Flinging ink across

plateaus and oughs
before the stream of time
is why
one cannot say
precisely when
the birth of yellow comes,
like Apollinaire's inhuman zone,
nor why there is no now/not-now
to that which is outside
of i/t
and how there is no time
to red
when soakingintoblue
is not an arrowed slice
but floats a fleeting cloud
across the wheeling Klee
of unthought thought
as if there is
nopastnorfuturepresenttense
to green
that makes nohistorynotbegun
within no series of events
is why
all poets trail children
on a journey backtofront
of an existential curve
turned upside down
to
live
like
colours
do



"The child develops in a context shadowed by television,
computer games, telecommunications,comic strips...A new
machinic solitude is being born, which is certainly not
without merit, but which deserves to be continually reworked
such that it can accord with renewed forms of sociality.
Rather that relations of opposition, it is a matter of forging
polyphonic interlacings between the individual and the social.
Thus, a subjective music remains to be thereby composed."
(Felix Guattari, 1992)