2O FOOTNOTES TO A BRIEF HISTORY OF MY BODY’S VOLITION BEING ONE OF DEMOLITION

(0) This is About what “it” is fucking About

(1) Today, I Begin Recording Baby’s first Autistic Steps

(2) To Conceive of this Movement further: I am, at the Point, where Visibility and Collapsing, are Becoming both Intolerable Notions and the Allusion, to a Proposition itself, is just another Kind of fucking Absence

(3) There will Come a Day, when the Body’s Volition will be the Repetition of an Offering of Demolition

(4) “She was standing in our Bedroom and Swearing at Me while getting all Emotional over her Donut”

(5) A Coupling is a Series of Frozen Recognitions

(6) The Answer: it was this City descending into the late Autumn Shade

(7) The Question: How to let it feel more Precisely

(8) “Absolutely, Mercilessly, Sadly, Finally…”

(9) To Project this Literally: as much, as (it), may (it) be, the Tense of the Room the Moment she Leaves

(10) Listen up Bucko: I am the One in Charge of the Descriptive Discharge

(11) -------------àpress—(in)—hereß-----------------

(12) I Want you, to Tell me, how it Feels, to be Buried, under the Figural Displeasure, of the Person, that Begins, with the Signature: “Tends to Reduce”

(13) Outside of our Window, do you Notice how the Horizon resembles a Grave beneath this Morning’s Rain—[?]

(14) At the First Step, You Encountered: a Disaster, itself: “So to Speak…”

(15) “I was still Holding Her, but now, I Began to Shift, just so, so that my Right Hand moved sore (-ily) to the Back of her Waist, or rather, her Lumbar, so that I could lead us into a Walk; it’s a “Don’t You Ever Remember” Movement away from that Moment before, until We enter at the End of this Phrase, where I would Arch her right Back, pulling Her, as if Apart, with Me, so that We would Begin, to Slip together, enough-so, so to Make this Movement a Matter of Erasing, in a Moment, and then Resuscitating, in a Moment: her Balance against Mine.  And Thus: from on (in) through, there Erupts that Precious, though aggressively Insistent Nudge-in-the-Mind------à“Remember now, how we used to have so much Fun” translating to “Not a Care in this City” and back now then, Again: we Sling together, in the Present Tense, tumbling-into, something Fast, something Odd.  And this Stops and Starts, repetitively through Her Hesitations and then Obliging Starts and it Becomes that Matter of Rediscovering, how Perfectly we Work together, as Then, as Again: that little Dance we would Enact of Slipping over each Other’s Steps, the Side-by-Side Swipes and little Phraseologies of Movements, both Stuttered and Butterly: And it was in this way, that I would Attempt to Communicate to Her, from my Body in-through-to Hers, how Immediate, how Pronounced and Striking, were our Bodies when Dealt this Deal of Moving together, connected, as Now, as Always” –Boris Izsus

(16) That December: Our Little Boy was found Lying, Dead, in the Snow

(17) To be Absorbed into the Thuggerdly Work

(18) To Produce, has always, been a Matter of a Natural Stake of Existence

(19) It is only then, when I can Show that I’ve Understood your Reasoning: when I can Act (out) in the Sense, of it being-your-Sense-in, i.e. when I can Ravage, when I can Parasitic myself upon, when I can Mistranslate and utterly Deform the original Intention, into so many Personal, Internal and Diverse Acts, so to Diminish your Stamp by my own fucking stamp

(20) This is no longer About “being About” or even “The Subject” in the Classical Sense, but Rather: this is About, Me being, on the Toilet and reading the Sports Section of the Chicago Sun Times, on a Sunday Morning, Softly.

25 FOOTNOTES TO A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE GLORIFIED DEMISE OF MY PARADE

(0) That Awful Mess of being Left to (be) Compose—(-d) while Waiting for My Libretto to Arrive

(1) Well, let’s Begin, Again: My Addiction, was always, Elemental

(2) The Winter that I was Slid in a Hid

(3) As if: “being Among” is a kind of Torture, in which, Being becomes to Situate the Self directly into the Trail of a Another’s History where the Grasp of Understanding, is always, inherently, sore (-ily) Marked by Other, Marked by that Bitter, Foreign Flavor

(4) “Asinine, Fraudulent, and most Importantly: fucking Slow”

(5) “Don’t Worry Ma, I got’sa my booty tautly bundled up—[!]

(6) In Other Words: You Come to a Place where an Aggressive, Forward Momentum, (i.e. tete—e—tete) is Prohibited.

(7) The Idea of being so Hermetically Post-Avant-Garde, that “getting-laid” properly, is not of the utmost Importance, but Rather: always knowing what I am Doing, doing Alone, I am not Knowing, what I am Doing, Unknowingly

(8) The Diagnostic Tic of the Intimacy Impulse has long served as Bastardized Form of a Preemptive Strike

(9) Against the Resembling “Coming of Man”

(10) In all of His Muscular Blandness

(11) I Press my Ear across a Penetrating Surface

(12) The City is always an Inimical Figure: Crumpling upon in its Menace

(13) He wanted, so Desperately, what it (is) to Be, must is (it) to Be: the Inversion of this City (be) this, must (it) not Be, (is) but Rather, Be: “Go Ira, for it is but I (is) to (it) Be, about to (it) Become (is) Be—[!]”

(14) Perhaps it is Hunger’s Figure that Keeps one Stuck in the pangs of a relentless Subjectivity, “irredeemably”--------------àwhich gives (out) an apparent Force for Conquering, to help Explain this incessant Subjectivity.  IF SO, a rumbling Ground opens, as a parched Mouth, to the Quest for separating the Self further from the eaten-out Gaps of those Gasping Pleads of “Where this Humanistic Panic Began”.  Thus: tethered, as if, to a Fist, it is a Question of wedging the Self out of this City, and shoving the Self further-into a pure Modality of the Body other than one tied to a Mode of abundant Morality, that is utterly, bereft of Speech.

(15) The Opposite of Restraining Oneself, is to Become, quite simply, the Embodiment of an Aphorism

(16) The Vagueness of “Thank God…” and “For Us All…”

(17) The Way I Face your Face is Quietly Subverting You

(18) You will be, the Woman, Laughing, at the Top, of the Allerton Tip-Top-Tap

(19) I consciously Engineered this all to Forego the (non-) Repetitive

(20) If: if the Signs were Empty, then my Body’s Acts would be Irrepressible, or at least, confusingly Preposterous and Gloriously Free. 

(21) The Gathering Taint in a Motive

(22) That Our Story was Full, implied a burbling Tension

(23) And a Call to Arms: unhinging that Hanger (on) of Anxiety from Socialized Structures, would be the Problem that Began: “Oh, I just couldn’t Forget”.  

(24) And it is the only thing She has ever been sure of: there is always the Hope for a Brilliant Stroke of Violence

(25) And Worst of All:-------àDying, just a little, in late November, just when the Days are Beginning to Grow all the more Shorter and the City has Begun to Resist the Glory of My Parade

PRODUCE||PURGE

COMMENCE

Cunting eating it's cunt eating all all the leftovers for a moment and the potato pudge is just another example of a fire getting business under way




It's underway an tranced like pryaed the beast of the dullard; it was a symbol of Irish alright appropriate shots through enugh already




Garty had an idea and spent wherewhenchal time to make it seem soothing - the Computer Bits, left hanging before the modern bits, with dire results





Wearily? Worrily? The instant compendium a  preist rists in order to shrink and tweak I was again asking "how do you tweak"? but enough to low





Memories of fault ecclates moon shadow telling and running and coming down the left leg enough to call it such and yet a surprise that needs therapy.

2O FOOTNOTES TO A BRIEF HISTORY OF A PIGEON WITH ITS LAST SONG UNDONE

(1) How about we start on this Side of Terror

(2) There was that Alarm that Forced us to Retreat, to such a Distance, that the Horizon became a Figure, endlessly Closing (in) on Itself

(3) Time Passes, the Fragment Coagulates, getting over the Hump, humps

(4) The City that I come-into each Day is, I Suppose, a Picturesque Representation of the Past’s Savagery and the Present’s Vigilant Aches, in which, my Body, in its own Navigating way, makes its own willing Abstraction of a History, which Amounts to a Trace of Light: which is a Record of Abomination and surely, Exclusion

(5) Flustered by my own Beginning, I Wrote endlessly: “I was Born in Chicago” until it Became a Method of Repeating what Grew to a Falsity

(6) Clarity is only the Outline of the actual Meat

(7) “I Would Love to Wipe that fucking Logic right off your Face.”

(8) So we Bubble forth, and the Emergence, of a Lullaby: Bent and Barking all Along in Song:

(9) You Feel a Body: something, almost, like your Body: something Comparable.  You can Riff off your Body, against other Bodies and already this is, in a way, Accomplishing something: such as, Becoming accustomed to the opening of an Abbreviation, or the Loosened Necktie. You are Becoming now, no longer Accustomed, but rather, Used to other Bodies, so that you cannot do much, with yourself, without them.  You can no longer imagine your Body, all alone, in this City, by its Self: it is no longer, essentially, your Body alone: in fact, you are already looking, desperately, for other Bodies, even as I Type this.  You have Become now, once again Accustomed, to that Word: Abuse, through your Abuse of other Bodies and Vice-Versa.  This Means: while Something else, has Become unimaginable, Something else, has Become terrifyingly Possible.

(10) I Express myself in Movements--------------àtowards Moving towards Enacting an Action

(11) The First Sentence should Begin: “I will not Agree to fucking Die…”

(12) “He has the Face but not the Phosphorescence of Working”

(13) These are merely Notes to Engage myself in a Game of Naming my own Self-Destruction, my own infinite Disintegration

(14) “Blow it (-es) off…”ß-----------------------------------------------àMurf

(15) The Need to Say: “this”; Half-Heartedly, in a Chorus, only to Find, myself Mistaken; but it is the Importance of having that Choice, that Disturbs no Other outside of the Utterance, yet one, that is Bold: like Loving You.

(16) Softly, Cautiously, you Came into my Eye Cost-------------------------------à(-ily)

(17) The Second Sentence should Follow: “Begin.  I cannot Begin myself…”

(18) Okay, so it has Comes to this: “Talk me Down (…) // Talk me Down (…)  // Talk me Down (…)”

(19) To Mean to Say: “I Say, let us Rise to this Disaster…”ß------------àAnd no other Sentence, shall Follow

(20) To Begin Again: let’s talk about the Pigeon with its last Song Undone