"Angioplasm” turns out to be a neologism, meditation on whose possible sense yields:
1. A proto-matter or primal substance, held in or susceptible to being bound or shaped by a
vessel or container; 2. A quasi-liquid contained by an appropriate quasi-vessel or containing form;
3. What flows and oozes, but down a channel or course; 4. A substance that, though
internally without articulation, is shaped by the vessel in which it is contained.
“Spasms and works”
the material is everywhere toiling:
the misery of it,
but the outcomes, the results,
the achievements, manifest!
The liquefaction is dynamic and if
contained in a vessel, yet forms the very vessel
that constrains it, as a river its water-course
or a fjord, through great stone, surmounted by sunless woods.
The body is the house of communities
and itself is ensconced, communally, in its world
and every force—macro or small—
and every named, hence neutralized, known,
that is, reduced to familiar yet replete,
bodily—material, stony—entity
the vital course and host, material if sentient,
putting out a sonic rustling, a luminosity
in the very squalid, if dynamic,
desperate, despised, liquidity
“muscular lymbic homuncular striate bark”
that is: athletic, yet passional, exemplary, provisory, cortical
pulsing wave after wave
wave
over-mastering
wave
ecstasy rife in the very irritation and discord
in-spite-of-it-all harmonics—accumulations
of toiling force towards orgasmic
subterranean, source depth, intercept
enzymatic, catalytic, attachments and dis-
connection, adhesion, correlation
whether pith or spine
somatic depth, chthonic grim declivities
industrial, terrestrial, pugilist, or wilfull
If it has a mind it still is material formation
round and wet, its delicate
ecology dismissed in the momentary catastrophe or jouissance
the effort to uncover its center through a certain
elastic advantage: oxidation, purgation, once again ecstasy
and little beings manifest and are somatically arranged
as if in the orders of a text
but materially adjusted, that is typographically
there is density or spoiling—scarring—alive but insensate,
tough: you cannot chew it
a fortress, a house on high, sporting hegemony and its signals:
a gaudy erythematic extravagance of surfacing
and the discreteness of spaces sporting a canniness
regarding the internal arrangements, internal entropic passivity
and the armies take their rest there
and lackeys attend the accoutrements
And I put it to you:
if you have encompassed in your circumspection
both source and limit, heart and skin,
and the moment of circumscription itself has been surpassed,
and you no longer therefore have application
of provisory or charting—
do you yet sustain a manner of orientation,
that is, “do you know where you stand”
when the signals of achievement, the comforters, no longer support you?
If you have no principle operative of self-circumscription
all this spontaneity is aimless, distracted, dispersed,
though the bottom, the somatic fulcrum, the impulse
reveals this much: the topology of its own fulguration and grounding
And I put it to you again:
can you locate, identify, pinpoint, arrange
the very instance of your own connation: the concretion of your will
in the momentary emission of force that
opens up its own self-reflection
and the necessary assertion of its own assertion—
that belief takes the form of—
This, as if in repetition, the appearance of boundary
and on the horizon the imminence of the threat
that fulfills the monition
and suggests its own belonging, spontaneity, surprise,
in the sudden uncovering of origin, matrix, systemic prefiguration
and the system, an apparition emergent for thought
flamboyant, profligate, prodigious,
in its qualification of mystery
that the indivisible lies just behind the
infinite subdividedness, diaresis, and knowledge
as if a primordial liquid, an ooze, or a julep
but the mindfulness is awarded place too
opening, waiting, receiving
the correspondences, the possibilities for jointure
rife in the stuff as it spasms:
this is called “fielding,” that is, being there
so that the field might open
intent pervading the space of its own disorientation
and the julep collect in the cosmological bottom
the sentient substance awake
when to be free
is
for all that
to be so fated…