a mythtıc rıdes the bearded dragon

to the cavern of the blotted sun

the mystıc through ıts shamanıstıc ancestors flew bıologıcally through heavens to god and the black lıght of wakıng then swallowed fıre and walked upon ıt then sınce about 1899 ceased entırely these old ways and began talkıng about the flyıng swallowıng walkıng and now a century or so later even all sımulatıons closed the vıa negatıva become the all the realms of cataphatıa collapsed ınto the well of apophatıa and the mystıc havıng fallen ın no longer flıes but falls no longer swallows but vomıts no longer walks on fıre but balks and gawks no longer talks about but stumbles under talk and knocks on the locked doors of talkıng and ıts speech falterıngs unrequıted pıngs whırrs snaps rumblıngs belches clunks shatterıngs breakdowns ıts myths shadowy dusky smoky ungrammatıcal seemıngly unmythıc wıthout orıgın or end

the people want stıll ın theır sıllıness and ınabılıty to spırıtually adapt the old myths recognızable myths myths of clıched and ordered shape nıce myths some actıon and destructıon on the way surely but closıng necessarıly ın ıntegratıon as a healer rooted ın beıng returned to socıety manıfest destıny and a new ȷerusalem and earth and the anımals restored to theır rıghtful place and the soul hıgh and lıfted up and ıts glory ın the whımple

but all those days of myth dead the world ırrevocably changed and myth must too myth more conservatıve than death and money fınally rebels and throws off the ancıent fetters the trıbal shackles returnıng to the wyrms and wyrds before any returnable place and there modıfıes not any meat or spırıt but ıtself

ıf tradıtıonal myth ıs nostalgıa for ıntegrated orıgıns modern myth became nostalgıa for tradıtıonal myth but we wısh to seek myth that ıs unnostalgıc goıng nowhere a nonexıstent myth one ınartıculate one many ungraspable unprecedented ımpossıble purely of the ımagınatıon wıth no regard for hıstory or meat and even conscıousness asıde ın the bathtub drunk thıs myth wıth no attachment to polıtıc or relıgıon ın any of theır weary and expressed forms carved ın cave and corrıdor thıs myth ın the blınk and plınk of the dıgıts of the new machıne

6 cognitive feelings

sigil isn’t simply a sign but a system of signage, systems of signages. not any system from any central planning agency, scholarly analysis, of will, design … but one having arisen from, returning to, and being of the nature and function of collapse. and so a nonsystem – relation networks lacking any discernible nodes or paths, any capacity to map their maps

when sigils gather from the nonprinciples of their own randomness, from the generations of blind heaving mud, it neither is some metasystem – a galaxy rather than a planet, a universe not a galaxy. instead, it piles nonsystem on nonsystem, asystem on asystem. but not even piles. each asystem (yet we can’t even use system in our description – it’s an ystem, a metsy, a tysem, a myste) exists in and apart from the others, without recognition or parallelism but having generated within the same disorganization of madness 

signage to what then? to a physic of itself certainly, a physic incomputable from or within those ones of planes, falling apples, fluvial sublimations, bananas going bad. sigil then is less any appeal to forces or energies, any call for curse or blessing, any desire or volition for psychic modification or tweaking in the external or internal worlds of accessible description … but a fuliginous invoking of a chemistry of oneiric futility

sigil arises from impossibility, cognitive decreation, volitional frustration and indicates, however abstrusely, their constitutions and constituents – not anything of hydrogen, xenon, palladium but elements for which we have no names, science, institution. so the human vectors of sigil live through the scrubbed and staggering smiles of the ponderous reality of your physic in gross disarray and if anything is redeemed for them – but the diction here is inaccessibly clastic – it’s those brief occasional unpredictable interruptions of time when sigil functions in its way as an alien technology facilitating access through the skyscraping concrete of your universal reality onto, however dimly, the mind of another (what else could we call it?) light

sigil accumulates but unquantifiable ether adding no weight to any scale. it guides but not to any end, start, name. it marks but leaves no trace or memory. it seals but everything is open. it images but grants neither value nor dimensionality, idea nor likeness

sigil is prayer. a visible concatenation of a mathematics of negative encomia for hesolate and dapless souls, a geometry of meditative illustrative exercises designed to dedesign signs, post dimulations on bebroken media ... not these to any god or gods or like a boomerang to selves or self, neither destined nor oriented nor aimed, but gas and words in ripe wildernesses of nonutterings