butades and the blind Painter...

Joseph Wright of Derby (1734-1797) The Corinthian Maid, 1782-1784

Vitaly Komar (1943) and Alexander Melamid (1945) The Origin of Socialist Realism, from the Nostalgic Socialist Realism series, 1982-1983

liam 4 5

    
Parler Seul - Tzara




This pretty illustration by Joan Miro for Tzara's poem

found in the nautical sea of learnings and


image here
from mister anatomyof melancholy

    
today



__________________
The simple

Today I saw the most beautiful woman. She has two kids.
Intelligence radiated from her even her eyebrows. I melted while looking at her. And my heart went to say, see how many have loved you.


She came to me through the eyebrows of the city. Love has no name.


If she takes off her clothes the city will melt. My eyes will heal like shock shelled warriors. For the few minutes we were lovers, the city became a home .  And nothing moved.  Night came. All was still.



 The simple desire was what drew me a
line across your face creating the border
that held you up then down traversed by panes and
strange lovers, fauna  __ flora from the many lips   ~



In the room the wall paper glowed with the heat of our bodies and it burned afterward with the fire we lit.


_____________   London: 2008 October.

    
In Paris _ a lover's copious notes

  In  Paris after we had visited the art show, we ended up back at the hotel. Not a well-known place but one that meaning for me. She took off her clothes after reading her badly put together verse, and  then I saw __ it was her body  she had been speaking of in the words she read.

Her body was the rhyme    and the subtle sense of humor  it captured,  and
as much a tragic history lay in it, as its beauty  which I can assure you was infinitely unpredictable . My eyes and fingertips tingled and then of course  my stomach did a dance my heart went faster, my breath began a little pant and then the rollercoast of desire started  going uphill ... and I was getting richer by the second  ...    I

her breasts were stanzas
her waist was the clenching couplet if your like traditional forms  and  last but not least her secret sex and her willowy shape  twisting there becoming free verse syncopated  and
musical as jazz that swims around you  her words
the ones she'd thought were a  poem, disappeared.


(She knew this too ~ it was in the plan ~ O how I admired her)

Her fingernails were quills ....

These hours  were her book, it was  hers, lips, hair, eyes roving around
my breath pitter pattered upspeeding  and she swung me round
over the bed where I fell into her  body
 and her song went all night
 and I rode I rode she rode rode
 we rode and rode
she rose a glittering splashing wet dawn
in that bedroom in Paris
.


Now not being a cynic. I took it at face value when she told me real name was Polish and that she was married to a rich capitalist in Barcelona and so we headed to the Prado or some such place the very next day. And we were on the road again .... spring of 2008     ~

  Now this woman knew secrets about the body that I had not discovered.... previously. She had loved  women, men, rocks, clouds, rivers, and the stars. As she loved she loved whoever she loved. She

brought me to Barcelona

meeting the great paintings of the masters.

it was a  treat.

then one day
she

she surprised me

once
more
revealing

clandestine
messages

in her coffee
and tea leaves


___- But that was another episode.


_________________

One time she whispered
to me
Liam do you  know the varieties
of lust? and its perfect body?

I heard those words as if the earth opened
she danced upside down that afternoon.
After that particular session we had to eat!

You'd have thought she was a vampire!
But she wasn't . She knew better than vampirism. Between her legs she
held  histories and rooms
that vampires would never fathom. She was the light in the wind.
_________her breasts taught history lessons. Her hips opened up calamitous river banks.. swollen wide with pride, lust and a thousand fish heading upstream....___


Liam she said I am not a poet. I am your poem. They used to call me the muse, but that got worn out! Come to me sweet heart,  Liam,  I'll make your hands speak so  you can write .

_____________________
 She'd even send me money! Currencies, checks, theater tickets, invitations to dinner!
One time she sent a list a free places to eat all over Montmartre. A slew of friends and acquaintances I could visit with and stay with for days, weeks, sometimes a month; one of these connections gave me a studio for six months.  She did these things quite willy-nilly, but especially if she was off cheating with one of her other lovers!  Please note reader her restraint was infinite, but her appetite and desire were equally various and  infinite. Her taste for love's lips grew with surfeit and  and did not  lessen.

Sometimes I'd dream of her as I lay in my afternoon bed, and she became a creature of infinite proportions and possibilities....
______________________________


Liam, she says while  squeezing my hand under the table, you must be wary of dogs. They are not your friends. Cats are you sure protector. I am your cat sign.
 We go for a walk that night into Montparnasse and sure enough two pit bulls come around the corner, but a car at the top of the street swerves suddenly scaring them off. A man gets out with two siamese cats on leashes. He wears golden earings and grey gloves. Her hugs me and my lover. Gets back in the automobile and leaves us . Grateful, safe,
assured. She winks at me, saying, see, I told you.

 That night we make love I hear the screams and roars of lions in the backalleys of Montmartre.

 We are cats in the
the city of heirlooms and dogs.


________________

The moon laughs low and invites us to his bed.

__________________


_______________

Paris one month later I am alone again. She's gone.
No email, no letters
but a telegram arrives!

"Liam hold your breath stop I am with Marcia (her Estonian lover)  she is a rose apple her breasts are honey stop Liam I will call soon stop"

_________

 She didn't call.
Four days later she arrives dressed head to toe in black. Tears in her eyes she says. Marcia does not wish her to see me any longer. Marcia is a verse writer as well! I refuse Liam! I refuse!
I want to sleep with you now! But first a carafe in a cafe my dear.

---------------------------------
 As for her husband, well, that  rich Spanish spouse never tried to control her wandering...

In a husky voice
her throat choking up
she'd quoted  to him   (long before I came into the picture) the famous line
'I have loved thee in my way Cynara....'


The subject was never spoken of again  .

____________




_______________
 Call these notes, copious bit pieces for a fictional disease called love and its sweet sister, lust  ~.




   
Derrida about Deleuze in English





I'll Have to Wander All Alone

Derrida's reaction to the death of Deleuze.
Translated by David Kammermann.
    Jacques Derrida

Derrida, Jacques (1930 -2004 ) French philosopher, whose work originated the school of deconstruction, a strategy of analysis that has been applied to literature, linguistics, philosophy, law and architecture. In 1967 Derrida published three books—Speech and Phenomena; Of Grammatology; and Writing and Difference, which introduced the deconstructive approach to reading texts. Derrida has resisted being classified, and his later works continue to redefine his thought.
   

Too much to say, and I don't have the heart for it today. There is too much to say about what has happened to us here, about what has also happened to me, with the death of Gilles Deleuze, with a death we no doubt feared (knowing him to be so ill), but still, with this death here (cette mort-ci), this unimaginable image, in the event, would deepen still further, if that were possible, the infinite sorrow of another event. Deleuze the thinker is, above all, the thinker of the event and always of this event here (cet evenement-ci). He remained the thinker of the event from beginning to end. I reread what he said of the event, already in 1969, in one of his most celebrated books, The Logic of Sense. He cites Joe Bousquet ("To my inclination for death," said Bousquet, "which was a failure of the will"), then continues: "From this inclination to this longing there is, in a certain respect, no change except a change of the will, a sort of leaping in place (saut sur place) of the whole body which exchanges its organic will for a spiritual will. It wills now not exactly what occurs, but something inthat which occurs, something yet to come which would be consistent with what occurs, in accordance with the laws of an obscure, humorous conformity: the Event. It is in this sense that the Amor fatiis one with the struggle of free men" (One would have to quote interminably). There is too much to say, yes, about the time I was given, along with so many others of my "generation," to share with Deleuze; about the good fortune I had of thinking thanks to him, by thinking of him. Since the beginning, all of his books (but first of all Nietzsche, Difference and Repetition, The Logic of Sense) have been for me not only, of course, provocations to think, but, each time, the unsettling, very unsettling experience - so unsettling - of a proximity or a near total affinity in the "theses" - if one may say this - through too evident distances in what I would call, for want of anything better, "gesture," "strategy," "manner": of writing, of speaking, perhaps of reading. As regards the "theses" (but the word doesn't fit) and particularly the thesis concerning a difference that is not reducible to dialectical opposition, a difference "more profound" than a contradiction (Difference and Repetition), a difference in the joyfully repeated affirmation ("yes, yes"), the taking into account of the simulacrum, Deleuze remains no doubt, despite so many dissimilarities, the one to whom I have always considered myself closest among all of this "generation." I never felt the slightest "objection" arise in me, not even a virtual one, against any of his discourse, even if I did on occasion happen to grumble against this or that proposition in Anti-Oedipus(I told him about it one day when we were coming back together by car from Nanterre University, after a thesis defense on Spinoza) or perhaps against the idea that philosophy consists in "creating" concepts. One day, I would like to explain how such an agreement on philosophical "content" never excludes all these differences that still today I don't know how to name or situate. (Deleuze had accepted the idea of publishing, one day, a long improvised conversation between us on this subject and then we had to wait, to wait too long.) I only know that these differences left room for nothing but friendship between us. To my knowledge, no shadow, no sign has ever indicated the contrary. Such a thing is so rare in the milieu that was ours that I wish to make note of it here at this moment. This friendship did not stem solely from the (otherwise telling) fact that we have the same enemies. We saw each other little, it is true, especially in the last years. But I can still hear the laugh of his voice, a little hoarse, tell me so many things that I love to remember down to the letter: "My best wishes, all my best wishes," he whispered to me with a friendly irony the summer of 1955 in the courtyard of the Sorbonne when I was in the middle of failing my agregation exam. Or else, with the same solicitude of the elder: "It pains me to see you spending so much time on that institution (le College International de Philosophie). I would rather you wrote..." And then, I recall the memorable ten days of the Nietzsche colloquium at Cerisy, in 1972, and then so many, many other moments that make me, no doubt along with Jean-Francois Lyotard (who was also there), feel quite alone, surviving and melancholy today in what is called with that terrible and somewhat false word, a "generation." Each death is unique, of course, and therefore unusual, but what can one say about the unusual when, from Barthes to Althusser, from Foucault to Deleuze, it multiplies in this way in the same "generation," as in a series - and Deleuze was also the philosopher of serial singuarity - all these uncommon endings?

Yes, we will all have loved philosophy. Who can deny it? But, it's true, (he said it), Deleuze was, of all those in his "generation," the one who "did/made" (faisait) it the most gaily, the most innocently. He would not have liked, I think, the word "thinker" that I used above. He would have preferred "philosopher." In this respect, he claimed to be "the most innocent (the most devoid of guilt) of making/doing philosophy" (Negotiations). This was no doubt the condition for his having left a profound mark on the philosophy of this century, the mark that will remain his own, incomparable. The mark of a great philosopher and a great professor. The historian of philosophy who proceeded with a sort of configurational election of his own genealogy (the Stoics, Lucretius, Spinoza, Hume, Kant, Nietzsche, Bergson, etc.) was also an inventor of philosophy who never shut himself up in some philosophical "realm" (he wrote on painting, the cinema, and literature, Bacon, Lewis Carroll, Proust, Kafka, Melville, etc.). And then, and then I want to say precisely here that I loved and admired his way -- always faultless -- of negotiating with the image, the newspapers, television, the public scene and the transformations that it has undergone over the course of the past ten years. Economy and vigilant retreat. I felt solidarity with what he was doing and saying in this respect, for example in an interview in Liberationat the time of the publication of A Thousand Plateaus(in the vein of his 1977 pamphlet). He said: "One should know what is currently happening in the realm of books. For several years now, we've been living in a period of reaction in every domain. There is no reason to think that books are to be spared from this reaction. People are in the process of fabricating for us a literary space, as well as judicial, economic, and political spaces, which are completely reactionary, prefabricated, and overwhelming/crushing. There is here, I believe, a systematic enterprise that Liberationshould have analyzed." This is "much worse than a censorship," he added, but this dry spell will not necessarily last." Perhaps, perhaps.

Like Nietzsche and Artaud, like Blanchot and other shared admirations, Deleuze never lost sight of this alliance between necessity and the aleatory, between chaos and the untimely. When I was writing on Marx at the worst moment, three years ago, I took heart when I learned that he was planning to do so as well. And I reread tonight what he said in 1990 on this subject: "... Felix Guattari and I have always remained Marxists, in two different manners perhaps, but both of us. It's that we don't believe in a political philosophy that would not be centered around the analysis of capitalism and its developments. What interests us the most is the analysis of capitalism as an immanent system that constantly pushes back its proper limits, and that always finds them again on a larger scale, because the limit is Capital itself."

I will continue to begin again to read Gilles Deleuze in order to learn, and I'll have to wander all alone in this long conversation that we were supposed to have together. My first question, I think, would have concerned Artaud, his interpretation of the "body without organ," and the word "immanence" on which he always insisted, in order to make him or let him say something that no doubt still remains secret to us. And I would have tried to tell him why his thought has never left me, for nearly forty years. How could it do so from now on?




   
Derrida on Deleuze

  Another long and wonderful day but too tired to post the English version of this tribute of Jacques Derrida written at the time of Gilles Deleuze's death in 1995. Later today I shall.


   
Je devrai errer seul... Jacques Derrida

Klossowski en Cerisy-la-Salle durante las jornadas dedicadas a Nietzsche en 1972, con Derrida, Deleuze, Lyotard, M. de Gandillac y Pautrat


ce texte fut écrit (s'agit-il plutôt d'un entretien ?) au  moment de la disparition de Deleuze...


Je devrai errer seul... Jacques Derrida Trop à dire et je n'ai pas le coeur pour cela aujourd'hui. Il y a trop à dire de ce qui nous est arrivé ici, de ce qui m'est arrivé à moi aussi, avec la mort de Gilles Deleuze, avec une mort que nous avons crainte sans doute (le sachant si malade), mais tout de même, avec cette mort ici (cette Mort-ci) cette image inimaginable, dans son évenement, qui irait approfondir toujours plus loin, si c'était possible, la douleur infinie d'un autre événement. Deleuze le penseur est, par dessus tout, le penseur de l'événement et toujours de cet événement ici (cet évenement-ci). Il est resté le penseur de l'événement du commencement jusqu'à la fin. J'ai relu ce qu'il a dit de l'événement, déjà en 1969, dans un de ses livres les plus célébrés, "la Logique de Sens". Il cite Joe Bousquet ("à mon inclination pour la mort," a dit Bousquet, "qui était un échec de la volonté") ; puis il continue : "de cette inclination à ce regret, il n'y a, dans un certain respect, aucun changement sauf un changement de la volonté, une sorte de saut sur place du corps entier qui échange son organique devenir pour un spirituel devenir. Maintenant, cela ne présume pas exactement de ce qui arrive, mais quelque chose 'enquoi' - qui arrive -, quelque chose encore pour venir qui serait compatible avec ce qui arrive, conformément aux lois d'une conformité obscure, pleine d'humour : L'Événement. C'est dans ce sens que 'l'Amor fatiis' fait un avec la lutte des hommes libres " (On devrait le citer sans cesse). Il y a trop pour dire, oui, selon le temps qui m'a été donné, avec plusieurs de ma "génération", de partager avec Deleuze ; pour la bonne fortune, j'avais pensé lui adresser des remerciements en pensant à lui. Depuis le commencement tous ses livres (mais par dessus tout Nietzsche, "Différence et Répétition", "La Logique de Sens") ont été pour moi non seulement, bien sûr, des provocations à penser, mais chaque fois, la troublante, la très troublante - si troublante - expérience d'une proximité ou d'une affinité presque totales dans "les thèses" - s'il est possible de le dire - par des distances trop évidentes dans ce que j'appellerais, faute de mieux, "le geste", "la stratégie", "la façon" : d'écriture, de conversation, peut-être de lecture. En ce qui concerne "les thèses" (mais le mot ne convient pas) et particulièrement la thèse concernant une différence qui n'est pas réductible à l'opposition dialectique, une différence "plus profonde" qu'une contradiction (Différence et Répétition), une différence dans l'affirmation joyeusement répétée ("oui, oui"), le fait de tenir compte du simulacre, Deleuze reste sans doute malgré tant de dissemblances, celui dont je me considérerai toujours le plus proche parmi toute cette "génération". Je n'ai jamais ressenti "l'objection" la plus légère surgir dans moi, même pas une virtuelle, contre n'importe lequel de ses discours, même si je me suis fait une occasion de bougonner contre telle ou telle proposition dans "L'Anti-oedipe" (je lui ai parlé de cela un jour où nous revenions ensemble en voiture de l'Université Nanterre, après une défense de thèse sur Spinoza), ou peut-être contre l'idée que la philosophie consiste dans "la création" de concepts. Un jour, je voudrais expliquer comment un tel accord sur "le contenu" philosophique n'exclut jamais toutes ces différences qu'aujourd'hui encore je ne sais comment nommer ou placer.(Deleuze avait accepté l'idée de publier, un jour, une longue conversation improvisée entre nous sur ce sujet et ensuite nous avons dû attendre, attendre trop longtemps.) Je sais seulement que ces différences quittaient la pièce pour aucune autre raison que l'amitié entre nous. À ma connaissance, aucune ombre, aucun signe n'a jamais indiqué le contraire. Une telle chose est si rare dans le milieu qui était le nôtre que je veux en faire note ici, à ce moment. Cette amitié ne s'est pas arrêtée seulement (pour le dire autrement) du fait que nous ayons les mêmes ennemis. Nous nous sommes vus peu, c'est vrai, particulièrement dans les années dernières. Mais je peux toujours entendre le rire de sa voix, un peu rauque, me dire tant de choses dont j'aime me souvenir au pied de la lettre : "Mes voeux les meilleurs, tous mes voeux les meilleurs," m'a-t-il chuchoté avec une ironie amicale l'été de 1955 dans la cour du Sorbonne, alors que j'étais confronté à l'échec de mon examen d'agregation. Ou bien, avec la même sollicitude des aînés : "il me fait de la peine de vous voir dépenser tant de temps pour cette institution (le Collège International de Philosophie). Je préférerais que vous ayez écrit..." Et ensuite, je me rappelle les dix jours mémorables du colloque Nietzsche à Cerisy, en 1972 et puis plusieurs, beaucoup d'autres moments passés qui font, et sans aucun doute aussi avec Jean-Francois Lyotard (qui s'y trouvait également), que je me ressente tout à fait seul, survivance et mélancolie aujourd'hu, dans ce qui est appelé par ce mot épouvantable, et quelque peu faux, "une génération". Chaque mort est unique, bien sûr et donc inhabituelle, mais que peut-on dire de l'inhabituel quand, De Barthes à Althusser, de Foucault à Deleuze, elle se multiplie de cette façon dans la même "génération", comme en série - et Deleuze était aussi le philosophe de la singularité périodique - de toutes ces fins rares ? Oui, tous aurons aimé la philosophie. Qui peut le nier ? Mais, c'est vrai, (il l'a dit), Deleuze était, parmi sa "génération", celui qui en a "fait /fabriqué" (faisait) le plus gaiement, le plus innocemment. Il n'aurait pas aimé, je pense, le mot "le penseur" que j'ai utilisé plus haut. Il aurait préféré "le philosophe." À cet égard, il a revendiqué d'être "le plus innocent (le plus exempt de culpabilité) à pratiquer /fabriquer la philosophie" (Negociation). C'était sans doute la condition de laisser une marque profonde sur la philosophie de ce siècle, la marque qui restera son propre, incomparable. La marque d'un grand philosophe et d'un grand professeur. L'historien de la philosophie qui a continué une sorte d'élection configurative de sa généalogie propre (les Stoiciens, Lucrèce, Spinoza, Hume, Kant, Nietzsche, Bergson, etc) était aussi un inventeur de la philosophie qui ne se ferme jamais à quelque "royaume" philosophique (il a écrit sur la peinture, le cinéma et la littérature, Bacon, Lewis Carroll, Proust, Kafka, Melville, etc). Et puis je veux dire précisément ici que j'ai aimé et admiré sa voie - toujours irréprochable - de négociation avec l'image, les journaux, la télévision, la scène publique et les transformations qu'elle a subies au long des dix années passées. Économie et retraite vigilante. J'ai éprouvé de la solidarité avec ce qu'il a fait et dit à cet égard, par exemple dans un interview pour Liberation au moment de Mille Plateaux (dans la veine de son pamphlet de 1977). Il a dit : "il faudrait savoir ce qui arrive actuellement dans le royaume des livres. Pendant plusieurs années maintenant, nous avons vécu une période de réaction dans chaque domaine. Il n'y a aucune raison de penser que les livres doivent être épargnés de cette réaction. Le peuple est dans le processus de ce qui élabore pour nous un espace littéraire, aussi bien que des espaces juridiques, économiques et politiques, qui sont complètement réactionnaires, préfabriqués et accablants/écrasants. Il y a ici, je crois, une entreprise systématique que Liberation aurait du analyser. "C'est" "bien pire qu'une censure," a-t-il ajouté, mais cette spériode de sécheresse ne durera pas nécessairement." Peut-être, peut-être. Comme Nietzsche et Artaud, comme Blanchot et d'autres admirations partagées, Deleuze n'a jamais perdu de vue cette alliance entre la nécessité et l'aléatoire, entre le chaos et l'inopportun. Quand j'écrivais sur Marx au plus mauvais moment, il y a trois ans, j'ai été encouragé quand j'ai appris qu'il planifiait d'en faire autant pour sa part. Et j'ai relu ce soir ce qu'il avait dit en 1990 sur ce sujet : "... Felix Guattari et moi sommes toujours restés des Marxistes, dans deux manières différentes peut-être, mais ensemble. Nous ne pouvons croire d'une philosophie politique ce qui ne centrerait pas autour de l'analyse de capitalisme et de ses événements. Ce qui nous intéresse le plus est l'analyse du capitalisme comme un système immanent qui repousse constamment ses propres limites et qui toujours les trouve de nouveau à une plus grande échelle, parce que la limite est le capital lui-même. " Je continuerai à recommencer pour lire Gilles Deleuze pour apprendre et je devrai errer seul dans cette longue conversation que nous étions supposés tenir ensemble. Ma première question, je pense, aurait concerné Artaud, son interprétation "du corps sans organe," et le mot "l'immanence" sur laquelle il insistait toujours, pour le faire ou lui laisser dire quelque chose qui, sans doute nous reste encore secret. Et j'aurais essayé de lui dire pourquoi sa pensée ne m'a jamais quitté, pendant presque quarante ans. Comment pourrait-on faire ainsi dorénavant ?
3:33 

   
Telephone








"Ingrid Bergman gives a virtuoso solo performance in this Jean Cocteau one-act. The plot of this hour-long piece is a simple one: a woman, devastated after her lover leaves her for someone else, speaks to him on the phone one last time. The piece is beautifully, perfectly written and performed--all of the little lies and desperate hopes of heartbreak are captured. Bergman's performance is as brave as it is complex--she is willing to let her character crumble into an embarrassing weakness that few actresses would risk. Anyone who has ever nursed false hopes of salvaging a relationship will find this piece all too well done. See it, but not right after a breakup. "

The above quote is from the youtube editor.

In fact Bergman's performance is astonishing disclosing the depths of human sorrow.





   
????? (2003) Part - 1 (1/5)

??????????? ?????? ?????? ??????????? ????????????
????????: ???????? ??????
? ?????:
??????? ???????, ????? ????????,???????? ??????,????????? ??????? ??., ???? ???????????,???? ????????,????? ??????,???????? ?????, ??????? ????????, ????????? ?????????.

------------------In Russian naturally this film version Dostoevsky's painful masterpiece
The Idiot. I re-read this book last winter and believe you me readers/viewer it shakes one.



   
and one last one for today


 I really dont like myspace boxes and categoeis so once again I put all of this under writing and poetry. As anystudent of Deleuze knows he was much enamoured of the role of literature and poetry and its importance to philosophy

THE
DESIRING-MACHINES
Translated by Helen R. Lane, Robert Hurley, and Mark Seem
1 Desiring-Production
It is at work everywhere, functioning smoothly at times,
at other times in fits and starts. It breathes, it heats, it eats. It shits and
fucks. What a mistake to have ever said the id. Everywhere it is
machines—real ones, not figurative ones: machines driving other machines,
machines being driven by other machines, with all the necessary
couplings and connections. An organ-machine is plugged into an
energy-source-machine: the one produces a flow that the other interrupts.
The breast is a machine that produces milk, and the mouth i
machine coupled to it. The mouth of the anorexic wavers between
several functions: its possessor is uncertain as to whether it is an
eating-machine, an anal machine, a talking-machine, or a breathing
machine (asthma attacks). Hence we are all handymen: each with his
little machines. For every organ-machine, an energy-machine: all the   time, flows and interruptions. Judge Schreber* has sunbeams in his ass. A solar
anus. And rest assured that it works: Judge Schreber feels something, produces
something, and is capable of explaining the process theoretically. Something is
produced: the effects of a machine, not mere metaphors.
A schizophrenic out for a walk is a better model than a neurotic lying on the
analyst's couch. A breath of fresh air, a relationship with the outside world.
Lenz's stroll, for example, as reconstructed by Buchner. This walk outdoors is
different from the moments when Lenz finds himself closeted with his pastor,
who forces him to situate himself socially, in relationship to the God of
established religion, in relationship to his father, to his mother. While taking a
stroll outdoors, on the other hand, he is in the mountains, amid falling
snowfiakes, with other gods or without any gods at all, without a family, without
a father or a mother, with nature. "What does my father want? Can he offer me
more than that? Impossible. Leave me in peace."1 Everything is a machine.
Celestial machines, the stars or rainbows in the sky, alpine machines— all of
them connected to those of his body. The continual whirr of machines. "He
thought that it must be a feeling of endless bliss to be in contact with the
profound life of every form, to have a soul for rocks, metals, water, and plants, to
take into himself, as in a dream, every element of nature, like flowers that breathe
with the waxing and waning of the moon."la To be a chlorophyll- or a
photosynthesis-machine, or at least slip his body into such machines as one part
among the others. Lenz has projected himself back to a time before the
man-nature dichotomy, before all the co-ordinates based on this fundamental
dichotomy have been laid down. He does not live nature as nature, but as a
process of production. There is no such thing as either man or nature now, only a
process that produces the one within the other and couples the machines together.
Producing-machines, desiring-machines everywhere, schizophrenic machines, all
of species life: the self and the non-self, outside and inside, no longer have any
meaning whatsoever.

1-2 Antioedipus eng. trans. (Viking press etc.






   
Gilles Deleuze crise de limage action
présenté par Jean-Baptiste Thoret. Spécialiste du Nouvel Hollywood et du cinéma de genre, Jean-Baptiste Thoret est critique à Charlie Hebdo et chroniqueur à France Culture. À paraître : “Michael Mann, un Saturne américain” (Éd. Cahiers du cinéma, 2010).
Gilles Deleuze clôt “L’Image-Mouvement” par un chapitre, “La crise de l’image-action”, dans lequel, à partir des films d’Hitchcock (Fenêtre sur cour), il identifie la fi n de cette grande forme propre au cinéma hollywoodien, qui se manifeste d’abord par la perte du “lien sensorimoteur”. Quelles furent les conséquences esthétiques et formelles de cette crise ? Aujourd’hui, après la redécouverte du cinéma américain des années 70, ce concept est-il toujours valide ?






L'année dernière à Paris (pas a Marienbad! )




   
Autres Lignes de fuite Mille Plateaux 2


Si je me rappelle bien il ya  une intervention avec Felix Guattari dedans.





   
mille plateaux 1



  Prof. Deleuze teaching at Vincennes  this is just months before the publication of A THousand Plateaus  An exciting time smoke filled room tapes whirring, Maoists, Big Badiou and his grand gang, cleaning ladies,  schizos, lovers, painters, students, poets and a motley crowd from around and around the world of life, passion et desir.

Si vous regardez tres bien vous voyez peut-ete quels-que'un tu connais!  Quand meme c'est n'est pas importante, l'importance c'est les lignes de fuites.




    
patience

..maybe patience is not a virtue maybe passion is one. perhaps hast is a virtue> the convention says patience but maybe its wrong... delete/ did you get deleted o one can undelete and delete all day its like deconstructing and reconstructing...


_____________


 Typography says
Category: Writing and Poetry
 Does this work? Is it the machine of your lips which cires? Come again my love each font whispers. Your name is an air of . Type. And not stereotype. TO your body there is this song. Hung by the air of thought.As spring arrives its blackberries. And that trip we made.

___________________
This is a test . You have cups and lovers. Neither of them match but our love. Does. So it says.


____________Possible cateogories: Poetry, Lovers body, Type set, and last and least html. Say the second is best. The second best bed. Seconded by love. No its weary (Irish) song.

liam 3

secret language

To be a foreigner, but in one's own tongue, not only when speaking a language other than one's own. To be bilingual, multilingual, but in one and the same language, without even dialect or patois. To be a bastard, a half-breed, but through a purification of race. That is when style becomes a language. That is when language becomes intensive, a pure continuum of values and intensities. That is when language becomes secret, yet has nothing to hide, as opposed to when one carves out a secret subsystem within language.

One attains this result only by sobriety, creative subtraction.

_______________________
-- G.Deleuze and/or F.Guattari
A Thousand Plateaus (p.98)



for something completely different







Borodin String Quartet no. 2 1st movement (excerpt) violin Mirage Kwartet Jakub Miller, violin; Any Bermudez, violin; Luis Diez, viola and Sinan Ercan, cello.

Excerpt from the final part of the First Movement of Borodin's Second String Quartet in D major.

Borodin dedicated this piece to his wife. He played cello and his wife is represented by the violin, so there are many beautiful duets in this piece!




White Rabbit


tribute

two tune


'When I was a child, I was, so to speak, in pieces; really a little schizo around the edges. I spent years trying to put myself back together again. My only thing was, I would pull myself along different pieces of realities in doing it.'

Felix Guattari (1995), Chaosophy, ed. Sylvere Lotringer, New York: Semiotext[e].


________________________________________ so yer chaos is undone by chaosmosis. as the deterritorialized flux. bends over time. capping the cold rent. it's not justice which speaking . desire. the truck ribbed by yer cage.


_________________________________________________________________________________________________

each mouth holding the haze.

enter the extra effort of peeing.

or some time Jill has frankincense burning her shell.

burnished by cockles maid forward the cunt rivered high. its her

leg awning breasting the knight. she's lesbic to her two tunes.


___________________________________



exercise(s) in doubt

tonight you are in bed alone
it doesn't have to be that way

but you're there and i , i am here.



you dare not speak
as you know that far is close
and your hoped for wish was fantasy
but that's not how reality works

it works this way over the live traces of space ~




and love's unpredictable machine ~ .

________________
No one makes the rules but you and I and the machines we make. There's nothing pre-written my love ~.


Dublin __ December 2009

_________________ Montreal 2010 future tense




then it might lift her shoulder.

hand goes to phone. she calling ringing.

its the tzara effect of her naked clothes off.

they are threesome to his willy-nilly.
_____________________________________

éclaté

     liam 2
Something I wrote which you can't ,, read ,,, because .


Is it really that you cannot read it over your body? come to air see its felt cape cover the near knacks of yore table ~ .




    
éclaté

éclaté éclaté éclaté éclaté éclaté





éclaté éclaté éclaté




liam 2

liam 1

    
was working

Was working with a friend on texts and ideas for a play. its coming along . slow but sure. the fringe festival de montreal starts soon and we will go.

too late to enter this year, but that is okay.


_______________..____ Lovers letters.

Ah la question the question's between her thighs a secret waiting for each answer.

__________________

Lover's answer. Kiss the answer ~


    
love's little playlist
 not another boring category! Liam she says come to 'le bed' "c'est tres tard"    .... "Liam il faut coucher ..."


et faire l'amour?

Ah la question the question's between her thighs a secret waiting for each answer.

==============

    
sexy and dirty love letters
 svoUSplAit

 Sexy and dirty love letters. what everyone wants and needs!

letters
to

go

to

bed


with!

    
Devenir hétéroclite


Listen to beuys speak he is so beautiful ... he says find the imaginative creative elements in yourself... this is the beauty and creation dans le soi meme...

 The Important thing is to make yourself what you are  and to find that one is many things.../ to compose and recreate oneself out of what one has been told/ or read. One has to decide and then become.

become become  one can be and is many things in a life time... I too have been many things... friend, worker, teacher, poet, blogger, performer, community organizer, reader .... enemy rival, man woman one is many many  devenir multiple

 where is one to find the person who is not a judge of one self or others.. let one self flourish to become many events and things, many loves



Listen to beuys speak he is so beautiful ... he says find the imaginative creative elements in yourself... this is the beauty and creation dans le soi meme...

 The Important thing is to make yourself what you are  and to find that one is many things.../ to compose and recreate oneself out of what one has been told/ or read. One has to decide and then become.

become become  one can be and is many things in a life time... I too have been many things... friend, worker, teacher, poet, blogger, performer, community organizer, reader .... enemy rival, man woman one is many many  devenir multiple

 where is one to find the person who is not a judge of one self or others.. let one self flourish to become many events and things, many loves



    
is

 Is love a  box?


__ So this is the first line for something to work on later.



Montreal

    
So far away... is what she said ...

   .something to write later.

(as if st. petersburg or moscow was not as far


__________


 What's the difference between a phonograph, a gramophone, a Graphophone, and a Victrola?
__ I went to google with this question and came across this one site that offers what seems like a well informed answer




"
What's the difference between a phonograph, a gramophone, a Graphophone, and a Victrola?


Phonograph was Edison's word. As far as Edison was concerned, only a genuine Edison machine was a phonograph.
Gram-o-phone was the trade name of a disc playing machine invented by Emile Berliner. The Gram-o-Phone eventually morphed into the Victor Talking Machine Company. The Victor company used the word gramophone in England, so gramophone became an English term meaning phonograph.
Graphophone (and later, Grafonola) was a word employed by Columbia and its myriad of successor companies.


Victrola always referred to a machine with the horn built into the cabinet, as made by the Victor Talking Machine Company. Victor introduced the Victrola in 1906. Prior to this, machines made by the Victor Talking Machine Company were known as --you guessed it -- talking machines."

Quoted from

http://www.intertique.com/AntiquePhonographFAQ.html

And here is another youtube video
this one based on Emile Berliner the guy who came up with the name gramophone.
Its all pretty interesting.

It's also pretty interesting to connect these early sound machines/talking machines to the sound/poetry machines of the Futurists musicians and to Raoul Hausmann's optophone poetry machineS.

Emile Berliner History of the Gramophone Phonograph New Version



    
History Of The Gramophone
Category: Music

I just found this on you tube

History of the gramophone and how it works.





    
Notre Musique. Mahmoud Darwish and Judith Lerner



Notre Musique. Jean-Luc Godard. A most moving conversation between  Poet Mahmoud Darwish and Judith Lerner(Sarah Adler)



C.DEBUSSY, Suite "Pour le Piano": Prelude
Category: Music

Live-Recording in Bad Bergzabern/Germany on 17 October 2008, performed by BORIS FEINER, Concert Pianist and Composer. For more details please visit BORISFEINER.COM


   
joyce artaud klossowski
Category: Writing and Poetry
Photobucket take your pick desiring machines ~ as guattari says machines not structure ~ Photobucket Photobucket





10 | Friday]
   
Miller speaking again anglais et sous titre en francais
Category: Writing and Poetry







— Il est inconcevable que l'on puisse avoir une vie sexuelle normale, naturelle, saine, et ne pas vomir usines, servage du salaire, artifices de l'existence citadine, taudis, temples de l'argent, machines, trucs et machins, et tout, et tout. Henry Miller.

Read more: http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendId=525580278#ixzz0rSo25vJw

television cut text

....
-------------------------------------------

You ask whether control or communication societies will lead to forms of resis­tance that might reopen the way for a communism understood as the “transversal organization of free individuals.” Maybe, I don’t know. But it would be nothing to do with minorities speaking out.

Maybe speech and communication have been corrupted. They’re thoroughly per­meated by money—and not by accident but by their very nature. We’ve got to hijack speech. Creating has always been something dif­ferent from communicating. The key thing may be to create vacuoles of noncommunication, circuit breakers, so we can elude control.

– Gilles Deleuze

Indian Test Pattern ____________zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzlate night CBC

_________________


__ Dear this love letter of yers has made my face collapse. The church of desire, the apse where prayer is thought, the epistemology of your body and mine across the unseen spaces of your voice. As you tapped into my veins, my vines like a square root of song. Wont you come and say my name?__________



---------------------------------

television cut text

....
-------------------------------------------

You ask whether control or communication societies will lead to forms of resis­tance that might reopen the way for a communism understood as the “transversal organization of free individuals.” Maybe, I don’t know. But it would be nothing to do with minorities speaking out.

Maybe speech and communication have been corrupted. They’re thoroughly per­meated by money—and not by accident but by their very nature. We’ve got to hijack speech. Creating has always been something dif­ferent from communicating. The key thing may be to create vacuoles of noncommunication, circuit breakers, so we can elude control.

– Gilles Deleuze

Indian Test Pattern ____________zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzlate night CBC

_________________


__ Dear this love letter of yers has made my face collapse. The church of desire, the apse where prayer is thought, the epistemology of your body and mine across the unseen spaces of your voice. As you tapped into my veins, my vines like a square root of song. Wont you come and say my name?__________



---------------------------------

\

__M ~u____________D _____________________

coming this Ie been working on some other proje week Ive been working on some other           

pderererojects

outside other proje week Ive been working on some ote of

time blogtime here, but this I shall __become?? posting a variant of a

photomontage and some texts...

and imagine it's spring and the world

is filled with beauty and love ~


...Les Gitanes et leur capitanet

La danse du derrière. Roy...

Petits poèmes érotiques.
de Raoul Ponchon
[Poème]

LES GITANES

Muse, je tiens de tes cheveux,
Va ! je veux,
Malgré mes cent rhumatismes,
Te suivre comme un toutou,

Voir tout, tout
Ce qu’a Paris d’exotismes.

Si pour me faire tout voir

Et savoir
Tu veux te mettre en dépense,
Tu auras, n’en doute pas,
Dans tes bas
Ta petite récompense.

A peine je dis cela,
Et voilà
Qu’à l’aide du Decauville
J’allai de l’Esplanade à
Grenada,
Si ce n’est pas à Séville.

Un placard m’y frappe fort
Tout d’abord :
Ici l’on voit les Gitanes
Avecque leur capitan,
Fier Gitan
Avecque ses capitanes.

Soit, ma muse, entrons ici :
Ce lieu-ci
Rappelle peu Batignolles
Et l’Espagne qu’on y voit
M’apparoît
Suffisamment espagnole.

Des culs jeunes ou rassis
Sont assis
En cercle, pour la parade :
Je me demande : Qui sait ?
Si Sarcey
N’est pas là sur cette estrade ?

Il y est ; j’entends sa voix,
Je le vois,
Même il porte des lunettes :
On dirait le gros tonneau
- O tableau !
-Assis sur deux clarinettes.

Ces derrières cuivrés,

Mordorés ;

Ils ont des lèvres de fraises,
Et des yeux lançant des feux

Comme ceux

D’un chat qui fait dans les braises

Quant à leur costume fou,
Archifou,
Il est composé de frusques
Que l’on ne peut concevoir ;
Faut les voir,
On ne sait où ça va jusques ?

Ce ne sont que bleus pervers,
Jaunes, verts

Qui se donnent en spectacle,

Et rouges audacieux

Que les yeux

N’endurent que par miracle.

On a mis le capitan
Au milan :
Tel un coq parmi ses poules,
Et l’on voit par son maintien
Qu’il y tient
Comme un rocher à ses moules.

Mais le premier cul - ollé !
Danse - ollé -
En jouant des castagnettes,
Tandis qu’un tas de vieillards
Frétillards
Le pompent de leur lorgnette.

Ses amis, les autres culs,
Vrais cocus,
Frappent dans leurs mains et poussent
Des cris à fendre du bois ;
Quelquefois
Sur leur chaise ils se trémoussent.

Le danseur se donne un mal
De cheval,
Tel qu’enfin, de guerre lasse,
Quand il s’est bien éreinté,
Esquinté,
Il va rejoindre sa place.

Il s’effondre sur son banc,
Succombant,
Pèle une orange et la chique,
Cependant que le voisin,
Son cousin
Reprend la danse bachique.

Se succèdent les tangos,
Fandangos,
Les jotas, les séguedilles ;
Chaque derrière se tord,
Se détord
Comme font les nœuds d’anguilles.

Le derrière Mercédès
Fait florès
Par sa manière piquante ;
Soledad ne manque pas
Dans ses pas
D’une grâce provocante,
Ceux nommés Carmencita,

Paquita,
Dépensent assez de verve
Et celui nommé Sarcey
Moins dressé,
Montre un peu plus de réserve.

Mais, c’est le nommé Pepa
Le papa
Des derrières, sans erreur ;
Oui, ce fol énergumène
Se démène
Avec bien plus de fureur.

Il est énorme et joufflu,
Lanturlu !
Et plus satisfait de vivre
Que ne le serait un mort
D’être mort,
Plus heureux qu’un ivrogne ivre.

Aussi bien, le capitan
Palpitant
D’amour et de convoitises,
Vient faire sa cour autour
Tout autour,
Et lui dire des bêtises.

Il est comme un enragé
En congé ;
Et l’on se dit : saperlotte !
Tout à l’heure, tu vas voir,
Son… mouchoir
Va sortir de sa culotte.

Muse, merci, de m’avoir

Mené voir

Cette danse du derrière.

Celle du ventre… à côté,
Sans gaîté,
Est de la petite bière.

Life Love Gitanes ... amour ami et sentiments....

Royale arrière-garde aux combats du plaisir
(Paul Verlaine)

from Act 3 Hamlet We get stuck in the hamlet box. ironically a hamlet is a small village. ______________________ Miller's idea versus Hamlet's curse: get out of the house, go along the line, take the anonymity of grass. the humility of love. start in the middle in the midst of things...

_________________
HAMLET
Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a
breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest;
but yet I could accuse me of such things that it
were better my mother had not borne me: I am very
proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at
my beck than I have thoughts to put them in,
imagination to give them shape, or time to act them
in. What should such fellows as I do crawling
between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves,
all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.
Where's your father?


clandestin

Become clandestine, make rhizome everywhere, for the wonder of non-human life to be created. Face my love, you have finally become probe-head....PFooIst

Is love a box?

__ So this is the first line for something to work on later.

would I look again for the ass of your love? _________yes.

So far away... is what she said ...

...something to write later.

the secret that disappeared

a place you have never been

Indifferent

I am completely indiffernet to the late 'postmodernist' german pretender who misuses the name of Andre Breton _ the neo nazi artist beton . essentially a suckass.

chamber music -james joyce and

blogs tube

et à...
[Edit] [Delete] [View Comments]
Subject : Not I S Beckett_ as performed by Billie Whitelaw_
Posted Date: : 18 Mar 2010, 00:49
....

____Samuel Beckett's Not I as performed by Billie Whitelaw.

















[Edit] [Delete] [View Comments]
Subject : Jack Kerouac on The Steve Allen Show
Posted Date: : 16 Mar 2010, 04:45
......A clip from the 1985 documentary "Kerouac, the Movie." Jack Kerouac interviewed by Steve Allen in 1959.
















More footage from this interview in these videos:






http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXakFb...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xrd05a...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IItv-l...
[Edit] [Delete] [View Comments]
Subject : various
Posted Date: : 15 Mar 2010, 00:29
....





[Edit] [Delete] [View Comments]
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these places

tomorrownevercomes

the dashboard is a desire machine


....tomorrownevercomes

the dashboard is a desire machine
dada duffy
.....

the dashboard is a desire machine

dada duffy


_____________________

It seems myspace wants me to say whether I am listeing to music as it happens I am.


at radio france vivace


L'Art de Charles Munch (4) - Le retour en France, concerts avec l'Orchestre National -

Par Olivier Le Borgne
2009V8827E0006
rediffusion du 24.09.09
*

17:23

Henri Dutilleux
Métaboles pour orchestre (Enregistrement de studio)
Orchestre National de l'ORTF
Charles Munch, direction
réf : ERATO 2564 60575-2
*__________The artist works with many machines. Each one living and vibrating.


_______________
et à...

_______


at radio france vivace
GOeP4

images and template

This first a tribute to that old Dada

,

text of liam heart

_____________________Arthur Howling  ~

Ah! encore: je danse le sabbat dans une rouge clairière, avec des vieilles et des enfants. Je ne me souviens pas plus loin que cette terre-

Lines of flight and the body mind etcetera... remake the things.....

This first a tribute to that old Dada
..

tu pense? alors la googoogaboo?

B U R E A U O F P U B L I C S E C R E T S tu penche tui? tu vous voustu! A User’s Guide to Détournement(1) Every reasonably aware person of our time is aware of the obvious fact that art can no longer be justified as a superior activity, or even as a compensatory activity to which one might honorably devote oneself. The reason for this deterioration is clearly the emergence of productive forces that necessitate other production relations and a new practice of life. In the civil-war phase we are engaged in, and in close connection with the orientation we are discovering for certain superior activities to come, we believe that all known means of expression are going to converge in a general movement of propaganda that must encompass all the perpetually interacting aspects of social reality. There are several conflicting opinions about the forms and even the very nature of educative propaganda, opinions that generally reflect one or another currently fashionable variety of reformist politics. Suffice it to say that in our view the premises for revolution, on the cultural as well as the strictly political level, are not only ripe, they have begun to rot. It is not just returning to the past which is reactionary; even “modern” cultural objectives are ultimately reactionary since they depend on ideological formulations of a past society that has prolonged its death agony to the present. The only historically justified tactic is extremist innovation. The literary and artistic heritage of humanity should be used for partisan propaganda purposes. It is, of course, necessary to go beyond any idea of mere scandal. Since opposition to the bourgeois notion of art and artistic genius has become pretty much old hat, [Marcel Duchamp’s] drawing of a mustache on the Mona Lisa is no more interesting than the original version of that painting. We must now push this process to the point of negating the negation. Bertolt Brecht, revealing in a recent interview in France-Observateur that he makes cuts in the classics of the theater in order to make the performances more educative, is much closer than Duchamp to the revolutionary orientation we are calling for. We must note, however, that in Brecht’s case these salutary alterations are narrowly limited by his unfortunate respect for culture as defined by the ruling class — that same respect, taught in the newspapers of the workers parties as well as in the primary schools of the bourgeoisie, which leads even the reddest worker districts of Paris always to prefer The Cid over [Brecht’s] Mother Courage. It is in fact necessary to eliminate all remnants of the notion of personal property in this area. The appearance of new necessities outmodes previous “inspired” works. They become obstacles, dangerous habits. The point is not whether we like them or not. We have to go beyond them. Any elements, no matter where they are taken from, can be used to make new combinations. The discoveries of modern poetry regarding the analogical structure of images demonstrate that when two objects are brought together, no matter how far apart their original contexts may be, a relationship is always formed. Restricting oneself to a personal arrangement of words is mere convention. The mutual interference of two worlds of feeling, or the juxtaposition of two independent expressions, supersedes the original elements and produces a synthetic organization of greater efficacy. Anything can be used. It goes without saying that one is not limited to correcting a work or to integrating diverse fragments of out-of-date works into a new one; one can also alter the meaning of those fragments in any appropriate way, leaving the imbeciles to their slavish reference to “citations.” Such parodistic methods have often been used to obtain comical effects. But such humor is the result of contradictions within a condition whose existence is taken for granted. Since the world of literature seems to us almost as distant as the Stone Age, such contradictions don’t make us laugh. It is thus necessary to envisage a parodic-serious stage where the accumulation of detourned elements, far from aiming to arouse indignation or laughter by alluding to some original work, will express our indifference toward a meaningless and forgotten original, and concern itself with rendering a certain sublimity. http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/detourn.htm PhotobucketPhotobucket


Artist _Bohémien, _ detournement _ latter day situationist? It is not enough, therefore, to oppose the centalized to the segmentary. Nor is it enough to oppose two kinds of segmentarity, one supple and primitive, the other modern and rigidified. There is indeed a distinction between the two, but they are inseparable, they overlap, they are entangled. ___________________Les SamEdis perDues blog et blog c'est tres beau. moi jesuis poet de mauvais mots et paroles. recherches des amis et autres Je t'embrace pardon je parle de schizo langueE The Society of the Spectacle___________DeBorders JaBord ColIs Chapter 1: The Culmination of Separation “But for the present age, which prefers the sign to the thing signified, the copy to the original, representation to reality, appearance to essence . . . truth is considered profane, and only illusion is sacred. Sacredness is in fact held to be enhanced in proportion as truth decreases and illusion increases, so that the highest degree of illusion comes to be the highest degree of sacredness.” —Feuerbach, Preface to the second edition of The Essence of Christianity 1 In societies dominated by modern conditions of production, life is presented as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has receded into a representation.
2 The images detached from every aspect of life merge into a common stream in which the unity of that life can no longer be recovered. Fragmented views of reality regroup themselves into a new unity as a separate pseudoworld that can only be looked at. The specialization of images of the world evolves into a world of autonomized images where even the deceivers are deceived. The spectacle is a concrete inversion of life, an autonomous movement of the nonliving. Debord ..
--------------------------------------------



.. Art Poetry People _ Lines of flight and the body mind etcetera... remake the things.....
This first a tribute to that old Dada

___________________________Kiss UP breakdown Desiring-machines work only when they break down, and by continually breaking down. Photobucket secret language To be a foreigner, but in one's own tongue, not only when speaking a language other than one's own. To be bilingual, multilingual, but in one and the same language, without even dialect or patois. To be a bastard, a half-breed, but through a purification of race. That is when style becomes a language. That is when language becomes intensive, a pure continuum of values and intensities. That is when language becomes secret, yet has nothing to hide, as opposed to when one carves out a secret subsystem within language. Wars, big and little, are behind me. Voyages, always in tow to something else, are behind me. I no longer have any secrets, having lost my face, form, and matter. I am now no more than a line. I have become capable of loving, not with an abstract, universal love, but a love I shall choose, and that shall choose me, blindly, my double, just as selfless as I. One has been saved by and for love, by abandoning love and self. Now one is no more than an abstract line, like an arrow crossing the void

One attains this result only by sobriety, creative subtraction.

images to send

sabine

ange démon homme crucifie par le ligne verticale (toujours rouge) l .. ligne simple direct et comme vos autres ligne je sens toujours le délicatesse et lyrisme (la tendresse  dans le mouvement__
Some of the texts i ve written about Sabine's work. I will add the images sometime later.



brusque chute soudaine violent s'écraser avec amour .. suppression de s'écraser retournant (ah~ traduction moi _et monsieur google _ française elle plus fort que l'anglais pour un étranger comme moi __ mais comment ca étranger? est ce que je suis étranger des paroles des langages.. alors faire le moléculaire dans langage comme tu faits dans tes peintures... tes lignes qui saut et brûle tir tire moi...)
abrupt sudden violent falling crashing with love lightning .. striking crashing turning over.. il tombe ou elle tombe elle tombe comme ? ou elle saut ca dépends coment on voir le direction de mouvement .. aussi le figure suggère le squelettique ... what tender bones... strings... almost.. the human body si delicat...le corps humaine  ...presque quelque chose qui n'exista pas a cette niveau ...

mais toujours délicat et possède par le soin ... as if the painter le peintre toi ... as if your held the subjects of your paintings in your hand...

sour grapes

Looking for a gal! a sweet peach, a bright bird, and an all round perfect fit! How do you like them apples? for more of this mysterious request , get ahold a me. Here and then ___.



You are plain but intense. Homely, but passionate. That's you, and you're wiry sex appeal. Your personality is often times retiring, bashful, but always you observe. You observe me, and I like that. Okay, so now what Miss Plain. Miss rejected. How do I get to be in your arms? O my love



Yes totally agree mile end's a great place to get laid... and get into this that and the other.... was at a latte place recently and it was hot... babies! smile ... summer's here and so is the ladies of love!



O here we go again ~ we sweep past each other ~ you are so desirable ~



Clearly you are speaking to someone you already know, or think you know, or someone who you are not sure of. It's not me! but I am curious about your posting. What sort of intellectual conversation are you after? And let me ask you whether you know something about Plato, and the real meaning of Platonic. If you fail this test! yer done for! No prize! No chat! No friend. take care and good luck!

(LOL)

How about demonstrating in what way it is You

modi

Light dark Lady of light Lady of the dark kiss O succubus and incubus O how I miss

Chasses au Lions

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hence frowarding ...

for this that flog its flicker ~ (museed'orsay)

over river and riant rain was hers over

winded ocean

pleasuring past its boated vessel ~ ~ gettin off

on delacroix

at the

Eugène

Dig

'Delacroix's 1854 Chasse aux lions ... sketched for the director of the Fine Arts Department... asked him to execute (!A monstrous choice of word dear curator!) .... "a painting, first submitting ( O subMiSSIons )

the subject and the sketch to me for approval." Give me a break

approval become dead masterpiece

master Pie

In

the face!

O Shit

the pictures

fantastic

He rework'd ... theme thinking since 1847,

Rubens' paintings The Hunts.

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|||||||||||which exist many versions __________________________________ painted between 1856 and 1861

______________________________ version/conversion/reversion/

____________________________________ At Museum eyes ache staring so long/even neck relaxes after tim becoming part of painting. am the mouth the head which eat/ lion growl ____________we hunt ~

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other ima

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other images

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vict

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Expérimenter

Expérimenter de nouveaux langages pour produire de nouvelles subjectivités,

and

                          If it does not, then you should not insist, you should not argue; you should flee, flee even saying                              ok ok you win   flee, flee even saying ok ok you win                           If it does not, then you should not insist, you should not argue; you should flee, flee even saying ok ok you win


it's what i say to the consumers of art the would be readers/critics them that cannot                                 suck art dry never giving.... the non bricoleurs  ~ 


the self promoter narcissistic and not even neurotic/ ______________

sabine 2, 3 et

Outer Space man.. delicate homme the red line again un motif dans vos peintures ou vos dessins... mais on et tout dans 'outer' space... sur les plateaux. on est touts les hommes et toutes les femmes.. quelle tete ce monsieur.. lines line the thick red line... and the darker to to the right... un portrait en deux... his skull is a split map but no it's not really split its drawn across the top of its two regions.. tu me pardonne ... hes in space.. peut-etre il pense a les autres peintures que tu a fait... .. il est comme le moi qui est un nous.... how still this one... how calm the background... the space of its emptiness... what a rich man...


. what a rich man... i trace the second line the dark not the red and it goes down down to his chest.. where a shirt collar might be.. his heart son coeur



what a definite and delicate drawing as he peers.. the theme : he looks at your works ils regards vos peintures...


i'd say more but my m outh would fall apart...



bones nose, eyes, bodies on bodies triangles on triangles angles ..


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3rd comment on Sabine's Take care of me


O mon ~ O je reviens...
(2nd)
magnificent masterpiece... what a body.. O
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2nd comment on first figgure


le voila c'est lui encore mais dans un forme diffèrent.. un autre guise...


______________4th comment-female figure

elle est belle ~ est grand



______________________5th figure



this one is si belle si ... colour splash roar of colour and even violence mais quelle devenir de la violence et tendresse....



this one is si belle si ... colour splash roar of colour and even violence mais quelle devenir de la violence et tendresse....je reveins retours... c'est un souffle ...



maybe its not a roar... its a roarcall roar-call roar over vertical and horizontal spaces of the painting...


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first figure again


Peut-être c'est n'est pas le même homme ... okay its not.. there is never one man or there is only one man... and he has many shapes.. the lines are different the red line is thicker... its a thick red bar .. mais transparent... and his head lines are those of his skull are stronger.. alors.. c'est un homme ou une multitude des hommes... he's closer up.. his eyes are cat eyes... today i thought to myself you Liam have gull's eyes...
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one last comment pour l'instant elle est trop grand de pas dire quelsque chose d'autre


son visage ses cheveux ses lèvres.. .. ses bras...les couleurs delicate a touch... O this is is a poem je reviendrai a elle ...