introducing ard.aln to the dreaming public

on those days when sadoo diaper enters domains of language exiled from thought – or rather domains whose habitat often appears conducive to a comfort with language and thought as subsets of geometry rather than much to do with reason, society, desire, transaction, amusement – messages similar to the below emerge.

the following quintrille is envisioned as part of a collection, a compendium, what ard.aln (the presumed author) calls a conned penned ee-um, written or received in sanatoria of ords. the forms would arise from an oneiric linguistic, a nexus of sensation and vision, a grammar of trance, edited, yes, but according to principles coded in the emerged form.

so far, only one message here. and we (in wry portend) await ard.aln to dream again.

quintrille ¦ of ard.aln ¦ in 7-11

ard.aln sit ¦ on egg it seems
shadow of tree on graffiti in city
twiddling hair like centipedes

birdie ¦ what a birdie songs
waste mgmt hums in bathmattub ¦ hanging
mismissing left ¦ nat ¦ ought ¦ wrongs

didactic pterodactyls
flour in a chamberpot some windowsill
of silence ¦ lumph try lents ¦ wills

fore are hare for 3skin fours
wee master bait ¦ our orrery washroom chore
yes( )u meowmeow disadores

now ¦ know is it fined strangers
doom drumb droom ¦ baa-spoke we whizz is quivering
evermore know ¦ no ¦ nevers


biological and communication air

today sadoo diaper announces the crapulent lecture by professor dr juli xi s. mith and its colleague in sadooity – prof rev dr hon mx peer –

biological and communication air

– on academia.edu. read it aloud to a balloon of baboons and bums for a dose of education a way it’s been thought by anyone with intelligence, wit, creativity, and passion.

(others on land have espoused various theories of theory-fiction. but sadoos live on the sea, and philosofictioning’s a play of waves. we find land too strident, too kkk, too academic [despite all the anti- sound and fury], too unplayful, too disembodied, too conservative and prickly-pricky. where are the whales? where is queequeg? where ishmael?)

more explorations in the importance of not becoming ernest could be forthcoming. our next foray into academic thought – the mind in chubby wings not tenured chains – might be –

polypolarity –
conversations of evolutionary shape

– and might begin –

this talk was first talked at the symposium of postantineomonadism
in aodhville by dr dr nadi en narco.
even in those relatively hospitable environs the response was hostile.
when asked about this, dr dr en narco replied
i do not wish to say this was inevitable but i will go against my wishes.

or it might not.


principles for a successful life

1.   always begin the day with drugs
2.   if you love something throw it away
a)      if you don’t, never get close enough to it to be able to throw it away
3.   money should always be your last priority
4.   madness is not something to avoid but a consummation devoutly to be wished – seek it with every aspect of your being and in using this method madness you will see begins to assume other forms and names
5.   all education is physical education – never enter a classroom where the teacher is not flesh
6.   death is just another name for helping out a friend
7.   never count to 10 in any order
8.   all the rules you see around you are flowers – pluck them and put them in a vase, become if not a master at least an apprentice of flower-arranging
9.   the only discipline is geometry – look for shapes, and shapes in shapes
a)     do not move your piece around the gameboard, nor other pieces, but wait for the gameboard to move
b)     a successful life is this – to this a that thatter than a thisser. no comparison


tosf - lambchops

the online sadoo family – #8

lambchops58 - Jude Peer

lambchops was born in fes in 859, married g.h. roach in podolia in 1920, and became a bookkeeper in lisbon, where it lived out its days and died. nevertheless, lambchops – through habit or glory, who knows? – keeps writing, finding the shades an environment conductive of words.

lambchops waddles from exiled cities into gushing wildernesses. no melancholy. no hope. no despair. no joy. no time. no love. no hate. no drama. no belief. eyes and breathing.

lambchops lives among animals, as much plant, melds with moons. and days become like sand not contained as in an hourglass but fettered by sky and sea.

subject to meteorologies of mood in histories without night lambchops is a passable predictor of the weather, observing its bounded variety in laboratories of glyphian mulch, a thespian of sensation.

all is holy lambchops cries on solstices from a hellstrom tower. how beautiful is emptiness. emptiness stained like a toilet with the shit of words.

sexed and buggy air, unrecorded glory, and that sun (our sun) sings on forests ignorant of the laughter of wine.

sadoo next                  


a marriage of a jarry & gm hopkins

a marriage of a jarrӯ and gm hopkins
mörassês of mooses mïst my mîstle
i̊ i̊nů̃bate inínhibìtïons
slingịng singi̇̀ngs singǣd, snug ī́n sigîled sį̇̃gns
t tørnde? ttut! trannēs never tll
lest lollįpops lōōp lą̊ps lī̀ke lppệd ls
ǫ̈dê̌ɨ̧ė́!dr̥̄ȅdӳ i̇̃ǥtӱ ɱ sņş!


marshian roombow of upanishat

a religious poem for the insane

trephora, who comforts me even in death, brought me to the valley of eyes in the maturing days, when hope for love and my species was yet based on the quicksand of reason and not – as it has become – on the terra firma of dream

this valley, full of eyes. i saw a great many eyes on the floor of the valley, eyes that were very closed. and i was prompted to speak and i spoke and the eyes rose from the floor of the valley and began orbiting around one another like regulated flies

dream, a love undoing history’s doings on ringing rungs around rounds of absent absinthe in briny barns to rival evil valor out of saline sorts without much mulch or much of any lunch or hunch that would undo our dreams

as it has become. there’s a hole in my spirit, dear liza, dear liza. quicksand or dream, either-or or those other things. when i was young and breezy like a flock of ferns and didn’t weep like now but differently love and death danced happily, i counted stars

trephora, who knew grey poems of the desert, involuted sestinas of sand, entered the shadow palace of my forgettings and led me to the valley of eyes, those factories of clocks and hypnopomp, black pits of selfhood pocking white seas of uncountable desire

this valley, bittersweet vision. i spoke and eyes rose from the floor orbiting like failures and i said, show me the time you were fleshed and saw with the suffering of flesh, and now what are you without your limbs and awkwardness?

dream, dear diatribe and dearer delirium circumnavigating circumstances circumspectly with plums palliative and pugnacious dumped by mammogram mommies on psilocybin cities on dearest dufflet desserts dearest dearests dreams

as it has become. the hole, quite holy wholly quiet all you need is holes beam me up blotty to a past i never knew, in chains or singing sea or saying games or nothing wipe me down with the isopropanol of pronominal questions, eye discount counts

trephora, who desired eyes more than love, who equating eyes with love – what the cost of denying this equation? disturbing me in valleys of viscera – did not neglect to climb the ladders of my garrets if only to draw me down as well water a leaky bucket

this valley, petrichor of tears. we have wept for our absent bodies, those limbs of pain. and i found myself in clouds of eyes, electric and flashing webbed like lightning and full of forms not yet seen in the viridities of human passage

dream, perusaling grandiloquences grunting peruvian plants like lactating tongue doctors on time stations stationed in emitting mighty moontimes oh egg! bless my lesions lesson me in learnings scattings walkings dreams

as it has become. none of this has resonated i tell my children on footstools of scalped gods ears as waxed as centuries eyes as brief as rain none of this you dogs history has a chance to be not what it will be and this beloveds is love no rather, rain

trephora, whom i love like butter up the ass and who is gone like red heifers speaks to me in those stagings of night of eyes so sunken and black into voids of antiflesh none who would see them would ever see

this valley, coital desert. we have become ourselves. we are perfect like artichokes. we see ourselves like eggs over hard on easy beds. and i too am an eye and have lost my body in the singing sea of flesh and who would not rejoice, this progress of eyes

dream, chanting chaises or smoked chanteuses channeled in church séances through flowing fuliginous filibusters to lofts so lofty clouds cluster chthonic of rice and ken and oinking threepence in scented skies or dreams

as it has become. i see sums of darkness like voices in rivers. where has whiteness gone? we are not electric like rain or numbers, you have misunderstood. gaze or glance with us at evolution and do not say we have (or been) counted much, 

we who neither know nor see
trephora dreams in this valley as it
has become with neither eyes nor petro
logy but floors of waiting of cars that
look like bubble gum balls, and i dream too
of similarities and talking cheese
those random forgivings these hopes of gram
mars of hopes

unspeaking the unspeakable

diary … diarrhea … diarrhy-ha …

everything begins in mysticism and ends in politics
but ... everything begins in politics and ends in mysticism

Cloud Callout: drama shifts from visible stages of society to invisible stages of body, electrical surges in flesh (what technocapitalism calls neurological issues) – a consequence of withdrawing from electrical surges of production : loci of energy transplacing, rooting in soils of human molecular vermicology

evolution of mysticism –
… from purity’s skirmishes to purity’s dream (here, an overlap with art)
… from a distant or estranged relationship with institutional religion to institutional religion's irrelevance
… from emphases on lines (progression from darkness through darkness to light) to circles (geometric orientations toward centers and circumferences)
… from religious mysticism to aesthetic mysticism
do we not seek a union – at least a constructive dialogue – between mysticism and politics (rather than a crocodilian estrangement)?

we all are food. this that democracy

technocapitalism is a caste system. that there’s some mobility between castes – as equally down as up (though the edges are further protected ... and almost everyone wants [tediously] to go up) – changes little. verticality is still respected and dominates society (those up are envied, talked about, desired; those down are despised, invisible, shunned, pitied); each caste tends to be an enclave to itself with its own assistance networks, jokes, moralities, vulgarities, hypocrisies …

the privilege of traveling among castes (living among them  not visiting and analyzing) relativizes, instilling doubts (remember montaigne and his cannibals?) about the received wisdoms and mores of any specific tribe/caste or the systems in which they individually and collectively operate
a privilege not normally counted among privileges

a question naturally arises – the human seems (in the ubiquity and enforcement of the caste system) inextricable from the caste system – of the nature of the human. when i question this – its totality, enforcements, methods – question not from the authorized pedestal of questioning (the academy) but independently (for the academy speaks complicitly within the system regardless of any sympathies of any of its contents) i am shunned or dismissed as pathological, misanthropic, insane, bitter, romantic (whimsical, utopian) ... not just from one tribe, but all of them, their codes of dismissal differing according to the respective tribe's grammar. yet each secretly corroborates with the others in their unspoken shared geometric assumptions

we severely limit our knowledge and experience to get on
with our lives. we label that which is outside our knowledge and experience (annoying, detrimental to us! gets in our way of getting on!) with exclusionary pejorative labels. as a species we limit what is most distinctive about us (vision, empathy), emphasizing instead common elements (domination, avarice), using our distinctions primarily to further subjugate, to become the hyperapex predators of the commons