Cutting Up Brion Gysin

WARNING: You may not be able to jerk off to this.
Deal with it, jerk off.

Last summer I was inspired, and it’s taken this long to tell you about it. I’ve been inspired many times in between then and now, by the way, in ways you already know about if you’ve been paying attention, or could figure out if you tried. But last year I went to the New Museum and saw Brion Gysin’s original manuscript of "Brion Gysin Let the Mice In."

The words stopped me, resonating, and I promised myself I’d revisit them. I read about Brion Gysin since then, read that he was buddies with William S. Burroughs and Ian Sommerville, that he made some cool art with them and got high a bunch with them, not necessarily in that order, but probably in every possible order.

The following are words used in Brion Gysin’s "Brion Gysin Let the Mice In," cut up and chewed up and spit out by Me along with a little extra Me for good measure, because that’s what words are for, especially according to Gysin. So be good and lap it all up.


I talk, a new language you will understand, whether you understand or not, whether you like it or not, and you’ll like it, because you like it when I talk to you.

Inspiration. Respiration. Desperation. Aspiration. Infiltration.

Breathe. Breathe in, breathe in the words, breathe in the words I breathe into you. I give you breath in the form of new language, a new language not always formed in words or shapes of sounds.

You breathe in words, not always spoken, not always thought, I’ll speak for you. I’ll think for you. I’ll feed you, not always in language, or breath, or sound.

I breathe you in. I have you. I’ll breathe you out, filtered through me when I’m done.

I demonstrate what you’ll become, the shape of your future you, in action, visual, aural. More concrete than music, breath that fills you like concrete, you sink. Paintings of words, the breath I’ve given you, fill your head like television screens, you’ve subscribed to me, you’ve given up your own head. I own your interior space. I show you what used to be yours.

I rub out the word, and I take it back, and I take your breath back, I hold you back and I hold your breath for you. I’ll keep it for you. I’ll tell you when to breathe again.

The word, and the breath, like a combination to the lock on your vault, you didn’t know you were locked until I unlocked you. When you crawled out of your locked self you crawled back into the crawl space I spun around you. And when you crawled out of yourself, you turned inside out and looked from outside in and back through the cracks in your interiors, now exposed.

Prisoner. Come out. The spells I cast are sentences spelling out the key to your lock.

Stop.

Change.

Start again.

Lighten your own life sentence.

Go back.

Start again.

Change.

In my magic, in 6 X 6 feet, you will be projected in all dimensions, protected in all directions, perfected in all distortions.

Stop. Start again. Prisoner. Come out.


You made it all the way through that? Congratulations! I may as well tell you at this point that I’m headed to San Francisco until the 18th. If you see me there, say hi. If you want to see me here, wait patiently.