NAZI

Obviously
you want to step
with your muddy shoes
on my naked body in my house and
fuck my beautiful wife pressed to the wall

I started
I ate up a piece of paper
I attacked another paper with a pen
The pen wouldn't touch it
My fingers wouldn't touch the keyboard
I was engaged in a fingerwrestling
I gobbled up the paper

I was unable to write even about nothing
As it would instantaneously turn into something

In schizoid desperation
I looked at the wall
My glance alas did not taste the wall
All the four sides were covered with walls
And these completely hidden beneath plenty of bookshelves
The books
In the bookshelves they were all arranged with their backstraps turned to the wall

There you go
My real
My gigantic canvass
Upon which
I create

Why?

I take out my nerve-pallette of enormous sizes
The motley gamma of all the hues of my nerves
Strewn and sputtered savagely upon it

I clapped my hands walked a bit the bathroom ran up to me I washed myself it went back with the two already well nerved hands I grasped my feet resting on the carpet the magnetic field of which was exciting the hair on my feet with its magic ghosts and turned myself upside down I dipped the wet hair of my head into my incandescent nerve-pallete which kept growing richer with newer subtle nerve subhues second after second and on my vast canvass I painted heterochromatic fallen leaves and a woman's boob that has become an anthill an ant crawling out of the nipple
Then I undid the image and in that very place on the canvass compounded of thousands of books
I painted
My immense
Self-portrait

I admired

I admired

Till fifty after twenty three

Like you, I myself don't know how long it was
But a little bit later

When they came
I was in the altitudes of megalomania
And each visitor
Would pertly violate
The limits of the marginal permissibility
Of my totalized elevation compulsion
I was in euphoria of deep despair
I told them and
I am telling it to you too
That I will create such a work
That'll bring forth a paradox taking unawares -
you decide whom

I am going to create a work
Which will elucidate that in fact
The word art had
Emerged long before the art as a phenomenon did
après la lettre
in contrast to
avant la lettre

That is to say there was the signifier at the beginning
And then the signified appeared
And moreover millenniums later And moreover
Thanks to me!

And it is I that says,
a birth of the XX century
mothering schizophrenia,
ripe and vigorous a character
of the centenary causing a massive disease
called "Allergy from the XXI century"

I am a Nazi
An Artist by nationality

My audience had come on a visit - some of them had come to me
And some of them to my self-portrait
In a nut-shell
To themselves

I took a look at them
I felt i was in a room covered entirely with false mirrors
And saw myself only
restless
All alone

They were continuously doing something
I personally communicated with those who had visited me
And to enable the communication between my self-portrait and its visitors
I was not jerking my huge self-portrait
By rapidly shifting some books
My huge self-portrait was an image integrating all possible moods
Positions ages situations states contexts

The canvass itself was wonderful
I never keep crap books

A teenage girl
Was laughing her head off
I was calmly watching her
extremely tightened lips
I thought I was in some restroom looking into a bowel
While flushing water
In the spittle drained out of her
We were breathlessly trying to catch sight of
the granulated reflection of my picture
a unique Walhorian replication
CRESCENDO on end

I was growing more and more conscious
That the name and the thing
Can never be identical
Therefore the very truth is inexpressible
At least through language
If it is not the language itself!

It is the middle of Summer today

The farther I stood watching her
The cuter she seemed
Quite like my far future

In time is whatever I do
Even my delay is in time
Whatever it is, I choose the possibility to choose
But I felt how I was losing
my equilibrium,
then yours,
my orientation in space,
my feeling of time,
your feeling of time,
I lost the pangs of remorse,
I lost the remorse of pangs,
My clothes I had on hid from me,
I turned tone-deaf,
By coming out of home I go outside
By coming home I go outside
I dumped her
The most loving and the most devoted creature throughout the entire universe
'Cause I could hardly believe…
'Cause… I didn't give a damn!

Because I do largely prefer impulses to women
I am ready to sacrifice the latter
For the sake of the First!

sounds from all sides,
no sound from no side
neither sounds nor sides
With schizoid despair
I began to count my fingers,
I fell off the count into the rabbit hole
But a bit later I felt
that something completely different is going on with me
It was mere frame judgment…
In fact I felt
the rabbit was falling through me
to reach nowhere

Tolling its bells
The Armenian church
Rattling its five cupolas
passed a long way
to reach me
it miaowed a bit
illuminated the fall of the rabbit hole through me
with a candle and seeing that
no landing is ever expected
blew out the candle
the church went its own way
up to the priests
lit a candle and
kneeling before the priests the church craved for remittal
I was unable to discern what I saw
Even unable to determine whether it was what I saw or what I heard
where am I?
migrating from youth
as ill luck would have it it is night
Oh I cannot make it
impossible to discern anything
is it my native city blinding with its shining beads?
Or is it rather the starry sky showing off its constellations
in my fist
or an ocean
in which both the city
and the starry sky
have found their reflections,
And I was in nirvana…
Where was I reaching?
Wherever a caravan
Without camels

But it is not that important
so
what happened with the hole of the falling rabbit
or with the rabbit of the falling hole
or with the falling rabbit hole
or with the falling of the rabbit and the hole
or why was it all falling?
or why just all that?

or
why what an answer am I to give to all that
what a blow-by-blow answer?
What's the sense of an answer on the whole
if I do not understand a trifle what the sense of life is

The sense of life is in the experiments to impart some sense to life

A rhetoric question follows any answer
So what?
Chicken butt!

Commiting social evils,
In real, they are evils as much as
they are unfavorable
for those rubberstamping and controlling law and order

O twaddle
Anyway one ought to forbear
After all it is the immorality
And not the morality
That underlies the true nature of human being

Morality is nothing
but the top manifestation of human hypocrisy

whether useful or just indispensable
anyhow hypocrisy

at least for acknowledging

Well, let's not disturb those who haven't yet.
The rest! Come on!
What I am only going to show
See!
Grab!
The instant!

In a single wink
Her eyes underwent all the enchanting phases of the moon
The ebb and flow inside me
bumped into each other
She touched me
at the right moment
in the right place
total chills protruding
through my hair like NY skyscrapers
All over my enviable body

She was slowly licking my tonguescrapers

I was shaving my hair in the wake of her lick

So what do you think?
Why create?

To me personally this issue has lost
All its former relevance
For me, creating
is as natural and indispensable a need
as pissing and shitting

I guffaw, swallow so many words and scenes and ideas daily
that I race up and down to my restroom and
sit before my lavatory bowl, namely, the computer and begin
the most esthetic
the most oracular
the most nonsensical
secretion!

Some incognito hand had addressed you and sent you
to this Work - At Call
You yourself may see that the Work has already received you
it's reading you
it has written a reply - vide supra