Experiments Towards the Destruction of Language

- Originally uploaded by copyright depuis 1965

the first thing i had to unknow was that to fall sometimes feels like you're rising, followed secondly by winter all around me like a frosted-glass world, which sometimes (the cold) creeps in through the cracks of your skin and your bones huddle together
__and back to that first unknow, i wanted to say: sometimes when you're rising, it's really just falling head-first (which i'm told is the fastest way- with the exception of falling heart-first (love), which is the heaviest of the million different kids of falling, and the landing is variable from clouds to stardust to empty coarse-grained beaches that hurt your soles (souls)

and to rattle off a few words that i also learned to unlearn(unknow)(detach)(excommunicate):
- defense is the best way to mistrust life is the best way to lose all sense of hope is the best way to turn grey and lesshuman than boards of wood left out in the backyard too long so that they're soggy on the inside and still can see the lines of snails running on their splitting skin (is the best way to forget that rainbows are made of nothing but dancing invisible raindrops that are actually not falling because it's magic
- now how to forget construct(re) reply reform(ate) act(re) (as in react) (as in: to re do (again) all that was done/lost/re(done) -> re(lost) (re)fell off a god-damned tree perched somewhere on a small hill in a desert and the limestone still hurts my elbows . recapitulate life like a freaking robot mumbling ayyyygain, ayyyyygain, ayyyygain a-gain (as in once again, as in the opposite of gain as in to not-gain as in to perhaps be moribund-me (moribund = stagnant, stale, decrepit, on its way to almost nearly there at extinction, also sounds somewhat like morbid- which it perhaps is to lay up inside your own skin and wait for it to stop beating and __and ___and, __and, __and then i really don't know what and
- blabber words for no reason other than they're all there unorganized in jumbled masses in my head from unwritten letters unwritten stories unwritten novels unwritten essays unwritten futures overwritten plans over(maxed)heated hopes (that swell like giant pears inside of a cranium which rocks full of words that unstrung like pearls fall off unfigurative trees and undecoratively scatter on pages in such wise that the average lay (which is never a good idea) reader can't decipher hope(less) from hope (please one more shot)(shoot)(shoot now!) from all that i left behind to be this person without his left-behind-bags/boxes/luggage full of himself so that transparent (kicks fruit.words.limbs as he walks) walks across city-to-city-to-shining-sea (see?) where he sees cloudy looking clouds creep across cloudy looking skies, scraping their cheeks against cloudy looking seas straining cheek-to-cheek to find lip to put to lip to take life and fu&* it back into existing again and i'm ever soo alive as when i'm:

naked ____falling over ____bleeding at the fingertips courtesy of the scale of b-flat minor which never goes the way it's planned to ____making-being-falling (into, towards, awayfrom, into(like a well, at the bottom of which we lie, you and i, only us who see at the top one light worth seeing and at night kiss in the dark and shiver from cold and merge skin to skin (see to shiny see in the nightlight breasts and stars shine the same way) LOVE, as in: making-being-falling(into, towards, awayfrom) into LOVE ____eating sashimi ____crying (though i didn't know it could happen, and if it was anyone but Mar (or Monz) who heard it i'd have crawled into the trunk of a tree and taken up patience as a profession)

and sunday grows biceps and claws and wraps its arms around my neck whispering wwiinntteerr in my too-long-unkissed earlobe (who responds i ccaann see! and smiles in its soft fleshy way) while the future waiting for all of us in the future licks its greasy lips and plans who wears tiaras who wears genocides

Dear Shostakovich: though we never met (officially) i believe you. i believe you. i believe you.

____and the pawns storm off the chest board and my bishop giggles, and the queen lifts her skirt too show everyone she's worth the trouble and the king sleeps peacefully behind a wall of bushes having taken one step right (one step left to be alone

who knows why we write __dream __cannot sleep __fall __grow up to be leviathans (angels, rosy cheeked, giants, titanic wo(men)) __play b-flat minor over and over without listening.looking.hearing or seeing, but doing it anyway, like the answer to some forgotten question that would have made everything ok starting 1993 is in the cracks somewhere here just another round or two (three octaves back and forth)
(three more)
(three more)
(three more)

and after all this is done and settled and forgotten, i'll have to re-read this again (and again) and take the words that were meant to fit into the essay category and put them there, and the story words go back there, and the novel words give me the finger because it grows faster than i am so that themes spawn themes till i realize i can't write about all of life simultaneously while contemporaneously living (some of it anyway) and then die (so that my papers will grow (with time, patience and due humidity) the color of my skin,

this is the voice of a man who is neither tired nor untired, has energy enough to self-combust (into star or canyon who ever knows:

the little boy, perhaps 7, walks fully attired not to resemble but be Darth Vader, into the Coffee Bean, exhales steam, speaks slowly and monotonously: I am the Lord of Darkness. I would like a Chai Latte. If you can distill the blood of unfair math teachers, Bobby Hawkins who kicked me in the shins at recess, and movie-ticket-checking-martinets-who-won't-let-me-take-this-delicious-warm-beverage-into-the-matinée-screening-of-the Dark Knight, into the drink, I would be most generous with your fate when doomsday is to come upon you.
Taking his drink and walking face-first into the door on the way out from impaired vision or a misjudgment of the strength of his plastic and latex armor.

All language shakes in her tracks, seeing me coming.
Distorting words, licking ungrace into eloquence, shaking meaning out of everything, kicking over a bucket of adjectives and hurling them into every sentence they don't belong in so that clouds are screaming and baboons are pondering and Futures (plural) are fornicating past and present history into bundles of bliss, ecstasy and unfathomable confused miserable wanderings that lead to wooden boxes, urns, choirs of angels and my unborn children- who i hope will like me enough to take a moment every now and then to remember that once there was this boy.man.

this is my spasm.
this is my anger.
this is my bliss.
my faith(ful)(less)ness.
my greed, hunger, joy, fury,
mostly, this is my orgasm. this is my groaning, this is my nothing, this is my everything

i don't know what i'm saying doing being

this is my everynothing.
i am my own everynothing.
everything is nothing
and every nothing is everything.

(i cannot tell swivel chair from divine retribution
i am lost

and smiling gratefully all the way to nowhere.