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Walking the streets.
    Tatlin designed a city. Tatlin took unhandlable passion and molded it.
    It all comes out of passion. Our city of passion.
    Biely wanted to fuck his closest comrade, Alexander Blok, 's wife until the duel between them in 1906 (which never happened), then Biely left Russia for a year. When Biely described this passion, he constructed language as if it was a building. If architecture was not cool cold, people couldn't live in it. I have to figure out, why i am hurting so much. Recognition: I am really hurting. One of this hurt's precondition is I'm in love with you.
    A city we can live in.
    What are the material of this city?
    Is sensuality less valuable than rational thought? Is there a split between mind and body, or rather between these two types of mentality? Why's a Cubist painting, if it is, better art than a Vivienne Westwood dress? Is our city abstract?
    When you talk to me on the phone I'm hurt and maddended by your lack of sexual and emotional communication. Art criticism, unlike art, 's abstract.
    I'll mold my love for you: I can't say over the telephone what I want to say to you: "Please touch your cock because I can't touch your cock now and I have to touch your cock." What's mainly not allowed? Time's the main non-allower. I can't touch your cock right now because one event can't be another event. (Time is substance.) Three thousand miles now between the events of you and me, or three hours.

Kathy Acker "Don Quixote" a novel p 46/4

Dear Charlotte,

I live alone. Anything else I write is nonsense. There’s no other sentence except about knowing. I must tell you --- I am frightened. I must tell you--- it makes me shiver.
What is the relation between pain and knowledge? Sometimes I am lonely and I feel that that loneliness is painful. How can I deal with this pain? When I feel pain, I say to myself, since the pain I am feeling is the same as any other occurrence I am distant from it. Through analyzing and understanding I persuade myself I am not in pain. But I know I am in pain cause I feel it.
Knowing (the cry, pain) isn’t describing or analyzing or understanding. How do I know that I am in pain? This isn’t understandable.
Pain or a cry is primitive.
Any statement beginning with “I know that…” characterizes a certain game. Once I understand that game I also understand what’s being said. The statement I know that…doesn’t have to do with knowing. Compare: “I know that I am scared!” to “help”
What is language that knows? “Help” Language describes reality. Do I mean to describe when I cry out?
A cry is a language turning in on its own identity, its signifier-signified relation. “To of for by” isn’t a cry or an language-destroying-itself. The language has to be recognizable destroying.
Itself.
All of the above`s description. Cry: the incurable illness is the rule not the exception. Hiroshima is our rule, not the exception. Hiroshima was a historical instance of meeting two cultures, pre-industrial and post-industrial; my reality between post industrial and computerization. Today the most interesting art is coming out of those countries in which political and cultural violence is it’s heaviest.
 Cry: I want, above all, to avoid “doing something about” my life, and when, from time to time the obligation is put to me to make some sort of career for myself, and to prepare for my future, I try to meet these demands and always fail.
Don’t, don’t go. You must stay with me now. It is the last time. Be with me always – take any form -
Drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you. Oh Jesus! It’s unutterable!
I CANNOT live without my live! I CANNOT live without my soul!

Emily

 

Dear Charlotte,

As far as I can tell, both Nietzsche and Wittgenstein thought their lives were painful.
Ludwig Wittgenstein was born into the mist of all possibilities including great art and wealth. When he was a young man he gave all his family wealth to his siblings even though they despised him. He wanted nothing or he had turned against himself. He turned to study Mathematics then philosophy with Gottlob Frege then Bertrand Russel. He left his graduate studies to live in Norway as alone as possible. He wanted nothing or he had turned against himself. In the end of World War I he wrote his doctoral theses in an Italian fascist prison. He had given away so much money; he couldn’t afford the travel fare to return to Russell. When he asked Russell, Russell sends him money.
 I think he hated his body rather its demands, for he was celibate except now and then there would be two or three weeks of violent nights, fuck every young boy by the river, the body pleasures until the desire for love and friendship turns around and vomits. As in me the fierce longing to unite affection and sexual desire or the mind and the body is the basis of living pain.
 He loved his job teaching just adolescent boys in southern Austria. The hicks took away the job from him cause they thought he was corrupting his students though he probably was not. I say, I am in Pain. Is my pain hidden from you? Can you see my pain? Say there’s a group of people who don’t know what pretended pain is. If one of them says, “I am in pain,“ the others cry. Someone teaches these people “to simulate pain.”
A beggar says, “I am in pain, so please give me money” Now: is simulated pain a kind of pain? (By analogy, if I accept the model of analogy, I am asking about the relation of falsehood of reality.)
 I can only be in pain, if I Know what pain is. I am in pain so I know what pain is. If I know what’s Pain; if I pretending pain, this false pain, can’t be pain.
Now take the example-hidden pain. Example: when I feel pain as I am now with this ulcer, I pretend I am not feeling it so you’ll keep believing me and so you might still love me. Hidden pain is the same as simulated non pain. Therefore simulated pain is overt pain. This kind of logic’s useless cause it has nothing to do with human intentionality.
 “Your inner self is hidden from me” This means: I am unsure to describe your words and acts. I can only guess at your feelings. I am burnt and cry out. I wouldn’t call that pretending. We teach each other language. We don’t teach each other cry out. What, then, is pretended pain? I am pretending to cry out to you?
 Nothing is hidden from you; if I were to assume something’s hidden, I would be assuming a psychology or description less interesting than your intention, the cry. I affirm life and live do not need affirmation. I am lying down for you, Charlotte, and spreading my legs.

Emily

Kathy Acker
"My Death, my Life by Pier Paolo Pasolini" P 313
  Kathy Acker
"My Death, my Life by Pier Paolo Pasolini"
P 321 

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