<documenta X><blast> Lines of Space

cd (cwduff@alcor.concordia.ca)
Sun, 21 Sep 1997 14:40:44 -0400 (EDT)

Jill didnt really want her otio-biographeme to be about denial
and the Cynics, but to be about Lovers who die alone while slipping
through the pages of say, her fifth book ... by her and Franny. Or
a triad (with a little saucy hegelian dialectics thrown in for good
erasure) and triangles and lonely skidooers between the tracks of
rail-road cars. And other third world countries of welfare recipients,
alcoholics, 24 year old girls who say they love you on the way to work.
That would have been a fiction a biography. To have had her sex displayed
on a counter for all the world to see was of no interest to her at all. To
have had a lover who was famous was of no interest to him. He left
university to become a teacher south of Paris in 1961. Michel helped him
to do that. Later they did not speak, and he was a supporter of the P.L.O
along with Jean Genet (his putative father). Michel could not to do that,
he had had problems with that. Meanwhile Franny was talking to strangers
on the street about machinic assemblages, and transversal cutting of
abstract machines and other things. She Mona, did not really want her
biography to be published. Jill said, why read a
biography of D. when you can write one? You know I am okay, and he
loves you who, why bother with all this stuff. Claire knows everything
that went on when we were lovers waiting for the world to end, we were
sure we could see visions of Genet and the rest of the third world
galloping through the Champs Elysee wild cowboys and African goddesses
trampling the
statue of Reason to pieces.
Mona knew that Jill and Fanny were dead. But she wanted to read a
story, something about a war machine or some kind of dead man. Jill was
alone like the night of hazards was, when the suicide came rumbling down
like a truck on his head. Jill was always the naughty girl of her dreams.
Jill was herself when she was other. Other than her self was her other
self on the edge of democracy and drama. Jill began to write her thesis
when she was five. She had a vision of tennis players and matched doubles,
mixed arcane doubles of thoughts and visions of Borges and Shakespeare the
great hidden influence of her cunt when she was a youngish and frisky
philosopher. So that is when she first met Franny G. and they read
Ginsberg together. They were nine years old. That was when Jill was
forgetting her already learned latin, her high latin and church latin and
her pig latin too! Pierre (who was Franny and Fanny and frantic) taught
him how to do that - to forget and to read and to adore the back of the
woman he loved. So they made up their first assembling machine that day,
long before they even had met. They met, or rather encountered many years
later when the May 68 revolution almost changed the course (and the
intercourse) of history. Instead what they go was a discourse instead, but
that was okay, they needed a discourse and someone to do it. And Michel
was fine in his Foucault way, and his labyrinthine passions. Then there
was the old man of the eye and the sea of his totalities in his passion
for existence versus essence. SO that was how it went, sometime back the
in the late 50's while others read Lacan and Freud they read clouds
wind summer the sky. And night was a great offering they
had read.
But somthing stopped the process and the agencement escaped the
utterance of her death and her detailed wandering in the fifth
arrondisement. She was a book reader, not a writer after all.Even though
she had a repetition compulsion and her desire was wanderlust and she
liked to think she was "becoming" wild and free like an Orchid. Something
like that.
The phone "rang." "It" was Jack and Mona saying Jill come out and
play, we love you.

**********
Finally Orpheus got off the metro in the centre of the great city.
Sappho was there with a big smile, a dictionary, a cup of coffee, and a
city wide metro pass for all zones. He fell in her arms like an
exhausted soldier boy. One who came from concentrations camps in Bosnia,
from Rwanda, from the wars past and future, from the all the nightmare
childhoods of many years. She sent him to bed. Space covered his body
in the wounds of recovery.
What was a big smile he thought. Was it space through her legs
that made room for his body? Was it night against raptured murder?

He had a dream. Against kisses that lasted so long the day died.
and night was rebirth in her arms. As they locked legs and sexes the two
backed beast and four armed animal. It was her, he was closer now. There
in the city , not far, closer to her arms and pictures, like slipping
tongues between the walls of the old city. Of Danton and others, while
yelling crowds called their name. Cafes and happy at last. Found. Home
found home. Here. With thee. Ever so. Close. Never far when even farther.
Always thoughts, lovers.
Met later in the day, they got along complimented very well.

*********

-------------------------------------------------------------
a forum on spatial articulations, perspectives, and procedures
texts are the property of individual authors
for information, email majordomo@forum.documenta.de with
the following line in the message body: info blast
archive at http://www.documenta.de/english/blasta.htm
or http://www.documenta.de/deutsch/blasta.htm
documenta X Kassel and http://www.documenta.de 1997
-------------------------------------------------------------