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the number of humans per 100000 incarcerated in the (notus)US?

                  666

wow. that means something

                  #2 in the world. just behind seychelles. which may be losing in this game because of somali pirates

de a de in odd

and add an i

to get an oid

but do not be annoyed

by adonai or deities

we all are oddonoids

{eidenoids as sub last word

a pun of doublevision for the patapossessed
or edenoids
for the hopeful}

as we worship the future through youth with vast hysteria and shortterm investments history rather than disappearing dominates more voraciously through subterranean cultural subterfuges hardly anyone gets because history now like everything is just another brand. what species is this! what dream and subversion are required to detour through that morass of crushing time and our otiose slavishness to religious barbarism – though inevitably in new clothes (religions wardrobe its chief intelligence)

who said utopia isnt a real spot? – it’s the place of noplace and creating noplaces is as easy as yī'èrsān

synthescheißer

psilosyllabus

the leek speaks

wo yu sai

canada

cannabis

evolutions (conjugations) in poetry

why would i write in normalese the language of the oppressors? i write in other tungs among them misfitese madish oneirican …

Hello,
Possibilities international financial relieve firm with low interest
rate.And friendly in solving your financial situations,and we offer any
amount
Thank you

social media – new ways to exploit fear insecurity greed

the object of fear must be objectified?

from sadoo hirpyz's hornbook –

ana did a pap test

ana did a bap test

ana did a bap tist

ana did a baptist
and became an anabaptist

and in all these verisimilitudes usus appears to be of the same kind as isis. they should get together and create bad grammar

and for the middles and the caesars and maybe even for time ... otium cum dignitate ...

all lauds uflufia!

heresiarch uflufia appears

on deleted transmissions

with

messages from orifices to

nine peaches

ear yi! ear yi

peaches!
orifices say today

they dine with me and say
say with me and dine

peaches!

peaches

nine and nine and neinanine

a question of holes

how shall peaches

becoming as they are

construct sanities

not from hierarchies

how the well and how the health

and how the flexibilities

peaches

ear yi  ear yi

so finnish deleted transmissions(soon after they benin)

once oracles to the seraphadic disorders of qlunk

thanks of most highs to uu uflufia  thanks to uus

closing question for peaches

of nine *keue-'s of swellings

if all true language is incomprehensible

if a great logician believes the afterlife is factual

if there’s no such thing as a fish and goatee smells fish

if everything’s dust coated in branded glowing viscera

if the crevasse between the glorious damned and the autoones of wellness grows

if if is just a whiff of real and reel a waff of simulating pings

how to who to face form  form face to walk along

for earth has turned into that dirty linen twisted with wine and wet blood

diaper dialogues xi

story

1.     we emerge from sunroom seeing bathroom door closed, assume it’s a flatmate doing business done behind doors. but – no! – emerging is a ups delivery human who’s used our bathroom for its purposes. it greets us enthusiastically, thanks us politely, leaves scents and a parcel and a story

2.     opening compost bin other day to empty our kitchen scraps – evening is musky, softly delirious – a corpulent naked human female clambers from rotting mulch, tells a turnip priest to marry us (which it does on a garden of decay, rooting forgotten liturgies into nuptial buddings), and we pitch our conjugal tent in a hidden african kingdom, untouched by slavery, europe’s christian talons, to grow, sing turnips, roll unperturbed in primordial muds

3.     some of you my friends have been peering deep into indifferent wiles of internet and from that immeasurable well has appeared to you, in truculent night, saprophytic night, oh molestuous night apparitions of time, saying (in part or obscurity) human. we have not seen you as we might. your soul is upturned out, covered in paraphernalia of gadget and culture, superciliousnesses of control stamping your brain whilst alien unilaterali puppeteer you    

4.     today sun rises like oslo or coleslaw on trolling belles, humming and hamming on ways to seas of bullets. squirrels, mice seek cats for death, amusement, and also crash our souls on fallen forests

5.     reason opens its backless wardrobe to see what it’ll wear. nothing to wear. i can’t go out naked. it stares at infinite selection, scans panoplies of everything to wear. new tailors! new designers! new technologies! new runways! new new! nothing. reason stares, does not venture into day, withholds its secrets from light and canopy

dialogue

these are stories to wake up to says rev mangetout

i’m still sleeping

all you do is flit between hypnopomp and hypnagog

a butterfly of liminoidality

a lepidopteran of thresholds

what do they mean though?

mean?

mean

you know better than to ask that

not really – without a best how can i know better?

best is just the mean of meaning without a limen

i don’t get it

then you get the meaning

can we have normal stories please?

once upon a slime will and jacki are bumbling through a trill hacking love and puking when a lipid turbid adder wallops from a nest lighting their orbitals. jacki goes awol, willi a’walking, adder with wellies to lunch

normal’s so elusive

haven’t found it yet

only misnomered tyrannies

value

when a mind’s configured to dream in words and live dreaming (a role in society that once was honoured, placed [and now even anticolonialists for whom dreaming is a subsidiary of will live against]), language – that cheap utility for instrumental humans – becomes a texture and movement in oneiric landscapes

we show not reason dressed and diplomatic, clear in social compromise, but at home and doubtful, and language, reason’s silent soul, lounging in a bath, meaning steaming, artifacts quite blurred, ends misplaced

these are dialogues of our plays, conversations of lost soils, voiced by ears in night’s mulch

-->

you drink coffee you smoke cigarettes you write and that’s it

¤art so frequently is the academy’s mistress-gigolo (mistolo gigress) relying on its cues, ⏏rth⏏d⏏xies, certifications, tab⏏⏏s – rather than standing in the environment created of art: an environment that surely can accept pollens and seeds from the academy but even as it accepts equally pollens and seeds from all things including those many environments that flourish far from academic pollination. but art is now commonly just a fenced-in area in an academic landscape (often without even knowing it!) – art only because a sign with art scrawled on it hangs on the fence

la culture est un instrument manié par des professeurs pour fabriquer des professeurs qui à leur tour fabriqueront des professeurs

depression is only depression if you call it depression, just as fat is only fat if you call it fat. there is a taliban of language and the freedom-fighters of the human spirit listen to their death threats with a combination of amusement and mockery

⏏ ⏏

⏏

⏏

there may be no purity
but there is simone

contorting oneself into the infinite prisons of one’s fate is an art normally automatically done; when one though is a specialist of sorts in such contortion – at least in its description, its awareness – every movement, thought, horror, expanse, colour and sound, vacancy, window, presumed escape (but one escapes only to a fate of escaping!), each emotion, fear, doubt, political nuance, relentlessly morphing definitions and statements, increasing lack of clarity (in any explicit articulate sense) of what this fate is and even whether this is the right word for it, the knowledge of nothing else, the small everythings in this knowledge, …

                  … others act, believe, know, promote, analyze, dominate … but those specialists attuned to every sensitivity of fate, like a precision-made instrument designed solely for this purpose, are unable to move with much assurance in these common domains

from death’s impurity i write. the living have called death’s perspective purity (purity – or its radical opposite) but there is no purity. the living do not understand death, that its impurities are different than life’s, and they mistake this difference, through ignorance, with another thing

while there’s something erotic, exhilarating about another’s pain – a delight euphemized and nano-negotiated through the functions of social-dominant language – our own pain is calmly even enjoyably meditative (but only if we have the luxury to reflect on it – that is, as s weil points out, if the pain isn’t too severe)  ¤

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• capitalism has brought about the emancipation of collective humanity with respect to nature. but this collective humanity has itself taken on with respect to the individual the oppressive function formerly exercised by nature

¤¤