- adolf alzuphar
So what have I done today, enough to begin a writing-down with ‘What I have done today?’? I bought a book in the rain at around 10:30; in pouring rain. As in: as rain pours outside a window, aware of the fact that I’ve never had the david boone in me to sit and wait for hours someplace where that does not belong, I purchase a book and three bags, where the three bags are for holding the book home. I run home right after. Home is outside; imagine that. Not home was inside. It was one of those things, those times, we learn from television construction workers or school janitors, from mothers to call life. I run home under the rain praising what I’ve just done as what I am capable of doing and the ‘man that I am’. So what I’ve done today is I’ve redefined my: self to myself with no intention other then a subconscious intention that I am not aware of as no person in their western material mind is; not even in westerns. that subconscious? Subconscious: I was afraid of something, or I became afraid of that thing sometime when I hadn’t won the unfair rat race that was middle school looks. I became of afraid of not being when I was pushed aside for not being something I was not born to be as. And I’ve hated most women since then, loved the possibilities of sex and compromise-as-comfort, but have never trusted who I believe have been made to become in essence materialist beings. And so I bought a book that day because I speak, and because for some reason I only feel right when I have been honest. And, honestly I bought a book in the rain, as rene char or someone else would of written and ran home with it in order to have done. I did in the present for past, the moments that I do not see but know, moments much better then future moments that thrill but do nothing for the ego that drags along. That past? The past: I was once. I am. The mistakes and mis takes I have gone through are the other past. I am two, as the past. One a true past and the other a true past. I have not past. I am his present. I am more present for the present because I am lived for. I am his love because he has the given gift to decide a past as another, an other, decides a future. I am inner thoughts, as in a poem, structured as would a poem. ‘where one has been/ since/ then’ is more so me: memories of tea an enduced melancholies; things to have done once. I pull back as others pull nowhere, but one must pull a runner back for him, in this case him, to stand up. Today: I am today so I am also past. I am not present despite a precense; in terms of purpose and function.
- adolf alzuphar
The blue sedan car is parked outside, its front lights not off. Susan has finished putting on the things she’s chosen to wear but feels she needs to do more to herself, her else. She, an anxious Susan, wants be drinking ‘something to drink’ without having to ever drink it. She wants to not go outside to meet the man in the blue sedan. She wants to speak about it as friends. She wants time to understand susan, despite a finite night. She sees the rush but doesn’t understand its needs vis-à-vis her needs; the reason she would sacrifice her needs. Susan is inside alone. She wants to dream over the reaction her dress will create, commend; ‘it depends on who will or not be looking’. The person who’s come to pick her up from home, from house, is parked outside and is on his phone talking somehow. She, she would have been unable to talk without having to look up for the sake of looking up. She wears a red dress with black shoes and a small black belt. She wears black hair with black shoes and a red dress. She wears cosmetics to enunciate, shoes she appreciate and the dress. She wears not the face she feels but the face for enough truth; where Susan is both so-honest and ‘cute’; her mouth in cue. She wears ‘cute’, not fate, fate as the face she feels that she doesn’t use. She’s used this face ‘cute’ much more than fate in the immediate past and fate for susan would be a means or a letting go. It’s either for marriage or Susan being married. She wears a smell on her neck. She adds a bought smell to her neck, a smell that finds itself on her hairs. She colors her lips a red. Her nails are also colored but are clear white. Her hair is not colored and has never been though she would have loved to have done or felt so. She takes some color off her now ‘cute’ lips. She colors her eyelids. Her face is also colored with white; she uses white on her face. She has no hairs on her face. She does have hairs that grow on her face but, she has no hairs on her face. Her hair’s on her head, it goes to her shoulders and ends on her back. It sometimes in front, or sometimes to her side but she’s chosen her back. He’s on his phone. And so she waits to go down. She’s decided what to be, how to exist but he hasn’t come out of his car. Should she go down to meet the car’s driver in her made-taller shoes? She doesn’t want to lie because she feels anxious. She rather wait. She hasn’t lied, these aren’t lies. Her smell and colors, her belt and dress are enunciations, communications in a world where she is expected to accept its architecture. And so, she works at being Susan. Walking outside isn’t Susan. The door bell rings. She goes down the stairs, one at a time, the fact that the watch on her arm has stopped ticking to hide.
Seba-stien: woke up this morning with an urgent need to run. His books behind him, he has not picked one up because had no need for them; and would have contemplated the fact that ‘the books are behind him at least now’ if it was not his urgent need to run. Seba-stien has no jogged in three months and has both the chest and the stomach to show for it. He lies under his bed, tells himself truths as he dazes, but lies under his sheets unready, and now ready to attempt to run. He has a shirt on, an obvious, that he wore for a whole night but he sees no need to change. His face carries the weight, the sediments that come with hours of not being mobile. His eyes are somewhat not open and his shorts not on. He walks to the 4 drawers that keep his clothes and sees a pair of shorts, which he grabs. He puts them on. He finds socks but does not put them on. He keeps them on his bed. He walks into the hall, through the hall, and into the bathroom. He sees his toothbrush but does not grab it. He sees soap but does not use it. And despite, he stares at his face in the mirror, contemplating what he has become, because: Seba-stien to Seba-stien at least on the outside is a recollection of yesterdays rather than an observation of his today. He passes his hand through his hair which he has not washed and goes back to the room, through the hall to the room. He puts on his socks and his sneakers. He then turns to the mirror in the room. He looks at his reflection because Seba-stien to Seba-stien is a recollection of yesterdays rather than an observation of his today. Tomorrow he will wake up with the idea that he is, in terms of how he looks, as he was yesterday and it’s something that he’s accepted with the same pragmatism as the existence of bugs or the idea that ‘human beings die’. He has no woman. He isn’t a husband. So: he waits. He lives in a paradox, a human thing, where waiting is as poetic as being, and the sound of when one waits, the sound of ‘as a student studies’ is as loud as ‘as he eats’. Or: ‘as she eats’. But not: ‘as we eat’. He wants to eat. He feels an urgent need to run, but feels his stomach need to eat. He feels he needs to, as he feels his need.
He was just asleep. And so, he runs.
- Adolf Alzuphar
Hello, my name is sebastian: devoted to losanges. I work from 9 to 5 and go home each 9 at night. I drive a blue car with a black interior and black wheels. I drive down the highway with my windows always up where someone looking in would think that I am extremely busy or doing something important. But, are we or am I? The car is mine for now, so is the house and so are the clothes. I have no reason to want to change who I am as of yet and the colors I once picked suit me fine. If a camera were to shoot me from the front I would be wearing a black shirt and a colored tie inside the blue car. I am neither black nor white and have the hair to prove it; the hair and the skin color, the mix makes me some sort of american left alone to achieve what I’d like to achieve. I drive every night.
I’ve just turned into an exit.
I don’t see any car that would be in my way. The turn off the exit is a turn up, and then a light. A few small houses in front of the light. I stop at the light as I have been doing for some time and once it goes green wait at least a few seconds, not on purpose. I turn right. I drive for a few minutes. I turn left. Pre-packaged losanges.
une vie a vivre
edouard conduit en ville
albert s’arrete
il voit yvette
yvette fait du walking
edouard salue yvette
yvette salue albert
albert lui il la connait
edouard passe des fois manger
yvette n’a pas de mari
edouard connait sa fille
albert s’en fiche.
- adolf alzuphar
une vie a vivre
edouard dort sans sa femme
il a mal au ventre
il a mal au genssive
il a mal ‘anpil’
sa femme est au venezuela
edouard se dit tanpit.
- adolf alzuphar
une vie a vivre
albert se trouve chez mona
il laisse son sac chez lui
sa femme fait sa lessive
sa femme fait son shopping
puis albert rentre chez lui.
- adolf alzuphar
une vie a vivre
le desespoir
le savoir
le savoir faire
ne pas se taire.
- adolf alzuphar
louanges
louanges pour les femmes faciles
louanges pour les hommes sans titres
louanges pour les livres finis
louanges pour les ‘voir sans prendre’.
- adolf alzuphar
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