In the House of the Hangman 913

My elbow is better now too, and my neck and numb thumb. And even though I haven’t won a game yet (!!!), Bertolt Brecht says, “You can make a guinea pig do whatever you want if you just keep telling him how GORDIOUS he is.” Why is the screen so small? And why does the car turn so sharply? And why is the only sound I hear the sound of a raft of marmosets? BECAUSE I’m fucking ANXIOUS AS HELL about EVERYTHING. AAAAAAAAARGH. It’s even worse: “I’ll tell you later.” After all, deconstruction conjures with “an absolute past that has never been present … an originary repetition … a finite infinite … a supplement which ‘produces’ what it supplements.” And as if that wasn’t enough, it also insists that “perception does not exist … that the proper name cannot be proper … that the cogito is mad errancy … that there is nothing outside the text … that in the beginning was the telephone [and] that I am perhaps dead.” I mean, I was stared at, hooted at, chattered at, by monkeys, paroquets, cockatoos. I ran into pagodas: as was fixed for centuries, at the summit or in secret rooms; I was the idol, I was the priest; I was worshipped; I was sacrificed I fled from the wrath of Brama through all the forests of Asia; Vishnu hated me: Seeva laid wait for me. I came suddenly upon Isis and Osiris: I had done a deed, they said, which the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. I was buried, for a thousand years, in stone coffins, with mummies and sphynxes, in narrow chambers at the heart of eternal pyramids. I was kissed, with cancerous kisses, by crocodiles; and laid, confounded with all unutterable slimy things, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud. Beyond Heathrow lay the empires of consumerism, and the mystery that obsessed me until the day I walked out of my agency for the last time. How to rouse a dormant people who had everything, who had bought the dreams that money can buy and knew they had found a bargain? Communism is when old people fall in love. A freshly squeezed tube of paint sags like a sack of potatoes. Make something of it. Aluminum nipples, brass tongues. Scratch your leg with a rubber dinosaur. The way in which the other presents […] exceeding the idea of the other in me, we here name face. […] The face brings a notion of truth which is not the disclosure of an impersonal Neuter, but expression: the existent breaks through all the envelopings and generalities of Being to spread out in its “form” the totality of its “content,” finally abolishing the distinction between form and content. […] to receive from the Other beyond the capacity of the I, which means exactly: to have the idea of infinity. I started to see an endocrinologist, I had tests done, got a full physical, got a proper hormone treatment, 0,05 mg of this daily, 10mg of that one week per month, a real treatment versus random intakes of street hormones, I got natural hormones like premarin which is made out of pregnant mares’s urine, I quit smoking, I moved to Williamsburg. Hormones make your skin softer, thinner, more transparent, spider veins appear, you’re more sensitive to the cold, your skin becomes more oily, you get some strange acne, any muscle you have turns into something delicate, your fat goes to your hips and butt, you get cellulite, your body odor changes, your sweat smells less metallic, your hair turns lighter and gets curlier, your pubic hair takes on a v-pattern, your face changes, your cheekbones bounce out a little more, your jaw gets smaller, your eyes get dry, your lips get thicker, your voice might get a little softer, not always, but you can have surgery on your vocal cords, and you act more feminine, you get mood swings like women, pms, emotions, your breasts grow, your nipples become larger and more sensitive, if you take too much hormones they might milk, you still orgasm but your dick shrinks and you don’t ejaculate anymore, erections become rarer, the dark line that goes from under the dick to the middle of the balls gets darker. The stickers say another world is possible. The shine is mild and dwarfs the scene. To begin with, we’ll assume the starry sky is a kind of corruption without an update. It palindromes. Fate is so irritating.

[Note: Degentish – Berardi were purchased 12-13 Apr 012 in Portland OR at Powells and Mother Foucault’s. Sources: Katie Degentesh, “I Do Not Tire Quickly”, “My Sleep Is Fitful And Disturbed”, in The Anger Scale; Drew Gardner, “Why Do I Hate Flarf So Much?”, “The Starry Sky”, in Chomp Away; Vicki Kirby, and Geoffrey Bennington, as quoted in Kirby’s Quantum Anthropologies: Life at Large; JBR; Thomas De Quincey, as quoted in Sadie Plant, Writing on Drugs; JG Ballard, Kingdom Come; Franco Bifo Berardi, “After The Future” (eds. Gary Genosko & Nicholas Thoburn); John Olson, “Möbius Dick”, at Tillalala Chronicles, 13 Apr 012; Emmanuel Levinas, Totality and Infinity, Imp Kerr, as quoted in Kerr’s “Double oral is gay”, at The New Inquiry, 13 Apr 012; Marcus Slease, “The Stickers Say Another World Is Possible.”, at Never Mind the Beasts, 13 Apr 012]

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