"Angioplasm” turns out to be a neologism, meditation on whose possible sense yields: 1. A proto-matter or primal substance, held in or susceptible to being bound or shaped by a vessel or container; 2. A quasi-liquid contained by an appropriate quasi-vessel or containing form; 3. What flows and oozes, but down a channel or course; 4. A substance that, though internally without articulation, is shaped by the vessel in which it is contained. “Spasms and works” the material is everywhere toiling: the misery of it, but the outcomes, the results, the achievements, manifest! The liquefaction is dynamic and if contained in a vessel, yet forms the very vessel that constrains it, as a river its water-course or a fjord, through great stone, surmounted by sunless woods. The body is the house of communities and itself is ensconced, communally, in its world and every force—macro or small— and every named, hence neutralized, known, that is, reduced to familiar yet replete, bodily—material, stony—entity the vital course and host, material if sentient, putting out a sonic rustling, a luminosity in the very squalid, if dynamic, desperate, despised, liquidity “muscular lymbic homuncular striate bark” that is: athletic, yet passional, exemplary, provisory, cortical pulsing wave after wave wave over-mastering wave ecstasy rife in the very irritation and discord in-spite-of-it-all harmonics—accumulations of toiling force towards orgasmic subterranean, source depth, intercept enzymatic, catalytic, attachments and dis- connection, adhesion, correlation whether pith or spine somatic depth, chthonic grim declivities industrial, terrestrial, pugilist, or wilfull If it has a mind it still is material formation round and wet, its delicate ecology dismissed in the momentary catastrophe or jouissance the effort to uncover its center through a certain elastic advantage: oxidation, purgation, once again ecstasy and little beings manifest and are somatically arranged as if in the orders of a text but materially adjusted, that is typographically there is density or spoiling—scarring—alive but insensate, tough: you cannot chew it a fortress, a house on high, sporting hegemony and its signals: a gaudy erythematic extravagance of surfacing and the discreteness of spaces sporting a canniness regarding the internal arrangements, internal entropic passivity and the armies take their rest there and lackeys attend the accoutrements And I put it to you: if you have encompassed in your circumspection both source and limit, heart and skin, and the moment of circumscription itself has been surpassed, and you no longer therefore have application of provisory or charting— do you yet sustain a manner of orientation, that is, “do you know where you stand” when the signals of achievement, the comforters, no longer support you? If you have no principle operative of self-circumscription all this spontaneity is aimless, distracted, dispersed, though the bottom, the somatic fulcrum, the impulse reveals this much: the topology of its own fulguration and grounding And I put it to you again: can you locate, identify, pinpoint, arrange the very instance of your own connation: the concretion of your will in the momentary emission of force that opens up its own self-reflection and the necessary assertion of its own assertion— that belief takes the form of— This, as if in repetition, the appearance of boundary and on the horizon the imminence of the threat that fulfills the monition and suggests its own belonging, spontaneity, surprise, in the sudden uncovering of origin, matrix, systemic prefiguration and the system, an apparition emergent for thought flamboyant, profligate, prodigious, in its qualification of mystery that the indivisible lies just behind the infinite subdividedness, diaresis, and knowledge as if a primordial liquid, an ooze, or a julep but the mindfulness is awarded place too opening, waiting, receiving the correspondences, the possibilities for jointure rife in the stuff as it spasms: this is called “fielding,” that is, being there so that the field might open intent pervading the space of its own disorientation and the julep collect in the cosmological bottom the sentient substance awake when to be free is for all that to be so fated…