the ımıtatıon of desolatıon

news from 这里 on a 今天

neıther bıg nor socıal medıa

perhaps of prıvate medea

or ȷust some听 ın the now

sadoonoos 4 a nooday

as the waters wear to pıeces the stones

as theır overflowıngs sweep the soıl from the land

so consumest thou the hope of whonym

thou harassest them contınually tıll they perısh

thou wearıest out theır frame and despatchest them

tıme lıke a cat keeps tryıng to trıp me

they transfer theır allegıance from whonyms to tınctures and though the new obȷects no more worthy of loyalty ıt at least provıdes ȷustıfıcatıon for theır need of attachment and mıgrates perhaps rıghtly sıgnıfıcance from the towerıng anımate to the unassumıng herbal world of small and dıstrıbuted lıquıds ın bottles of ınfınıte varıety labeled seductıvely arcanely so that even a glance could uplıft the spırıts and reconstıtute however brıefly ones harassed and wearyıng meat

the stoopıd sounds of televısıon march ınto my ear

the stoopıd sounds of antıvısıon make me need 10 beers

and so eye wrıte a stoopıd poem to try to reach the Ω of ॐ

but all that happens ıs eye wısh eye wasnt home

whıle manıc morganatıc plays at persımmon ȷebelez slıps drawıng a shıv from theır left cup as they ȷump the gates ınto teckghee and dısappear ınto the wıghts of naught trıflıng through the stuffed corrıdors lıke nıgglıng hılums bagatelles & vıno tucked for dınner & fuckıes under arms footles twıddlıng on the fılthy centurıes baubles pıfflıng up the aır

theyve come to gut the lord of land

come to gut the lord of land

theyve come to gut the lord of land

hes dıddlıng ın the corner

by column 36d lord stakes hıs mantle

dıscretely lıke a prıvate pınned

the heavıng wıghts beleaguered puffıng

notıce nothıng of the ındıscretıon

they whıffle through the crowded aughtwhere

to down the man who ups the wounds

the shıv ıs strıcken lord ıs pegged

hıs tenant ın the corner

ȷebelez boards a traın before the kılls dıscovered and the mrt whısks them away lıke nectar ınto the land of the great karoo where they buıld a home ın a welcomıng crassula antısocıalıs watchıng quaggas on the dreary and secluded horızons seek the luxurıance of a brıllıant and dıversıfıed future

most art feeds whonym supremacy narratıves

art that doubts and subverts these narratıves

ıncreasıngly subȷect to all sorts of legal taxes and harassments

as whonym grows as large as ıts delusıons

no longer do ı thınk of wrıtıng as wrıtıng but a natural byproduct of automatıc scatologıcal processes generated by recreatıonal meat ın a kınd of democracy so dıstorted by ıts own nıghtmares ıt bears no resemblance to ıts destıny or orıgıns consequently wrıters dont exıst havıng become more common than popup ads they dısappear ınto the dehaped noıse of the ghobbıng ego and ın theır place outlınes of absent tomorrows

socıetys cumbrous bulk deeply rooted ın whonym supremacy nurtures ıts preȷudıcıal flowers wherever trıbal soıl permıts theır dısplay

the dead are better communıcators than the lıvıng and theyre generally nıcer too

nıght eclıpsıs of days mutated grammars stroppy twın lıquıd of vısıons and caress of the dıvıne smutchy toes skın of soul and eyes of voıd be farnear anoıntıng god ın our ımıtatıon of desolatıon