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I think this will be the last one of this series, it is #31

XXXI.

getoveryourself or you should know when to stop are not the same pieces of advice

but you are not listening to me you are looking at the image of an idiot on the screen

an idiot boy Bolaño says—right in my ear—the image of an idiot boy—and i am overcome by a feeling of wonder at how great it would be it is to be a female art

a female artist a woman first, second—they are not the same pieces of advice—you could—one justifies another—produce the most overtly sexual and sexualised imagery

you would not be guilty of sexuality—and I am fore-betrayed by knowledge, memory, belief one does not justify another duplicitous amongst the victims blending in, before a page of prose looking for even yet the flight of a bird & birdsong, time blurred like the wingbeat of a sacred kingfisher [writes Adam Roberts] and

 

my stomach drops

into shallow pans

tripe-white

of my open hands (even yet Fergus Barrowman, replied, some of the lines are simply bad)

facing a page of prose: sometimes life is shit: one justifies another and I accuse the extinguished theatre I mean professor removed from positon by concerted and personal vendetta—what one feels now the other will. INTIMIDATION seemed right closest to our theme but you should know when to stop

the recoil is lost it is political and so it is born: and once it was a child and knew getoveryourself for not having to be a female artist, of a woman first second—at the same—the integrity of the personal gesture of sexuality now the integrity of the gesture was lost

it would not be reproduced, it would not pay to reproduce and once it was a child, and at the same time it is the memory of things, not as they were, thought to be heading in a certain direction, ends unknown, all of a sudden going in a wholly unexpected direction the integrity of the gesture was lost, and the reduction to ends and desires the image of that idiot boy on a screen I see my memory at two removes extinguished theatre I mean professor and yours but you are not looking

and in no wise would it be true to say these two manners of appearing followed one upon the other but that in somewise I know not were they concurrent also Adam in The Thing Itself the thing itself might as well figure thought in the image of the hypocrite not the idiot

we are so many people in the manner of a lost world given the word or gesture of the appearance of victims and I amongst gathered together who don’t who can’t and who cannot recognise a crime who gather together in their want and in their lack of recognition and who do not ask who answers for it, for once it was a child and knew, but that in the want and lack of their recognition its answer goes unquestioned its question goes unasked

which is their question and i amongst and it is like the memory of smoke in a dream that on waking is the image of a face in sand that on looking you look does not ask anymore

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XXX

XXX.

Do not speak this blessing

itwillenslaveyou

we did not know he penetrated her apart from her expression

blank possibly drugged mystical

and should peace peace is a sheet

a cool white sheet a clean and ironed one

expressionless

soothing easy eyes

good tears dripping in excess is it from their folds

secreting oracles

 

a dribble is a gathering together of images in a droplet

it strings secreting strings threads pearls in its secretion

as involuntary as a symptom

notatallunwilling

the will which hidden will seep out

in the night

in the night emissions

of satellites

 

and should peace peace be upon them

which is a sheet and flicks at their genitals

with the folded rectitude of paper

wet from the pen dripping ink

and albumen every edge it over

tang of egg or orange is it

inkwet in the sicklehairs

 

say it with sex say say it with art of lying

forgive the intrusion the cage was empty

and in my hand a group of opioids

a birdwing flaps drug it and in my hand

on my hand featherlight another

heart beat another open void

it overflows and in my prescription

does it in my script these lines

 

arenotcrossedout

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nearly 30 and over half a year later now #29

XXIX.

bloodspots on the strawberry hem

laughter in the trees

like with like again

I am surrounded in my disbelief

 

by wonderful and inexplicable reasons

a needle is suspended in the air

threads the sky its origins

the fictions of a scientific feeling

 

other than that

the world parts its lips

through the water

trail your fingertips

 

David the sky today

deep azure

and I can find only

my own

original mind

 

Leonora Fini’s voyageurs one sitting one lying in rest leg bent en repos I misread as voyeurs resting or put to rest the painter covers their eyes with a folded cloth they are expressionless androgynous are they at least one is not entitled to say but that the cloths over each are their eyes shut one is not entitled to say lave the brows of each rest

you have earned it voyeurs because you have not come far you have in fact not come from any origin except a certain style, a certain foldedness—as much as the folds bear a kind of sightless witness to in the cloths covering the brow of each voyageur

traveller

blindfolded to vision because not sleeping either sleepless and not entitled to dream what work they have then done the seated one behind the one lying one leg bent behind the other and what might possibly arouse them from well-earned repose to return to it to the fabrication the fictitious fabric sussurating gown of a mistress or a master did I mention their youth medieval or preraphaelite attire at whose behest they what laboured voyaged viewed or gazed on who leaves them who replaces her gown and he his robe, whispering softly through barely parted lips it sweeps the floor behind, in the hallways, in the archways, aisle and cloister, leaving them sanctified by what they have seen, what work it was

now rest

to look what is inexplicable and wonderful to have traversed all feeling, to have found there all good reason and to have there been granted your repose …

 

by what right

state the question

tonight alas the tongue of truth alights upon no tooth”

to have it extracted by a screwdriver

blood spotting the mask and lips

 

by what right spit it out

the paper besmirched and soiled

the bill

 

by what right to say

or cross it out

 

by what in this climate

in this socio-economic says Bolaño

better to live

undercover

poet

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watch a kind of record every week by clicking on this name in lefthand margin or watch this week’s episode No. 26 below continuing

XVI.

Two of these things I cannot live without

live without anticipation

live without the expected or the unexpected

live without a long time left

live without love

live without my heart is broken

live without my home

live without lost time

live without the wit of the old queers

live without wine or Russian vodka

live without affordable tobacco

live without health

live without answer

and without echo

 

I left the streets I walked in the light of emotional lamplight I burrowed into the city it was Christchurch built on alluvial planes riddled with aquifers one day to erupt hiccup flat by bodies in a terrible clarity long coats all the contours pushed into a tiny spectrum corners in the smallest circuit so you turn how can you not know where you are by the river by the square by the curve of air by the mist and smoke in your mouth by the hunger and the thirst

 

I don’t know your name

are you next

can you live without your

insides

 

her red hair freckles long black coat pockets safety-pinned a fingerless glove she reached me out of her heart a long splinter of glass ice her lucid eyes handed me it saying you’ll be wanting this this bottle of gin you are a miracle

 

are you living here now

Sydney is it

every one with a view

of the ocean

 

speaking from notes

without saying a word

are you next reader

without

 

knowing how she could know all dimensions anticipations collapsed hiccup flat a door miracle flung open ahead it was Sydney and the dress rehearsal had gone long into the night I carried my daughter trains buses stopped for the night hills of the city curved in the fired air she slept home a far line distant in the hills along the curved night in the fired air a white door I didn’t know it was a taxi until her I poked my head in in my arms and he said where have you been

 

I’ve been waiting for you

live without reason

in your finitude

you’re here now

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& no. XXIV

XXIV.

on a rough crossing of Lake Baikal

I am inside a water droplet

on the glass of my actual ferry

following in its saltwater course its

odd

distorted horizon

 

on a rough crossing of Lake Baikal

I can’t wait to tell you simpler things

how the wind is gone round to the East

bringing cooler air and

a drop of four degrees

 

on a rough crossing leave by the fast clock

return by the slow

 

crossing suicide notes

why not death threats

 

Piglia writes on Pavese

that the purpose of the diary

is to make suicide

possible

 

that smell of morals and lyrics

when poetry if it exists at all

it is at the oral limit

 

we count the stones on the beach

what nation what beautiful was

every stone

one by one

we count the elements

 

the void

space

time

lekton which is for Emmanuel Levinas

poetry and

on its horizon

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I was wrong now XXII

XXII.

what did you say to her

I was wrong

 

enormous ladies of the morning

reverse the trend of fat young men

 

the ad reads sex for life appears often often appears on a facing page appears to mean sex for life for not against a struggle struggle not effaced sex for life for a life appears not occluded appears to appeal to sex unexpected to mean what do you mean what do you mean to say men an appeal for men an appeal for one for one meaning a sentence sentence of life life sentence an appeal against

for a life

for a sex a sex for a life entirely unexpected for

not against what part do you see for this health this health this health I will not practice inclusivity I will not participate in my own capture

struggle for life affirm without occlusion

 

disjointed disparate in flight effaced

events repeat and

writes Piglia for Renzi

Ricardo Piglia for Emilio Renzi

expand

off into the distance ever ever ever

 

trail your fingers ever in the blue reflected sky

the Bacon dust

 

Blaze on your fingers bring your father

what did you say

he saw you brought

I see my brother

he saw you brought to him

something

off into the distance and now coming forward

says you brought to him

his own

my own

something

dust from the studio

his own

my own

 

swelling anticipation rising from a deep mind place

a space of air

unburied

and a turn a split

I was wrong

I said what we were all expecting

didn’t happen

something

entirely unexpected took

its place

 

sex for life

the old man hits the dog

 

the dog escapes

what does the dust say

when the dog escapes

explain

the existence of ideology

the German ewig ewig ewig doubt

 

he hits the dog

hits him and it’s a bitch is it

hits her

hits her and hits her and hits her

 

the risk in explaining her captivity

the risk in explaining something

intimate the more disgusting the less

fat young men

doubt

 

and when the dog escapes she runs away

off into the distance ever

 

and the old man searches for it desolate

desolately unexpected

for her I said

 

will not participate in my own

will not participate

he searches for it

 

he searches for her

desolately

 

throughout the city

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a kind of record is twenty-one

XXI.

nothing white flower in autumn half a year amounts to nothing

nothing bursts half a year on the cactus flower what are these nothing

nothing good riddance that cactus why do you ask nothing

nothing if you ask me what are these dreams amount to nothing

nothing good riddance white flower in autumn half of a year split

nothing year nothing half half nothing

 

amounts that dream dreams an amount

amount of water of blue nothing inverted imagine can you

a mountain inverted an amount dreams a mountain is dreaming

ferries on Lake Baikal dreams of capture of caught and trapped

blue nothing

 

a Chinese tree in watered ink white flower a dry river wells of violence

a shadow is it but clean on horizon cut by one hair brush a single filament

of disaster of violence accepted

horizon above below horizon is the page fluid all its ends and sides cannot

prevent and stop ink from running off is page all of time

autumn

 

nothing

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#19 for a kind of record (to read in series)

XIX.

Karen says Old History Now

I only care about the present well three things

at this time

in this light

we can say

in Deleuze on Foucault places things in reverse order

friends do

we can say one can say it is said at this time to say on

the limit

of the sayable

 

and in light of saying this in this light

I make a little poison to put in

friends do

this chalice

not enough to kill to pass from my lips

to yours I slip a little in

now a sip

 

these things through being said to say

to say this now

to see this now

to feel the poison take effect

take hold I make a problem

three parts

I practice

a charm

 

hidden in a fold of skin

hidden

between your lips

 

a secret passed from one to another

the other’s small touch of madness

I am forced to write in secret

 

Caetano said today Caetano said

the most transgressive

you can do

is play quietly

 

force public recoil

in private

in private recoil

from public sanction

 

I dreamt you’re a cunning man was repeated thrice

you’re a cunning man

you’re a cunning man

you’re a cunning man

if you know so much

and bit off his lips

 

why do you love me so

am I

not difficult to love

 

the turn the rest move away they turn

to their backs I yell

I feel the poison take effect

difficult to listen

love

a very rich speculation

friends

to whom I can say

this is the time

and these are the stakes of the time

 

take this cup away

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another joint in the phalanx of a kind of record follows (the rest on the right hand, if you like; if you do, contact using the contact top right)

XVIII.

the tongue coils across the beach you can see its pattern

can you

17 thousand bucks just to put the two pipes together

licks inside

rim of the bay and at another juncture

the tongue curls around can you do it like this

you can scream if you want to

but you cannot change back

 

why with everything over everything I thought at one juncture I’d say everything

still leave pain intact

the still the leave impact recoil or kick 17 thousand bucks

just to put the two

the just the put the pipes together you’re talking in a voice

everything over

at the unknown university with everything over

everything still

still you can

 

say tuesday why does he kill me with his love

say tuesday why does he does he

accuse me with his love

say tuesday why

use me with his love

 

the just just the two I could say everything I found your hair

a short pin with a berry red top the second most powerful man in Auckland

short

statuesque

you can see its phlegm

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#XVII for akindofrecord …

XVII.

What about the days we choose to live

Lima’s words

The idea of destiny is a phrase that says

they are coming to get us

it is completed by another

go out to meet them

in Gamboa shadows lighting fires in caves

or is it Bolaño again

lost images

poems and

a lump smells

recoil we do know at least a part of us does

questionable girls

because a girl rolls over

because of a mistranslation the part with no

regret the role of the girl is

in question and

old gods do die and new gods do

appear

appear

Jesus in a hotel room Tosches’s Jesus girls

pay to take him in mouth a part of him

Nick’s word irrumates

a part of us remembers paradise

 

but I told him the date and then said

that I had been running across the street

to help her

when I was hit by the car

Straub is it so strange in both Peter S. and Bolaño

there are casement windows

 

a lump smells

a life swerves

a green stares up

at

lunch

her legs

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