Subject: Writing  _Il etait une fois..._ in the absence of  "die Sache Selbst":
Date: Fri, 06 Mar 1998 14:26:44 EST


Myth. Or  "/mith", as Lonnie Holley has it in a piece of his entitled
"mith", a piece which is currently being shown in the "Self-Taught
Artists of the 20th Century" at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and which
will travel to other venues in the US. (I can let you'z know of these
dates soon).  I had the opportunity of hearing Lonnie Holley speak _from_
his pieces last night, as well as touring the show. The works - many upon
that 'threaded' border (or interior-eight, as Lacan would have it)
touching-touched by "Outsider Art" (a debate itself which fell, in this
shows case, in the title "Self-Taught Artists" - yet one must merely
[op]-serve the work-ings, -- ah!, the Bataillian, Lacanian which
weave-to- ear ''Sur'-realism as I slowly walked through the spaces. -
{And then these whirligigs still on my shoulders, and so I let them
turn,...: {

	The writing then, from La Fontaine's pen, INK-I-DO,
your-inky-stain-seen as "La Souris metamorphose en fille" (Livre IX,
Fable 7), bets 'mille'-and-one Hegelian Nights, that we find Blanchot,
and that 'Thing' which 'writes', tucked away in what [ _of Ages_ ], is
older than [ _ The World_ ]: a text, and Schelling's Night.

	 That 'war(s)' a thread to-wear-'werden' the "older than the
negative['s]" $.
In Schelling, through Blanchot, (and to start (and what an end), in _IC_,
319-320, 354, as if shaking out some 'dust' upon re-arrival in/out
Bataille's home), "_art's constant act_" [ or the 'barring' between
'literature's question  and 'writer's doubts and scruples' (_WF_,
300-311)] is, as if  the Fles[ ]h, departed on time, and not in it, which
"y[ /]our ink", (now theirs thumbed at), counts in its chicken scratches:
(-////-).
	 The first as murmur of  litter-'a'-chir, the second, and
_yours_, the letter's myrrh/(murre). [Gongorian laughter].}

	 Yet, to scratches in the dust, to poussiere-biffures, or that
dust-cover; 'couvre-livre' that first takes all the _coup de griffe_,
planting those 'egratignure' as rows in fallow fields "Being thus left in
suspense---like the very index finger of the storyteller itself,
supposing it had been petrified by some sudden external or internal
cataclysm at the very moment it was raised to capture the attention of
the young listeners---the opening phrase, cut off from any story that
might follow and itself interrupted in its flight, raises in the air its
useless portal, an entrance to a ruin standing alone, without any other
upright remains, a doorframe open on a nonexistent vestibule that ushers
one into nothing." (Leiris, _Rules of the Game, I , Scratches_, p. 119). 

	Sure, why not, a few  words "before", "before", ( _Scratches_,
p.119), and before this absence of myth, and what spins it to scratch
where it-ch's to be. 
----------------------------------------------------C---------------------------------------------------------
And there where It-speaks 'no-Thing' gOes, twisting a bit the
sur-realists ear, and taking others by it: --------------------------
M--------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------E(s)-----------------------------------------------------

(good to be 'home', esp., after Edwards tumbing, and such a greeting from
Ari-hole. See! MANIBUS DATE LILIA PLENIS, (Bataille _IE_, Part Five).
{laughter})

entre chien et loup dans
lalangue trespasses,
LuCio Angelo priviTello 
............`
 

 

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