sadoo a shriven sylvan severed novalis sloven

did i say moles? i meant voles  for vole is in novel and isnt the vole the very fulfillment and antithesis of love? and i have heard that in the vale of vole the vole clock chatters and it chatters not for thee

the ns left though out of our vole love but the n  being null and sets of null stretching to and past nullity  it finds itself by being itself excluded  so through nullitalis vole and love meet in novel and strip sadoo

my novel of vole love nullity broken for you

i cant tell whether my novels going faster or slower than my life  leading it  following it  opposed to it  complementary  though as life we could say is time and the novel atime or dreamtime or truetime or precisetime  we find ourselves quickly in that other but related debate  perhaps deeper or more central  perhaps not of what or who or where or why or how or even when is time? whats times address? does it like a cigarillo in the morning with its coffee? in the act of bedsheets what does it do with its tongue? who are its confidants and under what conditions and what does it divulge? my novel  i mean my life  i mean my novels an attempt to answer these questions  no not answer  to raise them  no not raise them  as all time is is a relentless resurrection of them to   to      i just dont know                        i dont know                                  sadoo is my doubt

id like to posit however tentatively that my novels a kind of unterūbūouroboros  a selfsustaining animate dump reforming geometries of mythtime and that i  though is nothing other than my novel or this novel or just novel  a scholar of smelly shape   sadoo is my tentativity and dissertation

my mothers are my novel and my fathers are my navel and my bodies my nival naval and the genealogies of my sarcous family look like psychedelic kohlrabi on a pilgrimage to a bilious fair shuttered epochs ago and may never  truth be told though it hardly is  have existed

applying the principles of nymhematology

we receive as gifts not only the love of voles but

noel lone neo leo eon no on le lo one ole

and if we must leon len von

and quite possibly nole velo and many other treasures

dao de jing vii

heaven and earth are enduring

the reason why heaven and earth can be enduring is that they do not give themselves life

hence they are able to be long lived

hence the sage puts her person back and it comes to the fore

treats its person as extraneous and it is preserved

is it not because she is without thought of self that she is able to accomplish her private ends?

dear sevens,

my book. my name. my will. my reputation. my things. my children. my home. my partner. my job. my ideas. my assets. my lover. my art. my feelings. my video. my dreams. my power. my story. my friend. my land. my body. my brand. my style. my self

hence here flows from the daoical orientation toward humanity as just another species: unprivileged, ungraced, ungoded, unsmarted … while skilled in a number of sectors, not overall superior or inferior to others. and so death is not something to be sought or spurned, hastened or avoided. and so too life. and so too all

what is a human doing as it clings and promotes and subjugates and kills and asserts and knows? what are its assumptions and fears? what has changed among us since one who thought weeping wrote the fairest universe is but a heap of sweepings poured out aimlessly?

dao is the most subversive intelligent witty thing i know

extraneous, external, strange, outside, unknown, alien, curious, without, distant, separated, foreign, surprising, other.

the average person is insulted when you criticize his ideas, his tastes, feelings, body. he identifies his self with his identity, thoughts, worth, life. he finds himself in resentments and seeks retreat or revenge. but the sage is uncertain of identity, this worth – not in those cheap psychological ways of worthlessness that are simply the same notions of worth positioned differently … the loci of the emotional and cognitive flows that many say occur within the self seem difficult to place, the self that many say should be valued, protected, loved, known, even defined, is instead more of a gift of a plaything, highlighting humanity’s greatest and most abused attribute – what we could call consciousness or a shapeless image

some 2500 years ago as humans navigated certain early spasms of language, a nascent potential to dominate this planet, seductions of instrumental reason, dao might be a dark blueprint of an intuition of how to deal with these notable challenges in creative, contextual, intelligent ways that would assert humanity not through assertion, that would show humanity not through conspicuousness, that would distinguish humanity not through distinction, that would empower humanity not through instrumental reason and domination, that would dissolve disputes not through disputation

but instead we have become rabidly assertive, grossly conspicuous, pathetically distinct, hyper-rational and forcefully dominant, argumentative to no effect. and through these gargantuanly clever and comprehensively stupid

dao is nothing, a point, circular, spherical, hyperspherical …

before and after follow each other

the way that leads forward seems to lead backward

what is put in the back comes to the fore

but not a fore in that sense of a midden of twitter followers. these are different fores, backs, ends, different selves. and how do we find them if not in the classroom, the pecuniary therapist's chair, the youtube, the research grant (yet they are there too)?

would we not in our hard selves desire to learn of the intelligences of the many things? for has not the human already been tried by time’s ruthless court and not been found worthy of the earth and the gifts it finds on it and in itself? does not even the regretful colonizer conform in new ways to its presumptuous ancestral patterns? and where the manual to move in these twitchy days? and what the aims and why the shadows?