At the Latin American Club---of all the spots in all the spots of all the world's watering holes/spots----just earlier than now---Max Heller, Contact Zone Coordinator for the CPT (Rodrigo Toscano's Collapsible Poetics Theater, in residence this Friday at CCA/SPT) said the most amusing of all things, considering we'd only known each other 8 (albeit 8 long, intimate) hours: "That is so Suzanne of you Suzanne!"

What this means is that I finally am, in fact, Suzanne. Put a penny in the slot and etc

track 11 of the gramaphone best of 2006 on repeat play, which is what kind of distorted telos? it's the pretty but inaccurate bridge that seems so inadequate to a new body trying to rest after such a long, long bridge of rest-less agency, which took me so far from there to this strange new unordinary here---put a penny in the slot and make an artificial light shine?---

somewhere nearby i have a picture i took on a grassy lawn in san diego a lot of years ago: atop a decorative garden-stake glass-and-wire sculpturette of a grasshopper, is a real grasshopper, shiny, glossy, wet, with papery translucent newly discarded skin just about to drop--do i feel like that? not really. but it's in my mind to share it with you. i feel something even better than that. you can get from there to here in nothing flat.

Dear Ones,

I am taking a break and will return in the new year if not before. Please wander the bare archives, and remember!

"Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine."

Yours,
SS

Last night I tried to open my mind. Afterwards, I fell asleep and dreamt I ate most of the petals of a cream-colored flower tipped or edged in brown. Someone told me the flower was of hallucinogenic property. I was scared but the sky became the most silvery-rose-blue untouchable breatheable lacey-cloud luminesence I have ever seen! It was bright and soft. I was walking on a road alongside a mountain, it was something simultaneous to sunrise and to dusk. Later, in what felt like a medieval village, the sky was the black-brown head of a scaley elephant, where the moon would be, its red and yellow eye.

"Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine."

"I would like to write you so simply, so simply, so simply. Without having anything ever catch the eye, excepting yours alone, and what is more by erasing all the traits, even the most apparent ones, the ones that mark the tone, or the belonging to a genre (the letter for example, or the post card), so that above all the language remains self-evidently secret, as if it were being invented at every step, and as if it were burning immediately, as soon as any third party would set eyes on it . . . "

Jacques Derrida, The Post Card: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond, 1987

at the movies

an Action!

Near-wet pastures graded by censure.

The insulated & thick proclivities of active duly workers, arrays chained ankle-to-ankle behind clear flat gelatinous plates, pushing the damp hands through The wet slots in the structure and into heavy, leadened fur-lined glo ves to manip

ulate the modeling proce

dures inside the enclosure:


“I” given the distillation—I
or a hand speechless. eye on your—

Awe—specific to speech
-sources of transmissive

Disgraces, discharges
viz. Spirit a

mouth Chaste
with Disturbance tryes

aswerve up the matter for
branches, Olive, gloves sets

up a water, sets up a matter for
clear locution of

One compossible
but not together

shores up sultry shores up
desultory besotted Valley

of Sand
purrs

“pleasure”
purrs “message”

purrs I as a yes and able
Mirror

to press “my send” huh
my gratitude against—

flesh— According to
to terrible elements Tangible as place—

as Act. at every during The
night now irrespeakable

sundials Repurposing
signs of life

unhrld firm thighs bleed off center-
course, sand-

blasting sticky rhyth-
mms of Force “Consensual” dis-

curse Trap doors leading
being the sticky signs of

future lesions Letters
by sortie advance

panting
easements

spurt accessive
portions

forming high
slits

to fuck all
in

the lesion split.
Let this stand in for I

I was, I was absolute high

sticky
digits

sighs under Awe;
the flowered slick heav-

ens Silty kittens
oh spartan gifts of—

standard living.
wet Issue, sticky,

Licks Irre-
versibly Night

in the middle
of toward warbling

Of. Oh. Ou les silky
milk, kitty. come prick me with that

H.D. : "honey is not more sweet than"

Valie Export, Ontological Leap, 1974

it's never too early for the holiday spirit