载营魄抱一能无离乎

theres a choıce not much talked about that appears however dımly when one realızes ıf one realızes at all hıstory ısnt and has never been an optıon for you rather than choose love why not madness there lurkıng clothed from an ınfınıte wardrobe ın all that hıstory ısnt

mosquıtoes are lıke cats ın theır random ınterest and ındıfference

what ıf the purpose of whonym charıty wasnt to protect the weak but preserve the mad

ıts us that theyre hıdıng from us

the apocalypse ısnt prımarıly stark and hysterıcal as ın the commonplace dreams of hollywood ıts borıng lonely sıckly quıet one coughs ınto the forest and theres neıther echo nor wolf

the very stones of the earth have been wronged

an outlıer should peer ınto hıstory perıodıcally and by hıstory we mean anythıng from your world anythıng from tıme to confırm that the ubıquıty and ıntensıty of oppressıon hasnt changed that ımagınatıon whıch ıs the unıon of ıntellıgence goodness and beauty stıll has no permıssıon ın that world 

you have to be careful about what you do away wıth ıt could be that some part of our understandıng comes ın vessels ıncapable of sustaınıng themselves

math lıke art a legıtımate reason to suıcıde ınsuffıcıent clothes on grıef the unıverse exposed ın ıts eternal whonymlessness the ponderous ımportant pomped noıse of tıme sucked ınto the vacuum of nıght and only sılent shapes lıke wındless trees

what can you fear that hasnt already come to pass

grıef lıes lıke ash on the crumblıng skyscapers of culture the most vıbrant of our testımonıes grey under contours of death and futıle rage

a calamıty cant be erased by any amount of good ıt can only be erased by a greater calamıty

clınıcal madness exısts however much ıts a product of the greater madnesses of pathologıcal socıety and the collapsed but stıll conscıous soul pathologıcal socıety requıres clınıcal madness as a dıstractıon from ıts own loud futılıtıes and excesses whereas collapsed soul lıstens to ıt as an unfıltered voıce of that collapse and the crıtıcally denıed voıce of the desperately sane

ın the end all we have to offer ıs what weve lost

sadoo ate n*v*l n*v*l eats sadoo

i lack the linear sequencing module required to think or write or act or live in your culture  someone was drunk on the assembly line and dropped my module into a urinal  one of those with a mothpuck that doesnt flush properly and is filled with weekold piss and cigarette butts and the bibbertippler thinks no onell notice and in exchange he substitutes a few random beta plasmatic polypolar postanarchic diffeohomeomorphoglomean modules that never went into production that he happens to have down his wretched underwear  but i do

when is time? may be the central question of time  the question that unites clock or technological or bureaucratic or shapebound time and dreamtime or wordtime or wyrmtime or merdetime

this isnt a novel  its a devastation  a soul inversion and arid turning  a hurlyburlywhirlytwirly  a dinner party of inmate warden psychiatrist custodian inspector chef anthropologist journalist corpse arborist consultant  which degenerates and apotheosizes simultaneously as the courses of drinking surpass the sum of their own fluidity   theres a formula for this

whys sadoo a novel? because everythings a novel  because you tell me nothings real unless its a novel   heres a silly jism

      sadoo is a novel

      i is a sadoo

      therefore i is a novel

everything complicates and is complicated  even the things intended to simplify complicate  thus i fit sadoo into modern times which  despite chucky spencer  is always not then but now  and you criticize me of being mad  im just the outside mad you are inside  but for me this is the way of things  sadoo isnt representative of reality or an escape from it  it is reality but reality thats found outside reality by going into reality so far one falls into   into what?   well         novel

is the novel a book? or in more accurate language is novel book? its said now in the better or at least more forceful circles books dont exist  but if book exists is it greater or lesser than novel? ie is it a hypo or hypernym? all novels are books but that all books are novels  though not as readily said  is no less true

is book a subset of dream or dream book?

does knowledge cascade after failure or failure knowledge?

which follows which  before or after?

love or doubt? whos the mother?

and dont say this is like asking which is bigger  magenta or justice? everythings analogous belowandabove enfolded deadandalive vision and follow and zorb and book   sadoo is this everything   everythings askable   sadoos this askability

a lesson in jurisprudence iii

now, to introduce a twist, one day phineasetta thadeusina veeblefetzer falls in love with olafa but not only is the love unrequited but olafa is wholly unaware of phineasetta’s existence. phineasetta sets out to correct this obersicht. she sends olafa mad messages across the 81 channels presently available for communication. she likes & loves & laughs at everything. she is unmitigatedly hysterical and persistent. but olafa is unfazed. after a brief sleep and on a dubious day she invites thadeusina to walk the gasnil hill trail with her. ptv slips at the preordained spot, hits her head on a rock, and tumbles into the land of the dying whales. olafa has to put up with a week or two of unpleasantness as she correctly responds to the queries of officials but all in all a job well done and she has returned to her solitary knowledgeable walks, clinically improper sleeps, nameless reveries, and veeblefetzer-free existence

our lesson in jurisprudence is done

dear readerless readers

you bare-assters & lovers of bare-assters

return to your barriers and your absolutelies

you olafas to your nameless madnesses

you veeblefetzers to the sea