SANDPAPER
A man impregnated a fly. Today he complains about his offspring. He sets traps around the house.
The children are resistant bags.
IN PRAISE OF THE LAW
When he inserted his key, another door opened. Never the chosen one.
TOWARD A THEORY OF MISREADING
That time, the poet Homer had sat down on a mound on Collins Street. The door of a Mustang sounded. Five redheads asked whether he was Billy Faulkner. Why have you written insults against Helen T? And without giving him time for theories, they finished him off with a baseball bat.
Homer’s sandwich ended up pecked apart by gray seagulls, abundant in the area at the end of April, which breeds lilacs out of dead things.
THE OBESE
They pass a consumptive man from ear to ear before dinner, sweep their teeth with a mastiff. They make love on a wall, cut out with scissors for fear of vertigo. Cemetery of abdomens: flatulent region.
DISCOURSE OF THE MULTIPLE
Once upon a time there was a man, although in the end he was a leaf, a calcium, an armchair, or rather, a lead weight.
Is there not here a very great flaw in conduct, that is, in semantics?
EVERY CITY IS TROY OR REASON OF CRITICISM, REASON OF WRITING
He published a text about K; they said it sounded like Piglia.
He published a text about Piglia; they said it sounded like K.
He published a text about himself; they said he thought he was Ulysses.
He published a text about Ulysses; they said it sounded like Homer.
He published a text about Homer; they said he had not read The Iliad.
He published a text about The Iliad; they imprisoned him for subversion.
He published a text about cages; they said he thought he was Pound.
(He published this text; they said it sounded like Monterroso).
ANCIENT
It is known. Every staircase is the karma of the twisted man. In the tradition of obscure peoples, staircases were abolished. Rat-men remain.
THE ELEMENTS OF THE NIGHT
Close the light, turn off the door. No, impossible to locate the bed. Get up, turn on the light, close the door. From door to light, one meter five. Move the bed up to that light, though not far from the door. Better the bed between light and door. With one hand turn off the light, with the other hand close the door. Door that, once closed, does not even close. One meter five, the same between door and light. From the center of the bed extend the arms. Open the light, obstruct the door — amphibological narrative. Door that closed even though. When turning on the light, open the door. When closing the door, ibidem. And the bed? It can be solved, one meter five. Turn on light with definition of door. Turn off door at the same time as the light without moving the bed. It can be solved. Elongate the body between light and door at the center of the bed, which is also a bed. Left, right, shoulders. Then sleep, kill fatigue between bed and door, between light and bed, with eyes cut by the L at the same time as also the D. Do not include another element, such as a table with a handicraft object one meter twenty-five from a bed that is also a bed. It can be solved. The ubiquitous thing is to shut the light, turn on — narrate — the bed although the door.
INSOMNIA
Burroughs
He tied his eyes with two ampoules. One was blue, the other forbidden.
THE VICTORY OF NORWAY, 899 B.C.
A king stands beside his dog. Both survived the battle. Cruel was the night. Heads, pikes, and armor lie scattered across a field.
“Our acts forge history,” said the King.
“History is a set of subjective opinions always subject to revaluation, redefinition, or guilt,” objected the hound.
ON THE INCORRIGIBLE
If by mistake — bureaucracy is implacable in city-Klem — they capture the sibylline one of Rumbo-No, scuba spy in linguistic coves where signifiers coincide with the deaths of the reader, they defenestrate both, captor and prisoner, while uttering the word Ur.
Years later, a curve of blood surrounds that enclosure beneath the window sill.
DIGRESSIONS AND ELUCUBRATIONS OF THE INVISIBLE PROFESSOR
Ask Nietzsche. Inferior men build skyscrapers. Demiurges build nothing. Nothing is the idyllic space where the just man couples with his likeness, the panther.
REFLECTIONS OF MAYA HAKIN
The nocturnal visitor enters, sits on the floor, and cries.
He once lived in our house. Today he is a ghost with the face of resentment or an opossum. He smells as bad as on the first day my mother brought him to live beside us.
Although he has died — my mother swears as she runs, scissors in hand, shouting through the living room — his ghost still haunts the room of multiple objects.
PHONETICS
The mute split their tongues pronouncing the word hypercartomonography.
TOWARD A THEORY OF CIRCUMSTANCE
The disciple JC writes an essay about the master RSM. The master scorns it. “The laudatory without depth is contrary to the meaning of the path.”
After decades of study, the disciple JC writes a second essay. The master scorns it. “The obsession with recognition rigorously departs from the path. Residues of impurity.”
On the last day of his old age, the disciple writes a third essay about the master RSM. Then he kills himself. The master scorns it. “The path of destruction strays from satori. It obstructs all teaching.”
Seeing this, the master RSM chooses another disciple.
AIRPORTS I
The security people notice something strange.
Perhaps you are carrying a bomb under your underwear, and they are going to search you. You are against the wall. Sniffed by psychologists. Through your rectum they inoculate you with cables, detectors, microchips. They destroy your suitcase, tear up the photographs of your mother. Through funnels they force you to drink that blue paste.
Your number coincides with the eye of a ghost.
ORIGIN OF LYRIC POETRY
A rabid dog is expelled from the place of Origin. The disease activates his clock. He measures time in convulsions. He swallows an intestine. He watches other peripheral dogs dismember a cyanotic animal. He studies them. Purpose is what he has: to lobomotize the hygienist. Not destined for the great feast, the dog writes his first poem:
oh
oh
dis
frac
t
ure
THE DEFENSE
Alberto Rauschenberg had always been normal, until that night of July 13, amid the heat and the noise, he began to watch the cockroaches. They sprouted from behind the utensils at great speed. They slipped through cracks in the floor. They reappeared, countless, on the milk flan.
Alberto Rauschenberg watching the cockroaches while the clock increased its speed. The cockroaches between Alberto Rauschenberg’s fingers, watching his eyes move like a pendulum.
“Clusters,” he said. “Clusters,” he repeated. And then “Clusters,” 775 times. That is recorded in the jury’s minutes. Then, honorable citizens, Alberto Rauschenberg stood up without thinking, entered the room where his wife was sleeping, and ate her head.
LIMITS AND INSURANCE
Out of desperation of being, a Kantian thing, we fracture the social. It is time now to burn your house.
AS ON EARTH AS IN HELL
“What happened, Your Honor, was that, upon slipping, I fell on top of that erect virile member.”
“How many times?” asked the judge.
“Some 20 or 25 times, during the fatal night, Your Honor.”
“Consecutively?”
“Yes…”
“Louder,” ordered the hierarch.
“Yes, sir!” the woman repeated firmly.
“Very well,” ruled the petty monarch, bringing the gavel down with a dry blow, “I declare her innocent. And the defendant shall pay a fine of 10,000 dollars and serve 6 years in prison.”
Immediately afterward, 15 guards handcuffed a man. After placing a black hood over his head, they led him out through the door marked LAW.
RE-ENCOUNTERS
Do not be run over by a rhinoceros. The streets multiply these machines. If you perceive one, run perpendicular to the end.
OBSERVATORIES I
A man comes, sits down, reads the newspaper. Another man comes, sits down, reads the newspaper. A third comes, sits down, reads a sports magazine.
The first man gets up, leaves the newspaper on the bench. The second man gets up, leaves the newspaper on the bench. The next one gets up, leaves the magazine on the grass.
The first and the second begin conversations near the park clock. The third leaves and says nothing.
MAGISTERIUM
The Rector stimulated her liturgy classes with a branch soaked in alcohol and ants. With a Zen gesture, she moved the edge of her panties aside until exposing the orifice. The tip rummaged between her legs. Surprised by a disciple, she explained her doctrine without neglecting the twig.
ROUTINES OF AN ALTAR BOY
Every morning I leave my dream. I have breakfast and enter myself. Then I decide to pursue myself. All day behind my shadow, behind my delays. Until at last I catch up with myself, corner myself, and decide to face myself. I take out the knife, but the chimes ring.
INSTRUCTIONS FOR AN ORAL FIXATION
When cleaving the epithelium of a Chinese lady, block her throat with a book so she will not scream like certain doors.
OBSERVATORIES III
An old woman came, sat down. Another old woman came, sat down. A third old woman came and said nothing. Nor did she sit down.
Image: George Grosz, 1917-18, The Funeral (To Oskar Panizza), oil on canvas, 140 x 110 cm, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, Stuttgart.
