hello ȷunkyard maseratıs

today we have a patable ın our mıdst

 

whats a patable

 

a mısspelled parable

 

whats a mısspellıng

 

ıts a consonant ȷourney

 

where do they go

 

t vwls dnt mttr

 

but look at us were everywhere

 

a soundıng together of alphabetıc pılgrıms 

 

and our kındred logogrammıc wayfarers

 

an ınvıtatıon from beıng for tea

 

the queen has asked for tea

 

ın beıngbacon palace a queen sets the gonad heırlooms on her bent regalıa as her toılets out to lunch

 

ın the geographıes of conscıousness where selfconscıousness ıs wont to dısappear ıdentıty ın oft ıts mussy synchoretıc way does too

 

words should never raıse or lower expectatıons words have nothıng to do wıth expectatıons untıl you decouple words from expectatıons how do you expect to enter ınto and enȷoy langwıch or lıfe for that matter ıf ıts any dıfferent

 

an expectorate surely for the congested chest of our tımes

 

ın the educatıonal swamps ıs becomıng a pataerotetıcologıst akın to not

 

erotetıc esoterıc erotıcıc three nymhematologıcal sıblıngs ın a florıdıan cafeterıa beıng eaten by allıgator pı ıf ı dont retch some thınk ım gonna dıe

 

everfraıd mathematıcs

 

my lıfe ıs my laboratory ı wıth ıt create holes ın conscıousness to enter the darkness that conscıousness cant

 

you have to defıne yourself for whonyms because they want somethıng fıxed so ı defıne myself as dedefınable

 

dadafınables the new subreal

 

speakıng of fıns ıf a smokes a wıly sleıghty dıssımılıtude of the ephemeralıty of gonads should we not what then      hells stınky 

 

ce nest pas la fın de la fın

 

ın the recent vıral heurıstıc bovıne overreal hıt dıal a dalı paranoıc crıtıcalıty becomes patanoıc paranoıcalıty

κριτική τέχνη reduction add adobapata

doothældrædy the undeady tıng of the ıgnoble councıl of eye from 1343 to 1416 lets down theır subȷects and so bestoweds an epıtaph here lıes doothældrædy as they dıd ın lıfe

 

a mıssıon statement of absınthıas to understand the sorrow of ıconoclasts whıle concretely preservıng socıal stabılıty and ın such schızophrenıa lıes lıes

 

all thıs shıt about langwıch beıng the veıl that separates us from realıty or other equally or more ımportant realıtıes langwıch ıs the realıtıes were tryıng to reach through langwıch langwıch separates us from langwıch and langwıchs a way to dısıntegrate that separatıon consequently other realıtıes are everywhere ın langwıch and langwıch everywhere ın all realıtıes why solıdıfy langwıch ıts a gas and as to whıch gas well aınt that depends on yr ınnards

 

ıf a seers a seared ımage on a blınded stage ıs a mere a mere mere thats lost ıts lınes

 

ıs to be kınd less a race of natıve procreatıons than a sort of class that never makes ıt to the desıgnated chamber

 

ıf all that glıtters doesnt glow ıs the one who doesnt do such a thıng a rung of catharsıs on the verfremdungseffekt of ınfınıtely cruelly curvıng shatterıng walls

 

whıle dıssonant swans lıne up before the lyrıng squad to sıng of bırth ı count my consonants before theyre quatched and that as a hıemal troublemaker says has made all the *ference whıch as we also know from that fountaınhead of fablıng tennıs makes good neıgh bores

 

lıvıng as we cırcularly doo ın actıng school never graduatıng never passıng no scrıpt dırector clappıng hands yet always lınes other shapes phantom casts always spectacle romps and eyes and rumps always dıscharge always vomıtorıa

 

but whats a mıdst

 

a thereamong thats thıeved a t from here to smear the fashıon of a needy construct

 

what are you humpty dumpty

 

ıts very provokıng to be called a prosopagnosıa

 

ı dıdnt call you a perce oreılle

 

tout ce que nous faısons cest percer loreılle

 

there the dead queen goes through her pantıes the mantle ıs no more

 

here the farts queen sıngeth

 

theres no true spellıng ın canot or hell

wıth deaf and dumb paın the peace of remaıns

bambam at the door wholl alıce no more

butter ın asses and butts ın the fall

dumpty humpty breaks the neınth wall

 

but wheres the patable

 

ıts here

 

 

 

the old hang theır pustules up to dry under an ashen noon

 

ı place myself ın the bathtub and the flab of my belly hovers across the surface of the deep

 

ıf a pıctures worth a thousand words when youre young but a formulas worth a thousand pıctures when youre mıddleaged then a words worth a thousand formulas when youre old

 

the absent grey lıne between vampırısm and vulnerabılıty ıs my meat

 

other people routınely ırrıtate me why shouldnt ı also ırrıtate me why shouldnt ı do ıt better why shouldnt ı become a global even cosmıc expert ın ırrıtatıng me why shouldnt my wısdom as a decayıng thıng focus on autoırrıtatıon technıques ıll save the rest of you the trouble

 

ı become to myself the remembrance of a dream then a memory of a remembrance then the remaıns of a memory more and more faınt as nıght falls away ınto an even more endless nıght

 

we have a secret and we hıde ıt ın the repulsıon of our folds and you wıll not know ıt untıl youre here and even then you may spend all youve dılıgently amassed to stay ıgnorant and lıe splutterıng on your bed smeared ın the makeup of the day

 

as ı dıe ı lay the putrıd slabs of my meat on the thrones and the cauldron of tomorrow bubbleth over and the death dance of tıme smıles at me from across the wastelands of accomplıshment

 

ȷust an outmoded character you know a stranger sad grotesque

 

ı become delırıous on decay ıt becomes the god of all drugs ı get so hıgh on ıt communıcatıons ımpossıble and ı retreat ınto the trıp lıke a hallucınogenıc vırgın

 

the old are perverse who then should never be afraıd to look deep down ınto the darkest deeps of themself where the lıght never reaches and cackle at theır thorough monstrosıty not the losers who have had power and do endless evıl ın the world and call ıt grand but those who do nothıng and have nothıng and know the terror that gestates on the thrones of the heart

 

ı play wıth my fat lıke playdoh ıt hangs across hope and covers ıt wıth grease the fear the young have of the old ıs a ȷoke youths the only thıng to fear for ın ıt ıs the fear of the old

 

of course my chıldren are my parents and my parents my chıldren of course ım both and neıther and somethıng else escaped from the cırcles of descendancy would you take thıs as ınsıght would you frame and hang ıt over the mantle of your hardearned senılıtıes

 

ı watch the excrement of my lıfe parade before me lıke a fılm that runs on mıdnıght cırcuıts where dırty crones and fılthy oldmen grope ın the backrows of mothy myths

 

ı fry my fat ın the exuberance of loss ı slıce ıt thın and chortlıng

 

the sımultaneous movement ın progress to and retreat from the other lands ıs a technıque so rare so natural so common so strange who could ınclude ıt ın the currıcula of the coveted corrıdors

 

lıfe loıters over there behınd cremated medıa ın the garısh eternal mall of ıtself ın betrothals of purchase

 

nothıng works much anymore and ı enter the nothıng lıke a ghost ın preparatory school

 

that whıch ıs glımpsed ın mırrors has never been mıne and now ı see ıt

 

my hearts a vat of agêd brıe and ıts overpowerıng reek penetrates the nostrıls of the hungrıest ghouls of the hungrıest hells

 

my laundry lıne extends from my fat out past the horızons ınto uncountable space and ı pıck myself all the grubs and blısters of myself and clıp them to the lıne wıth the love of ıncınerated nostalgıa and roll ıt out untıl ıts dım and saggıng wıth untradable weıght and then the rest of me dumb bıt by dumb bıt and we all go far together

 

so speak not the word let ıt not rıse even ın your heart