news cums (queues' numbs [quentos numbē

most humans communicate according to a more or less agreed upon and unreflected code of emotional politics, this language of the discarded mirror. communication if it would break (de- and recreate) the commons – that is if it would become itself through becoming not itself, this apophatic reengineering – might follow codes of mutually incomprehensible vision, each visionary with its own distinct zeitgeist syntax (zeitax – language as time art, a time handle, spirit sensuality), the learning of which requires an education outside

outside what?

outside prepositions?

but language somehow has stepped in and said – i can translate (not only from vision to language but language to language and then from language to vision) … an unviable claim and one that ridiculously we must believe, those of us for whom the standard and imposed code of emotional politics is inefficient, unrepresentative, bellicose

the horror of covid far less the viral invasion of humanity, any socioeconomic collapse, the inability to travel or hang out in cafes or bars, but the (radically more virulent) attack of the news, which has invaded massively everywhere, making the biological virus seem like a failed startup. these wretched catastrophes of protestated unity, love, novelty the news cums on us like a molestation, dankly

news drives out poetry, out further than its out before. and where does poetry go in this essentialized wholesale genocide? where can it be exiled from exile?

we're exiled from nature
covid calls us back

but is it no novel virus but some poem?

a genre in which i write : leviticana. for some aims to be as tedious, convoluted, obscure as leviticus … arcane unlaws for the possdisessed

we need to begin imagining imagine (imagination, imagining)

we begin by change its a and 2 i’s to long vowels, its e to a schwa, its g to hard (in imagination the 2 a’s and 3 i’s to long, the t to hard, the final i and o pronounced separately and the on pronounced as the preposition; in imagining the 1 a and 3 i’s to long). imagine has too long been unimaginative

the age of collective desuetude moves into the tent of the human and makes itself at home in the sleeping bag of the small

humans calling the corona period this terrifying time. it’s terrifying only because humans like you weren’t calling time terrifying before this terrifying time …

                  as with naming various events/changes/closures unthinkable, unprecedented. if you hadn’t thought this already, if you were incapable of thinking this, what kind of embarrassment are you to intelligence? if you experience these minor disruptions as unprecedented, what viral disaster are you to spirit?

the media headlines (now more than usually apparent due to the odd and false unitary focus of content) manifest themselves as a fluvial polypolarity of mind – this thought, that feeling, that thought, this feeling, this possibility, this possibility closed, … that panic’d collective mind racing around itself trying to grasp a ground … the content runs through sectors of futures like a dissettled cat exploring a new or reconstituted (that newold, this derefamiliarized) space

once humans move into the middles or centers of capitalism – whether in the industries called healing, education, military (it matters little) [and what devotion, madness, discipline are required to not move] – they have the opportunity to legally and legitimately (often rewardingly, approvingly) apply the exploitation and force they’ve had applied to them illegitimately (illegally, exploitatively) often forcefully, prior to the moving. the smile and its language prosthetics as a liturgy of these applications

reading articles designed to stop me from suiciding (the corona-suicide link) typically increase my desire to suicide. they fit comfortably into the psychotherapeutic discourses serving the interests of the normals and all these apparati and languages to those of us unable to conform orand disliking immensely (to the point of nausea) the contortional acts of attempting to conform yet more bullying from the tyranny of normals culture (a wearisome irony being that some of this effort is, from the normals’ pov, trying to help [though even often as a mobic and fearful act]) … all this does is depress further, showing yet again how incapable they are of understanding our biology, even as they are the biologies of other living systems (other than trying to force change, whether violently through chemicals or violently through social pressures and bullyings – which they call kindnesses – of languages and systems ... into their kind)

what design!
to be kind

counting death. living episodes of transition, movement as home. from here to here. the day as a number in the mathematics of death. a calculus of the corpse

much heard much to doo

words are lent like potato chips

as the vine is wine

and spent in time

and time like words

just rhyme with crows

or quips or herd jejunity

with respect ...

with respect to madness language is always somewhere else

literature – from poetry to philosophy to its consummate present example, the novel – has become the story : exploration through narrative, typically human narrative. it has relegated madness - literature’s precarious soul - to the inaccessible, the autistic, mentally ill, deranged, the solipsistic, the virus …   but these – regardless of whatever names they might appear to be attached to – have always been literature’s true home. and the definitionmongers, the rationalists, the prize and list people, the storyists in their infinite discomforts do what the spiritually insecure have always done – use force of whatever quality to displace their insecurities far from the sterile spaces they inhabit, even as the privileged displace garbage and pollution as far as possible from them geographically : onto the poor, unheard, inhuman

story was mad insofar as it was born from the placed derangement (a derangement that because of its place had real range, range of touchable knowable unknowable divine land) of the tribe, but as story’s become separated from this tribal ecstasy it becomes formulaic, conventional, conformist, expected … and so not literature

so those called to remain committed to literature in these darks ages of the word – when madness is still manifest in the garrets and cellars of music and film for reasons primarily technological – the exploration of madness and the exploration of literature become effectively the same. so psychology – not the academic laboratory variety that dominates in lit and official corridors but the kind that oozes like pus from the psyche itself – and word become bound, psychology and psychologies of word and words literature’s practice. the mental illness of the word, its dysfunctions and taboos, schizophrenias and pharmaceuticals, shunned babblings, urological rants ... these are literature's narrative. the writer takes each word to the couch even as each word takes the writer. not to any effect. effect is academic psychology’s domain. literature in effect is the record of word and writer taking each other there … to noplace (the utopia that is no utopia … not just noplace but no noplace – and the no’s as affixes may be stacked like turtles on the back of a collapsed universe, universes of places of diaspora, exile, apophatic mappedness) of the empty question

how then does literature dissolve its identity through technology in the way (but in its own way and ways) that music has done. (we discount film for film’s born of technology whereas music, ancient and fleshy, comprehensively tedious and weary by 1912, had to break through [we set aside all those for now seductive pathways of film as nature filtered through preexistent but previously underused dimensions, music as first technology, literature as cosmic babel, ... all pathways dreamt, all arguments made.].) music has accomplished its recreation, its identities and doubts, drones and genre asylums through the synthesizer – the ability to patch everything onto everything, anything onto anything, all nothings on nothings … through enabling sonic life as music. when i walk down a helhi street and hear honkings, harassments, dogs barking, sun screeching ... it's as if to me i’m sitting in my sunroom listening to an lp. you can say – but literature is this. not in its common talk and trade but on its edges. even a name like dfw does this. and he was mad. he suicided after all and that’s a good sign. sure, but sterne was edgy, mad too and didn’t suicide. (madness now’s more mad. or rather madness now has farther to travel to reach literature even as literature has farther to travel to reach madness. they need more patches, infinities, more nothings ... they need to forget society, themselves. and this takes so much ... effort ...)

literature craves to be unrecognizable, lusts after anonymity (art's altar and eucharist) in these polluted seas of name refuse. literature should be so much ourselves we don’t see ourselves. the uncanniness is too present. we shall seem to be wholly absent and in this hole we are here. dfw and his family are recognizable, his fragmented stories the shapes and blabs of our currency

atonal literature, astory literature, areason literature, aliterature literature, literature defying currency, written by the cthulhu ... for the cthulhu aren't the hideous other but the hideous us. organic life! love and hate! human passions, conditions, standards! one only needs to travel well into the soul that hoards toilet paper in our increasingly visible species narcissistic times to see this usotherness. this travel and need is literature. not as fact but horror

i don’t hear you

i don’t see you

i hardly understand

i can’t read

the word through its endless interrogations reanimates. rejoins, reintroduces thing and name, renatures language. each word is spirit in infinite language forests. not one spirit but countless. and as spirits amorphously drift, each word (most alchemically, most mystically) drifts into all others. each word’s in each word and for the writer, as the writer’s just another word, in it. not as god or christ is in the christian. this is hierarchical, separate. but as gods in gods, mycelium in trees, air in fire, water in dream. so as academic psychology attempts to effect identity (and effecting transgressive identity still follows the conventional path of identity effecting) for social relation (even if this relation is protest, rebellion, shock), the psychology of literature (hardly any different than the literature of psychology) enters the identity of word to travel to identity’s dissolution. while this journey is paramount, literature appears as the writer as journalist depicts as closely as possible the effects of the movings into words’ identity’s dissolution on its inveterate physicality, the wholesale range and limits of its sensations. as journalist. (though we must acknowledge it should be obvious that our journalist is as different from the common one – no matter how noble, influential, sacrificial, perspicacious – as our psychologists and scholars are different than those pedigreed among fluorescent peers and gowns and lecterns)

with respect to language language is always somewhere else

with respect to madness …

with respect to respect …

with respect to somewhere else …

with disrespect to …
without disrespect ...

without language …

without without    

principles for a successful life

1.   always begin the day with drugs

2.   if you love something throw it away

a)      if you don’t, never get close enough to it to be able to throw it away

3.   money should always be your last priority

4.   madness is not something to avoid but a consummation devoutly to be wished – seek it with every aspect of your being and in using this method madness you will see begins to assume other forms and names

5.   all education is physical education – never enter a classroom where the teacher is not flesh

6.   death is just another name for helping out a friend

7.   never count to 10 in any order

8.   all the rules you see around you are flowers – pluck them and put them in a vase, become if not a master at least an apprentice of flower-arranging

9.   the only discipline is geometry – look for shapes, and shapes in shapes

a)     do not move your piece around the gameboard, nor other pieces, but wait for the gameboard to move

b)     a successful life is this – to this a that thatter than a thisser. no comparison