N is for the neo nano nascent notes

that spell the birth of transformation,
cascading folds of nothing but
Deleuze-remembering-Leibniz-kneading-intertexting-dough
through re/de readings of divergent parts
connecting edges into runs and risks that peak
with some thing other than a thin blue line in mind
of knowing inbetween-notknowing seeking means
to understanding, how to find an edge, of travel
to the desert-end of self, how if one does not run away from thirst,
but firmly stands upon soft ground with openned gaze
can move at speeds of standing still by pouring into
some new kind of listening state that finally hears
the echoed bouncing beats of back-betweens
and cornered concepts (philosophical ideas)
melting into poignant percepts (artistic ideas)
scented by a spice from fortuned functions (scientific ideas),
knowing how Deleuze re assembles these into a capture,
something new, names them affects and then jumpcuts
his reverberating pleas that speak of what he does not know,
like travelling inside or out

by tacking inbetween Genet re collecting Giacometti's form
in wonder at what happens when an artist disappears inside
as if there is an inside/outside to any one
but knowing nonetheless how one can step too far in
like sinking to the bottom of a lakeoflettinggo
while leaving surface to its shore because the depth
is where one hears the echoed-fluid hope of how
to shape a percept, how to

"...gather an entire city peopled with bent office
workers, wholly gathered into this detail that my gaze
notes; a fold of the mouth, a tiredness in the shoulders
...each of their attitudes, perhaps because of the speed
of my gaze and of the vehicle, is sketched so quickly,
so quickly grasped in its arabesque, that each being is
revealed to me in its newest, most irreplacable quality -
and it's still a wound - thanks to the solitude where
this wound places them, about which they know almost
nothing, and into which their entire being flows, I thus
cross the city sketched by Rembrandt, where each
person and each thing is grasped in its truth, which
leaves plastic beauty far behind." (Genet, 2003)

and just when Genet finds that place within himself from which to
write outside himself, beyond his past (or perhaps inspite of it),
enables him to grasp the essence of a Giacometti-ed man,
so Deleuze also lays his hope across the stuttering toolboxed
style of many others, knowing how Derrida's grammatology
also floods a hundred languages across the many scribes
that lay their writ upon an other self/unself as if to sink
the stretch of self/non-self along abstractly endless lines of self expression into eoned voices whistling with a purple-Monet-ed senseofplace,
the soft ground journies of a tourist in one's own language
drifing past no fixity of meaning by a fictive flux
of signifying flows or finding only bifurcations passing through
a zone of brownian-motioned repetitions deliberately deferring sameness
into Derrida's disseminating cannonade

and some will say that Deleuze's stance
of difference-engineering differs
from Derrida's deconstructive glas gramme glance
because Deleuze does not present himself
as a commentator (of texts) but claims;

"For me, text is merely a small cog in an extra-textual
practice. It is not a question of commenting on a text,
by a method of deconstruction, or by a method of
textual practice, or by other methods; it is a question of
seeing what use it has in the extra-textual practice
that prolongs the text." (Deleuze, 1997)

and how Derrida also writes across a shore,
across some extra-textual notion of how justice prolongs
the space of hospitality, invokes Levinasian messianicity,
pearl of the unconditional gift that cracks an other-wise
Deleuzian question of how to think historicity
or its (inter)textuality into a vitality, to a tenor,
a life astride imbalance like the crashing wave
of speakinginaforeigntongue while safe within one's own (predictabilities),
aporetic fixity self/nonself while entering new regions
begging questions

and wondering if travel best reveals how well one thrives
while learning at a border, how borders measure limits,
if one is not swallowed up by all the worlds one travels through
by crossing subjects that embrace encounters only to avoid
adopting airs of (scholarly) expertise about what one has
not yet lived but thinking that it does not matter if
one reads philosophy through the lens of art
or if one reads art through a philosophical filter
because one can find the folds of oneontoanother from any side,
like reverberations inbetween relations and their terms
housed within an unconditional reverence for the history
of any one (subject) by first apprenticing to (its) history
as homaged right to (l)earn its practice from outside,
with no judgement seeking singularities that somehow change
the world of DDGGG intent to comprehend complexity and contradiction
while also watching someone else step back too far beyond
the poet-i-cizing striding stutter of a mind retreating,
drifting from the shore, too far away from whorlsofloveinanyform by writing
bombs
against the listening glance of hospitality
pouring
out
of
D
and
D&G
and
G
and
G
while
steeped
within
a
world
of
words,
one
wonders
how
you
could
be
so
deaf?