Tuesday, 10 March 2015

The Object is not Accesible. Performance, Access, Lisette's Tenderness, Amy De'Ath.

Two of the worst performances we've done were both done in
a state of heavy intoxication, and because of that losing
the ability to read at all or to see the words on the paper or
to stop them wiggling about and to demand of an audience
that they just, you know, fuck off and die or that they kill
in a part of themselves that which is easily preventable. One
was in Cambridge and the other in the Concorde Two.

I'm not proud of moments like that; not from some moralistic viewpoint, not because it is unprofessional. Professionalism is shame. No, because they become points of no access in exactly the wrong way. Think about how poems are actually barricades of bliss stuck in alienation, capturing the pan-optic with the ability to look back, forward, inside, outside all at once. Then ruin it. That's what it feels like. The only useful thing I said was 'fuck all competition forever' which doesn't feel great in your mouth,, and saying 'fuck' something or other feels more and more tired and offensive. Offensive. Not tired. Everyday.


Being subject
to the whims
of the others
                       with their object-i-flatten
          reeling & stooped
in bad
           loops / revolting. 

           this feels
as if relayed
                     horrible; unjustly
so removing
the scud
the bee / i-bee,, this

removal, to this lucky
summer, swinging over hump
to tree
             to grass bed
         as if tragic
object-vee-used out
where sisterhood
                             sloped i-to
dream scrap,, & sit there
lapped & lucky, long
but shadowed
                        ochre,, rest if
needs be
            sister, travail
not not unconvinced
a shell in twist

* ********************************************************************************

Poetry for Boys

I've been re-reading Amy De'Ath's Erec & Enide (Salt) recently, especially the sequence Poetry for Boys. There's a collosal tenderness here. What do we mean by tenderness. Tenderness is a near-impossible revolutionary approach, impossible because it is very difficult to maintain. We require ourselves to constantly examine the material of subjectivity - to comprehend faithfully and to realise the total order / structure of relations at play in any interaction. When we are speaking to a 'this' we ask ourselves to disallow the language of categorisation - 'this' can no longer be our relational tendency. Poetry for Boys omits a tenderness like this. One that is troubled, romantic, pastoral, opposing and musical. Is intensity ever stable? "That the joy will soon come and make you suffer!" - an epigraph, a warning, a spell. The sequence is full of contradicting invocations 'lay low' but in language, in pastoral language, 'in the words of the wood', subtlety not naturally forming immunity. The first poem in the set is a musical anacrusis for the rest. These are poems that split your gender perfections up, drop them back into your throat. Vocalisations of worlds impossible, privileges uncatalogued: 'if I had the money to dip in being a boy / If I was Anna O., & fallen into autism or / steeped in prelingual glimpses of Lena's face, / I'd be living system: looped in my own elements. // A system closing talking only to itself.'

Seriously beautiful work isn't easy. I feel like perhaps it gets overlooked. Configuring identity is rarely simple despite beauty and fear - to ask oneself with tenderness to ones own subjectivity where your system is closing and who is it talking to - what elements does it loop in, and where do they stick to make the subject sitting here (there) now?

From Francesca Lisette:

'So, I’m interested in the genius of the space that hovers below identity, solidarity and ego. In reaching for an affective politics, I ask that we make ourselves sociologically weaker – that is, in the terms of Keston’s paper at Militant Poetics, MORE emotional, more supposedly FEMININE – and that everybody does this. I’m interested in intersubjectivity, in what we might mean or do to each other beyond our socially accrued markers, in the weirdness of being humans at this time now, in how we can be kinder to each other. I like to call this form of praxis ‘revolutionary tenderness’.'

- What I Want: A Manifesto for Revolutionary Tenderness. Francesca Lisette.

I'm still trying to work out how we make a revolutionary tenderness and even more how we maintain one. I worry about strategies. You know I do. And I think Francesca does too. I think her address of the new power structures built up by 'rightness' (in language etc) are essential. Identity politics like Anarchism and Marxism very quickly falls into this glut of assembly from disassembly. New workfares. New racisms. New social phobias. Academic. But perhaps we need to be tender towards that tendency too. As in understand it as the composition of subjects (us) desperate to struggle. Understand it and act on it in compassion and love. Work into our language structures ears as well as mouths and brains. More later. Your sister. 


Thursday, 5 March 2015


Good morning my girl -you-are-only-a lip
Good morning "my life" you are here at the whip
O soul in the sun you are merely a bruise
Good dentist good sun say 'you, not abused'
Good graces Good plains good desert, beach, sky
Forsaken good crash go: i-am-not-i,,

Wednesday, 4 March 2015

Brain Song.

A brain can be lived, that I
am sure. Over time, livedfor/destroy,

regularity; persuations -you-are-this
be hav ioral-1 cut into word

order. Now you sit & stay still
on the window sill.
Now still.

So still,, on the
     sill. Motion  ended  removed
 the language. A mind

is not born but becomes a;
body. Brother of hers just turns

four years, fast enough. The room,,
fat & traditional & my hands

atop head. Fear ripsat back

&back flails  & this has a happy
 resolve these lines and-star-back-i

look into the upper,, the lower
the brain,,,mine

here  perfects  yours  inclined
             crossed the arms on crop

or nape. Banished Head to Wall
Banished Wall to Floor                

fear cuts gently to the back, to the back
to the corner where it lies

&shame-with-oh-it stays, the corner
where desire lights the wall

the back, the corner. Shame-i-i-call
back,, a ,, a brain is not yours,
oh backing   hard.

* * * *

& now say give me back
my brain, let it be the on
ce it was & scream insid
e it & cut back against & rifle & spinneret then
disrupt & brain & you are ( not
& scream at & break for the key.

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

Notebook Drafts. Spring is not Here...


shut up because there is no
life i was not filled up,
rescued, detained. & Felt
Strong, that was not so

without a meaning turn
your lust into words, die
they not mean they you
10022539 every morn i grind

like when my cello  lay with me
is not good to think  f you
is not always held at breath
i took Myself reception, sweat.


...'re running under cliff
or pier, glass severally
sprawl through the sky
by the bed.


What world is ''''s
      da c
would suggest
       no-us- us-no use

at beck at

am i the inside the
in -i-no of
blue clot
a flower or
 brain scrap
of carton or
 please hold
still thi
s is an un
fair shril
l the perfe
ct weigh is
 to disease is to
motif is i-not
-i please us the s
mall brack
ets voice the s
now and ra

there was exit
now it is
blind by
i am working
in the kitchen
or cleaning the
floor and awaiting
some supervision
then i
as in
there must
hitchiking is like it
i must as quickly
cut out all
just sweep it under
she is working on the floor mind to floor floor to floodlight
she is sprawled
face to floor floor to ceiling
to wall
fucking ever
seen a place
i work
as quickly
like these lines
they are not
very clean their walls
face their ceilings
the clock is fucked
there is no wall
but the ceiling is good
the floor is germs
there how i felt
to say that these
lines float stupid and
you get not out
them are stolen
some them their technique henceforth
it gets from itself is broken:

in on the blossom
fucks lumps as
 in how dog
s are lumps
get lapsi
 ng joy we as
riding out       YOU BANISH
was  rying  o   elp me
you blessed you the
blessed little
driving     rijhbu9et
there "is nothing out side the...
"rift in the altar
"night night sweet
"i love you, no i
"feel strongly
,moved to
T I owe you
Noth     move out
Moth it
t him move't t' not-the-willing  O to

 the water ca
lms and roves unde
r gas it is simple
 gas as abstract lack
 in the air is
 moving is i naked thi
s i-floor break
ing this
a the imp
erfect montage
three thousand
c e le bra
ti ons off-sanity
-capacitor off-scree
n limit irrit ati
 n  go forward reac
h with your arm
under red satin knot
 in by gas by limp this

out-light-not i-love-not the light falling on red satin this on gorgeous buoy yr

smile what are you i-shop
 out this weak lack in the
air festers as a lack in the
 sky would lack in he sky
meaning hole why come-i-
together sorry foreshadowed

 limp in useless
classic gas the
lack was there
 pushing over scram
bles the major lea
gues in heart of m
y little wave the f
uck puppet out acrostic
 my face charms
speaks to see littl
e the sanity bas

the air i breathe t
he whole of its
world's the madness
not-Oh-i impose from
 these punctured wound
 removes trash dump that eno

ugh oater chest wound
 left of grimace hate the
charming decadence
 this boy dance broke
 from me boil out left
of line face
in to face left to spell as in lack in the air called not-gas-at all her to come away

Thursday, 26 February 2015

Print Reader


& rent me to the climate
& slash my slender tresses
& loan me to the atmosphere
& beat me to a teathered frame
& hoist me and infantilise
& tell me it is worthwhile &

i have 
i   've got 2 do this
it machine which it
blips to receive the n0 that 10033539 fuck it reads in the girth chart on my finger plain for all to see; / engendered somehow 
                                                                       how it shits

                                                                       and shifts,, o free  ontology /
o don't say common law don't-i-me-up-like that...


                             & i did not abandon the  cross
                             of Christ i-o-could-not i o-living
                             & i cared deeply & i skryed
                             & protection, you bastard
                             & sugar
                             & is put into
                             O Christ save me from
                             & this:
                                          My Self
                             flees,, trodden,, forgetful,, similar to the people who walk in stupid,, the world into which what is it to be stupid, forgetting? anterior. patriot doubt. that is the hole it is doubtful to be stupid, singular as i am
walking & cough up a sky
              & forgetmenot & spring Rushing slowly
              like a shit brook un-babbling
              & new schemes
              & what is the spell thou ha-    done 2 me
              & work work 10022539 every day,, employee
              & filled with impossible care till it shuts up till it is revolting, scupper your chance in the sky little princess Verie Verie. 

Goodnight sweet Prinse. U skrub, shred
& always so indignant. Got to clean this place. 

     & as i was spring cleaning
     & was dusting the air
     & was sugared & unhappy how
     weird this dog
     & feed me to this pack of
     & not abandonned
     Christ that so beloved
     severally ....


Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Lyric Trials

Of Grief

--as the tide is wretching
as it is as is not back
alive it hast nothing
in the glyph - physical.

..how (if) you are beautiful
a collection of several
lines detached from material:
verse 1: that body i skull for

there on the floor as if
to stand is too much
and do not, on the
ground heart o rainy sea.

Of Repetition

the abject not-i unsung,, not-face
          these that th/ eye undefinite
order, waste.. not i-waste,, mineral
assaulting. Implausible beat cast
or user or service or in your crude
your care or long bereavement, impossible
Stain Or Pill.
bereavement curtailed or crossweed
don't dupe this man or sweet
breaker, silence falls in pale grief
fists first & tight.
                             In brief agitations
                             pride against
                             pride, this head,
mottled,, caught up in shimmer
polars. & && yes be I feear, catching. Yes
this still i-work-at    (face, your)
                              i, a nail up.
                              Water's roof.   ''

Then was the sweet weather proved:
When i saw. when I saw it, broken hideosity
of calm.

Of to Punish

sublimate my lust in two
a constant wordy pressure.

terrible screen: undelete
the total, the total call of my

desires. reached, invoked objects
terrible in its best clothes. 

Of Flux

&  'll   lounce  forth to   ur    vice
to the knell with mistaken
delivberate, deliberately mistakenly;
to flail across you summerised
to service, sublimated in two worlds.

Tuesday, 24 February 2015


The eye pops
out is held in fingers

fingers chuck & flick
the i-out-eye falls                                                            history, sheer touch in this room
                                                                                        i feel,, eye,, i-not oh i-fell flat not sight.
sight seeth) legal-i
site of un-vision un-i

moving from strength
to detention-i 38-i-  left out. ou   ant  e i   ant  ou   u

 an  ip
p   y     

  irt this -i0-Tio
drops the eye
your eye i know -not-i
its colour
 there is this cold all consuming shame that is the collared eye
or the long rain. I eat the eye not I-hungered-for the eye not-i
at all but a exit. a exit from here the sun filling the room
you ----    you are the ---- you are teeth --- you are teeth to eye -------- imagine that being
teeth as to eye as teeth are to eye

('and i go around the walls of the room. i go through the vent & have ripped the vent's cover from the wall. this speaking won't stop the noise in this speaking won't stop. there's hair in the bag there is a scattering action must be performed so they degrade. minerals attack the structure of rice. fuck you.')

fights mine
    kers   lk
float the eye

     arallel  an

Your beauty lives
in my

 e  rbit
in  magination

 our kink  -here

  ar   at  echnical
caning, wooden ruler

fficial   train
go up from these lines
move  ur    yr eye

- flick redactor - why mostly i come in sincerity or  retend it is so.
- flick ear,, mostly written here
- in the distance
- called public. call into distance you an imagine
- all the people, sodoms, tactile neighbour, redactor, flip to position,  culat


-no pace no coil, sense is that the breed is love the breed never dies the breed is long white principal ,,, i search -not=i---u ,,, searching for breeze for doors,,, institutional door is a math of ,,lmg hnMy Friend Nat In Resistance to desk shock absorb in absconding in r op

--elated injure
--ost time incident
                                                      fuck on time
                                                      screams Nat
 -ennis elbow.

it arise eye - (i-not seeing)
                                             all even pleasant
                                             norms of labour
                                             injure dear one list
                                              e  an    cape it &omehow

physical kill upper management stratosphere these are by saying kill i mean the position should not occupy physical space or imaginary time or any space in the triangle of symbols or outside it by one was beheaded and became St. Lloyd was sent
colony revanent
arch vile
arch fucking arch
ye   KPL    BAKCcc  Tio - my - sam - loves - Tio m- y nOT-i-manage-on£7.whatever-i-a-week-in-non
physical time is how i recycle

it ends

how in my throat do explain catches an word Sylvie???
HR remain my love to thee. // and come eat at trough
come remain in tact delicacy,, chaos rolling round the mouth
screaming round the snowing stars the settled shred
a flicked out ear motions falling and fading && totally
bastard this shock  reatment  appen    n    is    room ur
 randmother   n      iron L U N G BOUND  what precinct
made us antimatter called sanity I understand not why
 ecycling   ould degrade   aster least the machine
why the hand is machine of course it is nothing stronger
than the
out strips

 nd  ry to  ake u normal    aye!

'it is love' my shame my shame called back