(dear All, nothing new in this bio-text, I am  just re-posting it under my
real name, not that of Susanne)



Biotext: Erminia Passannanti (for Poetryetc, 20 September 2000)

I have nothing to say believe me nothing to add to the world's routine and
yet for the sake of the one who calls herself Candid I will try to conceive
a baby with five fingers for each little hand a perfect poppie back from the
slug's mire a thought my double wearing an unfamiliar mask I am not
disappointed by this request I will do it to overcome my stress but do not
expect anything worth recording since all my days and all my nights are
nothing but a strive to sink into an inner song and be distracted  from the
thought that I am condemned yes I am condemned to bear my limits and be in
flesh and bones a woman carrying her body around so that when on my tracks I
always bump into a curious block a young man with longish hair smooth skin a
doll so perfect in his white projects what point I am not going to talk of
this I will just let you know how he looks like so far the guy has one
leather jacket and one pair of shoes legs of a crane no good nobody would
guess he is also man of science matter of fact his house of mature
mellowness is all superfluous with traces of previous visitors a lover a
despot an art designer but listen when you look for a direction through the
body of an opponent Mio Dio this is not going to work and all I can do is to
pay a price for my few goods so that satisfaction may come through sweet
eyes sharp mouths and add a micro pleasure to an acute desire he thinks it's
a sad when you learn that nobody is going to care about what you do and
whether early or late when you go home and find nobody you wish a lady's
charity to sooth your sorrow of course a comedy I serve my office I say I do
my service I am not a nun whose irregularities would pervert an entire
convent you know better than me not all is Candid see what comes next my
friend you who arranged for us to write under the imperative of flesh and
its barometers lady of my soul my dearest adorn your brain and be impassable
when you will listen to this man's coarse language, possibly a gift granted
every two months about the same amount.

so I was right when I suspected all the business of the self as being a fake
I find now that Hume said that our ideas of identity is the product of a
huge mistake into which we fall as soon as we perceive time and space so all
my impressions of mister loneliness as one of my unchangeable objects is but
a fiction of my imagination by which he takes part to my life and co-exists
with me and all the shapes around and he is for me triangular squared
hexagonal in his motionless consistency and sharp pyramidal presence like a
modern sculpture of wood lead copper on a stone pedestal with a continuous
solid presence and an identity  never vacillating for ever identical to his
many others all reproducible in the age of mechanical reproduction not only
a mere hypothesis with no ratio no sure ground matter of fact naked or
dressed from head to toe he can stand in its silence and summarize two three
four concepts at once imagine how magic how gorgeous especially the
principle according to which factual space is constructed on much the same
ground as visual dominance and I can attribute to him tactual quality
smoothness roughness hardness in my capacity of an observer but I am not
sure I want to go that way  there is indeed one passage in my interior text
book that says never trust a shape for its appearance your impression should
be one of reflection prayer and obsession therefore my first denial will be
firm no easy parasitical relation between the eye the mind and from this
fact I'll let the blue be blue and turn the blue in white any moment  any
time on a circular stage or charge my ears with electricity to annihilate
all thoughts and fall asleep so my constructs fail to be such and meets a
lovely moon imperfect men in dreams of dissolution.


so if a boy is pretty much already a boy and a girl is pretty much already a
girl at the early stage of being twenty-four hour old and if the twenty-four
hour as a measure is for all of us the fair parameter for the entire life
span of our existence then I can assume we are condemned at a too praecox
stage to carry around bubs and balls not that I dislike such a rewarding
roundness but whenever a boy or a girl in their teens start running  they
becomes painfully aware of the encumbering weight of their sinister glands
which can grow disproportionately becoming enormous even in a sterile
context as our world and bubs and balls a macrocosm of planets so we must
also learn to bear in mind the value of the sphere as a fundamental shape
for the being and try to fight the undervaluing attitude we cultivate in our
heads crowned with wounding spikes when we are prone to think that it is
much better being a stick a needle a line between two paradoxes than aiming
to became similar to a whale a hugeness a kingsizeness all worries that I
push up towards the top of a rocky hill as Sisiphus did with his huge stone
so
to embrace and hold all my troubles your troubles everybody's trouble
without which I would not be the one I am suspected be a ball-fish relishing
in an vicious use of its incorrect knowledge I might wake up one day sick
and tired of being damned and fall into another curse within twenty-four
hour between a fake awaking and a fake sleep to finally see myself as a
suspended eye a roundness of perception skimming the greenness of a  pool
table where to meet other balls flying about other lives from hole to hole
globe to globe light to light blackness to blackness joy to joy pain to pain
all pretty much the same having the scary task of hitting a smaller ball to
enter six  small black vacuums therefore behave I say behave you rodents do
not corrode the edges since in the edge is all compressed my sister the one
who never saw the light whose shape is in my mind whose name is of pure
emerald and who I love the unborn princess my parents' project the holy gem
the rounder of all Their Holy Highness the little succulent oyster in an
orange afternoon of boundlessness if only she had sat by me if she had stood
in her perfected roundness if she had talked and cried made herself a despot
on me this little sister I would have had deposited five hundred pounds a
month on her account to cultivate a self which did not belong to me which I
would have from time to time just borrowed .

The head and the neck the brain the fricking mess of the mandibular nerve
above the  ophthalmic dumbshit cavity  towards all the dry fucking sinus
veins rubbing against each other in the central parts of the cunt-teaser
cerebrum along with the sterno-cleido-mastoid butthead of all these
mind-fucker nuchal lines in the median region of the superficial tight-assed
fascia with all the annexed banana nodules the grey and white matter of the
shit-ass medulla oblongata the essential royal screwing of the spinal tract
of the peter-eater trigeminal nerve I hate this sister-fucker staff I don't
give a damn I am so humpy I could screw such a hell-raiser lamina up to the
anterior bloody wall of the third vehicle so watch your hemispheres there is
some crud on your left cranial attachment on the way to the tummy-fuck
simulated copulation of the thalamic terminations of your stiffy sensory
pathway which almost made you loose your head come on silly one show some
stones your eyes are all surrounded by star-fuckers everywhere you look and
mind your faculties the movements of the mandible the tongue the larynx the
sneezing and the coughing the sucking with closed lips around an object to
be sucked or with lips closed if the object is in the mouth teeth closed as
far as possible to support the cheeks palate depressed against posterior
part of tongue to
separate mouth from pharynx tongue lowered the swallowing with mouth shut
respiration stopped tip of tongue elevated in front of the thing to swallow
the thing to swallow moved back by elevating tongue against hard and tensed
soft palate larynx raised with epiglottis tipped back by the tongue and bent
down above the laryngeal orifice the thing to swallow grasped and displaced
downwards with the tongue the soft palate relaxing to re-establish
continuity of oral and nasal swallowing respiration restart after the due
contraction of the esophagus ahhhhhhhh I enjoyed that really really really
a lot

Erminia Passannanti ([log in to unmask])




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