Arachnid Selfportrait /1 — Louis Armand

A spider in dreams is a symbol of the mother, but of the phallic
mother, of whom we [sic] are afraid; so that the fear of spiders
expresses dread of mother=incest & horror of the female genitals.

[Freud, “Lecture XXIX: Revision of the Theory of Dreams,” 1932]

In order to make the tacit speak, what is required is to want, to
do violence & to violate, & not at all a secret or something that
would resist being said.

[Deligny, “The Arachnean,” 1981]

a fugue=state in 8 parts

we’re born but for how much longer? — a desperate pretence to an imaginary purpose — the begotten — it happens & keeps happening — it stops — it begins all over again — life as they know it — those haunted killer eyes — yes — eyes of the hunted — but are the rest as blind as they seem? — a pebble on a beach — shell=casing — spacejunk — careening through chemtrail vortex to oceanic poles of unreachability — Point Cthulhu — turning in a lifeless gyre — synapse ignition to fissile discharge — Zapruder 313 — like an egg spritzed across an infinite fender — 18.3 frames per second — 1 revolution per 240 million years — star smaller than a spider — a worm’s anus — blink & y’ll miss it — once upon a time it’d been so simple — aim & shoot — now the probabilities are a mind of their own — what did they expect? — the arachnoid is watching through the wrong end of the microscope — “a world away” isn’t a metaphor — cut one of its 8 eyes & it’ll bleed — again the dissolute edges — the sliding backwards — again the sabotaged shorelines — fetid everglades — toadfugal swamps — adjust the viewfinder — there in the embankment mud a HERE dog=corpse — poking a stick in its mouth to see flies climb over its teeth —the Arachnoid’s mouth moves in counterpoint — labial — larynginal [sic] — as “grotesque” as it is estranged but there’s still poetry in it — the way a Yaqui sorcerer utters the threads that bind the cosmos together — death doesn’t always become the dead — a face in a crematory urn — a needle in a shooting gallery — what was the Arachnoid looking for? — a reflection of their own mortality? — to fit through cracks the flesh becomes immaterial — dissolves over a flame — in this painted cave — a boneladder — down under the water among reeds carwrecks bodydumps — into the glyphic sanctuary where “I” have wanted to fuck every gender under the sun — under the moon — under the fetid ground — whispering sweet nothings — the night is the sky is the sea is the unworld — [& wasn’t the first proto=cell=division pure thermodynamics?] — another “late developer” teleported back to a faultline in the Archean — had the instruments identified the relevant locality? — the whole place was a shambles overrun w/premonition — like an upturned space=colony on the underside of the waves — snowdomes turned to pillars of salt — une pompe funèbre for the unborn [a “nativity”] — weaving a shroud by saving loose threads — back in the beginning when life was being drowned already by a sense of mission=creep setting in — they’d go on searching for the original bloodline till kingdom come — or King Kong — meaning until they evolved into it or it into them haha — nothing here now but a disaster factory w/ supplychain issues — flyheads scanning the cloudcover for searchlights slung from invisible gantries — the dragnet closing in as the scene drags itself out — pressed against the forth wall toying w/ its clitoris — the way they have toyed w/ the existence of G.O.D. — page after page — mesmerised as the machinery of Late Capitalism sinks its teeth in — watching it all on slowmotion playback — like draining a corpse — veal hung to whiten — the way history’s made — not in the event but by a monumental inertia lying there to received G.O.D.’s benediction — prose du monde — because in its heartofhearts repetition is the indefatigable dream — a thousand years from now they’ll still be telling themselves the same thing in so many words — they’ll die telling it — they’ll kill telling it — in the Book of Anachronism all has been foretold & equally forefailed — “On my numerous journeys through Hell…” — sometimes when you look in a mirror you think you know what’s going on — & did they believe that? — crossing over to the other side — the path the heel & the dust beneath it — journey & destination aren’t one but multitudes — past the weathered sculpture=stones — the vines & subsidences — nettled overhangs — deserts in conflagration — a fine carpet of ash — sinkholes & rotting jungles — spectral campfires of the ones forever just ahead — glimpsed through the pinewoods — across the tundras — glaciers & auroras & animal magnetism — like an ectoplasm sliding around the margins — writing in the dark by feel or stealth — dexterity is a rite of passage — slipping past the cataracts–tides backed up into a blue haemorrhage — purgation by mental suppository — falling through a sky a million miles deep — to arrive in the form of a lizard on a rock overlooking the sea — face of the sea trammelled by reefs now submerged that once were continents — is nothing else left of them? — these little hostage dramas — their surface evokes the touch of a newt — we’ve “wanted” this brane — ah the glistening coagulations of the state! — their word for G.O.D. was just the name of the tribe that’d died there before them — spoken as insect=drone that once was poetry — these primitives hear only echos of their incomprehension — always too many — the Big Ear tuning=in from window static — K is for Kafka for Kunstarbeit for Ketanserin [see how the tyrannized always want more] — the Doctor waves his stethoscope in yr eye — to ward off unbiddable spirits — burnt offerings hung upon the ancient gravemarkers — where are all the little assassins now? — the doppelgängers & homunculi? — the saints & paedophiles? — there’s never only one G.O.D. mon pote — [everything in real=life personifictivized] — here we lie suffocating on the odours of vaselined rectitude — in dreams at least there remains the humxn innately endowed — [chorus] there remains art! — [chorus] there remains real silence! — well every nostalgia harbours a fanatic — laying out the bait — this web this trap is also a dwelling — but they’ll say the Arachnoid isn’t born of language & doesn’t know how to speak — [G.O.D.’s very own Terra Nullius!] — look at it writhing there naked under the mosquito net — that petit mal — that little horde — another 4th of May incident — like an agonised mass=erection trying to recompose itself into the monster of yr dreams — something immutable in flux — death by interlacing facets — they’ve flayed the skin from its nerves — stretc.hed drumtaut across the forcingframe — as across the canyons & gulfs & abysses — a highly educated deformity — but the effort of dismantling & reassembling costs more than they’re physically capable of & becomes their cross — night after night — the attempt & always failure — in the full naked light — so the Arachnoid lies at their feet like an unresolved contest — un bataille n’abolira jamais la guerre — hemlocked in 8=dimensional delirium — cold sweats — cramps — parasthesis — contractions — hypertension — pulmonary edema — autonomia — necrosis — hours days years slipping back into the uterine swamp — a recapitulated beast with gill=slits & tail? — a multiple eyeball brain? — von hier aus [as sez J. Beuys] it’s devolution right down the birth canal kemosabe — Salamander Thing lassoed to blueveined umbilicus — [nothing dollars can’t transform into a photofit Nirvana bébé] — Lithium riffs quadraphonic riding the waves in scalloped FuturoPod — a mid=diluvian Aphrodite=in=progress — pink as a plastic vagina — as placenta tartare — “well I was a foreign body already back when Eve begat Adam” — quien no sabe — is it right to want to be one thing at a time? — or better to be everything at the same time? — pretending when all else fails to be a late=stage serotonin addict — who’ll inherit this embarrassing colossal wreck? — with its hundredthousand fake ancestor portraits? — the family trees from which they swung by elongated tails? — it’s necessary to abolish not one path but them all — inheritance amounting to a sectioned frontal lobe in a bath of lunar caustic — bloodmoon or the reflected crescent of G.O.D.’s dispassionate eye — or the soul’s mirage upon an Arabian Sea — twined zygotes of pure indifférance — see how they leer! — an exodus is a misplaced timepiece — circling back like a self=amputating fox to the crimescene — to thieve a morsel of divinity’s carnage [a dead G.O.D. makes quite a meal] — vigilant for tripwires & boobytraps — qui faire le mort — as if for once truly on the cusp of something — [nothing vended nothing gamed] — the peanut gallery hoots EAT IT BEFORE IT EATS YOU! — malformed in serial abundance we too are purée of ancestor brain=worship — sucked down into the horrible mnemopathic maw — cannibal halitosoids in rictus of laughing death — power demands a monopoly over the grotesque — say what you want IF IT DRESSES LIKE ART IT SHLD EXPECT TO GET TREATED LIKE ART! — but if there’s no=one to see it? — madness is the night of the keeper of categories — all things by hypothetical commodity of themselves — being ontic transvestism at a higher state — gravity always right there on the other side of the glass — outfoxed by a windable mechanism regulating the intervals — though still hedging on which is up or down — the indigestible infinitesimals — spiralling to mindgap borealis via rigged subluminals — jiving to the algorhythms tidelocked in zombie=trance — taking first transmammalian steps in the tall tale of Manifest Debauchery — expecting any moment to strut upright with a cuntprick epoxied to the visual cortex — outriders scanning for entrypoints in the great unmapped teleology — or reclines there like a scorpion on a windowsill making the sky turn w/ each tailflick — nights gazing into stardrift at different hours & some nights several hours successively — a constant bright compasspoint describing an infinite moon — already in search of that monstrous obsession able to take the sting out of Darwinism’s backwoods diaspora — sicksicksick of this kaleidoscope in drag — the discipline of selfisolation proffers its epochs — its golden menial — beckoning from that loose appendage called a gob — to retract the camera & call it forward — the verbiage forming the microphone — the scoria making the intestine — arriving one day the way a myth steps out of a taxi — like an autogynophiliac adrift in Squaresville — & suitcase w/ nothing but a penchant for selfharm & blue lagoons & chemical armageddon — Oppenheimer in Los Alamos — Eichmann in Jerusalem — moonlanding in the TV studio — the truth’s hidden inside the static behind the broadcast signal — a flophouse mattress on which to build a brilliant career before history finally catches up with our truculent absconder — ah yes the intuitions! — oi vey the oraculations! — & now the atom=age Fallopian Kid w/ one slant homicidal eye parting the curtains to get a look at the attending mass of humxnity — know thy enemy! — in all yr terminal solitary blatherings had you ever conjured such a sexless son=of=a=gun to flip the Doomsday Switch? [8th wonder of the world!] — is this the sign that someone or something is being betrayed here? [nature abhors a victim] — FEAR the ancient voices say — like something boiled down into little grey pellets of entropy — fear of their dead creator stirring underground — fear in eyeless telepathy — an inchoate smothering fear — the Arachnoid sees a statue running across an enormous room without ever taking a step — a rent hole in a cemetery wall — nettled — wreathed — vaulted — a funereal monument crumbling into a rat’s nest — Mort ne soit pas fière — they’re searching for the time=crystal of sempiternal fluctuation — the “surcease of death” — it rains & will go on raining for as long as necessary — i.e. in order to achieve the desired saturation — SEMPER ALIQUID HAERET — no staccato solo legato — cue improvised mood music for modern dream extensions — leitmotifs of future spacecraft rituals — soundtracks for transfugal states [G.O.D. being random D.N.A.] — observed at scale anything can appear as cause or effect — eternity by the stars — oracular cloud formations — the way fate’s handwriting spiders across the sky — a plume of smoke — a flow of spit or jism — the logos is taken into the mouth & consumed as food or equally for pleasure — there are territories exclusively linked to forms of consumption — border — lips — mouth — the seduction of this arrangement is designed solely as a channel from the one to the other — the star=shaped rectum — the nebula at the centre of the cosmic web — the spectacle isn’t what happens in front of me but what puts me in the situation of being absorbed — they inserted a utensil into its brain — & then my dream dreamt a dream & I cldn’t tell what was dreaming me —all of history comes afterwards — the radial structure of the orb web with tightly stretc.hed polypeptides functions chemically & physically as a signal=transmitter to specialized sense organs on the spider’s body — afterwards the smell of death among the rubble — maggots surfacing [future proteins] — “hooray for the sovereign discourse of the subproletariat” — well we get the soylent=processors connected to the sewer system [what writing’s for] — scanning out where it’s supposedly silent for “fresh meat” — watchtowers & midnight crossings — literature’s the repellent that’s kept G.O.D. out of the kitchen all this time — doesn’t matter if you accept it or not — like speaking in signlanguage w/ yr hands tied behind yr back haha — the art is avoiding direct combat — eternal struggle strictly an android personification job — put the machine on it! — ex nihilo A=bomb melancholia in an unfamiliar speaking=voice — G.O.D.’s on the telephone — y’re breathing y’re making something out of nothing — feit & counterfeit — time to play dead on the linoleum till threat=levels subside — a floating apex under the dinner table [history from below] — wafting through the insecticide — “crime sticks to our skin like law” — even in rigormortis kowtowing to the pyramid’s sardonic eye — WE’VE BEEN MADE! — it’s enough simply to be given a name — voice or void — word or world — the eternal return of nothing to something — entropy’s just the universal form of inalienable profit margin — even to imagine otherwise is usury — because there’s ALWAYS AN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM — does it know something that the room doesn’t? — an alien instruction=manual for planetary survival? — a shroud of debt created by sacred meaning? — ideology isn’t a cloud=making machine after all — though they still dreamt that far off in the cosmos were things like humxnity & not feral monkey=spiders big enough to eat the Empire State Building

Louis Armand is the author of THE COMBINATIONS (2016), THE GARDEN (2020) & VAMPYR (2021). He lives in Prague & Beja.