When trying to find some materials related to the word “non-slip” I discover some material on the phone I wrote dated three years ago that was either never used or that I intended to reuse at some point It begins with a quotation from the Gospel of Thomas and I record the passage in its entirety and it its original formatting:
Simon Peter said to him, you are like a just messenger.
I resist the return to religion: Asia abhors dogma. Yet my religion – this Spirit – assaults even the icon of Asia, Asia image and imagination. Yet write religion without boundary: write religion without limitation. Not syncretism or synthesis but the boxing beyond. Beyond Yahweh, to Woman. Beyond Yahweh to Asia Rain. Chop and screw. Cut and sample. Collide and clash text to text, an intertextual intimacy. Scripture seduces scripture. Scripture seduces the salacious slice of the sentence, and sentence seizes me. Sentence strips me bare before Asia, a vulnerable vision, a vulnerable velocity, a valley pink violet.
This can be explained that the plants only emerged as far as the surface of the ground, and there remained until Adam prayed for rain. The rain then fell and all the plants and trees began to grow from the ground. I pray for Asia rain and her plants bloom bountiful Benjamin all around her. The ground germinated all gods and goddesses, the Table Taryn Torah Of Generations, and my soul gives birth to God Benjamin. My soul slips solace the givenness that gives birth God Benjamin, and all I dip in the letter becomes Divine. All I baptize in the Asia Alphabet becomes an Aleph-null, beginning infinity and starting infinite, stratified in the stretch of human skin and human library.
Book buries bodies. Book blisters bodies. Book buoys bodies. The Christ and Christian Body. The Christina and Christ body and I build the brick body and body barrels gnosis. Body betrays gnosis near gnosis and gnosis narrows gnosis a Taryn Thomas. Simon Peter Taryn Thomas Androgynous and she speaks Asia Rain as a spigot and reservoir. She’s likes Asia Axel wheel in wheel four evangelists and four creatures, and Simon Peter merges with Simon Magus. Simon Peter Magus levitates light and lasers and speaks transfiguration tabernacles, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah, mediator and mediatrix between Law and Prophets an Ancient of Ancient Antinomian (a Torah commandment can be fulfilled by breaking it – to eat an almond, one must first crack the shell. I crack the shell of Shekinah. I open openings shell singles shell the signs Asia Rain and we eat anarchy. We eat free dance separate together the sounds and movement united by their mere presence. Texts united by their mere juxtaposition, speaking as a just messenger
… past ben writes coherent the edge book bodies burning … I abandon text...
… past ben circa cave crushes covenant because Asia invades my brain with creative hook worms and car door scratches…
… I abandon text and do else ward … feel district district fuck…
Non-slip nihilism Non-slip slipping my soul slips solace the givenness this is where time becomes space Nonslip clouds smother that say blackness eclipses its sun
… I break glass in your room again… … this container transports a disease which has no cure…
Whoever is near me is near fire and whoever is far from me is far from the kingdom Huntress Diana mixes moon and underworld Cascades Repetition is a form of change Repetition is a form of change Ruined could microaggregation towards most rooftop traces that country retrospect because fruits ruling
… feel district fuck fork fuck continuity…
Simon Peter said to him, you are like a just messenger
I wrestle Simon Peter and he fishes for my spinal cord split body wrestled
Someone contacted me through my Blog Contact page – I’ve never had anyone contact me through this page before The person wrote:
Hello. How do you reach the state? The state in which you write your journals. Was it some spontaneous wake-up? A long road? Some special practice? Thank you.
After some careful consideration, I write the following response:
I’m not entirely sure how to answer this except I developed my writing technique over a long period of time and currently I would describe the main component of it as two fold:
One is discipline
Write daily, post daily, no matter what. What comes is what comes.
Second is just the process of taking time to absorb and learn and be inspired and vision. Read a lot, listen a lot, explore a lot in all manners. Be in dialogue with everything around
I do consider my writing practice as a spiritual practice and ideally a visionary: but I write with discipline daily even if I lack vision
What I do not mention in the response: the amount of vision injected through the process of copying and being open to the copy I copy and I copy and I repeat, and each repetition reveals At times, a tedious process but a necessary process The initial imprint often lacks vision, but open operation and open cut in the copy lets vision leak in Light leaks in and intermingles dark, a supernal darkness
I lack vision I lack vision I lack vision I lack vision Repetition is a form of change … Repetition is a form of change… I copy open and gods swarm secret text I suffer from an increasing barrage of depression and negative self thoughts and I sometimes bore myself but I make writing a discipline because to write is to survive I don’t participate in writing sabbaticals but I write sabbath and Sabbatai Sevi and Saturn Sun Ra After I bloodlet the bullshit, I will copy the passage past ben wrote (… repetition is a form of change…) I go back to the room and experiment exorcisms I exorcise my excrement but not my excess
Tag: writersblock
I Prophesy Without A Center
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)
Conversations About Wrestling With Writing
May I quickly tell you something I wrote in the Book, I say. Sure, says Asia. I wrote tonight, summarized: I am disconnected with myself. I can’t express my emotions plainly in writing. I have to quote and steal and misinterpret to express my feelings. I can’t love myself because its’ empty and disconnected and projects. Damn, that might be one of the rawest things I’ve seen you write, says Asia. It’s even uglier in long form, I say. I try quoting stuff to express my angst and commenting how dumb this all is… That leftist cooks video. One part talks about how it's good to be a mess. Harm and trying to make things right is messy. Society is dumb for wanting things clean and easy and quick forgiveness and restoration. But it's a mess. I feel like a mess to myself, but I realize I am prophesying to myself. You said I prophesy to the lost. I am the lost. I'm prophesying to myself. Yes, exactly right, says Asia. And by doing that you will prophesy to others, she says.
Reading your previous message, says Christina. That sounds like impostor syndrome. We all steal. Nothing is completely new. It’s all remixes. That's may not help you with your feelings but I promise you every creator before and after you has grappled with the same concept, says C. It’s a different thing though when I cannot express my own feelings in writing plainly, without being ironic or occult or mystical about it, I say. Are you afraid of feeling strong emotion or is it something else? says Christina. I think there’s two parts. One is feeling disconnected and out of touch with myself. The second is sincere expression of emotion that feels unliterary and unpoetic to me so it’s difficult for me to express in my usual medium of writing, I say. The good news is the first issue can be addressed immediately, says C. Maybe some more mindful actions during the day? More meditation? And I think the second one is connected. If you aren’t fully connected with yourself, then you’ll be out of practice writing with sincere emotional expression. With more practice, you’ll find ways to incorporate it in a more literary / poetic way. Do you mediate? No, I am unable to meditate. What if it’s guided? Only if it’s guided by your mom. (Christina laughs in response). It’s helpful for me, says C. It teaches me to take a little extra time before freaking out or moving on, she says. My brain broils with brackish bile and bone banjos, I say. It’s very difficult to still it. I will be honest – I don’t plan on working on it. It feels not good. I get the thought I could be creating something instead, I say. Sorry, didn’t want to be pushy about it. It’s just the only thing that works for me. The reason it’s hard for me is because I’ve always hated myself. I never wanted to be alone with myself, says C. You’re fine, I say. I also hate myself and don't want to be alone with myself, I say. GO FUCKING MEDITATE BEN, says C. I MEDITATE IN YOUR MOM'S GRAND CANYON VAGINA, I say.
I write restless naked / nonsense fuck
Low tilted window low quilted window
Attic arctic anvil Attic appetite archaic human Animal opposite window
Clumsy window widow Black widow ben bodies I build ben bodies top-down then ground-up I grapple ground grindcore Fuck ground but give bodies: bountiful bodies bouncing bodies Fuck time I arrange bodies and books out of order and out of time Bodies time of joint grand guinol / graboid gravel orgasm I organize bodies undifferentiated Undifferentiated now noun noise New noun noise nail gun name I discard all names and all texts and begin again I begin again imaginary immediately virtual
Each line a new mind (focus) Each line a new focus (flesh) I find flesh figure and flesh finger severed fine-toothed comb Comb jelly jolly rancher rivets and rhizomes Rhizome ravioli / pasta aporia (I write stupid shit like penne pasta palm tree garden)
Fuck this writing
(FUCK EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS) (Two beers in already feels like it’s one of those nights to forget The more I drink the more I feel broken and alone)
I quote the song Two Beers In by Free Throw because I lack my own languages / I blunder language obliteration Obliterations abomination of abominations avalanche ash I animate ugly ben bodies ben hinnom I animate the groundlings of my guts ugly overwhelming: word oubliette or Marquis De Sade Juliette I erase Marquis De Sade from any book text but Georges Bataille reinscribes it (my face flashes with blood bares red and obscene) An obscene oculus / mirrors gehenna hungry ghost: feral hog hauntology I hesitate hauntings but the ghosts persist Ghosts persist to repel ghosts
Fuck everything about this / the fuck names my own hands distractions Hands hacksaw shark tooth masturbations Bottle nose dolphin desert: bottle cap ejaculation Fuck my own concepts of literariness, obscure language, and the necessity for the poetic and metaphor I embody my musical dissonance and my cognitive dissonance and displace or project my fear of boredom through the imaginary and self-imposed constraints of my writing that only speak to a root experience and not a rhizome experiment Experiment ugly and write ugly
I share and summarize some writing sideshow thoughts with Christina:
I was thinking of the photography of Joel Peter-Witkin, I say. He is known for photographing those with deformities, dwarfism, and transsexuals and intersex, as well as corpses and cadavers, and his transgressive work has been accused of being exploitative by some. I think it’s beautiful but also a troublesome relationship there. Violet really likes his work. She said it’s definitely problematic to try make art on another group when you’re not part of it. She says she exploits herself for her art which is the best kind of art exploitation. It made me think though there’s always an exploitation element between artist and subject. I write you. I have your permission and consent. But I still use you even a little bit. There’s different levels of exploitation but I’m telling your story partly… Anyways I’m going to write about Violet more. She says she would love if I exploit her (her exact words) for my book. But it’s tricky, right? And a struggle. I’m going to get things wrong even if I try not to. But I think the only way to grow is to wrestle with it and learn and come out the other side… I’m thinking of tracing through the crucified body of Christ, the bodies of saints and martyrs, the bodies of beggars, the orphan, the widow, the bodies ignored and left in outer darkness by hierarchy and fundamentalism… A body that reveals our bodies as awe and horror, which is every body. They are also bodies under industrial revolution, under capital and exploited labor: same as all bodies… Not to reduce their bodies to that but to have a partial community with all our bodies, I say. I do appreciate the grapple, says Christina. And you’re running into the problem at its core. Do you have to write only your self? And I think the answer is no, so I think it leaves room for discussion for all other subjects, she says. What do you mean by discussion with other subjects? I say. I mean I don’t think it’s a hard no on writing other people, she says. Like it’s not necessarily exploitation. Maybe not, I say, but one has to be careful not to speak for them. I don’t think I speak for you in the book. Yeah, says C. It’s also not that you have free reign. You do what you’re doing now and if you mess it up, you fix it, she says. It would be funny if I spend all this time writing about wrestling writing about the sideshow and then never actually writing about it. It’s research! says C.
(Editing Note: I did indeed abandon the long-term project of writing about sideshows and those who participated in them, but perhaps I will return to it at a future time)
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
Writer’s Block Gospel Of Mary
I dream the Book I dream the Book cthonic stations of the cross and the rhythm stations stations rhythm Rhythm station: a dynamic drum machine desert mechanicals Desert surgeon general’s warning steampunk Steampunk shipwreck desert dream (this absolute other dreaming Wholly other Yahweh dreaming (I have been struggling recently with intermittent writer's block and writing paralysis, I say to Asia. I have this recurring fear and dread my writing is boring and all failed experiments and then I feel paralyzed to write any more. Lots of people find your writing compelling and intriguing, says Asia. You need to get out of your head. And if I or two people find it boring, so what? Does that mean you failed? No it doesn't, says Asia. I know I need to get out of my own head but how do I do that? Take a notebook or a digital file or your notes app and fill it with compliments about your writing, she says. Lately, I haven’t felt sad so I have been copying lyrics and interviews of sad songs and just commenting how I’m sad. It’s not very poetic. There’s no metaphor. Just like hey, this is my life right now. Dude, don’t linger in that stuff, says Asia. Next time you give yourself a time limit. Be like, I can write this shit for an hour or 30 minutes then I’m moving on to something else. Jesus dude, it’s better to write shit for a bit then to send yourself in a funk, says Asia)
I dream the Book as a doorbell then a door knob then the door itself Door opens door another dream Door opens door her dream (You’re like a doll… You’re alike a doll, in a dream… You’re in a dream) Dream drum machine desert mechanical octopus other Other outer rhythms: rhythm outer darkness Rhythm outer rhythms: rhythm outer darkness Rhythm outer darkness and black iron prison
Now I begin IMMEDIATE Now I begin IMMEDIATE: immediate inside and immediately interior my body other Immediate sinister sister other gospel The gospel according to the other mary: the other gospel according to mary Her mechanical magdala wine dress bare legs desert Bare legs bar legs desert black bear: black bear bebop Grizzly bear tenor saxophone growl / secret holy spirit Severe secret holy spirit IMMEDIATE
IMMEDIATE sinister sonic youth sister / no wave no bullshit woman IMMEDIATE sister IMMEDIATE, sister as a reference to Philip K. Dick’s fraternal twin who died shortly after birth and whole memory haunted Dick his entire life She haunts El Scorcho leather scabbard leviathan Leviathan leopard or leviathan lynx / gospel jaguar of mary And Mary began to speak them these words: I saw the Lord in a vision and I said to him, Lord I saw you today in a vision…
Immediate Vision Immediate Desert than when immediate new gospel When then bebop rhythm her immediate gospel and I see Christina in vision and I say to her, Christina I saw you today in a vision (vision slower vision viscera: slow vision then the body vice pinched in a vacuum)
Vision vav Vision hooks of the column and their bands of silver / vision hooks vav vavim above vavim below…
Vision vav vex gex (the television-obsessed gecko and travels through the medea dimension) Vision vav vex sex solar anus (the two primary motivations of rotation and sexual movement, the expressed combination of locomotive wheels and pistons)
Vision vav videotape volumes / videotape vermilion
Indeterminate vision and aleatoric vision / vision alien aleatoric other letters low slow head of the chariot Crown of thorns head of chariot cannibal chrism / blood anoints and desert dada Desert dada mario kart double dash
Vision vav above and below vav vision the canvases depict plastic figures melted into impossible shapes, and my writing lacks the formal cubist line but created power through word supernatural image word Word weird weapons word
Vision vav she began to speak to them these words: I, she said, I saw the Lord in a vision and I said to him, Lord, I saw you today in a vision
She lights the lights the bridegroom comes to her She lights the light, the tree of life is upside-down She lights the lights the sun She lights the lights the illumination of the bride She lights the lights whose light is sarah
Lights between lights Lights behind lights Lights below lights
Lights between lights loops lights layers Oil paint layers pickpocket pointillism point peak leviathan Leviathan points lights purgatory purgatives public transit Bus stop black plague boils / bus stop black death ditch trilogy
Lights between lights alligator lodestones looser rhythm then folded polyrhythm protein protean disintegration of tonalities (tonality – tonalities – towers) (Mosquito towers bone tomahawk hawk tarantula)
Lights between lights the chromatic outweighs the diatonic, the nonharmonic overshadows the harmonic, the hierarchy becomes so implied as so to become unreal Chromatic stations of the cross / diatonic desert distillation Chromatic cross serpent coil castanets / music for 18 musicians maracas
(Many felt the need to strike out for new soil though as with all historical models, based on older techniques)
Cinder soil serpents and I put enmity between serpent and woman, between serpent seed and woman seed; they bruise the serpent on its head and the serpent bruises on the hell
Soil Snake soil and serpent soil Snake soil secret and serpent soil code / coded codex cipher KING FELIX Soil storm surges a storm-and-warrior deity Soil sail slip surface and slip fault flesh fearsome creatures (the fault plane steeply leftward dipping line where the plane along which the rock layers to the left slip downwards, relative to the layers to the right of the fault)
Soils similar triangle / triangles congruent to the cross Circles congruent to the circus crocus cross (I am a crocus of sharon, a lot of the vales)
Veiled then unveiled vision Veiled then unveiled vision the voiced vav unvoiced Veiled unveiled vision vav val valles vallis VALIS / perhaps a god masquerading as an artificial intelligence or an artificial intelligence inked icons pantokrator Christ Vale development and variations
I depend heavily on variation form / theme and variations developing variations visions I strike out vision cross out the eyes blur all the lines tearing this canvas from the wall I strike serpent stone vision / asleep you set the fire in your own house and the night was a knife that cut
I select texts strike slight hike hit lights and lights hit texts stone texture stiletto / normal fault and drag folds I select texts sense of slip she lights the lights sinister Texts slip select text turns two motions reciprocally transformed, the one into the other, and I turn she lights the lights into serpent soil Serpent stone thunder soil and such soil shares secret Eva and secret Eden (Yahweh God said, Here the human has become like one of us, in knowing good and evil, so now lest we send forth his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat and live throughout ages…!)
Veiled and unveiled vision vav vowels vav and I unvoice vision visions (Unvoice vision visions vav eva and eden Eva slow snake charmer bridal chamber Eva slow snake charmer bridal chamber orchestra ouroboros Eva ouroboros bag of ob she snakes shaman she snakes subterranean
Veiled and unveiled vision the cave The cave canticles of canticles Canticle of canticle unclose cave khora An unclosed secret disclosed the veil then unveiled vision: KING FELIX as simultaneous khora and kenosis
I Wrestle Writing But Rainey Unites The Book
I sit in the picture out outside I sit in the pictures pixels pink out outside camera Occult geography camera obscura Camera obscura ouroboros skeleton key I touch texts pornographic pictures I touch texts nude Taryn photos other terrors Terror lobotomy leviathan terrors Terror lobotomy leviathan Desert drum machine metal gear I taste texts sound plasma and plasma pulses at night stone would glow Stone glows grander grandeur grand mariner metal gear Metal gear speed metal molten drum machine luna moths Moth mother drum machine missile command mechanics
I don’t understand the mechanics or the meanings Meanings migrate midnight movie mortuary meanings Meanings migrate monasteries mottled mausoleums I don’t know any meaning with books or Book and I pretend meaning I do not understand mechanics or meanings but I meander meanings… I stuck fucked up writer naval blockade blaster master meteorite motherfuckers I lack meaning without meaning and although I pursue the personal, it evades vertical volley ferocious I try SOMETHING ELSE and I fail at fringes / fringe science and cargo cult sciences stations of the cross I try eerily erotic the weird and eerie word woman and word wears many masks and many meanings no sleep until brooklyn I feel frustration fires and I cannot process the pure noise impersonal but masks loop words train wobble multitudes / listen to that Duquesne whistle blowing blowing like it’s going to sweep my world away
I stuck fucked writing meaningless movement / gallop movements thrash metal metal gear Metal gear graphomania grafts outsider art and I travel the spaceways from planet to planet motherpuncher pineapple grenade gods weird wild hunt (what unifies all this bullshit) (Unity does not direct or guide the Book but if one requires unity, Asia Rain unifies my bullshit) (All languages and visions converge towards Asia Rain)
You know, I never considered that my criticism of the Book would become part of the Book and shape it in such a big way, says Asia. Yeah? It’s not a bad thing though, is it? No, it’s not. I consider you an important aspect of my creative process, I say. I trust you. I definitely think the Book has gotten stronger through your feedback and even just your presence in it. Yeah, I can see that. Thank you for trusting me to write you. You put a lot of trust in me writing you. I suspect you must feel I write you in a way that’s at least somewhat true to your true self (if a true self can even exist). Yeah, I have a lot more trust than I did in the beginning, says Asia. And I think you do try to write me honestly or accurately. What made you trust me more? Talking to you about it, seeing what you write. Did you think I was going to write terrible things about you? Not exactly – that you would present a romanticized version of me, says Asia.
I write Asia because writing Asia makes the Book better and makes me a better writer Asia makes me a better person
He does not embarrass himself with simplicity for he multiples flowers wherever they can be put I embarrass myself with the maximum MAXIMUM and I machine MAXIMAL desert drum machine quantum mechanics monopoly multiplicities Drum machine matador bone machine (I feel stuck fucked up untrucked tarot ace of wands worm woods other word word wild hunt fire wire) I feel stuck fucked up mastodon dream machine strobe stutter and all I want to write is conversations with Asia I avoid doing so because editing our conversations is one of the least creative writing things I do but I overrate my writing creativity The act of writing exceeds the creativity of the writing, at least in context of my writing processes
I do present a romanticized version of you in a way, I say. The idea of the Divine Feminine and all that. But it’s not the only version of you I write. I write multiple versions of you. I think in exploring my relationship with you – all these different versions – I also explore myself and how I relate to others, including you, I say. I’ve always had this uneasiness and fear about people not seeing me, says Asia. Liking a false version of me instead. You can’t really show a real version of someone though – not really. You can only show a piece of someone, a snapshot, says Asia. Yeah, a moment, I say. This moment in conversing with you. It takes a lot of moments to get to know someone. I guess it’s not a fear of being portrayed that way, but seen that way, says Asia. Being replaced by the face version of me in someone's mind. Like I’m writing an ersatz Asia for myself? Yeah, says Asia.
Boulez detonates traditional forms; Messiaen accepts elementary schemes of repetition and alternation
I accept Asia Rain conversation repetition I accept Asia Rain repetition and our conversations structure the weirder amorphous abyss abyss amphibian revolver ocelot unordered tiger numbers I accept irregular rhythm river forms forest rhizome I sometimes detonate dover demon drum machine mallet quartet Mallet quartet Africa / Brass brass brazen bull billiards (Ellington searching for ways to make his orchestra sound as unique as possible) Unique possible aporia / eighteen ways to begin by the impossible impossible passion for the cross
Accept other openings and reopenings
Affirm others lace others openings and reopenings her cave orchard (and when he was crucified on the Friday, at the sixth hour of the day, darkness came upon the Earth / and my Lord standing in the midst of the cave and enlightening it)
I nurse failure my patient spasms awake and coughs sputum coyote Coyote condenses heavy water at graveyard crossroads / stations of the cross Yahweh sheol Skeletons of the cross Yahweh shakes sheol burgess shale and I collect Christ fossils foraging for entheogen mushrooms
I nurse writing too failure sputters human flesh spindles spinning wheel threaded Taryn through Taryn I nurse new writing now her gods grieve gash glass gallows (they told us our gods would outlive us they told us our dreams would outlive us they told us our gods would outlive us but they lied…)
Conversations with Asia Rain 05/04/2020 10:22 AM
Why do you think you will repeat yourself? says Asia. I have a certain number of themes I work with, I say. God, KRYSXTRYN, and creativity. And I’m afraid that if I’m not continually transforming myself and my work, it will become boring because I work with the same themes. I try to find new ways to express the themes, I say. I think both god and creativity are both topics that are inexhaustible, says Asia. But maybe right now you don’t see god as something that is abundant or creativity, she says.
The Theme (Take 1) The Theme (Take 2) The Theme turtle dreams The Theme her theme turtle dreams
Her theme thunders turtle dreams (hear me in gentleness and discover me in roughness: I am the woman crying out and cast upon the face of the earth) The theme and the form ocean foam formless The Theme (Take One) thundersheet sheets of sound STRIKE shooting star stovetop stuffing / I seer star samples I seer stars samplers stuck stem THEME on the one On the one the theme on the one
Vision and Mysticism 