the sea a secret night

the world was built invisibly





  • “the subject who speaks has just vanished”
  • “alternation of accelerations and slowings down, ruptures and open stretches”
  • the power of eroticism to “present nervous tension, de-figuration”

“And we speak with tongues of serpents,and the baying of the Hounds, and the great bell sound that cracks the barrier–and great are we who rule, and small are you who suffer.” (John Duncan)



The signs indicate that light
has passed

& in any sense, there’s no thought to be had in consideration of what’s happened before, up to now, as if there were something new to be said about what is already gone. The eclipse of time like a planet before the moon. You can only be blinded.

watch the snake
shape itself to
the way it touches the ground
and the air in the same force
of breath // the same hold of
the desert sun


1 – The retribution of carpet. this combinatory exercise being Architecture. Freedom in an actual sex-life is different than that of in dreams. Like love, like purity. Suck this dick, boy. Feed my obsessions.
2 – Narrative diegesis only All space is mappable. Knowable, no—not understandable. Thundergod snow crack. Forget history. I would greet you on the steps & feel glad to see you, glad to be outside of this space. Night time alone.
3 – A necessity, a call for nutrition. This house of dark walls & dead flowers—portraits of men and women long buried beneath cold ground. The numeric sequence is a code but means nothing. Felt-covered bed pile. Keep calling my phone as if my ringer weren’t on. Cigarette smoke. I’m alone again, or, I’m walking on water and my hair is short. Remember nothing that is everything.
4 – Underneath me is a field of grass. Eggs on eels. four follows fourteen, a new trick every night or at least an approximation of such. Forge the shape of rocks in plastic and build a boat that sinks.
5 – Tell me something good. Many of them. Geophilosophy is earth death. What is this. & think about what it means to refuse. Only still. Planes fall pell-nell to the ground when portrayed as power. Either human or fish, reptile, I’m not just talking to myself. Pause like maize. This anonymous customer would be cuter if he were a real human being.
6 – The idea of a home that the comments from the man and the woman have prevented me from allowing. Light air color. Sitting down in grass. Sitting down on cement. Pain! Suffering! Denial. Like rocks, rivers, sediment. Incorrect. Fuck the same words over and over. NO MORE.
7 – I will never go to a baseball game. Look at the cube on the ground. It resounds to echo in this dim light. Its weight feels good. Fuck birds. Hot dollars, like cascading rainbow vomitage. This escape is too fucked to be real. Haha, I mean, people.
8 – & you refuse to question the lack of a power source. Hear this beat. It’d be more functional if you could sleep.
9 – Eroticism. Listening to the wet hit glass. Not questioning, really. Watching the world flood through the glass panes of a car window. Terrible arguments in the back of a car. Cars float by, holes are formed. How man apricots pus lemon. Like nothing ever can’t be. Fuck walls I want air. Water, earth, fire. I’m so tired of lust. Manic desperation. Why would you even—I mean, exclusive deals for three night stays.
11 – [cave] “Fuck me till we crash.” The impulse of late-capitalism to drive the world & its inhabitants into entropic heaps of inutility. The stereo, it turns the record once it’s over.
22 – It’s OK to find hydration in sweat & piss. No sexual fetish needed. People lounge & drink coffee, but have I have no idea where this coffee comes from.


A tableau——
          or nothing.

The room in the house. Windows spread open to sea. The trace of blood lingers in the air, meeting the scent of the waves.

The real is profoundly unstable.


to write the text as echo of
pulsating void

the slaughter of statues
——a murderous act of love

ineradicable trace of the unknown

temporal & spatial repetition, rhythmic pulsation

“without the orgasm, without the wound”

the cipher of madness, invocation of day

submission to the space


(found in notebook on pages for may 31st 2014 & june 1st 2014 — actual date of writing unknown)

01:41:39,314 –> 01:41:44,008
“Every person who disappears
drags with him the universe.

01:41:44,346 –> 01:41:47,192
At the same time,
all is suppressed…

01:41:47,639 –> 01:41:48,813

01:41:48,989 –> 01:41:53,419
Supreme justice that
legitimises and rehabilitates death.

01:41:53,951 –> 01:41:56,767
Let us leave then
without regrets,

01:41:57,032 –> 01:41:59,261
as nothing will survive us

01:41:59,511 –> 01:42:04,264
since our consciousness
is the one and only reality.

01:42:04,895 –> 01:42:08,005
Abolishing it, everything is abolished,

01:42:08,305 –> 01:42:12,120
even if we know it’s not true,
because in reality

01:42:12,332 –> 01:42:14,445
nothing accepts to follow us,

01:42:14,804 –> 01:42:17,885
nothing condescends
to leave with us.”

from Franco Brocani’s Clodia — Fragmenta