Distribution Automatique

Tuesday, January 20

Notebook: 2/1978

No matter who I am
nothing can completely
allow this silence.

I, who speak, can only repeat
who- not that which becomes
what we are now in relation to together-
I add. But I am not this personal
being who questions, who marks the
equations of what I have added
to your listening- to be
continually prior to it, to be
listening to this one, this I,
before I have imagined a later
answer, our exchange must be
immediately postponed. Set
before you immediately


Get rid of your be-longings
he cackles at me- I listened
to him once & followed his
call a long time ago. I
can speak.


To prepare for the reading I
looked up the word labyrinth
in the thesaurus


"I can stare."

Correspondences, coincidences,
criticisms, decisions,
cannibalisms, canizba (a sound
I don't yet recognize the meaning of,
going before and through.)

Before is not just the past.
Before is an emphasis of just
past. The recorded definitions.
The unspeakable ceremonies avowing
each letter going from one carved letter
to another inscription.

It took place near a marble
monument, stone anyway, which
is so dense with time it surrounds
itself with a wide air of silence,
of association. These vague structures,
reminiscent of so much that came
before, the many possible resemblances
to familiar objects of childhood,
like the height of the sink in relation
to your growing, or the red hot
glare of morality whicih can be
frozen into your heart by anger.
Against the pain of that yielding,
next to this serious weightiness is
juxtaposed the translucence of
the art of 1885-1912, the
fruitful years preceding the war.
That dream seems comical now