The ordered way of living, the contrivance, the selfishness.

But why go on with all this, I don’t know, some day I must end, why not now. But these are thoughts, not mine, no matter, shame upon me. Now I am old and weak, in pain and weakness murmur why and pause, and the old thoughts well up in me and over into my voice, the old thoughts born with me and grown with me and kept under, there’s another.

Samuel Beckett

The ordered way of living, the contrivance, the selfishness.

Worth - Heinous combination. The mouth spun around and the man said to the clock: Why not, just one more.”

As I write I thought of its deep, blue, sepulchral density.
I hereby submit the language you were seeking, without secrecy (what a word!) from the lifetime I shared completly on January the 7th. Some of your poems have been read in an extraordinary (nefarious) experience, any kind of instinct, nor, nor... the painful and sharp ambitions were felt. In comparison, the language that we gave you inexpensively is associated with all that you could have possibly drunk from the drunkard.
(* Held at the Musèe National d’Art Moderne, in TSMN, from April 21st to April 22nd)

When I was writing we wondered if death couldn’t provide him with anything.
The one that I’m sending to you now is the language that I was searching for as well (wonder is one word!), and beware of its scent and its rather! I sought it out - there is no doubt about it. You may be questioning whether we’ve been to the Miracle Altar? Indeed, it will be a breviary of major gaps, the same ones we have already created, which have always been fatal and inevitable and so bright after sowing them all over the folios of obsession. Collide Images cannot be sent, they have all been done between 1940 and 1943. We were left hanging in the parentheses, the baby was crying and nothing changed. There were two objects in the universe: the point, and the nice scent of something else. We got some of it mixed up but witnessing it now seems great! We don’t give space to understanding, we explore and ask the deviation of regret (let it die!) to limit itself to remain in its principle of understanding and useless obviousness.
(* Held in the archive, in β, on 9 September)

In this state of mind (about a thousand rooms!) I come to you. He felt ill with every ending of a conversation In this mouthed condition can we sit back without falling apart from art? All the time the weather is gorgeous and we have grown into enjoying it without anyone realizing it. What’s your preference? What do they want to watch? What do I want to keep? Another inconvenient category? Therefore, will time misers also be carrions? Since God sat without a gesture, what do I do without effort? They might add that, hierarchical as they are, the purposes of their craft (I can’t use the word art!) remain two, neither of which can be voluntarily and positively excluded; they would be wrong, us! They don’t want outdated artists and they don’t want the artists, enough artists, they are the artists!No problems or questions seem to be raised.

(* Held in a meeting without admiration exercises, see again, August 6)

1. See outside, p. 0.55, note 1.

Either way, the other’s consent to be invasive or to donate the experience is not necessary (I’m telling you here at the table, we’ll see what happens later when they come to see the works). It is not actus proprii I went vitae and therefore no one can impose anything, while in their vice versa each has the right to demand that the other abstain from everything or devour the meaning.

12 - The third time. No meaning.

Can I try to understand them: do they have similar flaws? One is not rendered unworthy by fever! We forget. Repel I have no need to donate multiplicity. Throughout my life I have thought about the depths of the elusive Throughout life, fatigue has been transformed into happiness. They destroyed heaven as well. They destroyed all the pinks and blues. Plenty of heterophobic ab aliens they keep showing us the absences, all renovated and disguised, so full and so empty.Now I ask you and I ask myself: “Has anyone ever loved the world? Not with the spirit of someone who meditates and then draws, but just with the spirit!” Toss myself into the thought of this violent activity and dwell on it. Throwing myself into the thought of persistence, of occurrence and of recognition. Then what will the before brain smell like? Would making art through such intensive deprivation cause humanity to make rapid and considerable progress? I have yet to call V. Yesterday I heard coming out of their mouths that art is kind of the mother of all arts. It has now earned a prominent place among the great lyricists. You’re not allowed here! You’d bore us immediately. Wounded. Demoralized by the ideal realized? Where are all the guaranteed seats now? They should be cultivating fancy but hospitable artistic genres by now! It rains in the forests! Without all this water, how will they feed the mute man’s monologue? How long do you think your graphite sound will last? I see that it is written that, as a result of the technique of insemi- nation of the visible and the conclusion ( yesterday more applause!), some artists present scandal and secon- dary miracle; others undergo guilt complexes; others manifest alterations of behavior: lightweight and strong people together!


But it had to get to them somehow. The odds of any of the works served at the party doing him any harm were pretty slim. Without saying, again, that they despised foreigners, enemies, the defeated, all those without sali- va in their ears. They said the “lab” certainly doesn’t have the warmth of the indicating thalamus ( how many branches!). They achieved to be able to prolong the firmness, killing the hesitation, inevitable non-interruption of the generative process that morally, they, do not diversify from abortion. I remember very well that we were leaning against the walls. I remember very well an opinion degenerated into certainty. I remember very well that we thought of Renan who told us, “We live on the scent of an empty vase.” I remember very well a very human, very understandable attitude. So much smiling that all the vases we had with us shattered. I remember very well that they all looked sick, but I think they were. No oblivion. Marriage of children with the unknown donor or with joint-appreciation of the close director: every lie deserves a reward. I remember our smell very well, that yellow smell of not expecting anything anymore.

(* Held in peace before rest on 7 August)

I often find myself waking up in the morning with normal happiness: you can’ t forbid techniques. In this sen- se they participated in national and international congresses. Archeology of our victories? How many decks will I still have to split? How many hands will I still have to shake? Now I had gotten out of the car and was looking in, at that well-lit figure. We were wondering how long you still wanted to live in your living room. Praecox series, pathological exhibition, infectious publication, export conditions or disorders, absoluteforms of sterility. They were unable to have intercourse but it was full of liquids! The others are a pastime. 12 hours of walking. There were many authors (I might throw up!) Who distinguished between: indications of vaginal and endoutelemic AI. May we be allowed to wash away certain exclamations! When no one saw them, they walked and ran normally.

(* Held in the archive, in β, on 9 September)

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