Lets get back to her.
(As if I had ever left)
The machine parts of the machine of
the world and the vacancy of the womb. That original architecture of desire
from which we have no hope of escape except in madness and/or God, which
are, I suppose, the same thing - one in Hell, one in Grace.
This is collapsed. No, wrong, it is immediate. You have to sit
up straight to read this.
Attention. The other writing is locked in
time,- only occassionally and by authorial fiat -that the reader must learn
to recognize -is the glance of the eternal allowed permission on the page.
'Here I come, this is what lead to that, - it (she, him, it) was shaped a
particular way', -the emminence of the essential is puzzled out of the
blocks of 'life experience'.
Names are given to deceits.
OK, what was it?