it’s a jolly day in literature’s undone pub. sun shines like a rabbit’s ass. winter, drunk around the corner, cackles in a heap of dandruff. 1 2 7 0 uff. revs and diaper round cold forges ring. mistlejam gets its sleigh full of tritium and thorium-233 to drop down unswept gimmes of ymess. all is holey, all is blight
art says mangetout
art says bonobo though toke and quantum semen are both fine emboldening chaps but perhaps there are elements in both that are now aging less well than expected, for they both existed inside meat and boneheads, and we're not quite living exclusively there anymore, are we? for example, in an old favourite here, we detect a strict anthropologist's sensitivities, attributing human actions to local cultural/religious values and superstition as any good materialist would but there is also a failure to pursue or locate a more subtle, nonegoic material source for these tendencies, as at that time one (even those who climbed the tallest mountains) would have had little inclination that scientific and linguistic tools would not only cut through the roots of religion but ultimately go further and locate material sources for these experiences that point to a horizon of new rituals. but like any individuals that see the snakes inside and have them come out in ink or tongue, these boys are too flippant and multifarious, running madly in and out of too many dressing rooms to be sorry victims of the hallucinations of any one time
art says diaper is art or may not be art or is not art. or?
art says bishop is structures of losing, semblances of disaster
child of humanity says ezekiel what is the node more than any network, or than a branch which is among the network of the network of networks? shall data be taken thereof to do any work? or will humans take a pin of it to hang any device thereon? and i will make the internet desolate, because they have committed a trespass, saith the ietf
art says blake is your turds singing halleluwah in a swirl of unflushment
art says play-doh is a functional subterfuge of substantive dominance
art say the nlt 43.2-97ers is no longer the dominant force of evolution. our political, economic, and biotechnological policies may determine our future, for better or worse
art says v wii heaven be praised for solitude! i am alone now when the storm crosses the marsh and sweeps over me where i lie in the ditch unregarded i need no words i have done with phrases how much better is silence
tonight diaper canters with diaper
on The Avenue of The Unsustained
canter? the? really?
the talkways of night are lined with lies
what’s all this equine shit? these definitive articles? your intradiaperial cant?
how can we live in these homes of destruction?
the primary nature, function, and task remaining human white males is to retreat – why don’t you shut up? that’s what you prayed for
registers of the fallen
legions of the voiceless
you’re neither a current writer nor a currency rider – you cling to your irrelevance like an amulet that seemed to have once saved you from something
zeniths of darkness clamber vision’s rusty ladder
we are broken rungs, adamantine light
you talk like a mad snapped coil. you talk like a frog that dreams it’s had its legs pulled off by nine-year-old boys. you talk like something that’s never been counted among the somethings that count. you talk like you don’t know how talking talks. you talk, but your talking’s like a cracked mirror of narcissus in a garbage dump in michigan
i watch trains go by
boffee and cooze are my gurus
there are the margins
there are the margins of the margins
the animals watch us
watch us like televisions that have gained their freedom
haven’t seen much
a barnacle on a rock in a pool in a rock in a stream on an island in a lake on an island in a sea in an age in a hallucination in a scream on a petri dish in an induction on a non est factum in hydrogen bromide on a sigil gammaray in bosonic halflife in implicit crowdsourcing on a boston kpro type 1 titanium posterior plate in …
no ways but unways
unwalk this walking
here we are, sitting in poetry
there are things that are important beyond all this wordle
poetry is eating
poetry isn’t eating
science will genetically alter poetry to be eating and eating poetry
that’ll be boring
the announcement will be exciting
what’s the difference?
between announcement and important?
between poetring and eating?
poetring’s the image of the cake and eating’s the cake
eating’s now imaging
not when you’re imagining not imaging
this is far from eating
a visitor from nlt 43.2-97 visited me once and on nlt 43.2-97 one’s nutritional feeds are linked to poetic input and output – the more one produces and consumes good poetry the more one is fed
so the best poets are corpulent and the prosaic masses emaciated?
except that nlt 43.2-97ers aren’t as singularized as we. excess feed is shared through something analogous to mycelial networks here, which can channel for example surplus sugars in a paper birch to a nearby needy douglas fir. everyone weighs exactly the same taking into account differences in bone mass and other core variables
do you get visits like this often?
blake, ezekiel, and elizabeth bishop came for coffee and absinthe the other day
how was that?
ezekiel and bishop didn’t like each other
it was probably the absinthe
the point is – this isn’t poetry
what is it? – it’s not eating
it’s those spaces between that aren’t anything but graze everything
aren’t they poetry?
the cracks and rubble of poetry
the zone where one desires poetry but instead – sentient radiation
it’s a question of the usefulness of uselessness really
everyone’s now expected to contribute to the downfall of the world, through active exploitation, passive participation, protest bound through necessity to the forms resident in the active exploitation. poets defy this expectation – not (initially at least) through any intent but through what seems an accident
any time an unwanted group challenges society’s cherished forms it is seen as other and consequently stuffed in culture’s garbage, recycling, or composting bins. heretics – and there are always heretics for there is always a sacred – have been hated from the beginning of recorded time – they’ve been ostracized, exiled, tortured, maimed, butchered … poets are just heretics without any religion, politics, beliefs, paycheque, institutional credibility, taxonomic confidence, consistent structural realities, oneiric healings …
… play-doh was right in this anyway
play-doh can be formed to make most anything
as the forms in the forms
it’s almost dawn
the sun oslo rises
sons all souls eyes is
the announcement of suiciding earnest
time for breakfast
fiddletoads and wildepoes and halfheads
what’s not to like?-->
i am weak like a grapevine, sinuous and drunk, clutter of tungs. i ply ployed play. i walk on the dead and they talk among themselves like cats. who knows the stretches of soul as it languishes in slaughtered deserts? i’ve seen leaves rise like stars on the crucifixion of time and not flinched. who has not shed some clothes for unremembered passages? who has not said no to opening a door? i am strong like yone and shige. the dead are not the unliving, nor are they the oncehavebeen. the dead are us, traded around strange guberniyas. let us sing together our untranslatable songs, on ashes of quashed fires, stories of silent joy
i walk a bridge from void to void, upon arriving a voidoid i become, form of see, weird of know
and dialogue is not some exchange between two or more parties seeking understanding, means, ends. dialogue is a rupture in night’s impenetrability, blinding us to ourselves, convention knowledge virtue effort … this wandering lacking destination or measure, words disturbed muttering of wind
we have spoken you and i across the spaces. we have placed ourselves like imaginary planks on death’s infinite bog and walked across and our walking is our words
who said love is anything but these spaces, this place and walking?
i need your advice
don’t give advice
will you let the trees give advice through you?
that’s up to the trees
we’re not getting very far
there’s nowhere to get
then i’m going to ask for advice and also provide it
sort of defeats the purpose
you suddenly believe in purpose?
every once in a while it’s a relief to utter a commonplace
i didn’t think the republic of pompous poetry let you leave
language needs to sleep too
but shouldn’t it not sleeptalk?
i don’t think we should tell language what not to do
isn’t that exactly what we should be doing?
where’s humpty dumpty when we need it?
so here’s the scene. i’m sitting in the members’ lounge in yottalopolis’ primary artfilm venue minding my own business …
… you never mind your own business. what does that even mean bumblebrain? just because language is having a nap doesn’t mean we have to kill it, banality’s …
… minding my own business – i’m sitting in the southeast corner in one of those chairs that’s good for chiropractors typing on my laptop like a zombie literary samurai, for once no tepid neosinatra audio piss playing and the lounge as quiet as a cat when it’s quiet – when the dude behind me starts wanking some youtube junk on his phone. the gift of tranquility, focus, unity’s immediately stolen, torture fantasies rise seductively from the swamp of origins, misanthropy – never one to stay buried long – leaps from its hypertransient grave and claims totalitarian rule on planet i. what should i have done?
trees don’t give historical advice
you’re not one to believe in chronounidirectionality
i’m not one, but setting this aside we’re not one not to believe in anything
it’s the rank obnoxiousness. nature doesn’t exist anymore. only the city remains – everthickening makeup on absurd absence. silence and the spaces it creates – despite that clever 1961 book about silence (a necessary sound in sound’s evolution but hardly any sum of sounds, another cage to try out in the zoo of words) – are critical for biopsychicdiversity, these increasingly ubiquitous invasions accepted, even expected, desired, normalized, these offenses …
… don’t worry, your psychic brand is being phased out, in 10 years at the most the environments of silence will be so polluted with human sound that those unable to adapt will all be dead or incarcerated
want to know what i did?
what you should have done is bound the dude to his chair, smashed his phone, pissed and shat and puked on the fragments, used your revengoblast™ to mutate him into a zerodimensional antiad for nothing and stuck him on a videoboard playing on infinite loop in the hell of his own private theater
didn’t realize trees were so christian
i forgot about the trees
you and everyone else
it’s noise that makes us forget about the trees
it’s the absence of trees that makes us remember noise
it’s forgetting that makes us forget about forgetting
want to know what i did?
all our lives are are retelling stories so we can access modes of time lost with trees’ death
we are the species whose primary pedagogy is knowledge through slaughter
we learn through ghosts
blood is our curricula
death our classroom
there has to be another way
the way of trees
the trees are dead
let’s ask the phones
the phones won’t let us hear the answer
there are no answers
only questions. questions, and time
time too is dead, only questions
where does advice fit into all of this?
advice is the restory of the question
the vice of ads on a quest to rest us
yesterday is like an affirmed tomorrow never returned to its owner
time is like advice never spoken, taken, given, thought
i don’t see what any of this has to do with trees
want to know what i did?
we think your critique of the dalai lama is just nietzschean ressentiment
i think your critique of my critique is just philosophical cliché mongering, psychic envy, and an insecurity manifesting in a love of entitled pageantry, inane hierarchies, and otiose tradition
we think your critique of my critique of your critique is nothing but some gushing phoneme factory, obsolescent, overproducing in your soul, indiscreetly plunked there by some malevolent conceptualist, your mouth a cloacal flow of undigested commonplaces
i think your critique of my critique of your critique of my critique is semantic flatulence and aural smut produced by your overindulging in häagendazs black cherry amaretto gelato, caucasian continental cock metaphysics, balderdash aged cheddar, prissy white poetry, gardein herbed stuffed turk’y, anal sex, sol portobello mushroom burgers, an indolent faux bohemian lifestyle, pretentious pomposities masquerading as alternative, hip, free, and revolutionary … all washed down with stolen plonk and fairtrade organic coffee to make you feel virtuous, saturated in …
… we think your critique of my critique of your critique of my critique of your critique would be assessed by any certified members of the official and renowned professions of sanity as an exemplar of deranged coddled sexist racist ageist classist ableist sanist specist gross dysfunction, establishing your pathological condition as a wholly new degraded personality heresy within the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders, one so psychopathic and sociopathic it requires immediate and nonconsensual invasive medical, pharmaceutical, and institutional intervention …
... who is this “we”?
just the “i” doubled to itself
i am the dalí llama
we are the ocean feces
i am the dubble hubble
we are the ordure of putrescence
i am the papal smear
we are the slop of sleaze
i am the i who says am
wii are the wee we who whee weed and try not to say are
to conquer oneself is a greater victory than to conquer thousands in a battle
if you think you are too small to make a difference try sleeping with a mosquito
just one small positive thought in the morning can change your whole day
i think i am actually humble. i think i’m much more humble than you would understand
when the dog looks at you, the dog is not thinking what kind of a person you are. the dog is not judging you
how can we enter the professions and yet remain civilized human beings?
virginia wii’s way holier and smarter than lama, trolle, and stump combined
writing with the woolfs
of course she didn’t have to worry about money
your rolling critique of neoliberaltechnocapitalism and judeochristiancapitalism is just nietzschean ressentiment
your critique of my critique is just …
… quotes are prefabs for those who don’t have time to think
how could an argument soothe or settle a controversy when every quote is a nest for a bird of doubt?
prayer to wii wolves and playbox yabiz –
oh sun that fills our hearts with merde
help us not to say another word
but soar above the clouds like bird
and not stink like human like a turd
i hate to get political but …
… everyone else is
in the age of human incarceration in the human by the human – an entirely new evolutionary phenomenon we’re perversely celebrating – what else do you do?
… but fight humans
and as a corollary genocide everything else
like lucky charms or bacefook
anyway. i wanted to say that the dalai lama doesn’t particularly impress me
what does though?
it’s vain, hypocritical, homophobic – why do humans get all drippy about it?
humans are drippy things – they bounce between cruelties they call necessity and strength and sentimentalities they call love. the dalai lama is an easy feed for this lobotomized joy ride
it blabs about ecology yet flies all over the place, makes tollelike clichéd pronouncements, views celibacy superior to sex, vaginal penetration by the penis as superior to other forms of sexual pleasure, and his own personal physical attractiveness as a necessary attribute for all lamas, surrounded by money, privilege and adoration, accepting humans bowing before it and addressing it your holiness …
llamas are holier than lamas
at least it wants to end the program
isn’t that only so it’s the last one and can ride history high?
that’s cynical. you’re not any holier. all you do is sit around talking to yourself. what good is that?
i’ve no idea. i just get pissed by mortal apotheosis of mortals
you support immortal apotheosis of mortals, immortal apotheosis of immortals, mortal apotheosis of immortals, mortal disapotheosis of mortals, immortal disapotheosis of … ?
… i support pissing
back to politics
not to honour humans of worth will keep the people from contention, not to value goods which are hard to come by will keep them from theft, not to display what is desirable will keep them from being unsettled of mind, …
diapers are our teachers
shit is education
flatulence is communication
no human ocean but the ocean ocean is our ocean
no human lama but the lama llama is our lama
i wish you’d stay away from politics
no one else is
since when did you do what no one else is not?
your diaperness …