Interference Note (after Rimbaud)

I understood money as a knife, would
use that centrifuge > London, rotating
embers of an abstract city, capital
in red & black. It was sleeping, we were
awake inside it > the opposite is also true
has blocked the anti-matter of the speaking I
has secreted memory < confronted its being
as bourgeois love, that cannibal monstrosity
wherein government is at war with thought’s
productions of transparency < a pretty little
enzyme dissolved our face’s history, privatised
the place and the formula > consciousness
in exile, mass without number, insurrection
is value. Meanings excoriate the enemy language.

*

It is impossible fully to grasp Rimbaud's work, and especially Une Saison en Enfer, if you have not studied through and understood the whole of Marx's Capital. Consequently, none of the poets for the past half-century has understood Rimbaud. - Lenin, Zurich, 1915

Notes on Utopian Astronomy

The City of Dis

here's something I was working on about a year ago. I never really finished it, but thought I might as well stick it up . . . .

after Rimbaud

here is a picture > is a kind of glass
a simple stone would define < the year
is that particular and no longer is our

ie friend < specific locks refined our vision
& history returned. was armed > we didn’t
die there, those angles were unavailable

fire is physical time. is absolute unrest
or total war < interior logic of music’s
new definitions. millbank > build bonfires

say we choked their mirror, a heated
flicker > or we know what people used
to eat in pictures < we are eating stones

*

- There are sirens in this city. Their songs are grim and surgical.
- There is an alarm clock ringing sixty minutes a second.
- There’s a hole in the ground filled with gas and white plague.
- There’s a burning cathedral. A wedding of vampires and stealth.
- There’s a bully van painted red and black.
- There are figures on the rooftops. Archers and cameramen.
- And when you stand up and say 'enough of this', there’s always someone to shoot you in the face.

after Rimbaud (by any means necessary)

December 2010. a high metallic wire. content exceeds phrase.

slight shift in geometry / slight interruption
in the flow of their / crimson & guillotined
bacterial princes / shifted / rivets of history

ok. theirs is a more stupid alphabet. sections to be ringed and taken away.
unspoken contradictions in their footsteps. a universe devoid of images.
an october we thought we couldn’t have. external symbols within our sky.

its fraudulent summaries -
its disappeared names -

back now to our studies. negation of the negation. we will raise the dead.

after Rimbaud

of Downing Street, that assembly of ghouls & defunct regimes
of the warm November wind, our absurd paupers’ memories

outside London it is all geometry, a euphemism for civil war
I remember our cotton dresses, those ribbons and bows

we skirted the disks of the city, its deserted, dying angles

we were wearing flags and pretty flowers, but our memories
at several intersections they opened into vast arched domes

of that other life, its obnoxious circles, of relics and animal love
the horrific quantity of force we will need to continue even to live

*

When you meet a Tory on the street, cut his throat
It will bring out the best in you.
It is as simple as music or drunken speech.
There will be flashes of obsolete light.
You will notice the weather only when it starts to die.

from a notebook