THE NOVELS I'VE NEVER READ

1.1.
The novels I've never read brack things?

1.2.
Ever since I've known I've been torn apart by reading.
Meanwhile I make myself write novels.
I write them illegible, on purpose.
I do write to satisfy myself for what I will never read?

1.3.
Are there also poems that brack things
differently from the way novels brack?
To leave, to leave, to leave,
To travel, to forge countries.

1.4.
While looking you sacrifice punctuation?
Is punctuation a convention is made for the eyes?
And when do you close your eyes how do the texts like?
You sacrifice orality to punctuation as sacrificing sacrifice?
Is it even possible to eradicate the sacrifice by sacrificing it?
Is spelling a golden god that only satisfies the look?

1.5.
How to refuse gifts to the gods?
Are they golden or obscure?
Not even for that?
Is the spelling a parody of "original sacrifice"?
How to refuse gifts that are the maximum or the minimum?
In wich way the gods are romanesque?
Well then?

1.6.
These maxims are of those who are too young for the minimum,
and engage in puns?

1.7.
When's your age different?
Are all ages wrong?
Where can emotions go?
Will I die younger than my age?
Where are the ways to refuse?
Are you entering the spans of emotions?
Do you offer ways to refuse?

1.8.
Are you in the air, or kicked?
Do you ask for remnants of desire
or more surplus of desire?
Do the orchids fill your eyes?
Are you gla-morous or a-morous?
Do you ask for desires that awake?
Do you shop smart orchids, even smarter than you?

1.9.
Which kind of things redefine desire?
Orchids that wake up?
Orchids whose ideas have shadows?
Are sudden shadows intiligent?
Do ideas have hats to protect from the shadows?
Ideas without ideas?
Do you make copies that deny you?
The shadows undo the ideas
and everything is pureed?
Do you make copies of what you give?
Can you give giving?

1.10.
Is this an errata that many would deny?
This is a one-word book hidden
and hidden in too much.
Is it crazy this excess of words?
There are issues whose errata
is in an indecisive and unique book.
Is it possible to philosophize with a single word?
Are there issues that arise just to suspend?
To read is to want to be surprised
by the revolutions that are made in the books?
Is reading to be abandoned by the real?

1.11.
I have many books just to be many
and be content with this imprecise number?
What is the number of books, on average,
ideal, to have?

1.12
Is philosophy to suspend the surprise?
To say is Lego in which language?
Do you prefer Greek or Danish?

1.13
The reading projects on the texts our darkness,
our mischievous, childish, wretched side.
Nature displays itself between the projected shadow
and the light that fades.
The Muse strives in detail and is drenched with darkness.
Nature displays the Gods playing hide and seek.
The Muse shows the writer in an inferior,
crouching, pathetic, minor position.

1.14.
A literature that is accurate
bets on details and psychology?

1.15
The inferiority is the reference of its own shadow
to a little, sombre, identity.

1.16.
Does the dark, the one who scares, contemplate us?
Literature is the assimilation of fear by expectation.
I like the shadows of the arguments.
Does the dark contemplate our private insurrection?
Is assimilation of fear shareable with others?
In others, what I like the most is what escapes them?
Yes maybe yes or no!
2

2.1.
I fear and tremble in the philosophical senses,
in the rhythms of these senses,
in what undoes the so-called philosophical prose.

2.2.
Forgetfulness is given with what is plotting us,
with what stranges us.
There are things on the side with senses and music
and solitudes in balances.
Forgetfulness goes well with the gods,
who being bright, have no shadows, only music
for our solitudes renewed in balances.

2.3.
The gods, being luminous,
project us in their divine inconsistency.

2.4.
Death seems astonishing
because shadows and fear disappear
from the consciousness of the dead.
Shadows that allow us to be projective and private.

2.5.
Will embedding the shadow be a wisdom?

2.6.
Death at the side of non-life
is a dreadful, living thing.
The ideas are dirty with the seeming explendorous
next to non-life.
Getting dirt from what?

2.7.
Are you looking for a place to forget
that death is coming?
You catch your ideas with what?

2.8.
Places to exercise free will
do not escape the darkness.
You stain sheats
to forget death.

2.9.
Is macula an initiative to postpone forgetting?
Free will erases us of lyrical causes.
The starting point is the emptiness that escapes the darkness.

2.10
Lyric smudges like siege
provoke the incandescence of pornography.
Drawers where attempts of saving revolutions
missed at the beginning.
The emptiness is the pornography in the drawers.

2.11.
All the weird concepts have some logic,
even it is few.
I only keep concepts that are naughty.
Revolutionary tenderness happens in freaky guys like me.
To have some logic, as long as it is with dark parts,
is fatal.
An astonishing exception catches
our hunger for change.
A specter of anything naughty.

2.12.
Revolutionary tenderness is the opium of dark parts.
An insurrectional exception sweeps the masses.
It is communism repeating itself as a farce.
Haunting farce.

2.13.
A specter that goes around and that is no longer communism
what is it?

2.14.
I want to dress communism
with my modernist autobiography.

2.15.
I'm looking for more autobiographies in the suburbs,
among the pauperish masses,
revolutionarily perfect.

2.16.
I'm being modern while I change
my theatrical mind
and I do not know where I'm going to stop.
3

3.1.
What questions fall in love with those who always fall in love?
Who else can I turn in?

3.2.
You want to dress up with proportions
that fit your body well?

3.3.
Is the I an autobiography
just because it uses this infamous article?
What questions get rid of the passions quickly?
Passion is a new translation
of a foolish impulse?
Does death come out?
Do the interrogations cause deliveries to other loves?
Does fear make us vary experiences and relationships?
Or the other way around?
Is the self a translation of other selves that we are about to remix?
Does death come and go from things?
Are you seduced by many when you are in balances?

3.4.
Do the questions cause or make things weary?
Are you seduced by time?
There are questions that disappear in the question?
Do you want to be many at the same time
without ceasing to be that self at the edge of nowhere?

3.5.
Are there questions that forge styles?
Do these styles live (in) us?
Can styles cannibalize?
What to do with what you do not know what to do?
Do the styles kill?
Do styles excite microparticles?
How many heteronyms did Shakespeare have?
Where and how can influences be cannibalized?

3.6.
You want to devour your ghosts quickly
and then shit them?
What to do with your micro-selves?
How many heteronyms find new personalities?
Are the personalities of your heteronyms
changing?
Is it better to be shortened to a more reserved heteronym?
Do you want to be published in a book
that is read by everyone forever and ever?

3.8.
Where / how are the new personalities?
Do you like being extended?
With a dough roll?
Why do we sing in the shower?
Is it an old thing to be abbreviated or extended?
Why do we sing relevant old issues
that can replace all the new ones?
What else do you do in the shower?

3.9.
Can an old question replace wonderful questions?
Is the world as enchanting as snakes?
Are we caught up in all the new issues?
What questions wonder the unbelievers?
Do the comparisons irritate you?

3.10.
Does logic make a clean slate of our innocence?
Is the world enchanting with magical formulas?
Are we surprised by comparisons
when we are naked or in underwear?
Does logic cause lightning strikes in ideas?
Are we different people
doing tabula rasa for nothing?
Do lightning strikes in ideas?
Are we guillotines guillotining time?
4

4.1.
Does the holiness of thanksgiving come from joy?
Can anonymity have to insult
those who allow themselves to be named?
Doesn’t holiness ignore joy?

4.2.
Can I donate a personality?
And donate parts of personality?

4.3.
What prevents anonymity
can have or give personality?

4.4.
Why are there things that break fast?

4.5.
Do you like to chatter in silence?
Silence speaks very quietly?
Do you like to disaggregate?
And to disaggregate others?

4.6.
Silence hardly translates anything?
What has been said between the lines?
Does the unspoken says?
It suggest the interdict?

4.7.
Can you measure the excess?
Can you compete with it?
Is not measuring these things impractical?

4.8.
I transpose myself by becoming more social?
Do I publish my works in excess?
What is it like to let yourself be transported?

4.9.
Does the slight relieve?
Does the serious aggravate?
Do we have glimpses of something impractical?
Do I transpose myself in public?
Do I publish myself?

4.10.
Where does genius come from?

4.11.
Are we sometimes very stupid?
Being serious aggravates?
Do we have glimmers of genius unintentionally?

4.12.
Do we really like to have our feet on earth?

4.13.
Is this autobiography good or bad philosophy?
Do we live on earth or in disqualified space?
Does this autobiography try to be perfect imperfection?
Elegance is abundance?
I say myself against philosophy?
Or do I favor it?
Am I the imperfect perfection?
Do I contrary to confirm?
Does this smile silence the elegance of others?
Do I say not to infirm?
Does this noise recycle us?

4.14.
Do we breathe genius with stuffy nose?

4.15.
How much do you want to live?
100 years? 200 years?

4.16.
Do we say to mistrust or confirm?
Some word destroys someone
for another to live?
Do we say to make you distrust?

4.17.
Can one perfection abolish another?
Do we translate the absolute into narrow-mindedness?
We managed to postpone the inevitable
or is it better to confirm it?

4.18.
Any perfect word
summarizes autobiographies without words?
Can you be half of other people?
Does the absolute translate us?
Can we write autobiographies
without knowing for sure how we feel about words?
Can you be half what you are?
What are the nouns in which you feel
what you are most intensely?

4.19.
Are there things faster than verbs?
Do dead languages whisper lives?
Does logical confusion also affect verbs?
What do dead languages want from the living?

4.20.
Do tears of joy expand the affective size of people?
Are maybee the basis of theories?
Does logical confusion hurt?
Do tears of joy and unlesses
improve and expand people?
Do maybees and unlesses
like “yes” and “no”?
5

5.1.
Where is everything there is?

5.2.
Why do we respond roughly to the dead?
Do you want to leave jumping questions
thinking they are thinking us?
Why do we respond to those who are left with wills?

5.3.
Are puzzles living things?
When are we dead?
When can we no longer know?

5.4.
Do you want to leave questions in a will
or would you rather leave assets?
Are we the ones who create puzzles
or are they the ones who create us?

5.5.
Will we ever be invisible?
When are we sudden passions?
Do we live on different levels?
What gives lightness?
What makes you feel light?

5.6.
Are we in the same time?
Are we in changing times?
Do we live in different ways of using someone?
What is letting yourself live on multiple levels?
What is it to use someone well?
What is to be used?

5.7.
Do the Zen questions (the Koans) use them?
Zen questions ask what?

5.8.
Am I too hot?
Did I catch you in Zen asking puzzling questions?
Am I blatant?
Are there names that are more friendly?
I got you to read me red-handed?
What are the most friends?

5.9.
What happens (in the head) between two ideas?
How to deal with an insidious idea?
How do you know what has the most qualities?
Is intiligence comparable to stupidity?
What is it to like you?

5.10.
Myths ask us things why?
Is 9 the emerging part of us?
Does wonder shocks the unsuspecting?
Do myths ask in a mess?
What does a number encourage?
Is infinity a farce of thought about perception?
Do you like to air?
Does the extravagance of infinity pass like the breeze?
Do you love liberation?
5.11.
Is it possible to escape the pathologies
that make you clear of other pathologies?
Is extravagance or liberation better?
Is it possible to escape from self and from society?
Are there pathologies that adapt the self to unbelievable things?

5.12.
Otherwise Zeno, then who?
Gorgias? Plato?
Parmenides again? The Bible?
Nothing like that?

5.13.
Grants to know how to look?

5.14.
How does society get us?
How do you find a friendly theory to know how to look?
How do you distinguish enemy things?

5.15.
Do we dress various characters
until a friendly theory satisfies us?
Do we dress as ignorant
just to look wise?
Is geometry a joy?
6

6.1.
Can I eat all of me?

6.2.
Are we several characters that are ignored?
Is the geometry of my name (Pierre Delalande) rugged?
Is it a joy disguised as irony?

6.3.
Can I vomit all of me?

6.4.
Is my name growing among the bushes?
And yours grows in the woods?

6.5.
I wrote a thousand and such illegible novels
and I had a sense of glorious worthlessness.
Why did I write a thousand and such novels
that I have never read or read?
I wrote these novels without having to write them.
I've wildly mixed the best novels and nothing else.
Much of the novelty of the world
is a terrible mixture.
There are novels that say nothing,
only twist in the waste of language.

6.6.
I write only to feel master of language
or to seduce indeterminately?
I write to feel that at the same time
that I am master of the language and that it escapes me?

6.7.
Is there sense and rhythm of language outside of people?

6.8.
In darkness it is useless to seek others who are not there.
I have a celibate facility,
even to seduce specifically.

6.9.
In being masked everything is unreliable.

6.10.
Is there something in nature that takes out all the submasks?
Enthusiasts undress certainties?
Isn’t it useless to theorise about darkness?
Being masked with enthusiasm to intuit geometry?
How to undress certainties?
Does the breathing of chaos do the body well?

6.11.
He used to theorizing the formless to ensure grammar.
I hoped the geometries
would be consistent with grammar.

6.12.
To breathe consists in obscuring doubts
and in savoring the delicacy of chaos.
Is hope the abuse that clarifies?

6.13.
I use monkey rules to survive.
The restraint is my branch.
Doubts are my fruit, my food.
Delicacy to abuse lightness.
Rules to deaf slowly.
A forest that grows outside and inside the monkey.
An anamnesis to drowsing.
A Forest of Dissolutions.

6.14.
In apathy, ailments flourish.
Without hangover, consciousness does not reach peaks.
Hangover of nirvanas.
A warm spread of what was once.
A certain uncertain disappointment.

6.15.
Do you know that the sublime is rhythmic?

6.16.
I want an unprincipled prose
to throw stones at their homelands.
Or a cool escape from anonymity
reprehensible by style.
A prose without style, very dry.

6.17.
Increasing awareness of his anonymity,
to make himself more present, he attracted dispersions.

6.18.
One recognizes the Buddha in the excuse,
one recognizes the Christ in the abandoning,
in the feeling of being abandoned
to anything inextricable and strong.

6.19.
The increase of Consciousness attracted dispersions.
What is manifested in the hidden is recognized.

6.20
He destroyed the Buddha in excuse, at the ceremony,
where there was a certain hypocrisy.

6.21
What manifests itself in the book wants to reduce it to notes
for other writers.
Burned the book for the tricksts flee.

6.22.
I want to reduce scribbled notes with some tricks.
The tricks fled as well as imponderable animals
that are dreaming us?

6.23.
I feed on successive defeats.
I lost the celebrity at the door of Paradise.

6.24.
Like imponderable animals,
everything that happens to us is the absolute.

6.25.
Did I guessed that I was being dreamed?
If everything succeeds, is depth possible?
Do I disregard depth because it is indistinct from obscurity?
7

7.1.
He “sensioned” attentions.
He said that space is indistinct in obscurity.
He “sensioned” always in italics.

7.2.
The exoteric asked for more attention,
because he breathed, and walked around,
loose, airy, diaphanous.

7.3.
I would always write in italics.
A little bit inclined,
thinking about the geography of a peninsula.

7.4.
More difficult than the esoteric style is the exoteric.
Propagandistic? Literal? Without symbolic?

7.5.
He disambiguated the esoteric and ambiguated the literal.
He was more intense by misunderstanding.
He sprayed himself, but only around, immediate and present.

7.6.
He edited the symbolic turning making it stingly.
He was wrong in spreading.
He took himself into account, but in an anti-parody style.

7.7.
More divine divorces are needede, roaring.
Atheism only rejoiced around.
He took the parodies out of his pleats.
He milked them.

7.8.
The milk of the patrody is the anti-parodic.
The divine strokes shapes when enumerating divorce games.
Atheism rejoices caressing these forms.

7.9.
Divorce mourned the Sacrifice.
Language risked increasing uncertainty
by enumerating language games
that were divorce games, playful and labyrinthic.

7.10.
The author risked to be another of his mistakes,
in the professional role of consummate narrator.
From the romanesque point of view
increasing the uncertain and the misconceptions widens the possibilities.

7.11.
Who is the murder?
Who's going to die?
Who is not dead?

7.12.
From the point of view of space, everything is replacement.
Some character will take on the importance of another.
Images give way to other images.

7.13.
The space is in works, sorry for the delay,
we will be eternally brief.

7.14.
From the point of view of space everything is irreplaceable substitution,
permanent impermanence, anything
between the devolute and the construction.

7.15.
From the standpoint of time everything is accumulation,
overlap, density, chaos.
Chance is just the time to savor t
he accumulation of faits-divers.
Chance loves causality
naturally obscured.

7.16.
The configurations we release
find causality naturally boring.
Settings for other eyes and mouths
nibbling each other.

7.17.
The night comes back to let us spread
in time, in accumulation.
Dreams are the waste of time.
The eyes meet us.
Dreams come directly from being.
They are our uncomfortable obliquity.
They reach us on the suspicion that time accumulates
much more than we imagine.
It is the retaliation of things gone,
apparently erased.
Memory is a retaliation that has kept us,
which persists in reorganizing us.

7.18.
The night returns in being oblique.
Reaches us between the repetitions the Substantial Difference
that is the Darkness with respect to Forms.
It consists of retaliation between repetitions.

7.19.
The Sacred abuses the Profane.
Iy uses the night that makes the Difference.
The Sacred abuses, installs itself as something
that suspends the threshing pretensions of the Profane.

7.20.
The night cradles us and deviates us
from the dichotomies of justice.

7.21.
Just comparisons bred you
to insinuate the paradoxical aspects of the characters.
Are you one of those who suspend the dichotomies of justice
just to replace them with others?

7.22.
There was a smell in the air that anticipated
a new crime or a new love affair.

7.23.
Irrupting revoked. A cottage too fragile,
like the first two little pigs,
did not protect it from the weather.
Fair comparisons shivered at him.

7.24.
The right word.
Le mot juste of Flaubert
Looking for the bon détail of God.

7.25.
A scent he anticipated broke and dispensed clothes.

7.26.
The romanesque, my dear, is a matter of clothing,
low or high fashion.
The heyday of the romanesque (and already there goes so long)
is in the well-gowned dresses,
on clothing that needs affection.

7.27.
You go to a hut to get rid of clothes.
But through sweat you discover your thoughts.
Then you continue to search for affections through sweat.

7.28.
No one has thoughts because they are evasive.
There are those who say that they have them, with an arrogant air.

7.29.
Knowledge goes in search of creatures.
The propensity to be pokey
is the other side of the novel.
An inadvertent listening.
One false step.
The deception of curiosity.
To dare despite prudence.
Then you uncover the uniforms and turn the clothes.
There is no longer lining.

7.30.
Knowledge is a propensity to be poetic,
that is, damn it.

7.31.
Imprudences that facilitate poems
and that allow to follow the clues.

7.32.
He was making up wrong fragments, very odd.
He uncovers the poetic uniforms.
Imprudences that deviated from any whole,
wrong fragments with aseptic risks.

7.33.
Prosaic insolence entered into any whole.
It abandoned the aseptic risks
and noted the exceptions with publicity.
8.

8.1.
The prosaic things entered the rallies.

8.2.
The theory of self is always a practice of romance.
A novel is a rally of involuntary characters
who are bound to a logic.

8.3.
He pointed to the unspoken exceptions.
The unspoken was soaked with shock paint.
He used to advertise unspoken things
by saying a thousand things.
These were flooded with retroversions,
of things to be derived from foreign languages
that were only on the verge of existence.

8.4.
Why was he mistaken in language?

8.5.
Even the shook paint made retroversions.
You'll say I'm just a rough encounter
between the oracle and the lapsus lingæ.
Or another rough encounter
between the horoscope and the prediction.

8.6.
We left the hiding place
but missed the oracle and the horoscope.
We come out of the darkness to undo the preplexities
with a care that comes from the darkness.
Orphic tenderness, some will say.

8.7.
He rehearsed answers that are incursions
out of this hiding place that we confuse with the self.

8.8.
Are we perpetually lost in the dark?
We insist in giving answers, in making attempts.

8.9.
The responsory left its hair in the encyclicals.
He said he was saying what he was not going to say.
The hairy one showed the relation
between the vague and the precise:
Vaguely how far, precision cutting.
He said the relationship between irritability and serenity.

8.10.
Besides, the dark tans me.
Remove me the philosophical muzzle.
It brings me back to an ambiguous memory,
disconnecting the vaguely.

8.11.
The irritability pales.

8.12.
Negative tautologies are taking over
unheard-of memories.

8.13.
The memory is stored where?
In an obscure area that gives abusive meaning to words,
distorting and twisting the evidence?

8.14.
Negative tautologies secretly engendered
luminous texts.

8.15.
Did the taste reject the critic?

8.16.
Insistencies to seize luminous texts.

8.17.
I have the sulfuric taste of the opaque outburst.
Unlimited thinking broadened the critic's refusal.
Opulent insulation of sulphurous outbursts.

8.18.
Thought has awakened the possibilities of more worlds.
More worlds for what?
Is not this enough for you?

8.19.
The boundless teeming expanded
the possibility of attracting irreverence.
Darkness embraced like a Uranian sky.
The tebrae attracted maternal irreverence.
The darkness was octopus, or a cuttlefish.
The light separated in drawings.
8.20.
A hug is something pulpy.
I hug like an octopus
the light of melancholy, so licorious.
It embarrasses itself in the midst of expression.

8.21.
The night smudges us with its stains,
it blurs what seems separated into drawings.
It reproduces melancholy with sleep.
The night conquers us with fatigue and silence.

8.22.
Embarrassment of failed acts.
Desistance of high combats.

8.23.
There is something of a defeat that suffuses beauty.
Beauty is swallowed up by the expanding penumbra.
The expression of the night messes up the beauty
with another type of beauty, that fits more.

8.24.
Expression to ask for tenderness, slowness.
We rubbed the books again with humility.
We try to meddle with oblique observations.

8.25.

Peel the being?

Swallow the gloom?
Are joys being recycled pluralities?
Lucid tears?
8.26.
He was shown in the residual as a sketch of fullness.
Rumors of filing books.
Humiliations sidelong peeling joys.
Pluralities recycling playful tears.

8.27.
It showed withdrawals.
He set the damp chapters to dry.
He changed the residuals in the plots.
Rumors of withdrawals
that seemed more like endings.

8.28.
He gave the chapters the dates of his life.
Damp dates to dry in the depths.

8.29.
He changed the dates of the monkey business done:
new anecdotes with a punch line.

8.30.
He found himself a twisted anthology.

8.31
What is at the origin of your life
is deeply a monkey business.
Or a twisted ontology?
What is potency or nothingness?
9

9.1.
What is at the origin
is the power of Zero.
Zero reshaped the numbers
and spilled nothing?
Zero reshaped reality
by going into the history of numbers.
This reformulation was radical.
Has Zero already existed for Plato? No!
Is Zero the originator of the Sphere?
Abrasive screw.
Redoubled insolence.
Clamorous clamor.

9.2.
What the numbers run through is reality.
What Zero spills is non-sense
that masks reality.
Bubbly hugs.
Redoubled wisdom awaiting insolence.
Collateral calamities.

9.3.
What the wise man hopes is the inexcusable.
Look below anyone.
Look short of almost.
The asceticism of itself is inexcusable,
Forgive me.

9.4.
He shuffles off for epigrams,
He was figed to novels.
No one is born of ascesis.
Ascesis is the deviation of reproductive propensity.
He undressed himself for maybes.
He noticed that ugliness has more details
(there are more romanesque cracks,
morphologically richer).

9.5.
Placid placebos are healing pictures.
Things that remain as details,
of which we always suspect
because they can be a door to the unknown.
Sweethearts where distrust is introduced
to trifurcate to the void.
Dry succulence.

9.6.
To delegitimize once again
so that the distrust remains forever,
the insinuation that everything in the world is incapable of loving us
or of at least acquiescing,
noticing our insignificant presence.
Succulence to be plausible.

9.7.
Separation simplifies any relationship.
One more sip to dry,
let alone complications.

9.8.
I Deslegitimize to be plausible.
The separation changes the places of the categories.
Categories are hypocrisies,
social conventions, castrating canons.

9.9.
She lived in a house that simplified any relationship.

9.10.
Even when the categories are hypocrisy
you have to put up with it, they told you.
But he could not bear it.
Neither could he fix the language
without asking for exceptions.

9.11.
Solecism is my craze, he added.
He sucked books in noisy quiet.
His mystique was a house that devoured narrators.
Rugged affection.

9.12.
They shook him with laughters of Dilettantism,
of Indirect cry, ambiguous.
His mystique was translated into laughter.
Dilettantism was a pretext to linger lovingly,
to stay in the kiss, in the pinch, in the touch, in the promising sex.
It was too dark to forget the cry.

9.13.
There he was indirect, ambiguous,
only to linger even more lovingly.
Worm moral in the overlap of versions.

9.14.
Then you will find the darkness neglecting the good.

9.15.
In the overlap of the time
the modes of ordering vary.
I read several versions of rediscovering the lost time,
of recovering sensations, minutely,
through drawings or writings.

9.16.
Ways to feel clandestine
among the papers to be arranged,
between the romance to remix.

9.17.
I read to rewrite myself,
to feel the masses and the emptiness.
I read surrounded by snakes.

9.18.
I am the clandestine style
between the shadow and the snakes.
I'm such an ill-fated style to come.

9.19.
I distinguish innocuous cultural references,
whether elitist or popular.
I give emphasis to unreasonable comparisons,
to innocuous cultural references,
whether of easy slang, foolishness, or inaccuracy.

9.20.
What to do with abominable things,
gender cultural studies, slang,
self-pity, irony, blah-blah-blah?

9.21.
Circumstantial to feign language,
self-commiseration in robe,
irony with aunt, politics in hair,
o my god, the beloved did not come,
now here is the circumstantial to pretend to be original,
here goes another beloved verse in carelessness.

9.22.
The hero, however, appeared
in the well-polished poem,
with his wretched or lost childhood.
This high poet of jokes, of sentimentality,
of greed for an avoided fame,
which he almost asked for alms,
so ours, so mine.
10

10.1.
What matters is to recover this lost cause,
that of the poet who asks for a high,
well-made, synthetic, condensed, exemplary, intellectual
poetry without alms.

10.2.
All that matters is a poetry that does not degrade,
does not get dirty, cared for, lean, incorruptible, if possible perfect,
made with sober words, deep, without arbitrary, with high themes, rhythmic,
sustainable.

10.3.
I am interested only in a philosophical, abstract,
shit-free, schematic, dissuasive,
writing with intense, central themes.
A writing that rises to construct,
to be refuted, to be assertive,
and that is not contented in just saying jokes with assiduity.

10.4.
I only care about a poetry that is for things
with all the strength,
and that it is not the expression of a desperate anger,
of a degradation of the senses,
of the flesh, of the thoughts,
an insult to others.

10.5.
It is true that anger exists,
and it is perhaps the most assiduous
and legitimate feeling among people,
but it is also the easiest, the most stupid,
the most useless and inconsequential.

10.6.
I am only interested in a writing that does not enter into solipsism,
in pure courtship of the eruption of language,
which is not language made for itself
and with the craze of the in itself,
of forged, and always false, essences.

10.7.
I want it explorative, incisive, questioning,
even if this is an outrage to the most banal conscience.

10.8.
I want a poetry that speaks of space,
which seeks out straight away what things are
and what time is.

10.9.
I am interested only in a poetry that is rhythmic,
attentive, dedicated, understandable, coherent,
that has style, intensity, strength.

10.10.
I'm only interested in a dedicated writing practice,
disciplined, with acuity, ambition,
adequacy, eloquence, negativity, resistance.
A poetry of consciousness, pertinence,
relevance, reasoning, liberation,
joy, theorems.
An activity that makes us feel like contemplating,
loving, sharing, enjoying,
knowing how to be well alone, or talking to others.
A writing that pursues pleasure with appropriateness,
justice, clarity in conscience, flavor in things,
efficacy in acts.
And give us a rub in the eyes, give us the sense of nobility,
and that the poetic enlarges existence,
and that there is glow, an inexhaustible glow,
in the creative activity, which not only completes,
but also the force that crowns the meaning of life.
For what in beauty can be given by the arts
is something unexcelled,
is a tremendous confidence in the world,
it is a breakthrough in reciprocity,
because it does not cease to offer,
it is without limits, without retreats, with tenderness,
grace, intiligence, spontaneity.

10.11.
Beauty is what gives value.
It is not necessary to speak in social or associal vocation,
because the arts have come to stay there
to refine the sensibility and the intiligence.
Because there is no incompatibility between
the spontaneous, the wise and the knowing man.
Because intuition emerges
where there are horizons in thought,
not where it is obstructed by nuisances.
Because beauty requires the reader
to become strong, active, poet, artist,
more thanbeing someone who looks, reads
and just marvels.
Because beauty and intiligence want their increase,
they want the expansion of abstractions with affections,
of concrete things with hypotheses,
want of something that makes us rejoice,
as if there were no limits to be more poetic,
because everything can persist
in the maximum of qualities.
11

11.1.
Darkness hides the poetic
with fearful nets of fear.

11.2.
Thinking darkens us more than it seems.
Inglory, tenderness and obscuration.
Oracles to look for qualities and pitches.
Fear obscured.
Excessive obscuration.

11.3.
Thinking gives light to glory.
Thinking makes us enjoy the life of the shadows.

11.4.
Parts of tenderness resound in obscurity.
Oracles to enjoy black lives.
The black parts are the biographies
of numbers that hide other numbers.
The exact biography of numbers
that hides the coldest glory.
Creatures that come from other numbers,
from other mathematics.
The perfect power of creatures in darkness.
They walk to each other like lost animals.
They come from darkness through various darks.

11.5.
The One is the darkest, the most obscure,
the most convergent, the least conniving.
We diverged to walk to other darks.
The One makes us feel beauty like the darkest.
We diverged to feel the non-canonical.

11.6.
We sociabilize to obscure the individualities.
Noise is the consequence of beauty
as an eruption of the non-canonical.
Sociabilize to un-dark as well.

11.7.
Less light?
It is the fool who seeks noise
as a consequence of more light?
Is it the right arrow that Dionisus is looking for?
Is the mindless darkness looking for the right arrow?

11.8.
Dionisus entails amoral cleansing.
He disdains stratagems to savor the darkness.
He emphasizes the stratagems, the warped web,
the fatal and fractal moment.

11.9.
Hold efficiency between empty paths?
It is the strategist who redefines effectiveness.
He walks along the roads to get rid of generalities.
He inhabits a solitude that still ignores the voids.
He cohabits to avoid philosophies.
Free yourself from the decorative fermenting solitude.
Preform perfuming!
Focus on mortality by writing coarse books.
11.10.
The coarse opens the eyes.
Closing his eyes, the actor enters, perfuming the stage.
He focus on the ascetic.
Then there sex meets dreams.
It erases mortality by writing ascetic books,
sleepwalkers, hypnotics.

11.11.
Sex seeks to recognize the reluctant exception.
The sudden asceticism undoes the dreams.
It deletes to recognize.

11.12.
Reluctant labyrinth exception
with thoughts-bulldozer.
Weird without any ascesis.
He undoes the maze to rebuild it
with reformed thoughts.
He recovers by sticking.

11.13.
He is in the closure to get rid of what it does not want to destroy.
He is on the edge of depilated images.
He has the imprudence to shout in the closed
and get rid of memories.

11.14.
Obscuration reabsorbs the walks.

11.15.
Mischief crosses me
to utter every obscuration,
to reabsorb books
so that finitude is a walk.
Books are crossed in me
so laughter and joy
are more than a fold in fatality.
12

12.1.
He completed finitude through laughter.
He lived the joy of the resurrection and the fullness.
He darkened in the fold of fate.
He is completed by being far from any resurrection.
He deweled in words before he wrote them.

12.2.
Questions that replayed plenitude at the insistence.
He darkened the words in ambiguity.
Ambiguity with sustainability.

12.3.
What sustains intrigue?
He wrote interrogative excesses.
Do the questions remake?
Does ambiguity support the origins?
Where to divert the ends?

12.4.
The change of intrigue considered too many origins
and too few characters.
I am a character who constantly erupts.
Sometimes I feel subservient to Nothing.
And I add, eloquence is what rhythms.
It rhythms more unendings.
Change is subservient to thought:
it clears itself of wisdom to bring about ironies.
It rejects the Nothing and exchanges it for a polyrhythmic Eloquence.

12.5.
Thought discards any critique
to excel in wisdom.
He rejects any criticism from others
through merciless self-criticism.
He rises to breathe better,
and then goes back to bed.

12.6.
Relaxing is disconnecting.
To sleep is to die regularly.

12.7.
You'd better not go over your self-criticism,
they advised me.

12.8.
He rises to breathe at the source of insight.
The non-power consolidates itself better by relaxing, it states.
It is a disciplined disconnect that leads to passivity.

12.9.
He made himself clear to reject Fame.
He had read a translation of Herberto
from a Lowry’s poem about Fame.
The horror of it all.
Or the horror of living for a work that changed fame
by an even more sinister goddess, Posterity.

12.10.
I give you my advice,
get rid of posterity as soon as possible.
There is no greater horror than that of Posterity.
12.11.
It was inextricable that anger against the Fame and Posterity
that prevented him from being rich, old and popular.

12.12.
In it multiplicity preceded any Oneness.
He had become a calm poly-atheist
with a small garden and a derisory water bill.

12.13.
He was not a wealthy landlord.
He insisted that the amalgam of multiplicity
preceded the modest habits.
He considered himself perfect in the sense
that he was a satisfactory deformation of Oneness.

12.14.
In the beginning was the Anamorphosis.
The calm poly-atheist of demure habits
practiced an ideal Eros.
It removed reflexes out of curiosity.
He masked the perfect as deformation of the ideal.
He eliminated reflections of time in consciousness.
He caressed sincerity out of curiosity.
He masked the time of consciousness.
He caressed a very silky animal.
He escaped from the study with sincerity.
He turned into an animal to feel humbly.

12.15.
He was missing witnesses, for he was away from the facts.
He was silky while escaping
from daily duties, financial and patrimonial.
There were still denigrators in the form of colleagues.

12.16.
He sympathized with Buddhism
because it alienated men from their essential duties.
He was embittered by Buddhism,
for it dislodged men from things and from joy.

12.17.
Religions are mushrooms of the people.
Buddhism is not enough:
it is soft, circumspect, infatuated.
The Marxist idea of opium of the people is even sympathetic.

12.18.
He was empathic with the translation point of view,
because the incursion in the translation
is already a minorization of the translator.
It stirred up excitement for Buddhism.
He admired the Buddhist zeal for translation.
If life is a translation,
do we have to remove the weed?

12.19.
Coarse excitments rose up his spine.
At the root was fiction. The fixation on fiction.

12.20.
Is it possible a perpetual reception?
Are we receptionists, to the extent
that we react to everything that happens?
Before the reception is the translation.
I suspected translations too.
He thought things were less filtered.
He suspected his asceticism
and his consistent wants.
He disciplined himself without doing anything
improving distrusts.
He was suspicious to trust better.
It was a bet against the inconsolables.

12.21.
In reading Pascal he realized that faith and trust
are identical in Pascal, but that in his own case
confidence eliminated any faith,
adding a propensity for joy.

12.22.
He disciplined himself without making himself master of himself.
Celibate ease was a libertine happiness.

12.23.
Ideas that dissolve whenever they materialize.

12.24.
Judgments are effective.
An art convention encloses forms in prisons.
He knew a very beautiful artistic convention
who sold their products here or there.
What else can be added?
13

13.1.
Conclude by repetition?
Conclude by fatigue?

13.2.
His work is a misunderstanding that engages art.
Having talent he is absent-mindedly irrational,
though intentionally rational.
His work is guaranteed
in the savoir-faire and imagination.

13.3.
He complains that the art of the past
causes collateral damage in the qualities of the present.
He adds; please do not free us from our conscience!
The art of the past is current in the perception of each
and in the processes that cause collateral damages
in the love of the amateurs and in the enthusiasm (saturation?) Of the artist.

13.4.
The artist prefers to change the artist(s) who proceed him.
Does the artist prefer to change art or to change of art?
The artist transforms the changes of the artists.
He begins to change the words that we are used to.

13.5.
We are the benevolent readers.
Has anyone deviated the concepts of the game of art?
The artist transforms words
to cease to be concepts.
The artist wants concepts to be what they are:
packaged cacti.
Stop appearing to be benevolent readers.

13.6.
You who read me, what intrigue do you prepare?
You transform concepts into ex-concepts,
without prejudice disappearing.

13.7.
The artist transforms concepts into disappearances
that coincide with his sentimental autobiography.
The artist disappears in his conceptual autobiography,
with apparatus, with the academic pretentiousness
of an interesting cause.

13.8.
His autobiography coincides
with the autobiography of concepts
lived by people.
It is the repetition of an impotence
regarding old details,
No matter how much it is documented, as a case,
in photographs of his house,
with books everywhere.

13.9.
It is the insistence that keeps the concepts standing.
We are autobiographical by repetition and insistence.
We walk into an ex-conceptual condition
to collect concepts in exhibitions.
We move towards a sense
in which the conceptual and ex-conceptual condition
are defenitively lost.
13.10
You were still worried
about leaks of meaning and methods.
Methods are literary landscapes or operative designs.

13.11.
Art glimpses itself as an intruder
who wants to set fire to literary landscapes
or acts as an obscure force that wants to tame
those operative plans.
Art acts as a force
that shatters our evidence.

13.12.
Ideas are obscure forces
which shuffle our limitations of the beautiful.
You will say perceptions that are evidence. Well then.
Ideas are also the limitation of art in search of its ill-fated concepts.

13.13.
You have gone to the stage where there are perceptions
that are art and concepts.
The process is confusing and limited.
It is much more at the same time.
A final process is easier to fix,
experts say.

13.14.
I find it more practical to correct the forms,
because the forms are ideas with accessible contours,
because in the forms there is resistance to the assertion of ideas.
13.15.
The forms are resistance
to the reassignment of your identity
By the past, by worn-out ideas,
by revisionisms, by unsuspecting commentators.
The art of the past should not be done either.

13.16.
Mathematics is the one who plays the bad part in the subject.
Mathematics diverts art from subject matter.
This is what is left after the exodus of the themes,
this long way of avoiding and eliding the subjects,
fleeing to rediscover.

13.17.
Is art just a way of giving an air
of caring about being art?
Are the artists' words your best works?
Or are they not art?

13.18.
Words about art are attempts
To go after artists or works of art?
Are the artists' words, even the last ones,
always against the other artists?

13.19.
We are learning to taste
the ballast of works of art,
we are making attempts to learn in works of art
what is self-destructive in them.
13.20.
We are born of its hara-kiri.
14

14.1
Attempts of art,
even when they are arrogant or shy —
hasty experiences against them.
Attempts delirious or shy
of refusal, admiration and delicacy.

14.2.
The notion of hasty experiences,
of refusal, or of hybridity, comes by chance.
Developments of this chance sometimes
end in admiration.
The notion of hybrid results from formal processes,
sequences, and molds.

14.3.
We do not know where we want to take such situations.
Or do we know?
Formal processes are distributed
by different locations and varied styles.
They're pushing us to these different places.

14.4.
And soon a hybrid fatigue comes up
with (and against) the styles.
When there is a tiredness we look for an opening
or a misconception to suck energy.
Does the hybrid emerge as an opening
that leads us to other things?

14.5.
The absolute is a mistake that blows a lot of strength.
Fear the absolute! Fear what excites you the most!
I'm afraid! The absolute is the total perversion
that is called holiness.
The absolute leads us to interact with the involvement
because it wants other things.
The absolute wants to evade itself.

14.6.
The concepts involved in the processes
want to escape their needs.
The concepts of art commit themselves to its frankness.
Involved in the processes of art
they compromise quality by becoming an adornment,
a mere expressiveness of their dissimulated frankness.

14.7.
Unimpressive adornments.
Disorientation of series.
Where are they going?
Do you just want to run out?
They want to materialize in other aspects -
In objects, in nature, in acts?

14.8.
Ideas that seek a comforting refutation in literature.
Literature, especially the Romanesque,
beckons to the body.
The romanesque is not refutable,
but lends itself to confrontations, deviations, variations.

14.9.
The artist loses thoughts
to cling to a literature that accompanies him.
The artist inscribes the Form.
Art loses thoughts
to inscribe its volatilization.
Art loses the theories that perfect Form
in its successive crises.
Art asks for theories to raise awareness.

14.10.
Intentions reappear with disuse.
There is a need to improve awareness.
The intentions disappear in the next housekeeping.
In the appeal speech.
15

15.1.
Now I only deal with disuse.

15.2.
I'm sorry for the poetry that does not think.
I am interested only in poetry,
poetry that is not a little potion,
poetry that is not just a spinning idea,
that does not nestle in an unfinished relationship,
that does not cling to the self,
that does not pass life to the mirror
putting suppositories for fevers of narcissism.

15.3.
I wanted a poetry with more punctuation,
more paused.

15.4.
I am not returning to the real
because the real has never abandoned me
nor will it abound.
Or, on the contrary, I do not want to return to the real
because it is inaccessible.

15.5.
Anyway, I would not return with drunks,
even if it were to imitate Lowry.

15.6.
I only make allusions to the supposed real
and to inimitable booze the bastards,
because it amuses me.

15.7.
Maybe they do not know what they mean.
Or they might know.
The truth is that I do not write as if I were vomiting,
or mimicking vomiting.
I know how to put my fingers in my throat and hold on,
yes I know. I can handle it.
I vomit I vomit.

15.8.
Nor do I admire pedophile writers
as if they were saints.
And as for transgressions,
they have lost their glory.
Now they are farces of transgressions,
silly epigones, drunk porno trash.

15.9.
I do not confuse poetry with abhorring having children.
To have children is one of the highest things you can imagine,
no matter how banal it may be and no matter how much trouble may bring.
Already writing to mimic vomiting
seems to me the lowest moments
that one can aspire to.

15.10.
It is also not worth having cats
to sublimate having no children, and talking about cats with the same tender
tenderness with which children are spoken.
To prefer cats to children seems to me a failure
and extreme cowardice.
You can only prefer cats to children with dignity
in case you can not have children
or that it were a brave sexual option.

15.11.
In case you do not even want to have children,
it is best not to have cats,
because it is a pitiful substitute for the terrible filial experience.
One can have hobbies that involve cats,
or have a profession of cats,
but having cats for children
is worse than having them for hares.

15.12.
In fact, I suspect,
with the expression inscribed on my eyebrows,
of a supposedly super-ethical poetry,
when out of poetry one is making goodies of the good,
insulting people, crumbling,
without having children, in verses.

15.13.
It is even better to be just good,
reasonable, without evangelical gestures.
The rest are junk or whatever.

15.14.
Those who like poetry do not want it sloppy.
It is ethical to waste time
on minor, personal, sour matters,
when one can well put up wonderful subjects,
without malaise, without complaining, without resentments.
15.15.
It is even preferable for a dilettante,
en-passant, dandy-worshiped attitude,
to speak of the daily life as exceptional,
provided he does not fall into the banal,
being beggar by profession (O dear old Alvaro).

15.16.
All that matters is a poetry that plagues us
with strange epiphanies,
a poetry that has escaped the fancy effects.
Only a poetry that gets rid of the tics is interesting,
even if it still has them,
even if it has got rid of surrealism,
even if it holds on in good metaphors,
far from the unreasonable comparisons.

15.17.
Get rid of the gods of surrealism,
foolish metaphors and allegories with caves.
16

16.1.
I woke up one day less.
I woke up in the least of my senses.
I woke up at the bottom of a potential geometer.

16.2.
I have a cave on my back.
Sometimes I call it winter, sometimes darkness.
I have not tried hibernating yet.

16.3.
I have to be less, around the winter,
to go back to be much much more in the spring.

16.4.
I know I have a geometer origin
and so a little less does not bother me.
I stay snug in the minority.
We comes to everything knowing
that the six dimensions do not disappear.

16.5.
In February everything begins to dawn.
The origin is already embryonic inside the earth.
But it is in February that the origin becomes visible.
Then everything is resurfacing in the trees,
with the same banality,
even if it seems extraordinary.

16.6.
The six dimensions before had lost leaves,
but in February they can not lose any more.

16.7.
When a tree is undressed,
it begins to see its nakedness.
One no longer foresees the disappearance of the leaves,
and even nudity is irrelevant,
unless we want to be too attentive.

16.8.
This was in autumn, the season of unlearning,
the end of fables,
the season in which wisdom is quickly lost,
in which the hands suddenly freeze
without anyone's warmth.

16.9.
One is losing leaves, losing papers,
getting rid of masks.
And soon the spring reappearance is anticipated,
but it will be delayed —
when a tree fills with leaves we tend to ignore their future disappearance.
Then we spread the clothes
and see things flowering
in the intervals between the clothes.

16.10.
If the statues dressed in leaves would be what?
We tend to ignore the future,
our destiny as naked, as unprepared.
If they put underwear to the statues and to the trees
the disappearance of the leaves
and the reappearance of modesty would be relevant?

16.11.
New questions changes?
I put them in the laundry room.
I put them to dry.

16.12.
Have I learned to be lonely again?
My heart is red to the north
and asks pertinent questions.
The red heart brings the perfect joy.
Scents of fame or shapes to the north
make the perfect joy.
Scents of anonymity?

16.13.
The white square of God is disappearing into the Form.
Do you prefer fame or various forms of anonymity?
Is the square dirty?
Cannibals lift the great white chakra
of a God who is dirty?

16.14.
Cannibals lie down –
their lips lick the heart, this great chakra —
their lips lick the tongue.
Wide-eyed rise to the heart of language.
Wide eyes for thighs.
They want to eat grammar haha.

16.15.
He kneels, crumpled on his thighs,
By the questions, and it stays haha.
Cannibals devour grammar haha.
He kneels in question and in great ahah anonymity.
I like to stay like this haha.
17

17.1.
The comrades love great anonymity.

17.2.
I'm going to Beijing with the ducks.
I like Beijing better with ducks.

17.3.
I did not hire any bodyguards for this language.
It's unprotected, plucked.

17.4.
We are all cakes that someone wants to devour.
I need a bodyguard to devour me
with greed and distraction.

17.5.
The Chinese walk with their light feet in language.
We are all cakes in the perfect distraction,
since the emptiness is savored
from the gluttony of the Tao.

17.6.
The Chinese made emptiness something extraordinary.
There is a god of cakes
that rises from an ordinary feeling.
There is a god with silk ears.
It has a golden footer in the heart.
Do you need the cakes with silk ears?
Magnificent done!
I thank with golden footer views.
Do you need more self-consciousness?
They ruminate numbers with the face underneath the job done!
I thank you with simultaneous views.

17.7.
The numbers are tarantulas.
Next to it there is a golden Octopus
that plays the role of the Lady of the Valley.
He squats with the face under the tarantulas.
It was I who hardened the Octopus
because there is an occult holiness in it.

17.8.
Is the octopus Dionysus? Is it the Minotaur? Is It Theseus?
I am a Cretan rumor
that makes the Octopus equal to Ariadne,
and in the same order of ideas,
and as I said before, to the Virgin Mary.

17.9.
I'll put titles to all this.
I can even repeat the phrase and cast a friend rumor to accompany it.
I can repeat the satori song.

17.10.
I'm your ear that protects you from the phrase
in satori’s music.
I am the secret rascal, uncomfortable, without plot,
without priesthood or transmissions.

17.11.
The famous book of your ear
protects the black secret.
Each poem is a viral secret
that the poet misheard, but transcribed.
The famous black book of personality poems is this.

17.12.
You need the pluvial man and the nymph
because poetry is your personality.
You need an excellent telephone activity
to confront your doubts
with the incipient opinions of your friends.

17.13.
Underneath the Great Mother is the telephonic nymph.
Beneath the tarantula man are the Chinese critics.
These have golden asses.
Below the Great Mother is the tarantula man.
There are Chinese critics repeating:
the way you walk is shit.

17.14.
The media only speak about golden asses.

17.15.
I can repeat it again:
Your poem is al dente.
This is the criterion of a guy
Who gives courses in creative writing.

17.16.
You lie yourself on paper.
You phony wishes on your lovers.
The information of these means is shit al dente.
You lie in the face of the guardians of the ages.
You do the paper.
You are the traitor to your autobiography,
where you realize countless disciplines badly assimilated.

17.17.
Your autobiography precedes your actions.
Thou didst prophesy for negligence.
It's like oracles that are anticipated biographies
in a nutshell.

17,18.
He cleared himself by quoting.
He just quoted 50% of the bullshit that came to him.

17.19.
That's because now we’ll talk about wedding parties.
He got married because he was uncertain.
He went into a brothel, he got a desise
and no longer ran away with the loving mistress
after having been well planned for times and times.
He married another woman.
He married because he talked too much.
He got married because he had that
and he was faithful to the stupidest commitments
as long as it was not boring.
He got married because he used to talk to much.
The moment he got married
he realized that it was one more quotation
with the air of a groom.
He was half laughing and half way in despair
with his air of quotation.
He was shrunken and resigned with the bride by side
without a quote.
He was in that boat half laughing.
Before he was engaged he allready was it.

17.20.
He had given up his extraordinary and creative functions.
He had tried to reduce himself to a pale pronoun.

17.21.
For a long time he had run away from the phrases,
which ran heartlessly away from himself.
It was in a boat but it returned even paler,
with miserable dreams and scarce sex.

17.22.
They say that the Pope dreams of pronouns,
especially His.

17.23.
Do you flee from the phrases
that have become threatening around you?

17.24.
In fact that cooks my head
the Pope has a devouring air.

17.25.
He dreams of truth in an oval womb.
The blue of the sky is what explains us, he adds.

17.26.
In my head the Chinese continue to comment on the classics.
The thinking of the Chinese
is little more than commentaries of the classics.
Confucius, Lao Tzu, the I Ching, the Rites, Mencius, etc.
The Chinese do not confess or use kisses.
They document their comments.
Interesting.
18

18.1.
My philosophy is just to be watching the blue sky
with your hands propped up one on top of the other
and your legs crossed. Fake zen.

18.2.
I am sitting in the view of various exhibitions
that nature perpetually reveals.

18.3.
Philosophy is the vision, pure or impure, of emergencies.
Do they call this phenomenology? I do not know.
It is the civil disobedience of the contours of things.
If the contours did not disobey
things would always be the same forever.

18.4.
I founded several exhibitions inside a small apartment.
I felt the judgment of the gods and I was astonished.

18.5.
Can there be a pink civil disobedience?

18.6.
I founded gods, syllable by syllable,
and I was horrified by the smell of certain words.

18.7.
Stunned examples: How does an odor
leads to getting pregnant?
These are cases that induce our inner girl.
Do you use the space to get pregnant?
My girl inside is silk
and walks in bright pink clothes.

18.8.
I wore silk underwear everyday.
I ate sushi while walking without underwear.
It was my day-to-day searching for a book to enter.
I was in Kyoto.
I ate an entire book on rice paper.
It was not indigestible.
I had a suit in which I felt exhilarated and vibrant.
I use this suit to match my thoughts.
I use a typography that no one else uses to make my writing taste slightly
baroque.

18.9.
I crouch with Japanese gestures.
I will loosen my thoughts.
They're laces.
I'll get them when I get home.
My feet like the floor of the house.

18.10.
I can tell you that many things have happened.
It takes a bit of writing in the narratives.
I have to vacuum them, clean them.
But I got lost in my 99 masks.
I was a bad assembler of my indulgence,
and in extension, of my personality.

18.11.
The bomb of the situation?
Nothing less than me being a figure lost
in a labyrinth of guillotines.

18.12.
I found myself as a child of a bomb.
Today we are all post-nuclear.
We are the wrong masks for the uncertain drama.

18.13.
Was the atomic bomb one of the 99 ways
to become a ready-made before you were born?
I lost my 99 ways of holiness.
Each one corresponded to a mask.

18.14.
It is difficult for a person to untangle himself
from his inevitable holiness.

18.15.
My restaurant of the conscience
was to become an involuntary saint.
Like all of us, by the way.
My favorite restaurant is a Museum.
The orchid that grows in consciousness is another Museum.
The orchid has a name that rebounds.

18.16.
I worked hard to falsify my anonymity.
What grows in my name is the hassle
of finding the lost echoes.
Someone is faking my anonymity.

18.17.
The theme of my life is a romanesque investigation
done by secret services.
I am a scourge filled with rhetorical poison.
I'm a whore I call Delalande.
I make expositions to explain, badly and porkly, everything.
I record prophecies full of poison.
I venture into scarlet exhibitions.
I vomit twins.
I am a third man, a third woman, a third cat.
I ride continuing to explain everything,
better, almost perfectly.

18.18.
Scarlet prophecies spout twins.
Half men, half rentable questions.

18.19.
I write scenes of telegraphic philosophy.
I am half woman, one fourth cat and another fourth rat.
I love to ride on rented questions.
I write my perfection in a mirror.
This is shown in a Chinese instant
with scenes of telegraphic philosophy.
My perfection shows a prostitute
the collateral art.
A chinese moment is enough
so that the prostitute identifies with the concepts
that are being generated.
I am an art collateral to the concepts
that are supposed to constitute art.
I am a practice that induces or leads
to modernist poems with baroque vocabulary.
I am an art that induces
with collateral words the fancy ideas
to artistic practices.
I am ideas that lead to editing
other ideas that I try to have.
I am ideas that go back to the ideas of others.
I am the ideas that lead to edit ideas of artist
that resist the execution, to the matter.

18.20.
At the end you can see the guillotine,
so friendly with history.