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theblackbottomofawell

on the mathematics of memory

TW: RAPE

i was working on a manuscript. a longish thing. i had notes, poetry, a chaotic s-o-c story holding the through-line, essayistic & discursive side-winds. the content was 'processing': 

IDEA: linguistic EMDR, literary recalibration, delicate but harshly critical, multi-form, slowly increasing in horror until resolved in a magical episode where words themselves have a body & walk away. [sic]

fun.  

but i lost everything @ the start of 2018. the document was corrupted somehow & i wrote so little of it down on paper....

life imitating art, no?

this is all that remains of those 47 pages. i put it here to let it go.


Nach Hieroglyphenkriegen der Kuss eines geschmuggelten Grizzlys
— Sonja vom Brocke, "Le Luxe"

extracted from lost:

...dass sie eine Haut haut.

a manucull


POLICE REPORT

& on the day i was raped
& my money was stolen
& my bag was stolen
& my pass was stolen
& my books were stolen

& i ran to the bottom
& of the mt to my street
& saw a man rising
& slow as an ox
& he pulled gum from his pocket

& yes yes gum gum
& it was gumgumgum

& i told him what happened
& frantic he didn't understand
& he didn't have the language

& hamba wena!, all he said

& then i went home
& told half the story
& my story was stolen
& rupy said welcome to SA

& i saw the maid that week
& shortly before my birthday
& i remember this because
& she looked & saw too

& the self-defense class
& booked the next day
& rupy came w/ & said
& welcome to SA
& i never said thank you
& i only laughed
& held the rubber gun
& my skin peeled
& @ the knuckle
& the colour still
& fresh in my throat
& the colour of steel

& on the day i was raped
& the money was stolen
& the bag was stolen
& the raped was stolen
& the mt was raped
& the man was raped
& the home was raped
& the maid was raped
& the laugh was stolen
& the gun was knuckle
& the colour was money
& the skin was skinned
& the raped was raped
was raped was raped


ANY,THING,i

[...] you think enou gh time but they cant let matters off like i show peace able, body like a rotting fish [...],

soon, the whole thing goes up & down a great big elevator, the prison is jetzt, the full mark of a dead bird hitting the window cover, dont know who threw it there, more than likely, everyone thinks shes a witch, the rain is pattering on some foggy fen where she was born, btwn the brack & the little doggies her momma made-up in bows came licking away the bloody mess, clean shes taken in by candlelight momma, waddling through the doorway into country house somewhere Sachsen set & cold

THE MATHEMATICS OF MEMORY

december


it is the case that our referents for Ausleute (here, the external Cartesian ego, but also object-Otherness) lie on our (aot their) self-delimited axes of value & memory.

value is a spherical Geist encompassing the universe of adjectival surmise--simply put, from good to bad or from love to hate or &c. it surrounds like a haunting, but is yet [...]

memory is a Bilderbuch--concrete, yet flatly self-referential & given exteriority & narrative dimensionality exclusively through extrapolation. we must loom for ourselves. 

both require imagination.

Ausleute actively remembered (A) institutes both axes of imagination, & can be plotted in the Cartesian manner:

A = (v,m)

the whole matrix, all points plotted, Leben. this is here represented: 

L = ∞(A)

where time/experience () is an modal element of L & A is static.

further,

i ⊃ L

where i represents Cartesian ego

over a given period of time (Sein), the power set of i grows at a rate of ∞ per i:

S = (℘(i))/i

the potential value we place on Ausleute & the potential memories thereof/about (Überleben), exist in a framework larger than the framework of origination (Unterleben):

Ü ⊃ U

where

 U = {(L,S) | (L,S) ∈  i}

Ü = {U}

i remember as a means of mapping & my mapping is a means of the universe to know itself. Geisten & Bilderbücher [...] acutely worrying is the static. 


SHOSHOLOZA


everything i am belongs. out of this, i will

come home. "Never


let your heart unfold

with the flowers of spring / One inch of love

is an inch of ashes" 


this is the catapult of a raging lung:

this is the hunger of dirt:

justis


A      S       A       K      I      N      G       D      O      M,       S      H      E

likes a nice chat though we don't do that much these days, [...] thing can't come out to play no more.

i'm here, if you [...].

this room becomes like an old Bühne, shining lamp an actors lamp for Geisten, curling w/ the halfmoon of my step, drinking baleful as a guppy, frame tip to toe, they wont let the window cover down, imagine me standing, there stark as a rabbit licking their lips like jelly, nothing to be, done, proof that's what, photo from, send it out into the world saying im here im here in this damn place come & find me, but faded like a lunatic, the world, a distance round as a bicycle grip, [...]. 

[...], not sure, can't be sure of anything, my tongue wont even form the words for it to explain, there is nothing behind, the tv, clack on the wall, it goes again & i'm turning like a spoke, proven like a theorem when, my ear touches & i hear it again & a voice somewhere behind, [...].

the whole of the thing is made up of what [...], boonie, can't let that go, can't let my fingers rest a single second, the whole thing is a makebelieve livelikethat youcanbe sort, nightmare like yard furniture, shopping in the section, whole thing in relief, the white rent [...].

which [...] if [...] deep[er] than any,thing,i ever saw.


F
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A
A
A
A
A
A
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A

E
E
E
E
E
E

E
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A

A
A
A
A
A
E
E
E
E
E
A
A
A
A
A
A

R
R
R
R
R
R

R
R
R
A
A
A
A
A
A

A

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the tumbled lock turning / what's turned / not a bird left thru / the close cage of breasts /   

but a tree / 

branch in winter / black & bitter like a beard / three burning / book / leaves /

flap completely cold / pages / colours true blood / land on the prison of ice like a bag / melting to a mirror what /

was already there /

there are gloves on the laptop warming but the fingers don't enter risk /

the Nazi stock /

a Stasi stumm /

this is the offer plate for Christ /

on a train that's lost i sleep a dirt mite /

in the furrows of a buried beast /