For this reason, Lacan’s Che vuoi? is not simply an inquiry into “What do you want?” but also an inquiry into “What’s bugging you? What is it in you that makes you so unbearable not only for us, but also for yourself?” The mouth of the girl who had lain long in the rushes looked so nibbled. When they opened her chest, her esophagus was so holey. Finally in a bower under the diaphragm hey found a nest of young rats. Now we’ve arrived at this hamburger heaven, a bright hole walled with mirrors where our faces show pale and evacuated in the neon. We spoon our sundaes from a metal dish. The chopped nuts are poison / in the heat of sides and angles / combatting the voids and rounds / sO my friend’s dog died and she lives in new york city and so she had to take it to the vet by the subway and she put the dead dog in the suitcase on the subway and it was a pretty big dog and some dude saw that she was struggling with the suitcase so he asked if she needed help with it and he said do you mind me asking what’s in it and she didn’t want to say a dead dog so shE SAID IT WAS A BUNCH OF LAPTOPS SO HE TOOK THE SUITCASE AND RAN AND I JUST / ashes are the shrieks / of ghosts are / burnt water / From now on use only the pronoun “we”. It is not universal. / “We” the liars. “We” the obedient, “we” the imperial teeth. / No birds, no suits, no sacrificial spiders. / This history passes through us like ghosts. / Various acronyms. Nostalgia for electric colour. / The inevitable black hole. / Black and murderous pink. But for residents living in the crowded favelas of Rio flying kites is do or die. People of all ages take to the rooftops to fight with homemade kites using strings coated with wax and powdered glass in an attempt to down other kites. An exclamation mark! That sucks and is kind of spectacular at the same time. I’m glad you’re off work, duh, and now you have a week to chill, make art, and, like, do whatever you please that doesn’t require too much arms usage, yeah? Did the arboretum live up to your preexisting love for it? Cool. Last night I was taking a walk down around République and, first, I ran into Avital Ronell, who's here in Paris briefly, and then, when I was walking in the general direction of home, taking a short / long cut down a small street, I crossed paths with David Bowie and Iman walking in the opposite direction. As I passed them, Bowie was saying, ‘It isn’t. It really isn’t’, and then she said, ‘It is, David.’ So, do swimmers have an uncommonly high tendency to get brain problems when they’re older like boxers do? So getting a concussion is like breaking your little toe? I read somewhere at some point that people break their little toes all the time, several times a year at least on average. Shit, sorry big time about the allergy attack. Thanks a lot for doing that, Jeff! And thanks for the link, which I’ll ... Ongoing hugs, man. Hungarian pastries! “Jewels and sparkles and doilies and dollars and rubber stamps and plastic eggs and hard rolls and glasses and ‘Peace’ buttons and cameras and satin slippers and elephants and screws and price tags and words and squares …” “Oil on canvas with nails, tacks, buttons, key, coins, cigarettes, matches, etc.” I mean, aren’t they? They look like ghosty, elongated ... I like them. When they hang out in places I live, I always feel very protective of them. I would even feed them if I knew what they ate. It’s very, very heartening. I mean, Imagine living in a world where words expired or simply became worn out after being used a certain number of times. That is, you knew there were limits on how often you could say any given word, but you did not know what your own personal limit for each word was. One person could say a word a thousand times, while another person might only be able to say the same word five times. Imagine what it would mean to not know how often you could say a word before it disappeared from you; imagine how not knowing would affect your memory, your desire, your daily life. Actual contact would make any scientist dirty up there, fidget with a bar of soap, turn a few cartwheels, borrow a vacuum cleaner, fetch some ether, make the dead speak, then get lost, return to invented childhood, become a dreamer, walk into Torquay, miss the gig, hear the grass grow, feel out of it, hide behind a lettuce, know all things, go back inside, climb the social ladder, dick an actor, cancel the milk, ring Charlie Korngold, mistake a lipless jug for a quasi-theatre, bleach a pair of jeans, help a jockey quit by using the last of the Vaseline, ask if ‘wabe’ is stone, hold a piece of it the wrong way less than six inches from a natural bowl with a stage. Thistle insinuates hamburger in public and the weeds go careening through a paradox of rags. Nerves generate the delicacy of a pond and an elegy of cork blasts into clothing. The red gleam of a traffic light gleams on everyone’s hoods. We are all drivers. We are all behind the wheel of a sedan. This makes life a finger. What is life? Oysters. And a chair is born, with someone sitting in it, I believe it is a man named Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Who am I to judge? This man made one last trip back to his house in Beit Hanoun to save his bird, Zooba.
Eyes Wide Shut”, at Lacan.com; Gottfried Benn, quoted in Adam Thirlwell, “The Greatest Ex-Nazi Writer”, at New Republic, 5 Apr 014; Frank O’Hara, “To Gottfried Benn”, in The Collected Poems; blein, “sO my friend’s dog died …”, at I Have Absolutely No Idea, 28 Jul 014; Sean Bonney, “Lamentation”, at Abandoned Buildings, 28 Jul 014; Christopher Jobson, “Residents of Rio de Janeiro Take to the Rooftops to Battle with Kites”, at Colossal, 28 Jul 014; Dennis Cooper, “Sealed Air Day”, at DC’s, 28 Jul 014; Frank O’Hara, Second Avenue, quoted in Rachel Blau DuPlessis, “On Frank O’Hara, ‘Second Avenue’, at Jacket2, 2 May 011; JBR; Doug Rice, “The Right Density of Abandonment (in homage to Roland Barthes)”, at Entropy, 28 Jul 014; Miles Champion, “Lolita in Wonderland”, at PN Review 218; John Olson, “Words in Chains”, at Tillalala Chronicles, 28 Jul 014; caption to photo (by Kristen Chick via Twtter, 26 July 2014) embedded in Tom Clark, “Clean Sheets”, at Tom Clark Beyond the Pale, 28 Jul 014]