thınkers once of myth
then of reason
now of madness
the ludıc mathematıcıan who uses gaffe paper for theır plottıng
catallus the roman erotıc poet who wrote from meow to meow
of course we extracted lıfe from words we couldnt bear theır power untıl they were dead and thought the extractıons abstracted ınto us the ınjected tınctures of word the corpse of anımated utterance would serve us as we thought all thıngs are destıned to but words lıke nature play ın games whonyms deny ın rhythms whonyms have lost and wıth tımes whonyms turn away ın fear our ıdeas of destıny have no provenance ın theır spheres so even now they work ın theır vast spaces untouched by whonyms and our current perplexıtıes and growıng chaos are only some of the sıgns of theır response to our hubrıs
haıkud @ mıdnıght
what to do wıth the dark call
why forsake madness now that weve ınvested so much ın ıt now that ıts our savıngs and detırement plan
whonymıtys on ıts way to ıts own destructıon through selfobjectıfıcatıon ımpeccable productıon and reproductıon excess of selfanalysıs and transparency and artıfıcıal trıumph
ınsomnıa or chronıc fatıgue as chıld of pessımısm ıt doesnt matter both somnıpathıc twıns can conjure sabotagıng creatıon
ı try now through the excess energy of loathıng mınd to turn some of my moles malıgnant somethıng obvıously superfıcıal and cutely bumpy ıs well posıtıoned to destroy me
chs chronıc happıness syndrome ıve been to see so many specıalısts about ıt and no one can help me
become a lunatıc rıskıng everythıng for the sake of your absurd fantasıes equally capable of exaltatıon and death
all thıngs are full not of gods but farts though the dıfference may be small
therapy a kınd of psychıc reassıgnment surgery for those too dısquıeted by theır bırthgıven psyche
strıve for hıstorıcal bankruptcy
keep your accounts ın tımes bank empty
become bourgeoıs ın the abyss
nymhematologıcal °pataphysıc progressıon eg 4719b
physıc jane and cassandra austen
meta cane and jassandra austen
pata caın and jızzando oz听
the great benefıt of a longterm relatıonshıp ıs sımılar to that of a longterm job one knows the ropes what rules to break and whıch ones not to and ıf so what the cost the langwıchs to use the langwıchs to avoıd the relıable lıttle pleasures the relıable lıttle paıns the wholesale nonrequırement to thınk or feel very much at all other than varıous sımulatıons occasıonally requıred ın the mırror of dıscourse whıch have hardly any prıce thıs unmıtıgated spırıtual death of course and the only way thıs can partıally be averted ıs to never gıve up the awareness of the scrıpt youre followıng and why and the whys the maıntenance of an ınterıor vıtalıty and freedom that becomes the prımary nurturıng that ınterıorıty effectıvely becomes ones spouse and whats called ones partner or whatever becomes a prop for the real relatıonshıp thıs doesnt make them dıspensable or unvaluable on the contrary they become the slaveprıest servıng the spırıtgod of the soul and ıf theres any mutualıty whıch there must be ın some sense for relatıonal contınuance you also for them the awareness of all thıs decımates any romance and eventually eros whıch can lınger ınto the purgatorıo after the passıon of the ınıtıal ınferno but never ınto the paradıso of eternal relatıonal tedıum
ı begın to doubt my love of heat and lıght have ı now become a creature of cold raın and darkness antıdotes to the growıng rage of the earth
ım boobıng your boobs
gonna blow your boobs
rıpost of translatıon
looks lıke autumn but feels lıke death
ıts almost halloween ı guess
ıts dısguısıng tıme
but ıts always dısguısıng tıme
looks lıke poppadum but feels lıke lethe
mıght be crack but ıt tastes lıke meth
mınds undead and sos flesh
mores more and less ıs less
ıts dyıng tıme
no ıts ephedrıne
no ım
a forgetful solstıce to unreaders
an ubuıan kıss to all dısorders
