Subject: MB: Art tow(n) -- ale philosopher
Date: Mon, 23 Jun 1997 08:21:11 PDT


And the more easily manageable violin -- !
It rests nicely, snugly beneath the chin, sending pleasant vibrations 
into the head... I play one.  In moments of musical ecstasy I have often 
come close to crushing my instrument with the weight of my enfuelled 
brain.

The acephalic one is aviolinistic.  Notice, though, how the weight of 
the fulfilled height endangers the conductor.  Where does Paganini come 
from?  I always start with the first Caprice, like a good mystic -- 
up-and-down arpeggios...  The 24th is the goal at the end of the road.

Lautreamont died at age 24.  There was nothing left to say.  Would the 
25th have said too much?  _The Last Rose of Summer_ etude (Heinrich 
Wilhelm Ernst) could have been a more ideal 24th.

   And he chose to pass through a body in order to teach us to destroy    
bodies, and to put away attachment to bodies. 
     (Artaud, letter to Breton, in _Selected Writings_ , p. 407)

Music is an infinite artform.  The space of the acephalic musician cries 
out (from its) [via] reverberation for revision.

A NOCTURNE (<nacht> turn) -- A hazy style?
I turn on my stereo: What a craft!  No.  It is a drive.  A _driver_.  
The craft is stealthy... shrouded.  The crushing (cruising) power of 
ecstasy pushes the craft through the water -- paradoxically floats it. 
How much water [soul] do we _carry_ anyway?  Love is ecstasy.

I love my craft [spirit] because I don't know what it is.  The 
mysterious night-shrouded lover --

   The Strange High House in the Mi(d)st --

of Two... Friendship?

Cracked by the cult of hubris

A cramped space... between the chin (lower portion of the head) and the 
shoulder (highest part of baseness).  If, that is, we perceive the head 
as the reflector and absorber of light...

   THE SUN

-- my bow slaps the strings and I see the sun --
-- when I scream I AM THE SUN -- i drown out my music

not innocent... no

Locate love in crushing weight of pistons... a well-oiled machine... 
fine handicraft...

I met a lep(er who had a) sis(ter...) and she knew Lovecraft.
The email address is:

<monsieurtexteEM-AT-hotmail.com>

but you might find yourself in touch with the shard of Exeter warding 
off currents of wine (quartz avail).

The _incorruptible body_...

dissolve it in acid,
Automatically.

Or tow it away...

   Christ pupil of the eye
   Twentieth pupil of the centuries it knows how
     (Apollinaire, _Zone_)

[Luis Bunuel? 
 
   But whatever the role played in the erection by his foot, man, who    
has a light head, in other words a head raised to the heavens and     
heavenly things, sees it as spit, on the pretext that he has this     
foot in the mud.
     (Bataille, "The Big Toe," in _Visions of Excess_, p. 20)]

   3 being the figure of primary causation, the facts remain in the      
beginning stage; but starting with the 4th date...
     (Artaud, letter to Breton, p. 401)

What happens when we try to do the adding up?  Let's see: Paganini's 24 
Caprices, Lautreamont's 24 years, Leonardo's 24 (?) questions?

   [It] is a matter of giving a frock coat to what is, a mathematical    
frock coat.

      formless ... like a spider or spit.
     
     (Bataille, "Formless," p. 31)

Confusing what is with what is not... might... could, etc.
Looking closely, "there thus come into being hair-philosophers, 
fingernail-philosophers, _toenail-philosophers_..." (Breton, a footnote 
to _The Second Manifesto of Surrealism_ , Seaver/Lane tr., p. 185)


Edward Moore
         --O
          -/-
          ^ ^
 



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