Ugh, it stinks, it’s a lost generation, who cares.
You’re mad, all of you. You’re talking about all these people as if they really existed
Oh shut up Ali we’re having fun inventing
independent of our text the entire point of which is not to reformulate the poetics of the Renaissance through the rise of the novel of the middle class in layers, why look up your notes on the filling out of that mental space with wide-based aureoles of droning on about the passions that enflame the soul of Cleopatra’s nose or La Gioconda’s liverish mystery Larissa’s vicious organs which are all verbal organs and all removed reduced to a mouth most vicious of all that establishes a specular relationship with the reader’s vulgar desire to know what happens next in an eternal game of vinciperdi between his demand which cannot reach its end by justifiable means and the author’s gift of a running curriculum vitae as object of exchange, the truth as signifier being all the time non-specularisable except by a hidden representation of a representation.
Oh I don’t know Ali we don’t have to write to a proepigrammed course according to everything the teacher says.
No we don’t down with Oedipus he’s been deposed like they said there has been a complete reform of pregenital organisation and we don’t get swaddled in mythical complexes any more.
No? then why are you so anxious to pick up all the loose ends and wrap them around yourselves like winding sheets? and why those, there are plenty of others while you’re about it, floating about like the fringes of a sea-anemone what about Larissa strategically reemerging fully armed after a tacitactic defeat and a Trojan discourse war and reappearing disguised as Mentor on the lone sea-shore? You’ve forgotten that.
Well there must be some lost semes, vanishing away like gods into the other scene.
It has all the beautiful coherence of a psychosis with Don Juan a subject raised from an embedded sentence to a head-noun chopped, detached from the totality of the text and walking about the world of your fantasy as hero, giving more pleasure to you ladies than any asthmatic amateur who cannot sing the part without deodorant and throat-spray in a damp silling castle. But as you said yourselves or was it Armel, it’s only a semiotic castle.
What are you talking about Ali this is the text we are creating it verbally we are the text we do not exist either we are a pack of lies dreamt up by the unreliable narrator in love with the zeroist author in love with himself but absent in the nature of things, an etherised unauthorised other.
Yes, looking back to the now in the then emptied of now losing his paradise his loved utterance and decapitated, eaten up piecemeal like pieces of poet dead dying and half dead.
Well I think we should take a vote on it.
On what?
To kill or not to kill Larissa.
No that’s not a motionable motion I will reframe it we must vote on whether to be implicit or explicit and if the latter then vote on the positive or negative modalities.
Which, precisely, being which?
I vote we vote first on whether to vote those for those against abstinence refusal of representation with a show of hands in the secret ballet of the I where faculties never meet even on an imagined curve as illusion of a coherent structure diminishing in size
that every course should be represented in a re-presentation of every course on the decision-making committee though the demand cannot reach its end since there are only fifteen decision-makers and a hundred and fifty courses which would upset the balanced economy of the narrative whose arbitrariness (freedom) is not infinite.
There are however plenty more subjects to raise
after the passive transformation and before ex
traposition of Olaf Oliver Chou Stan Catherine
Hubert Claire or the pale young man carbuncu
lar all speaking for a long time not to mention
the students very malleable, though the element
of manipulation must not destroy the illusion
of floating faces maybe coinsiding to form a
mosaic or else an avallon of long blond hair
cropped nose cherub revolutionary falling over
the almond eyes or the red beard wrapped in a
sari mop with horn rimmed tresses and bright
mauve eyes made-up intelligence you dip into
and feel for till an arm pops up textcalibur
of a deep thought you seize to dip into brains
twisting the knife in the lacuna with a slow
deliberation rewriting derivations into termi
nal strings or what James called ficelles, but
full of knotty problems like Quipu, which
however are there to be resolved, by means of a
pseudo-solution, thus creating other prombles
as you switch on the overhead eyes to show
a tree of knowledge branching off into intermi
nable proairetic possibilities, and or not if
being the connectives dear lady look and yet
there is always a binary exclusion since the S
either is or is not starred through a flaw
in the eye-contacting the goldicondeology excali
brated youth in terminal strings that eat
up like worms the corpuscles of your chaotic
unlearning the poetry of the corpus crysis which
flutters out into the rectangular room with no
exit like a sort of bird for a flash an hour of
a six-hour timetable then nothing only degrees
of absence but we’ll come to that with inexorabi
lity since subjects are the space of travelling
semes the passage of a transformed decision
the attributes of a pentapod enigma in a nomi
native form borne by an unthroned king out of
a stone highergrif which has marked all our acci
dental discourse with a flawed judas-eye
gouged but gauged inessential despite the scar
the scare the scram the marks and the remarks
traceable only in the irrecoverable deletion
of a head noun on a piece of texture ex nihilo
In some languages however things recover them
selves. As when the student body turns into
the master markster of the comment for ever
marking every subject as object of discourse
into degrees of presence
desired and feared
unfeared and undesired
superimposing unlimited antisystems
unto sixteen times sixteen time sixteenn
possible balanced relationships in
endless permutations
represented in a hidden representation
inside a representation alphabetically
marked in columns that support the
proepigrammed linguistic edifice
of marked and un-re-marked
sem(id)Iotic
irrecoverable
narrators
gone
Adam ϑ Albee, Edward ϑ Alder, Neil γ— Amanda x Andersen, Hans C. γ Andromeda ß Anna, Donna x Antigone ϑ+ Aphrodite, alias Venus ß+ Aquarius γ— Aquitaine, Elinour of x Arbor, Helen ϑ— Aretino l’ x Aries, alias Mars a Aristotle ϑ— Arthur, King x Athene, Pallas ß+ Austen, Jane x Austin, J. L. ß— Author, implied ϑ— Author, Other ϑ— Bacon, Francis ϑ+ Baez, Joan a— Bakhtine, Michal ß— Balzac, H. de ϑ— Barthes, Roland ß+ Bataille, George a+ Bath, Wife of x Beauvoir, S. de x Beckett, Samuel ß Beethoven, L. van ß— belle indifférente x black magician a— Boethius x Boole, Charles γ+ Book, the x Booth, Wayne C. ϑ Born, Bertrans de x Bouhours, P., S. J. x boy-mouth a Brémond, Claude ϑ+ Brillig, Bob ϑ— Brooke, Dorothea x Browne, N. O. x Browning. E. B. a Burns, Robert x Byron, Lord x Cage, John a—