'I Antonin Artaud, I am my son, my father, my mother.'



        I should not employ such language. For the princess 
all sounds are the ministrations of scoundrels. You cannot let Uncle Leopald get away with things, King Gerard—she pleaded. Then 
there was a splash in the water. We've made it. 
        'Thank you, your majesty.' Hands on swords. All princesses are borne away. All's amiss. Your majesty. 
        'Thanks to you my friends I am back on my rightful throne. 
And nobody, not one, appreciates fine music. 'Everyone shall be made to laugh; all must sing! All we need do is wait. 
        All shall love presently, or forthwith. 

 

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plight of her black (noir) hair: each tiny ruse 
there is, there, her Grammar blue skirt & emblemed blazer, 
in fact a noir wry hair & polynesian hair & glasses—fairer, 
y'd say, her blond crinkled hair, unruly, ruled (fed) from a centre over 
her black jersey, not flying 		(fallen) 



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heavy—heavenly coachwind—Brueghel (the Elder's) boat shifts 
gracelessly the heedless sea—& every few minutes the generator 
starts up, them-tha-tha-thum—and this was to have been a kind of
tournament—a wedding festivity—a cow's wide rotating eye


 
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Signature 
 


A long absence. Absinthe (the slur). He passes (the trace)
in the first person plural—WE, i.e. 
you & I (he), having twisted ourselves sidewise have come 
now to the far & wide. 
The heart of the question. Knows itself substantive & 
accessible—this faint discourse. 
To gain access is to lose; to show, to conceal; to acknowledge, to lie.
The poet—or the man Jew—protects the desert which protects his speech 
(in the desert) of his writing. 
The text's awkward proposition. It's 
under-stood (sous entendu) silences. 
She takes a few steps forward, stoops, folds her body forward 
from the hips & looks back up thru her (spread) legs. Oh I (he) has 
forgotten what it is to lug this neat fluency 
(smooth) back to the book, a plate. Or let us leave that p'haps to colleagues, to Roger, to Wystan, to Will-Leigh. We (the third)
have come now to the bridge being
purposive for us—of this practice to dislodge. & I—lexicographer(!)
make something, particular, of it. 
'A white sheet is full of ways...' 
Nothing is our principal concern. Said Reb Idar.




cf. Pernod



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everyday further inklings, & when the railway crossing bell 
clangs out with the lights lit red off on, blinking—horses, canopy,
a smoothing carriage 4483, one muses; the afternoon all of a thick 
unruly black, against the neat centric of 
thought, redoubled, of the Norfolk pines (in tresses)—grown here 
in small tubs. Or the prospect then of Nika's fingers
bent backwards, her sharp wrists at marvellous rt. angle straight up
in a gesture, & with that the news of what you yourself 
are each day changes, reconstitutes, emerges anew with the sky & the selfsame adopted means of transit   (on the white Commercial buses)