i am for those

who  – so that others

may  might  move

with grace n sprezzatura

ungainly twist into less

than comfortable positions

(of which there are

as boddhisattva leonard

cohen NO s) various.

i am for those who

bow their heads

to smash their skulls

because there is no i

* <     ,       **

This LAMELLA, this organ, whose characteristic is not to exist, but which is nevertheless an organ… is the libido. It is the libido, qua pure life instinct, that is to say, immortal life, irrepressible life, life that has need of no organ, simplified, indestructible life. It is precisely what is subtracted from the living being by virtue of the fact that it is subject to the cycle of sexed reproduction. And it is of this that all the forms of the objet a that can be enumerated are the representatives, the equivalents… The lamella is an entity of pure surface, without the density of a substance, an infinitely plastic object that can not only incessantly change its form, but can even transpose itself from one to another medium: imagine a “something” that is first heard as a shrilling sound, and then pops up as a monstrously distorted body. A lamella is indivisible, indestructible, and immortal – more precisely, undead in the sense this term has in horror fiction: not the sublime spiritual immortality, but the obscene immortality of the “living dead” which, after every annihilation, re-composes themselves and clumsily goes on. As Lacan puts it in his terms, lamella does not exist, it insists: it is unreal, an entity of pure semblance, a multiplicity of appearances which seem to envelop a central void – its status is purely fantasmatic. This blind indestructible insistence of the libido is what Freud called “death drive,” and one should bear in mind that “death drive” is, paradoxically, the Freudian name for its very opposite, for the way immortality appears within psychoanalysis: for an uncanny excess of life, for an “undead” urge which persist beyond the (biological) cycle of life and death, of generation and corruption. This is why Freud equates death drive with the so-called “compulsion-to-repeat,” an uncanny urge to repeat painful past experiences which seems to outgrow the natural limitations of the organism affected by it and to insist even beyond the organism’s death – again, like the living dead in a horror film who just go on.

i told you you wld be

wasting your time talking

to her / however; you would not be

wasting your time / if you were

dancing with her

hoho! hold! hold! that! it is SEXist! urmphf, bARFF, guLp, gollywop, munch, chomp,

time is such a faultloose spear you whisper
you have loved enuff  now let me be
the lover(.)  “she” is an-dromedan, an-hegamon
she pictures every thing in place where
they already were. i wear my neck, i vassal up
& hikkup LORD


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