bane chlamydia neurotica

                  independent. doubtful. fun

the apocalyptic simulations presently introduced into affixreality, spawning increased anxieties, mental instabilities (who among the sensitive isn’t going to manifest symptoms just through all the overnews … will corona become a dsmix label : a new autism and schizophrenia, a final fuckedup unity of body and mind – yet another visibilized sign of our impossibility?). for those already affixed, however, it’s not as if apocalypse is the thing (too monist, substantial, too certain) but that it is a thing (ends are everywhere, but so is everything else … but not just now, but in each moment) and as it’s a thing and so not functioning in the denial centers but here and omniwhere in the affix tribes, the corona manifestation doesn’t surprise, destabilize. rather it visualizes in flesh the shadowed suppression of spirit by the humans of the real

and we’ve always known how unnecessary the professorial and judicial classes are, how overvalued, how pretentiously misplaced, dingleberries of the colonial ass. the slightest adjustment in routine functionings, the most miniscule tweak in nature … throws human society into fear and chaos, raising the minimum wage worker to its true place – among the critical, vulnerable, precarious, brave, blood siblings of necessity – demonstrating palpably how we’ve built our society too monumentally, hierarchically … value abstracted from nature to the point of imbecility, false (because decontextualized from earth) teachings and practices, forced privilege codified as truth and knowledge and often even love

the open journal as mockery and subversion – of identity, i, of truth through language and so of communication, pronouns, civilization as expressed through this society and its proprieties and attentions. the visible journal as novel : narrative of the council of i as it voices. as riparian text in and ex vitro, as diversities of one, self collapsing self through blood and smirk

sadoo as journal made molecular vacancy, as open source text cum eyes and questions

and by real don’t we mean sensuous evidence usurping the totality of all evidence? and so unreal, stripped as it is of animation (and isn’t this a significant role of technology – to assume the animation we’ve been unable to hold within ourselves?)

more extremities of unhingement appear on the streets. a human sitting at king and spadina rocking to and fro, coughing violently, occasionally screaming … more aberrant behaviour on the streetcars. those who’ve already taken so much into their bodies now taking even more

… we are a team operating in uncertain times … but we were already in uncertain times : does it take a virus to provide a powerpoint presentation on the nature and function of time and uncertainty? (and as to team shouldn't it be mob? ... the mobbed mobster mobbing ... mobo disastiens, an uncomfortable geological second ... we're a mob deoperating through uncertain time ...)

it's not as if the news has somehow become interesting - it's as magnanimously tedious as always. what entices about it are the metastructures of disturbed unity twitching through its torrent of words like a virus

we manifest according to the manifestations, overt, covert, we demonstrate yourselves, establish mirrors in the midnight of oracular despair, pitch tents in the unsaid, record the characters of soul developing, losing themselves … and if some legal entity coalesced into some i’s accused of being these, if these caprices are ascribed to a body as attachments, definite and unanarchic … what can be drawn from language to respond other than more manifestings, demonstratings, establishings, pitchings, recordings …

replace Santa and Pride parades with Pan Parade – Panarade, sponsored by Gatorade and Cuisinart … a celebration of pandemics and stds. gonorrhea floats. corona usb sticks (Cuisinart provides a nostick option). chlamydia guns. SARS Claus. the new entertainment and family unity. mascots of many names lurch like the wanderers in blood meridian’s epilogue, naked, covered in neon paint and beer caps and cigarette filters, moaning of obscure infections, raising themselves to the dead heavens, prostrating before the nano viral energies, rock and fire and hole

the i as politician to itself, interrogating itself and receiving only the most labyrinthine and evasive of answers

and what's the doomsday clock at now? 19 seconds after midnight?

blame corona nicht

bulimia christ nagasaki

breast cockcunt narcissism

biopsy ceraunomancy nosophobia

bursitis cyperpunk nephroangiosclerosis

EDITOR IN KIEF SADOO'S DIAPER

LAYOUT BARE ASSTER MAW FEE AH