simile not metaphor

Rough up the adage catapult its drawerstring suit. The Mozart traveler works well agains the stage. Carrying many boats in . Along the what's it called.

Does America spell power with an E or with death at every mouth tuba?

_______________________Jill's ina swift Mona moving out inoutinexistential.


the machines assembly

Jill's rhetorical pin wheels . Tears won't hurt them sister there'll be tears to come worse than these comfort them dont attack me for the tears they dropped their tears'll teach em teach how it hurts to love_ god turns his face away from Cain yet turning his turning he turns that turnin to his will just like them tears''l teach about the real fears to come the big storms... and ya know families .. Jill's sorry it happend but has no regrets she's sorry it happened the way it did ... she's a witness... hanging on by the teeth of her edge beveled self to the two time swiming god...the money you gave created guilt... torment to the outside one... but the brother by law knows better that families oyes la famiglia has always been bloodstained ... martyred scapegoating driving the outside out intergenrational spiralling pain cast aside and cast off come back to haunt the present.. it's illusory prosperity...... the sister castigating the brother that ignorant barbarian sister... and the other one casting castigating eyes at the aunt... who'd mothered a gang of nine and that was think of the love she brought in the world.. the love she brough

O love's boot might be a legal bought stop but love's body can't be a legal frame. A frameup! saith Mona! rambling ehr ticking and tucking weeds.


love's boot was a

Love's boot was a god's good foot. ... As far as Jill's concerned the dead're awake living in Spinoza's great palace. His feet balance the term of tinkle and wheat parrying the love sword of love. A brush a bush waved to its frosted parlour. None heard the ululate in the ovum road. Episodic as the bumble bee hubcapping rush he riveted the nail past her bucket seated ultraviolet sun.

The good future fortune the best is yet to come. Waves of becoming ... tinythe rearwarding doubt of this humble shot to a dark god and its festive incoming... She was becomly as any maid and blue as the camp rustling the elm and fair liasoned widow . Not a flute parting its lips but the mryiad face of its cone.

----------------------------------------Jill rings and rings rubbing her glass asking asking Mona about the project. Do you see the patent removal of the latent cover? Does the thing heel its moment of its combined need. This stagiare between strata can't hear the air placing the lips on the nub of thought.

This boat yields farewell with every field and joisting its doubt slaphappy arrives filled with the brush of its pattern. Something along those lines, you see she's holding out prose patches for her work on Kant. The Janus faced god ~ Move your feet!



Sheaf ~


Jill's boot's are sheaves. The smile of death's everywhere.... what did what his name say? I hear the winds... the arms .... the flowers... care's worn the sun away washed off the soap stone's brilliance... the lord don't hear nothing... a friend doesn't hear the call in the hurling sky... pounding ... the bang back and forth.... the rain drives... water the well's run parched ... the desert 's creepin g up... in the wilderness the whistle.... of stinging wind... the coyote out there... shrieks... the pale eyelids are harder ... now.... your legs're weak.... your feet shake.... the twanging gets louder it's urgent the breezes cutting the wall..s... in the cabin... the cry... of the old ocean.... it's the way it goes in the weary night across the desperate land... the farm... once.. back... in the distance that farm was a dream you and he too lost..the thighs of the white night... the curling black.. her skin glowing in the lampside dark...that's beauty heart picking in the side of the ridge over the city 'cross the 'mountain' hear talk of the dead walking and it's the ghosts of the summertime ruining their fate ... capturing the head running loose on the 'field' of 'honor' a war no one wants and one we started... god know's there's blood in the field... Oops there's goes another.. accidental as they say the ruins cry out ... the loud laments are heard across the land... this farmer's lands burnt to the ground forever and ever it seemed til the return of the might ones and they're driving out the forcing foreign invader driving out the Americans the Romans and their allies... so called... and the world 's gonna peace pas t these wars... women and men marching to pace and in peace. ... their friend... their wholesome friend....



Holding rose ...s ...

Jill holds here horses:roses, comatose off the obvious toes marry chariots of gold busting waterfall.

The before she knows
into the
cone she

arriving at last long

at the b.w.o. of the earth ~ .

Now rose are lilacs and the relating soul is a bursting pane of joy!

We'll hold our buckets full of love.



asking these and those...

People are asking questions. Is it geology or theology is she grace of justified immanence by its transcendent rules, the egological fate of the sedentary destiny, and secondary to its puffed lineaments. Is Christ the tiger the wave chopped by goodness what Artemis of rosing sowing gods?

O you dare! you dare! back to England and the transcendent getaway! we're rushed! and behold after dirty Paris the looming skylines of London ! ... our transcendent drag visible to everyone in our wake! we'd betrayed Professor Challenger and his partner vous vous vous Guattari! We'd seen persons___ they saw an intensity! We were Scots heroes on the highland of Humeian selfhood and they was French laborers sweeping the back yard of existential ... No! Mona says, it t'aint so!~ you slut! betrayer of the seven winds of the planes of consistency and the emergency of desire. After all we've been through how can you go back to that slop! bucket of shit and baloney of the dread Logos made flesh word of God and his transcendent bullying! O and you call yerself a man of learning an erudite pig fascist is what you are! How can you talk about persons any longer She sobs! weeps tearing her hanky and her contused honking gags her momentarily as she thrust her hipass at him, double sexed to her helium cartoon self. Everyone and especially you are a fascist! you were part of the inner circle next to the Challenge itself! the green lobster was yer Daddy! How can you ? She screams turning green as the leaves on the widest elm on the boulevard St. Michel. Slut that she is, she remains open to every deconstructive desecrating thrust. She's being turned into a tree! a fucking oak! a pine a goddamn arborescent petrified! monster! She has to shut up now __ ___________________

Hey you listen! let me whisper a secret . Dear, my dear my dear Nietzsche himself was wrong! Wrong about Christianity! That is the key my dear! that is the key and not this nonsense about idiots and resentiment and Paul and the slave morality.... the earliest Christians once the light had been seen, were strong prudent middle class Romans. Not a resentment in their body, and they knew as sure as anyone did when the gig was up. Rome , that is. And its folly, and insanity You think Augustine this great beast of thought was resentful dear Nietzsche? __ Non, j'ai dits deja Nietzsche loved Christ. Like Dostoyevsky. Like Saint Deleuze himself and his brother Saintly Felix. ____________ fanny protesting > Deleuze did not love Christ. Nor did Felix they did not even think about him. Okay __ I take that back. But he was a saint and Dostoeyevsky and Nietzsche loved Christ. Witness the last letters of that fate German, and his endless books about the Antichrist and the moist poignant of passages in the what’s it called , There spoke Zarthustra!

_______________________ The Virgin Mary was tackled from Behind what she gave birth to? Was buggery as culture, reverence of the mother as assfavour?Is this your veiled heretical becoming benign? And O Poor Foucault trapped in the Iranian caper! what a laugh that was. Desperate 60's hoping so bad for something to happen hat could not happen in such a place! And Saint Genet and Saint Buddha. And Saint Bodhisattva. I kiss you ! I kiss you ass! with the markings of god! yet Genet knew his mind... O Genet was a slut that There is no God but god and that is the one transcendent figure of the potpourri called life. The gnostics err! the Sabellians err! the others ! all heretics! it was not him up there! it was Me! All Me I was the One ! Jill calls the Police: 911-Immanence come in please, yes, yes, we have a madman on the loose, thinks he’s Christ transcendent. Lock up yes, lock him up, in the dungeons of .. yes, you know where.... Rimbaud walks in talks a look around, and having seen hell 'down there' himself ... grabs the one about to be routed and locked up the immanence police, gives the dirty Rimbaud eye and look to everyone around who's trying to hold down our imminent transcendentalist, and laughs. And pisses on all of them, grabs our heroine by the hair, and runs out the window with her in full .. flight. Who got out the window? Who made it to the fly? Rimbaud in crime Rimbaud and his partner. ________________Mona has a fit a flying temperamental . Something.

__________________be wary my fellows! the blog molars are moving up in this netted feat!


infinitely tall ....

Them that's so important. Can't keep a clandestine face. And hidden in their delirious regimenting need the smallest pretending it's the larger scope of its determination . And so tacking along becomes like that. Wished for leap. Not quite the night of 74 was it? She wept to hear the uncontrollable sighs the tears of. Not the police but the bashing heads. Was it this way the circus came to an end. We saw the nothing at the top and these gangsters beat the crap out of the winsome one . And he was left by too and the sign post.

Jill recalling the night of rafter and boat. and-the worried look on the demonstrators face. and the girl running fast real fast and the clubs knocking down the by-standing women and the becomes of molarity push the seedy breakbank of the side. And the women hooted, and thousands ululated. It was night day and dust in the sand in the mouth.



This way the moon works. Cries crime! moon ! sun! war! the Illiad and its boots . That 'tramping on the counterpane' and outside the grimy .. . mist .. comes along a hair's breadth close to truth. Plato didn't dig that with his spade and mathematical genius nor did the stranger bastard Parmenides the square flat of being. Unmoving and close to the rocket lick the totem pole the ricocheting love with her cain. Hobbling along, she's a reader if not a google reader then a lay reader. Laying the texts of the sooth. And by jiggle it was the woman's summer dress ended war.


come around again...

That might be Vico and his bicycle rounding the range . if not then why not the alleyway of sunlight dappling . This wasn't the place was it now? She might be on you boyo over the path near the plinth. Its reckoning come sung home.

At Calais the forts are nothing left. In Ireland the hoboes are left to rustle leaves pack jackets and ring the tinkers bell. Applause apple sauce and the dappled air of sing sang sung.



Turn up the tune Oedipus your bucket's boshed .Mashed between four teeth eight gods, nuns and toothsome side winning. Table turning its spin goes quicker as fast lightening peeving out the god of taste and waiting on table after table according to the choice allegory of its ovulation. Ovum to ring its treasured sweet on!

This babe's got her arse on backwards. We'd wave if we could, but darning stockings not your choice method. Murmur the curtain parting the seat, open up yer ass crack, deep in its funnel comes the bounding cry of earth earth earth .


Of the

Frightened of the day Jill calls her pattern. Catatonia kata _ and katabasis the rumbling round the swinging sward. The swan and at the dark end of the far square is that a ricocheting thing... hunkered down stars falling round ... its lime and lemon and the twinge of gods backed up ... terrorized by gods ...

Heartily we've deconceived their seed . But down by the river grace's has its tongue meriting the pummeled forest and the wheat... what mouth holds open this word adjective player pen to the night...

She's tired... .




Gelid might be horses yet not the wooden sun . Come along now ~ we're headed to the smoke room. Wreathed in cloud of idea, and elbows here arms there, heads, over, arms akimbo, the bowl turned over, the camera clicking or the sound and the tape and its there a spot slip on the floor oh its costly no its not its she her breath and breast and this one o her and he there the favoured? Rubbed her french arm and her ass his crotch and the philosopher up and down baton to thought his rhythms one does not . Ah rest a place this today Tuesday a place learning again leaning against that wall in the back of the room there see it's her. Yes, and Jill's very happy becoming woman Mona's happy become perceptive

Call it spring 1989



trial by error


Trial by error remanding Mona.. Her chair's poetry is chalk and chiaroscuro . This way a teaching's been revved by her commands. And the lust beat down. Not so the mumbling but better this way than removed by force, and edified by bring to and going home she knew her breath sluicing through her . Out to in to out and her girl her double nape and the reverent secret kiss.





In this lake she reached a caterer the cutting thing underfoot, was something as a song was flumed to its bearable note . Then up it went reaching the sky grounded round a firmament of paste and sky. No one stirred its belt nor the infinite quality of its marriage. This way its heard round the earth the one two one to reach preach its pleasure the beauty of its mare

Has anyone been an invention of this song? Jill's wooly head and the beaks heard .

_________________________ There have been gloves .



infinitely receding


Infinitely receding in the dark shrinking Spinoza prince of the tear. Clock of the weening word heard its bearable fate, the shrank duck and breaking wave. Not over

the spume but the funnel of cellos.

Jill measuring the beat_________________________________


return and fern


Chains had a way. Of talking Shackles bore their weight and the magazine heard the ringing. Mona felt a sun penetrate the rocket weave whirl its summer back buttering the pair of wheat, the refted stalk the keen chair the sudden felt of its church city of nowhere and the throng and the bust the head sharing its complete gentle hour . Thither the Jill and Mona bore their neck the double lick kiss ~ .

Of one face and another Mona and her many wore her hair .



but eats

Carapace is like having a face. No face. the face in the wood, in the fur, in the seething giant of the poorest makes for descriptive desperate airs, and like a clematis twines round its fender . and the mark has no space. but eats

Mona ties the shoe round the lace that bends the leg wishing for nothing but an unconscious preceding itself.

But eateries are not dining rooms and salon is not a parlour . Come round this side of the sentence and you've chosen your song.


this kempt pair of hook

She goes blank blank up against the wall its furring falling... if the turret pouts and the rain clambers down the chimney will it henceforward be the becoming of trees? Can syntax fuss its rubbing tube down the corridor of time?

Every face's mirror knows this way, its grappling and praising .


this river wont meet

She hear it the circle's circumference, the real Jesus buttercup ontology and the 5 amendment proof of her sexistence . At the living room, couch and armchair wrapped in paltry plastic, she's heard the choir chiming the bells on the balcony, and knowing her daddy is there, shes running the water. If she's lucky it's because she heads south leads a charmed life and reads the right books not the wrong ones and the naughty ones, but the really dirty philospopical tomes.
Weighty in matter and meat no less, and like that remembering a friends mother she drives home late.

take back your wall Mona

Take back your wall Mona, the trees are blowing. Over the side stepping and sidereal space she canters a little like her mother. The godless. Fret. And bowing cape. Not an understudy or a butler but a maid with the dirty things they're supposed to wear. To cartograph her appetite. She's a big fat smile in the reckoning of the world, and its pod


okay my dear

Aye aye My captain this bliss's is listed. Her whore pan tray's got her good nowhere and nowhere. First between then before before between she's before and the giving. And then she see her before before her after he before and between she's after. She's after by offering the thing her thing.

Star forward. Let's huddle skip backward.Scoping the bridge, the ism things come. It's come to their round. Monsters on the earth. And under the surface, under the surface, what under it?
What under it?

Second between after she's pulled the cradled of every. And she and she and she.


A wall for any other one...

They're jabbering about a wall| I was at the wall. It was better Up. Better far better. but Worse. Worse when Up. Worse when DoWn. Down Wall. Up Wall. yr wall is here and now. yr wallsome. wall-eyed Sartre my deterritorializing realizing self.

Its good it came over. Jill went by. Jill wentbyebyeand by and by. But it was tourist. Now seen some other to caress her moon. its high moon and rathers its spoke. Shes beared the brunt of the dialectical passage. from real critique to something . yes. spared to worn off. tooth to tumble.

Shes biandbihisbook. His bibookhis look and nook. Cant wary of. Love's fair bust.


the nose

You hyena hear the body cry. It's revoked by its decisions. It's the jest counting the pronghorn... off it goes... mountain dust, hill rain and .... Jill marries the forest scope carrying her weigh a limbering lumbering truck. This route she has not an other thing to remainder her rose is flue and pirated with humble shoots. Devil grass and hankies, and sneezy things, work her lather into a sap, and the honey dryad, and like a sonnet she's metro to metro on the building cope.

Marooned by backseats, she's chesty to the swash buckled water, a league or two more,and she's homebound for more ferries.

The rain wills its peace. She's narrow to a bridge. And peace to bound.



Mona is a communist. A red, indeed, she's red in her head,
and red in bed
and red in the morning at the dawn of histories.

Her desire unlike that ofthe professors

of one ism or another
is the pragmatic

love of its burning

the rich ship's

territory spreading ever ready red round the rough smooth earth's full body ~



the wished for ... hope.... spunk like a true Nietzschlite

The wished for hope the eternal return of the different the repeating petition of I change I am the same I am the different and yet I change ... it's an old Indian song, She think s it' sthe Hopi tune:

I change I am the same

____________ Are you living in arable land Mona? Moan is Abraham's dearest remote
relative an Irish poor hound, she's bucked her page with philosophical poetic high low and farcial drama_________
O come around and we exchange payslips! Or better let me drop that slip of yours 'down'
falling to the reeling
floral floor.

I have crossed and recrossed the Acheron ~

These shades've blinked the contour light .



Mona pairs the night with fevers.

Wont' you hear the world wind rambling round the planet


the retrired

The retired thinker. The retried varia, scholia , and underlined note spiral notebook. One love affair, two combs, one set of spectacle. One bird, two bees in a glass, a cane, a stick, an amulet.

Does the transcendent ego bear its gifts toward death
Egyptian style


As fictions go this reaches a limit. Is this say, the Outside , the Real? __________ Someone strolling outside, if one wishes. Along the river enbankment with a woman who's recently had a baby. The mother of the said daughter, declares her fiefdom to the visitor________________ The complex reading is that the mother is oedipalizing something she can't understand, grasping for her own freedom she calls it love.

____________________________ Felix: Discontinue:
_____________________________ Mona: gottcha!


con_jecture conjunct

Ah voila and those were the days eh, the ramb.e the gamble and test, a whole continent in movement... restless to its edgs, ready to steam roll, stream over change the surface,
fo things, and what happens, is she's bearing balls to the death god : Communism with a human face.
_____________________ well being a spy aint good for anyone, least of all poets and becomers. A face with a capitalist tarnishing! O me lads the bored lassies of Marlowe and company. Along the striding roofs of England . And Ireland a mere pepper salt in the wind!
the conjecture||||||||||||||| We'll take our disjointed room and life, and live. O pink sweater of your thigh. Clamber me now.



no time

in the end there 's no time there is no time

ends in pieces||||||||||||||||||||| Box up your shoes, to entrain for love, your train carries weight.

__________________ fragments of a communist intelligencer. Plucked up at the fine age of her verging brains, she's cover'd her emblem with the spillage of musemyself is the de
ar god of bogs.

____________________________________ let's say it last time the dialectic
fired her brain and she assumed the holy and bodily Assumption of Lennin into the heaven.

____________________________________ Mona waking's disappointed at this cruel crap. Not the best of ways to end yr life, the eternal return of desire in the blanket sheet of the West, New York city a Russian refugee .... picking up a

welfare cheque.. the Bronx to hide out, and play dead, a bohemian thicket , and a thick American born accent covering it up.

So such were the ways, of her niveauing self. ~

Everything was a code
and it crackled

_______________________Seams over the line of East/West




Disabled bottin

Jill's disabled from her thorn. Like a see disconnected from the whittled down hearing of wave. Not foam, nor spume but the high tide of the river as sometimes its nape starts to seize the glimpse of orient pearl and rustic flavours hurry their way and the one thing stopping the whole campaign begins abruptly rising .

Stupid Descartians won't ever understand this gritted girl's lesbian n sexes, she fits every love fitting for solitude ___ levers it for tough rains

Pushing to (the) edge its rougher than salt the volcanic bump near the top cramps the travellers as if the torn ligament left nothing to an empty space of travelling
but murmurs, (or muttering madly) ~ .

If it's cold she's hot with the pastures of hunger and the factory of lust, she coughs glitter and mezzaninnies of bewilderment. In this way words are her language, the stutter grapple of nearing and reaching.

The great philosopher on the other hand, between his producers,

is humbler than his enemies

On the other hand on the other hand on the other hand

If vanishing's the name of the game, appearing is its result.

the dicta:what Mona knew and didnt

_________________________Dazed in Plateau: 1986, spies and bakeries. She was a true Communist believer. Holding her breath, in the midst
of the rough contradiction between sleeping and spying:.

of the proletariat a communist beach... 'rushing' in the wave.

at the hotel . thousands command. Red Square, almost recruitment time: 1985 Jack & Jill in Moscow, o yes, and others the antipoverty workers, the Leninist button, or badge, Mona tarried in Moscow remembering the thousands of horses, what quip was that? And at the restaurant before heading East, the
slipped a pack of cigs.. (wine on her tongue tip) her garter belt glowed in the dark sky of communism's heat, a train tracking East and ever further East, the long winter...

and the revolution forgotten.. the war losing and won... the heavy .. air, the fields, the .... bare .. of it, Jill riding East east and east a train in the night reading Moscow Editions, Capital volume 2, i n Russian no less, the good gift of being a sleeper, was having learned so much,
that regular schooling've never achieved, her classroom
was that special Comintern, the one bringing over the west grapplingly to the East.....

O dear Mona if only you knew the half of it, the weird shaky trace of it,
what you thought had been the flow
of its language had been planned 2 decades previous

before the script had been written

then drinking it up a splash of propaganda every step of the way, a dumb communist blonde huddled in the dark, a bitch of communist heat,
a look here and there, in the distance, never to imagine
its ending

its fast crumble
in the park of capitalism's
perfect victory


word shunted off Mona took off on that long snow bank and disappearing disappeard for the day and night into the long communist rehabilitation center,

dragging Marx back with her , and Jill the famous toodler
whispering enchantments in her Ear

unite! unite! my worker
unite your self is in pieces
the ....
volume schizoid... ...d ... raggedy....



we evolve

A pirate is reading evolve love reveal. Explain show original is absolute fault. Man is unforeseeablity his ability to see cannot be seen. His see is sun, an d foresun its love original. The originals were giant s saith Vico but the wishbutt runs round the hide of deliverance_______________________________ Jill shirks at nothing. Her veil's the common drama the drachma of every salesman Dostoeyesky? He upspeak and high buttocks ways.
" We Must Evolve Into Philosophers

Bergson explains now that our intellects reject "this idea of the absolute originality and unforeseeability of forms"________________

Mechanics of enduring love, the Duhing- Anti-Duhring by Engel is it? what shall seize this partnarrative partitive is blocking bellhop._________________Rush over and sees these foreseeings. Dimplefaced prophet conceives the prototype.

___________________________ Jill's harrowd the body its gifts a plain sunset on the roaring song of bygone knight______________ Mona stripping her this and That takes his big philocock in her mouthingcomb sucking back the setting sun of everyday sworn jury. Love's like that, it's a fit. ANd a pit and a jour de jour journey.

A journeywoman. One might say_____________ .




Jill thinks its irreversible unreadable and lovable. Its a suitcase packed full of leaves.Not leave-takings forsaken by love's walk, but vouchsafed by the fair fox of solid hump,paddocks, and low ridged mountains.

________________________________ But its not of course. Reverse, the what? time chronicled by babylogue and bastardy? IS that the tower of babel and the church of one, Mister ?

_______________________ Rushs over to the cents of logic, pattering her hipthight round the bowl of love. Love's hot plate, the snatcher desire and its fanfare lucky pluck all weeds. O indeed this sin is love.

_____________________ Becoming woman becoming air becoming full moon , ending things... as harvest.

____________________________ Monsieur radio c'est la machine désirant