Jean-René Lassalle

Some conceptual obligations

Some conceptual obligations
written for Das Synthetische Mischgewebe

in the greenhouse of memories under sapphire blue glass walls at this level of dream you promise to decorate-configure the sky by jumping above the house. he seemed to say I want to die says the playmaster who divided humanity in 150 archetypes with murderous instincts. but localizing the sleepy fevers one greets the mask of an indigo sailor and the incision of a broken furnace dispossessing the painful areas. the bee-women with topaz yellow porcelain miter the junction of the nevrome with the cabbage of torso and on the ochre furrows your shadows of thread-humans stretch honeyed-awoken by a scintillating scotome to devour make winds and excrete. the wonder mosca of emerald green with its blinking diode-entrails saccades its wings of transluxjade as a hypnotized heart observing the you-observer whose seed infuses the menstrual blood to feed the upcoming child with ruby red cheeks? in the center of the earth dressed as birds they grieve the frail supercoding visited by the ecstatic at their tables of corn. to each who tells the story of his/her travel they reach a crown of golden cardboard, then there must be a displayed map in song of who wants to live and let live, a real sun on his ornithological trail through the rampart-mountains where on bridges apricot eyes try to peer into eternity. As-it-seems she crushes a blue berry which is tears of want on the crepe wall before the trees with mammal forms. take one of these faces of whitening stone in prayer in an oppressing political system and fry it gaily in the other world. the garden howls slow in the powder morning and dressed as birds they eat a temporary tobacco mud on tables of dust on which a green finch tramples. the four mariposa sailors suck on a verbena syrup in pnose the sea that slips from their own eyes vibro. abandon your youth pacifying cuts which the eye of the judge magnifies with his glass. paying another row the foe sabotages joy but you surge differently constituted in the same house same season when the alveolates diffused their luminous tricks which the wind fissures green towards the sea. carcerated by the sadic’s ten fingers crocheted the critic negates the mutating thought and throws out its skin of orvet-chameleon dressing up the orpheon of musical workers. watched by the wavering censor dripping with incarnation o abandon the fire in your brain even if the slower stops the wind of the sun the blurring vanishing of the painter with his brush of squirrel tail frees the floating alas scars-cysts of humor. perturbations brazier of dawn in the intermittence of words and acts. // leaves the world drilled by the axis in bric-a-brac bricks of multicolored wood assembled by ear salt-day lights water. did she hang herself manipulating an oven in which the image of a mirror runs a glass habitus. praying the sun to come back and melt this glass, damaging its „who’s that“ she was answered in the sky and her eyes weave the I-arabesque, pointed index that lights her amplifying the brocade but wondering in caresses on her soul at the bottom of the vermilion mine, life at stake on one of her signifying-jingling ears. body-magnifying-prism which the swaying rays educate conventionally its name, sisal roots growing through work to progress sealed down to the central magma, plaited hair closely filed in a workshop for a dimmed gleaming the broke competition. throwing starballs on the frozen path for a salary. measured branches lose themselves in a hierarchy of break-bees, the sun escapes her friendship, she reintegrates her ecliptics on an affective bridge to eat and learn. sperm jelly slowed down, the small dwarf gags his mouth with a cross of corroded leaves in the lukewarm water of the container, low strings of coral whited on white on which lands a fragrant lion-ant. sends her the video of his own suicide precipitated in lace near a wine-press from which we can drink. always in a ghostly relationship holds the wings at rest into a roof upon the skin dissolved by the fingers. she lives on braiding at the costs of your excuses. fumes underwater this crime of the lighthouse-keeper in an octane shelter I cannot accept it. yellow god springing a tree sometimes maintained by several silk sticks. sun under dark sky a difficult initiatic practice in which one will hibernate and nymphose. there is no matter to recognize only the richness of systems. through the slipping of neighboring units the living machine passes over the associative life in the autumnal mutation in order to increase its capacity. fragilized seashells by celerity the loss of the moral valve is dry cold to shred-nerves in the wintry peace without a religious impatience. none will comfort you for the extermination but you under the azure fan. the dream retakes the city: I am thrown by a monster into the acceleration, vibrating snow whizzes on the screen where I see myself stepped upon underwater. this joyous person waves at me from the family that some glass marbles drip from the branches. cry her death at deaf violence circled by eccentric mechanical animals, the explanation: the pain one inflicts upon oneself is mediamultiplied thru the snow that hums above the violence accumulated in accepted fascination on the mysterious screen where the electronic snow glimmers. aggressiveness in feedback projected on a friend kills him. will the sky blaze up. wet fir-trees catching fire flakes. inside the cell: thought mastered in spirals. the white-stained sky deepens the pressure of a bright upon the robotic-hand-golden-spider full of gravel which strives inside the moist road. in spite of an electric chair with needles and a telephone-booth with burns the gang of children sat on the ground unknowing the sensation letting the bicycles pass by with their lights out laughing in the twilight waiting for the black butter train intense which the stimulus lights in the eyes through the nociceptors. ghost hand dips into the receptors encompassed a christ of january stone contorts himself in the tunnel cuticle arms drying in the wind on a corn wall. inside ice the train is speeding and a ball that miaows and a star that peeks. loss of the ability to feel skyward at the bottom of the road the golden pigment tactile melts in the gutter. the hand of glory appeases the scorching danger-to-integrity. lightray take me friend to the enkephalines spinning the cotton barbed-wire at the jays‘. whispering a dust of horn in siam looking from above the skull at a moon face lying on the floor of the nearly hollow house. smiling dark side in a position opposite to years. attentive to the small silvery scissors, slightly lane maud would be dead if separated but we do not slow sleigh world curved on the yellow carpet. in a ray which could disentangle us the mint of the sun had come from a snow landscape. and we don’t speak about it. and if in a dream she has a lavender lover in red barley he would have to accept these ululating half-moons in fern under the wind. and I wouldn’t want any falling one after the other. when the invisible writing is angry a tiny blue night-light inside a blinding sheet keeps hopping rounding the withering flower and does not want to ever be alone alize in alimony water and Mond lounge in lane b. the janus face of the hilarious tri-twin at the place of work is scything in horror in those regions with aurea kernels where contemplating the cake-sky inverts the order of the world through very bearable wounds between which the elected king in myrrh reverberates garrote a meringue at the sleeper’s and is undressed naked by the servant of tones, beer in an autumn fire which paraphes the mouth, in a jester’s robe, caudalis of cobalt dolphins paddle forth both gates of the sky opening the interpolaris onto the year with 175 feast-days. why anesthetize with mauve dawn the masks of icy desafferentation in stratocirrus oil of their absent hands which own the counting of time at the rainy level of the nevraxe in the veins of fusing silver of the city where with still steps up to the cowbells of light they brag-bell and sing the changing time and we recognize them in the axis of day: burn.

Read it as a loop

For more information about the poetic work of J.R. Lassalle and the visual collaboration with the artistic group Das Synthetische Mischgewebe,
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