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the figure
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from The Figure (101-150)
Fig. 101 “My Grace // the *State // in which I // found our // Body // grounds”
Fig. 102 Nostalgia is never Quaint
Fig. 103 Here, I am transformed into that face locked / tight
Fig. 104 Not a single Body can be as beautiful as the one charted by it’s own heavy-hearted Fall
Fig. 105 The Story you wish to Impose here shall not stick to my side
Fig. 106 The prevailing Face here is somehow figured
Fig. 107 In my image, was where this all had started.
Fig. 108 “Let them all Hurt, Let them all fucking Fall”
Fig. 109 In the beginning, there was a torrential strain in the sheer shill of the Body
Fig. 110 Your eyes were embracing the outward motion of the deepening phantom in the Bones
Fig. 111 Your first child shall be pale & fragile & undeniably fucking fugly
Fig. 112 The Face, is not a Figure except for in *here you are as dear to me as being blown-over by Wind, which covers more territory than even my Body can fathom, in which to grow, in which to one day become, a relation of Two, bound by a slipknot Prefix in the tremor-shot
Fig. 113 We knew the *State of our Affairs, were destined to be pooped on
Fig. 114 On second thought: the Body seems more & more slated for Demolition
Fig. 115 Even in your most naked condition, your Face reeked all over the fucking place
Fig. 116 Your mouth ajar; the trope of departing feet over noiseless gravel & of course, all that Space, rotting in your Migration of a Migraine
Fig. 117 The Great Ass Expansion
Fig. 118 Over-all, I think this is some sort of Hell
Fig. 119 The Body, meanwhile, was being worn-out to perfection, becoming a connoisseur of “let’s extinguish this rhythm”—the roar of the Gut, the downpour of excrement in the phraseology of “now, we value vanish” & at the Edge, all those blackening Hands under the Sun, which clutched towards all that we had lost in the past, in the morning & finally, an Ocean
Fig. 120 Each day dreaming of exposing its veins slipping down into the finger’s tip-toeing whistle
Fig. 121 At least you made it Home before you began truly sobbing all that which was Witnessed above the Bodies & that poorpoor Penis pronouncing “tomorrow I’ll grow more hideous than
Fig. 122 You’re a big dick imprisoned by a tiny touch
Fig. 123 That day, her Voice was unfamiliar, almost blurry, the opposite of Entry, a production of a History that I had Witnessed, but never truly understood.
Fig. 124 To sweat, to eat, to stuff, to open the Mouth, to enter the Mouth, to outstretch The Body, to raise the Head, to flex the Flesh, to distort The Face, to pull apart, to Ache, to exit the Mouth, to extract The Figure, to repeat
Fig. 125 This is where my booty-shakin’ capabilities made you weary
Fig. 126 Once in Temper / Once in Pressure / always my Pleasure
Fig. 127 Picture my ball-sack as a Landscape, your Hand, the anchor-pull
Fig. 128 *This concerned my own Body of noodling you
Fig. 129 The Face changed & it changed again & remained on everyone’s mind
Fig. 130 The Destruction of an entire History, is seen slowly sometimes the Hand fills with rough cuts
Fig. 131 On the EL // that roar in // your eyes // the urge // to Scream
Fig. 132 A fluttering Hunger within, implying what the Body abandons, isn’t emotional, isn’t Heat, but is the anxiety erupting out of the corner of your eye, which is where you shall slip past your Body
Fig. 133 Scene: // Sludge // Scream // seems // serenely // Seen
Fig. 134 *This Concept of my Interior-Picture is merely misleading
Fig. 135 The Orgasm & its vigilant language
Fig. 136 & yet, in any Form, desire’s defeat is an unsullied expectation
Fig. 137 Thus again we Boxed, so to comfort ourselves which became an abstract action of disembodying that which the dum-dum & all that flesh we would soon embody
Fig. 138 You have become my little shit-streak of light
Fig. 139 *This is physical, so it’s all fucking physical
Fig. 140 I dreamt our House was under water & as we inhaled, the City slickly slipped yet “How I held onto you, how I would always hold onto You.”
Fig. 141 My Ass is truly, a ticklish thing
Fig. 142 Each heartbeat, each affair, each deception, in one little City
Fig. 143 Subtlety was the key to invade my Interior
Fig. 144 More than anything else, it’s the Lie that can make itself disappear, that interests me
Fig. 145 How operatically we single-handedly collapsed our Home is what still pervades my Interior
Fig. 146 At some point, it’s always the Ankles that catch the Eye
Fig. 147 If *this isn’t that which’ll finally sever the line, I will at least make it The Anthem for all that is Distasteful
Fig. 148 Who’s that coddling the bullshit now—[?]
Fig. 149 It is obviously, a Field coming-into a Face; although no Face let’s itself “be had”, as in, there is the most forceful attempt to not let itself become a reference Point, beyond the first moment of Visibility. The word then: Consumption, figures The Figure assumes the form of something Bloody, of something that continues to be the same dying Eruption over & over again, sewing itself upon this Hanging of the Head-------------->
Fig 150 & how from this angle, you become, the Great Scandal of the Body’s
