Travis Hedge Coke
There is Nothing Left to Say (On The Invisibles)
Light Bend Backwards
by Clive Nolan
Clive Patrick Nolan is a photographer and psychotherapist who lives in Snowdonia, Wales.
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6.04
An Elder Folds Paper
by Travis Hedge Coke
“All souls converge upon a hopeless mote tonight.” John Berryman in blackface.
What is a performance of a blackface performance?
DC Comics publishing ink and ink blackface, put on by a musician who calls himself Jim Crow and detourns Doctor Who episodes for an American audience shown perhaps not to understand his intent.
Jim Crow has some words in The Invisibles, some ideas, which are reproduced almost in whole as those of Grant Morrison. Like Joker asks in the 1989 Batman movie, hubba hubba hubba who do you trust?
Letterlock fold.
“I am not so interested in how many you can answer as I am in getting you to worry over them.”
That’s Jearl Walker.
“Let her drop.” WB Yeats, quoted in Leda’s Lament.
“So, go your ways, daughters of Time, swinging your minikin loving-cups, sufficient for the needs of mortal men.” Leda’s Lament, by PL Travers.
“Vor zwei Tagen wurde ich (haleluia!)”
Not Jearl Walker. Albert Einstein.
“The fun was missing.”
That’s Jearl Walker or somebody else.
Now, Les Tricoteuses click their needles. Now, in 1789, the Mothers of the Nation march on Versailles.
Now, in 1777, Goethe follows Petrarch up the Brocken.
Fingerfolds fistfuls of the rents temple, bundling tangents, regular transformations; “Formulae ueteres exorsismorum.” Taken bi-shape. Taken by shape.
Frog base.
Now, archons and Derrida, 1998. Now, Derrida saying, “Archive is not a living memory. It’s a location – that’s why the political power of the archons is so essential in the definition of the archive.”
Concepts are necessarily transsubjective, for they are of universal validity.
– Alfred Stern
Now, 2009, a slight shift from the official transcript, by Dipesh Chakrabarty, is “Archives is not a living memory,” but actually, that is, for you, for me, right now.
Now, in 2022, The Invisibles is illustrating that a woman can be a man, a man a spirit, a spirit nonbinary of gender, a gender a woman, a woman a spirit. Now.
An elder folds paper. A youth folds.
When you call, next, on IXAT, remember the Countess of Taxis, Alexandrine. Who talks to bees as bees talk in the past. Telling it two.
The paint on the wall. Light on glass. Universe A, Universe B. Christian fish. Barbelith on the bricks. Ink on page. Thought into physical is demonstrated across The Invisibles. We are shown ancient gods and spirits as living, acting beings. Antiquated concept gray aliens. Magic mirrors. Shoggoths. The King in Yellow. A harlequinade. Archons. Angels.
Am I inherently a frustration to others who tolerate in peaks and vales or do I consciously or subconsciously pursue to irritate in order to establish my self myself, myself? Calculations of Breton letters to colleagues in despise // mirror.
ENTER
Judgement fold.
Caught off guard I refer to Grant Morrison as trans. Intentionally, I refer to Duchamp as trans.
There are all these celebrities and artists who will say they are attracted to or happily engage in sexual relations with various genders but because one of those is their “opposite gender” they are “straight.”
The Fly is as much a trans film as M Butterfly. That’s Katherine Mansfield and John Luther Long.
Why is Ragged Robin so much nerd-fulfillment/demiurge Kyle Reese with/and a nerd-fulfillment/demiurge Terminator?
So many practices which say we are all male and female, or neither female nor male, that we are androgyne or tri-sected, but shove come push come erection and it all defaults to not what we know but what we learned when.
““Queer teams passed along, with queer loads””
The great trans artists, ungendered priestesses, multi-body people and multi-spirited beings, and in history we record them as bland or blunt as gender 1, gender 2.
“This, and negative time, involve dreaming of the wildest sort, with no support whatsoever as yet from anything.”
– Vannavar Bush
Goddamn archons. Windmill fold.
Angels, archons, kings, mirrors, grays and ghosts are thought into physical. Every person we encounter is thought into physical. Is thoughts intersecting a physical, but thoughts entering a physical. Physicality is a time dimension we understand by three basic physical dimensions.
Incidentally skipping pages. Accidentally flipping to another comic. Tapeworm of signatures in spirit or some discussedipated “sex act.”
“So, you’ll look at the stuff related to trans universal computing?”
– DC Comics
Archons, goddamn.
Katharine Jimmy Olive Max Oyl Hare Kronkheit Finch Hepburne is Mrs Phyllis Wilbourn if I say it, and the onus on u?s? you all to tell.
“Three years it shall be forbidden for you, not to be eaten.”
– Leviticus
“En ma fin est mon commencement.”
– Mary, daughter of Mary of Guise
“Enfant terrible” has always been a terrible excuse to excuse things. Excuse me.
I will always shortfall.
Angels, archons, kings are as people as Little Yellow Dog or Ghede, Marta, Kirk, Thierry, Bootsy, Ulric, Quimper and Robin.
“““virescit vulnere virtus”””
To hold your breath. Exert will. Show will.
“Great artists are all greatly emotional.”
Especially on my medications, I am’n’t. Maybe this is why I am not.
Personhood, like death, is there before it comes.
Time is a volume of spatial lines. If space is a breath, time needed to breathe.
Next time.
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Nothing in There is Nothing Left to Say (On The Invisibles) is guaranteed factually correct, in part or in toto, nor aroused or recommended as ethically or metaphysically sound, and the same is true of the following recommendations we hope will nonetheless be illuminating to you, our most discriminating audience.
Suicide Chapel. Seabury Quinn. 1938.
A Holy Venom. Kiarna Boyd. 2024.
Harlequin Empire. David Worral. 2007.
Mississipi–1955. Langston Hughes. 1955.
