About May '09

To be seated above something, to understand the distant, getting hold of future, finding words for the voids, driving the motion, and receiving emails, and at least at one point doing what you don’t know what it is, are all parts of something particular? What is the extreme of concreteness? What is the password for getting an erection? One couldn’t get that constantly, that changes. Shapes are reformed, changes are not informed. First, one should know about the username, password is the presence. Do not ignore something you don’t know. And when there is a presence, who can forget the erection? Solipsism, is masturbation a lie? Does penis make a man subject? If humiliation was the constructive material of your existence, you would see nothing of yourself. You would not have made it, away from incompleteness. What does it mean to be an anti-art? Is art something you want to have it preceding you? Or just you can’t reach it? Humiliating or being humiliated? What the fuck is this word? Anyway art is not a field. Better say I have nothing rather than declaring I don’t have anything. Once I remember I was thinking about the last breaths, doing so I checked my name on the web, Wikipedia.org to see if there was any me. I completely forgot about my… em… what is it? I guess there was a me, I tried to be part of the whole entity. Superimposing and then dissolving to the image of a… em… I don’t know what. Did you ignore the part about being old? Erection because of death, is it a lie? English translated words, Farsi translated words, isn’t there a cycle that brings us meaninglessness, emptiness? Isn’t it a lie to make love with a dumb human, with a passive being? Love is nothing but improvisation, stream of dreams. Discourse: textual intercourse, I need your body; I need you to read it aloud. ( I have a little box using it as an ashtray. I keep it secretly in my room. And who cares? A cigarette smells good before being burnt, but after that smells sharply bad, as non-existence of hope.) Repeatedly saying the word love, repeatedly saying the word love, repeatedly reading the word love on your lips, what if someone kiss you on your glasses leaving lip stick mark on it? I laugh you, I do, out of humiliation. Is there today anything more bourgeois than being a leftist? Is there anything more right than being a proletariat? Do yourself a favor and check the word Catharsis on a dictionary or that Wikipedia or something. You might see that how frustrating our maternal language is. We don’t even have a word for orgasm. What is it that makes the shape of a female butt desirable for a man, the form of the object or the function of the subject? We think about things that we can’t talk about. Are women always masturbating? This whole writing thing has made me sick, I’m throwing up. There would be an ease I hope, but after that, what is it more than a vacancy?

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