at the altar of sobo a3

a human in a wheelchair crossing a street gets hit by a car

            next scene :

human in wheelchair is in a wheelchair … gets hit by a car

            this continues indefinitely until the human’s dwarfed by mobility prosthetics

apply islam’s naming convention of cities (allahabad, mohammadabad) to legacy christian cities :

       old name  new name

new york        jesusabad

london           christabad

paris              maryabad

moscow         godabad

the people are necessary to show the idea of eternity

            gods, you who gave the soul senses to perceive the soul

begin a children’s story like this, continuing …

mixter dickspittle and mixter clitspittle, lickspittles of spittleville, lived spritely …

include it in the grade 3 curriculum

in a barstucks in a privileged geriatric neighbourhood

grabbing an americano to make it through an unwanted afternoon

the old dood in front of me – i only call him old because he sounds old, in the way many young sound old – says when asked by the 12-year-old barista his name is bruce. i say my name is krishna. she asks me to spell it. j – o – o – d i say. she writes something down and says to me – your drink will be down there bruce. i say thanks bruce.

it’s a bruce-all-around afternoon

the 190cm 90kg allmeat black dood at the dispensary who checks my id laughs at my honky name. i blush the colour of a cheap coffin and say i’m changing it to jaylen

we have flight, urban, robotics, ergonomics, weather, finance, disaster, biomechanic, sales & production simulations, but shouldn’t we – considering its centrality to all things human – have developed by now a death simulator we can enter?

            but it was developed long before us! – ayahuasca – this molecular exploratory death simulation device

the transference of language from human atmospheres to its substrates. so silence is only a name for placing of human language in the context of language – humans then becoming quiet in comparison

banisteriopsis caapi instructions for facing plant void to void –

s          it up

o          pen your eyes

b          reathe

o          pen your hands

a¹        give clichés as presents to those who require clichés

wrap up lies for those who love lies

a²        never do i hate myself so much as when i hate myself

a³        it’s only the thought of carrying i mind carrying through security

necroaesthetics

she is solitary. under a lot of pressure. committed as ever to her cause, but i would imagine feeling somewhat defeated, tired, and pissed.

            this princess leia pez dispenser

writing – and by this i mean poetry, writing’s conscience and concupiscence, not poetry necessarily in any substantive sense but that which breaks through language the spirit of language in the human – lacks volition and in this lack substitutes desire. that poetry seems to be contained in that other writing, and that in this, gives writers a distinct advantage and disadvantage alongside other artists. with the former, they work with the most common human element – so always (ostensibly) available; with the latter, the inbred schizophrenic choreographies are so omnipotent, omnipresent, and impotent that the work is constantly falling into itself, this element so polluted by history who can still give oneself over to it?

let it all be animal, my life and death, hard and clean like that, anything but human … a lot i care, me with my red heart in the dark earth and my tattooed feet following the animal ways

i am now beginning to understand the languages of dreams and fungi more than the human languages ...

the chinese poet du fu in 758 complains about his office job …

i am about to scream madly in the office

especially when they bring more papers to pile higher on my desk

a problem with and enticement of interiority is that one can reach the abyss with sufficient time and work (this perhaps is the record of mysticism and poetry); the abyss, though, is always just beyond, with exteriority … isn’t this why we’ve migrated from poetry and religion to prose and science?

            though this just beyond – is it not just a just beyond hiding in the reaching?

even with 7.5 billion of us vertical now, the human dead outnumber the human living 14:1

i wiggle tubes into the heat of my decay, suck on them. what cold fire. i almost don’t need food. food makes me sick anyway, makes my gut curl into itself, my ass splutter its garbage. i eat the vapours of myself and become some elemental thing. my eyes are a periodic table of putrefaction. i record my rot, the artist-i a coroner, the rest a body farm.

exhibition is a practice to produce permanence, to arrest decay

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2014/sep/29/earthearth has lost half of its wildlife in the past 40 years-lost-50-wildlife-in-40-years-wwflate capitalismhttps://www.versobooks.com/books/1570-24-7 and the ends of sleep