knowledge, unknowledge, and the immaterial orders iv

cross the bridge of sighs in your robes of doubt.  sing to the punters of ends.  expose yourself to time and may it violate you.  ascend to wicker prisons of fire and burn.  burn your histories and your myths.  burn your pathetic tears.  burn your love and love.  burn your stupid jokes.  fire is the answer and is always the answer.  and the question?  isn’t everything the question?

knowledge is ledge construction and maintenance and pricing and profitability and enforcement, the ledgers of ledges, unknowledge is no ledge or ledgers, and the immaterial orders are the battle and unity of both.

i walk along my segments of the infinite corridors of knowledge, limping like ulysses, soap in my pocket like leopold, a little butterfly dreaming of better butters, the clouds are labia marching to an unknown war, the concrete sun-dried scrotums, and all’s well, all’s well, all’s always well.

take my hand or my prick or my hernia or something and take me down the well of yourself and show me the knowledge that isn’t there and slice me to death with your perfections.  oh my impossible love.  i have learned how to walk around inside my head.  it may sound silly to you but it’s very helpful to me.

i would like to be a white-robed candle on a hill, chanting pee-wee quotes, burning dumbly.  i would like to be some little retorts.  somewhere in the yucatan mayhaps.  then i would belong to the cult of the human and know the rituals of knowledge and walk the walls of names.  i would know the wellness of wells.  i would know knowledge like i know myself.  then i would shine with the light of the dead gods and reflect the mirrors hiding in the folds of clouds.  but i am not what i would like to be.  i am not what i would seem.  i am precisely the sum of the negations of this text.    

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.

knowledge, unknowledge, and the immaterial orders i

another human says to me after a community arts festival that ends in white-robed humans, in shadow play and the translucent heads of mythic creatures, gliding, chanting, like humanoid and earthbound clouds, among candles, on and at the base of hills, polyglottally, through a lukewarm late summer evening of threatening rain – looked like a cult to me.  i reply, as pee-wee herman said, one person’s cult is another’s party.

that herman to my knowledge never said this and if he did in contexts so far from mine that we could say he never or barely did, if i assume at least temporarily my context as standard.  that i can and do say to my knowledge.  that i never replied as such.  that the other human only approximated my above quotation of it.  that the image(s) in your mind – if there be image(s) – birthed from these words likely bear little resemblance to what i saw, and these words to other words that might have been birthed from the presumed and ostensibly indisputable actual event, hardly proves but equally hardly dispels the spinning, expanding, morphing, collapsing limits and boundlessnesses of what we learn, and how, and what we don’t.

i am interested in the supposedly existing thoughts of chuang tzu, wittgenstein, kant, hume, foucault, artaud, kristeva, the boys, the non-boys, the non-girls, the girls, and as is well known in non-existent circles, the non-humans (which some have argued include the humans).  but no more interested than in the voices at my co-op’s picnic table, the pebbles in the tiny teeny bitty itty zen garden before me in this café, the repetitive semi-articulations of that lover, or the molasses of the morasses of the marsh mists of the appearances of my mind.

in the paragraph above that begins with another human is all knowledge, all knowledge’s deconstruction, the materiality and immateriality of all things.

in the paragraph above is just another pebble in this zen garden stretching before this and that i to the stars, unseen monks raking, unseen monks constellating, unseen monks whispering, of the infinite love of each pebble, of the sum of all infinities becoming nothing in that way nothing is become.

in the paragraph above i see a ghost of a girl tumbling down staircases of burning manure, men of ostensible maturity and power blanching to fear, for they are seeing saint bernards too large to be saint bernards.  and i want to say – some of me wants to say – i am the girl.  but i cannot.  i cannot for reasons too complex and beautiful and stupid to name.  the reasons are too long.  reasons are always too long.

in the paragraph above is the paragraph below and if you don’t see that you’re dumber than a geriatric cat and i strip you of the name human and turn you into a pebble and you are thereby sanctified in the garden of silences.  these are the paths of knowledge and the signs of the immaterial orders of freedom.