teats of ennui

 

money  being the only common whonym language remaining but comprehensively insufficient as it lacks the grammars necessary to escape or simulate escape from society  presents itself to mystics  those aberrations of time we dont talk about and cant  these holders of silence in language  as a dictatorship as unruly as any political despot   the tricks required to speak the common language without believing in it  a sickness mandated by our psychotic society to permit breathing of its members  become in their way so hungry for energy and time what remains in the soul to enable the holdings

ive gone so many rounds on the carousel of stupidity that i begin to think sometimes it goes somewhere

this unspeakable sadness that births from the confrontation of the alienation between         between what‽         between all the betweens most truly but as cryptically and so perhaps as poetically between knowledge and knowledge  flesh and flesh  spirit and spirit  death and death      so wholly resident across the plenitude of distributions

cat stares at me as if im a traitor to vitality and consciousness     and the hypothesis lives far from impossibility

even the good people destroy spirit   this is lifes central comedy though one has to pilgrimage deeply into nonmaps to laugh   corollary jokes are that the bad people often create spirit by necessitating it in opposition to their lack and that the vast tedious bulk of the madding middling crowd  in its warm orand aggressive indifference  creates and destroys  mirroring its schizophrenia in the dolorous factory of vitality

what should be our primary existential orientation has now  quite naturally horribly  as nature cum whonymsociety  become pathologized and the pomposity of experts have named our innate disease prolonged grief disorder   let us take more pills to deal with the toxicity of the professional usurpation of the few remnant things we as singularities might claim as our own   acedia melancholy vision grief

the primary task of the parent is to teach its children that adults are just fuckedup children

if ones given to resent society a texture of the fabric of this resentment  an impetus for meditation retreat nonaction ennui  is the vigorous forcing performed by society on its propridden stage of having to abdicate to lying and thieving to continue to live   not that thieving and lying we would find acceptable orand funny  those routine manifestations and intrinsic properties of language  but that deadly lying of the soul   which one becomes increasingly aware of as one wayfares farther into the geographies of mind  and warps ones orientations to sacrificing self  in any of the myriad ways  to the maw of the beast      and so we die a thousand deaths and the people hardly noticing other than as another weakness to exploit and the capacity to speak restricted to the phonemes of machines for the infinite attempts to speak spirit  once hopeful and joyous  minced into an afflicted gaze and bewildered walkings         its not just that we dont talk about bruno      we dont talk about anything

the rise in human rights correlated precisely to the decline in wildness and so the preservation of the world

the confessions of augustine rousseau etc we turn into confessings  a pataization  whereby everything is confessable and so the confessor disappears through exhaustion   i confess to having toothbrushed my anus

the 1976 porn film alice in wonderland conservative   promiscuity relegated to dream and sex in the end put in its rightful place of malefemale matrimony

i suck on the teats of ennui and count my guessings like an exiled puffin

it has become impossible to pinpoint my death   not in that crass way that outside suicide none of us knows the timing and means of that transit   but rather that there are so many deaths it becomes impossible to choose among them   to assign any kind of hierarchy  that punctum of biodeath that the throng holds as the death and the only one just another team member in the anarchist army of loss  fighting for nothing

in poodays news the duchess of milan attacks the duke of hamburg resulting in fashionable fast food

i dont need help in dying   in that anyway i excel   i need help living   but the hordes typically have everything inverted and skewered   obligating themselves to attempt to help in that one death they take as all rather than helping in the endless deaths which is life   these inversions and skewerings that themselves are our collective continual demisings

the eroticism of polypolarity   its energys too much   give us orgasms and dinner parties instead

when mysticism is withheld in a society from flourishing  when the mores and movements of a society are oriented to quashing mystic impulses and that unity of nothing that births but bypasses destruction  that society itself cannot but express a prostheticized darkness of that which it has withheld   and so the poutines and peelingams (and yea behold ye socalled lovers of freedom or democracy or something unnameable even the bidets and rumps and kalamatas and murkles) take on themselves the concentrated energy of this prostheticization  which in its lack  for what is denying whonymitys one distinct capacity other than a lack  can only manifest as fragmentation and terror

to reimagine time means to not time imagination      it made its money trading covid futures      broke and woke

the grievances and humiliations that accumulate not mitigated by money but made up by it      we apply money to our spiritual faces masking the sags and fears      but if we age without money wheres the mask      our faces hang so offensively they become invisible

my imagination has killed me by filling itself up so repletely ive drowned in it

ive achieved such proficiency in lassitude that i get exhausted just by thinking about having to take a dump   that there arent nobel prizes in this sort of prowess speaks poorly for the species   for surely encouraging the oscitant arts is far more critical to the continued existence of whonymity than anything that could ever be actioned in science politics or literature 

10 weeks of not going out   i feel like fucking everything   no yes no yes no yes yes no no   but sit eccentricly in chairs of outpost and exile blocking the tinkled music   only the ramen place gets it a bit   finding words  however prosaic  in the silly scrimmage of surrounding whonyms   eavesdropping on the hamstergossip and gerbilchat   i long for god like the amazon   the companys dropped the definite article which might seem clever buts just a ruse   great bread and herring kippers and chipotle veese and a plantblessed egg   what else could i want but tits in the face and a throne on the clouds of hell