Subject: MB: Winter Doctrine and Bird's Wisdom
Date: Mon, 9 Feb 1998 13:41:15 -0500 (EST)


"In his ideas on children, Nietzsche expressed the principle of
open-ended play _where occurrence exceeds the given_. "Why," said
Zarathustra, "should the lion become a child?" A child is innocence and
forgetfulness, a new beginning and game, a wheel turning on itself,
a first impulse, the sacred "yes."" (Bataille _ON_ pg. 151)

Play=Uselessness

a-tzu! excuse me but early thawing winds are bringing with them an
early rite of spring and Zarathustra making "many noses sneeze!" (_Z_
'Of Old And New Law Tables' pg. 223).
 	"Winter doctrine" where everything stands still with heavy feet is a
"fine thing for unfruitful seasons, a fine consolation for hibernators
and lurkers, that is, for stay at-homes" (_Z_, 'Of Old And New Law
Tables' pg. 218). But with the thawing winds we are ringing our "azure
bell" big with expectant life, with "bird wisdom" finding its songs
this side of spoken words, before any discursive spirit of gravity.
"Yes," we take off from all national fatherlands and embark upon the
high seas, "out to where our _*childern's land*_ is! Out, away, more
stormy than the sea, storms -- our great longing," our flaming instinct
in need of much water and not fire, our play with blue and white and
orange and a clown's :-) >>>--------> oscillating through the air to
pierce more skin. Off course, errant Nietzsche, the perpetual
convalescent, loved balmy, mediterranean air where he could become
"ripe in the great noontide" (pg.231) like "a vine with swelling udders
and close-crowded golden-brown wine-grapes" (_Z_ 'Of The Great
Longing'). H/ear a crafty philosophist's hammer puncturing the ears
with scrambled, tortured corkscrewing vines tipsy with a philtered 
pharmacy locked up in a box decorated by the baroque curls of
Persephone arranged as a festival of flowers on al-andalusian fields.
a-tzu! excuse me --
	Serpentine writing is bound to the eternal recurrence of the
same [minimalist seriality] at/to-word noontide where thinking in its
shortest shadow brings the seas of past and future together thawing out
an icy breath with the nourishment of innocent becomings and few, small
things -- for remember that fine spirits are birds' stomachs. Bird
wisdom as is now clear not only displaces the winter doctrine but
teaches us how to play in an intricate manner and to "honour the
obstinate, fastidious tongues and stomachs that have learnt to say 'I'
and 'yes' and 'no'." (_Z_ 'Of The Spirit Of Gravity' pg. 212). Philters
of information _*will*_ be placed in all strategic locations. Did that
just sound a bit too serious? [laughter] Scrambling polished pearls or
our precious culture droppings .............................. is
a necessity to prevent the slitting of stomachs by those agitated by
children at play. Such an evasive manouver is accomplished by the
setting up of lures and masks where me and Zarathustra show "only ice
and winter on our peaks -- and not that our mountains [a 'symbol' for
solitude or pathos of distance which is the medium through which we
communicate while peaking] also winds all the girdles of sunlight
around it!
	They hear only the whistling of our winter storms: an _not_
that we also fare over warm seas, like passionate, heavy, hot south
winds." (_Z_ 'ON The Mount Of Olives' pg.194)
	It is always a question of fastidiousness then, of wearing
gloves as Nietzsche says, specially if you want to do the McSlippage
with Persephone. Such an atunement is the impossible welcoming of
nuanced matter, of allowing the hearing of songs by way of an
oscillating unconscious which is not structured like it was speaking
words. Sing Lucio! And I will dance -- What cause the vibration is that
whatever appears also steals away and tends to resist
phenomenalization. I find "more and less than expected" (Lacan _FFCP_
pg. 25)in the given nuanced matter which as soon as it appears it
disappears and stablishes a dimension of loss. 'Matter' as what leaving
its mark causes the ear to vibrate and overflows all philosophical
conceptualization (which operates as the "winter doctrine" par
excellence). That is 'why' matter is interference or noise like a
bird's song which cannot be understood for it has no tongue and speaks
no words except maybe da... da..., t/here vacillates, plays with a
thread ridling a labyrinthian ear tympanized by the language of the
earth, of Perse-phone's curls. Our phrase regimens bring to an end
spoken words with the arrival of periods.........................
blocking the fruition of understanding or the seeds of Logos. Once
again desert fields claim their soEreign(is)ty alongside the poverty of
my imagination bringing extremes together with a rain dance. "Yes,"
more ruins now crowd this passage on pure sky and the dry earth big
with possibility surprising itself in a twilight zone just before
sunrise and the spriging up of a morning phrase, a flower child.

Doing the McSlippage with Persophone and Ariana,

a-tzu!


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