I.
we all looked and could see nothing
what are we supposed to see
what are we supposed to see
the inexhaustible
the inexhaustible
horizon
torn from our hands
Valéry said
I cannot repeat
don’t be so dramatic
the sun fell
in time
the sun fell
we spoke of things
one spoke
in the dark
outside
another answered
Valéry
you have to answer for
you have to answer for
him
do you have the answer
hidden
in a fold of skin
hidden
between your lips
hiding
behind
the everyday
around him
grew the desert
the desert grew
and every day
there
there you are
knots in his fingers
his whole rag head
rag and jag
Buster was not his name
Buster she said
was not his name
she whispers
come here
wraps you
wraps you
in grease proof paper
and she wraps you
there you are
well at dawn
there you lie
tied up with a string
a prayer
you cannot answer for
II.
she said
I’m going to talk to you quite openly
and she
apologised for her vulgarity
is there a way onward
Juana
by Gamboa
the western cordillero
a patch of vomit
made up of the lights
of Bogotá
cupped in the hands
of a thousand digits
figures of bone
walk the western
horizon
still recognisable
moving without acknowledgement
you are watching
relations of yours
I ask
you trap me in fucking
you trap me
we shut up
we know
the identity
we need to show
indifference to
III.
Is it time
a sheering
a shelf
the world
borne up
by what
Is it so much
Is it time
by the capillary action
of years of photographs
of looks
of looks lost on one another
Is it so much
I had no idea
daylight would be
like this
I had no idea
of love
in the daylight
Your eyes are blue
volcanic lakes
without depth
without heat
simply welling up
so much time
IV.
I am very happy
you could hear the risk in his voice
he rubs his penis across her waist
the danger
what did you say to me
did you say
too much
too much of looking over the precipice
too much of walking around and around
in these dark rooms where I live out empty days
Cavafy
and the stripper
with her hair glossy running
down around her breast
curling into the hollow
of his loin
in a bituminous river
approach
retreat
take hold of yourself
and girded against the unexpected
smell
get a good grip
the small of her back
wipe your finger
pull the latch
open the window
a light breeze
with the tang
of revelation
V.
but I was just angry
every night
No not every night
every night and always
every night
what happened last week
anyway
every night
I can smell dogshit
my body boils
is the pit
in miniature
a model of hell
no light escapes
and the light in the cave is not reassuring
although it dances has the highpitch whine
of a blade of a wire a single strand spitting
in a vacuum
no relief just the superimposition of totem
animals one over another over another over
another incessant pull gravity and
the vanity of man
who should commit suicide tomorrow or tonight
who should give himself up to the pull of the Platonic
the shadow does not me
shadow does not
not me
what expression escapes
mortal danger
or should I say personal
but vanity should emote
I should kill myself tomorrow or tonight
I should take my life
VI.
I am as I age wrestling with the idea of affirmation
a long death scene follows which I do not make up
when I return turn when I return the idea of a room
come on now they have his hands come on now rubber
fingers in mouth in arsehole inside a rummage sale of
public private interests like you when I return the idea
it’s not the first time you are dying and you have never
been disabled in my sight you have been old before you
before you have been a woman and you and have been
the child of a woman come on now like you I return turn
to at no instant where hesitation has a chance of being
being thrown by the who said the dark lady who said I
I have heard borne witness to grown men screaming
when
undergoing this procedure I climb in and out of bed
like you new angel angel new I cannot turn my eyes
away each thing returns at every instant I like you
heap up before myself
VII.
…
can I ask you
it is raining
a kind of
weeping
from the sky
can I ask you
first a prayer
I start at Wednesday
do you sigh
do you say
or
are you silent
silent as each of my day’s poetry
as the prayer of the poem of each day
wind in wires
a bus that comes
the girls the bus girls speak about truth
about truth and beauty about truth and beauty
and innocence
can I ask you who is true to type
who is who who is not
truly
and how high their skirts were at the ball
Saturday unclear to me now
now a shadow deforms in the heat
what awareness does it take to form
long shadow of meaning
what else will you take
creeps over horizon
truly the 6th of December
dressed for all weather
packed front and back
a witch boarded a bus witch
hat green rib sweater
backpacked and fanny pack
with four blond daughters
her golden ones princesses
numbered four
white ducks
a black bordered photograph of Blanca
someone doctored for instagram the lost goose
her white flock left behind
to shed tears at farewells
and return
home
amply in the wires
Eliot the wind said
Christmas came
a song at least one said
are they not innocent and beautiful
and untrue
VIII.
scream and climb the ribbon
light onto horizon
…
and climb down
pointed legs
a spider dances
with white legs
darkness complete
as moon whiteness total
and toxic trees
small furred and feathered bodies
a lunatic enters the field
it is the new year
IX.
how have you chosen me before you have chosen
how
out of a fist tight cocoon a shadow deforms
a prayer first
and a saying opens
creeps
before you there was then the dead hour
Eliot Tiresias life
a feather on the back of my hand
wind the wind the wind
the wind that knows all has been foresuffered
foresuffering all
the wind knows amply knows the wires
and if he did not believe
then she spoke I have not
not the numbers not with me I have not google
not with me not
I have no cell
I have not
not I
a halo flew from the sun
to her head
from saying not I
ecstasy of saints
children
I saw this on the 7th of January
the day after my son’s birthday
Saturday
X.
I never thought
we’d be in the same place
but here you are
in the same place
you took off
every excessive movement
a burrow a loin
every extravagance is
the very extravagance of
the presumption
there you are
everything
you have taken off
a presumption
a stone
a luxurious muff
a last possible moment
a last possible
before I
am
XI.
he is without any
struggle
they say
he is without
yet he is
yet is he
inside it
he is inside his own
inside
he is inside his own
and he has himself
knows his heart his mind is clear
his mind is made up
by a maid when he gets out of bed
gets off the bed strangling his cock
in the sheets and gathers of the sheets
the throng of sheets the throng gathers
he is shat he is jizzed
soaped and scented anointed
with a careless hand
supercilious unction
and the maid has only helped him
with careless hand
gathering the wet and knotted sheet
cleaning the toilet
living the again again
the again again
workaday world Shakespeare
how does she read
how does she fare
better
he has deeply sorry sorrow
at depth neither drug can reach plum
no alcohol nor love love frack up
love passion he has without
he is without suffering
whose tongue said it all for him
her how did it all get said
he has a sorry sorrow deep
dumb inside
he has himself
inside
on whom is bestowed the fat
fat of his hand of his anointment
he has throttled his white poem
in a hotel bed Wordsworth
the again again of his oil
all this
all this he has
he has fat
he is without kneeling
is his legs apart
is huge with being
his legs apart he has
all this inside snorts
how did it come
to be how did it come
all this all
a machine wash for your shit
a machine for jizz again again
the poem wash
does not kneel
is without kneeling
wash the poem
this instant
…
grey
is the water
grey the days
midweek the midweek days
turn grey
daydream grey
daydreams
outside every classroom
so grey
sweetsmelling grey of a thousand years
a thousand sweet from now
now this instant old us grey
sweetsmelling dust
so grey so
day dreams
classroom windows
thousand years from now
thousand miles from here
so grey so
also out of reach
forever out
my hat is grey
my heart is
will the object of our hearts also
will the object of our hearts be grey
will your eyes open on mine so
day dreams
classroom windows
and thousand thousands
will I dream in them
look forever out
forever out dream
this instant
…
XII.
bang a gun goes who fires a gun
safety first then pull the trigger
chooses to here we are
in a classroom you in front of me
in front of him her see the kickback
in your eyes before the mortal weight
of the piece before the shell report or bullet
before just saying points at you in front of me
bullet arrives safety first no then a bubble
pops up no then pull the trigger a bubble
blood pops up of blood it is of blood the kickback
pull the fucking who decides lives gun points
bullet arrives with a sigh in air a human sigh
and human blood not spider blood see just saying
a window opens a window breaks open gun goes off
cartoon window cartoon bubble cartoon gun black
and white grey outside is it the shooter your thought
is in the bubble red is it his thought your understanding
instant an intake of breath a sigh and outcome say
you were not equal you were not equal but free not equal
free you are now you were not you said to the world I am
not in I you said we we are not equal not to this world this
and this before the world you in front of me in front of him
her I am not equal before the world judge me before the world
judge me this
I contend that not only are we unequal you and I but equally so
equally unfree
and keeping inside the same frame you are saying well you are
writing in blood
you for me together we are engaged in trade and this is all happening
on the outside
where everything matters where nothing matters here in the kickback
in the black and white
XIII.
withdraw to the foyers
we shall stay friends
the wind blows hair and papers that
could be skin and human
dust the chaff hulls and seeds that
hands have released fall dismally
from a violent place I sharpened
my eyes fell on them
I can’t explain except that
I’m out of my mind
outside on the threshold
outside the threshold a peace
certainly they took a peace that
came from my assurance
a peace comes down to them
it still comes down to them while
I am dismal and uncertain
do shadows explain the clouds
do shadows explain the dark
shadows move behind the glass
do shadows explain the monstrous shapes
a monstrosity moves out in the bay
is it cooler here yes
you can see my fingers wiggling
from between the louvres
XIV.
define muscle
shoulder whole wheel
week
axle-tree
in all things he will excel me
Knausgaard
Karl Ove to his son
as a son from the point of view
of love my son asks me
to reattach the sterile patch
quickly his wounded arm
he will be leaving is it for us
is it for us to carry on
quickly to carry on
define muscle turning on the axle-tree
I can think of no better thing to say and
have no greater wish to wish him
I will tell him I wish that in all things
he will excel me Karl Ove said so
quickly I reattach the sterile plaster
to his open sore
…
it is inexcusable to use the phrase mortal weight
in an invented scenario I don’t believe abstraction
gains any height from it I don’t wish to pontificate
and inexcusable to lift the straw man of the left
on the railroad of disappointment China Miéville
imagines is a railway to invent imagine
a wanker in a hotel room or suicide I am her
do I clean do I wash am I soiled it is
from the wound of my mouth justified
wound we share we who have opened
each other’s legs
sickles
XV.
sometimes I feel I can take more away than they can
but it isn’t true Is it
the story ends the song goes on the dirty pacing on goes
the end the start the knot the kick at you they
are not your clothes
arms cross over
uncross cross over
uncross on goes
man in his quintessence
I feel I can take you wait
than they you wait father is gone
mother gone
in her
they have cut me in half
arms cross over
uncross you wait on goes a woman
a woman stops in half
like this there is no more
XVI.
can you say it is good travelling with you today love
left out on its centrifugal arms wind rushes in in gales the temperature drops
a severe weather watch is in place
don’t get lost in the void says Roberto good advice spinning out
of control very good I have always been told and by various people in
my life a mortal wound under skin of the air and hot breath of sun chill of a
surgery knife and the fizzing dreck mote and seed caused to infect me a pellet
burning chill and been called to cut it out I lay on my side in the corner I
the stain on the mattress one inseparable from the other heard Nico sing and
felt the pounding of the outside on the inside vein in the needle and knew
knew machine in the ghost no one must grieve over knowledge but must we risk
we must Bolaño this world
pop
love is inside out
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
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
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
XX.
do you see the bird cross the path the rainbow on the cup the chainsaw behind the curtain the thin boy the screw perilous bridge the leaping heart the choice of many the flare of absolute conviction the style of noone but yourself the slouching police the distracted mother the ignorant the soft screenlight the milky fingers in the milky face the blue dapple the green diode the dabbing palp the paddling in buckets the pus burst the gangrene flood is it the nitrous laughter flush complete recognition so I agree I strongly agree I slightly I curvature of night I paroxysm of spine I access of weakness and and exhaustion I rub the edges off the eyes lose all abrasion the face smoothes the critic cuts the wrist the only wrist to ever hold you the wrist falls the words defeat limping we run after for a survey for a souvenir the sample jar half full is it and half again and half in our economy the craze the care the flight no flight where to name is to name again chemicals break it down the elements to praise the elements
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
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
XXIII.
the extreme poverty of Moerewa
a poverty that not poverty
contrasts with a smell
not te ika the eel tuna not that
neither a full range of offals
and associated products
including foetal blood not the smell of
the freezing works
the fronted up houses the shops boarded
nor the café boarded where stones on every table
fresh smoked eel we said taking pride of place
taking pride in place the whenua
whenua
a poverty at the roots of the hills
haunting porcelain animals
on windowsills
in the lightning trees
at the tips of each darkness
nodding recognition
my grandfather built my grandmother
nana
a similar house
rich for being stucco
in another works’ town
Konini
Konini Street from folded blueprints
he proudly kept
rich for having a porch
deep enough sunlight
never penetrated no
not that smell of rosewater oil of Ulan
that overtakes me now of ripening fruit
in the laundry loo and pile of mags
I’d sometimes find a porn one
overripe in the pale green tongue and groove
the meatworks where he
call him boompa not poppa
rode to every morning
on the fixed gear black bike
for sixty years
and sweet smell fruit rotting in the grass
the Bay so fertile call it the fruitbowl of a nation
so fertile it rotted
what nation
he dreamed of travelling to the Rhine one day
and on the aeroplane sedated and confused
the drugs for Parkinson’s Lorelei
he left his seat in his socks
and shoes behind padding down the aisle
to the door and with intent and pride intact
he turned the handle opening the hatch
to walk outside
no what smell but health and hygiene
a compression of hedges
Kerikeri
with no outside.
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
XXV.
I wrote
the children
the vulnerable
shitting fucking eating
two of these you do not tend to do in groups
I write my hands cry
the earth
the reversal of the earth
pity for the poet
for the poet is of praise
for the praise of she
for her understanding
awful understanding
I wrote that truth should stand still
for she is full of praise
daylight spent
morning light
he praises on big feet
the plinth a monumental stick figure
his brain his big brain all its slick technology
in the spent light
for nothing but the violence
of shitting fucking eating
folds the air
into her mouth
be still she said
excuse my sex
today my hands write
pity for the day
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
XXVII.
is it hope brings you here today to my office to my study to my surgery to my room
i can feel you pressing your breast on the curtain your breath your blood on the curtain
who is your people is your apology for what are they what is it I’m sorry I’m so sorry what for
first they first first they searched the body you left second they turned the studio upside down
like a vase the flowers were dust they inspected the dust on their fingertips third they moved through the rooms
systematically unearthing what hope for them new notes in named envelopes a vial of morphine like old days
a glass of teeth a drawer of repeat prescriptions and boxes and boxes of drugs what have i left out
what left you you who like Bolaño cough when i cup your balls people you loved
let them go
cough the sisters you had the brothers and the missing twins like a movie the old man takes off
his underwear hanging on to a leather strap that dangles like the old man from the ceiling of the bus
XVIII.
it is ultimately sensuous
your scarf
my beard
pornography
to be human
faces the challenge
of
my poetry
and what it means
your laughter is
I behind I
deeply
is how you mean
how you mean
to proceed
originally
weave the future
and a future in recoil
a kind of record
of sexuality
from here the
horizon begins the
looping of a spine
kind of human calligraphy
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
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
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
