diaper dialogues viii

rev mangetout was what we might call a scientist in alt existences, wholly other universes, geometries of time unhinged from linear minds

why was i implanted with such a useless vocation?

in our universe we call your useless vocation the new science

but the new science was published in 1725 in our universe

that was that new science, this is this one

i don’t make any money – in fact i lose money, love is a perpetual disaster, i’m estranged from my species having grown to lack almost any understanding of its dominant values and modes, its lickspittling conformism to factory narratives designed for domination, inequality, and the fragmentation of spirit, i roam around in fogs of alienation mumbling to myself, looking increasingly derelict, insane, having begun the biological toboggan ride down the bumpy hill of decay, anonymous, impecunious, lost, stumbling, miasmic, smelly, dismissed …

… yes, that’s it!

what’s it?

the new science

i’m a stuck raita cumin seed in the infinite teeth of a wastrel cosmos, a schematic for vulgarity, a marrow lecture on failure, a discarded pit of mythic poetry accidentally blasted from time’s mass grave into the pulsing current of plasmatic cash, a turd of legacy dimensionality reeking in reality’s scrubbed light, a risibly recalled anachronism, an embarrassment to reason, an annoyance for taxonomists, a negative case study for scholars, entrepreneurs, politicians, justice workers, bums, revolutionaries, artists, naturalists, the virtuous and the wicked, workers, leaders …, an exiled poop of disgust that can’t be exiled for places of exile themselves are exiled, can’t be composted for its plastic composition, an unposted poster child for unsophistication and irrelevance …

… yes that’s it! …

… i’d rather be a custom mycelial mat than human, i identify more with bedbugs than simians, visions are my reality and your reality my nightmare, what you call love is for me a horror of suffocation, community a celebration of mediocrity, gossip, pettiness, narrative oneupmanship, and schadenfreude, success a laundered exaltation of greed, destruction, genocide, and death, citizenship incarceration … in past spaces and times one could at least retreat but now humans have damaged or eliminated all places of retreat and they seek in spaceships and screens what they are committed to slaughtering on earth, the only retreat internal – yet the vast bipedian sensuous onslaughts intrude even here, tentacled and bludgeoning, in the once cloister of thought and imagination: what had become at least the remnant freedom …

… this is it!

why do you keep saying that?

what?

this

in our universe the new science has discovered … it has reconfigured realities … upended the truths of barbarism … light and communication are not just words … neither suffering nor death but war, genocide, hatred, ignorance, hoarding – these all have been composted into creativity and love, an unimaginable shimmering equality of all creatures and things …

… but you’re a snow pea!

watch your assumptions

aren’t you a snow pea?

that’s not the assumption i mean

what’s the assumption you mean?

your universe. i had almost forgotten

what’s that supposed to mean?

… you stupid fucking mangetout …

mayhem ensues

as does chopping

a stir fry of ignoble proportions

farts and belches

this universe

January 2 - Saint Battista of the Holy Recurso

Giovanni Battista Vico was born in Naples, Italy, June 23 1668, to a rottweiler and daughter of a marriage broker.  He received his formal education at local grammar schools, from various Jesuit tutors, and at the University of Naples, from which he graduated in 1694 as Doctor of Sibyl and Cabal Law. 

While it is unnatural, even in the case of saints, for animals and humans to mate, Redicolus, Roman god of Return and Absurdity, took it upon himself—in what is known to us as the late Middle Ages, when the gods were more given to take the guise of animal form—to possess the canine of an Abraham Crijnssens and sneak upstairs above the marriage broker’s shop where the lovely daughter lay lounging en dishabille and dreaming of a tryst with Reynard the Fox in his prison cell in Maupertuis, clutching Reynard’s glossy orange fur while she rode him to a distant luscious land.  At that very moment of incarcerated pitch and glory, the rottweiller leapt into the room and onto her bed and she was overcome and gave herself over to him utterly.  Thus Saint Battista was born.

Throughout his life, he devoted himself with melancholy and irritability, such as belongs to saints of ingenuity and depth, to his recursive vision of imagination, society and science.  He was misunderstood, unknown, and lived as a stranger in the world of men.  He suffered great poverty, prolonged, intense and recurring bouts of boils and dysentery, and failed in all his worldly ambitions.  His children were mediocre and unpleasant to look at.  His wife was likewise.

We honor St. Battista because of his foundational contribution to the creation of another world and his significant impact on a wide range of great saints.  We honor St. Battista today because his illegitimate ancestor, Adeline De Walt Reynolds, famous for her role as Madame Queen Zimba in Son of Dracula, died today in 1961.  Never before, reverting as we are now to a world of false poetry, virtuality and vampirism, have St. Battista’s words been more apt and inspiring.  St. Battista was carried to Heaven on the back of a rottweiler on January 23 1744 and the Council of I elevated him to sainthood on April 28 1945.  Let us honor the saint today with our souls and flesh.