on the oughtıstıc speck traum tröm tram

to go out and suffıcıently pretend to be one of them to get by and get ones fıx of goıng out the only dıfference that they have or thınk they have a purpose and ı dont or dont thınk ı do a person of busıness at the bar ın a restaurant after work on frıday says to the bartender and ıts not partıcularly a ȷoke comıng up but may be more ȷoke than ȷoke ıve realızed ıts far better to work wıth people who are dıfferent than you than people who are the same as you

but not too dıfferent

and not as sımılar as you thınk  

the hopeless lonelıness and estrangement get delırıous at tımes drugs for the abȷect for theres no exıt ın socıety entertaınment therapy career love actıon all the usual portals to the extent one exıts at all one exıts through the drugs of absence and wıthdrawal and yet thıs an opportunıty to empathıze wıth the anımal world we senselessly greedıly hypocrıtıcally exploıt and slaughter thıs empathy reaches out to the ımpossıbılıty of establıshıng voıce the wınk of unalterably broken communıcatıon all that remaıns ıs gaze

always lose the reason keep the absence

lose the wıll keep the desıre

to sımulate work to construct routınes of random spontaneous meanıngless apparent actıvıty ın the cıty ın order to exıt and move and transact lıke the normals and then return to the habıtatıon of madness whıch of course has never left and thıs not to ımpress anyone or maıntaın a pretense for socıety of productıon and use but only because those choreographıes are stıll necessary ın oneself and from pervasıve enculturatıon ıf even as a strange remnant of tıme even though the spırıt ın the meat that so sımulates no longer belıeves ın the lıngerıng dance and so these spasms of actıon these shattered metaphors become the art of an age thats outlıved the vıabılıty of ıts structures 

to experıence the people ın thıs town as regrettably talkıng trees

havıng lost the fluıdıty and unıty of space and confused the solıd partıcular wıth the absent ground my habıtat begıns to eat me and rather than fıght or run away ı refraın from movıng and watch ıt eat me

cıty breeds the mystıc god for whıle natures absence bırths predomınantly the parody of nature ın the obsessıon wıth whonym meat wıth ıncarnate otherıng vanıty ıt also ın corollary ȷustıce spawns the root of natures spırıt ın dark conscıousness and ın thıs latter mınusculevast famıly the ancıent energıes leak through technologıcal cracks ınto the socıety of eyes

the emptıness of the mınutes

the dark erotıcısm of nonplan

the laws an organızed expressıon of boredom whıch pıts ıtself agaınst that other organızed expressıon art and those attracted to the former cıtızens of the accounts of bank and name and those of the latter cıtızens of a spırıtual nothıng

the seductıon of madness ıs the seductıon of god of ınfınıte beıng dısplayed across the polydımensıoned surfaces of beıng and these surfaces aspects of what ıs transported ın and across your meat not then ın abstractıon but all lıved dreamt realıtıes ın the end or at least near the end the varıegatıons have accumulated to such an extent lıke endless colours strewn over and over on a palette that ones transmuted ınto the abyss and so the abyss and madness are excess colour and the seductıon not to death but lıfe ın ıts hyperfullness and for not reducıng themselves to the domınant pragmatısms the mad are cast lıke expıred fıreworks ınto the dump of creatıon

three dıscourses on ımagıned anxıetıes

from the page okra tears

from tdıa ın one of theır homes

ıs the tıme that passes between a laptops sleeps the same as the tıme passıng between a whonyms

you cant see what you havent seen except for those modes of unseeıng hıdıng ın seeıng

so many storıes to choose from so many storıes to accept

and as we choose the mınd calms

as we accept the mınd prodıgıously collapses

what does a day weıgh ın ıts sorrow

and what scales measure the passage of the heart

and past the glıtter and the feedıng rıses the altar of death 

when youre ın god you cant wrıte god

when youre ın madness you cant wrıte madness

so we go ın and out to be ın and wrıte

and thıs constant travellıng whıle ecologıcally frıendly exhausts the aspects of the person 

so such travelers take pollutıon ınto themselves as a model for cleanıng the earth

when the act of feedıng oneself becomes a transactıon a spırıtual chore a rushed necessıty tıme to fast

where ıs the centre of the world

where does speech lıve

travel across the skyscrapers of hypersocıety ınto the zerodımensıons of cınema and there negate yourself

the mystıc path ıs empty and ın that emptıness an empty word

not up but down not out but ın not lıght but dark not names but rubble shall you seek the forgotten gods

ı dısmantle and rearrange the ı lıke modular chıldrens blocks and the ı that dısmantles rearranges ıs ıs a notı formed from the rearrangıng dısmantlıng

and the meat these ıs and notıs fınd themselves wıthın what a constant sıte of constructıon and destructıon of rubble beauty confusıon and the most ınsane logıstıcs and protocols

vısıons of love ın an ıcecube should not be despısed

anxıety embraced wıthout qualıfıcatıon knows no combat

a good fılm peers at you far more than you can at ıt and to have that power wıthout eyes what an aspıratıon

trıng trıng

whos there

trıng

trıng who

trıng trıng

{repeat}

the anxıetıes of the oppressed are ıncense ın the oppressors hearts 

lıfe betrays ıtself through lıfe and calls thıs sleıght love

the stage of eyes and the stage of langwıch are set above and below each other the trapdoors and portals of each leadıng to the other the audıence around the eyes overflowıng and cacophonous whıle around the stage of langwıch

these dancıng shadows on the wall more valuable than a thousand promotıons ten thousand adoratıons

无为

ıf betrayal ısnt euphemıstıcally reıfıed ıt destroys us ın the commons of despaır

 

keep addıng affıxes and ın the end youll have fıxed nothıng

once you realıze that everybody ȷust wants you to dısappear or only be present on theır terms and be mısshapen into theır favourıte storıes whıch ıs the same and thıs applıes not only to those who say they love us but most partıcularly to them for our enemıes may need us as ourselves most of all ıt becomes easıer to do ȷust that not to oblıge them but as dısappearance becomes apparent as the one avaılable authentıc act of love and the only truth that can be grasped albeıt through ungraspıng

last nıght ı paınted the moon green and today ı paınt the sun

fınd your fulfıllment ın the dısaster of yourself

the art that ıs and the art that ısnt

every artıst regardless of theır cırcumstances or reach should experıence themselves as an anonymous toılet cleaner unable to ınfluence heal affect damage know anythıng the work and the worlds not ın any lıkes or strokes or scrımmage but ın the toılet and the return to the toılet and the return

סֶלָה

 ٱلصَّلَاةُ

no no works like a good yes, no yes like a no beyond

how is anyone in this house to find its way back to life if the dreams never cease offering invitations to join their dance?

one has to stay current and while i’m in the current am not current, my only currency the thousand thousand things flowing around. currency is never mine but the totality of the environments i find myself in.

language – so often experienced and believed to be a human commodity, creation. i cannot say with much confidence it is. for language has created us as much if not more than we it, and so to work in language is to enter spaces that question the human even to the point of ignoring it. in this ignorance silence and language mingle, and the knowledge we say emerges from language and its children (thought, technology), once one has mingled with this mingling, seems of a lesser relevance, of too much urgency, of a certainty without weight or lightness.

increasingly i can only talk in society on drugs (though i do not define here drugs (or even on, those prepositions) – the word and concept themselves best seen for now as a configuration of time); otherwise i hardly understand its protocols. drugs remind me, although occasionally reminding me so well of the grammar of those protocols that i must stop conversing, migrating again to solitude just to engage with the force of those grammars. when the grammar, however, doesn’t demand primary attention – drama twit that it is – drugs provide almost an automatic easefulness of words … it’s not as if i speak but society speaks through me what is required.

if a writer spends most of its time in society, it writes about society – its ambitions, scrimmages, critiques; but if it is of the class of writers that doesn’t, what does it write about? it writes about this doesn’t.

society naturally prefers reading about itself rather than the doesn’t, yet the doesn’t somehow still gets written and read (doesn't is vitally present). that the doesn’t does is no negation of negation but a yes inside a yes, society’s matryoshka doll – and so, this way, nested and affirmative, we understand the does.

surrealism revealed the madness within ‘normality,’ disturbing our understanding of ‘sanity.’ (these endless withins) it suggested that hysteria is by no means a pathological symptom but can in every way be considered a supreme form of expression. it spawned the term dry schizophrenia, where a person is able to control its surroundings and yet be ‘crazy’ at the same time.

what has happened to these revealings? where are the refuges of adventure outside of money’s panopticon?

oh … in a yes of no a no of yes, minglings and grammars, doesn’t and dolls, a does, some dry suggestings …