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1.)
Then night came like a stolen wheel and tore his head off. Sappho
found his head bleeding. His heart was torn in gristle pieces. Words had
sung their death way out. He had nothing there but dust, and when he found
his childhood there, there was nothing but ashes. All those ashes, and the
sexed verbs of death rained, and came down upon his broken sex, like the
pedlar of dust. And his heart was in morsel-ruins that day. A mess and
a message scattered in the ether and sun. He was lonelier than
suicide, even though he was the lion of Judah in word-dreams. He was
the Arab prince galloping a steed, the boy by the side of the river come
to save the world (from its own intent). A danger dancer in the shade of
Eurydice's shame. Spinning the cycles of death and desire.
But he was modern sometimes and his body didn't matter, and he had
sacrificed death to himself. Then he came down like a strolling wheel, and
broke his neck, and all the women of his heart-piece were frantic wheels
within wheels, and spokes within spokes screaming his name, shouting his
essence, shouted the harridan of death, and rags of fist that bled the
menstrual blood of his birth - they screeched his name - Bacchantes
and myriads of Thracian death artists calling out in the chamber of
the gas pipes and said: Death is your name, Death is your name.
Death, and he fell down a broken whisper that had loved her name. But
it was gone.
2.)
Death is your name she said. She said, her grope group gang to
him. Tarring his head against the flat hammers of the air, and dead space.
Packing herds of death stoning maiden, but pirhana teeth cutting
the edge. And she, Eurydice's gang of avengers hovered high in the killing
hill.
(It was a Greek song he was hearing, a temple hovered over his lips
bending time then space.)
She said in her plural self mother, Death is your name and -
We will bury you alive,
And your cry sings all night and never sees the difference.
Orpheus, they screamed Death is your word, and now the verb was
the traumtic seal of his passage. No word spoke to him, and her
Love, the one he had sought, was the end of the world so far and a
Desert in his mouth. A desert moulted in his mouth for love of
Her words her words .
Where - her words like salt to his wounds, and the love song
burned out his desire. All the sex dead and gone with the years of
hope and desire and the body, like a delirium of pain that rushed a
violent water into his death. Then embark, embark, he said to her, embark
on my path, there is no labour field that can stop this ruin. No camp
large enough for the dead bodies I see in the hundreds in the steps
between our feet, each walk, each step, is a death. I hear them calling in
the walk for the night is a heart that cries your name. Cries your name, O
mon Eurydice! O my Eurydice, what misery in these veins, although their
longing is immortal I know this body will break. And what do I see in the
great one's face but rage and wrath, O desert god of the walking world. Of
the walking world and war.
And Orpheus thought to make god repent of his sins, his sins
that flayed the children of humanity alive, that flayed Adam's children,
the murderer Cain and his gang of dirty builders of cities and camps, and
dirt in the mouth and shit in the road was the way to win the war against
god. But no god answered, just a dull thud in the ringing hall, once known
as the temple of the god who had carried Issac's children. And where did
the temple go now? Where did the children of Rachel cry their blood and
deaths on the deaths of the hundreds of thousands slaughtered in no
biblical style, but death led a thousand marching children to slaughter,
and the bodies were thrown like sacks of rubbish and pieces of dead meat.
But no, the children of Rachel were heard crying all night, and Rachel was
heard crying. And Orpheus thought, I will kill God, I will kill God and
make a new creation, another God. I'll kill space too, I will kill space
and make time.
But the voice bellowed dangerously a bull in the tunnel and the
metro of the city, it roared its name, fuming, stampeding the death
machines. And they were not made of desire or production, but only
production factories of death. And desire was a spilled mirror in the
road, desire was a spilled murderer in the road. A murderer who was Cain's
brother, and Rachel's daughter went to look for him for two thousand
years. Then death smashed her in the head, and a man with a black uniform
came to get her mother. But hers was his, and she was he-his, so she
escaped into the woods to hide. From the black murderers. And he screamed,
Orpheus screamed, come back, come back to me, your words will save my
life while death was cooking around me, smoking around me. And the gas was
invisible then. No sun rays could be seen through his glasses, his fogged
glasses and loneliness. And he saw the other children of Palestine too,
and the other children of Ireland too, and the other children of Africa
too, and he killed himself.
3.)
He couldn't remember his name. Then there was death on the map of Africa,
he heard other syllables of other tongues. And he heard her voice call him
up to paradise or heaven. But he was modern,
and there was no death, and no life. And the city passed it ruins. And he
forgot about love and the desire.
4.)
And Orpheus had no one come from his loins. and his cock fell off
and he heard his soul fly away. And the word spoke his name. And his name
was her name.
And Eurydice spoke his name for quietly's sake. The flower of her
lip was the coiffure of her sex, and she said, fuck me, fuck me, Orpheus,
fuck me, don't leave me across all those deaths where you live. Sexed by
the pull of the bee he -
and she said Hug me, me I am dead.
She said, I am your children and my mother is there that earth
that the enemy trespassed and the buckle of her belt came undone.
Sliding her lips across him she came all to his coming and the
word slips were a double desire of sexlove and spirit body walk.
She said I am not dead.
He said I am the head that got lost.
I have no body but yours,
Your children were born,
And survived and escaped.
The flames where men spoke and beds were filthy and women sang to
their deaths. Even sinking up to their necks in shit. Even singing when
the machetes cut them down, as the axes chopped heads, as the guts spewed
out. LIke my body, cut in pieces, space body, dead body, egg body, your
body, my body, everybody's body, no body No Body Nobody at all.
5.)
Then Eurydice smelled his body. She smelled him. She sweetened his
smell with her sniffing . A lover's smell and there was perfume around her
body. He was relieved of the wandering around his death. She took his body
way up inside her cunt-womb, and something happened there, it was
something like a thought that had an eon of longing and pain. Dissolved in
the hands of her womb baby birthing to him, and grabbed his cock into her
and sang his cock song so it hurt him to come so hard into her death
birth. That wanderer in him died in that instant. She-He came in her mouth
with his lips in hers, his hooked like the flesh of its hooking hunger and
pullulating sucking in of her breath. And his hands on her ass, and her
hands on his waist. She sucked his lips into hers as he kissed came into
her mouth and her cheek's skin age youthed, became bloom, a blossom, and
the sun in the resurrection of their fuck love. So this was the
fucklovekiss heshe found in the AdamEve body One.
Eurydice was the Orpheus kiss that came back into his belly. She
pregnanted him in her laughter. Her laughter which he had never heard. For
more than 3000 years. No more death, he would think, but knew the deaths
and their mothers could not be forgotten. HE pulled his fuck hands deeper
into her ass and she fucked his thighskin deeper into her cuntbone and
rubbed the saw of her bone against his and the children roared in the
unexpected love of the unforeseen encounter.
6)
***** The nights swirled past in its deaf death of loneliness. She
heard him then in the first seeing of her walking toward him when they met
in the cafe near the St. Germain de Pres boulevard. He was an Irish accent
that tore out her heart. He handed it back bleeding and said, Cement it
now if you can O my Eurydice, my child, my mother and daughter
of the long iceberg of cold and empty. Cold and empty were the alphabets
of the word shiver haunts of her pained hands and fingers. He kissed them
like all the stories of the Eiffel Tower or London bridge
which was falling down.
She laughed at this fool from another country with only one tongue
and a repressed language text pushed underneath his pain. She laugh cried
at his text pain, and said that is Nothing! Nothing ! Empty Void and
Listen to the cry of the city in my veins, in my belly, in my birth. And
he was only a man. He worried that the fish would never bite.
Sometimes he wanted to make her laugh, to hear the words of her
childhood language. She had no spoke to him in so long. Those words which
were like the foundation of a world language. One tongue amidst the babble
claiming legendary priority. But like no others, but like so many. And so
many others reader. So many others.
7.)
Where was Eurydice in the harvest ? Where was she when the
children twisted and stung their feet in the bush? Where was the
protections she had learned from Demeter? Was the dead god her god, was
age her name, and the twisted fate of humanity?
She looked at him, and said come for a coffee so we can speak. I
have been waiting too long. Quit wasting our time, life is short. She
laughed like a truck out of control when she said that. But he laughed
because he knew she was right, and that the love she bore him was as long
as eternity. Because she was the destined fate of his name - his name
body. He looed down at his desert and found hers. She laughed again and
said come with me Orpheus don't be stupid. It was the words of the
language of the people of the Jerusalem city, and he didn't understand,
but he knew what they meant. Can you dance he asked her - she looked at
him down the long narrow eyes of her loss.
He replied back in the gaelic wonders of his accents.
He walked with her for the coffee, then the paintings came to him
flying. She saw his eyes sparkle and knew he was living her created
memories and her attack on European denial and history. History which had
always excluded her.
The days walked in their wombs, because they had onewomb now and
onecock.
The Orpheus got killled by Death. She went crazy, she went for
therapy. She went for other men, she went for food and vomit. HE came back
from the dead to look for her. What happened? She thought she was dead and
in the Underground, the underworld where smoking death and its stinks rose
to high heaven and earth. She thought he was supposed to find her, after
all she was a woman, and that is what the myth .
Ah, but the word broke in her head. It broke in his head. Where
was the man Orpheus who loved her, and then never silenced even.
His was a shattered vein, where a memory poured in. She was a kiss that
mended him, her word taste was a kiss life to him.
She made a window around his grave. He calmed down when he heard
her voice, it was the truth like a cloud setting on the sea. His
loneliness was a murderer that backed him down into a corner. She was a
sea that brought him back to life. His rib was hers, not his. His rib was
the spot she breathed life into and the man leapt out. He leapt and
bounded into their space. She died, she fell into his death. He leapt in
to find her. Death yelled his name Don't touch! He turned around and this
time he didn't give a fuck about the death gangster. He got his gun
out and went looking for death, he looked death in the eye, and said go to
hell. Go to hell , death. There is no death. HE looked back again and
death was gone, it was a trick that death business, just a dirty little
mirror trick played by the cheap hustlers of the underworld. He was not
afraid. He walked down the hall to look for Eurydice, she was there
sitting in the middle of all the boxes perfume sailing around her head and
and her hair swimming soft in the middle of the air. He was the moment of
reaching to her body soft talk and the desire met came on their second
meeting. SO the milk spoke soft in her breast, and she said O my Orpheus,
come over her and sit beside me, I have waited all my deaths for you, all
my births. He breathed the breath of her wreath waiting thighs. And spoke
of her into her hearing and her ear with the tatoos nestled softly near
her right ear lobe. Her neclace and skin was a touch for her to wait him
in.
There was no death for Eurydice. There was no place for the death
to make its false mask and funeral.
Her waiting was not a waiting. But another many lives in her
spinning past love. She lived the life of a painter sometimes and had all
the mercy of a lover taking her missingness of her him into her body and
life. Sometimes she was a mountain and a child, some day she was the rhyme
of a french song. O night so long in my aching, my ache for the death baby
lover of the nights, when you child were my right hand.
He spoke lipped to her in her loving desert. He spoked lipped to
her lipped pleasure pain.
Oh stone of the long night. O stone take my head in your ghetto
born arm, O stone take my verb in your sentenced love need, O stone take
your heart in my hand broken story. O stone, take my heart in the verb
cluster sexed in the noun of morning in my loneliness so soon. Let my
manhood be your lover knot. Oh stone, take my sad because in your not
caring, in your hand stronger than a knot. Oh, stone, teach my tongue your
word language speech. Before I die in the death of the knot special night
of our connection in the meeting before the end of the world, the end of
the body, the end of the day. Breath of spoke silence in the space break
time, and only time would tell her body. And his.
She spoke back, and said the flower is now and yours in the next
breath take, in the desire speech song, of my flower wombed tong, in your
desire born long. She spoke black in the maid song Abyss and the love fort
wring of her hands welted mating.
Of your lyric love me, and the coloured air scent, of the man I
met, in the voice I heard speak.
The words soft met and the lovers touched spent. In the tide of
their turning, in the farness of the close,
Close like distance could permit and the path met best of the
touch she loved him.
And the arms closed fast to hold their riding tent.
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