Chronic Invalidism

of Maxwell Clark

“[...] crowd-pressure and contagion [...]”

—William James, ‘The Energies of Men’

8.

Smoothing myself into an ambiance, for

You, each of you (as one); who chop me into idiot-

Concepts, while reading this; I pardon

Your already inexorable violations, of myself, insofar

As I “become” you, as myself do (have) entered your proper maw.

Murder regenerates life (the habit

Of identity), peace is never so free, as

The individuating sameness of organicity, it

Would grow imperially unlimited without

Its attendant sociability, as such hospitality

Holds us hostage of its exteriority,

i.e. Infinity.

7.

a.

O, prettiness, stay.

Stay with me,

If only just today.

Forgo nothing, be full, with me,

And we will ever be more and more ever flowery.

Reason is felt as feelings sincere,

Unthought.

Mastery obeys the disobedient, although

Untaught.

Blame me, pretty lover,

If I sing of you,

Blame me and no other

If I sing thus so true.

Once, and so forever,

I love you, so dearly

I do, I do so forever,

Forever so dearly us two.

b.

Others are there, over yonder,

And I cannot but ignore them

While you blossom under my kisses.

Too much of our love is,

If unavoidable, also unjust.

If I am closest to your nudity now,

When outside our bed I hear friends

I am also to obey them, however

Otherwise than erotic our ken.

6.

Redeeming the Sophist

of Maxwell Clark

Tremulous.

Alternative edit.
Panda oak-moss....

Ugliness is who sees it.

I am in your hearts, already since now.

A feast of flesh

Made word.

Objects are said to be.

This is of who is nearest.

A splendor leaves me pilotless.

Who are you to misread me?

You were absolutely unforeseen.

How can you not but believe?
And if mine ardors were only errancies

Somehow I may yet still make you pleased?

With garlands of pinkly orchids and so,

I believe this is the ludicrous protocol of it;

Do you not taste her milky sweet butters?
They are in the scene, like whoa.

I do not think, therefore I am.

Something follows from this.

Incoherence is no proof of insincerity. I hear you.

This is a test.

Never ask whereunto.

A song is a good thing to sing,

Because when it rhymes it rings

Like flower-bells in the haze of spring.

O, this is just a little song I sing.

These powerful.

(((Untold is my saying. I am saying it untold.)))

Forget this. Come to me. Take me.

Mobile homes.

I have no heart. But exhaustion fixes it.

I am having no heart.

How are you? I am very nice to meet us.

Eloquence is. It has the path of going.

This is plain and direct.

Did you undress? You are very beautiful.

I am full of cheap oranges. You are so very pretty.

Tell me about secrets.

But nor an airport, yet.

Do you electricity the snipers? hello?

You cookies of the power.

After this envelope.

Radiant fevers pixelate my ambiance.

Ultramaterial divinity. Turbo-speed.

More about how I do this.

How this is done is by who attends to it.

Colors are the sublime errancy of ideas.

Things are words said to the hands.

This is of who is nearest to it.

Who is nearest is how this addresses them.

Technology is inorganic life.

Heaven is not a dream, but the trauma of birth.

Cultures are for sharing.

I always try my hardest and do my best.

A Patois of Infinity

of Maxwell Clark

                                                                                       "[...]it could be discovered that they did                                                                                         not act from knowledge, but solely                                                                                         from the disposition of their organs[...]"

                                                                                         ---Descartes, Discourse on Method

Research: the proper grammatical case of "infinity"; if it even has one? On the confirmation of this case follows that of its neologistic conjugation (or cognate? both?)---"infinitism". Upon these two present lexical wonderments being most rigorously affirmed into their most determinate and proper cases of grammar, almost undoubtedly more must follow, however utterly unforeseeable these so fated revelations remain of yet. But, then, how does grammatical classification, especially one such as that just augured in the sentences previous to this, affect the conditions of our social life? as creation or infinity itself? (May yet infinity ever be properly, that is, grammatically predicated as of "itself" however? Or, isn't infinity never even once itself? as always otherwise transcending its once said conceptualizations, or absolutely restless?) Identifying grammatical cases, or, for this peculiar inquiry, alone those of the "terms" (this term, however, itself already also a highly suspect or inapropos term, because also terminating, or terminal, et. al, in its cognate connotations, and so thus also conflating its said concrete contextual references---e.g. "infinity", "infinitism"---into its own finite structure or closed set of valences) infinity and infinitism, if this hypothetical task ever prove achievable in even the most minimal sense, such as grouping each said "term" (as it were) into or under the most common and authoritative, or persuasive, categories of grammatical orthodoxy, much less witnessing how they affect some momentous shift or renovation in our grammatical schemata---as is perhaps ever the most dire want and will of "infinity" and "infinitism" in their relations with grammar.... Or, indeed, the remodeling of grammar, as is especially obvious when faced with this placing of "infinity" and "infinitism" into its traditional categories/cases, is its own interminable task for itself, or, perhaps more rigorously put, its own infinite desire (to become otherwise). As infinity, if not also infinitism (it depends on actualizing their grammatical cases), is interminable, then, perhaps the corollary of this is that neither, or at least the former, is not a term, as such, anymore, or in any hereafter sincere or rigorous expression let us say. This essential interminability of infinity and infinitism, or, that is, their common exclusion from the generality or referential provenance of terminology, or their non-existence as terms, otherwise put as their being transcendentally elsewise and exterior to/from the entiremost set of significant valences radiating out from each of the cognates, et. al, of the "infinitive" verb (traditional grammatical center or inaugural essence of any term's later, or subsidiary, grammatical conjugations) "to term". An aside on the said (if very hesitantly so "said") infinitive class of the verb-form "to term": how is its characteristic activity as a verb, e.g., in terming, terminating, rendering terminal, setting terms to, bringing to term, et. al, also said to be "infinitive" as such. As such, that is, as "to term" (however grammatically classed as an infinitive) is also nearly synonymous with finition, e.g., making finite, or production of finitudes---each of these determinations being, as is almost needless to further note, of among the most precisely and unequivocally obverse, and so somewhat also meaningless, possible relations to the name of infinity, and thus too, perhaps, also the infinitive (its cognate?). If infinity is never a term, then, how is the verb-form "to term" infinitive, except as an abberant corruption of the name of infinity, its non-terminological significance; as if its conjugation into a very minorly different lexical form (as though, perhaps, through the substitution of a distinct postfix: "-ive" for "-y") very majorly twisted its meaning into an antithetically contorted shape. Nowhere else in my almost agnostic ignorance of grammatical studies does any change of postfixes to an otherwise common or "root" participle affect anything near the total reversal of signifying valences which is witnessed in the permutation of infinity unto infinitive, or vice versa (if only insofar as the lattermost cognate is the verb-classification of the said term: "to term"). Veering away a little from this as yet (perhaps forever) unresolved enigma of said extreme polarization in the meaningful senses of two otherwise exceedingly cognate signs (if you will), however supremely bewildered its exposition, I stumble untowardly to the seemingly proximate set of issues concerning what is the infinitive form of the non-terminological name of infinity? i.e., is there a grammatological "center" or "inaugural essence" unto which the name of infinity may be conjugated back into? is infinity, as such, grammatological? ....

The Confused Are Who Is?

of Maxwell Clark

I cannot attend to this already once uncountable ambiance of events anymore than this expression is a trace of how I do so. No more or less than this is how I am who did this so. If many social others are also of this, I cannot yet render the proper authority of my signature upon it as otherwise than an unique obligation. Who is this but myself expressed transcendentally of the same by an otherwise unlimited array of transcendentally exterior influences? If I cannot sincerely attend this Other into my nervous focus, nor thus conceptually adumbrate any of the least ramifications of its transcendental exteriority—this is because it adumbrates the totality of my being as one among its own finite ramifications instead—this exteriority exceeds the horizon of my being, thus also in-forms (e.g., inward formalizes) it.

Goldsmith's Concept of Theory

of Maxwell Clark

"4. Metaphysics Precedes Ontology

It is not by chance that the theoretical relation has been the preferred schema of the metaphysical relation. Knowledge or theory designates first a relation with being such that the knowing being lets the known being manifest itself while respecting its alterity and without marking it in any way whatever by this cognitive relation. In this sense metaphysical desire would be the essence of theory. But theory also designates comprehension [intelligence]---the logos of being---that is, a way of approaching the known being such that its alterity with regard to the knowing being vanishes. The process of cognition is at this stage identified with the freedom of the knowing being encountering nothing which, other with respect to it, could limit it. This mode of depriving the known being of its alterity can be accomplished only if it is aimed at through a third term, a neutral term, which itself is not a being; in it the shock of the encounter of the same with the other is deadened. This third term may appear as a concept thought. Then the individual that exists abdicates into the general that is thought. The third term may be called sensation, in which objective quality and subjective affection are merged. It may appear as Being distinguished from the existent: Being, which at the same time is not (that is, is not posited as an existent) and yet corresponds to the work plied by the existent, which is not a nothing. Being, which is without the density of existents, is the light in which existents become intelligible. To theory as comprehension of beings the general title ontology is appropriate. Ontology, which reduces the other to the same, promotes freedom---the freedom that is the identification of the same, not allowing itself to be alienated by the other. Here theory enters upon a course that renounces metaphysical Desire, renounces the marvel of exteriority from which that Desire lives." (E. Levinas, Totality and Infinity [A. Lingis trans.])


Having typed out this above passage again myself---of which I am yet nowise (but very remotely or insincerely) therefore the author---and this, although in keeping as rigorously as possible with (or within) the gist of K. Goldsmith's most recent "theory" (see: 'I Look to Theory Only When I Realize That Somebody Has Dedicated Their Entire Life to a Question I Have Only Fleetingly Considered'), my readers may yet also register it as unfaithful of me unto Goldsmith's said "theory" to be, already so long hereafter and underneath my cited excerpt, contributing any further text to this document---and text, far moreover, which is, so far as I am aware, neither an exact, nor (it is much the same) objective, reiteration of any other ever yet existent. Although the actual textual influences which govern this, my thus, if only ever somewhat, "original" or "creative" writing---such as Levinas, for one---inform my own unique authority over this likewise peculiar text with the indelible mark of repetition---repetition of their (my influences) otherwise and anterior texts---it is also precisely this (their) repetition which establishes, if ever only more or less, our difference, or my creative differentiation from them: just as the first time gone around a circle is different than the second time around the otherwise same one. Repeating old texts creates (more or less) new ones, and this creativity of repetition goes for Goldsmith as much as it goes for Cicero or Aristotle. Goldsmith, as such, is creative---and arguably very much moreso than anyone (even him) is yet aware. My most urgent issue with his "theory", if you will, however, is how it, in the worst and most rhetorically bombastic tradition of Modernism, utterly, often even absolutely, denies the creative repetitions of his antecedent, or rather, ancestral authorities---as if Cao Xueqin did not know how to "sample" other texts, or Homer had no sense of his "unoriginality" in drawing upon the already long-apparent mythical stand-bys of his culture. Goldsmith himself isn't doing anything new, that is---although, somehow, one is always shocked to find him upholding the obverse: that his "uncreative writing" is somehow (as though by a wantonly delusive abuse of dialectics) also the most creative writing ever conceptualized in history. But no, the modern world Goldsmith so exceedingly believes is perfectly novel and totally surpassing and absolutely "dis-placed" is just the forgotten history, or botched translation of the ancient world's same old textual horizon, as it were. Creation is never ex nihilo; even God's word was preceded by formless waters. Goldsmith's awareness of the truth of (said) creative repetition is, at best, very inconsistent or lazy (as, indeed, heavily affected by boredom). Were his "theory", of "uncreative writing", merely obeyed with more rigor, as such, perhaps it would lead him to spend less time proscribing against entire epochs of past textual culture as unfit or inadequate to his exclusive or "displaced" conception of modernity, and so on, and on ..., if only with far fewer unjustly judgmental or "snap" dismissals of others cultural expressions, also so many grandiose "solutions" to so many social and political enigmas, as many otherwise herd-gathering slogans, and much otherwise disgracefully "free" or irresponsible behavior.

"Unfortunately 'creative writing' is very much alive, but I’m doing my best to try to kill it." (K. Goldsmith)

Drones as the Tissues of It

of Maxwell Clark

(((of CA Conrad's Facebook wall.... ok???)))

Math is felt as timeless urgency;
Or has a unique
But regular sense, or lawful
Affect.

Math is, or begins, in prosody,
In the regularities of everyday poetic signifiers
Themselves, apart their
Reference.

Math is of the prosodic unit, of the One
Meter of many discourses, that unifies
Poems into a Law.

Math is the Law of Poetry, as Poetry
Is the Law of Creation.

Math is the teaching of Poetry
Itself, as Poetry
Teaches Creation itself.

Math is done to order Poetry, as
Poetry legislates Creation.

Math is of Poetry, and
Only thus of Creation as well.

Math is the order of Poetry
(Thus also Creation); if only
As much as Creation orders Poetry
and Poetry then orders Math.

Math is the science of Poetry, not Creation
Itself---i.e., Math is not Poetry (nor the
Science of Creation).

Math is, if further removed from Creation
Than Poetry, also the more
Critical science of Creation (qua Poetry)
For this remove (...perhaps).

Math is sovereign over the Poetry
That gave it birth; but Math influences
Creation itself only through its ordering
Of Poetry.

Math is the intensification, or compaction,
Of Poetry, as Poetry is of Creation.

Math is
Its Mathematicians, who alone are sovereigns
Over the Poets they mimic;---as
Poets alone reign over the Creation
They merely condense.