Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The Figure (401-450)


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the figure




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from The Figure (401-450)






Fig. 401 So I was pissified by body-trampling, through the Days, I’m wasting time, I’m wasting-away my own dissimulating through the body-swung around: there you are, laying the Body, to waste, to a hole, wasting-away the product of the Body’s satiety, satiates this “Art of Heart” began this fucking-faking from the Start




Fig. 402 boooobytrapped—[!]



Fig. 403 6 Degrees & I just can’t stop thinking’bout’ma’dick’ups’in’ya



Fig. 404 My body-is dead (to end) end with The Face lodged in your back-side is where we playfully Hide



Fig. 405 I dreamt of your Autopsy, I dreamt of subplanting my Face erupting from the chest-through to You




Fig. 406 The lewdness of *this World lures-you



Fig. 407 Oh so dicked-out at the End of the Day



Fig. 408 The shadow-lurks to the taste recalling Home



Fig. 409 One day the World is a stage of representations stirring in the loins, yet a Judgment denotes “this is nothing like me”, latrines the painful-as-gone, placeless, space-or less unlike the Chorus of Death in the pot below-you



Fig. 410 Ya’ll pissants—[!]



Fig. 411 My // over more-over // Silence // moves-mower me



Fig. 412 There has been well enough-done in our Well Done Hearts



Fig. 413 That was a Bitch with very-little Heart



Fig. 414 It is Natural that my attention turns-against our Details



Fig. 415 The Street that you are on, doesn’t run-through here



Fig. 416 Nobody shall *here shall enter but the Body



Fig. 417 When we encountered one another, the resultant flash was one of a terrible crippling-distress: that’s the Nature of our Love



Fig. 418 A brooding sort of Sneeze, coming out-from the Back: something backwards, something slant, something in the way you referenced the small-criminal of the Body was-me



Fig. 419 Your Body was boiling-over, Your Body was cuddled in my arms up-in bubble wrap



Fig. 420 Weighed down by the perpetual biting upon the Face



Fig. 421 The way the Breeze smoothed across your Dress the day I met You. More importantly: my (glorious) Hair, the day you met Me.



Fig. 422 Two Bodies: One Dug, One Digging



Fig. 423 Mymymy eyes (my eyes) migrating to the far reaches of the Frame, hunkering up to the hulking Mass, in a precipice of Space, flesh, bubbling, shimmering, sinking in the still-smoking Air



Fig. 424 Your Love: still, erect, frozen, silent, slithering



Fig. 425 I don’t remember when it happened: the desire to be moored, later, so that my Image would be fixed, as a memory, as Dust, flaunting all-over my compost.



Fig. 426 The Body, as it flattens under the grass



Fig. 427 Homeward bounds the Body to a rather (hazy) idea: surely beauty (or bottom) in the Eyes



Fig. 428 Fucking-about in reparations



Fig. 429 I has just heard the unmistakable sound of a Head crunching by



Fig. 430 At the End of that other-fucking World: “the—&” ends in arms-end



Fig. 431 In a Word: the Body, in your “arms” turns its back from its own meaning-to slump or that You seduced me, where the Memory itself becomes a seduction of my Body becomes in itself a seductive-seduction which is a representation of an Image: which is both unstable & unsustainable.



Fig. 432 In other words: The Body is subject to its own vain-reign reining in the subject of *this, which is the Body, in-strain veins



Fig. 433 Hell for you, I suppose, is no different from my appetite



Fig. 434 To battle, concerns movement changing the subjects-to overwhelmed, with shame, with terror & looking over your right shoulder, you see The Loop up-in-flames: the City’s shit conspiring to expire in the Fire



Fig. 435 Body-hollering all over your Body’s capital-Ass



Fig. 436 The Body remained slumped & a cold-sweat came over your brow-beats



Fig. 437 The culmination is in one word: stiff



Fig. 438 He still had his Face, he knew this. He knew this, because he was still seducing even though there was nobody else around. The one day he saw The Figure in the mirror & His Face became a bit bent, became a bit slouched, became a bit of portrait, framed, cloaked, in private. Then, his Face brew to a growrel-grows to a howrel


Fig. 439 & He said: Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. & He said: Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. Breathe in—[?] breathe-in. 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& He said.



Fig. 440 The Seizure of The Face, when the Body is a force-cutting to some-come: to cut-off the poor One you adore, to cut-off the internal-rage in a volcanic-way, to cut-off what is seen as personal



Fig. 441 To cut-off the entire excessive limbs so to exspore-press: all // Heart // ends // our Days // spent-hearts // end // the histories // of The Heart // heart-ends // with tearing // at the ends-end // with the toof // ya-teeth



Fig. 442 To End: the blackening shadow finally open in your mouth to become a bubble in your Shadow



Fig. 443 Are you still pulling “The Deceiver of my Meat-Curtains”—[?]



Fig. 444 abort//the//fart—[!]



Fig. 445 Deep, in the bowels-heat (is) cupping-us pressure on-us is something oppressive, something exciting to entice-us to break loose my-goose this form of playing is the speed of terror-us in us



Fig. 446 Speaking of X ready-or-not must X the entire Scene playing-out of the Body: becomes an unmitigated sadness of the present-tense in the muscles-face to ground-us down under the tongue-down dawns Dawn



Fig. 447 I might be butt-fucking naked, but do not think for one instance, that I am not also agonized by this Sight



Fig. 448 Alright, let’s say I’m fine, let’s say *this/is finely cuts-off the guilt, from threat, of theft forming: “well lookie here, the body-poisons its own breaking-into sugar, Sugar”



Fig. 449 Pulling, to the right, of The Body’s siren in the Scene (figures): such was the hours of how we had been caught (fucking) in the webbings of every face-corners: our Judgments that had been whispered-off



Fig. 450 & with that She said: Breathe (don’t breathe) out