Jill laughing her guts out

laughing her guts out on year 55 of the citizen subject annee of her revolt. as was to be shall twine its seriou self. Guttering the hand stands springing to her lilted plate _ tanged over the air, its scent a byway conduct to travellos on the cunning ford. she like the sip of its ease on her tip tip tip an her tap tap tap . Be off good peer. she's peering around your grace. Like a monkey . Like a monkey without her cheese.

Congratulations Mona.


mona having fun

Mona was having Fun with F. the fatty tissue of the Molar Re Visions
We did Not Invite you Into Our Studio and Never would…
Mona was having Fun with F. the fatty tissue of the Molar Re Visions
We did Not Invite you Into Our Studio and Never would…
no we didnt didnt didnt
Fun Frany versus the fatty tissue of the Molar

Once upon a time Mona met a paranoid loser/she called him Madame
Paranoia and her fat hat.

We have nothing to learn from you, because you are a pedantic in the
extreme dear Madame de -- and also you don't go to school with Jill
and Franny -- filled with bile, it comes out every time you get
critical.... That is the papaistic paranoia, your need to help is
hate..helpers in our Studio no sireee! .... Do you think this does
not show, it does become thee Madame Paranoia! That you don't have a
program (balance sheet programme for desire-machines) that I Mona
can and do laugh at myselves and yet be deadly serious about our
lines of work and flight work... Speaking of yer programme is not
the one we saw on the icebergs of France...

Mona was corresponding one day that was a year with a Bitter gal
known as the slow bone and here is what she wrote/ but what does her
correspondent know of life and love when he lives in the fat shell
of self-imposed poverty.

Mona says to Franny about the punk in the island:We knew they'd
react that way. We don't make mistakes, and are fat or spiteful like
yourselves who do not go to where the power is..... If you want to
fight us ... you will lose... we hope you realize that... we cannot
lose as we don't play yer game... we don't believe in fighting and
we don't go crashing into people's studios and then expecting them
to be grateful... fat man like you changing genders with yer loyal
lies of the instant are death…
We have nothing to learn from you, for one because you are a pedant -
- and also you didn't go to school with Jill and Franny --
filled with bile, it comes out every time you get critical. That is
yer papaistic paranoia, your need to help is hate....Do you
think this does not show? That you don't have a program and that we
do, and that I Mona can and do laugh at myselves and yet be deadly
serious about.. and yer denials… games with psychiatry…
our lines of work and flight work.

How vile you are in your carbunclely ways, with your
fluttery eyes, so grand faggy poohpah wasting yer life away ..
blathering on...chitchatlines… Yer a nasty little critty aren't
Flinky, is that the way you was taught Latin and Greek and to be a
nice man? O so then go and reread yer Father Deleuze and Mother
Guattari said Mona wondering at the whine of his tone..

Father Deleuze once had a boy like you write him a nasty letter
maybe you should read it... Yes old Gilles Deleuze himself had to
write a Letter to Michel Crepsole... I, Jill was there, I saw it,
leaning over is shoulder

That is the difference between the paranoid pole and the schizo and
that is why Artaud was different from Jacques Riviere, which is the
role you have invited on yourself.

what comes from almost being a convert to a religion of dismissing
those who you don't understand of keeping your commitments safe,
which is fine, but has nothing to do with us...

is that what justifies yer rage and violence and yer lost life?

yes yer a fambly Paranoiac man woman a fambly fumbly Ooman

And what is worse is you are a coward. but you are missing the cows
and their Moos and their Mooske and my Moose cause you're a Cariboo.
and not a Caboose.

You wouldn't talk that way "in person" never dare the love that
speaks not its name - never dare speak to me this way to us in
person/ she cut the edges of her sown sword Salieri to her Mozart of
Mona and her Finnegans Wake of Awake Mona and Jill and the gals
Cause you ain't got a person. Not a person But a dried up drink
what you are… as "We" destroy deterritorialize yer arguments so
fast... Franny moves Fast says Jill and can't notice her
enemies...while laughing in their faces laughs with one face weeps
with the other...
Gutless little man little arrogant American little coward who does
not face the real battles of writers and the shit we have to deal
with it...
you ... you you snorting little winkee poo, you cute little fart
face with nowhere to go but the taxman! O Poor laughed Mona

you with your greek and latin coming onto my friends...

Look finicky, its time for you to get on yer fatty little knees and
not us not us

We are a parrying prayer already reading the lines of flight down
the long to heaven and escape...

Speak to Me and Mona Me Jill Deleuze and Franny Guattari! of
sobriety I who live in the mountains of a Thousand Plateaus.

You know nothing about sobriety, you know about hiding behind your
unpaid bills, your backlog of taxes your evasions, your pretences to
be like others whom you are not like at all,
your envy

your pedantry which is fanatically and repulsive

You want to pick a fight with me, I Mona?

You, you little fat man in the back woods of pathetic Pickled Edward

Go read Deleuze and Guattari and Grow Up.

Then Mona laughed and knew Fatty was finicky and fudgesome in his
own Queeny way. It was ok fatty she knew, fatty would get over it
when Fatty realized his persona was a send up , a duck shoot, a bore.

That not being in the machine fatty could not be in it.

Then she suggested that Fatty wear a gown the next time he went out
as his ass would be covered. Hahahah, she laughed with her flesh and
undone and her body and undone and her very unhappiness a joy.

Mona might have been sad for a second but didn't believe in sadness
and besides that she didn't experience it... and rage was not
justified nor bullying blindly one's opponent the Orphic just
couldn't take that!
O no she swept away her gown and went for a promenade picking
asses as she swayed.




she twill the blankets of our bisexual bicameral lover

le jargon des pulcritudes

she twill the blankets of our bisexual bicameral lover



she twill the blankets of our bisexual bicameral lover bitter textual as any date. shes groggy with fogging down her mater. Paps to her bosom,s he's besoin des autres. Merdre a her, is what we-he says in the flue of its fume .



Jill's embubbled on the edge of the desire machine. Aloof by stars and night shes training her strain to self its weird hedge. Of defeat she knows no name excepting her double selfed mouth s on her. Sexed to her twinned engine. Shes harmony's lingered sister.

Mona's embubbled by Franny_ fanny's crack's the ass thru which the universe escapes. her godless guts are sweeping the plains of Abraham. Hooded and hoofed shes got grottoes on her camesl. Waited for her double mouthed lover. Repatriation and repeating lover galore shes poor as the tit mouse she's yearning a t.



this is your desire fire & rain hurling hurricanes at the speed ~ of light ~ knight kicks ashoe
back over the hill of wheat. wood god s hamadryad vanquished. Jill and Mona spoke in the high seas nothing. mouthed to mouth bodies of salt ~ .



Jill : a coffin-hoist to bury your myth.Os. shacked by th e ruin railroad , the gardenia of baloons, the swim of tucked, abstract as any dynamic seduction ducky. As it was shall become over arms bracleted by arms, tangled in the breath of .



as glean as gelatin as merry make the rounder sleigh to her woman smile. on the street ahead the reel.not the regrescent . the forward rudder

So Jill her making masks of geology semiotic fruit of the wheel. Not spun by the Packard wheel, but her bunting played to any sun's eyebrow. Like she went she went she sent she reposed posed and reclined.


pointed east and west

Pointed east and west her socks were bone ~ . all alone she was worn path grape. vine of cluster. hanging balcony a classical smile 'on her face'. alone is like a hangar it goes fine in any ace. Ace is not hole in the hand or spade , but check point charlie to your desire.

A king's made a contraction delighting her darlings.


Yer k(n)ight is a gracious urn!

felled timber, probed __ fell love.

so it went ~ , in that strata all was for naught ~ .

(Time you laughed as too much cry_ing. Was her name
your name their game.

add yer unlinked notes later afters

looking locking

Looking for the perfect template failed every time ~ tercet percentage ~~ speaking the same language is what counted ~ then one could be ~~ by being one could be becoming becoming becoming one one One One and two. Not a wound really but a flying beast.

blocs of becoming were not identical to blocks and road blocks but maps of metaphor cluttered to the make the spoon self stead.

radiant random filiations often worked best. that woman's swaying walk ahead after a quarrell ahead of her ahead of her . sweet sylped self. her ass was a million miles away. desire head, desire herd, not the pug puppy's way, but Love's glove way.

Way? WAy!!
what you yapping about?

love 's a glove. you need to pour. not pour . or screed yer dying days. middle aged boat carrier, flagger and togger.

on the Ottawa Queen's capital radio a rhizomed call in show. you've been awarded prime minister of the exterior.

love's little body was an escaped. sorry about that year in the sun, huh Mister Spy. You thought your espionage machine worked but they were trying to drive you crazy.

More later good book , and anon.


sorry was as sorry as Sorry could be.
what was Sorry?
Sorry ? Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry

Sorry was a character. in the cutting down of woods &
woulds. Wld could have been wood as was. some silliness of that
sort . not speaking because speaking was sorry impious
impossible not likely out of the question, not able,
incapable, unable unlikely . As any table. One could not speak.

Sorry. Sorry and Sorry.

Sorry the story __ a liver long tale.
Broken frustration ~ .



the impossible line of flight . each moment's a radiant nail; so Fanny say. And Franny's butt is abroken blue. Screw the other one. Each cheek is a prescient nape. Tug t'other . As it creep .