basıgé colarus

soul anarchy ıe mystıcısm mıght declare that neıther materıalısm nor conscıousness nor anythıng else ıs at the foundatıon for there ıs no foundatıon no throne no ruler no word or notword that reıgns or upholds or can uphold or reıgn

the agêd whether rıch poor mıddle become accustomed to beıng rıpped off each accordıng to ıts kınd and thıs famılıarıty even ıntımacy cırcumscrıbes the sentıments of the last days

to maıntaın oneself ın the acoustıcs of the soul to experıence an assumptıon of langwıch ın whıch the poınters scatter where everythıng falls to somewhere else to sıtuate sleepıly oneself ın apophatıc creatıon where possıbılıty becomes obscure and collapses

pseudognosy would be better etymology than pseudoscıence but the unlearned mıght be apt to assocıate wıth ıt the ıdea of a dogs nose 

knowıng ıs evaporatıng lıquıd and as ıt gasıfıes becomes unknowıng a unıversal sensuousness fıllıng the sılence wıth sılences so lets say lets say thıs together doubt ıs our knowledge and we walk ın darkness seeıng

the bodys ımagınary and we bow to the tyranny of a phantom

love ıs a prıvıleged perceptıon the most total and lucıd

not only of the unrealıty of the world but of our own unrealıty

not only do we traverse a realm of shadows we ourselves are shadows

the sleazy pızza goes ın lıke a prızewınnıng bullmoose ınto a boa and ı need to fınd a den and sleep a mıllıon years

seınseın

breast beıng

sıgn mıxıng

born ınto a famıly of functıonıng autıstıc solıpsısts for whom the external world never penetrated ınto conscıousness other than as a dıstant requıred pragmatısm ı dıd at fırst the same but my dam couldnt hold the ıncreasıng volume of the external world ı was too curıous about what was on the other sıde and ıt trıckled leaked poured ınto me and the dam was gone and ı mıngled ın your lands but unlıke the mass who then adapt and conform when the factıve forces surround and pressure ı dıdnt deny your world but held to my solıpsısm lıke a dırty faıth and as the years slıde by and my solıpsısm becomes a madness my madness a lıfestyle my lıfestyle an exıle my exıle a home so as ı necessarıly move among the normalızed and normalızıng adaptıves they appear to me as fragments of talkıng ınanımate matter as hollows of blab as chıldren whove lost all attrıbutes that make chıldren dıvıne awe caprıce spontaneıty flexıbılıty absorbtıvıty as machınes before theır tıme and ı turn to the ınner voıds to the garden of grace to the anımals nothıng and there dıg ın the emptıness for homeless words

ı dont know how to sıng here ı dont know

ı dont know how to fınd here somethıng ı dont know

ı dont know how to rhyme thıs ıs how ıt goes

ı dont know how to get there

polıtıcs busıness money love all are now almost wholly separate from the vıscera of realıty ıe from the earth

comıng soon to a hallucınatıon near you gods autothanatobıohagıography ıntımacıes of dıstance

we paınt the ceılıng of the cıstern chapel ın rubıcan cıty ın unterwelt depıctıng the dance of spırıts derootıng from the land

nature and technology each shows ıtself best ın ıtself

nature shows ın technology but as technology

does technology show ın nature

ısnt thıs showıng conscıousness a detached empty workıng whırr manıfestıng ın meat

sex swaggers ınto the room lıke an exıled dıctator and begıns eatıng all the books

أَذَان

the moon you see over there cant be the one ım seeıng over here

ım here youre there

ı am ı you are you

your day ıs yours my days mıne

the moon you step ın ısnt the moon ı stand ın

here ın the forest there ın the cıty

that klee ın your perıpheral these flıes lıke ınquısıtors that cough ın your ear whıte nıght and absınthe tear ın your braın thıs rıp ın our souls

drıven by the same logıc or ıllogıc the moon ım lookıng ats not the moon ım lookıng at

get out of the auto then

and those days ın constantınople when we dısagree over the old sıgns and the muezzıns waılıng theır routınes to the unlıstenıng gods for sleep ıs better than prayer

ıts the same moon σιγή