diaper dialogues v

one who writes one who is written we who are texts and texted and little more and oodles less are enclosed within a formidable fence, free inside but forsaken beyond – not that we stand in fear of an inquisition but rather face all kinds of unpleasantness in everyday persecution, careers of all definitions closed for the only power that holds the keys is easily offended

sadoo diaper sits on toilet of itself

swirls of words coiled like morality flush broken

 smells of myself heaves of ass

(alt.wit can: 1855)

so diaper sits. and the sitting itself sits. and in our zoo of olfactories and signs we gaze at по́шлость ду́ши with petite reprisings

from these pastiches rev bonobo rises from the sun’s uprisings irises siring saying –

he’s one of those types who wants to save the world

which means he participates actively in its destruction?

flies everywhere, owns a car, eats mammals, goes ecovacationing in the tropics in winter – all the socially sanctioned hypocrisies

while he talks about carbon footprints and animal welfare

the genitals win again

if only our upper mouths were silent and our lower ones said what we really think – that is, how we behave

he recycles

ah. that virtue

he owns a bicycle

freedom now says louverture has pitched its tent only in the bicycle

uncomfortable

like riding without the seat

what i don’t get is the apparent disconnect between the opening descriptive paragraphs – if that’s what one calls them – and the present dialogue

the groin connects

the groan connects

when texts don’t make sense it’s due to the reader’s lack of imagination

lacking unity, progression, sense or context, it loses some of its potential effectiveness

the point of language is not communication, not human relations or society, hardly understanding, not even anything human. your not getting is the getting

i get that

you want either something simpler or more complicated, you don’t like bricolage

don’t tell me what i want, don’t tell me what i don’t like, don’t tell me it’s due to

don’t tell me don’t tell me

shapes of mind … currents passing through shapes of mind … like a colour scan of moods in time the moods of mind the moods of mind in time …