unwelcome combine
Michael Sutton - Unwelcome Combine
16 pages bw
cover cla 160gr inside cyclus offset 90gr
Concerning Lack, Lack of Interest (Anhedonia), Mirrors and Reflections, Brutalism, Blood, Neoplasia (Vέος: Neo: New / Πλάσμα: Plasma: Formation, Creation) and Appropriation and/or Reappropriation, or: How I Was Beaten by Diffuse B-Cell Lymphoma While You for a Good Span of That Time Lay in an Anonymous Bed in an Anonymous Ward in the Now-Abandoned Royal Hospital, Prescot Street, Liverpool L7 8XP with Headphones Glued Inside Your Ears to Hear of Gruesome Deaths, Men, Women, Children, and Sometimes Their Corpses are Used for Dubious Jouissance, or: A Poetic Response to and Partial Plagiarism of Poetical Attempts by Hugh Porter (1883) Who Writes ‘If I Be Guilty of Plagiarism [sic] It Is Only Where I Am Unable to Distinguish Between the Imagination and Memory’, or: A Suicide Postponed (Cioran, 19??), or: a Becoming Object, 2017, a Feeling Machine for Repair, Trolly’d and Tubed With Uncomfortable Coolness Running Through the Veins of the Fortieth Floor of the Royal Hospital, Ladies and Gentleman, This Boy is for the Birds, Passing Pink Mid the Medicine-Disinfectant Smells of Accessible Toilets, or: Mishaps, or: Printer Poems, the Self-Appropriation of a Sequence Written Circa 2017 as Accidentally Distorted Through an Ink-Deficient Laser Printer, Giving Way to Aleatory Erasure, a Great Deletion to Soothe the Juvenile Eye, on the Mend, Giving in to Geists Who Materalise as Pavement Stains at the Fiveways and Yes I Used to Go For Walks With Charlie Always Listening to the Same Songs of Love and Hate and I Remember There Were All those Flies, Too Many Flies, and You Had That Bag and It Was Leaking Everywhere, So an Angel Would Come To Cleanse the Chamber With Never a Word, Never a Look of Disgust, and I Would Return to the Royal, the Old Royal, And You Would Return to the Question of Suicide à la Albert, for You Are — and You Are the Only Person I Have Ever Met to Earnestly Announce Themselves As — ‘An Existentialist’ and This Is — Is It Not — The Most Important Question, ‘All the Rest — Whether or Not the World has Three Dimensions, Whether the Mind Has Nine or Twelve Categories — Come Afterwards’ and I Am Also in the Mood for Doing Something Desperate and Gaining Some Publicity, I Thrive on — I Live For — Publicity, But That Is — Is it Not — Beside the Point, or: Beside the Point: An Exploration / Examination / Investigation / Survey of ‘The Swerve’ as it Pertains to Acualisation-via-Disease
16 pages bw
cover cla 160gr inside cyclus offset 90gr
Concerning Lack, Lack of Interest (Anhedonia), Mirrors and Reflections, Brutalism, Blood, Neoplasia (Vέος: Neo: New / Πλάσμα: Plasma: Formation, Creation) and Appropriation and/or Reappropriation, or: How I Was Beaten by Diffuse B-Cell Lymphoma While You for a Good Span of That Time Lay in an Anonymous Bed in an Anonymous Ward in the Now-Abandoned Royal Hospital, Prescot Street, Liverpool L7 8XP with Headphones Glued Inside Your Ears to Hear of Gruesome Deaths, Men, Women, Children, and Sometimes Their Corpses are Used for Dubious Jouissance, or: A Poetic Response to and Partial Plagiarism of Poetical Attempts by Hugh Porter (1883) Who Writes ‘If I Be Guilty of Plagiarism [sic] It Is Only Where I Am Unable to Distinguish Between the Imagination and Memory’, or: A Suicide Postponed (Cioran, 19??), or: a Becoming Object, 2017, a Feeling Machine for Repair, Trolly’d and Tubed With Uncomfortable Coolness Running Through the Veins of the Fortieth Floor of the Royal Hospital, Ladies and Gentleman, This Boy is for the Birds, Passing Pink Mid the Medicine-Disinfectant Smells of Accessible Toilets, or: Mishaps, or: Printer Poems, the Self-Appropriation of a Sequence Written Circa 2017 as Accidentally Distorted Through an Ink-Deficient Laser Printer, Giving Way to Aleatory Erasure, a Great Deletion to Soothe the Juvenile Eye, on the Mend, Giving in to Geists Who Materalise as Pavement Stains at the Fiveways and Yes I Used to Go For Walks With Charlie Always Listening to the Same Songs of Love and Hate and I Remember There Were All those Flies, Too Many Flies, and You Had That Bag and It Was Leaking Everywhere, So an Angel Would Come To Cleanse the Chamber With Never a Word, Never a Look of Disgust, and I Would Return to the Royal, the Old Royal, And You Would Return to the Question of Suicide à la Albert, for You Are — and You Are the Only Person I Have Ever Met to Earnestly Announce Themselves As — ‘An Existentialist’ and This Is — Is It Not — The Most Important Question, ‘All the Rest — Whether or Not the World has Three Dimensions, Whether the Mind Has Nine or Twelve Categories — Come Afterwards’ and I Am Also in the Mood for Doing Something Desperate and Gaining Some Publicity, I Thrive on — I Live For — Publicity, But That Is — Is it Not — Beside the Point, or: Beside the Point: An Exploration / Examination / Investigation / Survey of ‘The Swerve’ as it Pertains to Acualisation-via-Disease
7€
