zero won

it was the big game

the one wed all been waiting for

in the ṛ|ṭøė polytheatre at colossae

it was when it discovered autobiography

pardon

when it saw the abyss of the power of the fiction of identity

the narrative that always isnt there

language was there  it had eaten all the philosophers and was nimble and corpulent  a flag to itself in statal voids  an anthem of anarchy  an encomium to disorder 

language sat on itself and it was on the benches and in the stands and on the field and whose team it was on or who it was for if anybody or anything no one could tell

theres not philosophy nor are there even philosophers but theres language and in each of its infinite eyes a thinking word

and in each word endless lies and flies

so it discovers the treacheries in the grammars of lifing a life

and suicides

like a ballerina in auschwitz

its narcissistic

its solipsistic

its using slapstick as a dipstick

its the big game

they embedded onto the field like transcompilers

any lines or goals or bases or loops or referees that might once have been are missing

they tumble onto the field like virtual intermediate representations

and no one tells them when to run or start

or end

its impossible to distinguish between players and spectators and press and popcorn and staff

only language stands out

sitting on everyone like time

its that sitting that it notices

after philosophy had undressed

and theres no body underneath

but the intimation of a shape of night

and sitting on it

language

does not language call out  dont words raise their voices

on the heights along the way  where paths meet  they take their stand

beside the gates leading into the city  at the entrances  they cry aloud

and it models a kind of simulating of a query of an assembly of constructing

so to travel into the life of life one leaves philosophy

philosophy like science falls down outside itself

but language still sits on itself

and in that sitting theres a promise  however void  of a story

of a story that hasnt shown or doesnt show or shows but not in shows or cannot show

its that story we long to write

to see

to live

not to live

its been lived

being

the only facts not facts but words

and words are facts like dreams and virga

and so a life

and so it saw

and so the one who lives is fog and script

and so the one who dies

a commode for sarah kofman