How art of collecting, itself becomes a topic, of slippery intent
Banditry is a form of love. (Via Genet.)
HOW DO I get my book together. Do I build it here — or on my site. Site is semi-private, requires registration to read a lot of it.
I will have to open EVERY file and copy. There’s over 100/ I could compile there and bring here. Or compile here and give samples there.
WTF.
I do have more control over there. But I think I would rather write it here. Confusion. Or just do it in Scrivener. And keep here and there as places to promote… Its not about promotion, its about the writing.
Tenderness to language is insinuated to a certain extent by who I write around. And I like that that happens. Stealing always shocks me.
The way I have my books set up over there, no longer makes sense to me. And yet some of it still does. Letters to Epididymus. Change title, to what?
Panda I call Pinky — wants to think of Title through ideas about merch. But I have a hard time accepting its simplicity. Letters to Epididymus is, in part, a nonsense title. All of my titles espionage with a stutter of : Nonsense Maniacal-ness…
SET UP
How compile… book.
How’d u guys — who already pubb — bring together into a do bee.
How art of collecting, itself becomes a topic, of slippery intent. GOT TO DO GOT TO DO. I wont be able to see it if I dont do it. As a Singular.
Determined book be an : in betweeny = inbetween sublit and tell the story narrative. Or, as they say, let story tell itself.
My stories don’t tell themselves — they just exist, as doubles and bubbles and raids of mythic dizzyness. A pile on of accumulation, that exerts itself through forces of lang, quibbling with death and the prismatic.
I love to play around lang with the Hi’rish. Their’s are mixies. I go stocking for syllables, every line, every time, I search etymology as a performance on the meta ? Yes.
Blowing Bubbles
Why Chandler was so good. Blowing bubbles. And he knew it and accepted it as sentimental. And he included in terms of the sentimental, being a beautiful stinky.
I learned a lot from him about conspiring paragraphs.
And about drilling through nonsense, and yet leaving it in too, as a follow up, as a poke at a joke. Which my mutiny-izers for lorn as embellyshments of a for gotten freedom.
I enjoy stalking language as an appetite for rebellion and playing for thinkers, I mean the strident and the fool.
I farm for writers, urrrr I dunno. Stayed by bards for tons. But its just biz to them. And for me, its not about the music. I had to shut off to let madness over life settle.
But not writing, picks up as air in language — in the midland of words, to be fluid with its mystery, and as a lightening for contempt — for the excursionary, as a philo-meana of sound, as garden in the farmdon with clever cleaver Emily.
The freedoms I stole were given to me. Encumbers as a form of unhiding the graft.
Distances — Obsessed with notions on distances in the mechanics of angelic mercy which asserts itself so beautiful and insidious, as in for instance: the religious.
Mercy as revealing distances. Its beauty hangs by the Frida fires, who go straight for it, mine for wood — Learning how to master bait, is to be the boss of one’s own work — however the contra versy prey, asserts.
The Banditry
Distances. And vibrato. Everything I steal is given to me. How can that be stealing then ?? Banditry is a form of love. (Via Genet.)
I am convinced about that.
The love is so big nothing can contain it crowd — religious piss is a metabolic treasure.
For its ecstatics — that fern into the slippery. Where varments, raid horror and god as erotica. Love and obsession are a lock in turmoil. I stock up with it, or something. And thats the banditry?
I have done it so many times now, I never dismiss it. Showing up, is to dray a way, via the impossible (due to consternations with fault lines), to steal for time — to write!
Side of Dead in swoon sitology is about an emergence that occurred for me with respect to angelic distributions — Green machine begat in me the trilla Versilla. And kept up with making sure I was OK.
Chamber Music
I hang by Patti because of Burroughs. And yet I mock the beautiful as an insidious inclination… whereas she celebrates it.
Closer to Burroughs as a stinky, he sublits a marginal off of sci fi in a way. Patti finds it too tho — she hits a stride. And the phrases rub off each other as sparks. A kinetic-ness erupts…
She does these beautiful rolls, and animates her commas, must animate language, so sayeth the rhymers —
Thank you for being here.
"Tenderness to language is insinuated to a certain extent by who I write around. And I like that that happens. Stealing always shocks me." Love this. You are a person who has read Shakespeare, surely? Overall it looks like it.