knowledge, unknowledge, and the immaterial orders ii

the esoteric and the homodox, the arcane and familiar, the oneiric and substantial, the purchased and the given, the robed and the naked, the entitled and the violated, the tribal and the hard wind of the commons, that which is caressed and that which is set aside, abnegation and striving, enfeebling and potencies … here, without diminishment, is the knowing that does not know in the currents of quarks.

that yellow is a light which has been dampened by darkness, blue is a darkness weakened by light is no less true today than it was or will be, that every statement is from the non-existent platform of truth true and so to state is to be of the state and in state and people of knowledge, unknowledge, and the immaterial orders are less of state than mood and mood a form of homelessness … that this, that this is, is something we might imbue into the imbibings of our formal education systems if it were not for the comedies they so freely grant.  praise be states in their beneficence of tangential wit.  praise be schools in their oblique walllessness.  praise be enculturations in the smiles they hide.  for knowledge is that ancient game we play on time’s broken board.  and we all have the rules.  and i read yours the way i read butter.  and mine in the manner of cheese.

i tell you the truth.  you shall melt like milk in the abattoirs of the law.  and people shall laugh at you like the violence of rabbits.  you shall climb into the bed of your tears like happiness.  and then you shall know.  then we shall know.  then and when knowledge shall rear its rear like cloudy eclipses and the moon shall be full and we shall be blind.

oh little pebbles.  i eat you out like alice.  i grow and shrink like nightmares.  i am no phallus or pink and shiny thing, that jewel in clams in cans.  i am neither satisfaction nor monks.  i may be heat but if i am i am of the kind of popsicles.  the irrevocable fire of the frozen shall be sucked by the eternally starving.  and this is the knowledge you begin losing after kindergarten.

i suck knowledge like an alabaster cock stuck in the forehead of maggots.  i am blood and eyes and both are sucking maws.

you are knowledge.  i take you on my tongue like a too sweet cough candy.  i choke on you.  you are a pebble.  you are a desiccated rabbit.  you are the perfect lie of the cult.  i need you like blood.  eyes eat blood and blood eats eyes and so the world is made perfect again and again.  it is only our knowledge that prevents us seeing this, seeing eyes.

the mirror of eyes is set to the mirror of eyes and what is exchanged between them?  the gods are decomposing.  democracy is a dead bird.  love is mechanical coffee.  music is semen on your face.  and still i love you.  still i love.

January 15 - Saint Wolfgang of the Aphoristic Werthers

It is common for saints, like others, to be bred from the union of male power and female lechery, politics and poetry.  However, in rare cases they are the product of lechery and lechery, a Sapphist extravaganza.  So it was with Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, born in Frankfurt am Main to Katherine Elisabeth Textor, an older lady of the cloth, and Ulrike von Levetzow, a younger woman of the flesh.  They met for one night where words and ideas failed on a bed of blooming lemons, after which Ulrike died and Wolfgang was brought forth from his mother's right breast on August 28 1749.  After troubles at school, he received at home an exceptionally wide education. At the age of 16, he began to study law at Leipzig University.

St. Wolfgang was a curious son of chaos, who was not omniscient but knew a lot.  Deciding early to be a hammer not an anvil, he refused to know himself and erred in proportion to his striving.  He received roots and wings from Helen of Troy on his 26^th birthday and subsequently enjoyed what he could and what he had to.  In addition to a tasteful imagination, he never placed things that matter least at the mercy of things that matter most.  Shaped and fashioned by what he loved, his life was simpler than you think and more complex than you imagine.  Widely criticized, he neither protested nor defended himself, but acted in spite of his detractors, who gradually yielded to him.  Part of that Power which always wills evil and always procures good, he attained a happiness which he did not deserve and which he would not have changed with anything in life.  At the end, when he had grasped by art all that he had felt, when he was too old for mere amusement, too young to be without desire, specifically on March 22 1832 in Weimar, Ulrike von Levetzow descended from Heaven, grasped St. Wolfgang between her buttocks and took him to the Lēsvos in the sky.

A Wolfgang of all trades, he was a secular prophet and a pithy generator of wisdom; his very body was the bridge between Enlightenment and Romanticism, his spirit the chasm of modernity.  He loved more than he was loved and was more the text of a zeitgeist than the author of a text.  He paved the aphoristic way to Heaven and foretold and incarnated life's domination over art through his subjugation to the eternal Muse.

We honor the saint today for Gérard de Nerval completed his French translation of Faust on this day in 1828 and experienced his first nervous breakdown on the same day in 1841.  The Council of I elevated him to sainthood on April 20 1889.  Let us honor the saint today with our souls and flesh.