The Senses As Follows:

My sleeping arrangements

Let’s imagine, you and I
The tiled floor at an old dirty train station.
There on the stained ground lays a piece of cardboard.
A little worn but it’s a thick one so it’ll be around for a while (whether you like it or not)
The cardboard reeks of soggy footsteps and stuffy roller bags wheels.
And on one side a handkerchief sits heavily
It’s tied together and contains a rock within, perhaps
This too smells of obnoxious tears and far too much history

This my friends, is the bed of which I am to sleep (theoretically) for the next five days.

Good. What could possibly be better?

342 days ago I wrote:

“When he looked at me it, he really saw who I was
I knew that I was there, in that moment.
I existed, at least for as long as his eyes were with mine
I could feel my pulse
and the gentle tickle of my breath
For each cloud of carbon monoxide I exhaled shattered
I was no longer numb, but alive”

(this was titled “idea jumble” but I’ve decided to publish it, just the way it is, the way I left it to sit and stew almost a year ago)

Deleuze’s lost writing that was never published.

Remember 1960, we met by chance
In the thought provoking nation of France?
My dearest Guittari, let us first think,
Of how our worlds interlink.
The dialectical force of time and space,
Is a metaphysical relationship we must embrace.
It is not our space that we occupy,
Which differentiates you from I.
Nay, difference is non-spatiotemporal
Identity ephemeral.
For it’s the power of difference,
That marks our interests,
And the lebensphilosophie
Which privileges our own body.
Our force and desire, Guittari
Is not part of social subjectivity.
Our desire a free synthesis
All encompassing and ubiquitous!
We must be intentionless phenomena
Not victims of capitalist erotica.
So let us escape and be rhizomatic
Schizophrenic or nomadic
Break with repressive identity
And produce a fragmented, libidinal body
Of yours and mine ontological spaces
For PoMo is not conducive to being creative.
If we resist normalizing powers
This world, will finally be ours
Our own constructed ethics
Could be productive and multiplicitous
If we remain in this capitalist repression
Our true identities will never be envisioned.
For it is the power of difference not desire
That gives us our fire!
I have no identity without you
As you are nothing without me,
Deleuze.

(kept forgetting to post the final version of this, but here you go— I hope those who have had to read Deleuze and Guittari, or for those who have suffered through postmodern theory discussions appreciate the absurdity of my love poem)

Insomnia

The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she’s a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she’d tell it to go to hell,
and she’d find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.

—Elizabeth Bishop

In your light

Get up in the morning
I can’t keep it in
I’m falling all over myself
And I could jump out of my skin
Wanna break the door down
Just to greet the day
Coz there ain’t nothing that’s more certain
To keep my blues away

And it can settle the sadness
And the voices in my head
When I’m in the glow of the warmth you throw
I can put all that to bed

And when you’re smiling on me
That is all I need
To put behind me all my worry
And life’s complexities

It may be only a moment
But the world just falls away
And I forget myself
And everything else
That depressed me yesterday

When I’m in your light
All of this is clear
If only I could always be just as I am right here
When I’m in your light, just when I’m in your light
And I won’t get by if you take that light away

—Gotye

Deleuze writing a love poem to Guittari— A segment to my Post Modern theory poem for my final

…

Remember 1960, we met by chance,

In the thought provoking nation of France?

Our desire a free synthesis,

All encompassing and ubiquitous.

So let us escape and be rhizomatic

Schizophrenic or nomadic.

Break with repressive identity

And produce a fragmented, libidinal body

Of yours and mine ontological spaces

For PoMo is not conducive to being creative.

…

I have no identity without you

As you are nothing without me, Deleuze.

Some days are worse than others

It’s one of those worse-than-days.

Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye

Great Day

This song, these lyrics; are amazing.

“It never really mattered too much me
Cause I was just too damn old to m.c
All that really mattered is if your rhymes was ill
Girl, that’s all that really mattered to me, oh baby

Looks like it’s gonna be a great day today
To get some fresh air like a stray on a straightaway
Hey you, got a light? nah, a Bud Light
Early in the morning, face crud from like a mud fight
Looky here, it’s just the way the cookie tear
Prepare to get hurt and mangled like Kurt Angle rookie year
The rocket scientist, with a pocket wine list
Some even say he might need some puss-psychiatrist
Doom, are you pondering what I’m pondering?
Yes, but why would the darn thing be wandering?
She’s like a foundling, barely worth fondling
My posse’s on raw really momma I want to sing
Mad plays the bass like the race card
Villain on the case to break shards and leave her face scarred
Groovy dude, not to prove to be rude
But this stuff is like what you might put on movie food
Uh, what is jalapenos

Get it like a whuppin’ when you holla at your seniors
Dolla he can overhear the hashish vena
He just came from over there, the grass is greener
Last wish, I wish I had two more wishes
And I wish they fixed the door to the matrix’s mad fridges
Spit so many verses sometimes my jaw twitches
One thing this party could use is more
Booze, put yourself in your own shoes
And stay away from all those pairs of busted Tims you don’t use
He only keep ‘em to decorate
If you wanna peep him select a date
And bring a deep check like checkmate
I kid you not, on the dotted line signed
Ever since a minor, kids considered him some kind of Einstein
On a diamond mine grind, she was dumb fine
But not quite the type that you might want to wine and dine
Couldn’t find a pen, had to think of a new trick
This one he wrote in cold blood with a toothpick
On second thought it’s too thick
His assistant said “Doom, you sick” he said “True blue acoustics”
Psycho, his flow is drowned in Lowry seasoning
With micropower he’s sound and right reasoning
Easy as Pi, three point one four
One more one false move and they’re done for”

—Madvillain

-

(listen to the Four Tet remix)