean cut.
(He doesn’t bother with transitions. While he and his musicians create every sudden textural shift themselves, without technological assistance, his guides are the splice, the jump cut, the video edit – not to mention the jack-in-the-box and its more its more sinister relatives in fun house and horror movies. In his music, coherence is barely more than propinquity; one sound or style simply doesn’t predict the next.)
//
The splice the jump cut the video edit
Asia, I love you unconditionally and you unconditionally love me. We are pando best friends. We create and prophesy together. (Art is human, Ben, says Asia. You have to embrace it. There’s going to be ugly bits. You can’t separate from the messiness of being human.)
I jump cut to the ugly bits: I splice into the Book (body Book bamboo Book hijack hacked Book) the messianic of human and human one.
I struggle with my mess and human. I wrestle with love: sometimes love with others but most often for myself. I love the things I do: I create, I write, I prophesy, but if I do not do, I have difficulty loving myself. I only love myself in my doing and not in being. Valuing what I do in exclusion in my existence and living cannot be sustained nor it healthy. I work to love both my doing and being, both myself in present as well as past and future. I learn to embrace my mess and total human.
I copy one of my favorite Christina emails, dated 04/05/20__ (Almost 21 years ago), a response to an email I wrote called “idealism, replaced by necessity.”
When contemplating these things I realize you understand more than I give you credit for. I think in my mind I like to see things in my own light, a selfish light where I am in the center of the universe (or at least P____), and I have to be on top of things and I have to be the one who knows everything. I’m not the center of anything, even of you – you have things in the right perspective. I think we’ve both used the idea of idealism, the idealism we’ve created for ourselves. But you’ve outgrown it. I’ve outgrown it too, and you’re right. It’s a good thing. But I didn’t realize it about you until now. Ben, you’re not dependent on me, and it hurts a little because of my ego which feeds on the most obscure things, but when I look at it with a pure mind, I realize this is much better – that us separate makes us better together. I really love you, Ben. You’re my best friend. I’m glad we’ve come to this point, and I’m glad because when I read your email I was completely assured that we’ll be best friends forever. Because we have to be. We have to help each other because I am not the strong one – we are both weak, and we are both stronger together. So you’re right again, we have to help each other and I have to work on not being the center of things, which is a good thing. I’m glad you’re my friend and I hope I make you happy too…
Christina feels like the center of my universe and I orbit around her absence. I orbit her black hole no light escapes and her absence mimics god’s absences. Jack Kerouac said: Accept loss forever. Accept loss of Kindred forever. Christina’s proclamations of being best friends forever reek of dramatic irony and intense melancholy. However she wrote truth because I am now stronger apart. I continue to live without her and probably will continue doing so…
Roland Barthes wrote in his October 30 entry of Mourning Diary: … that this death fails to destroy me altogether means that I want to live wildly, madly, and that therefore the fear of my own death is always there, not distanced by a single inch…
And in the October 29 note: a stupefying, though not distressing notion – that she had not been “everything” for me. If she had, I wouldn’t had written my work…
I continue to work without Christina. I write wildly and I prophesy madly and Christina keeps cool always-already death towards death. I work without Christina and I prophesy without god and without Christina. I prophesy without god and without Christina wildly and madly.
You can’t separate art from the messiness of being human, says Asia.
I don’t bother with transitions – the splice the jump cut, the video edit With transition more and shift musicians in both: his horror jumps prophesy wildly and madly
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I have cut bamboo: I have cut book bone steel bar
I cut into the cut: cut parking lot latch hatch hat body black bark Cut black bark body blade oxbow Cut bow birch bark charcoal charcoal clockwork random walk rhizome (I mourn a mourning desiring-machine meander / occult oxbow ore origami I mourn origami syntax syntax stabs ostinato I mourn Christina oxbow ground bass bunker or battalion) I cut into the cut black blade oxbow
I have cut bamboo. I cut and I cut my body cadaver. I cut cadaver and my body cantilever, and I hang bodies horizontal. I cut horizontal and horizon. I have cut bamboo and its grass grows bright stones. Bright stones themselves cut my body into horizontal slices and stone cuts stone.
Every sudden textures shift the next with transitions (transition transforms transition transformations) While he and its more simply doesn’t predict the next
I have cut bamboo: I have cut book bone steel bar
The Very River Among Rivers
Content Warning: brief mentions of suicide
Among river, the very river among rivers
Among river, the very river among rivers Asia Among rivers river rivers nomad maps: her rivers nomad map rhizomes Asia Among River river rivers rhizomes and nomads / in the river north of the future, found footage and found flesh
I dream among rivers. I dream among rivers and with rivers, and the rivers add to rivers. Rivers accumulate rivers, and the coalesced river flows in the waters of her name. I dream according to the river and rivers sway me awake the lullaby of the river. Rivers sway among dreams and visions, and the water visions reveal Christina. Christina crystallizes clean crystalline rivers of ice and she preserves Kindred in stained glass and icons. I don’t regret the Kindred and I don’t regret the difficulty and pain of the Kindred because the Kindred made me into a better person. I survive without the Kindred because of the Kindred. I persist with and beyond Kindred, the icy river of her names…
Among river, the very river among rivers Asia Among Rivers river in the rivers north of the future: future found footage and found flesh (I find flesh in rivers and I find my flesh in rivers. Flesh flows in rivers lost and found and rivers scoop dreaming landscape into fleshy waters.) Future rivers find flesh found footage: found sound picture fasteners fast room ruins Room fast ruin runner rampage bodies: ramp bodies squid ink inclined plane river future River future flesh puncture play runner texas is the reason
Among river, the very river among rivers
Among river, the very river among rivers (The dream that became a nightmare. His was a premonition of doom… The Last Wave)
Among river, the very river rivers rivers (In the north the cloud-flower blossoms – and now the lighting flashes – and now the thunder clashes – and now the rain comes down)
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Among rivers, I recall the river Christina (Everything is quiet since you’re not around and I live in the numbers now in the background…) Among rivers, I recall Christina quiet and I sleep quiet. I do not sleep quiet but I sleep quick queer snow without Christina. I clash rivers quiet alchemical quicksilver quilts and I quilt salts effigies of Christina. Among the rivers river rivers life is short. Life is short – we must hurry. Christina we must hurry and I pursue with rivers between rivers. I hurry towards the river death which is my own death and I die before Christina dies. I desire not to experience Christina’s death – it is enough to experience the rivers of her absences. Life is short – we must hurry. I hurry towards rivers and time and the river: untimely death among waters timeless death. Christina’s absence amplifies the timeless river of death. (I select the silent language suicide I select sous vide suicide suicide soup sound specific soup boiling person to person I select suicide psalm alm ark almonds / suicide said installation stallion stalk rock). I select timeless rivers among rivers never absent.
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Among river, the very river among rivers Asia Among Rivers reveals rivers and light rivers rivers of light (OK, reasons to survive, says Asia. Create stuff Eat good food Continue to build friendships Hear corny jokes Tell corny jokes Read poetry Look at art See cool bugs.)
Asia among Rivers reveals additional rivers and future (Hear bugs corny to to build reasons friendships) Asia reveals reveals future rivers (look cool at art food survive create continue create continue and create continue read see jokes)
Among future rivers, see cool bugs (Hercules beetles can reach 6.7 inches in length and have a distinct horn on their heads – although only male beetles have this feature) See cool bugs (The Australian Walking Stick is a large insect that can reach seven inches in length) See cool bugs (Male Creatonotos gangis have four large, grey-colored coremata behind them, which can exceed the length of the abdomen when inflated)
Among rivers, the very river among rivers Asia Among rivers nomad future rivers: river runner room unrest river rivers runs unrest riptide rhizome (Suicide said installation stalk rock rhizome Suicide shock rock pickpocket rivers pour futures) (I pickpocket river lockets and rocket towards a word witchcraft. Rivers stretch future into haxan suicides.)
Among rivers, the very river among rivers and time and the river reveals future rivers Rive ruin future rain brutalist body ben adam (I originate from the river Adam and from the river Eva and Eden. Paradise is a womb and the river out of Eden the umbilical cord. The umbilical cord divides into four channels, two arteries stretched for the breaths and two to convey the blood, and the umbilical Eden river carries the region to blood and with blood overlapping circles. The circles of blood nourish male and female, and I originate Adam from Edenic androgyny. I originate from the gates of Eden. I originate in Eva Anemone, Asia Among Rivers circulating Adam and Ben Adam). River flows future rain ben adam open
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Among rivers, the river rivers very hurry, hurry and hurry (The plans I make still have you in them because you come swimming into view and I’m hanging on your words like I always 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). Among rivers, rivers hurry Christina umbilical and Christina primordial. Christina resides in the background ben hinnom. Christina blankets background golgotha and gethsemane. I always feel Christina in the background and when the future river rivers among my death many timeless rivers, she will still be in the background.
Among rivers, the very river among rivers (OK, reasons to survive: hear corny jokes Tell corny jokes) (How do you get down from an elephant? You don’t – you get down from a goose. I love that with all my heart, says Christina. I thought you might appreciate it. Very much so! she says.) Jokes tell corny jokes tell corny jokes tell corny jokes see cool bugs (What insect is best at budgeting? An account-ant. What do you call an indecisive bee? May-bee.)
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I always feel Christina in the background and when river among rivers river umbilical future death, she will still be in the background (Low-background steel, also known as pre-war steel, is any steel produced prior to the detonation of the first nuclear bombs in the 1940s and 1950s. Typically sourced from ships – either as part of regular scrapping or shipwrecks – and other steel artifacts of this era, it is often used for modern particle detectors because modern steel is contaminated with traces of nuclear fallout) I imagine Christina as a shipwreck or I dream Christina in the background as low-background steel. She detects desert drift / she detects ben radiation drag
Among rivers, the very river among rivers
Something Valuable In These Notes
Who knows? Something valuable in these notes?
I steal this line from Roland Barthes’ Mourning Diary. I do not know what I mourn – I don’t know what I mourn for and for what I know but who knows something valuable in these notes. Something valuable and I do not know but now I mourn. I mourn something or another and an other some valuable notes. I note line and line sampledelia and plunderphonics. I mourn something or this thing thin tent mourn.
Who knows something valuable in these notes I know and I know desert death I know desert death decades dew differ dance death: deciduous death drastic detail detail Who knows some detail and these notes detail din detector delete I differ difference demand desert
Something valuable in these notes and I detail notes. I detail notes and notes differ difference. The notes demand desert an undifferentiated desert difference and the desert differs a desert detour. I sample something valuable available in these notes and the desert plunders. I steal this desert from Roland Barthes.
I drink the notes of the desert I differ: I deter detour detail and I drink the dome of the desert
I drink dome deer detail dusk diamond Diamond drinks dome deer she embraces me She bartends strong drink and I drink the dipping desert I drink and I know desert disaster (the disaster of this writing, this dismal eclipse)
Play around with words related to your feelings and see what happens, says Asia. OK, I will do that, I say. I asked Christina this same question and she gave me a very different approach but I can combine the two. What did Christina suggest? She showed me emotion wheels and explore my emotions that way. Like figure out what I’m comfortable expressing versus uncomfortable and identify it. We got onto the conversation about what was a time I feel very loved. I said, When Asia told me FUCK YOU. Christina thought that was very funny. [Asia laughs]. I didn’t expect that to stick with you like that when I said it, she says. You said it twice on two different occasions, I say. The second time you said it partly as a reference to the first time. I think it stuck because it showed me even when you were at your angriest you still unconditionally care for me, I say. That’s fair, says Asia.
Who knows? Something valuable in these notes.
Dismal the desert diverges double and doubled darkness of desert (Christina I grieve you only desert Christina I write you imaginary letters: an alphabet only for you and this alphabet inscribes desert only desert This alphabet inscribes desert double desert and I grieve the desert only for you)
Something valuable in these notes (A god grimoire grinds human bodies to daemon Christina and moloch Christina I pass through the arms of Christina a desert only for you) (I find moloch mosaics and murals of the feast Christian churches dedicated to Christina) Who knows something valuable in these notes: the reclaiming corpse of Christina Who knows: I do not know her happenings or whereabouts but I record in these notes I don’t always know what note values or survives archaeology but I record activity: I record active and archive I perform as I record something valuable in these notes
Who knows something valuable in these notes: a mourning language A mourning language: languages mourning
I mourn. I mourn between the meander and I listen to Bell Witch’s Mirror Reaper (Drying the water Anchor me in ice Mirror of the reaper The mirror of my eyes). I mourn. I mourn a mobile language and language meanders mourning. I mourn aimlessly: an aimless arrow or an antioch arrow.
(Jesus, says Asia. I say “I actually have personal autonomy and choose to stay” and you take that and think “I should force her to leave.” Fuck you and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, says Asia. OK, I say. You clearly pointed out the absurdity in my thinking and the insulting hurtfulness of my thinking. I can’t ask forgiveness from you but if you’re here tomorrow I will be here to talk to you tomorrow too, I say. I already said I forgive you, says Asia. And I’m allowed to say that and say fuck you, says Asia.)
(I’m going to write “fuck you” on a postcard and send it, says Asia. That made me laugh out loud, for real, I say. Do you really mean “fuck you”? That’s OK if you do. At the moment, yes, says Asia. Could you help me understand why you feel so frustrated? I say. I feel I have acknowledged that you are right about this, I say. Because even though you acknowledge that I’m right, you said that you will always doubt me. Like we’re going to be stuck in some kind of limbo, she says. By doubt, I mean I am going to question you and ask for clarifications and ask for many affirmations, I say. But I think I would still need that even if you did say you unconditionally loved me. I admit if you were open to saying you unconditionally loved me, I would still probably ask an affirmation about it frequently, I say. OK, that makes me feel better, says Asia. I guess I thought you meant “I’ll never believe you.” No, I actually feel you love me often, I say. You do show me love for staying with my struggles and struggling with me, even though you say fuck you… When you said I’m going to send you a postcard that says fuck you on it, I thought you were alluding to the fact the last time you said fuck you, I told you I felt very loved by what you demonstrated, I say. I was alluding to it while also expressing frustration, says Asia. Life isn’t binary. I can say “fuck you” and still care about you tomorrow when I’m not upset anymore but it’s not generally recommended to do that, says Asia.)
Who knows? Something valuable in these notes.
I obsess with notes and language. I hyperfixate on language including the fuck you in writing and on postcards. I obsess with Asia’s fuck you and I hyperfixate on her unfixed language and languages. These two conversations with Asia happened within a month or so of each other and I adore these languages: I recognize them as a turning point for our friendship. I recognize Asia loves me even when I anger her and frustrate her, and that our friendship will survive our trials and conflicts. At the time, we decided to use the specific terminology of “unconditionally care for” rather than “unconditionally love” because Asia was afraid I could misinterpret “love” as something other than platonic; I appreciate the trust in our friendship has grown to the extent that we now interchangeably use “unconditionally care” and “unconditionally love”. Who knows – something valuable in these notes. I note our languages and we hyperfixate on a looser language and a more loving and anarchic language.
Who knows, something valuable in these notes.
Vision and Mysticism 