… or drive you crazy if they (who/whatever) don‘t meet or organize in such a way that you dream or figure out the object and/or the motive, the distinction being skin, flesh, blood, as memory, anxious and carnal, yet recurrent, persistent, thematic, traumatic, a question (with fleeting, flat answers), one word at a time, as indication, a tiny picture floating down, forgetting, while the body (wanting attention) experiences in a chronic way – and never by chance, we wait, sleep, blush, name, fall in love in love, and research, the solid, unmoved nothing, humiliation sweeps by, the body sinks, the motive, happy as a lark; praise is lore; the body utters method, a hazard language, a great black baroque space opens to someone, obliging (me) to swallow (tiring), written in full, of consequence, and the work (research) on appearance draws us/me to a track stretching from silence to solace, from part to replete, from spite to insight, from blame to disdain to calm delinquency, to a prickly (erotic) state (inside), which pushes the word, off, speeds it, while I stand my ground, a base series (as far as the eye can see) of gestures for malice, sequel, with trembling (murmur, the hour and place of event where something in her life began or stopped, precise, she/you cannot retreat, and it grows in her, and), with shock (a revolt against lines, until (things) smash, lose and gain letters, magic (spell) – require – one can wound oneself, curse, fading till (things) are safe again), with glaze (each word has perfume, tempo, scrutiny causes slight but ok bites, unedited grass, imagine the body slow – fascinated and fascinating, each phrase tries tense, until a scene emerges, unpredictably, and the stuff [say, sleep, skin, spin] are where she [who works] bows slightly but forever, the order of sound), with breath (say, a bass more suited to bones, to a just tone, a brick shape, to hear the voice, you shiver, rock, vomit, in the corners (in the shadows), where monuments almost join (an architect‘s nightmare), and the tenuous is familiar (an anxiety and pleasure), and words spread, or drive you crazy if they don‘t … (written from ‘Corps D‘energie/Rituals D‘écriture’, Nicole Brossard (trans. Alice Parker), Public3 (carnal knowledge), Public Access Collective, Toronto, 1990)