15 October 2004


[reading derrida was like reading broken mud, he said, she said - some fractured sun]

s'adirred derrida: s'adirred derrida:
dadaderrida - not heart-shaped biscuits of molten memory


1. werd on the walls and pavement: not like circa 68

JD's new wave sew-on, bolt-on, arse-reams of colonic mastication: his thick bells of burning treacle stuff
crammed into the brickened blocks: of core units
of institutional mass-communicational digresions.

so to then;

we flick lights like fidges on the inside like:
the eyes of the inside of the inside of the dollar signs -
and immigratory, philosophical and invisible borders,
of rejecting intricate bulldozers of christ money;
of meaning. of catholic bottles of patriarchal reliance;

like deconstruction restoration
an anarchist mongrel-bitch
we cud it. chew on brother.
chew on baby. cud it.
cud it up like derrida.

because always never still, and what is ideology,
a herd of bent werdz: all pitch-streched
like this distorted wet chord; bleeding meaningless meanings
towards evolutive, transient and salient regeneration.

or of some some some some knee-deep patrimonial acid-check a bionic literary fuck-table - sucking at the rubber/plastic
the rotting carcas - split like a porn-starz mobile;

unless without time: them stealth-drivers
werds have less meaning less oceanic meaning.
but or less meaning
did we mean meaning?

1b. de-fam-i-liar-i-s---a-tion
[tion] [tion] [tion] [tion]

thus her battered/frayed dictionary-style:
today she talks like: kitchen centre bathrooms
and capital L grass-roots abortionists,
we spill each other's cups or souveneir plates -
us sheer culture-convicts.
weeping in climate change meanings.

eating the same text twice
and twice again and again twice
like between semiotic myths: werds just binary code
of biosemiotic energy - of love

smelt like wrought iron pigs; he cooked slick with tricks n
bits of fish and mutilated remnants of textual relativity
of inca sensitivity - eaten like all the bibles signs:

them all-star situationistas still talking basher
on the meth in gin stoic-cheeked, tongue-rollin coloured-ball ritual.

2. still i sat, sitting on my hands and sit on my hands,
she said of the filthiest projections. dappled light leaves.

her/his/them laugh-a-minute kartoon-porn;
of muscle-bound theorists indymedia cohorted chasms
even anabolic dreams drift west in boats of meaning


saying real men understand soil, she said,
saying sayings of sayings: of arbitrary signposts
of metonymic stance. of state-o-matic trance.

3. however, this time we turfed the signssignifiersignified:
the magna-carta'd representations; the stem-cellin members
soprano-mafia made offers - neither understood or refused;
the play-school hegemony

such as it is
that i am it : it is i as i am.
i said she went. she said.

am i this polite syntactic werd structure
of how many dead derridas does it take
to change a semiotic decision.
how many. how many.

this this red derrida menace all toothy and white
deconstructed constructions. all gas-light 1970s gloss

4. his corpse but

ever more potent than the meaning of cancer
than the meaning of everything.
the everything of meaning
of meaning of meaning

: : : antipoet__14oct04 : : :



"...From the invisible inside, where I could neither see nor want the very thing I have always been scared to have revealed on the scanner, by 'analysis' — radiology, echography, endocrinology, hematology — a crural vein expelled my blood outside that I thought beautiful once stored in that bottle under a label that I doubted could avoid confusion or misappropriation of the vintage, leaving me nothing more to do, the inside of my life exhibiting itself outside, 'expressing' itself before my eyes, absolved without a gesture, dare I say of writing if I compare the pen to the syringe, and I always dream of a pen that would be a syringe, a suction point rather than that very hard weapon with which one must inscribe, incise, choose, calculate, take ink before filtering the inscribable. playing the keyboard on the screen, whereas here, once the right vein has been found, no more toil, no responsibility, no risk of bad taste or violence, the blood delivers itself all alone, the inside gives itself up, and you can do as you like with it, it's me but I'm no longer there..." derrida]..


SEE ALSO: Interview with Derrida
[Jacques Derrida] For a justice to come - by Lieven De Cauter Monday, Apr. 05, 2004 [posted on belgium.indymedia]

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