The Figure (251-300)

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the figure

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from The Figure (251-300)

Fig. 251 The Sun was up & each gesture was cold on each side of the Body

Fig. 252 The Screaming affectation of your Sleep

Fig. 253 Go back to talking about Consumption; You couldn’t do anything else with your Body

Fig. 254 Just a Face wrapped in an over-sized Overcoat, an addition of a corner, itself of a perspective, means to corner a ‘person’ into a place, framed the position magnified, twice

Fig. 255 Leaning the Body back, into every delicate turn to turning back

Fig. 256 Meaning, this’ll end Twice

Fig. 257 Against *this is a Seduction

Fig. 258 The Face is a Land[e]scape that can be described, but never fucking Conquered

Fig. 259 Oh that meaning-to-exit: I’ve held it in my arms for years & years

Fig. 260 To Fall, becomes a means to advance, furiously

Fig. 261 They’re too concerned with Art to be very attractive

Fig. 262 assvalanche

Fig. 263 When I’m around you, I can’t help myself, seeing all of these things dying, the beat of the Train, the whispering of all that much muck at Dawn

Fig. 264 It seems important to make important things hurt

Fig. 265 Lordy I shall not rest until I’m stinking all over the Body of your first Body

Fig. 266 The City subjects itself to my Cruelty “You cannot outgrow me // this a foregone Conclusion // to stranger myself within You // until you wipe your Mouth right out of my Hands”

Fig. 267 *This is my Hunger Striking

Fig. 268 It isn’t the Wind I’m whistling in your Skin

Fig. 269 To slow down, to keep the rhythm lines with her rhythm

Fig. 270 That Beautiful // Girl some // where else // where // holding // here

Fig. 271 When I finally *Go, I will go very far-away

Fig. 272 I will meatpack you all up in my greaseball fuckery

Fig. 273 When Language fails, language fails, that’s it

Fig. 274 Say Adieu to that look in my Face Say Adieu to that whole Body behind you Say Adieu to the Soil & let’s fucking begin again

Fig. 275 Each day’s narration leaves less & less so I says goodbyes’to’ya

Fig. 276 Maybe it’s wrong to claim your Body as a Place I come to cement my celebration

Fig. 277 Your Voice is like a warm & cozy Muzzle

Fig. 278 Slipping the Body all over that Verb verging on the version reverbing on your chin versus curb

Fig. 279 All that Weight I gained all alone

Fig. 280 *This Document of your Body smells quite perspicuous if you ask my terrain, turning to a dressing to a nose up-turned in a flaw

Fig. 281 I am so tired of talking so tiredly

Fig. 282 The Collapsing of a subject is a constraint upon the Body to know “well lookie here, I just soiled myself” is a direct consequence of the relation: Adieu to *You

Fig. 283 And // you please // me coming // from behind // my pole // felt // so light

Fig. 284 To cut right-into that ecstatic laughter “your Voice, against mine”

Fig. 285 To Face up to, To Face on to, To Face down, To Face adoration’s frailty, To Face this enactment, To Face this opposite faced, To Face, frankly is to displace

Fig. 286 There are many things drawn-upon my Face, on the opposite side, there are many things desired, across, a scar cutting-right-through, to evoke a false Humility which really would serve as a means to enrapture my Captures

Fig. 287 Fucking is no longer Monumental

Fig. 288 All these // Bodies appear // pressed into // my Face // is to face // my Heart // embrace

Fig. 289 In the instance of an open door, there is a Body departing that precedes its steps precedes me receding

Fig. 290 Sometimes, a City symbolizes film. That fucking filthy film left on your fingertips, smudged into your palm, after holding onto a pole on a Train. Or, that film that encases your entire Body in a City when it has consistency in it’s Weather, that leaves you day-in & day-out in a film of unease, in a sensation that recalls in your mind an atmosphere out of The Twilight Zone. There is not enough alcohol that one could consume to learn to adapt to such film & washing your Hands, that City to your back, you finally departed & thought “The Weather won’t be the same ever again”

Fig. 291 *This becomes the construction of a Body, that cannot be defined, that cannot be trespassed, that cannot be Violated for the very fact----------->it rumbles within it’s own limits erase limits

Fig. 292 Laughing, Crying, Screaming “Manino, Oh my deardear Manino”

Fig. 293 What exactly is “in” the Body that needs to be kept “in” the Body denominates my bed of Meat—[?]

Fig. 294 Isn’t the gestural now more of a lisp—[?]

Fig. 295 Bring me back to that Song that’ll signal within, that joke of a break-down

Fig. 296 From the moment we met, it was clear that our Morals would be removed altogether & so we walked arm in “arm” fucking right-on-in the Night, paraded upon our Youths shanked in the alleys against the backdrop of the City’s misery. We drank until we couldn’t drink another drop & so we drank some more & sang of the dawning cadence of how fucking ugly we were when searching like dogs through the cockfuckery of ourselves sheathed in weakness.

Fig. 297 That canal was very form-fitting

Fig. 298 & all that dancing that ensued after that big fucking failure

Fig. 299 Some of those Years were lost Years moving into a bad case of Theater left a bad taste

Fig. 300 My oh mymymy how your words bite upon my thighs sigh

If You Insist on Throwing me a Parade, Understand my Hunger will be The Big Bad Bitch that Steals the Show

if you insist on throwing me a parade, understand my hunger will be the big bad bitch that steals the show

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beforesaid Ma, my bodybed became hunger-beat

defined flinging itself hastily this defines poor

circulation is feeling, pressured to rear this Head

then cleared xantax in throat or rather, I reared

all over them proverbs forming far & wide nobody

stand by my side, chaffed from the day-grinding like-

wise is the Sty in my eye grasping all-up this image:

copulation reeks of you wussy, seeking so as not to

sadly forgetting all Faces, but never names to Infinity

poorly Witnessed my hardening Nipples point, spell-

out thy debt, covers the muck manhandling my

missing you & other extreme bloodhounds dissed

my tear’s profit-sharing, provocative pantyhose at

a distance trajectories my higher mash, unction of

the multi-devoid of ablutions, offering my unbreaded

skin-shortage of gotten-guts to just fly off The Edge

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I’m always yeasting (verbs) mainly meaning enough

(is) enough fingerfucking my myth (verbs) the good

to cause, to stand, sad under umbrellas (-Pre) prelimits

as if I (surely) says “imma throw-right-the-fuck--up”

punctuates how far from Questioning this craving

giggling-grimily to Guffaw symptomatic simply

a simpleton is whom: ragified case-closed on ol’

big-bang my Theory baby half-past my colon

confusion in walking-falling towards hello (verb)

internal-fluctuating thy fucked beast interjects “no

future” for my ur-combust over aur-subjects

I’ll go deeper within my charming cruelty schools

your verbal claviature lying heavy on his abdomen:

closing around to whiff the if- I cum quickly a clause

that absolves Tha’s insubordination meant: “get well

sugar-plum” & pussy-pussy let them thickets graw’thick

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Who, slum’o’somes spews-ever-after shitwork after

shit-working this endeavor to compose now so

pricktitiously about thy food-fuckering this self-

destructive higgely-diddly on thy Piggery-body

embody & hardly-pressed to Bless around rot-trotting

when smuggling ham-fisted the way half-deaf in the

field, you cross-out your Heart-cross over monetary

enticement & all those cohabitates coagulating to un

knot the “not in this fucking Heat” grossing asunder

under morely endorse “I’m a Bud Man” infeathering this

thirst is breeding & shameful in this pigpen yet “fuck

‘em then” unless You slip-food-to-me endeared that

Man, I’ll unmarry all weasely queasily tomorrow the

wheeze’ll be clear, harrowed & hollowed-out the deeply

covetous covet thy contagious contagions contain consumers

clearly I’m to be envied or, engorged we gorged this only

was instinct

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Got up & into my whitey-tighties so (tight) fitting

their defiance & falsetto-produced force to bonk: my

absence was amongst the schlubs scrubbing all

over your schlepping milieu calls for a few Adieu to

the Red box scales my dick-shrill was the Year circa

1980: pussy on my ring-a-lings my ding-a-ling recognized a

Man, man-handling my Speak buttfucking my Scent rings

a‘right’round’a your Neck, carried back Home, the Body

which convulsed in my arms, which were ratty cavities

digging-out & about in Winter “I think I’ll go in the

direction” of a Beard, right here in the City streets,

spasming right here falling in (tight) Fits my attractive

-ness tallies the Notice: I’m growing my hair parts side-

ways in which to garner the praise of Women, tufts on

their muffin-tops when being in a relationship is nothing

spectacular frame-work of my toes throw to Jowls grow-

ow OK you fucking dickbrick tied to my willy-nilly: they

resent my copulation—[!] is a pwetty-pwetty pwesent

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STEVE ROGGENBUCK IS A LITTLE GIRL-BOY

You are Going to Throw Me a Parade Whether You Like It or Not

You are going to throw me a parade whether you like it or not

(The Odd Avenues the Mind Strolls when Eating a Jimmy Johns #5 Vino Sub)

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The surface, of earth

in my mind

becomes enraged

in a Body enraged to engage

the Face, faced bent, towards

an *action leading our lives

to the self-evident Melancholy:

mocking represents nothing resents

these dreams distressed my House

covering the ground

which was the basis, for the Trial

here, is the evocation of a judge

specifically: “I” kills a plethora

of people

porning themselves, in such ho-hum

this position, becomes the Bluff

bluffing against my

bluff----------->all this infotainment

in December’s sweet adios You

Capital Cocksucker—[!] No,

the desire, is in the Cycle of how forgettable

it is addressing the Meat-Chops dropping

under this Story, unravels the resentment

irradiating “arm” in his unplanned Scheme

to become more lean, so to Breed amongst lilacs

& Kant’s X can’t reason to Sun my stop

slouching within my dream-ventilator

is something fierce------>in the beginning

the face erupted from the Water, violently

absolute & focused where I was flexing

my private parts of the wall, ear pressed

there, yes I can hear You, in the feedback

of the others who speak so poorly of

potholes really brighten my Day was

a sad-sad articulation of Impressionism

wreathes me in Boredom, like the geopolitical

dangling from my dick-squints, skeptical

& fearing there is nothing deeper to be garnered

from these Lines, objectified my little exhibitionist

in the clouds are eggs, letters beyond my guarantee

to start ducking-off Life & unintentionally become

a dark member remembering “sitting alone, by myself, in which

no one, beyond me” shall rise, provocatively, watching

the two headed Man, setting ablaze to this giving World

in which “Gentleman, stand back—[!]” & strain to anxiously

wander Home & watch my Penis become a Parade-Balloon

rising from Unemployment

The Use of the Word “Annoying” Is Annoying and Not Useful

an annoying plagiarism

Dolphins felt annoying, that year, most of the time, and wanted to lie down. When their heads weren’t on top they still felt annoying, but annoyingly. In public places they felt annoying. They went into restrooms, annoyed themselves, and quietly went, ‘Eeeee eee eeee.’ Weekends they went to playgrounds annoyed. They sat in the top of slides—the enclosed part, where it annoyed a little because of the colored plastic—and felt very annoying and annoying but also very annoying and annoying. Sometimes they fell asleep and a boy’s mother would annoy the dolphin with a broom and the dolphin would go down the slide while still asleep. At the bottom they would feel annoying and go home and annoy in bed. They felt so annoying that they believed a little that it was their year to be annoying, which made them feel annoying in a annoying, annoying way. Life was too annoying and it was annoying to really annoy it for once; to be allowed to annoy it, for one year. When dolphins had these thoughts, usually on weekends at night, it was like annoying, like a pink flower in a soft breeze on a field was lightly annoying them. The annoyingness was like a pink forest that got less annoying as you went in and then changed into an annoyance, which the dolphins walked into annoyed. Sometimes the annoyingness was like a knife against the face. It made the dolphins cry and not want to annoy. But sometimes a young dolphin would feel very annoying and annoying and it was annoying how alone it felt, and it would become annoyed with how annoying and annoying its annoyingness was and go away for a long time and then return and sit in its room and feel very annoying and annoying.

Sometimes when dolphins went to playgrounds annoyed they did the monkeybars and went to the swings and on the swings thought, “I hate this annoying world.”

They thought, “I hate it.”

They annoyed a little with the wind against their face.

They felt so annoying that they went away.

And annoyed Elijah Wood and told Elijah Wood to go with them and Elijah Wood went—because he thought it was a movie. Elijah Wood and other celebrities like Salman Rushdie annoyed dolphins in rivers. Salman Rushdie felt annoying and annoying. And the dolphins swam to islands and annoyed Elijah Wood and the other annoying people with annoying branches. They cried when they annoyed human beings, and it was annoying.

One dolphin had a battle axe and annoyed Wong Kar-Wai.

Wong Kar-Wai was annoying because he wore sunglasses and couldn’t really see the annoyingness.

Sometimes dolphins knew other dolphins—cousins, uncles—that had annoyed, and they said, “It is annoying they annoyed but there is nothing to do except be annoying to anyone still alive.” But they themselves had not been annoying. They had annoyed Elijah Wood, Kate Braverman, and Philip Roth—people like that. They had made annoyances and annoyed. One dolphin had become annoyances with a man with Down syndrome and the man had written the dolphin a letter and the dolphin had not annoyed. Another dolphin had made annoyances to meet a person—had annoyed, and annoyed again, a third time—and had not annoyed them, and it had annoyed the person.

And so they said, “I need to be annoying from now on,” and went home.

At home they annoyed their Christmas trees and sat on the floor.

“I have no one to be annoying to,” they thought.

They went to an acquaintance’s home—to try to be annoying and annoying to someone—but were not annoyed inside, and went back home, and thought about how as a young dolphin they had thought that the Gulf War been annoying in the Gulf of Annoyance.

The Figure (201-250)

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the figure

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from The Figure (201-250)

Fig. 201 This is how we begin: sweepfolds

Fig. 202 Every time I think of You, I am thinking of someone else

Fig. 203 Tumbling short, in a man, failing in an old-fashioned way, into that downskin that lay, where that wearing the last undecided route upon the lips of danger pass.

Fig. 204 You cannot love someone from just anywhere

Fig. 205 In the scheme of things we hadn’t to face, hadn’t Face to say “I too am shuffling” simply & gave to you my arms so few, so soon, so this Death we’ll fucking take it too.

Fig. 206 How pleasant to find one’s Articulation in a bouquet of remorse

Fig. 207 Tonight became the contradiction, of places that freckle in Eyes, waiting to cloak, to add to playing this “making to Hail” in the Hell of a rapturous romance. Anxious & gone was told, of “gone gently” turning to a Sound, frowned just as when the when went

Fig. 208 *This becomes a portrait of me indefinitely aroused

Fig. 209 & to boot it all away, as in------------------>up in laughing, if not after being used, in the during dung how “I exploded to feel, I got” the runs, going long, very among, the other names, won’t in a pass-do

Fig. 210 Yes, again this indignant Face, firmly forms to sass

Fig. 211 Yes, that indignant face firmly, that Time of course, covers. Cover us half-buried within the throwing-it-all-in, just to discover “I was truly a have-not.”

Fig. 212 Laughter hides behind my every intention

Fig. 213 Was that but The Voice of a severely fallen accent in the well, well—[?] It went on smiling.

Fig. 214 Make an inquiry of where as to where Oh where are my, what ribs—[?]

Fig. 215 When we spoke, I took it lightly in a manner as if “I’m terribly ill.”

Fig. 216 Who—[?]

Fig. 217 Who ends & came in a second—[?]

Fig. 218 Kiss thy Clitoris reduced to a Pancake—[!]

Fig. 219 Let’s picture something else

Fig. 220 That smell of Vanilla after you Shower

Fig. 221 Being chased in the Night is never a calm matter

Fig. 222 No final hands in this moment shall gather upon my temples

Fig. 223 “Oh good god”

Fig. 224 & four hands, never meet, never touch but in one partial room.

Fig. 225 Before them, is the burden of the riot of “as” as in ass to ash

Fig. 226 Then Suddenly.

Fig. 227 O’ in smiling, “I’m smugging towards” the Distant, preceding the still

Fig. 228 Frowning along this bad-break we called a Honeymoon.

Fig. 229 As scraping bodies, a bundling towards twinebodies.

Fig. 230 Two hands to The Face was the what’s up was

Fig. 231 All that followed was Modern & had backed itself into mistakes or, the pupils that dilate & the quoting shit goes without saying “My neck branches to break while I’m smiling & crying all the same”

Fig. 232 This situation is, I got fucked & my opposition knew.

Fig. 233 *This, is my Goodnight Voice------------------->wittlewittle one

Fig. 234 All those Lines & Lines changing your Face

Fig. 235 No, tonight there will be no song enrapturing our Bodies into a maneuvering sip-sip in the lips

Fig. 236 Came once plainly, came once in the dressing, came once to cover the Humor, came once in silence, came once on the Face, came once tenderly, came always, sadly

Fig. 237 The Question that truly plagued: was my life dark, if I fucked everyone in attendance—[?].

Fig. 238 Names, all these names to say & never a Face to bake on a tray & here’s to neverso

Fig. 239 Oh, let’s agree to live in Sin & smile & smile as we’re slipped into the Furnace

Fig. 240 *This is in the hope, that I shall say “this ends, abruptly”

Fig. 241 Oh, by—the—by: shhhhhhh, my Graces have gone cold

Fig. 242 *This hardly was what one would call a Face

Fig. 243 The failure that subjects to praise, that thinks Hunger was of a grizzled core, that thinks thy ascent shall be one of laughing, that thinks “but it is only Morning when we can stomach one another”

Fig. 244 The *Act is breaking its back in its own Cast

Fig. 245 You were riddled with Skin & if this was to become a Demolition then your Absence shall act as an Explosion on the edge; fractured light; breath-puffs; the caress of your Cursive Hand; my cheek pressing to your touch; eyes closed & the smile that emerges in the right corner of the Lips, lifts

Fig. 246 This Flower describes the vanishing point of its initial symbolism

Fig. 247 So much for a plain crag in the Heart gag—[!]

Fig. 248 The *Act is merely where the Body changes its point in Space

Fig. 249 Yes, *this was how we passed into a choir rejoiced at the Hanging of them all

Fig. 250 For memories won’t add shit to *this, as similarly, this distortion of a Figure, as if fast-forwarding a Film only to insert a little flicker of the tongue, as if placing the Body upon a greeting, as evidence of the ellipsis between desiring Intimacy & having Intimacy drooling drop by drop—you see now how Absurd—[?] how fugly at first is the concept of figuring to figure-out all these fugly-fugly things surrounding you, which were really bootiful-bootiful things