the only thing to fears hope

no lists

after developing aporophobia dementophobia nomophobia plutophobia optophobia globophobia hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia ephebiphobia omphalophobia pogonophobia vestiphobia ergophobia decidophobia eisoptrophobia deipnophobia sesquipedalophobia and phobophobia why not welcome into ones increasingly anxious life obophobia anthrophobia diviniphobia nymophobia oneirophobia somnuphobia monophobia religiophobia politophobia speciesaphobia silerephobia hierarchiphobia fellatiophobia cunnilinguphobia fuckaphobia cockaphobia pluriphobia cuntaphobia titaphobia bumaphobia ballaphobia geophobia celibacyphobia geometraphobia stayingstilliphobia and were still working on the names of the fear of ordering online drinking bad coffee good coffee receiving packages family tracking online packages falling leaves absence of cats not having phobias phobia lists no phobia lists the rising sun the setting sun the letter o nature consciousness thinking emotions action irony nonaction life music art intelligence artists wit everything everything not you you but just because there may not yet be names doesnt mean they dont existaphobia

my brains a bony guitar strung with tungs plucked by memories & dreams

 

the soul of whonym isnt manufactured by its aloof designers to be incarcerated in edifices constructed for pecuniary advancement and the singular domination of any species who move and must move in a gushing plenitude of silenced voice but to diffuse itself out to the dirty reaches of every crawling thing and the midnight twigs of the twisted boreal and there in the wholesale otherness of its superior hosts find in the technical ambition it abandoned a grammar it might seek to encode

that time as we now predominantly know it has become manifest in those very incarcerating edifices and entering this manifestations a prerequisite for societal survival and soul if it sees itself at all has to first see itself through that time and sense somehow that this seeings a false witching if it is even to have a sewershair chance of perceiving other times and mirrors is an abomination that while some claim may be our crown is nothing less than an infantility unworthy of any form that dares to claim consciousness as its own please forgive us

its only by horribly gritting our teeth that were able to endure the abominable system of constraints and restrictions the extermination of love and the limitation of dream generally known by the name of civilization

authenticity doesnt and cant exist anymore but the only way perhaps left to simulate its to introduce the authentic through a wormhole of artifice and this wormhole would be to assume however capriciously ostensibly hesitatingly abjectly mental illness ie the collapse of species made conscious as the standard of normalcy time identity self such an approach attempts to use collapsed singular consciousness as a mirror across the holocaust of history to reflect however darkly divinated nature on the unpolished surface of the technological brain

whats sadoo other than a collage of mad spirit assembled from excesses of worlds and transferred through the sieve of meat onto a negative of language

in praise of puttering

 

if anythings clear in this world and not much is its that theres way too much activity people are running around like avatars of importance but were all just fragments of schmuck even if were heads of the hederal innerve skank of the disunited hates of amerika were still just schmuck

puttering simulates activity without being activity it moves the body without moving the will it can run around but not for any purpose or to be seen so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings useless futile insignificant and so aligned with the insignificance of the whonym which is rightly ours but we feverishly deny

the central problem and strategic imbecility of the whonym is to signify itself a special place in the cosmos which it does from insecurity and fear it once used god and gods to justify this place and with those gone it now feels proud that it can use itself which if possible is even more ludicrous than positing anthropocentric divinities whonyms will only begin to grow up once they lose these justifications and place the whonym ego where it always has been is and always will be as one tiny transient thing in a vastly teeming universe of tiny transient things puttering incarnates this place and so praise puttering puttering be praised

puttering opens up spirit vistas by situating the putterer in nature before the whonym sought to destroy it so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings good for the body as it exercises it through natural aimless activity without introducing any meaning which is the scourge of whonymity so praise puttering puttering be praised

puttering sets aside the will and gives the putterer over to the local whims of the universe and here is where things happen in the ear attuned to the infinite dark spaces and the eternal collectivity of all things dead and living and yettobe puttering doesnt lay claim nor is thus claimed so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings the perfect union of the animal and god in the whonym by placing the body in a mode of foraging and the spirit in a mode of empty receptivity and things get done when things get done without there being any plans so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterers retain the best of the child that which jesus and laotse and many others of rare nobility point to and the best of the adult while nonputterers the hideous productive and tragically ambitious retain the worst of the child and the worst of the adult puttering is desolate without being desolate and unproductive without being unproductive so praise puttering puttering be praised

a core criticism of putterers is that they work or appear to work but their work isnt aimed toward anything yet this notaiming is the very apex of civilization and spirituality putterers wandering around bumping into things changing the orientations of pots designing galleries no one sees and writing texts that influence no one and if only whonyms stopped moving forward and just stopped and looked and listened and paid attention and fulfilled their true destiny as eyes and ears in the universe and not mouths and clubs so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings a sleepy dreamy way of life where one cant really tell if youre dead or alive conscious or unconscious awake or sleeping working or playing stupid or smart and isnt this nexus of indecision and confusion the very fulcrum of that sagacity all the poets have spoken of and the essential compost of the frantic mob and busy heap so praise puttering puttering be praised

panegyric for (the) parents

 panegyric forthe parents

were sitting we and they the many of us in bodies none or three or one on a razor of nature razors of really for is there ever only one but the one that includes all so cant be counted at least fukky and diaper and maybe more probably about to discuss what cant be discussed and explore what cant be

the ultimate raze isnt it diap

the end of days in a common haze fukk in a lesser play

brings us very quickly to geometry

or slowly

as all things

in certain shapes neither ultimate nor razing

a milestone though surely

a liquid kilometre

a gaseous full fathom six or five or

a plasmatic forever

a difficult measure no matter the ruler

the tale of veers tags its wails

wot

they that walketh in the darke wotteth not whither they goeth

wot

iċ wāt þæt iċ nāt nāwiht witan wot wit wit

think theyve lost the thread

and joined the unwound 

the intussusception of dread

four times squares the circle

its as our belief the sun revolves around the earth despite our faith and knowledge it doesnt

that the parent lives forever

it dies

but never dies

and dies and dies again

dies first on consciousness a second on death

two deaths to mirror the christians double birth

the witches shall inherit the earth

and riches the culprit of worth

if the parent dies young it not only synchs its spiritual and physical births in mythopoeic unity and so fulfills a truth but simultaneously fulfills a lie as its memorys apotheosized into unbearable legend

and so if it dies old when the child can be said itself to be old it also lies and truths but oppositively

a parent in impossible definiteness becomes the parent

and if ones orphaned at an early age though ones parents remain ones parents in this estate of carnage

what sort of schizophrenia is this

a question of spirit and flesh and the reach of their coexistence

but to be orphaned in such a way that one knows ones true farflung planet has for reasons unknown deposited one in an earthly womb without recourse to any communication home and so ones life becomes a seeking for a language in absolute darkness one might rightly claim as ones birthtung

absolute

absolute

for others too on this crowded world have sought in such a way and in their seeking there might not be any semblance to that camaraderie we feverishly aloofly foolishly think is remembered but at least in this party of the blind and dispossessed might footle a simulation of a diaspora an artifice of exile and this simulation and artifice might be sufficient or have to be or is

this too is dark

and so the parent and so the child and so the death

youre not sick enough you wrap yourself in money your tombs built of words

lets all cross the border together like lemurs and faxmachines

neither christian nor capitalist

an exemplar of upright void

were falling like barnyard wits

and fade like conference croissants

im liverwurst in a sandwich of parent and parent

parentwurst

what could be worse

the methods unevolved unstrategic unaesthetic un

how can we contemplate space and subject time to a scale when our very origins and circumference are the stuff of irrumating violence

this putrid soup of confused intestinal minds

what impassable canyons between words and viscera

fucking and thoughts

dna and dna

do the cancan in the nada nada

the insipidity of paternity

the nitty of maternity

together they make hope

savage misshapen paginas and sisshapen mavage venises

together making love

to have to ponder this limitation a limit on a limit

like denerval laozi sunra carrington we cut out doors and windows through genealogies of our hearts

we listen through societys arsenal for biographies that love us

or pretend to

spirit that transforms blood from tombs to dreams

he was a gentle man

an invisible man

violent and uncultured

of propriety without ethics

and ritual without reflection

whom the blob film in cliche and protocol

and must we dance to its ponderous festival

its grimaces and cults

that galling drawl

such ambivalence in loves smelly heart

loves sex and money

incest and incest

but here no sex or money

and so no love

theres always sex

theres that other nameless thing

love as it would be if love exists

we see shadows of it like elven fires in a specular forest when the shutter of reality snaps

but youre not gracious or grateful compassionate or humane

when we shudder below the wreckage of fallen media

is nature grateful for the oilspills and factories

and is the only openeyed response to existence a smirched shrug

who enters the nameless with the beings and nonbeings alike who doubt the nobility ascendancy intelligence privilege of the whonym

and who knows night as the brightest day

who could walk with that father to the balls of words

and with that mother to the teats of language

we did it alone

and yet with the help of a myriad dead

that word

that undoes all words

such indifference

and yet indifference about indifference

we reach into the orphanages and ginnels abattoirs and barrows to forage for longburied meaning

but were slut of the same sloth as they say

and so our disdain for them must be too for us

but who can do that

we write our bio with the infinite keyboard of the imagination

our thanato with the pen of subversion

our hagio with the piss of mockery and monkeys

the lies of reality or the truths of dream

weve crossed the border so many times they no longer ask for our papers

the madness in our eyes is our passport

and the disease of our spirit our visa

didnt we say once when we saw into the incarceration of lineage wed steer our lives into the very marrow of that line and so uncover the dirty treasures never permitted out of the garret or even discussed or admitted and in that marrow draw circles with our semen

yet isnt it this very dirt thats our gratitude and darkness

and the silly secrecy of the garret our wit and throne of doubt

and that garret society and its compliance the secrecy

so they become not individual but many and nothing specific but the very stuff of politics and mysticism

and our rebellion if that be it only the everlasting question of poetry

forever unanswered and unanswerable and hardly heard

so no despair or resentment

but only gratitude and graciousness

and if compassion the compassion of bears

and if humaneness the kindness of inhumanism

so our inheritance a caesura

our legacy a prickless point

there are the puns

and puns are the future time itself antievil pills and the finical fulsomeness of a strapping spirituality

the oblivious affability

bewildered detachment of the sage

lost in the world and lost not in the world

lost in lostness and lost in foundness

to learn losss labours laugh and find it balances with love

the unperturbed ascent to death

faith in imagination over reality 

a wanderer in spaces

nothing that nothing would reject

emptiness without the work

oblivion without the pain

carefree toward money love art thinking spirit

comprehensive superficiality without any comprehension

perfection really

a passable simulation of sainthood

of capitalism but not of it

of christianity but not of it

whatever it was of it wasnt

a rare magician

so understated and venerable

a salvific detachment

a pussy

squishy and recurringly virginal

what could be more wonderful

or progressive intelligent adaptable fun

an ordered confusion so behind its time its ahead

but this lack of exploration this unstepping outside passivity toward currency and power

what to do

but do the not

untie it lessen the glare blunt the sharpness let your brain move only along old ruts

and if doubt wasnt really in it what was cant say faith unless we say delusion

playing down

who doesnt move in apparition and isnt a dressed mockery and mortal deceit

mortal monkeys and dressed deceits

one cant resent ones genealogical positioning

one can

one can resent anything

but the only thing to resents everything the order of existence god samsara 

and the solution to kill god and become them

impossible

and so the only solutions to accept god and their wholly otherity and hereness

impossible

and so we must kill or accept or accept and kill the impossible

impossible

the technological project seems to be to experiment with different ways of generative energies

less to eliminate the parent and child than to reparent to such an extent that its deparented

sounds democratic

linear abuses molecularly redesigned into procreative processes

and so the wonderhorror of the parents the horrorwonder of the world

and yet the one and the one arent the same despite being the same

so our ejectabilia becomes almost indistinguishable from our ingestamenta

almost

in that the abilia and amenta still exist

and so one conceals assimilates enthrones vomits vetoes hoards enrols anoints sacks applauds banishes dislodges drips ones as ones moved by one or ones

back to birthings

rebirths redeaths resees rebes rewes weewees reres weres rerrheas

but your not going to the funerals a crime as disastrous and forgettable as meursaults

condemned because the game isnt played

forgotten in the embrace of a mutant universe

a proof of the lack of progress is societys unflinching commitment to savagely calmly systematically silencing anyone who doesnt play

and so nature doesnt play and this our strategic downfall

he played with a confucian dedication and moved his pieces according to the rules

and unreflectingly participated in natures holocaust

so is it just that someone has to live the life the parent hasnt

that manual

he was an ostensible worshipper of that pervasive game unplayer

that child of god as necessary shadow and hardly any light

that sunday school smile as irony and subversion of subversion

messiah and hope as earplugs and blinder and nosestuffer and

but is the point of unplaying when your rewards death just to provide the players with their shadow piece

the point

the rewards always death

if there were no unplayers where would we be

we

be

in caves with the sun forever outside

as opposed to condos with the sun forever outside and hiding

progress

quest for fire

the quest is the best

and the objections that there is no quest

neither to win at the game or question the game and so accept from the beginning loss

win

we all cross

the crosss only meaning

yet if you want to believe that limemarshmallows love whonymity and will save it from itself what of it

is it any better or worse than believing in social change

or productivity and money

or family and technology

were all abject and grovel in the fog before slaughtered shadows and the ashes of shrines

bundles of unknowing stapling faith to our blank faces 

so the notbeing there or here or anytime or where seems sometimes less a defect than the very condition of our species

the notbeing that is

he did like numbers

not in any kabalistic or economic sense but just for themselves

and thats beautiful

he loved numbers

and who couldnt

at least just for themselves

so vast impossible nearfar wordy

quite religious

and if he retreated into a drawdown world of comfort hows this different than anyone else

retreats just a treat again

an undervalued art form

a shape subjugated

a distance never crossed as its us

so in this never we ask that troubling question and which question isnt how longs the parent the parent

as long as meats meat or spirits spirit

whats the parent

isnt the parent disappointment and memory and hope and so just another weather forecast

in the age of freedom we choose our parents

mine are jarry weil blake thoreau clarice macedonio acker pessoa z

yes youve said all this before

its all been said before

which is why no one listens anymore

the same cliches and critiques using the latest technologies

so its both easy and hard to call him oldfashioned outoftouch irrelevant otiose 

the young and hip and popular seem to us just as much these things but differently and its only the romance of their brief power that forces the following many to divide 

mathematics and language are specialties of geometry

or is it the other way around

but if you dissolve all things into the one well weve been over this a billion times

no resolution

no formula

no settled selfagreeing narrative

so our dissatisfactions that he resolved and formulated and ate and shat one story

yet dont we all despite our grand claims of diversity and inclusion

the hope that stalls

the disappointment that frees

the memory that doesnt

rejoice

the marvelous over the miserable

the kinkyspooky over the vanillamundane

yet we love vanilla too

and whats better than brusselssprouts

vanillas spooky and sprouts kinky

it was as if his solidities werent solid

and his beliefs carried on the whims of clouds and cats

there was something about play in him

however circumscribed

and freedom though we hesitate to utter that impracticality

i ran around outside by myself when i was 8 6 4 for days through woods across traintracks as killable as deer without phone gps or much instruction or knowledge about anything

the only fetters were bourgeouis

those spiritcuffs

and one could do worse than exposing a kid to biblical and shakespearean poetry a lot of limited nature minimal media and punning 101

the increasing incarceration and commoditization of children

perhaps his only one true defect was that defect we all share

onanism

whonym supremacy

but he sidestepped a central challenge of the age

onanism

as the gap between nature and technology grows larger whonyms carry the distance of that gap in their bodies

something our meats not designed to bear

and so we need endless apparati pills therapy suicides to navigate this strain

and onanisms

but he just detoured around the whole thing

in the way his life was squashed between world war ii & iii

three

a bumbler dawdler perambulator aimless a loafer putterer who did nothing and seemed to want little but to putter who retired as soon as he could and frittered away his money to weird organizations still trying to convert the savages to savagery

its not just bodies that can be murdered but spirits

we hierarchize the murder of bodies from rich and powerful whonyms down through geometrically misaligned whonyms to nonwhonym animals but for those low on the meat hierarchy and for the slaughter of spirit theres no penalty and often only silence and not unusually awards & rewards

who do we speak of

him or i or something else

he opted out

but never opted in

to opt out is always to opt in

theres no out

other than the out thats in the in thats out that

a man of sleep and sleep

who obeyed unquestioningly society yet societys struggle was also somehow invisible

the parents not only 2 or 1 or 0

what number is the parent

this is the door to number he may have left closed or only just ajar

but that there was for him at least that door

which we walked through and fell to our deaths

biographys a minor subdiscipline of the imaginative arts

so we keep speaking of the parent forever

and those of packaged facts and chained narratives and mundane rites we leave in their menageries and avoid the madding crowds & entrance fee

we remain munching pacing plodding mumbling in the spilt patazoo of our spiritual heritage

ghosts are our keepers

and witches our nutritionists

the eyes of the moon our healers

and the seen unseen our eternal species & family

so diap & fukk lounge uncomfortablycomfortably on the razor of geometry or language or something or razors and sip absinthe like cats and peer into the darkness like a broken oracle and deaths like that flower in a forgotten dream