Jean-René Lassalle
Some
conceptual obligations
© 1998 by Jean-René Lassalle and gangan books australia
Some conceptual
obligations
written for Das
Synthetische Mischgewebe
in the greenhouse of memories
under sapphire blue glass walls at this level of dream you promise
to decorate-configure the sky by jumping above the house. he
seemed to say I want to die says the playmaster who divided
humanity in 150 archetypes with murderous instincts. but
localizing the sleepy fevers one greets the mask of an indigo
sailor and the incision of a broken furnace dispossessing the
painful areas. the bee-women with topaz yellow porcelain miter the
junction of the nevrome with the cabbage of torso and on the ochre
furrows your shadows of thread-humans stretch honeyed-awoken by a
scintillating scotome to devour make winds and excrete. the wonder
mosca of emerald green with its blinking diode-entrails saccades
its wings of transluxjade as a hypnotized heart observing the
you-observer whose seed infuses the menstrual blood to feed the
upcoming child with ruby red cheeks? in the center of the earth
dressed as birds they grieve the frail supercoding visited by the
ecstatic at their tables of corn. to each who tells the story of
his/her travel they reach a crown of golden cardboard, then there
must be a displayed map in song of who wants to live and let live,
a real sun on his ornithological trail through the
rampart-mountains where on bridges apricot eyes try to peer into
eternity. As-it-seems she crushes a blue berry which is tears of
want on the crepe wall before the trees with mammal forms. take
one of these faces of whitening stone in prayer in an oppressing
political system and fry it gaily in the other world. the garden
howls slow in the powder morning and dressed as birds they eat a
temporary tobacco mud on tables of dust on which a green finch
tramples. the four mariposa sailors suck on a verbena syrup in
pnose the sea that slips from their own eyes vibro. abandon your
youth pacifying cuts which the eye of the judge magnifies with his
glass. paying another row the foe sabotages joy but you surge
differently constituted in the same house same season when the
alveolates diffused their luminous tricks which the wind fissures
green towards the sea. carcerated by the sadic's ten fingers
crocheted the critic negates the mutating thought and throws out
its skin of orvet-chameleon dressing up the orpheon of musical
workers. watched by the wavering censor dripping with incarnation
o abandon the fire in your brain even if the slower stops the wind
of the sun the blurring vanishing of the painter with his brush of
squirrel tail frees the floating alas scars-cysts of humor.
perturbations brazier of dawn in the intermittence of words and
acts. // leaves the world drilled by the axis in bric-a-brac
bricks of multicolored wood assembled by ear salt-day lights
water. did she hang herself manipulating an oven in which the
image of a mirror runs a glass habitus. praying the sun to come
back and melt this glass, damaging its "who's that" she was
answered in the sky and her eyes weave the I-arabesque, pointed
index that lights her amplifying the brocade but wondering in
caresses on her soul at the bottom of the vermilion mine, life at
stake on one of her signifying-jingling ears.
body-magnifying-prism which the swaying rays educate
conventionally its name, sisal roots growing through work to
progress sealed down to the central magma, plaited hair closely
filed in a workshop for a dimmed gleaming the broke competition.
throwing starballs on the frozen path for a salary. measured
branches lose themselves in a hierarchy of break-bees, the sun
escapes her friendship, she reintegrates her ecliptics on an
affective bridge to eat and learn. sperm jelly slowed down, the
small dwarf gags his mouth with a cross of corroded leaves in the
lukewarm water of the container, low strings of coral whited on
white on which lands a fragrant lion-ant. sends her the video of
his own suicide precipitated in lace near a wine-press from which
we can drink. always in a ghostly relationship holds the wings at
rest into a roof upon the skin dissolved by the fingers. she lives
on braiding at the costs of your excuses. fumes underwater this
crime of the lighthouse-keeper in an octane shelter I cannot
accept it. yellow god springing a tree sometimes maintained by
several silk sticks. sun under dark sky a difficult initiatic
practice in which one will hibernate and nymphose. there is no
matter to recognize only the richness of systems. through the
slipping of neighboring units the living machine passes over the
associative life in the autumnal mutation in order to increase its
capacity. fragilized seashells by celerity the loss of the moral
valve is dry cold to shred-nerves in the wintry peace without a
religious impatience. none will comfort you for the extermination
but you under the azure fan. the dream retakes the city: I am
thrown by a monster into the acceleration, vibrating snow whizzes
on the screen where I see myself stepped upon underwater. this
joyous person waves at me from the family that some glass marbles
drip from the branches. cry her death at deaf violence circled by
eccentric mechanical animals, the explanation: the pain one
inflicts upon oneself is mediamultiplied thru the snow that hums
above the violence accumulated in accepted fascination on the
mysterious screen where the electronic snow glimmers.
aggressiveness in feedback projected on a friend kills him. will
the sky blaze up. wet fir-trees catching fire flakes. inside the
cell: thought mastered in spirals. the white-stained sky deepens
the pressure of a bright upon the robotic-hand-golden-spider full
of gravel which strives inside the moist road. in spite of an
electric chair with needles and a telephone-booth with burns the
gang of children sat on the ground unknowing the sensation letting
the bicycles pass by with their lights out laughing in the
twilight waiting for the black butter train intense which the
stimulus lights in the eyes through the nociceptors. ghost hand
dips into the receptors encompassed a christ of january stone
contorts himself in the tunnel cuticle arms drying in the wind on
a corn wall. inside ice the train is speeding and a ball that
miaows and a star that peeks. loss of the ability to feel skyward
at the bottom of the road the golden pigment tactile melts in the
gutter. the hand of glory appeases the scorching
danger-to-integrity. lightray take me friend to the enkephalines
spinning the cotton barbed-wire at the jays'. whispering a dust of
horn in siam looking from above the skull at a moon face lying on
the floor of the nearly hollow house. smiling dark side in a
position opposite to years. attentive to the small silvery
scissors, slightly lane maud would be dead if separated but we do
not slow sleigh world curved on the yellow carpet. in a ray which
could disentangle us the mint of the sun had come from a snow
landscape. and we don't speak about it. and if in a dream she has
a lavender lover in red barley he would have to accept these
ululating half-moons in fern under the wind. and I wouldn't want
any falling one after the other. when the invisible writing is
angry a tiny blue night-light inside a blinding sheet keeps
hopping rounding the withering flower and does not want to ever be
alone alize in alimony water and Mond lounge in lane b. the janus
face of the hilarious tri-twin at the place of work is scything in
horror in those regions with aurea kernels where contemplating the
cake-sky inverts the order of the world through very bearable
wounds between which the elected king in myrrh reverberates
garrote a meringue at the sleeper's and is undressed naked by the
servant of tones, beer in an autumn fire which paraphes the mouth,
in a jester's robe, caudalis of cobalt dolphins paddle forth both
gates of the sky opening the interpolaris onto the year with 175
feast-days. why anesthetize with mauve dawn the masks of icy
desafferentation in stratocirrus oil of their absent hands which
own the counting of time at the rainy level of the nevraxe in the
veins of fusing silver of the city where with still steps up to
the cowbells of light they brag-bell and sing the changing time
and we recognize them in the axis of day: burn.
E-mail dsm@club-internet.fr
For more information about the poetic work of J.R. Lassalle and the visual collaboration with the artistic group Das Synthetische Mischgewebe, browse the website: http://www.v2.nl/freezone/users/dsm