Date: Wed, 30 Dec 1998 04:54:00 -0500 (EST)
From: Orpheus <cw_duff-AT-alcor.concordia.ca>
Subject: Whirl


	________________FICTIONS OF JILL MONA AND FRANNY


	Mona was a juvenile deliquent with a complex. If anybody wanted to
pick-pocket a fight with her, she ran. She ran ran ran, and rain rain
rained too.
	Mona made her lips appear blue and she knew a whore when she saw
one. Mona had B.A. and was proud of it. Mona was  the real outlaw, and she
knew she had done a lot of wrong (when she was rongrong and ringring
dingding dingaling) inher time of crime and punishement and and Heil
Hitler Heidegger. Oh my Oh me she said and underlined all the parts about
the octave of nothingness before Being. Then her friend said, you mean
Bean and Nothingness??? Mona had an oedipus cunt andshe was a sex phone
junky a pervert an obssessive but knew when she was shit. After all that
was what being astoic philosopher had taught her. How to untaught in
twothousand easy steps. Andshe knew her book was coming out anyhow so what
did it matter if she was scared to shit about death where is thy sting and
where is thy asshole?
	Bam!! shw swatted that little oedipii sticking out of her nose,
and realized she was afull bread academic. Like Professor Challenger
Deleuze her lover father. Without hermother lover and hamstrings like
deathwings
would always bring her the place. Where nuts and berries grew and other
nights like the dawn of dush and Iraq and speaking about veils and villas
she was the one the nights were seething. Something like that. What window
was it that had brought the plane and the fourth avenue of intent. She
lookedin her friend's thesis and saw No One!! Poof Poof magic but she
couldnt create the sound effects on her  crappy completely computer.
	Where was Jill in the meanwhile of all this torment tornado when
she was Jesus Christ Deleuze in her harmful deleuzians of grandeur and
other places of content. How could she be the one he had said all those
theosophical things to her inher ribald dyads and nights. Night ! Night!
Night! you will be mine! Mine Mine!! Nine times out of ten at least!! She
whispered to the pullover of death and whispers.


	So Franny came and went and when the Sorbonne had burnt to the
ground she was under-the -ground with her heidegger and intent. But she
preferred Plato finally and the agony of a stone and the blues terminal
bus stop. Before the pierced ear of her lover and her stones. Something
like that. So that was real love. That, was real love.


	jILL  had re-=read the attributes and tribute of god and knew she
was a trumpet where no rhetoric played. She loved. And loved many in her
single in one.

	_____________Fictions of Deleuze and Guattari
		Copyright-AT-Clifford Duffy-1998