i cant write about that because im this
cant write about there because im here
cant write about you because im i
cant write about then because im now
cant write about reason because im mad
cant write about magenta because im fuchsia
cant write about fucking because im celibate
cant write about rich because im not
cant write about fungi because im whonym
cant write about i because im noti
cant write about noti because its noti
cant write about god because it doesnt exist
cant write about what i know best because i dont know anything best
cant write about what i know because i dont know if i know anything
cant write about cant write about because i cant write about it
but here i am
doing it
day 48
i find myself in a dark room with a tiny green luminescent dot and a thin large partial rectangular frame of white light behind which i know are a group of the sexually insane i am shitting but without that great satisfaction of a full void my cat is near but unwith me
i think selfpreservation while seemingly eminently sensible is a fundamentally idiotic principle by which to live and until whonyms realize this they continue accelerating along a rickety pier toward a precipice of unmitigating horrors
i receive more satisfaction from this thought than my shit and to avoid meeting the group i climb into a bathtub and wash the remaining fecal matter from my asshole applying soap and fomenting up the hole with my right index finger drawing out some stubborn clods clinging to the hot home of the anal cavity and draining the brown froth down
the members are at different stages of arousal and they differ also in their proficiencies and all these factors comprise sonics that if one appreciates atonality and disjunction befit my present rites
the lakes let down like hair and speaks in the tongues of untrained angels and i think nowhere have the sophomores of semaphores been more than halfwise in their fallen dormitories but i prefer another thought and tell them so and sadly realize resentment is the only omnipresence and war the only god
some heirloom makes me want to join them but a little turdette not quite drained speaks from its selective mutism and makes a case i shouldnt disconsider i ask it to join forces with me and we briefly form a theatre in the service of the unmentionable
the sexually insane are really going at it now and i want to leave the dark room with the little lights and the talking scat and the memory of a disappointing void but fear the heaps of meat i must negotiate i want to see the cat who blinks at me and whose desire to join with the lake stands between us inhibiting our intimacy
a plane passes over full of hacking whonyms on its way to a sterilized morgue and i know im accused of the abominable and the limbs outside drag me into their unspeakable orgies and ill not find myself again
the destinies of humans and images are parallel
imagination abducted me in normalstorg when i was two as language enters and being held captive all these decades has made me love and justify its tyrannies
should the human heart be taken seriously? if the myriad battling peoples agree on anything its yes! from musicians to entrepreneurs to correctionofficers to legalassistants to members of the angolafarm gatedcommunity but a few of times deranged dingleberries are uncertain chang doos uncertain doo takes it seriously to the extent it acknowledges its there like artichokes or spaceheaters or confinement or flatology but everythings there or here hard to say exactly but another way to state the question is how wittys the abyss? what are the masks it wears over its wit? what are the passwords to access the wit? how seriously should that access be taken and how the passwords distributed?
going against the advice of almost all the inside voices i go to an official centre for the clinical diagnosis by the normals of a notnormal and after waiting for seven hours and paying nineteen hundred dollars and being prodded by pokers and sceptres which jab out of very white walls and filling out 316 pages of forms and questionnaires and providing two litres of blood and having my fingerprints taken and my retinæ scanned i receive an output that lists my illnesses as
palilalia
graphorrhea
phonological disorder
paragraphia
schizophasia
unspecified communication disorder
dyscalculia
pervasive developmental disorder
logorrhea
paraphasia
apraxia dysprosody
phonemic collapse disorder
mixed expressive receptive language disorder
semantic pragmatic disorder
hyperlexia
para supraalexithymia
pancluttering
unspecified disorders
dysgraphia
anomicaphasia
specific language impairment
general language disorder
it says page one of twentytwo but the other twentyone pages dont show and i ask for twentyonetwentytwoth of my money and time back but a hyperroomba sucks me up and spits me out giving thanks profusely and sodomizes me with an attachment
the novel i step in is not the novel i stand in
primitive weird odd even semiperfect perfect abundant quasiperfect friendly deficient composite highlyabundant superabundant highlycomposite superiorhighlycomposite excessive natural untouchable amicable sociable lychrel cardinal ordinal nominal whole rational complex real prime positive negative abstract linguistic naïve seed kin palindromic rational complex hypercomplex irrational transcendental constructible algebraic computable recursive transfinite hyperreal infinite finite aleph beth concrete imaginary superreal surreal infinitesimal deterministic noncomputable nominal counting complete spherical topological fuliginous random cyclical projective definable delusional principal perpendicular unified robust collapsed smooth inverted
dear mathematics oh greatest unity of reality and abstraction oh apparent order and film of logic oh complexified accumulation and mystifying gargantuanity oh conjectures of amphetamines we in novel seek through arcane voids to emulate your pancosmic attributes and like labourers in judge holdens epilogue implement also holes in the infinite desert of holes for yea we ourselves are deserts and made of holes and in nothing we in novel and you are one
