14.10.22

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 

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