Thursday, November 29, 2012

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------àRemember 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.