diap & fukk return to novel after not really ever having left

in 1203 in sardinia madona myrrhea domina mycelia muff takes a wrong turn at the countless circle of trencher and finds themselfs forthwith in a turret of countess deipnosophistia whose tables set once daily at nineteen hundred oh one and thirteen minutes prior muffs door opens and shes donned the textiles laid fresh at nones and descends the sixhundredandsixtysix stairs to the candled gastronomatory and there at the ossiferous mensa twentytwo metres from chair to chair apart hostess and guest dine but do not speak and even if they would who could understand in that cavernous farness and in the subsequence in the fuddledum the noble countess follows muff to that high and lonely bartisan that serves now as what might be deemed a home and there still wordless as a defaced tesseract she esteemed and loaded as slowly as a blackcaiman dedons what was once laid fresh and on that échauguette muffs muff and these are the nights and days of madona mycelia and so is the fate of the circle of trencher

hard to stay away from the whonym action

novels our only freedom

a tenebrous freedom

our autothanatographical practice and so our way and virtue

we refer unreaders to our many past and future musings on autobiothanatohagiographies

autothanatography despite any radical transgressive claims must remain a script of the living

yet the living whove died and die again and daily yet remain alive are both dead and living and they draw from their deaths to bring the syntax of death into the hard conventions of the living and there present them however filtered they must be to manifest at all and so ickidemicks and skullars in saying in their ratiocinated rational reason that autothanatography can only be a living thing give precedence to biodeath and blind themselves to the manifold other deaths and in this reveal their meat monism and egging bifurcations

so novels basically mud murmurs

a linguistic predicament yes

an irony of ironies

posthumous memoirs

an indeterminate indeterminability

a community displacement

a postlogue to a mythologue to a prologue to an idealogue to a nonologue 

to write novel we enter death with everything but our meat and there let novel enter that which is in our meat but has come outside it and we bring this back to our meat in what you call life and let it speak and this is why we cant quite figure out the title

not time travel and wormholes but deathholes and death travel

not to suicide or voyeur death not visit death as a tourist but pilgrim

novels a travelogue about our pilgrimages to death

scarcely very little on not quite nothing 

not my vigilance but death itself that watches and writes

yet sadoos actually a novel of great hope

death

despair

the hope of despair

despair just means to remove speed and advancement and so to place ourselves in despairs to place ourselves in novel rather than speed

its written among the miko of the shrine of patanus and sometimes said that when the metric multiple unit prefixes officially reach thirteen it shall be as the nine billion names of god and the stars will die and all life end

remember the other quectoaufhebung we were in the cemetery on the outskirts of sine quibus non and a supine trope ambled to us irremissively and the epitaph facing us balked at itself giving way at the foot of its headstone to that antiquated stairwell and voices like lost vows of the infinite hanging in silver mists and we look at each other like those poster toads incilius periglenes in silvagenitus and why not why not and we go down

to be continued