Nuit
http://www.alansondheim.org/lastlast.jpg
lying on the back of others i never thought this would happen:
in this world, the Territory is the Map and nothing tells a
story.
To motto: You have always known everything, death doesn't
beckon, death _is_ - this is a message to no one; there's no
recipient; we're all writing the same message; we all know that;
we won't be around for long; we won't know that for long; we
know that too.
to write the dead plateaus, the plateaus or plateau of the dead:
to write nothing. with what? against what grain? what surface
uncharred?
the char, the shard is the stone, the story, the surface. it is
bound and boundary. it is the puncture that penetrates the
plateau, now something much more complex. The Star. The Plateau.
complicit. now the demarcation commences in or out of order, it
makes no difference. shuffle the aphorisms! give birth to two
billion dead! one imagines an illuminated plain or plane;
there's no reason to imagine food or domicile there. nothing
potable for that matter. nothing around the next corner; there
aren't any.
my final message: WRITE IN STONE: YOU MAY HAVE A CHANCE. I am
taking Measure of this Discussion. I will send in a Report. It
will be specific, especially in the absence of currency. It is
there I am coming towards you in the fog, almost the thickness
of thumbs.
*/this is not a story. this has never been a story. "my final
message" already sounds preposterous. it might mean I'm through
with you; it might mean I'm through, period. there's nothing
left of me. that's science fiction, and poor science fiction at
that. I AM NOT WRITING A TALE. this is a warning from the lip or
edge of warning, nothing more or less. And you already know
this; it's trite, repetitious, always has been, you've always
known. so let it go already. let it go: I'm
*/where the closure, where's the end of \*/*
dirty everywhere and I thought you abandoned me; I set this on
the monstrance of continuous production and now look what I've
found, nothing, as if beginning again. Today I heard, where lays
desires pooled and dried, that by 2050 or so, when I'll be long
gone, between 2 billion and all of humanity will be extinct.
there's no going back, there's nothing, no way in or out. and
our fearless leaders are concerned with occupying MORE
TERRITORY: THE TERRITORY OF THE DEAD.
word and world are separated by far more than the singular
letter l standing up or standing in for an already fallen
warrior. abandonment is the key, but understand: THERE IS NO KEY
TO SURVIVAL: there is no survival, no key, no lock, no keyhole,
no lock hole. when i write: ANNIHILATION: TO THE LIMIT: that it
LITERAL, that is final.
marked sex or murked sex, it is all denouement. think of culture
and civilization as inertial: they continue, rupture, as they
always have, weaponry and plague notwithstanding. they do that.
and the murksex plateau is the sign of the final Lamentation.
and you must Know and Understand that.
The Plateau is NOT "murksex" or sexuality: it is torn and
desiccated bodies, absent bodies, vermin body, starving bodies,
whatever might count for inconceivable thirst. that is what it
is what it is. the Puncture used to be the Plateau or the Wound
of the Plateau; it is neither, in this world: it is
Neitherness.the recompense of death is uncleanliness as a matter
of course and full acceptance. that is what it is that it is.
[it is hard to breathe here. do you feel it. do you feel. what
it is - what _it_ is - is the difficulty of breath. it is all
gone, comprehend: it is all gone.rattled and broken, null zero
point characterized by 1. outside there are gunshots and
squealing brakes. we are tuned to this. the root of shattered is
shard. the root of shard is shattered. whatever is there,
scattered on the ground is fundamentally unassembleable.
I apologize for my language which barely coheres in the heat.
I would give a finger for something to drink. I remember
liquid."broken limbs dead eyes i will join you now" you write.
you have no idea what you're asking for, what is at the site,
what is in your sight. not a word of it. dead eyes aren't
mine. they endure: where: among the two billion dead. among
the twelve billion dead coming alone fine, down the road, just
over there. darkness becomes them. the sun already on fire.
what I am saying to my living breath: it is imminent. to
repeat "now now now" is to repeat "now" it is to do nothing:
Listen!: To repeat Now is to do nothing. Now yet now do you
understand? Two billion dead. The rest of us en suite. The
rest following the rest.
without site there is no illumination. without illumination
there is nothing. this is inconceivable! Do you realize I have
been saying this repeatedly forever? Longer! : The Writing is
NOT on the Wall; the Wall is on the Writing. to comprehend -
to apprehend: Sex requires energy, requires barriers,
entrances, invitations, plateaus. Why this History? Why this
History always entangling Others? / The Others too weak to
reply, to think or signal, think thin signals, think nothing
at all.
_
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