Everyone saying its going to be awful. The ogler is poisonous. Its been freed. Its been freed. Though I don’t actually think that. Poison is jealousy, is forbidden fruit. The backlash. Devilish mean, a torrent of noble fuscia. And fear. God awful fear. Fear that makes no sense.
Think my writing is derivative and occasionally breaks out somewhere on its own, but also gets captured by “usual suspects” — dilemmas of rhetorical explosion the snidely whiplash calls : my virtuous corruption.
11 rooms? Yes and a gun is going to walk through the door. And she is going to make love to the gun and the killer.
Mary Contrary that old thing —
Is there poison in the air? being forced on me???? Its worry and cherish. Cherish is the word. Love liquids. Sex toys? MMMMM. Sexuation and blood excrement and holiness. Babies and death. I cherish things I shouldn’t. Especially anything related to my work from those who put up with my stealing squealing and feeling for la lang bang. Things get set off by coffee. Cherish that? Yes. But then turns into squabble merciless quiet squabbles screaming at the rubber band, the sling back to delusions of mocking dormants attacking throats of caution and these small, vaporous tales of venture viability and my senseless defiance. Which at least that, that they do understand? Those folds are not just mine. Or is it just how I justify bad behavior.
Seeing beyond threshold of what — mm solids, solitudes. Where there is no scenery. Walls inside walls outisde. Nothing nowhere. Nowhere as a destination. There’s another one from Beckett. Forced by deathlessness into shocking mocking categoricals an endlessness of love where antics can maneuver in its lid, lit like a squid, for gesture sweet pandemonium, plight. Charlie Chaplin is nodding again.
Clara: I am a southern still, I mean liquor cabinet, fill kill char other artists as drinks of oblivion? mmm. That what of us is — a kill jar. Diggers wiggers and triggers, they break my heart. Again and again. Inspiration gives me breadth whether I can manage it or not. Little beasts ooze up as a drunk in love with The Chaplin — comedy and ardor, strangeness and breadth, a humidor for smokers. Its steely eyed cold beverage?? No. Not really. Invokes Chandlers sense of squalor? however beautiful the vista. Yes, potential for that. Fraught with its own orneriness, the bait oven has its price. Someone yells: we all pay to watch them. There’s a lot of debt between artists as it turns out. I love them for it. But its not always easy.
This they cannot put up with and that, closes in on me — suddenly broke free from the message? keep looking, revealed quarantine treasures, poison think think, can’t see. Sticks to me like shuffling coals in a fire. Coffee bitter takes it straight. I love them for this too. But it can be reckless sometimes. I want what they are having. Thats the thing. Fall into wondrous knells reading Marm, stolen historical AI, crunchy — The way words capture light, can turn into something else completely when read again, as a resource shifty, perky, plethora, sometimes suicidal.
Suicide Sunny the Bunny. Had a lot of those. And they are making their way into malapert sketches. Who will the burglar be? Is he alone? Will she get raped. Is it violence without recourse? No. Its a drink. She’s gonna offer him a drink? Oh hey wanna drink.
Is it a stranger. DISMISS THE EDITOR!? No —
A gun, a drink, a fuck. A swim. They talk about suicide. Kind of fall in love. He’s got kids. Thats it. Say no more. Say no more.
What JJ discovered about hewing the line Finn Agins shows up in Marm, shows up when dismissing the editor. Mulch-like and leathery. A boarder there for me to conjure in. Feel very lucky about that actually. That I finally got a “piece” of that from fellow “travelers.” But one day The Amazon, one of my girl guides said no. Not as “pure poison.” Which is the only interest? Rich yes but scrapes insides out as plague and death camp?! Which it does here anyway — Plague raises Jesus his dying blood lending sanctuary. Death camp gets amalgamated with Japanese sex slavery of Koreans.
Bataille just showed up. We both pull at our lips. How are you gonna handle this he asks.
I don’t know. Let Constance love the night.
Cuts are exchanged picked up, played with, repeated, I was also every once in a while kind of go between. Which was good for me. Crossed bridges between Philo and beat. Blessed treat.
Japanese Doll, bows — excuse please for ruthlessness.
But its not about cliche, it is about present tense, it is about the immediate. This is about immediacy. Yuh my present tense thing.
Sketches tend to find themselves stuck in a room jerking off. In one way or another. Solids I am starting to call animated solitudes. Oh there’s a goofy title. Animated Solitudes. Lonely in the Kastle. I can have some Ks inside the Kastle. French porn — wife gets sent to the Sex Kastle to learn how to give her body away any way they like it — and she likes it. French explore freedoms in capture.
TO THINK OF as a love for film. Making plays. With Shakespeare and Beckett. If I can get myself there. Its hard. There is a lot of anti-theatre stuff. Which is a burden actually. Existentialism has a wicked side. It can be tricky. Why I always bring up Shakespeare. As bread pudding. Bloom the Philosopher says What Else Is There? Then pops the same old question he wants me to write about : did Shakespeare invent madness. No, it turns back on history of bacchanal with boys cutting off their penisae.
Beckett: Yes yes char stuck in vivid marginalia.
Moi: I love writing about marginalia.
I still love you. He says. Dead man walking. Things take turns. The victim always burns in car, gets burned up, eventually. Not to mention girls fetishes for control over their bodies. Which can also be so dreary and suffocating for everyone involved.
My laundry my pretty underwear, comes thru “the crack” looking for “bone” in Freudian dramatics yes gets hazed over a Plague from Middle Ages , German/Japanese Sex or Death camps? Imre Kertesz adds you are repeating yourself. Yes I know, but its right up there with Cowboys and Indians. There’s a WW2 movie about that and the German falls in love with his Slave.
Lucy is so lovely with rebellion. She scares the hell out of me too.
You need to have somebody show up — a screaming blue meany who destroys the bathroom wall, punches the dry wall, right through. That happened at one of my brothers parties. The young man was made to come back and spackle, as I recall.
But what? no reason to fight.
They want you to fight.
Yes. They like a good fight. Its liquid there too. Just remember that.
I got that working at the bar. One day the perennially nice one had to go and the Moms showed up, took over. It was under their jurisdiction. No calling police on my watch. They were mine. They were in my care. You would get it for days from me if in a fight that almost broke out. I had to take care of all my drunks. Then they were submitted to the municipality of moms for questioning. So I could find out what was going on. And might not get served the next day or very slowly if they refused this. They were mine. I told them this. Hi mom. Moms do come in handy. Had to protect people often from themselves and tried not to take sides. But one has one’s own side to fight after too. That was a wonderful time in mountains living by my brother. It was beautiful up there. Once I “stood my ground.” Gained their respect. They loved me more for it, not less. The beautiful sky relieved me of having to find beauty after all that ugliness and impossibility I became, it wasn’t vengeful, but fucking hurt. I loved the mountains. After mountains — fell dangerously asleep, again.
Havent yet worked thru cunt topic. The hole and the roll. Wetness and fish. Insects are injected into. Fish are rubbed and eggs sprayed? MM, I should do some animal sex research. Reread Pounds translation. I tracked that down in PDF? Yes I think I did. I love to write. The word cunt is showing up cat and mouse, playing with bringing sex in as a “weapon.” Like K? Yes no I don’t know. Things tend to show up under harsh light. Conscription. Inspection.
But havent yet figured out why be mad. Although I did track two things down last night but then said no, let it go let it go, but the ricochet on it is lurking.
As a vetting: was glorious, dishy, aesthetical, wretched, eggy, regnant as to say occasionally weaponized, and perhaps above all else: delicate. Signed, Tiff, Switch Board Operator, WAC under the WIRES (Women in Radio and Electrical Service), Signal Corp, Battalion HQ Paris.