Tuesday, October 25, 2005

the dodo was asking for it

incantation.i will burn you dead.dedication.all you can eat.i know your sound.elegiac.tangle of thorns.orbitesque.head wound illustration.street scenery.... aria.FUNtobeDEAD.
sliding grace, slides
as if by common-cause
as if by, by-the-by
a killing street
a killing ground
slides into view
I have to tell you I had held her hand all the while, though, annotating a painting I made not of but about my family. “Artists are shits”, I would often add.
figure of speech was now, then, by my painting it, a figuration, figual. It is, more exactly, by my painting it out of me, painted out of me. It is left with writing to write it out of me.
autobiographical device
useless as general communication
some then ascendant literati:
Sartre this; Foucault that; Heideggery, Hegely-Pegely, decanting Kant, d d d Derrida. Endless; youthfully endless, youthfully hopeful in being so; as if such foreign schemes could be made to play meaningfully and diagnostically upon a picture of strangers. From behind that frosted glass, I thought such concepts could be heard and understood in some friendly but serious commitment to understanding itself