A failed attempt
At voice recognition,
A phenomenology of reception
In the way one opens
At the thought of another
Within.
Another front.
Inside
The Situation--
Room-- me?
Meat. Muttering
Utterances, iterations.
Ejaculations. Shouting.
Interrogations.
Hollow
Cravings only
Bad plots
Fast food
Or sex
Can fill.
Letters splatter in a puddle.
Graphite nights
Going down
On erasers.
The Ventriloquist.
Weathers.
Ventriloquist professing to be both comedian and archaeologist.
(S)he wears a glass version of skin.
(S)he can't see its own body.
Covers.
Ladders.
Everything some other thing.
Before sleep (s)he prays for an erection or for a line of poetry to be
delivered upon waking--either or both would be OK.
(S)he sees them as the same thing.
A prayer is a means of programming one's mind.
Everyone is an element of a constellation.
(An element of multiple constellations.)
Everyone is an entire constellation, too.
"Knowledge = paralysis. Action = epilepsy--involuntary."
--Nietzsche
(S)he can't remember the convulsions.
Parent-thesis: maybe I should interview--no, interrogate my own
fucking selve (deliv-, deliber-atively--damn it--misspelled, but not
salvaged) at the edge of the plural, almost raveling.
You-bris. Check Derrida on circumfession/circumfiction.
Forethoughtskin.
Buzzing
Yet static moment
Of insight
And over-bright
Light just before
A gap.
The Ventriloquist, weathers: the other either mirrors.
Figures.
Erasers.
(S)he thought the Ventriloquist understood the word "overheard" to
mean something akin to "written over," as in "written on top of"--in
terms that is of a kind of layering of utterances.
According to the Ventriloquist, I found my structure in you. A world
of sounds composed only of weather.
I am a fiction
Called the Old Man
At the Scene
Of the Rhyme.
Venetian blinds
Ladder shadows.
Reality is never
Completely realized
But its drafts
Make oneShiver.
What about assumption?
The object cannot
Be taken in
All at once.
While the Ventriloquist masturbates (s)he shudders and shutters
the window.
Perception: a species of feeling.
Thought: an organ of the body, another skin.
Language: a pheromone.
A phenomenology of reception in the way.
Weather fronts. Structures churning. The Ventriloquist rehearsing.
I'm not speaking to the Ventriloquist. (S)he won't let me.
What is missing here?
One is being diagnosed?
Separation as a semblance
That can be decomposed?
A series of abandonments?
The Ventriloquist reads a horoscope to its date, the Hypnotist.
It
Speaks to one
From a place
Which is not
Visible.
What speaks?
Where is it spoken?
A process
Of disappearance
Slips
To the rear
Of overheard
Pleasure.
S(he) says
Our skin
Is templates.
(S)he says
Writing
Is stripping.
Suggestions
Constituting that
Second language
One didn't think
One knew
(let alone
penetrate, be
entered by).
Constituting another,
That Is,
Failed attempt
At a project
Of return--
Generative dream
Of Ventriloquist
& Hypnotist.
What can
Be done?
What should
We do?
Structure is a question
(S)he needs
To be
Magnetized now.
The Ventriloquist's
Lips are quivering.
Attraction holds
Out its
Sleight of hand.
(S)he's a
Distorting mirror.
One will come
To resembling.
Fragments
Of experience
Are assembled
In a face
One recognizes,
Wants to see
Out of
But never
Wants to be.
Words are mouthed
But the membrane
Between thought
And act
Is what's
Called experience.
In the gap
Where one lives
The others gather
Across the divide
That one is.
Blind spot,
Wet spot.
The whole
Idea of
Separation
Puts on
A shimmering
Sheathe.
Trying
To coincide
With one's selves.
Water
In a collander.
Impossible desires.
The Ventriloquist and the Hypnotist walk into a bar called
Chiaroscuro Metropoli.
Speak through
One.
Think one forward.
Build a shadow.
Project
An Avatar.
The law is
9/10 possession.
One's plea
For possession.
A funny thing
Happened on
The way
To the bar:
One noticed
Redundancies
In the Universe's
Punchlines.
I am
Not beautiful
The Ventriloquist
Whispers
Through me.
(S)he is
Getting sleepy,
Very sleepy.
The moment decays.
Voice overs
Ever after
More or less
Nothing's ever
Exactly the same.
