a genealogy of the immanent comedy

(or human history for the time-starved)
...

mama
   dada
          pata
                      data
                        mada
                                    nada
                                                 mama

                                                           ...

mama dada mada

m^am^ad^ad^am^ad^a

a madafesto

בְּרֵאשִׁית‎  in bare shit mama elsa von and dada ‘pata ælfy joined wingamonis in spirit coitus on a sphere of pirmasens in flight from finger to money’s tightening teeth

so the brave new world was born before it was born, and in startling drag against the drag it lived to tell the tale of wars in questions

through all of this – the mess, the kisses, that edentino bite, this romp of rumps – mamadada did not deny its ancestry, its heraldry, its lilith and a spin but stuffed mind’s aubergine with ishish hashish allsorts and reconfigured brain to live outside money’s 40k km tung

mada. we are mada and a song. we sing singed synths symsimulatedly, and biology is what it is – meine lieder, meine träume, our mini dramatraumas, follower (no furor, führer), our armada mada, our angelegenheit, seraphim and currency, tungs y raisons

m^am^a

d^ad^a

m^ad^a