Malady of the Visual

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses

Or else the all-knowing floating camera, big-brother of my brain. Or else, this organ of expenditure:

The eye, at the summit of the skull, opening on the incandescent sun in order to contemplate it in a sinister solitude, is not a product of the understanding, but is instead an immediate existence; it opens and blinds itself like a conflagration, or like a fever that eats the being, or more exactly, the head. And thus it plays the role of a fire in a house; the head, instead of locking up life as money is locked in a safe, spends it without counting, for, at the end of this erotic metamorphosis, the head has received the electric power of points.
--Bataille, "The Pineal Eye" (trans. Stoekl)

Sounds painful. It's too much head. Let's get out of there:

Is it really so sad and dangerous to be fed up with seeing with your eyes, breathing with your lungs, swallowing with your mouth, talking with your tongue, thinking with your brain, having an anus and larynx, head and legs? Why not walk on your head, sing with your sinuses, see through your skin, breathe with the belly....
--Deleuze & Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus (trans. Massumi)

A nonprogram, a nonmethod, toward the "derangement of all the senses" via a "derangement of all the organs." An utterly delirious and fantastic mania Let's write poems with the spinal cord instead of the hands! Let me kiss you with these nerve-endings. Wait that's what I do already. I'm always drinking through fingernails, hobnobbing in the kneecap, funneling with the esophagus.