ı enter the city of confessings with the silence of armadillidiidae and inquire at the municipal information booth which is a public toilet of how to find my way to the museum of novel the customerservicewhonyms a colossal capybara and wearing nothing but brassieres and speaks through unknown holes a language of putrescence i understand more than ınglsh
if you take scum the genealogy of witches the knowledge that circulates like malice among conductive outcasts and radaric wraiths overlaying it on the city with the screenprint of your destitution a map may appear though not according to your map of maps and in your confusion seek the legend and work out its interpretation with tears and dissembling and then seek the museum and youll find when you arrive that youve already paid the entrance fee but the exit fee ah well
they register the inexorable loss of the immediacy of memory machines of representation cancel the references that support it memory vomits itself into times clogged toilet and the future strung out in the bathtub and whonyms like trailerpark lights in a winter that doesnt end
the citys the book one seeks a presence however minor and fleeting on its pages or one reads though the book while in plain views hidden and its text in the transient language of toadstools and clochards one tries to read but the words are catadores outcasts and porous dispersed sloshed magicians without guild or code yet if ones required to read one reads even though meanings saturated with decrement and corruption those of us of book but hardly in it try to write ourselves in through vain readings and the books fat and invisible and oozes all manner of militaristic insects why one would ever try to be a part of its mystic machinations is a question for those nights youre misplaced alone in a forest and the moons down and unknown birds reel in the pitch of heaven
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