there's nothing worse than the neurotics of 'creativity' that , those that, without wanting to be bad  ,, haunt the community   or haunt,  or hang on   and out at the nervous edge of the imaginative ... these are the literal aliens whose creationcapaacity's been swlamped by the .
  harsh critical machine of the paranoids  . those that them from the other fanet.

----------------what cacophony rings at their ears~ heralds to the death sound~

_______________What hooey~ and malarkey~


'antioedipus 2nd part[e]

Seconde part(E)


anti-oedipus 1st part

 reading  of 1st part (engl)  anti-oedipus                   in its entirety and uploading it to youtube

thanks to deleuzean 






disjuncted says:

Woof! woof! said the wolfwolf! meooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww the cata(tonic) ) etc. variantions of the aSSembLage breaking down represensation/juxtapostion.love that image of the doggyanalyst ~ but lets all be schizos and split our dogs in four two for each plAteau that goes away 2 for the disjunctivces of A/O. as always enjoyning this





' limit'














If capitalism is the exterior limit of all societies, this is because capitalism for its part has no exterior limit, but only an interior limit that is capital itself and that it does not encounter, but reproduces by always displacing it.

                                    “Anti-Oedipus” p.230-3_____________________________________-

...'which today we call neurosis...'


"The Hamlet dilemma, which today we call neurosis, seems to me to be a symbolic expression or manifestation of man’s plight when caught between the turn of the tides. There comes a moment when action and inaction seem alike futile, when the heart is black and empty and to consult it yields nothing. At such moments those who have lived by illusion find themselves

high and dry, thrown up on the shore like the wrack of the sea, there to disintegrate and be swallowed up by the elemental forces. Whole worlds can go to bits like that, living out what you would call a “biological death,” a death which Gutkind calls the Mamser world of unreality and confusion, the ghostly world of Hamlet, the Avitchi of the Buddhists, which is none other than a world of “effects.”

 Here the unreal world of ideas, dogmas, superstitions, hopes, illusions flounders in one continuous nightmare–a reality more vivid than anything known in life because life had been nothing but a long evasion, a sleep."


Henry Miller to Anais Nin, 1937


~ my brother Rimbaud, who is a girl

--- Dear Ariane, my brother Rimbaud, who is a girl, asked me to send
you a message, because she is weeping day and night now,
she asked me to send you this message,

"there is no castration, there is none, that is the point of the
movement started by others, and she, Ariane and the others are
deluded and deceiving the Others of the Other, she is like so many a
good meaning but wrong, maybe dangerously in errance to be passing
on such doctrine. It is not her fault, that she does not understand
what she is saying and doing. God bless her, but God help her
clients, whoever they are, even more. Lastly, I suggest that she and
her fellow priests quit their profession."

I know it sounds nuts, but she was sobbing and crying for days after
she read what you said, and also some of the others . Rimbaudboyo is
a homeosexual who is not into homo castrato, so she would not bear
the sort of theory and doctrine you are spreading.

I am her only self that speaks in a normal language and I was a
student of another sort of thinking, but anyhow. I had to say this
to get it off my chest. No hard feelings, .

O PPS I might as well say, I am not homosexual. But what does it
matter, it is not necessarily, like somethng in the family.



you think


You think your son is in France now? Yes, Rachel. Her name is Rachel, my seconde(d) one ~.




 I think some of the se idea expressed below from A/O are useful things to keep in mind in what you call the more difficult passages in Hart Crane's The Bridge and his other poems.

Yet it has been a long time since Engels demonstrated, already
apropos of Balzac, how an author is great

 because he cannot prevent
himself from tracing flows and causing them to circulate, flows that split
asunder the catholic and despotic signifier of his work, and that
necessarily nourish a revolutionary machine on the horizon.

 That is
what style is, or rather the absence of style—asyntactic, agrammatical:
the moment when language is no longer defined by what it says, even
less by what makes it a signifying thing, but by what causes it to move,
to flow, and to explode—desire.

 For literature is like schizophrenia: a
process and not a goal, a production and not an expression.

133 a/o ENG

 from 243

T                       he extreme importance of J.-F. Lyotard's recent book is due to its
position as the first generalized critique of the signifier. In his most
general proposition, in fact, he shows that the signifier is overtaken
toward the outside by figurative images, just as it is ovvertaken toward
the inside by the pure figures that compose it—or, more decisively, by
"the figural" that comes to short-circuit the signifier's coded gaps,
inserting itself between them, and working under the conditions of
identity of their elements.

 In language and in writing itself, sometimes
the letters as breaks, as shattered partial objects—and sometimes the
words as undivided flows, as nondecomposable blocks, or full bodies
having a tonic value—constitute assignifying signs that deliver themselves
over to the order of desire: rushes of breath and cries.

particular, formal investigations concerning manual or printed writing
change their meaning according to whether the characteristics of the
letters and the qualities of the words are in the service of a signifier,
whose effects they express following exegetical rules; or whether, on the
contrary, they break through this wall so as to set flows in motion, and
establish breaks that overflow or rupture the sign's conditions of
identity, and that cause books within "the book" to flow and to
disintegrate, entering into multiple configurations whose possibilities
were already the object of the typographical exercises of Mallarme—
always passing underneath the signifier, filing through the wall: which
again shows that the death of writing is infinite, so long as it arises and
arrives from within.)

                                   ---------------------But on
the other, the schizorevolutionary, pole, the value of art is no longer
measured except in terms of the decoded and deterritorial-ized flows
that it causes to circulate beneath a signifier reduced to silence, beneath
the conditions of identity of the parameters, across a structure reduced to
impotence; a writing with pneumatic, electronic, or gaseous indifferent
supports, and that appears all the more difficult and intellectual to
intellectuals as it is accessible to the infirm, the illiterate, and the
schizos, embracing all that flows and counterfiows, the gushings of
mercy and pity knowing nothing of meanings and aims (the Artaud
experiment, the Burroughs experiment). It is here that art accedes to its

authentic modernity, which simply consists in liberating what was present in art
from its beginnings, but was hidden underneath aims and objects, even if
aesthetic, and underneath recodings or axiomatics: the pure process that fulfills
itself, and that never ceases to reach fulfillment as it proceeds—art as

Crane's work in its most intense motors passes over and by what can be explained.


From the enormous political, social, and historical content of Schreber's delirium, not one word is retained, as though the libido did not bother itself with such things.


From the enormous
political, social, and historical content of Schreber's delirium, not one
word is retained, as though the libido did not bother itself with such
things. Freud invokes only a sexual argument, which consists in

bringing about the union of sexuality and the familial complex, and a
mythological argument, which consists in positing the adequation of the
productive force of the unconscious and the "edifying forces of myths
and religions."
This latter argument is very important, and it is not by chance that
                                             here Freud declares himself in agreement with Jung. In a certain way
this agreement subsists after their break.\\

 If the unconscious is thought to
express itself adequately in myths and religions (taking into account, of
course, the work of transformation), there are two ways of reading this
adequation, but they have in common the postulate that measures the
unconscious against myth, and that from the start substitutes mere

expressive forms for the productive formations. The basic question is

never asked, but cast aside: Why return to myth? Why take it as the


The supposed adequation can then be interpreted in what is
termed anagogical fashion, toward the "higher." Or inversely, in analytical
fashion, toward the "lower," relating the myth to the drives. But
since the drives are transferred from myth, traced from myth with the
                                          transformations taken into account. . . What we mean is that, startingfrom the same postulate, Jung is led to restore the most diffuse andspiritualized religiosity, whereas Freud is confirmed in his most rigorous
atheism. Freud needs to deny the existence of God as much as Jung needs to
affirm the essence of the divine, in order to interpret the commonly postulated

 But to render religion unconscious, or the unconscious religious, still

amounts to injecting something religious into the unconscious. (And what would

Freudian analysis be without the celebrated guilt feelings ascribed to the



What came to pass in the history of psychoanalysis?



read don't walk or walk right in

AntILogos_ A-- _ Literary Machine: wrote

‘People do not need an introduction: Why does anyone need an “introduction” to a book that speaks so well for itself. In fact, the  book does just fine, so I would say to anyone needing a so called intro Just Read the book. It’s simple go to page and one and move along.The book , will teach you how to read  it, and so you will your own senses.
                                                       ….. what’s so aggravatin’ is  the idea that anyone needs an introduction. Do you need an introduction to music you like or that someone tells you about? No, well it’s the same thing with good books.

Don’t be a rhizombie_ be a schizoid thinker! sTART in the middle  and go. Or start at the front and go, but go you gotta go you must.’

The same goes for most books, read them for yourself, enjoy them or not and then move on, and use them as they work for you.
I don’t wish to sound stern, but bayjayzus! there’s a bloody industry that’s just insanely devoted to introductions, prefaces, prologues and what not.         ….
The least stern of readers suggest Read for yourself~ With Joy  ~.


what a rest ___-----------------Out for a wa lk ////////////////////________________)..................>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A schizophrenic out for a walk is a better model than a neurotic lying on the
analyst's couch.

                                       A breath of fresh air, a relationship with the outside world.
Lenz's stroll, for example, as reconstructed by Buchner.

                                                                 This walk outdoors is
different from the moments when Lenz finds himself closeted with his pastor,
who forces him to situate himself socially, in relationship to the God of
established religion, in relationship to his father, to his mother. 

While taking a
stroll outdoors, on the other hand, he is in the mountains, amid falling
snowfiakes, with other gods or without any gods at all, without a family, without
a father or a mother, with nature. "What does my father want? Can he offer me
more than that? Impossible. Leave me in peace."

                              Everything is a machine.
Celestial machines, 

the stars or rainbows in the sky,

 alpine machines— all of
                                                              them connected to
those of his body. 

The continual whirr of machines.

thought that it must be a feeling of endless bliss to be in contact with the
profound life of every form, to have a soul for rocks, metals, water, and plants, to
take into himself, as in a dream, every element of nature, like flowers that breathe
with the waxing and waning of the moon."la To be a chlorophyll- or a
photosynthesis-machine, or at least slip his body into such machines as one part
among the others.

 Lenz has projected himself back to a time before the
man-nature dichotomy, before all the co-ordinates based on this fundamental
dichotomy have been laid down. 

                                                    He does not live nature as nature, but as a
process of production. There is no such thing as either man or nature now, only a
process that produces the one within the other and couples the machines together.

                                                                                                                                  Producing-machines, desiring-machines everywhere, schizophrenic machines, all
of species life: the self and the non-self, outside and inside, no longer have any
meaning whatsoever.

Now that we have had a look at this stroll of a schizo, let us compare what
happens when Samuel Beckett's characters decide to venture outdoors. Their
various gaits and methods of self-locomotion constitute, in and of themselves, a
finely tuned machine. And then there is the function of the bicycle in Beckett's
works: what relationship does the bicycle-horn machine have with the
mother-anus machine?
       What  a  rest
 rest to speak of bicycles and horns. Unfortunately it is not of them I have to
speak, but of her who brought me into the world, through the hole in her arse if
my memory is correct."
                                          "What    a    REST

rest to speak of bicycles and horns. Unfortunately it is not of them I have to
speak, but of her who brought me into the world, through the hole in her arse if
my memory is correct."                                                           It is often thought that Oedipus* is an easy subject to
deal with, something perfectly obvious, a "given" that is there from the very
beginning. But that is not so at all: Oedipus presupposes a fantastic repression of
desiring-machines. And why are they repressed? To what end?

                                                               Is it really
necessary or desirable to submit to such repression? And what means are to be
used to accomplish this? What ought to go inside the Oedipal triangle, what sort
of thing is required to construct it? Are a bicycle horn and my mother's arse
sufficient to do the

Aren't there more important questions than these,
however? Given a certain effect, what machine is capable of producing it? And
given a certain machine, what can it be used for? Can we possibly guess, for
instance, what a knife rest is used for if all we are given is a geometrical

description of it? Or yet another example: on being confronted with a complete
machine made up of six stones in the right-hand pocket of my coat (the pocket
that serves as the source of the stones), five stones in the right-hand pocket of my
trousers, and five in the left-hand pocket (transmission pockets), with the
remaining pocket of my coat receiving the stones that have already been handled,
as each of the stones moves forward one pocket, how can we determine the effect
of this circuit of distribution in which the mouth, too, plays a role as a
stone-sucking machine? Where in this entire circuit do we find the production of
sexual pleasure? At the end of Malone Dies, Lady Pedal takes the schizophrenics
out for a ride in a van and a rowboat, and on a picnic in the midst of nature: an
infernal machine is being assembled. "Under the skin the body is an over-heated
factory,/ and outside,/ the invalid shines,/ glows,/ from every burst pore."

This does not mean that we are attempting to make nature one of the poles
of schizophrenia. What the schizophrenic experiences, both as an individual and
as a member of the human species, is not at all any one specific aspect of nature,
but nature as a process of production. What do we mean here by process? It is
probable that at a certain level nature and industry are two separate and distinct


things: from one point of view, industry is the opposite of nature; from another,
industry extracts its raw materials from nature; from yet another, it returns its
refuse to nature; and so on. Even within society, this characteristic man-nature,
industry-nature, society-nature relationship is responsible for the dis-

tinction of relatively autonomous spheres that are called production,
distribution, consumption. But in general this entire level of distinctions,
examined from the point of view of its formal developed structures,
presupposes (as Marx has demonstrated) not only the existence of
capital and the division of labor, but also the false consciousness that the
capitalist being necessarily acquires, both of itself and of the supposedly
fixed elements within an over-all process.

                                               For the real truth of the
matter—the glaring, sober truth that resides in delirium—is that there is
no such thing as relatively independent spheres or circuits: production is
immediately consumption and a recording process (enregistrement*),
                                            without any sort of mediation, and the recording process and consumption
directly determine production, though they do so within the
                                   production process itself.

He    erything is production: production of
productions, of actions and of passions; productions of recording
processes, of distributions and of co-ordinates that serve as points of
reference; productions of consumptions, of sensual pleasures, of anxieties,
and of pain. Everything is production, since the recording processes
are immediately consumed, immediately consummated, and these consumptions
directly reproduced.+ This is the first meaning of process as
we use the term: incorporating recording and consumption within
production itself, thus making them the productions of one and the same

                               Second, we make no distinction between man and nature



human essence of nature and the natural essence of man become one

within nature in the form of production or industry, just as they do

within the life of man as a species.







.. whole an ......... pArt

The Whole and its Parts
                                               ‘(Hence) Proust maintained that the Whole itself is a product,
produced as nothing more than a part alongside other parts, which it
neither unifies nor totalizes, though it has an effect on these other parts
simply because it establishes aberrant paths of communication between
noncommunicating vessels, transverse unities between elements that
retain all their differences within their own particular boundaries.
in the trip on the train in In Search of Lost Time, there is never a totality
of what is seen nor a unity of the points of view, except along the
transversal that the frantic passenger traces from one window to the
other, “in order to draw together, in order to reweave intermittent and
opposite fragments.”
This drawing together, this reweaving is what
Joyce called re-embodying. The body without organs is produced as a
whole, but in its own particular place within the process of production,
alongside the parts that it neither unifies nor totalizes.
And when it
operates on them, when it turns back upon them (se rabat sur elles), it
brings about transverse communications, transfinite summarizations,
polyvocal and transcursive inscriptions on its own surface, on which the
functional breaks of partial objects are continually intersected by breaks
in the signifying chains, and by breaks effected by a subject that uses
them as reference points in order to locate itself.
The whole not only
coexists with all the parts; it is contiguous to them, it exists as a product
                             that is produced apart from them and yet at the same time is related to
them. Geneticists have noted the same phenomenon in the particular
                                                 language of their science: “… amino acids are assimilated individually
into the cell, and then are arranged in the proper sequence by a
mechanism analogous to a template onto which the distinctive side chain
of each acid keys into its proper position.”

As a general rule, the
problem of the relationships between parts and the whole continues to
be rather awkwardly formulated by classic mechanism and vitalism, so
long as the whole is considered as a totality derived from the parts, or as
an original totality from which the parts emanate, or as a dialectical
totalization. Neither mechanism nor vitalism has really understood the
nature of desiring-machines, nor the twofold need to consider the role of
production in desire and the role of desire in mechanics.

 Antioedipus - The Desiring-Machines 43-4




Jung and easily Freudened!????????????


I find this so strange claiming that D&G are Jungian instead of Freudian. A bit odd! I'd say they are neither. Besides its Felix Guattari who did therapies and analysis not Gilles Deleuze.  Neither of them were 'yjung and easily freudended!' as James Joyce quipped in Finnegans Wake____seriously schizoanalysis is a machine assemblage that uses whatever is at hand. The  idea of usefulness (theory wise and practice wise) i.e. Never Interpret but find out how  agiven machine (A/O) and how a strata can be tipped (AtP) into a molecular line(s) of flight to any given Outside.

___________________besides who gives a hoot?______________________________

it either works And dont




Neither Guattari nor myself are very attached to the pursuit or even coherence of what we write. We would hope for the contrary, we would hope that the follow-up to Anti-Oedipus breaks with what preceded it, with the first volume, and then, if there are things that don’t work in the first volume, it doesn’t matter. I mean that we are not among those authors who think of what they write as a whole that must be coherent; if we change, fine, so there’s no point in talking to us about the past. 

Deleuze speaking  on  a   Deserted Island 



here's your lacan bullshite


From 1937 to 1946 Artaud was detained in psychiatric hospitals. He was administered insulin therapy and nearly fifty electric shocks provoking states of coma (and even causing the fracture of a dorsal vertebra). His case adds to a notorious list of achievements of "scientific" mental cure, with Vaslav Nijinsky, Camille Claudel, Vincent van Gogh, Friedrich Nietzsche, Soren Kierkegaard, Wilhelm Reich, Freud's patient Daniel Paul Schreiber, etc. Indeed, none of these cases occurred in a totalitarian state. Yet they did not prompt significant reactions from the intelligentsia their victims belonged to. There was (and still is) a tacit consensus regarding the logical end of a deviant, disturbing and unpredictable behaviour, and psychiatry appeared (appears) the inevitable and dependable solution. In 1939, Jacques Lacan had examined Artaud and told Roger Blin:

He's fixed, he will live up till eighty years of age, he won't write a line any more, he's fixed.'


The executioners are still around

Andréine & Bernard Bel)

Fixed means fucked. like a neutered cat that's what was wanted.  Dead Or Alive _________________Teeth or No Teeth ~__Cat without a Mouth.




thee thOse Anti-OEdipus Papers ------------------

                                          "Capitalism is the exterior limit of all societies because it has no exterior limit itself. It works well as long as it keeps breaking down.________________But it breaks down i n my fucking backyard!

a nd O those shit missiles they keep sending round thee 

 O I mean those fucken's dronnnnnnnnzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

                    theyre like Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Boombbbbsssssssssssssssssss

      arent they 

                       So nazi like

 not Like Like but they are nazing bombs!

zome, that "the two of us wrote Anti-Oedipus together." They added, "Since each of us was several, that became quite a crowd." These|||||||||||| So was it a crowded book then Sir?





a reader's guide

secret missives written to a few friend overseas.who wishes the beauty of great philosophy. whose
splash waves are wonderous to behold . as language unfolds its seam. as the wits of delay and philosophy love.


finding  hard to follow,  show you a trick  learned  years  to   a     go: 

Read it aloud! it's as simple as that . The ideas will become more real as you hear and read them at the same time. True reading is a pedagogical skill! THere's a great novel by Italo Calvino If On A Winter's Night a Traveller Should... that describes wonderful moments of reading ....

I learned this  trick years back with a girlfriend. I was reading my way through Saint Genet , Sartre's massive tome about the former, and I had not found it easy. Well, I was out eating dinner with this lady, and she asked me about what I was reading, and I said it was beautiful. but difficult to read.  but then she said or I said,  let me read it to you... and I began to read it  right there and then to her while we sat in this restaurant called the Mazurka, an old Polish place, and ideas and connections that I had not been able to see before began to unfold and I could see them like I never had before . They were glimmerings before, but now they became clear ideas. And the weight of the writing, its pace and the gigantic majesty almost of its connections was more visible to me. Each book is written at a different rhythm, as I am sure you'd agree.
 And this barely scratches the surface of saying anything about Sartre's book. But to me it deems a whole area of study in philosophy: How we read, how we are read to , and how we absorb the ideas in the process; how are we taught, and what is the best manner to learn.
That is why the seminars of Deleuze  __ the oratory of his voice, and the pedagogical moment __ of its unfolding as he spoke ____were important and why it's important to hear him in them . Many are now on cd, or on sites in the web. and more and more of the films and videos of him are  popular.  Socrates always spoke aloud! I've used many of them as you might have noticed  in Rdeleuze and elsewhere.

Just one other thing, A/O is written at a very different pace than the book by Sartre, but it can still be read aloud, and I have done the same thing with it as others, and it's worked like magic. Reading aloud is the secret
of pedagogy! 

 So that's all for the moment, and have a good week of work.  Your last posts
are yet to be read by yours truly, but have not been forgotten.

does not this feel like love. or the knot of the reel to reel as in perhaps a platonic cave? who says what came before the previous from and which reader knows these things in the heart of her flesh?

___________ But as you know I learned to read with my ears hearing aloud these men the teacher of his lectures himself the mooring of the waters around crashing at his feet ... and



Right behind

Now Antigone antogonist antigroin came along knight! Knightess! she was taking Jill Deleuze from behind riding her Guattari! she was zoom! pam! and in advance behind. And behind her 'rightful' times taking a left turn to her turn to the left. Of its right behind her knocking bird down.
                       Now inthe whoreshop of her brigadge? O word mouth cupped by soup and the lentil pause a command doing no one no good, she was the fifth of everything an every little thing besides  as in she hefted her tiller wheeling the tug behind
  not  adrift

                                   and this way beside her there were many and a ton of bricakge to bricolate her imbrication of birdbricolage a sheen of her lips over the swimming ass of her curved copulation on the bobbing bodies above. Her valve and calvarie packed a bloc with shelfing~!

'Oedipus at Colonus' Turn Away

Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span;
Cease to remember the delights of youth, travel-wearied aged man;
Delight becomes death-longing if all longing else be vain.
Even from that delight memory treasures so,
Death, despair, division of families, all entanglements of mankind grow,
As that old wandering beggar and these God-hated children know.
In the long echoing street the laughing dancers throng,
The bride is carried to the bridegroom's chamber through torchlight and tumultuous song;
I celebrate the silent kiss that ends short life or long.
Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say;
Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day;
The second best's a gay goodnight and quickly turn away.

William Butler Yeats

____________________________"Something is still bothering us: the story of Oedipus. Oedipus is almost
unique in the Greek world. The whole first part is imperial, despotic, paranoid,
interpretive, divinatory.

 But the whole second part is Oedipus's wandering,
his line of flight, the double turning away of his own face and that of

Rather than very precise limits to be crossed in order, or which one
does not have the right to cross (hybris), there is a concealed limit toward
which Oedipus is swept. Rather than interpretive signifying irradiation,
there is a subjective linear proceeding permitting Oedipus to keep a secret,
but only as a residue capable of starting a new linear proceeding.


his name is atheos: he invents something worse than death or exile, he wanders
and survives on a strangely positive line of separation or

 Holderlin and Heidegger see this as the birth of the
double turning away, the change of face, and also the birth of modern
tragedy, for which they bizarrely credit the Greeks: the outcome is no
longer murder or sudden death but survival under reprieve, unlimited

 Nietzsche suggests that Oedipus, as opposed to
Prometheus, was the Semitic myth of the Greeks, the glorification of
Passion or passivity.'   Oedipus: Greek Cain. 

___________      c i t a t i o n s f r o m       ______________                                          

 Deleuze and Guattari A Thousand Plateaus 586-7 Eng. trans.

the poem translation  is 

 From W. B. Yeat's A Man Young and Old.

The text of Yeats is well-known and I have quoted it from 

Michael Gilleland's blog                   Laudator Temporis Acti