Museum blurs pulse blue hue broken hum Museum blurs her pulse perfect blue hell hue / bard and beats clash cover photographs Scum museum snow north american scum scalloped intravenous Intravenous vision intestines Intestines interior bell hell Bell hop drive up hell handsome skeleton samples Sample handsome horses Insect intestines vision intestines: innards sermons to the dead Sermons to the dead dare bare (They don't stay dead! NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD they keep coming back in a bloodthirsty lust for human flesh! Pits the dead against the living in a struggle for survival)
I write to survive I write to survive any dead any dead dust or lust / grappled light light sampled rhythm
I write to survive fresnel lens in forest sward / short sword write sorcery Not a shortened language but a more compact language buries share dead
I’ve been listening to a lot of emo music and I feel sad because I’m old as fuck but I have all these teenage feelings, I say. It’s embarrassing. Teenage feelings are just feelings! says C. [I send Christina lyrics to the song Why Can’t I Be Snowing by Camping In Alaska] I listen to that song a lot, I say. Isn’t that embarrassing? Whoa. Damn. No, it’s good, says C. It captures a lot. I’m listening to a lot of emo lately and I feel like a kid and not a grown up and I feel fucked absolutely, I say. Feelings are hard, says C, and we didn’t have anyone to guide us when we were young. Give yourself a break. Some people never face this shit even, says C. I don’t know why I feel this desperation or this feeling of fuck this fuck everything, I say. It's just emotions, says C. It's human. It will wax and wane, she says.
My paintings do not have a center but depend on the same interest throughout I do not write center I do not write center but I displace center decentered Center decohered everywhere I write the same interest throughout the sprawl of varying intensities Center uncentered intensities flows circuits (I WAS A LOVE SLAVE by the girl whose confession smashes the Los Angeles vice mark) vice mark gospel of mark This is the gospel of Jesus Christ Son of God Mark punk mosh pit or wind monsoon (I was just like brainstorming, says C. I prefer to call them mind monsoons, I say… I prefer to call them trepanning tempests, I say. Dum dum dumpers? Says C. Maybe I don't understand this game. Is dum dum dumper what you call your butt? I say. Well, your head is a butt, says C. Because you’re a butthead.)
Forest sard, unleveled, orchis and orchis singly
Forest as human phrase figure Forest human figure phrase film I phrase flesh rhythm rhythm sample forest soil I fold forest flesh flesh sward short sword: slate shard sleet, the swan sim of slapstick I swashbuckle slapstick, the frequent forest fluid exhaling black bear bagatelles Black bear ball gowns gelatin skeleton hominy hominy harmony Hominy harmonium harmolodics Harmolodic trilobite fossils / forest swarth cambrian explosion
Forest swarth locust swarm swarm left-handed cicadas
Forest swarth sweats sap soft human surfaces Soft friction sinfonia Soft flesh: my flesh forest Forest ben skin circuit bent peeled to the bone on my right side Forest scab scarab ben bodies (he died alone in the field one summer morning six weeks later, a sunflower grew out of his head)
Forest fjord phyrgian languages: forest flesh phyrgian Flesh physique physics fight forest
My paintings do not have a center but depend on the same amount of interest throughout
A relation to the steppe and garden / desert and oasis
I write the mystical bridal chamber – the brothel – the chamber pot I read too much Bataille Bataille instills redistills a given scatological holy ghost glossolalia
Steppe and garden stuck muck body margins
Steppe garden alligator stair up ruins Up pillar pluck park bodies beat parakeet Up awl pillar shot put shotgun garden steppe
Steppe shaped ghost stair shutter: camera shutter candle sand hand sum steppe Steppe seeps trash heap ben bodies / body ben hinnom
I steep the steppe in my skin, articulation of tubers by fragmentation / ben bodies pushed out into the steppes of nomads I nomad naked the recapitulation of her name
I feel stuck on the steppe steppe without flow Steppe no inflow no outflow my body forces forest (ben bodies deconstruction / deforestation)
Forest feed flesh flood flow Forest ever every all earth body (earth uniformly directed towards the south: forests irregularly interrupted by sun) Ben bodies montane grasslands and shrublands large land bodies
Ben hinnom hell hum forest swarth locust swarm charm left-handed cicadas Handed hinnom hummus cicadas Lateral cackle cicadas dada dune drum orchid (I slide towards this valley)
Great white shark sorcerer / dwarf lantern shark shaman
I experiment and I feel foolish but the fool feelers forests I let the forest female trio and trio cartoon experiments I experiment failure and fail the writing ritual writing Writing wrecks round raw over failures: failure cups cusp placed back out the rhizome (my axon and the dendrite twist around each other like birdweed around brambles, with synapses at each of the thorns My thorns turn tar taste my thorns My thorns twin tar taste my thorns / arrows slopes room) (Arrows slow slopes room rhizome)
Each line a new mind (focus) (mind monsoon) Each line a new mind (now I am ready now I am ready now I am ready to receive the new mind the new mind)
Each line a new mind rather than divisions determines by breaks of sound, syntax
What this line what this experiment
What this line what experiment: new mind different mind New museum: this museum melt my mess body wholly hell healing Sometimes experimental heal
Great white shark sorcerer / dwarf lanternshark shaman I share shark shaped canvas
I transform I change I change the writing I transform Taryn do you see my transformation Asia Rhizome do you see my transformations Rather than divisions determined by breaks of sound or syntax Summed sounds: solar anus Sounds sequences solar anus my anus is bleeding
I accidentally got my husband quoting the song “Jesus Freak” and now I want to fully expose him to early 2000s Christian music, says Asia. We were playing Lobotomy Corp – it’s a game where you have SCP anomaly / monsters that you manage in order to extract energy out of them without killing people. And there was this floating skull dude with a cross behind him, people confess their sins to him and we kept referring to him as a Jesus Freak, then I started singing it and it was all downhill from there, says Asia.
Incident Accident aleatoric Accident Immediate Immediate landscape dwarf lanternshark I intimate an immediacy: experiment as egg or irregular ovum Writing fucks: I rewrite rope I burn books dreaming Dress dream undressed death Death death Death death sorcery
I copy again parts from Sol Lewitt’s letter to Eva Hesse: Learn to say “Fuck You” to the world once in awhile… Stop it and just DO … Do more. More nonsensical, more crazy, more machines, more breasts, penises, cunts, whatever – make them abound with nonsense… Don't worry about cool, make your own uncool. Make your own world. If you fear, make it work for you – draw and paint your fear and anxiety.. You must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, empty. Then you will be able to do DO… try to do some BAD work – the worst you can think of and see what happens but mainly relax and let everything go to hell – you are not responsible for the world – you are only responsible for your work – so DO IT
I do it and I am doing it I write and I am writing it I write a mess mascara mollusk malarkey Molecule gastronomy new combine stations of the cross (The crow arises and steals the dreams from my eyes I kneel down and kiss ground Stations of a new cross) I cross myself in a catholic way / I cross myself in a byzantine way I avoid the question mark and the rhetorical question / I hug and kiss the question mark and the rhetorical question (what is this women surround me stone circles timber circle cave mouth what mouth wild mouse desiring-machines)
My paintings do not have a center but depend on the same amount of interest throughout
I prefer sticks, trowels, knives, and dripping fluid paint or heavy impasto with sand, broken glass, or foreign material added
Material: Materiality Brick or babel material Running brook book book rhizome rivulets Stick steppe vampire steak or stalk wheat stalk women threshing floor forest (regeneration, reproductions, returns, hydras, and medusas do not get us any further)
I regenerate as return experiment and I reproduce the tree I medusa unity or the one-two and not rhizomic multiplicity (a map and not a tracking) (I reduce map to tracing I project the trace as image and I worship it as icon)
I doubt I’ll ever write truly rhizomic but I doubt anyone can Multiplicity and rhizome realize – revenant – reinscribe – anarchy and flat ontologies I attempt a creative anticipation of realized and rhizomic anarchy I admit finally I adhere to some form of anarchism – if nothing else then at least a creative anarchism I anticipate a kingdom – an hauntological christian eschaton kingdom – a kingdom within you kingdom here nonhierarchical – the flat flutter and flatter – the very kingdom of gods and kingdom of heavens completely made kenotic: empty, poured out absolutely, this material material kingdom Kingdom matter element atom stuffs Fields fucked other earth body flat macrocosm compresses identical to microcosm I write anarchic kenosis and anarchic crucifixions (this Christianity haunts my ben bodies eternal but I hammer the ghosts flat)
Tag: sollewitt
Write Badly
I feel paralyzed by my writing process: I stumble over and behind the writing, but less and less often into and onto the writing Part of the paralysis: I have so much raw material and too much raw material and so much to write So much write: I want to write everything and I do write everything but how much more everything I need to write! I feel overwhelmed and I feel finally the crashing simultaneity of all these myths and narratives here now crash me Car crash smash burgers bloated barfire decay Book decays juggler disaster atom bomb fuck FUCK I find some success in expression – the sort of inspired spontaneous expression I search for other – in freer writing and brainstorming in my open notebooks My brain blocks up my brain cuban missile crisis blockade writing this “main” notebook, but the divisions between notebooks exists only as something imaginary in my head I tell myself over and over again: cease being precious with any page or any notebook or even any medium and just WRITE and CREATE WRITE and CREATE even without the critique of Asia in the moment if you have to – let her critique it after and you can learn accordingly but in the moment CREATE Splatter this shit everywhere and everywhen and figure out what the fuck it means later
I recall the letter Sol Lewitt wrote to Eva Hesse: “Do more. More nonsensical, more crazy, more machines, more breasts, penises, cunts, whatever – make them abound with nonsense…” I think one reason his letter still resonates: the advice is practical and anyone can do the advice Anyone can DO something – anything – including nonsense, pornography, bad shit I make a lot of bad shit and I have to stop connecting it with my overall ability as a writer and worth as a person – Asia unconditionally loves and cares for me even if I’m a bad writer She of course doesn’t think I write badly – she even thinks I write good, but also knows I can write better Write badly But remember: churning out shit is an essential part of that process Turmoil, doubt, and frustration are part of that process Don’t let stop you from making and writing keep making and writing even if it’s bad and make the bad transparent and part of the process
I write naked ugly I write naked ugly my body grotesque carnival and I learn to accept the absurd nonsense of my flesh I accept and produce my nonsense cock and absurd asshole I go back to the room and write
The question of: How does this line relate to any other line and how does any stanza relate to any other stanza (I have given into calling them stanzas rather than paragraphs) and how does any page relate to any other page It relates through rhizome refrain, rhizomic repetition, rhizomic rupture (There is a rupture in the rhizome whenever sedimentary lines explode into a light of flight, but the lien of flight is part of the rhizome) Rhizome refrain rhizome repetition rhizome rupture rupture rhizome
Ten-in-One Taryn tenebroso / my extracted cranium cooks part of the candlelight tradition Ten-in-One stun gun bull run blind bastard other my other body in sections intense tents Ten-in-One punctures my blood-brain barrier a permeable pigment that fucks my intercranial pressure
One orbits anything Ten-in-One orbits anything I am the Alpha and Omega Orbit ten-in-one alpha and omega ordinary language philosophy Ten-in-One terra bella haunted horses / my childhood hauntology hauntology hauntologies my brain hugged by hyssop
I feel I fail the writing I rewrite the rupture and rapture I rewrite rewrite rhizome rewrite: I write redder river transparent Transparent blood transparent bone I write bone blade drill bore bone / Play! Fill it up with sound! Write rhizome bone home both directions at once Both directions at once bone burr bare bone I go back to the room and write
Write more flexible fluxus open flux fluxus Write transparent blood transparent bone I transpose the bone open then orbit microtonal Play! Fill it up with sound! Sound bone bone sonar Sound bone decoheres desynchronized / bone separating into sound lamina I look for bigger bone sound: larger bone sound larger book sound she lights the lights She lights the lights ten-in-one tabernacle
She lights the lights ten-in-one bound sound tabernacle Tabernacle sounds solar bone bent bone saw redux and redaction
She lights the lights ten-in-one bone tenor saxophone and I blow multiphonic flesh flows time fears no window I blow multiphonic flesh bowed bone cranium arrow She lights the lights tenor saxophone curl chest tubes conveyor belt into bone
Ten-in-One tents torture garden bodies bodies forked flesh garden of forking paths I fling my body ten-in-one alpha and omega tenor saxophone / tenor ten tent bells and prophecies
Ten-in-One tent Ten-in-One tabernacle Tabernacle shining blank scars burn way down ben bodies burn straight bone blank verse vine vine vertigo Bodies burn ben book blasphemy / blue blastoise barbed bomb large bathers My eyes inset insert burning barbed wire Barbed wire whistle while you work walkman the whip and the body Ben bodies burn whip and the body Whip and the body I feel eye conscious of the cymbals I soak crash cymbals holy spirit a scotch / strychnine bourbon
I stretch tent and I stretch time My body times my body times the performance is actually a continuous melody / medley, containing themes from Truth Is Marching In, Holy Ghost, Infinite Spirit, Bells, Our Prayer, Ghosts…) Body times my body ghost time and spirit time
Ten-in-One tabernacle shines blank scars burn way down Down my body detuned down Ben body drop tuning star of county down Blank scars bore stand stir additional bone Scars burn down detuned bone bare shoulder taryn star aquatint
(Write nonlinear nonsense I write her name nonlinear nonsense summa theologica monstrosities Monstrous vibrations adamantium momentum nonsense Write nonlinear optics ten-in-one cadaver oil ouroboros Cabaret bone book battering ram rascal) (Battering ram – not a phrase I feel fond for because my rain defaults to BATTERING RAM for alliterative verse purposes Fuck battering rams but then I find a different language: a raw unrobed ram that seizes tare as rhizome rabid scripture tricksters) (Trickster through silver in bloody / DMX flesh of my flesh blood of my blood)
Here the secret words which Jesus the Living spoke, and which Didymus Judas Thomas wrote down
I Write This Mess
I write this mess and I don’t have any idea its direction and directions, and I feel the texts as torture / four horses attached to my limbs four different directions Read the Book in its entirety also forms a kind of torture, a terrific hanatarash tarantism that traffics my mirrored monomania / my monorail monomania monotreme taryn monotheme (Dancing mania on a pilgrimage to the church at Sint-Jans-Molenbeek, a 1642 engraving by Hendrick Houdins after a 1564 drawing by Pieter Bruegel the Elder) I fail spectacularly and I write spectacular failures The Book eats my failures; it consumes my pretentiousness, my self-indulgence, my narcissism, my bipolar disorder and self-diagnosed borderline personality disorder: Book doesn’t distinguish between my good writing and bad writing, between scripture and low-budget b-movie exploitation emesis – it loves all, eats all, digests all Book only needs MATERIAL and TEXT If I must write in fragments and aphorisms, then I write fragments and aphorisms If I must write in endless paragraphs no spaces no punctuation then I will write endless paragraphs no spaces no punctuation If I have to write in small insignificant failures and spectacular super nova failures, I write that too – what matters is writing the writing and creating the creating (Sol Lewitt in his famous letter to Eva Hesse can be summed up in the line: JUST STOP AND DO… He also writes: Try to do some BAD work – the worst you can think of and see what happens but mainly relax and let everything go to hell – you are not responsible for the world – you are only responsible for your work – so DO IT) I write bad work – everything self-aware, self-indulgent, pretentious metapostmodernist dead pool fourth wall nothing whatever – I do it – I laugh and think this bad work will be Asia’s favorite of hers because I finally write in explicit first-person, vulnerable, egotistical – she wants me to have a stronger ego and eliminate my self-doubts and preserving delusion Stop, says Asia. Stop calling yourself worthless. You aren’t a false prophet and your friends aren’t lying to you, she says. Cropped curling bop lines, tri-tone heavy bop harmony, fast and spiky bop rhythm: benjamin bebop and rocksteady spikes spark stimulants, and my rhythm rests not sabbath but the apron apple orchard of messianic ages: Christ courting Sabbatai Sevi and their messianic drama and dissonance drive the Immanent Now into the Mysterious-Mystical-Transcendent (Paraclete Parousia AMIRAH’s second coming or Jacob Frank’s daughter Eva manifesting as the Shekinah or Mary Mother of God / feminine fog feminine I write in the parody of writing the present: impossible present in the play of parousia and paraclete I write in the parody of writing fully-present Yahweh, Yahweh impossibly experienced as the complete impact of the apophatic: apocalypse annihilation, radical negation of Yahweh but the Human Christ remains The Parades of the Messiah and Kingdom: present presence always-already here-and-coming Derrida writes my vision venir, the To come, of course contaminated by the present apophatic presence (present already future already present Venir volumes vision, spacious space and space enspacing / Khora K2 and Khora Korakoram) I have access to more notes but the logic of my playing still plunders jumbled jazz, still chaos coral chaos chymistry I have access to more notes, more texts, but I still concern myself with noncontinuity (or other kinds of continuity: chaotic continuity, nonlinear continuity, dynamic continuity) I concentrate on continuous camel bone concentric circles because continuity – connectivity – cohesiveness – comprehensibility – continues my weakness and in my weakness, the resting weakness of Yahweh I continue noncontinuous the cicumfession of the cross I cut carnival car crash many crayons the cross colors cool blue circles / desert seemingly discontinuous dreaming truly discontinuous no continuum but the crosscut risk in cross I had a dream that my family in Louisiana wouldn’t let me leave until I worshipped god, says Rainey. Which god? Their god, the Christian god. I was hoping the dream didn’t specify – then you could pick your own god, I say. You were in two layers of my dream last night. I had a dream with you in it, and then I had a false awakening and I told the second Asia I had a dream about her. I write in the Book Yahweh participates in the same processes I participate in Something contaminates Yahweh or renders Yahweh incomplete, and that unknowable or mysterious something contaminates me and crops me incomplete too By prophesying and writing not only do I perpetually move myself towards perfection, I move Yahweh towards perfection too We both lack the divine feminine – not a new idea, not entirely In mystical Judaism, the Shekinah or feminine aspect of Yahweh is in exile with Israel By performing the commandments with the correct intention one helps unite the Shekinah back to the Godhead and make it whole again The very act of creation fractures the Godhead… Anyways I create my own God, my own Yahweh – or a version of Yahweh I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s… I will not reason and compare: my business to create (Los utters these words in William Blake’s Jerusalem The Emanation of the Giant Albion... One of Blake’s strangest objects to Orthodox Christianity: it encouraged the suppression of natural desires and discourages earthly joy… In the Vision of the Last Judgment, Blake writes: Men are admitted to Heaven not because they have curbed and governed their passions or have no passions, but because they have cultivated their understandings… The treasures of Heaven are not negations of passion but realities of intellect from which all the passions emanate uncurbed in their eternal glory…) My business is to create / the very act of Creation fractures the Godhead and I immediately eiffel iron isolated in the desert I immediately or impulsively inspect the desert and John the Dipper / Jack the Ripper prophesies: I lay the axe at the root of the trees; every tree that does not bear fruit I cut down and throw into the fire I immediately enter the desert and the spirit immediately drives me into the desert, and I remain there forty days tempted by Yahweh I remain forty days and I mimic Jesus Christ envisioned or manifested in Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ and I draw the diamond circle of sand detuned dune desert I’m not going to leave this circle, says Jesus, until you speak to me… No signs, no pain, just speak to me in human words… Whatever path you want, I’ll take… Love or the axe, or anything else… Now if you want me to stay here and die, I’ll do that too, but you have to tell me, says Christ in the desert and Christ of the desert..
Creation Is Cruxifixion
Creation is Crucifixion, the Chrism Christ Bridal Chamber, and chamber boils choil coil the serpent blade Chamber channels chisels cobbled Christ or Christ in apple pie lattices and Earth’s crust crystallizes garden black cave deposits or red dust field disaster Chamber colonies birth and rebirth Chamber hogties hive and hive hovers breadth of God Spirit of God tehom Taryn Elohim I continually trace when in the beginning, and when in the beginning no beginning and perhaps God too experiences the eternal return I inscribe in the spiral of the Book an external return, and in beginning (the beginning which repeats beginning or does not begin in this impossible moment) births and rebirths When the Concealed of all Concealed verged on being revealed, it produced at first a single point, which descended to become thought The thought at throat triples Taryn and I think Taryn at the torso I hacksaw torso Axeman of New Orleans and the jazz conceals or cools the concealment superconductor and sorcerer Concealment collects or quarters torso, and the Concealed of all Concealed trembles Taryn-in-Thought The Revealed reavers birth and rebirth, and the image of rebirth improvises bebop hardbop freebop The single point bends blues leadsheets or fakebook, and the point expands chord extensions / concealment altered autoerotica A single point swings funk soul torso and her torso twists the tongue god glossolalia between Concealed and Revealed The Concealed is the Revealed / The Ascent is the Descent The Concealed is the Revealed and the raw revealed registers god gore groundshed There is rebirth and the image of rebirth, and by means of this image that one must be reborn, and rebirth reveals Rebirth reveals the subterranean rabbit and rabbit runs row rocks through black paintings and nigredo Nigredo nuits unveiling and the veil vines at the vertex of vision Veil volumes vortex, whirlwind woman vision and vision syncopates between concealed and revealed Vision swings spontaneous a reborn variation and rebirth improvises ink aisle ardor the beginning of the book (of course, Book has no beginning) Rebirth reveals apocalypse and apocalypse acts actual the animal and I animal apostle I animal apostle the attack accent Ancient of Ancients and the Absolute Alice grammars archaic as archaic bodies and I dig for Australopithecus / Lucy illuminates and Lucy interlaces incarnation with Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds Rebirth and image enters imitative polyphony and the prophetic speaks from the interiors of the interiors to the exterior of the exteriors, and from the exterior of the exterior to the interior of the interiors Image ionic tonic incises Taryn, the Thought to Torso or bare tits, and her body conceals reveals rebirth, the mix of prophecy and pornography Image improvises free jazz initiation and music mezzos interior chamber television channel Television Taryn transmit hentai tentacles, and the octopus oils holy holy holy The ouroboros omens holy holy holy and the serpent surrounds throne seraph fie and flame sideways I listen to Olivier Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time and music michaels apocalypse archangels Music michaels apocalypse archangels, archegrammar god genesis Genesis gowns or garments its Elohim blouse blonde apocalypse and Son of Man mixes Gehenna Gologotha Gethsemane Quartet for the End of Time tales tails tehom my Son of Man lions Abyss Abyss alone above and below begins and beginning banishes beginning the blanket of birds Between three and four in the morning, the awakening of birds: a solo blackbird or nightingale improvises, surrounded by a shimmer of sound, by a halo of trills lost very high in the trees… The birds between above and below fly abyss bythos logos the body Benjamin The birds lark or lurk liminal and blackbirds fly Tower Taryn Threshold I transgress the boundary of threshold and reside mystery mercury eschaton I transgress threshold the circle in blackbirds, an arbor harbor mating language Fuck the writing bores or the writing empties me and I say nothing and live nothing / structures from silence FUCK The writing fucks me and disposes me in writing I read Sol Lewitt’s letter to Eva Hesse: Learn to say “Fuck You” to the world every once in awhile, he writes Perhaps for me, I should learn to say “fuck you” to God or Elohim or Yahweh every once in awhile Or perhaps more importantly, say “fuck you” to the Book every once in awhile I immerse myself in art, whether the Quartet for the End of Time or Eva Hesse’s sculptures and strange textures Or perhaps the art too can bird Book blue as the bible or Nag Hammadi Library or the Books of Jeu, and gnosis infiltrates my nostrils (this is the book of the gnostic of the invisible God, by means of the hidden mysteries) Art is mystery and Book baffles me Nevertheless, I make love to the Book and I fuck Yahweh Between three and four in the morning, the awakening of birds, and birds ballerina abyss My bird boyfriend bathes in blue holy ghost broadband and we kiss bluebonnets My boyfriends birds above and below, lines of flight tracing rays in flesh, and my skin scrapes solar son of man I battle birds or this Book kills me The Book kills me horn gore innards intestines and birds consume my guts I write shit I don’t take any risks I fear being UGLY or BAD and I can’t undergo transformation or metamorphosis / He not busy being born is busy dying The Book or God concocts the concorde Benjamin Body dying and Death dramamines determinant I need more art and I will write art and about art, the art sustains me as Holy Ghost ECMO The Art-As-Writing sustains me as Witches’ Sabbath or the Great He-Goat and Christ as Horned Animal constructs his cock a coven around me The plaster was overlaid with thick carbon black before the paint was applied in hues of white lead, prussian blue, vermilion of mercury, powder glass, orpiment, and iron oxides / I paint and I paint and I paint and its nothing but print language I paint carbon black and black basils a barrier barre chords I open the Bible black blood and carbon Christ / Messiah paints patterns in the Void Abyss I open the Book black battering ram on bone against bone, horns of the Goat God Ghost and Ghosts masturbate mustard seed ghost seed and seed blackened carbon Book burrows under Flesh, digging tunnels in dermis, and the paint poisons Son of Man mixed media Book bites into bone, text attack tangent to skull, and skull splits Saturn devouring his son
I Draw Clean-Clear But Crazy Machines
I draw clean-clear but crazy machines – larger and bolder real nonsense Do more, Sol Lewitt writes, more nonsensical, more crazy, more machine, more breasts, more penises, cunts, whatever – make them abound with nonsense / Christina says, you should bring condoms and try to bang the performers – I bet they get sick of being on the boat with the same people all the time! she says Pay for soup built a fort set that on fire / fire fumago free improvisation Fire frontispiece the music is a continual free improvisation with only a few brief predetermined sections I improvise immunoglobulins or interplanetary, the body business astrology I improvise immunoglobulins interplanetary, the body business brief dissonant fanfares for the horns I improvise interludes between solos and the interlude infrastructure liffies glaciers glass stained windows You must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, empty… Then you will be able to DO! I do double quartet, the regular group in the left channel and the second quartet in the right channel Then I will be able to do two quartets play simultaneously with the two rhythm sections providing a dense rhythmic foundation over which the wind players either solo or provide freeform commentaries that often turn into full-scale collective improvisation interspersed with predetermined composed passages The passages compose wild mixture sundial sunflowers and Charlie Parker rips over the rhythm changes / hey rhythm hey rhythm new york new wave no wave woman You are not responsible for the world you are only responsible for your work so DO it I work I work rope writing writing religion writing reaction writing radiation writing roadside I work word robotics and revolver revolution number nine The past is contemporaneous: the past and present do not denote two successive moments but two elements which co-exist I play past pinball benjamin bumpers in a small ghost town and there’s a little arcade where poltergeists play twin video games Video vores specters: specters of marx specters of woman Video vampires television ectoplasm and I improvise icon image igor-in-imagination The body pile timpanis tympanic membrane, mucous mundic marilyn The future belongs to ghosts / the future belongs to apophatic bodies Christ’s resurrected body do not touch me but broil this fish The future is so bright I’ve got to wear shades / the mushroom cloud coalesces cloud cargo, clouds of unforgetting and clouds of unknowing Art is Adonai: Art is Adonia Army at Pentecost or Azusa Street Revival Art anoints me crypt catacomb Christ code and cryptography / KING FELIX I tune textiles, latex, and fiberglass, the frame of Taryn’s body bodice corset chaos / chaos can be structured as non-chaos Non-chaos can be structured as chaos and chaos criminal Christ extrudes canvas from his bloody body Chaos canon Christina courts consonance dissonance dance The future is about repetition, emergence of the repressed, re-activation of the dead, virtualization / I repeat the steady ride of the real I repeat the dynamic delirium of the real real ghosts real phantoms real gods I tired to destroy my first-movement sonata form, to disintegrate slow movement form by the use of the trope, and the repetitive scherzo form by the use of variation form, and finally, in the fourth movement, to demolish fugal and canonic form… Perhaps I’m using too many negative terms, but the Second Sonata does have this explosive, disintegrating and dispersive character, and in spite of its own very restricting form the destruction of all these classical moulds was quite deliberate… I admit I revel in a kind of non-form (everything connects to everything everything follows everything) I experiment or experience non-form and anti-form Although I dislike Pierre Boulez’s Second Piano Sonata, I respect its intention and motivation, a kind of destructive decompression of the Hammerklavier / a certain texture of intervals My grammar rhythms a transposed or translated serialism, a manipulation of rhythmic cells via augmentation, diminution and interpolation My grammar gunslinger and grapefruit gingersnaps fluxus aeon flux a flow in frenzy No theme but a theme constant-non-constant continuous-discontinuity, the Eucharist at enantiodromia desert drone / a three-dimensional space where all the related forms are equidistant from an imaginary center No theme but an athematic woman athematic Yahweh athematic Book being perpetually written and rewritten / slow pulseless passages interrupted by wild flurries of notes The principal of variation and constant renewal will guide use remorsely My vision is variation on the same athematic discontinuity, my apophatic body iron Christ-Christina My Vision blocks frame-by-frame the voluptuous flesh Christ-Christina: cross body crossroads body crosscounter body boxing ballad ballistic Constant renewal always ragtimes repetition / its rejection of thematic writing, its number of different modes of attack Theme tonics tunics Taryn tapestry, a woven woman a weaver woman a woman Mahler’s Third Symphony The Second Sonata is in three or four parts, perpetually reintegrating the proportions of a few basic motifs I know my writing as counterpoint and sometimes the counterpoint tangles tango traffic My writing clusters comma coil counterpoint My writing clusters car crashes crosspterygians the coelocanth corpse as the FISH SIGN and I sign a sigil face of Christ I interpret reinterpret cells cyclops or gorgons I interpret reinterpret the library a ladder a light lens God motor God back-up generator God harpsichord Her hermeneutics hews letters from Torah or the Second Piano Sonata / notes notebooks numbered proposals I cherish the Book and I worship the Book as I worship the Woman History as it is made by great composers is not a history of construction but of destruction – even while cherishing what is destroyed / I cherish the Book I cherish this Book I cherish all Books I collect and I accumulate: I archive and record The Book collects Book and the Book accumulates book, and I cannot avoid repetition I cannot escape the ghosts and the Book haunts hands Haunted House Haunted Mansion Haunted Castle Perhaps there is a theme: one of collecting and accumulating whatever language I encounter Due to the dismantling, interlocking, and superimposition of the initial motivic material, the identity of that material is obscured / I never obscure the ouroboros but it indeed sidewinds occult Occult dismembers and disintegrates the ouroboros body but it rowans recapitulation, theme thantatos taryn tailed athematic but ouroboros The Flesh forms a fugue a real repetition / writing and difference quotation and language The Body embroiders non-binary binary form and I flow flesh faster I flow flesh as force formants fragments, and my latticework sews sinuous language Luciano Berio’s Sinfonia I fluctuate between working at the confusion or non-working at the confusion, and when not actually at work I nevertheless struggle with the ideas / nevertheless I work despite my struggle with continuity How would you describe the structure of my work? I ask Asia. It doesn’t seem to have a structure. IF you were writing in my style, what would you do to give it structure? Almost every time I read one of your pieces, I get this feeling I’m reading a completely different poem. It’s usually because you introduce some entirely new motif or theme. So I guess I would suggest having at least one recurring theme or motif throughout the piece. Or if you introduce something else, tie it to the last one somehow, says Asia. I feel like that doesn’t help me because I thought that’s what I was doing the whole time! I work despite my struggle with continuity / here is my continuity: the Book-In-Library and the Library-In-Book, the Woman (KRYSXTRYN), the gods Yahweh and Jesus Christ, art of all kinds I work despite my struggle with continuity everything is connected to everything everything follows everything
Vision and Mysticism 