a marriage of a jarry & gm hopkins

a marriage of a jarrӯ a_nd gm^™ hopkins

mörassês of mooses mïst my mîstle

i̊ i̊nꜿů̃bat^e intō ínhibìtïons

slingịn_g singi̇̀ngs singǣd, snug ī́n sigîled sį̇̃gns

tံ tørῳnặde? tựtut! tranni̱ēs never te̋ll

^{lest lollįpops lōōp lą̊ps lī̀ke l◌ppệd lp̄s}

ǫ̈de̱ṛê̌ṃɨ̧ṯė́ṩ!dr̥̄ȅẫᵯdm̌ӳ i̇̃ǥḣtӱ ɱo͘ ờsj̊ņg̊ş!

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

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

grammars

why does no one sentence me to death?

i am not a pessimist. i am no believer in the apocalypse or guilt

but i read of others being sentenced

and don’t understand why i’m not included in the readings

which grammar has provided such passage?

how do pronouns work?

it hides in my life

i seek to hide in it

and as i do whies hide too

the art of discovering possibility in grammar – less innovations inherent in ready mixing, more waiting for uninvented mixers, new instruments of relation. the former is the rite of spring, the latter the modular synthesizer

the soul in any age establishes transactional grammars for which money is the vocabulary – the confessional in the age of western religion, the therapists’ couch in the age of religion’s child. we should also include drugs in the latter, which are orthodoxy’s necessary dream even as the occult and its ancillaries were in the former

the grammars of language – at least in its distilled form: poetry – more similar to the grammars of plants than, say, the grammars of money. develop kinships and genealogies of grammars, a work having some rough precedents

the neoliberal class’s objection to war is to past forms of war – ones still bound to the conservative common diction, linguistic lingerers – and hardly to future ones, which it specializes in, using shells of anachronism, undiscovered mines, as decoys, distracting from its forms of strategic domination. grammars of war themselves battle on desolate plains. the epilogue to blood meridian

i have dreamt grammar – great grammars so complex, logical, and absurd i awoke sweating blood and cum in my eyes. i have sat at the roots of plants and knew there the grammars of the human to be false, false in their ambition to be superlative. nothing works anymore. dreams of grammars are grammars and the grammar of dreams is true

all true grammar is incomprehensible, says sadoo art-oh! on precipices of vitality

drop me down the wells of foolishness i say to the bucket that kicked god. i am holy says the bucket. drop me down say i

as we know that dream is the only reality so we know the chasm between consciousness and barbarism (we cannot say light and darkness) is now of such distance as to be the primary seduction for humanity. it is this seduction that draws me down

no longer able to overflow into society i overflow into myself. and this shift in locus ... this migration ... i call a grammar of myself, a song of electric leaves

grammars

grammar is a magic show with a participatory human audience, the magician unknown

to go insane – whatever this might mean – is to assume a grammar unregistered in society’s sacred books

the sun has a grammar. ants. events. hair. failure. edison bulbs. stuffed aubergine. howler monkeys. hashish. an mba. moles. adobe reader professional. sambucus nigra. the hawaiian dr laura.
there being no grammar of grammars – each of these just another grammar – and to know a grammar is to enter into it, pass through the forests of love and hate, break it, add it to a recipe with others … – i enter into the grammars of death knowing very little and if there might be ways to learn (learn? …) more grammars than i have time to willfully learn, what would be these ways?

within a human language there are many grammars

one can be a polyglot but effectively know only one grammar

i would play with grammars as children play with sand or some adults with clay, encaustics, wire, birdseed, and marinated cotton

to break grammar (in the way perhaps one breaks a phone or a carrot) is not to see into the grammar of that grammar, but glimpse another one

a grammar is less a set of rules or principles that guide a set of things in their interactions, less even a vision, a spectacle, an event, more movements, dancings

speaking of a grammar is an impossible practice, though we pretend to do the impossible; we can only speak of grammars. but even then in speaking we despeak them

oh black elder of grammar. steep language’s night. graft electric sativa into these simian bulbs. shampoo my stumbling with aloha’s curricula. i am a plant, unspeakable unspeakabilities. i am an egg

i can fry, poach, boil, scramble grammar. its culinary possibilities taunt my dreams and i awaken like a sylph, blood and titanium on my tongue

technology is a grammar – grammars of maplessly bypassing humanity

god is a grammar – grammars of deserts and geometries

nature is a grammar – grammars of gloamings of grammars

art is a grammar – grammars of grammars

and humanity?

humanity is not a grammar, nor grammars …

            we are nomadic punctuation marks, refugees of signs

who walks among these stepping stones as if they were knowledge? who walks through those mountains unperturbed by carrots? only grammars unacquainted with counting and love

grammar has two arms but little else – or else one very small one

grammar is the grammar of your female forebears

grammar is a dream of how to live

there is a grammar to a day. today, for example, i can hardly speak and doubt whether it or any other will ever be speakable

explaining grammar to grammar … not unlike talking about breath to breath

the human is comprised of numerous tensions, including those between the states of matter of grammar: its solidity, fluidity, gaseousness, plasmaticity. i am formed of all four (and perhaps like the universe not equally) but how do the grammars i live correspond to my form, these states within?

evolution – however tentative, geometrically flexible it might be – seeks seeking, grammars of shape spoken by dark matter in their anchorholds

i am riding the subway train. it teaches me of the relations of things. i turn what i learn into invisible prose and converse with an audience of dreams

i see continuums on the heights of potatoes, animal pathways from void to void, questioning themselves in fogs of established relations

rules are like, says the walrus, tears i shed for broken waves, prophecies of suidaeocracies so potent and sublime i return my citizenship in humanity

rules lure us but this luring is not a ruling nor even a standard but playing darts in the sand

there is a grammar to the soul that poets and mystics, obsessed with futile quests, attempt to describe in the forms of their creations

grammars! sandcastles? factories? crocodiles? mentors? libraries? travel guides? recipes? passports? dictionaries’ doppelgangers? wormholes? problematic altars? physics’ alphabets? alpha-bits? snakes&ladders? alpha&omega? arboreal harbingerings? present participial forgettings? lists?

tosf - saint porn

                  el-spet clitia

the online sadoo family – #7

el-spet clitia  - El Spet

http://elspet.blogspot.ca

look!

el-spet clitia dresses before us

exposing artifice

sadoos have long been disappointed in porn. porn that briefly fulfills its function, porn that inspires alienations or unities, suburban basement babysitter goat solstice porn, even rare porn that includes wit, caprice, eros, subversion, talent, intelligence. video in its proximities to simulation has performed better than text, but text is what we inhabit. text that knows how to spell

content   sex, modernity, art, sainthood – they’re all about blurrings. el-spet clitia explores the classics: animals and humans, living and dead, technology and humans, therapists and lovers, architectures and automobiles … even the old standard – humans and humans

stylistically, el-spet blurs porn, scifi, surrealism, transhumanism, historical fiction, erotica, philosophy, how-to, social commentary, neodada, feminism, mysticism, ‘pataphysics, literature (cliter- and cocker-), spirituality, and more – tune into sadoo porn for some of that old-fashioned finger pudenda fun!

zañisha

we’re not sure how we feel about hierarchies but what we do know is that fire is a portal and zañisha knows how to walk through

dimensionalities

el-spet encounters the establishment and dominates it

christ & el-spet

jesus not only has a dick that stretches from earth to heaven but a pussy a little larger than the entire universe

fatwawuwei

an interfaith dialogue between islam and daoism mediated by testicles and vaguely inspired by the grapesintheunderwear scene in the thief’s journal

cambion

no one's hornier than the dead

bundass

count on india for a particular kind of dirty

WW-om-b

theresa may, the muslims, the dead, radical feminists, and el-spet get it on – we may die but sex lives forever

el-spet’s vacuum

a nice little short that doesn’t short

yoga pants

neat porn (one doesn’t always want ice)

mommy & el-spet

sure we have anti-oedipus but that doesn’t mommy the way we want to mommy

spot cocks

the seed and egg that started it all

sadoos welcome a necessary and lost member into their family

    welcome  sadoo  clitia !!!!! 😜😜😜

sadoo next - lambchops 

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