| edged out 6 part 1 - 1983 june | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
3 June 1983 [On the plane to London] White noise and a dark one. Flying through lumps. The fog today, why don't I listen, when someone else talks in drag, neither of us really imagines the other. Her revelation, we'd each told a dream. I haven't the brain to write. "You're going home" she says. What I'm relieved to hear then, it was not what I thought, from an entrappedness. "When you come back I'll tell you how you can be so I'll never be mad at you again. In case you --- --- --- or there's a war I want you to know you're the --- ---, but it only goes for now, don't sit on your laurels." Mad and sane, I can't keep up. "That's just what I mean." Labouring at talking, the way I can't assume we mean the same, that crazy system next to me, the wear. Sitting with a plastic glass, three new pencils, in such an old narrow plane. They came when I would have been leaving the place. Leaving alone, straighter, with more space around everything seen and thought, but today is tired as if I want to be holed up somewhere unknown, lying looking at a ceiling in a village, fasting. Going without cuddling to the lip of a real dark plush - not light lines, a dark erotic quite blurred, wanted - and in it a little marvel aside, that now I'm willing to do that - it casts off what I wanted to hold, the story of self and other, there isn't much other or self, it's a blur, thorax. Has a clear thing been made of noting enthrallment. In circuits, inside circuits, the same thing again. Tactile. Feeling into circuits (at different levels) in different ranges. Watching her. Feeling into circuits for the common shape: enacting a structure again and again, trying to see what she feels. Noting. Putting together. Painting. Struggling not to misrevise. To watch closely. In an airplane locked into the seat folded tight under a blanket with head on a paper pillow seeing the early light up there like the feel my hand has in my hair. 5th London There is still a light [in Luke's face]. Mr Mole and Teddy. Now remember - what - to notice who is feeling what among the turbine - it looks old, liver pains - of children - it dying out as we sat - from not noticing well - enduring for the sake of - looking up he doesn't at first - someone not so different - friend called Luke - what's remembered - falling in with the style. 6 A kind of time that thinks of itself as on from another time - coming to the river beginning to float - imagining making something - where water movement is in the ordinary, then, what would it make - sidewalk ordinary - from: it would imply the spirit current - to - the fiction it would have to be, just the notion without real fit - if it were taken at the same time syncing any two exactly - micromovement of everything? the cloud jerks? (Time and space - is that the work - could he still - the crooked face - "Who is blowing it" Simulated The grey Thames surface risings throwings Tossing and at the line onto 2' pebble strand by embankment, swelling up. Lifting line. Alright put that under the bridge sidewalk foot passengers and is it true. Minutely. If it could really be seen. So look. "I wanted to stop it dead" of a turn from a long line to a single. And then sang it. I was in another register and missed it. The edge in the whistle of a jet as it goes out of sight. Monument face. - At Gatwick? Image. Paul/Judy. Night before - two boy children - hurrying after car - yellow lights - they must hurry to catch up - they loiter at a shop - the tall mother standing in the road - who will be gone - when I look next - throat aching to hurry them, they must catch the car, at the foot of the road a branch, green, and the chauffeur, too late now, with umbrella and ---, walking into the water, shallow, narrow, perhaps just going somewhere. "You're sick poor thing." [Sara to a plant.] 8th The first evening, Queen Anne's lace verges, loud birds, smell of it and May tree, elder, the couple standing on the pavement looking at a bird singing from the edge of the stage. The mown cemetery, rectangles of London pride, buttercup, crafted houses, face tile, through the front-room panes straight out the back, vicarage conservatory, walking unknown in an unheard of place, coming back to a door I open with a key. Lying in bed playing The changer and the changed. Coming in hot in the afternoon, the singing machine. Traffic. Clothes, my new clothes, traveling things, companions. Walk to buy real milk for tea, making the tea, interested. Morning coming to the station, buying a Time Out and a Times, the train stopping at every -, so interested to see every back yard, goods yard. The hare on a gravel pile watching the train, intimate talk of an Indian woman with a contemptuous Indian man she'd gone to meet. Ownership of London. Being looked at, red shirt, army pants, journal, the army bag, the heavy red one, and boots, here comes Combat Woman, she's brown and sweaty, they call her luv. Getting out of the train, stumbling, dropping the camera bag, stepping out at the bottom of the escalator. It's Kentish Town! Chris Williamson 1975 The changer and the changed Olivia Records And today was printing a circuit through downtown, you [Luke] must have the freedom of the city, I must show you, routes, landmarks, some for you, Forbidden Planet, video arcade (geometry faster than I can see, comet arcs, initialed scores, AAA), the game shop, I learn to go in too. And some from me, the portraitists, shut circular doors Nat Gal, Westminster Reference Libe, show you the third floor, you see the view by yourself (won't think of you), your landmarks, in Leichester Square, Oxford Street, liking the wonton soup so much, the front seat upstairs in the bus, there are polite smiles, and remarks, and then alright things, I can show you the blue glass building that really is so beautiful and we can each say what we see, "Do you like to fly?", fig ice cram and bilberry ice cream, the pamphlet brought thoughtfully back. It's possible, it's possible! to begin to tell stories, make a pictures, prairie ice cream - yes, ingratiating, and be careful, never forget to -. Memory of the front door's round thing. Merridew, an English boy with those clear eyes, school uniform, the difference knowing something will go on. In the back garden heat spread out. "I'd like to publish now because it has been too empty." The day after, we're all relieved, it is still bright, when the ramble begins it's a pinned down feeling like with Mr Paul, but that's only in the two, legs going up over, laughing, being more used to there always being bodies. Kevin and the sense of that's where there'd be - Chatting in the style of and yet it's full of interest but it needs to be seen later in the other depth. - The imperative to violence in us, blind as a cave fish. Look what we sacrifice to you, our true nature, our redemption. I choked her harder and crack I was through the door, hatred passing from me in wave after wave, illness as well, a bleak string of salts. I was floating. I was as far into myself as I have ever been and universes wheeled in a dream. I had a view of what was there on the other side of the door and heaven was there, some quiver of jeweled cities shining in the glow of a tropical dusk. The severed head. [someone quoting Mailer An American dream] - A girl I dreamed - gone - it was a little slam, who - Cheryl - had come to me - what I can get back, she's come, dark head, her dark head, her dark head, her head, dark in the head (where there's a resistance), this way feels formalizing, angry, angry bow, with some small things (photographs), not, she's come, as she moved in her house, stalking from the hip, enmarveled too, mother, hey bo-dy, small peaks, let go (arms) to slide, her dark closet work, she's the one (in conceit) I'd take, can't see, without wanting to touch, ardent, I don't like to be second to. This morning I heard the baby sing, their voices talking about the election, conversation with Jedi. It's bright, it's day. Yesterday - 9th - on Regent Street? Evening, morning there, was sore about Laiwan, in bed heard the even voice. Opened a door and saw - ELLIE! - Sal, around the three, behind the door, eyes and cheeks, Joann - arms around, I'm so big, the bodies feel the same, small, hand on her back and on her belly, "Sal thin," and sitting awkwardly talking, Rose English, making talk like pushing it forward, pushing it forward knowing all three are like me in being engaged in looking thoroughly, pushing smiles and talk into the space we're seeing - finding myself loving to look at Sal and liking her voice too - her beautiful color. "My life has changed so much." Jake's solitude and endurance. He launched his voice suddenly into a riff, listened all evening to the tape, lying on the couch with headphones. Jumping out of the kitchen when he heard a note of the pipe. Pee. Performance, Desmond, dope, fright, Jesus - the story I couldn't have heard - "What it really is, is being willing to take a road knowing it's going to one's death." 11 Leaving. Sorting. Thought it would be quick, it's quite a lot, a house I'm leaving, someone there, a taller older woman. Before sleep a scene of a house rising next to a yard. [sketch] Both are (Georgian) stone. From that to noticing my forehead open on the right side, compressed on the left. Meeting her. Whether she'll tell me. She has an appointment to see Laiwan. 8 in a restaurant. Isn't going to tell me what day. I say "What hypocrisy, you already know everything from talking to her on the phone." She is speaking while wood is clattering. I scold her for again speaking in such a way that I can't hear. Getting off the bus I push her to pass her: I must be sure to get there first. (She's not small: plump, solid.) A family lunch, (Seiberts') anniversary through the garage, flowers, they've got hollyhocks along the fence on the walk. A machine for signing petitions, large photographs with them. Tables are set but the food isn't out, Laiwan sitting on the right near the end. I saunter down, turn and come back, feeling she's looking at me but not looking to see, legs, have lost left shoe, black slipper, go back reach my leg to hook it, seeing it go out from the skirt, turned at the ankle to bring the shoe forward, schluff it on, walk out. Standing on the yard he motions to the mountain where at the edge of the cliff the (gondola) 'chairlift' has begun to fall, are there people in, indifferent, seeing it turn so we're looking inside it, 4-5 storey log structure, as it grows very large, turning, hits down near us, slowly, collapses, settles, on its big logs, telescopes flat, skids or rolls toward the edge of the further cliff we're on, then we see it can slide toward us too, its wall over us, I think that's it, but it's slow, inertial mass planing, slowly, we have time to side-step it, then we begin to feel the ground under us starting to sink, the cliff is going to slide out from under us, we're going down, are stopped in an office, like three people on high chairs, the man looking at us, but then we see that the office is squeezing right, we should get onto the street, the street is squeezing right, we choose to go left, as if toward the squeeze and it's like the last car on a train, we've seen some on stretchers with blood, the washroom, our young soldier goes into it crawling backwards, I don't think it's wide enough for me. Outside, it's a pair of jeans, could get into them to, could slit and sew them into a skirt to piss behind. - Goes into time narrative, living at that place, making a kind of living or fortune in opportunism, as if small town in the west (east actually). If I go back I'll find Jam and Laiwan died hand in hand. I go back, she has Laiwan's papers in a trunk, a trunkfull, looking at the answers on an exam paper, check them off against mine, they're the same. Where was. The white cat sitting in water to her neck, doesn't want to come out, kittens? One scrawly white one like a spider hardly able, I collect it up; later there's a grey one stronger running toward the fence. It might be at that moment I push past Lai-wan. "Trying to make passages to work my way through but without obstructing the other ones. It's like a maze." [Luke says]
- so bluntly craved any upheaval that the familiar call from the senses gave her a look directly suggestive of all things linked to deep sexuality, such as blood, suffocation, sudden terror, crime; things destroying bliss and honesty. the swampy regions, days of flood and storm, and even the eruptions of volcanoes they never turn active except with something of catastrophe that glowing hole, the empty window, for example at the very moment If Simone and I were killed then the universe of our unbearable personal vision was certain to be replaced by the pure stars something that strikes me as the goal of my licentiousness: a geometric incandescence Because decent people have gelded eyes. That is why they are never frightened by the crowing of a rooster or when strolling under a starry heaven. I associate the moon with menstrua. I would pull my steaming member from its stable. Tears! Bataille L'histoire de l'oeil 14
- those who live and grow swiftly the heat of this fervent concentration; we did not know we could feel such fierce desires, never imagined such passionate enmities as now awaken. We have created in ourselves a center of power and grow real to ourselves. It is dangerous too, for we have flung ourselves into the eternal conflict between spirit and matter. The infinite we would enter is living fiery brooding on. We imagine itself into its vastness. At first all was stupor colorless night of a cavern, I had suddenly reversed At first we struggle blind and baffled, unable to think, unable to imagine persist through weeks and months, we are creating our own light we rise within ourselves as a diver too long the most beautiful people, swaying some ecstasy running through all as if the Dark Hidden Father was breathing rapturous life within his children the spiritual life of Earth. All the needles of being pointed to it. the high mood they must keep Would we, fully come to ourselves, be like those beings in the apocalypse full of eyes within and without? Would we act through many and speak through many voices? We hardly can tell where our own being ends and another begins. some from the minds of others / some the memory of Earth a perception of images breathed on some ethereal medium which in no way differs from the medium which holds for us our memories in meditation. Strange scenes are found to be in some relation to our mood. The ethereal medium which is the keeper of such images, is like clear glass or calm water. a shining of forces and a flashing of fires, rose, gold, azure and silver along the spinal column from his birth in the Divine Mind through men beasts until at last the idea of human, was born into space I felt like one who is in a dark room and hears the breathing of another creature. I struggled to understand what wished to be said.
fountains out of Hekate Who is that unsleeping creature? The mind in us is moved as if moved by another than ourselves the more I ponder over this unsleeping thing Can something be called that works for our feebleness and extinction If they saw death and felt it as the stillness or ending of motion or breath, they would say 'mor'. George William Russell 1918 The candle of vision La Novège, la Suède. Outside, leaves in motion in the dark. I can see your room, I can feel myself on the lower bed looking into the room where I am with the one I look for, in narrow clothes, rough in the back, public fibre, writing out l'Ecosse - kisses. The tender accent grave. Order, a curtain, small figures, powder burns, bookshelf, bedlamp, an army bed. El Toro's horn. 15 During the night (as first here) right leg lumps I was taking to have checked. Woke from - Teddy and Mole look out the window.
Lauderick's beautiful face and his valiance / and weeping eye.
She let me light up. Did she understand when she said so. She wants me to produce a comprehensive world view. Laboring to control with the idea, for safety. 16 No one has been consciously present at its conception. No one has marked its growth. beating feebly against the shore unengulfed on the western coasts some bundles Poetical runs, alliterative Glowing alliterative runs for themselves, sea-runs Follows a sweet singing bird into a cave under the ground and finds a country where he wanders for a year and a day, and a woman who befriends him while there, and enables him to bring back the bird, which turns out to be a human being. At the end of the tale the narrator mentions quite casually that it was his mother whom he met down there. There are no two Aryan language more opposed to each other in spirit and idiom. Nash (that was but newly come to their colledge "I think it is my image of complexity"
ELLIE! FUCK ME! [Tony Nesbit] Alright. A little oily? Amazed on the phone - I won't know 'til I see - the way it didn't use to be: I'm a (rectangle) in a (rectangle) - "floating" - in the smoke in the sitting room - do the numbers of things in the lair daze me - I think the place does - counting Josh up his ages - "And then how old will you be?" - "Twen-ty one." The walls of which are thin, transparent and shining. 18 [couple of pages of movie notes written in the dark] On the 17th coming out on the high street, glad, almost glad, in motion beside small shops, bigger in the streets - Endsleigh Street - it's number 6 but is CND, Greenpeace - up at the top, asking her (Miss Holland of the typesetting agency), stiff hair, stiff skin color on her face, the kind who'll have a wry smile at the end, becoming breathless American explaining. Looking out the window. The rail, it's east of TRC [Tottenham Court Road] and on the east side of the road, I'd thought west for both. [looking up Dorothy Richardson's address] Medical library buying Leboyer, Russell Square, British Museum Library, the way sound is damped up in the cranium. Waiting to see Tony, a movie maybe, and then there's the one with Linda Hunt, on this street. What kind of prep -. It has the fire through a screen at first, then I'm gathering as not before the signs that what holds me in her and the film is that again. The small dark one in a forest house of the native quarter, she's not for marrying but she wants it for the tall ones, she's an old-fashioned voice, literary like my Auntie Robert, she's an old woman alright, her mouth and eyes, the gesture introducing. "You for the words, me for the pictures." Her smile bringing rice. People who will become other people, become ghosts. Her weeping which I knew. No one's cried like that. Peter Weir dir 1982 The year of living dangerously Then: Baron's Court. Vereker. See zebra through the window. He's in a family house and when I hope he'll come to the door it's her and she looks beautiful, and under the lamp at the table she's pink, perfect teeth, I'm liking to stare at her but the way it's going, some wine, but is it enough to make him so unnoticing, she's the one who knows it's leaving me out, but when I ask him she answers, she explains him, he's telling about George and the difficulty with the plumbers, nausea, then elation, "I'm afraid of her," what is that - and the mythology, what am I seeing, it was my mother, she was always so straight, gathering vegetables, "frugal" - she says "I know" - what do you think I'll see - accomplishment - the argument - I know why she's looking so animate, I know how she's fighting and I won't fight back - beginning in again, "What is this writing you've got in drawers, come on!" - and then she's saying characterization and plotting and when he comes back from the record player - I'm not able to save it now, I'm blasted - they begin again, across the corner of the table, form and content, I can't listen, how is it they can't see, I haven't been able to speak without resistance, doubt, they don't take anything up, is it me unable to speak, am I boring and ugly, is he giving her something, is she pink because she knew at first sight she could win, why did she need to, his exaggeration, "This woman I used to sleep with who -" - "What did you do wrong?" "Are you going to tell him?" - she said, she was boldly flying in - "I thought, writing is my secondary instrument, my primary instrument is myself" - "At five past ten you said something I like a lot" - "I was going home to sanity and trust" - "You didn't do anything wrong" - but I can't say the rest - she's been ill, her mother died, "when I was a baby, and now I have a daughter" - "I've thought you'll have to tell Jesse what I was like" - she's very beautiful - "I have been something like married too, for the last six years" - you wrote about that, is it still the same - they're not going to - I'd imagined telling and even at this moment it feels perilous as if they might ask something I'd have to hear - I tell about Nancy Hunt - she does say "What does it have to do with what you were saying" - "Well it does have something to do with it" - but they drop it - there was talk about honesty - "I don't believe that's what you were mad at me for" - the uncertainty again, it's Carmichael again, who they choose, but I wouldn't be willing to do them this service, but I hate the perfection of their choice, what they won't say they see, what they won't know I have to be mad at them for, and not being willing to go against their connection, but sitting here - and the way her beauty and that watchfulness are patiently his, Sam chooses them both, "I fell in love with him," George - does wine make such babies of everyone - we're both serving her - what I'm giving her is doing her good - kidneys - has she passed her death on, by this winning - being enthralled by her beauty and giving her the choice of her kind - he's staring at me ostentatiously across the table while she's telling me a friend's talk about changing their nappies all their lives - I'm looking amazed, demonstrating, from one to the other as if they're separate lines asking me to choose them - what is going on! that they're not seeing it, she doesn't stop, carries it on, how did she get that accent in New Zealand - when they begin again no I can't sit here agreeing to that - in the other room lacing my boots - they go on! How can it be, only that it's what they want, sitting shocked thinking how to get to the door, hiding behind the wall, tying the sweater round, getting the bag onto the shoulder, picking up the book, crossing - finding out how it will be done - "Thank you" - to her, for the good meal - and out - "Don't go like that" - the inner door snaps but the outer one I notice I'm leaving open - who is it runs after - then I don't remember except the arm around, at the corner, he's standing below the curb, "Tell me what happened, we were having a nice evening, I haven't seen Christine so alive in months" - "Yes she looked fine" - thinking quite isolated what I could tell him - "Christine will tell you, Christine knows, she'll explain it to you" - I've tears in my eyes and see he may be crying, but what is it making me not touched - "You're making me feel useless" - "I don't like it either" (why should I make you feel useful) - the way he's saying it is self-pitiful, he's acting pitiful and that gesture, when he shakes off a tear - that gesture is to make me feel sorry for him! amazing! - "If you don't tell me what happened it means we're quite separate" - (yes there's something you didn't know when I knew it) - is the wine making him childish, where's his hover - has she done that to him to keep him - but he's not serious, she told him to run after but there's something not true - "What are you going to do now?" - "I'm going back to Crouch End" - the reasonable level (what do you imagine, I'll go kill myself) - he goes off pitiful (well you didn't try very hard) and is it a calamity or not - Baron's Court - the crowd in the tube - it is sad, it's familiar sadness, is it right or mistaken shaking-off, was it being bored with him, maybe, he seemed to be using his old lines, there's incoherent trying, they can't help wonder if they've been trapped but it costs me as the lonely spinster and is that why they don't want to hear - what - I wanted to tell about the adventures and the strange isolation and work - have it inspected - it was unbearable - the situation - I felt like I couldn't have an existence there - "You're making me feel like I don't exist" - "You exist all right, you live there" - "Christine will explain it to you," liking that invention - "This is going to be a comma in my life" (did he say that?). And then: The night version. Taking her by the neck in the discussion, my mother saying it's a picnic - "You know of course that it has something to do with when you stayed with your grandmother, the way she (gave you attention)" - remembering when I was a child a time when they'd listen - was it being spoiled? - was it being sent away? - this is awake after - did they ignore me at the table? Was it a scene from long before, that made me mute? T and C and it's always like that, am I going to be given to be seen through it this time, "I don't like three and four," even she, probably not, this dream will be another one unread, "Don't you know? If you don't know already I don't think I can tell you." Then - a sight slipped through, having seen it, was it - something like - the way I was, was being a man - it was with her - ? like the moment calling Jam him - "You said I should watch out" "Did I say that?" - and lying in the dark, maybe the way I suspect myself makes it impossible to see there's another explanation, maybe it is none of that. Knowing today they're working on it too.
20th [Visiting JoAnn Kaplan's studio in a warehouse above the Thames with Luke] Tube yelling about the Arctic map. Aldgate waiting for the 22A, sour cherry. All the red buses that come around the corner. The taxi having to back up and turn around in empty cobbled Watney. Wapping. Yelling up, through the gates, he's looking into the yard, at the crane. Through a room with a painter. Coming into a room with a square, open doors brown water is flowing across. "It's ----, Guy." Ducking behind to see him see it. She's in plump freckled straw-lashed and thin painting t-shirt. The bamboo brush, ink stone and soaked clothe. Brown, brown, a boat. "It's half river." "! It's more from here." How to not stay long. We'll go down and walk. The filthiest rive. Luke finding blue painted ware, a lighter. The clay pipe. Rounded brick bits. Muck. His suede. In the lanes alongside the river, baked construction site. We see Tower Bridge. A wall says Beware of Dogs. We look over it. He jumps onto a sheet of galvanized. Begins to be crowds. His forehead hurts less in shade. The remaining brick house, poor lace, top floor. We've walked as far as St Paul's. The German's bus map. Through empty banking streets but then the Strand. Jump off the bus. Peets-za, a glass of milk. She brings the banana split like a masterpiece. He likes the parasol. I like the elephant. It's got us giddy now. Speaking in silly voices at the bus stop.
Trafalgar evening, spray. He wants to sit on a lion, takes a run - a young man and a young woman one each on a paw being photographed by East Indian family grouped. Changing buses three times on the way home. Hot coin. Last Sunday. In Camden Town, Kentish Town, Archway. - Reading from the bottom bunk. He becomes an actor and there's a Kit. [Was reading Cue for treason aloud to him.] Hopes he outgrows his feet sweating. Geoffrey Trease 1940 Cue for treason
From the point of view of my experiential self prior to that moment I know that she owned us to be in their company using the sound of my voice as I had used hers, as a conduit whose presence had synthesized for him It was an old form of failure to have wide attention. It was imperative that I internalize a moon of ease in difficult social - place my attention in my womb. I've learned to feel the inside of it. I see a reddish glow for an instant and then I'm off. Something pulled me right into my womb. I saw the reddish glow and then I had a most beautiful dream.
Was to find, on their own, another set of four women warriors Dreamer and stalker Only through impeccability and challenge can they find solace and challenge in each other's reflection.
Recapitulation. A perfect recapitulation Breathing would foster deeper and deeper memories. in his parallel being, a source of grasp is accelerated but one thing at a time dependent and vulnerable, cushioned by warriors
I definitely had two channels of vision. Carlos Castenada 1981 The eagle's gift Simon and Schuster 21 Tuesday The house on the corner with side windows, long wall with very old New Dawn blooming from the front yard, the length of it. 15 Burnaby Gardens. I felt like her. [Went to see one of DR's sisters' houses south of the river] 23 Ow. The dirty school. Dirty and stupid children, poor-looking, white, badly shaped heads, come out screaming. Dirty windows. Schools with high ceilings. Sokrates.
Drawing the gladiator. IV HORAE IDES MARS. Seeing the superheroes are still - 24 The movements of her mouth, quirking. Seeing that the dress and cardigan are a Scottish village. Perfect cleanness of her skin and blood. [visiting Annabel Nicholson]
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L erinaceus The blood chemistry of an 8 year old girl
Seals are probably descended from land animals which lived along the coasts feeding on sea birds, shellfish and fish trapped in tidal pools. They have retained attachment to land and must return there to molt and give birth. Animals. 1. possibilities of bodies When we were over black and white barrens, 33,000', the lakes still frozen, nested in the narrow seat, blanket, pillow and sweater, child asleep. Then an instant of the real suspension, what am I, the emotion of it. I realized then that I think of it as the only real I am. What am I for. I was flying on thinking that it's fear I think of as the only real state. The moment's falling asleep. Roy's voice. Das wir uns nicht vergiessen. It can be said of the psyche that there is a personal going-along. A continuity of experiencing interrupted - begins to include memories of phases of disruption The fluid circulating between them felt like a magical link. Two sets of heart sounds which merged into one undulating acoustic pattern Experience during the premyelination period have an effect similar to the hereditary ones, tend to be repeated.
Mathematical discontinuity - an umbilical or butterfly catastrophe The same sequence of patterns or transformations of patterns Psychologème, embryologème that in the afterbirth or placenta we have a physical basis (not necessarily the only one) for the theory and practice of the external soul Kidney machine Relation of person and libido attaching the man to the woman, as placenta Better half, lost self Telephone - umbilical cord - penis: connection Placenta and umbilical cord may be felt to belong to, to be stolen by, the mother. He whirls away through the vortex of the umbilical arteries into the other world of the placenta. Most of these cells are ancestors of those cells destined to share the womb with us, serve us, and die when we are born. They will be our trophoblast. A few of them are the ancestors of those who have become us. The hole into which she creeps and which then becomes a room with our sleeping in the room. That is what we mean by the basic dream. Uterus before and after implantation. As our own zona pellucida. As our trophoblast through his/her/its several transformations, blastocystic chorionic. As well as the final amnion-cord-placenta system. They knew the singing head of Orpheus floats down the river. Mead. Auric egg opalescent. Silver white the brilliant vesture or the cloud. even used as a conscious projection On the other hand, he was slim, lightly built, dark, and soft as a jelly-fish floating in water wherever he was reading a book that moved him or was touched by a breath of that great and homeless love whose presence in the world he had never been able to fathom. that the core of the unconscious is based on our relations in and to the womb; that not only or primarily birth but the whole of prenatal epoch from conception to birth is recapitulated from the beginning to the end of psychoanalysis. The egg crisscrossed with axes banded with zones localized with areas and fields measured off by gradients, traversed by potentials marked by thresholds. Its surface is a field of distributed intensities rising falling migrating displacing. The virtual homology they see between this schizophrenic and the biological egg leads them to believe that biochemical theory may not only offer us physical means to control schizophrenic experience but may afford us analogies the better to understand it. Regression earlier, recessions simpler. Who had the ability of stepping into mirrors and reemerging through any reflective surface in the land - through lakes. Prophesying the future as well as clarifying the past Ora maritima: "By the side of the sea, the ayah cooked the meal." Ora maritima, ancilla cenam part. Away: Bataille, AE, Dickenson, Griffin, Castenada, Kentish Town.
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