True Confessions of a Subliterate Dork

On the Aesthetics of Beauty and Hell

My Verona

Miniature from 13th-century (Verona).

early Draft for Outline STILL WORKING OUT ORDER.


1. Somehow get angels to stop me from shaking wildly up against Fate like a rabid dog that needs to be shot. WTF is that.

2. Science of Sorrow – very first crash dates with Kierkegaard and later mystery play café in Paris with Pessoa searching for stillness to try hang on and save my life – as angels swarm, scatter, swerve, neurosthenia and pyschotic reactions painfully converge, girls rules but dumb as a brick.

3. Godkins bodkins? mmm. Who are willing to turn new corners in work, act for me as horizons I stumble into – as if to surround ravaging weak in my knees with holy bands of strength –

4. There is a room in Hotel du Lacque where Priest Detective starts chalking in fictional scientific methods, about absorbency rates and forensics of love as a low down sanctuary of jailed crackpots or criminals full of name the bird devices, skimming dead body for depth of eating bug.

5. Thomas Mann strides in on Sylvia’s rocking horse albiet reading her letters and says OMG sorry to say, its all just a musical magical test case, that began at beginning of meaning and entropy and on and on – as winds call, like a whistle cries – go go go to him – dont be small.

6. L’ill-ee sits at sill being blown away by wondrous nuggets abnegative – where time splits up into dunes and shadows and runes, of a boisterous smitten exile from grave emptiness of youth, sad serious child – that settled into unspeakable tongues in any direction when very young.

4. How let go – of a surprising lack of singularity, of character – knock knock no one home, meanwhile voices are silently screaming – where trust turns into dust.

6. Storms of  insanity: Young Frankensteins, started thinking monster turns are carnival crossing La Mancha in Prison showing off a Chagall (insanity has a carnival side to it in theatre, that is very, very old…).

7. Monsters are nether clueless cueless or helpless, but an estranged mix of heartbreak, thunder asunder, wonder and irony – can be unraveled (beckett yells out with a caution) from brinks of sorrow and loss – and this willingness for some detachment – is painstaking work.

8. Beauty as desire itself. As Camille is a Joan of Arc who stands toe to toe with conspiracy of fate.

9. Door into Tolken’s wonderland is brutal as closet fights the contrary like mortal jesus, as the villain he was – whose sin (and virtue) was to die in ecstasy all bound up – to a stake (in it) no less.

10. Astonishingly to all concerned especially me (and family) – remain incapable of giving up on hilltop climbing songs with Virgil, and all who roam Dante’s brigadoon, where share directly in his same bifoil heaven and hell now multiplied – into fatelessness, pirates, Lurch. As theatre and Scategory.

11. Beauty as bird of passage not ever once ceasing doing – in gaps and leaps of love and terror etc. Summons by owl come for everything holy or foul etc. How be they fates that are lonesome treasure.

12. Marcel’s parcels – turning on the “mirror and sync” so god-awful lost to it – fear, that it borders entirely on complete lack of constraint. But turns on me – if dont let it run (for) its life – turns on me with a devastating vengeance!

13. This we understand and try to appreciate – call it: gods in the shower business, and that what swarms – is as bad, as it could ever be good… says every rock song.

14. Cutting craftworks with Viriginia and Sylvia as campt town races round like a Lighthouse at Massachusetts Point, nose in sea air searching for words where flutter du bris  –

& out slips one of Bataille’s incorrigibles – who too woo thirsty thirsty –

Some destitute of seemingly any virtue in a classical sense, and yet filled to brim with candor and derelict levels of obstinance.

15. Obstinance and irreverence become an addiction suddenly madly…badly…gladly… up flips Marcel in tango with Poe, saying what do you know what do you know, giggles as approach the thirteen hour, and then a demonic laugh, the whole places goes still, and not.

Hysterical burns wildly erumpent – Then Hat with Umbrella cycles off – Monty Python with no brakes. NO BRAKES.

16. Stop must stop virtual inanity, monster goes silliness as a curse, as an interdiction of laughter till it hurts –

Carnival asserts migrating freak show, tosspot in debacle of nonresistance – to songs of depth humor death sometimes irony most of all.

17. Mystery perforces me into it, like upping numbers of entropy, as closer closer foil gets to edge, then leaps out of bounds – out of the Order of Time.

Visions high wire falls, and Marcel’s head bobbles, with my tears and fists on the dash –

18. Keep on keeping on irregardless when sympathy feels inane and its future inscrutable.

19. Astonishment grows and grows as roughing it root around clerk for army reqs – only to discover that dangerous undercover work – every breach and cast die – stems from underlying amplitudes of quantum of wantum girl with thumb cries.

20. That love is more defiant than screamers in a panic holy lost like a nun is to heartbreak & horror caught as sacrificial burden in dark of eye – referred to as treasure.