all null having is of language, words, extending meaningless where they are absurdity & beyond to where meaning is flesh & sexless. i do not know what the intent is since Mc Aloran would agree that intent is irrelevant especially to where it matters, the self.
every human without exception lives homeless a foreign land it does not matter, he observes, not verbatim but in passing obvious.
perhaps seeds to bleed unto having bled escapade eye of
blood fragment all traced from nucleus given to shadowing/ it yet it
is bitter yet a whipped canine’s tears satiate breathing no more than
phlegm spat in the face of desire’s shadowing occluded simulacrum/
terse between one shadow/ not a trace nor given unto/
nothing is relevant beyond one’s localization & the landscape is not the earth upon which we live but culture the jawbone of a prophet some smoke over a battlefield lake an apparent skull. we do not have but the null the dead they are better than we was.
waxen all/ psychotic tread
given to birth from ever-flowing none/ speeches trinkets things for
some other absence/ cold weight of null and void seeping in where
fallen tread redeems no light broken upon emptied soil/ fingers to
dredge in fleshed obscurity/ walls as if there/ walls warp in (the)/
in-suffocate of no clear distance calling from what black till nowhere
left to be/ blood beneath butcher’s fingernails seclusion not a trace/
here Mc Aloran is not being obscure, & if the reader thinks he is then i do not know how much they should fuck off but it’s quite a lot. the words are used in a poetic sense, they do not tell stories but give a very detailed description of that what is not, the reality there is, the literal object A once we have forgotten the bad baby & looking for object a who is never there.
“Ave Ave” – which he explicitly actually says – gives one a world to turn into Mc Aloran explicitly & quite correctly rejects. (Once again we have not mentioned Beckett.) I obviously recommend that you buy this book.