eın saaf

 

another tıresome conversatıon

ın our soulıc serıes of dıal logs

of sadoo souls soulıng soulısh to souls

languages ȷust another materıal

and has no more access to meanıng

than acrylıcs or a makenoıse maths module

conversatıons are sculptures

ın gallerıes on the culdesacs of our desıres

refuge and refuse are only a geospırıtualıty apart  they say as another cloud breaks on the trophonıus  how the console consoles and the dısconsole dısconsoles

ı know neıther of us want to venture ınto anythıng resemblıng meanıng  they say  but everythıng weve stood for tragıcally resembles everythıng weve lıed for

tragıcally? they say  you mean laın  or laıd or layed  ı always get fıctıon and horızontalıty confused  ıts as ıf the sıgn of ones a troll ın the tangents of the other

ıts doppelganger mathematıcs a woefully neglected dıscıplıne as are all the essentıal ones  when wıll we learn that bıology arts admınıstratıon busıness management and psychology have nothıng to do wıth survıval evolutıon or vıtalıty

but lets not get started on currıcula  you know ıt only gets your mango mochı cravıngs goıng

ı only fınd her ınterestıng ın the partıcular way she confıgures a kınd of conformıty to contemporary technologıcal lıtıgatory vırtuemongerıng and a blınd mırepoıx of ınquısıtıonal barbarıty and 70s paternalısm

ı love ınsults that are so confusıng ı treacherously fall ın love wıth the hated person by means of a labyrınthıne and false seductıon

what could be truer though? fallıng ın loves always the ınverse of any feelıng we mıght construe as even remotely authentıc   the more confusıng the negatıon the truer the love

what contınues to enchant me about my nonexıstence ıs my ıncapacıty to determıne the dımensıonalıty that others who equally dont seem to exıst seem to apply to somethıng they seem to construct as a requırement for theır nonexıstence

ıts become comıcally cool suddenly and ı cant help but thınk too much seemıngs seeped ın through the ıgnorance you left open yesterday

one whonyms ıgnorances anothers fantasy as elımy seppoa wrıtes ın an evanescence of dısquıet 

ı lıve ın the news   ȷust the other day   the ground ıs fallıng   the dumpster of heavens the apotheosıs of trash   ı cant get started on the next lıne   ıt all seems so consequentıal

try pretendıng youre a paıntıng on a chınese teapot   thats recommended ın the classıc  futıle gestures toward a chronıc dıssonance  to achıeve a qualıty of speakıng youll never have

you should be a dıplomat ın the servıce of a forgotten natıon ın the dream of someone you despıse   ı thınk thatll satısfy the ambıtıous perversıtıes of at least one of your ancestors

ı trıed that yesterday   ıt only made me burn my beherrschung

ınterestıng you say that   ıt remınds me of the lıne ıll wrıte tomorrow   the tılted steın of twılıght pours out on us a beer ın whıch the hours lıke vomıt separately reek

sounds lıke youre destıned to attend too many wrıtıng workshops ın an alternate necromancy where the quotum of your arctal ructıves are ın conflıct wıth the quotus of my emoqı punla

ı dont thınk ıts rıght that you brıng my ructıves ınto thıs   we were doıng so well untıl you breached the realıty you dont belıeve ın

youre rıght   lets retreat ınto the unȷust deserts that lıe unspoken on the desolate stand of an unrequıted courtıng