edentino

i give myself over to the hallucination of the day

the technological trees are teaching english

i see into the souls of things

and what i see is what is not

in this age of tired irony and tired innocence

whatever energies are left humanity

in this jumble of wire and posts

though they cannot be prayed to

i pray

(though what is prayed cannot be known)

even my coffee sings another language

and dreams of dead birds crawl on the windows

we have invented happiness say the last humans. and they blink.

the iphone – dephoning the phone – enabling the phone to be used as everything but phone – the inotphone … birthed into an age of inot iness

my new novelty is boredom and i research it with the zeal of a terrorist

death approaches like an 18^th century cartoon train, comically belching and ridiculously ominous, with smiles and flowers and anacondas, dancing like a perfection of seraphim, saran wrap for a face and melting acrylics for a heart

if we exclude the vulgar, the scatological, crude, incorrect, erroneous, the vermiculous – or denigrate them as unnecessary to or lower than the proper and orderly and clean … what have we become other than false bearers of flesh and light, bifurcating what is united in the brightness of our bodies, hoarding the latter for ourselves, dumping the former on others – upholders of tyrannical virtue?

i’m sorry, you don’t belong to a field of vegetables

i can readily communicate with

happiness becomes a hammer (for humans are adept at transforming feathers to hammers)

            twilight of the idios (or smiling with a hammer)

if i choose between believing in myself or the world, would i not choose myself – for the world is one but i am many

the modern search for and easy naming of mental illness, socio- and psychopathology … is this not analogous to the witchhunts of centuries past (a forcing of psychic diversity into institutionalized straightjackets by those conventional) – now aided by social media and a rabidly virtuous dominant culture which remains entrenched in laundered colonial practices?

don’t look at words as units of meaning, potential meaning, blocks of stories, texts. look at them as trees. forests of breathing. words are nothing human. they find themselves exiled into the human and the writer seeks to arrange them as it finds them into patterns of exile

far more than stories i’m interested in stories’ shapes and environments

a dinner party – gylan kain, tutuola, h tubman, rosa parks, wangechi mutu, dennis brutus, james baldwin, don cherry, ijeoma umebinyu

when left and right share similar forms, what does their content matter? patriarchs and feminists, trumpies and anti-trumpies, republicans and anarchists, etiologists and daoists, buddhists and capitalists, bankers and artists and academics and the justice people, conservatives and liberals – when they share methods do they not share vision?

humans like shadows are moved through oneiric worlds of insects and leaves, waiting for the light of earth which they in their darkness reflect

            money as modern sacred draws darkness into the world and this drawing – uniting as it does the darknesses of the visible world – we declare light

kashf            kashf  kashf            kashf kashf          kashfkashf    kashf   kashf

a day opens on 70000 veils of light and darkness

            words open to themselves like dreams

prayers appear like a loose group of dead to no avail

            living in these openings as a calling from unknown spaces

who would dance? i i say – i will dance to uncanny failures

words (like us) aren’t singular and delineated

i’ll rip i say in peace to pieces those litted torments

            living – these openings and callings?

it opens. and crossed accustomed eyes watch you tear the border

words and we – plasmatic fleshings, fractal exuberance

i speak to the desolations in languages of electronic flight

we do what is not ours to do to do the not-doing that is our required doing

-->

a genealogy of the immanent comedy

(or human history for the time-starved)
...

mama
   dada
          pata
                      data
                        mada
                                    nada
                                                 mama

                                                           ...

when anarchists are closet monists

silencing of voices in that dumpster called history, technology providing new ways of shutting down. we seek in our horrors of ennui and diversity to construct relentless myriad pathways of silence. this our noise and power. this our love.

            but voice itself is a dumpster for voice.

abdicating believing belief, willing will, desiring desire, living life, thinking thought. still walking walking. and dying death contains various amusements. one clambers in playgrounds on whatever novelties present themselves. thank the fractals of consciousness for erecting structures, however ephemeral, of play.

blood, the ultimate ghost, struts tribally, tethered by violence to abyssal creation.

to attempt to escape the darkness of tribalism, the noose of dunbar’s number, after having passed through many solid screams of people’s people’s people – my people, my people, my people, my people? – i enter the darkness of escape, another tribe, with its mores and politenesses, taboos and texts and visions. i cannot have mckenna’s faith. i cannot have the faith of money, knowledge. i cannot afford faith. i have heard the voice of plants and they seem more incredible and credible to me than these monkeys i was born to swing with in the canopy of the city.

~ 60 species of primates still extant, the fewest with only 20 members (the hainan gibbon)

population of primates excluding humans – < 2,000,000

population of primates including humans – ~ 7,352,000,000

i move in the city like a mathematical set among shampoo commercials.

momism. a distributed and immanent papism. yet still a strange religion with strange devotees. arcane rites and irrational dogmas. hierarchies of disturbing regard.

surely the only skill i still admire among humans is that of truck drivers backing into alleys.

it is hardly contents of communication that are endangered – these flourish like an invasive species – but modes.

breeding certain types of humans in captivity – which is to say civilization – is an ongoing covert zoological experiment that might officially interest an odd ecologist or capitalist were it not for a culture that forbids alternative taxonomies. for extinction, happily rampant among non-humans, equally thrives within humanity, with almost equal invisibility and ignorance. the menagerie we call the city, the zoo we call freedom sees (or rather doesn’t see) failures daily of intra-species diversity, of kinds not engineered for this society’s cage, and unwilling or unable (that or) to be genetically modified to enjoy the prescribed feeding schedules and lice-picking entertainments.

dinner party to imagine – k acker, jodorowsky, mckenna, baroness elsa, weil, d bohm, woolf, lispector, blake. or these 9 on a spaceship to settle another world.

bum u

i am a bum. bum bum bum bum bum

bums are as necessary as mouths hands eyes livers

but you treat them differently

imagine what you’d be like without bums

you’d blow up from all that shit inside you!

           

you need to get it out and we’re your getter-outers

i’m the most productive bum on the planet

i have excellent texture and regularity

i’m so clean you could eat from me

i smell like lavender and cacao

i work from when i awake to when i sleep and even when i sleep

i don’t watch tv or drive a car or own much of anything except books and music

i’m mostly vegan

i walk and read and watch films and listen to music and walk and write and walk and walk and sit and watch and walk and write and watch and walk

(i’ve played the structures of work in the nonbum world and only bum now plays well)

you’re born into givens and say

we will fit into the givens

a common response

but if everyone did that the givens would be caves and clubs

art, science, philosophy, technology, mysticism come from bums

the uncommon from what you despise, cover up, deny, exploit, clinicize, institutionalize

the common from the uncommon

you from the common

{colonialists pretending you’re anti-!}

{supremacists wearing democratic makeup!}

i am a bum      a bumbum          a holy eye of turd

i call myself among other things … a sadoo

sadoos. bums. we’re everywhere. we’re common too

prophets of nada

sesame street should teach the alphabet  –

Larsen A

Larsen B

Larsen C

   …

liarzen x

losing why?

lozenge zzzzzzzzzzz

            DON’T MAKE IT TO Z julia screams

in a rare intelligent street conversation about everything i mention that osman spare calls freud and jung fraud and junk

            a stranger replies but spare got them mixed up – freud was about the junk

an obsession is a meditation

to confuse an obsession with any particularity

is like eating a potato but not its skin

if the plumb pudding was in danger in 1805 where is it now?

vice cofounder sham snit eh? says are my politics democrat or republican? i think both are horrific. and it doesn’t matter anyway. money runs amerika, money runs everything

            sadoos perform their anarchist function

by not being run

snit eh? also says i came to amerika from canada because canada is stultifyingly boring and incredibly hypocritical

i used to try to please the normals. now i realize they can only be pleased through normalcy … or by turning abnormalcy into a commodity – for commodities are a keystone of the arch of normalcy (aren't those familiar retail chains of thought comforting)

every new batch of fluffballs drove him

to a dither of vicarious maternity

infrequently watching newscasts gives the overwhelming impression that the entire human species is imbecilic – not just the newscasters but everyone watching. topics are dealt with as if the audience's a kindergarten class. (no. the average kindergarten student is brighter)

getting better at costumes. before they were unidentifiable (meritorious – as most costumes are, even when wonderfully done, tediously identifiable) and incoherent (meritorious – like a street babbler, which has more merit than the average street talker but less than that craved captivating repartee)

now they’re becoming unidentifiable and coherent –

this nexus of sensible irrationality in sartorial form

doctor of internal medicine explaining what she does – i specialize in everything you can’t see

sadoo diaper – so do i

why am i not read?

            is it not because i am too realistic

            i’m guilty of excessive realism

            realism so real it cuts out all the shit you think is real but isn’t (then projecting your insanities on me)

            i am textual flesh – translating the sensation of movement in the city to words

psychedelics are illegal not because a loving government is concerned that you may jump out of a third story window. psychedelics are illegal because they dissolve opinion structures and culturally laid down models of behavior and information processing. they open you up to the possibility that everything you know is wrong

this was a very nice neighbourhood

until the monkeys got out of control

e^xiles_an^dwi_ch

mama dada mada

m^am^ad^ad^am^ad^a

a madafesto

בְּרֵאשִׁית‎  in bare shit mama elsa von and dada ‘pata ælfy joined wingamonis in spirit coitus on a sphere of pirmasens in flight from finger to money’s tightening teeth

so the brave new world was born before it was born, and in startling drag against the drag it lived to tell the tale of wars in questions

through all of this – the mess, the kisses, that edentino bite, this romp of rumps – mamadada did not deny its ancestry, its heraldry, its lilith and a spin but stuffed mind’s aubergine with ishish hashish allsorts and reconfigured brain to live outside money’s 40k km tung

mada. we are mada and a song. we sing singed synths symsimulatedly, and biology is what it is – meine lieder, meine träume, our mini dramatraumas, follower (no furor, führer), our armada mada, our angelegenheit, seraphim and currency, tungs y raisons

m^am^a

d^ad^a

m^ad^a