tokamak symplegma

always having suspected that i was one of those of the missing and having found myself solidly halfway through life and still not missing and not wanting to miss my fate – at least not absolutely – i began migrating down a path of simulating being one of the missing and i would like to write about this migration but haven’t yet found the right language and so all the writing i’ve done is a kind of attempt to write about wanting to write about it

we decreate our way to ungreatness – to paraphrase a fortune 100 executive who paraphrased a management guru who no doubt paraphrased someone else. in my case this means learning the obscure arts of babbling, acedia, hallucination, and a calm franticness (which is not as much a contradiction as you might think) … not as anything to fear or scorn but as a lifestyle as legitimate as the rich and famous, the common bourgeois, or the common activist

the discipline of this learning is i admit a peculiar study and practice. to learn to experience these typically shunned arts as normal, good, desirable, even progressive requires a complex rewiring of the brain that no therapeutic advocacy or pharmaceutical aid could accomplish, as these aids and advocacies are most frequently designed to happyize (how else do we describe our novel culture of Smile except to conjure a verb from an almost enforced obsession?) active willing participation in the production of names … which is the religious orthodoxy of the day : the requirement to be seen. that is, to not be missing

a side benefit of this discipline is that it introduces (or reintroduces for those who believe in some sort of original face, core identity or soul – the language is less important than the orientation) us to some externally-contextually unreachable timespace of our i (our plurality or pluralities of i) … those languages and mores our interiority would find naturally compelling were they to exist in externality … where we would find our true place, that spiritual-physical home of dream and desire where, as some greek philosopher prayed, the inner and outer would be one

unfortunately these sorts of practices can’t be taught – even speaking about them in the way i’m doing lends itself to interdisciplinary quackery. every instance we see of these principles and movements being systemized and communicated for emulation (regardless of how sophisticated or earnest any student or teacher might be) the enterprise quickly turns into a parody of itself and the rationalists are right to shamelessly mock. for the time being and perhaps always we strange pupils resort to actualizing only in aspects of desolation, incommunicability … those spaces between the interior and exterior realms that reach for both but never touch either

dao de jing xi

thirty spokes share one hub

make the nothing therein appropriate

and you will have the use of the cart

knead clay in order to make a vessel

make the nothing therein appropriate

and you will have the use of the clay vessel

cut out doors and windows in order to make a room

make the nothing therein appropriate

and you will have the use of the room

thus we gain by making it something

but we have the use by making it nothing

dear elevens,

here’s a life goal for the dispossessed and innovative: describe the procedures and policies of making nothing appropriate. write a manual. develop curricula. institute degrees and esteemed places of higher learning. compose a society, careers, aesthetic and mystical subversions, religions and laws, the corollary outcast and imprisoned and abused and unacceptably alternative. write a novel describing it. form a political party promoting it. die defending it

a little bit extreme though, isn’t it, for any relations between something and nothing – which, after all, are just everything and are here, existing, in my aubergine and spectacles

diaper dialogues xvii

so, diaper

yup

i need your advice

don’t give advice

will you let the trees give advice through you?

that’s up to the trees

we’re not getting very far

there’s nowhere to get

then i’m going to ask for advice and also provide it

sort of defeats the purpose

you suddenly believe in purpose?

every once in a while it’s a relief to utter a commonplace

i didn’t think the republic of pompous poetry let you leave

language needs to sleep too

but shouldn’t it not sleeptalk?

i don’t think we should tell language what not to do

isn’t that exactly what we should be doing?

where’s humpty dumpty when we need it?

so here’s the scene. i’m sitting in the members’ lounge in yottalopolis’ primary artfilm venue minding my own business …

… you never mind your own business. what does that even mean bumblebrain? just because language is having a nap doesn’t mean we have to kill it, banality’s …

… minding my own business – i’m sitting in the southeast corner in one of those chairs that’s good for chiropractors typing on my laptop like a zombie literary samurai, for once no tepid neosinatra audio piss playing and the lounge as quiet as a cat when it’s quiet – when the dude behind me starts wanking some youtube junk on his phone. the gift of tranquility, focus, unity’s immediately stolen, torture fantasies rise seductively from the swamp of origins, misanthropy – never one to stay buried long – leaps from its hypertransient grave and claims totalitarian rule on planet i. what should i have done?

trees don’t give historical advice

you’re not one to believe in chronounidirectionality

i’m not one, but setting this aside we’re not one not to believe in anything

it’s the rank obnoxiousness. nature doesn’t exist anymore. only the city remains – everthickening makeup on absurd absence. silence and the spaces it creates – despite that clever 1961 book about silence (a necessary sound in sound’s evolution but hardly any sum of sounds, another cage to try out in the zoo of words) – are critical for biopsychicdiversity, these increasingly ubiquitous invasions accepted, even expected, desired, normalized, these offenses …

… don’t worry, your psychic brand is being phased out, in 10 years at the most the environments of silence will be so polluted with human sound that those unable to adapt will all be dead or incarcerated

want to know what i did?

what you should have done is bound the dude to his chair, smashed his phone, pissed and shat and puked on the fragments, used your revengoblast™ to mutate him into a zerodimensional antiad for nothing and stuck him on a videoboard playing on infinite loop in the hell of his own private theater

didn’t realize trees were so christian

i forgot about the trees

you and everyone else

it’s noise that makes us forget about the trees

it’s the absence of trees that makes us remember noise

it’s forgetting that makes us forget about forgetting

want to know what i did?

all our lives are are retelling stories so we can access modes of time lost with trees’ death

we are the species whose primary pedagogy is knowledge through slaughter

we learn through ghosts

blood is our curricula

death our classroom

there has to be another way

the way of trees

the trees are dead

let’s ask the phones

the phones won’t let us hear the answer

there are no answers

only questions. questions, and time

time too is dead, only questions

where does advice fit into all of this?

advice is the restory of the question

the vice of ads on a quest to rest us

yesterday is like an affirmed tomorrow never returned to its owner

time is like advice never spoken, taken, given, thought

i don’t see what any of this has to do with trees

want to know what i did?