to prOSE

and yet, there is yet too much order in that one that is the sonnet, the lines too pure, too close to the edge, too much 'à la pointe', whereas to prose might be better, need to experiment, i prose, you prose, no, he proses, that's it, he proses, typing away in an avalanche of words, no not avalanche or downpour but A pack of words, UNe 'meute de mots', with its hiearchy, its pure multiplicities, and its bombardments of sign regimes, a bit like the autobiographical fictions, the S of prose a fluxified Z joining, disjoining, the plane from the stratus of modern day apparatus, that feeling of being lost in the pack, of something happening whilst not quite happening like in p.238 of MP when they says 'it might be better to conceive things as a matter of perception: one walks into a room, and one sees some thing as already there, as having just arrived, even if it hasn't happened yet. And we know that what is happening, is already doing so for the last time, that it's over. One hears a "I love you", which one knows is being said for the last time. Perceptive semiotic. My god, what could possibly have happened, whilst all is and stays imperceptible, and so that all be and stays imperceptible for ever?', that is the pure process one can conceive in prose, not in the sonnet and its overcoded lines even if some try to decode them, as much as they please and will, the moment is in prose, though like that last i love you-