Need I reminD the ReaDer

One Thousand Blogs and One |Clifford Duffy

This blog space yet another chunk, a bloc.. of the Fictions Jill, Franny, and Mona, a poetic..blogography of Deleuze and Guattari. The space of epistolary becomings,the chaosmosis of prose poetry. OnE ThoUsAnD BlOgss ~ William D and Mona G This blog is consisting of all sorts of platos and plaketoes. It has no shaken artisticaristotle in its throttle. Rent free dynamism. Text & some Images of this Blog©copyright 2004,5,6 Clifford Duffy.


of this FakeRee SkilDiggerrreedo

Jill was thiking of her old young pal: Jacquesdereader in the midst of things the rhizome dirts scattered in her faces and her bodies politcs and she Said one day to the Young DeReader: Read this and Believe I Abou Benny Deleuze have seen the end of matter the gulf of time and yer diamond legs baby.
So here was his freshman's textwest.

------------------- Jill must hold her nose. As hoses make no fardels in the oriental spruce deluxe of prose and its multilayer kinema. Ok? Okay. Then she was birched brimmed busted to her brooch. Her abroach was nevertheless plain seeeing eye dog I d_g .

Mona read the above notes and was,gasp! horrified . She fell backwards shouting the Lord has come, my Lord my Lord, has come back , come back come back come back come back come back and left us this country with no daisies and dogs to peel upon working our open oppositions and lie on the table like a song of her eyes her breast size filled the room on the table between the preposals of prepositions she was sung dame down.

"In this (h_)_essay, I wish to explore and compare some of the differences between the concept of deconstruction (Derrida) and the Deleuzoguattarian concept of reterritorialization-deterritorialization.------------------- PlEeeeeeeeeeeese

"In" the "process"
of doing this,
doing this
doing this
doing this doing this doing this this doing this this doing doing this

I will, in fact,




a schizoanalytic procedure

A Ritual a Ritual Bloodletting

or practice. Schizoanalysis,

and the procedure it invites and suggests,

is a counter-model proposed (when Jill proposed to Franny she was alreqady married by that did not matter as they were Sartre and Beauvoir and they were multiplcities of manysomes who lov ed manysomes )

by Deleuze and Guattari)

to replace

replace replac

replace your face

and displace



where you hearken
where you recondite
where you live

where you haunt


The schizoanalytic approach requires a combination of different concepts which, because of its style of thinking about words and things, will result in a praxis that illuminates new areas of thought in poetics, theory, and criticism. In particular,

I want to examine (you do, do you? smart alek)

how this process (How?? well How ? then??How how w How?)

can applied to an appreciative reading of poems.

Call this the desiring-machine and this essayist’s attempt to read the ‘little machine made of words’ (William Carlos Williams) as an act of poetic invention, retaliation and an effort to think of the economy of the text, and not of its structure or form.

This is not to suggest that structure or form are negligible, but that the economics of a text permeate all its structures; one might go on to say that they determine them. In pursuit of this deterritorialized deconstructed reading of texts, my text in addition to being a first proposal of such an event, will itself be the occasion of, and an instance of, the type of reading it proposes. It will read itself as a deconstruction reconstruction, reterritorialization deterritorialization (process). In the Deleuzoguattarian sense, this essay will become a desiring-machine.

However, I need to remind the reader that since ‘desiring-

machines only work when they break down’ (Guattari), the

processes described cannot help but embark both reader and writer, on a journey, that may have unpredictable outcomes.

But Mona Mona was a fraud! a bawd and a shame a shame a Maryjane with her skirts rolled around her thighs, a cheap falker of stalking beans of her body a glad halo of prose and monkey maims. Moan and Mona was not meant to be a plain

explained jane working toward the playful design of truth, yet made poetry of the out takes and not the outlook express of relatively benign and benighted corporations .

read this text to the end for microdaubs! dibs and drabsZZ!!
Duffy, Clifford The Poetics. Oxford U P, 1992.

1. the real question was

where the hellheaven was Klossowski her old father?

-----. A Duffy Reader: Between the Sheets. ed. Peggy Had Enuff. New York:
Columbia UP, 1991.
ToBreakall texts she shouted rom her toronto balcony and knew love was in site in sight insight in site of the 'view'ronto: U Toronto P, 1987.

What!! Cheers

are you a rhizome or a box
married divorced or between all the betweens
I am a GOod searcher and I am a knight of infinite faith!

We never submit to anything but love, certainly not having any desires to submit work we love to any whores of literatures and other middle class luxuries.

--------------------------- Come to my heaven there are many blossom . there. Here Bliss.

Sing SIgnature of Jill loves Mona ___ Franny the funky.


in the midst Anti

It's not easy to see things in the middle,

Anti knows shes middle
of road
and roading her
she's read
every syllabus

her natty


beig e


she's old brown shoe
to her snow
white bucks

rather than looking down on them

or up

at them



or from left to right or right to left:

try it, you'll see that everything changes. --

So how's that for luck Miss JigSaw and yer elements are right. Particle and plane to every doctoral candidate and dissertation blues .

A 1000 Plateaus


___________________________His Shizo~ phrenic. Others retort: ...

Artaud (1947):
So, society has strangled in its asylums all those it wanted to get rid of or protect itself from, because they refused to become its accomplices in certain great nastiness.
(...) And this is how modern life maintains its old atmosphere of debauchery, anarchy, disorder, delirium, derangement, chronic insanity, bourgeois inertia, psychic anomaly (for it is not man but the world which has become abnormal), deliberate dishonesty and notorious hypocrisy, stingy contempt for everything that shows breeding, (...) in short, of organised crime.

It is correct to measure established literature against an Oedipal
psychoanalysis, for this literature deploys a form of superego proper to it, even
more noxious than the nonwritten superego. Oedipus is in fact literary before
being psychoanalytic. There will always be a Breton against Artaud, a Goethe
against Lenz, a Schiller against Holderlin, in order to superegoize literature and
tell us: Careful, go no further! No "errors for lack of tact"! Werther yes, Lenz
no! The Oedipal form of literature is its commodity form.

We are free to think
that there is finally even less dishonesty in psychoanalysis than in the established
literature, since the neurotic pure and simple produces a solitary work,
irresponsible, illegible, and nonmarketable, which on the contrary must pay not
only to be read, but to be translated and reduced. He makes at least an economic
error, an error in tact, and does not spread his values.

Artaud puts it well: all
writing is so much pig shit—that is to say, any literature that takes itself as an
end or sets ends for itself, instead of being a process that "ploughs the crap of
being anits language," transports the weak, the aphasiacs, the illiterad te. At least
spare us sublimation. Every writer is a sellout. The only literature is that which
places an explosive device in its package, fabricating a counterfeit currency,
causing the superego and its form of expression to explode, as. well as the
market value of its form of content.

But some reply: Artaud does not belong to the realm of literature, he is
outside it because he is schizophrenic.

Others retort: he is not schizophrenic,
since he belongs to literature, and the most important literature at that, the
textual. Both groups hold at least one thing in common; they subscribe to the
same puerile and reactionary conception of schizophrenia, and the same
marketable neurotic conception of

literature. A shrewd critic writes: one need understand nothing of the concept of
the signifier "in order to declare absolutely that Artaud's language is that of a
schizophrenic; the psychotic produces an involuntary discourse, fettered,
subjugated: therefore in all respects the contrary of textual writing."

But what is
this enormous textual archaism, the signifier, that subjects literature to the mark
of castration and sanctifies the two aspects of its Oedipal form? And who told
this shrewd critic that the discourse of the psychotic was "involuntary, fettered,
Not that it is more nearly the opposite, thank God. But these very
oppositions are singularly lacking in relevance.

Artaud makes a shambles of
psychiatry, precisely because he is schizophrenic and not because he is not.
Artaud is the fulfillment of literature, precisely because he is schizophrenic and
not because he is not. It has been a long time since he broke down the wall of the
signifier: Artaud the Schizo. From the depths of his suffering and his glory, he
has the right to denounce what society makes of the psychotic in the process of
decoding the flows of desire (Van Gogh, the Man Suicided by Society), but also
what it makes of literature when it opposes literature to psychosis in the name of
a neurotic or perverse recoding (Lewis Carroll, or the coward of belles-lettres).
Very few accomplish what Laing calls the breakthrough of this
schizophrenic wall or limit: "quite ordinary people," nevertheless. But the
majority draw near the wall and back away horrified. Better to fall back under the
law of the signifier, marked by castration, triangulated in Oedipus. So they
displace the limit, they make it pass into the interior of the social formation,
between the social production and reproduction that they invest, and the familial
reproduction that they fall back on, to which they apply all the investments. They
make the limit pass into the interior of the domain thus described by Oedipus,
between the two poles of Oedipus.

 They never stop involuting and evolving
between these two poles. Oedipus as the last rock, and castration as the cavern:
the ultimate territoriality, although reduced to the analyst's couch, rather than the
decoded flows of desire that flee, slip away, and take us where? Such is neurosis,
the displacement of the limit, in order to create a little colonial world of one's
own. But others want virgin lands, more truly exotic, families more artificial,
societies more secret that they design and institute along the length of the wall, in
the locales of perversion. Still others, sickened by the utensility (I'ustensilite) of
Oedipus, but also by the shoddiness and aestheticism of perversions, reach the
wall and rebound against it, sometimes with an extreme violence. Then they
become immobile, silent, they retreat to the body without organs, still a

. Then they
become immobile, silent, they retreat to the body without organs, still a

territoriality, but this time totally desert-like, where all
desiring-production is

territoriality, but this time totally desert-like, where all
desiring-production is arrested, or where it becomes rigid, feigning
stoppage: psychosis.

These catatonic bodies have fallen into the river like lead weights,
immense transfixed hippopotamuses who will not come back up to the
surface. They have entrusted all their forces to primal repression, in
order to escape the system of social and psychic repression that
fabricates neurotics. But a more naked repression befalls them that
declares them identical with the hospital schizo, the great autistic one,
the clinical entity that "lacks" Oedipus. Why the same word, schizo, to
designate both the process insofar as it goes beyond the limit, and the
result of the process insofar as it runs up against the limit and pounds
endlessly away there?

Why the same word to designate both the
eventual breakthrough and the possible breakdown, and all the transitions,
the intrications of the two extremes? In point of fact, of the three
preceding adventures, the adventure of psychosis is the most intimately
related to the process: in the sense of Jaspers' demonstration, when he
shows that the "demonic"—ordinarily repressed—erupts by means of
such a state, or gives rise to such states, which endlessly run the risk of
making it topple into breakdown and disintegration.
We no longer know if it is the process that must truly be called




Indeed free Anti

free her
Antigone from the tightwad
Uncle Oedipus

___________________>>>>>4. Principle of asignifying rupture: against the __________________oversignifying breaks
separating structures or cutting across a single structure. A rhizome may be
____________________broken, shattered at a given spot, but it will start up again on one of its old
lines, or on new lines. You can never get rid of ants because they form an
____________________________animal rhizome that can rebound time and again after most of it has been
destroyed. Every rhizome contains lines of segmentarity according to
______________________________which it is stratified, territorialized, organized, signified, attributed, etc.,
as well as lines of deterritorialization down which it constantly flees. There
is a ____________________________rupture in the rhizome whenever segmentary lines explode into a line
of flight,

but the line of flight is part of the rhizome.

Come then to

Radio Deleuze


th .....e

at leaurotic mas tthe nekes a n honest mistake of economy. forgotting verb and noUn.
leaurotic ma leaurotic mariting has never been capitalism's thing. Captilalism

i s

proFOunDly Illiterate

.------------------------------------->>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> I think you are mistakent that is Not the write page. Are you tryin to flimsy all these joys?
Are you the truck of desires?

the death of writing is like the death of god or the death of the
: the thing was settled a long time ago, although the news of the Even t is slow

Looks lIke mister Crucifed the soul of Caesar Nietzsche.

Writing has never been capitalism's thing. Captilalism

i s

proFOunDly Illiterate


the death of writing is like the death of god or the death of the
: the thing was settled a long time ago, although the news of the Even t is slow
to reach us

I wont say I any more. I'll never utter the word again; its just too damn stupid.

and there survives in us the memory of extinct signs with
which we still write...

cpatialist representation 240oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo thousand plateau.

There is no Nietzsche the self professor of philology_ who SUddenly loses his mind and supposedly identifies with all sorts of strange People. Rather , there is the Nietzschean subject who passes
throug h a series of states,
and who identifies these
states with
the names of history ; " every name in history is I...".

The subject spreads itself out along the entire circumference of the circle, the center of which has been abandoned by the ego.

At the center is the desiring-machine, the celibate machine
of the Eternal Return...

I aint got No Papa Mama