The Figure (301-350)

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the figure

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from The Figure (301-350)

Fig. 301 This’ll begin: “cazzo di merda” because, to be sure, this is not Confusion: we were living in it & soon we’ll be at The End, eating-it

Fig. 302 With a feeling, of wanting to finger-fuck every crevice of your Structure, which becomes a perception of pure-pressing, becomes-something Vile, becomes-something Beautiful, becomes-something beginning to slowly trickle-down the inside of your left-thighs the fleshy part

Fig. 303 Charging within words which emptied me all-over your Content which clearly wasn’t content

Fig. 304 Your Voice always scolds cold I was told this to be fore-told

Fig. 305 For my own part, I have tried my best, to make each Misstep, each Mistake, as jarringly sincere as Spit towards lips-swarms the Face

Fig. 306 During this turn, however, I became “The Pussy Master”, which could not, be misread or mistaken in the Flesh, for anything besides “The Pussy Master”

Fig. 307 I said, let’s approach the Act of Dying as a custom dying

Fig. 308 Our History, had one Exit, which sadly we took for a continual means of Entering where one should surely Exit

Fig 309 The Face & the asymmetry of limbs moving towards you in a slow-moving Surprise

Fig 310 Of that which had Died, there was a smell coming from the Lake, behind our House & at Night, I could not shake it from my Skin

Fig. 311That I repeated “The Others had Died” that I repeated

Fig. 312 The Dead filled your unfeeling Head which came from another Form, another in the Ground

Fig. 313 Your Fist, is retrospective

Fig. 314 Your Fist, is barking some secret to Me

Fig. 315 A Face splits-open to a knee projecting right-in through me

Fig. 316 This was a dreaming of my Father, when he was Young

Fig. 317 Sno, shaggy, stark, shock, sunk------------------------>in my Sno, blues-blew

Fig. 318 That morning, I put-on a grand-form of a Cry

Fig. 319 Go Cremator—[!]

Fig. 320 I was born-into this Body, which got me lost along the Way & dragging a downing-me down, relentlessly, continuing in the bowels of my howrel ever-since

Fig. 321 Death’s pang has tempered your features facial to remember that frail-child crying, that frail-child laughing, that frail-child dreading the emptiness in each Hallway

Fig. 322 I won’t talk to You, I won’t think of You, I won’t even write about You

Fig. 323 It was daylight, it was Winter, I was freezing, which in it’s own way offers itself to a form of pleasing

Fig. 324 All this accumulation, accumulates to waste, tucking-in, shoving-itself into this Form, this Figure’s pipeline, slowly though, refining the Throat to something comforting & of course: something fucking-seething

Fig. 325 Says You: Regret is a pool Says You: yes, Regret is well

Fig. 326 During the Night, the facial-excrescence bubbles up-through the stomach, the lips & chest as it flowers in an unmistakable percussive weight curtaining-you towards a Collapse.

Fig. 327 The fat-falls to pools-around the fin-de-siecle of The Body is thy dinner to dinner witnessing the jumping right-off The Bone to which we’re attached

Fig. 328 “Arms” arms & their insincere gestures “Oh me, Oh mymymy”

Fig. 329 As if yawning could devour-deliver the abrupt divisions skyward

Fig. 330 There was a great straining of the Body which we shall not recount

Fig. 331 Would you like to be a Butcher—[?]

Fig. 332 It’s so comforting to know how fucking filthy we truly were

Fig. 333 The so-forms the Distance, between the sweet lips uttering nothing to thy lips 

Fig. 334 Theoretically, this is all about remembering to substitute anything, everything, nothing for the Body but of this being in a Room, alone & listening to The Body, awakening to a series of consumings-upon itself & the pound-for-pound stripping-away & tilting-up the Figure, deteriorating, into place 

Fig. 335 This is an Image of The Figure, coming closer to your Mouth, then even the twitch-err of your Eye, in my Mouth, which sighs at the corner of Kenmore & Lawrence

Fig. 336 Throughout the entire Night, I said all of our Desires & all of our Beliefs amounts to “Dear-Dear, someone really should shut you-up.”

Fig. 337 It is the Cliché that to begin this writing of The Figure, I am to stimulate Intimacy

Fig. 338 Your Face: someone’s itching-to-dying to lop it off, as if a sacrificial-struck sunk to offering & redirecting, the Map of the Whole Lot

Fig. 339 Chicago’s Location: curse-in Sleep / Seen surviving. / questions: went it went to the Jugular straight-through to You

Fig. 340 Impermeable Penis: had not been hung-out to dry

Fig. 341 I think I wannawanna-git more ugly.

Fig. 342 cobblecrotch—[!]

Fig. 343 This isn’t working like *this isn’t working.

Fig. 344 Baby, baby-baby I want to lie right here in the Street, driving towards the embodiment of disembodiment & I want to Charge right’up’in’ya

Fig. 345 Listening along the Body: like a song withut a tune sung: I want to strangle-this into a climax-higher

Fig. 346 I saw your Face in the Street or I didn’t see your Face in the street-either way I fucking-sawed your Face

Fig. 347 You’re so sad now, skinning off-all that escaped, all that took one-step-too-far eluded you-through to you is you

Fig. 348 Putting my Lips on your skinny-skinned knees

Fig. 349 This is becoming a building-out the body-out dreaming lately

Fig. 350 & The slow-rising of the Lake, towards our Windows, at Night, while we Sleep