Being Pin

Started calling her Pin after Becketts Pim, Pin is so thin she hides – behind trees – of words. Joy is swimming up at the top of it – but the rest lovely Camus says is rebellion –  on one hand I am weak and with other, rebelling? Very Colette of me.

I want to go off on Sisphyphus – have a gooey – let out the toes and bees and its just what it is, and thats all. Allowance to discuss in journals.

Publishing is not resisting. Resisting is NOT publishing. It gets confusing, find no edge to it, get restless, think of it as empty, dead even, curious enough but doesn’t always lift, bogged down ?? self referentials.

Falls trembling into the blank but then calls it a wall. And it all takes off again. There is no blank. Actually. Its a rain of Piss Ants. Heard tell accumulate around urine for chemicals.

Nothing. Nothing will happen if you publish. Its not that big a deal. There are other writers over at Lacan for instance, who, in truth am a lot like them, write about unraveling “joy” from what seems like “hell.” 

I am an innie really, bad very bad. Its a wallow thats miffed at horror searching for Cleo who is destiny. Character sets are gifts to me, today identified three types – mythic as interpersonal, inspirational as heady/elaborative/collaborative, and argumentative as circular, edgy, humorous.

Finally found really sophisticated language for all this stuff — Less Than Nothing is wonderful, what a haul!!

Read last two nights mostly Kathy. She is a horror writer. Zinging ripplets of horror cascading around sex and hatred as 90% brutality, among many poses young old and Algerian, and Paris and whatever – shes free to make up whatever whenever and however – magic beans jumping in and out of killer sexual “habitats” – hatred white man hatred of herself the sicko Daddy the hell is missing Mommy – sentences jumping into staccato for resemblances, quick cuts – off with head and press on. Its awful and wonderful at the same time.

Will reread Clarice then. After finish K. And start quotes soon as finish LTN.

Let others help you – god I can make such a mess of things. Its like I throw myself off the bridge to capture its heights from the bottom going under. What the hell is that. Some mission impossible to catch a leg on the waterwheel, every bravery is at first host to quixotic assemblies.

How to get myself to pull trigger on my work. Feel like its ready. My stuff is as good as many others on Lacan.

Without worrying about Violet. Thats the equation. Its ok to be a little bit violet — small v, at school I am often small v. Its important – helps push me through on new stuff to make it better, even so a bit annoying, makes a big difference though in my classes. Takes class materials to next level.

Sometimes think, without Violets raging blindness, couldn’t do anything due to semi-hellish Puritan upbringing.

Need to fix ending on new Colette piece – she was brought in as a moderator – for the ending, though in truth – mind had started talking about something else, about: existence being futile, that was a motif used to think a lot about as a sorrow-assed teenager.

My bullet through the brain frank who still counts toes with fingers, is grateful for any kindness.

Willpower. Z is right I am weak. But its weakness that got me here. It’s a rebellion with words. Which then pleads indulgences. 

Stuff those indulgences into small corner riding nowhere adding together the sacred gesture of my oblivions as climbing coconut tree. And grows feathers. 

Its crucial however – that I love being able now to reduce repetitions to objects. Before I only had Bataille to soak out desire from endlessness, Kierk to guard the ransom jar, and Baudriard whose dialectic is kinda enflamed and raw. And stuck on a hinge. Hegel gave me ascending spiral. Kant – philosophy of pure reason – meaning math.

Slowly approaching Lacans diagrammatics.

Joy loves bombardment – trailing essences that are brilliant but radical, only know happy trails as wizzes and wizards. Lost present tense for ten years. More. Like Nash’s pajamas going up in Cal flames yet showered in throb and bodilessness. Joy is a kind of pure hunger –

As for angels of misery – have tracked down the hungers and hatreds and made them bodiless too –