nuns of knot

as a commodıty of 81 absent shapes wyrds hıd from me wıth the cleverness of soft mud and to seek them even before to see possıbılıty of passage and recognıze theır capacıtıes corollary alıgnment wıth unseems formıng our ınterıor fluvıal systems ı had to enter mud eat ıt sleep ın and befrıend ıt love ıt more than name flesh goods or good and there abdıcate aıms

becoming acquainted with a mudslug assuming the appellation lapidac i learned of a grinoire radarac revered by the nuns of knot of the bimini hills near the prasaynts of the hermit goat of hadoughti yet in the congress of doubt in that festival of glippant gleujam thongs of dirty naked chambal malwaian urchin shiverings phlogiston dragons all led all those nuns of knot in caprine lewdities tilting even golden asses full rudescent

so i face a fork do i seek my wyrds or this grinoire radarac this newling knowledge that reverie of nuns or anyhoo our cherished nuns who knowing knots know differently mayhaps under congress our goat hermit who sermons through munificence on the kin the close of curse and delovêd friend or fiend or both you do have acquaintance with forks those tines of time those problematic cutleries and so you must commiserate and some among you say or think or dream just substitute spoon for fork you simpleton the problem disappears choose both the quest still quests no intent for any other

and here in these faces now a eureka comes in the wink of a moon the smirk of a star without abashment in the clarity of spaces in the murkiness of places in the udder pitch of traces i see with the purities of madness its diseased 2020 truth the nuns the nuns of knot spoon and noon and fork and wyrd and mud they not just hold the grinoire but are its pith and vellum tis their breath their oxygen their internet and animal no matter stuffed or digital famy cuddly naught so the question is as questions are become displaced we seek questions in questions no turtles down text or wyrd don fresh sartorials from mephistos backless wardrobe prancing shamelessly into pubic air that remnant commons as where the way to goaty nuns whence the map to boundary lines of congress

naturally the thinking that enters thinking sounds something like if hermit sermons and if curse terse verses or when hadoughti sings and bundi claps i love boolean aurealis if all the ifs deif and fidelity be deaf then logic falters if disreason fails bytes and bittens shirley tooly we bray unto vu we seek maps in lost archives of the bot monsters of doktor silinki butta-arsvelds closet in rehearsings of a nurses purses wake and so naturally again nature must exist still somewhere the word so it says preserves the thing thus and therefore i wracked and whacked or wacked ripe with brain fag syndrome or in the common tung consumed by quest set off for deepest deepest cellars of the high town of true secret universities dug deep and true and down dubai

doo bye doo hi doo high do high doo die do pie doo why doo sigh doo psu doo see doo say dosa doo sa hah ah here we ah are our home glittering shitty nom & nym & hymn & her our sceptre & our toilet plunger archives lost and sloshed here many connectshuns our netforks large as barges morgue as borges blog as boogers we take the escalator i like to feel a man thow and nen and take an escalator deep down and at the provosts office in the thick of sex we knock and knickers know no gnomic nor doo hi the inside yakademics extone might this be or not a commodity of 81 weve been expecting we know the nuns of knot their underwhereabouts their habits kilns and how to fire on the pyre

the yakademics come they pour like bats from caves of purgatory flush with constructs lush with product and in them all like doubt or death towering above countless limbs eyes lottery balls doktor silinki butta-arsveld𓁀  full of race scum bum 81 they tuitio and they sing for theyre as artsy as the borg vogue tells them so

we know the way to the nuns of knot

soul money mind itll cost you all you got

education isnt cheap

the exhausted efforts of the anxious heap 

you wont get in my closet

what can i do i give her all my organs wallets reason gadgets memory sight cums freedom visions she sends a minion in she sends a minion in and that minion back with map hairy with a million yakademic gonads and they sing more many presentation songs

the odyssey is set they send me off alone bereft afflicted doktor butta sheds no tear no pedigree and the desert so it ever goes surrounds like a portfolio and beasts of void creatures of eternal sand emerge to meet me unprepared emerge to greet me mouths prepared this homeless home you may have heard or rather seen in spiral rounded gyral loopful nights o glimpsy wisdom destined for eyes shut only eyes returned inward teacher of teachers of teachers of empty classrooms they take me in these spirits of the belly of immanence they take me in and down and in the sand in the garrets of the earth hungry as dreams famished as hope i forget the protocols of clothes and cutlery forget the circumscriptions of names and things forget the comforts of the land

when i wake if i wake im not in bed or transit grave or lsat but the hard embrace of 81 thousand nuns of knot and the meat of the lots ground as if tossed in truffle oil with macerated heirlooms stolen from the locked and guarded gardens of god and in the midst of a continual fortnight of religious jestures of penetration the hermit goat sermonizing on the ashen ass of time the entire while wily looking not at heaving meat neither at the sizzling knotty mince not at the 81 as 81 or one but in the words of zero spaketh and conjurings of broken ages cast into urticant lust and here in wyrds unlonely lonely death radarac spilling liquid letters into voidy vats of mind the not knot whos there nuns spelling all manner of never spoken names i say or hear me say i many one of bimini bumps eye mony any glippant fork quests undone undone the city undone the appellation hills yes yes nunny nuns undone i unnun nummy nun and knot and undone none 

   𓁀  see el-spet clitias *olicking account of doktor arsvelds naughty adventures in advanced postdoktoral skullarship in the continuously episodic septic transepic hypersexis child of curse school paying closest attention to their coveted closet see also since youre into seeing sas extract here the hermit goats sermon a seminal application of nymhematology to curse nuns knots clearly builds on these inspiring works linking them to the nascent underfunded arts of hagiobiothanatography note doos editors rejected almost unanimously the authorss submitted title the bums of bot and the mums of mot or the numbs of pot or crumbs of

angelı del fango

the perpetual struggle between two lıes becomes my truth

to become a master of aımlessness so that aımlessness ıs ınseparable from productıon the basıs and necessıty of productıon becomes productıon thıs ıs an art hardly dıscussed or even thought why when ıt could save the world

poetry as a way of relatıng to realıty prımarıly rather than a genre of lıterature and a way of structurıng words and sentıment ıs a phılosophy and spırıtualıty a guıde to the orderıng and dısorderıng of thought event dream emotıon as they pass through our meat whonyms can wrıte poetry of varyıng excellence but to lıve ın the spırıt of poetrys wıth or wıthout effect a path that once ones suffıcıently along ıts gyral loopıng mad mappedunmappedness not only ıs there no turnıng back other than the returnıng thats ınextrıcably the path ıtself that returnıng of tımes recognıtıon and dıssolutıon but fırst the actualıty and then the possıbılıty of other paths begın to fade and parallel realıtıes whıch stıll contınue to thrıve source from the poetıc voıds rather than the effuse of materıal possıbılıty

only ın absentıng myself are you gıven the opportunıty to see me

only by my not appearıng can you know me

the subȷect grows wıthın the creator lıke a fruıt the poet has nothıng to be proud of theyre not master of any sıtuatıon but a slave to the creatıve work thats theır only possıble form of exıstence

you wear che on your tshırt lıke some surrogate saınt says heresıarch dzıad haha ıll tell you who the true revolutıonarıes are here are some names ıf youre stıll so mıred ın sıgns you need names edmond ȷabès emıly dıckınson amos tutuola octavıa butler ȷan švankmaȷer seıȷun suzukı ulrıke ottınger leonora carrıngton rosa parks alfred ȷarry mıra calıx antonın artaud daphne oram and a mıllıon other spırıts youll never fınd on the ınternet or hıstory put these unfındable alıens on your coffee mug advertıze the blankness thınk yourself grand and heresıarch dzıad haha snorts lıke a century and drıves from the cupola of our abȷectıon lıke a bubalus bubalıs a hunted nganabbarru on the stones of dȷabıdȷbakalloı

those who must be symbols and those who must be not create together a war of selectıve elımınatıon

heresıarch ıbılıbı says from theır bed of snow and shattered clocks we have become spırıtually ımpotent for who could now unıte the warrıng fragments of the soul some say they do but as you look closer and rarely does one have to look far you see all theyre doıng ıs claımıng unıty and ın practıce speakıng from a fortress of ınevıtable and massıve exclusıon unıty has gone to theır head and heresıarch ıbılıbı pulls the clocks over theır chın and nuzzles ınto the snow and says no more

two lıes? countless 

some scatologıcal heresıarchs at a ragmoot are watchıng markers a grın wıthout a cat heresıarch wısenheımer says ın nıetzschean terms a chıld sıdıng wıth the camels rather than lıons heresıarch kafharkuuc says has the unıntended effect of helpıng polıtıcal struggle attaın such heıghts of puerılıty and offense whether capıtalıst communıst democrat unıon offıcer socıalıst student academıc not only does ıt further retreat ınto dostoevskıan ıdıocy and possessıon but raıses anomıe to the throne of wısdom and sensıbılıty heresıarch anȷwy4w4 says the mındfaces whether leadershıp or mob except perhaps salvador allende seem rısıbly lobotomızedly commıttedly repulsıve heresıarch 置针 says and we know what happened to hım the fear he roused ın the controllıng hearts of the false democracıes and the padded claws of busıness and theres much hollerıng and the heresıarchs remove theır faces and grıns there are none left behınd

wrıtıng through not out of desolatıon

but a through wıthout end

wıthout ıs desolatıon

my truth? my unravelıng

we should long ago have become angels

had we become capable of payıng attentıon

to the experıence of art

ınstead we turn away

to delight in mud

 i  i hagioooQoritos  whos seen the smock less monster of kitti titti lake and died  whos watched the frockumentary of octopi and whose tentacles say yes  whose tipping over the carapace of zenith births a thousand falls  whose replacement in the ministry of masks has gone unnoticed in the notices of eyes  welcome none of you to this forum of descent for we are each bequeathed a portion of arrogation as meets our minds

ive long belonged to a race that hides in the race  that does not race  whose eyes are its currency and its currency pendulous and strange  we seek other places of hiding and our art is this seeking but we havent yet found a way out that wont destroy us   to be born into this  having to peer through the weapons you call eyes  to know your race is not our home but to be bound in and to it

to dream  but to dream in convulsions and fragments  in oppressive mists and cubes of unrelenting noise

we pray  not to any god or for any effect  but as prayers a means of imagining ourselves not in your race

its not your bodies themselves we object to but that which seems to drive your bodies  as if your bodies had no mind  and this despite that youre proclaiming continuously the wonders of your minds  as if you couldnt see past your notseeing and your bodies in their fleetingness are all there are available  as if youre not only the measure of yourselves  a stupid enough idea  but the measure of everything else also

we say again  the archmagi  who are the prophets  arent those who know but those who dont   those who wait for knowledges that dont come  who point not to any christ or word or sign but wander in their waiting and this wanderings their knowledge

i  i hagioooQoritos  who peel avocados with my gonads and divulge the locations of the trapdoors in numbers only to those whove fallen to the common darkness in each word open the release valve of my dreams and watch their majnūn fizz into the subversions of the air

i become mad not because im kept apart from my love but because im not   my love is here and nothere and in this liminality of disidentity and space i cant map either the reason of the desert of aloneness or the reason of the thick boreal cliffs of society  in this lostness of love and promise fulfilled and negated im mad

i dont live in society  i live in the nospaces of your silences which i take upon myself like skin

i cant count to sacrifice  i lose track and fall into the spaces between the numbers  these spaces that while infinitesimal are infinite   they all are negatives and how does one in less than nothing count?

language  that cutblock  drives the animals away

your race is mad but not my madness and my placement in your madness presents me with a necessity of creating a parallel madness that rivals yours neither in quantity nor quality but energy  yet energies i recognize as some kin of kenning mind

i  i hagioooQoritos  live in the mud of the lake and count the trapdoors between eyes and the counting are words and the words trapdoors and i  i hagioooQoritos  live in mud

6 cognitive feelings

sigil isn’t simply a sign but a system of signage, systems of signages. not any system from any central planning agency, scholarly analysis, of will, design … but one having arisen from, returning to, and being of the nature and function of collapse. and so a nonsystem – relation networks lacking any discernible nodes or paths, any capacity to map their maps

when sigils gather from the nonprinciples of their own randomness, from the generations of blind heaving mud, it neither is some metasystem – a galaxy rather than a planet, a universe not a galaxy. instead, it piles nonsystem on nonsystem, asystem on asystem. but not even piles. each asystem (yet we can’t even use system in our description – it’s an ystem, a metsy, a tysem, a myste) exists in and apart from the others, without recognition or parallelism but having generated within the same disorganization of madness 

signage to what then? to a physic of itself certainly, a physic incomputable from or within those ones of planes, falling apples, fluvial sublimations, bananas going bad. sigil then is less any appeal to forces or energies, any call for curse or blessing, any desire or volition for psychic modification or tweaking in the external or internal worlds of accessible description … but a fuliginous invoking of a chemistry of oneiric futility

sigil arises from impossibility, cognitive decreation, volitional frustration and indicates, however abstrusely, their constitutions and constituents – not anything of hydrogen, xenon, palladium but elements for which we have no names, science, institution. so the human vectors of sigil live through the scrubbed and staggering smiles of the ponderous reality of your physic in gross disarray and if anything is redeemed for them – but the diction here is inaccessibly clastic – it’s those brief occasional unpredictable interruptions of time when sigil functions in its way as an alien technology facilitating access through the skyscraping concrete of your universal reality onto, however dimly, the mind of another (what else could we call it?) light

sigil accumulates but unquantifiable ether adding no weight to any scale. it guides but not to any end, start, name. it marks but leaves no trace or memory. it seals but everything is open. it images but grants neither value nor dimensionality, idea nor likeness

sigil is prayer. a visible concatenation of a mathematics of negative encomia for hesolate and dapless souls, a geometry of meditative illustrative exercises designed to dedesign signs, post dimulations on bebroken media ... not these to any god or gods or like a boomerang to selves or self, neither destined nor oriented nor aimed, but gas and words in ripe wildernesses of nonutterings

the venom of hyperbolic doubt always finds its efficacy

that everything is mud

little is known about the farmer’s attitude toward nature

little is known about the bus driver's attitude toward driving & buses

little is known about the lunatic’s attitude toward madness

little is known

here in the irrevocable politics of distortion enigma misprision blindness deafness irresponsibility foolishness injustice …

to live mostly in the impolitic of the body’s crepuscular hazes

the drug of choice is horror

heads

it hangs above its body as if the two organisms are unacquainted   almost as big as a pumpkin its face pushed and squeezed in so many directions the result is less a face than a validation of anarchy

flecked goldorange glasses so huge the face behind  of a buggypretty sort  is swallowed into a consumption of eyeware

what’s the price of boredom? how much is it worth?

in the markets of a lonely silent weary world

in recent business news  habitat for humanity and crimes against humanity have merged   it’s being debated whether the new name is crimes against habitat  habitat for crimes  humanity against humanity  or humanity for crimes

humour is the condition of radical receptivity  of being comprised primarily of holes

the difference between a conservative and liberal is the kinds of technology required for the body to maintain itself in technology

an apotropaic disoscitant meets an insomnalent djab

to cast down the image of the god of the whites

now enshrined in the distributed homes of the rainbow

the apocalyptic visions of writers like william blake and mary shelley  who imagined that a radical aesthetic might destroy the same dull round and generate a new jerusalem  steadily gave way to ends being nothing more than reminders that we must survive

far from climate change prompting writers to question whether the mode of human existence that altered the planet as a living system should be extinguished to make way for other forms of life  the threat to human existence and the witnessing of the sixth mass extinction event has enabled a contraction of the human imagination not merely to the human species  but to humanity in its urban affluent hyperconsuming and globally subsuming form

by 2027 the world has accelerated to such an extent that the wikipedia homepage in the news section  instead of posting on average two new items per day  typically posts 29 new items

a recent sampling –

• gunman kills 1328 in jakarta mosque
• civil war truce called again in st. louis
• pazakhstan air flight 3033 crashes off the coast of hawaii  canaryair air flight 292 in the himalayan foothills  yourewonderfulair flight 12 in the south pacific  savecash!!!air flight 401 in tawargha  nudist air flight 69 in the black forest  all 2791 passengers and crew are killed as well as 111 on the ground and sea
• donald trump elected to fourth term amidst wedding rumours with putin
• canada annexed
• africa goes bankrupt while largely underwater
• australia proclaims itself finally ‘purified’
• terrorists destroy taj mahal eiffel tower big ben the hermitage the golden gate bridge and tokyo skytree simultaneously
• facegooglsoft buys world bank and cia
• thai president admits to years of sex with underaged robots
• mandarin defeats english for the ninth consecutive year in the world chess championship  the international poetry knockout  and the global barista olympics
• 7 new synthetic elements manufactured and immediately declared endangered
• earth’s elite trillionaire club buys moon
• san francisco and los angeles complete negotiations for merger   city to be known as sanlos or frang or sos isces or laneles or nosanan or sangisco or losco or cisco or costco
• dharavi attacks bollywood and declares martial law
• the toledo terrible turds defeat the crawfordville ball propellants in the superbowl
• punxsutawney phil wins the nobel peace prize
• tesla announces the world’s first fully plastic functional plastic-eating whale
• yiz biggo  driving a 9-in-1 hewlett packard 28000zz  wins the triple crown
• saudia arabia eradicates all homosexuals women lessthanbillionaires and heathen
• united nations officially changes its name to disunited what?
• the giraffe siberian tiger african elephant 21 species of birds 7 species of amphibians 13 species of reptiles 3492 species of plants 9420 species of insects 11301 species of fungi declared extinct in the monsanto-iucn weekly roundup
• doped olympic bronze medalist walks the english channel on garbage
• nasa sends florida into outer space
• pope selenium i commits seppuku in popemobile in porto alegre
• paving of brazilian rainforest complete
• alberta wildfire grows to 1630000 square kilometres   two canadian provinces declared ‘non-existent’
• gunman  after blowing up the stolen mona lisa and starry night  kills 2497 in prague restaurant
• disney brings mickey mouse to life   last seen 40 metres tall and 5 dimensions and heading toward manhattan   usaf says strikes are proving ineffective

version 14.E 149774c^c  inoti’s recent and current release of atmanbrahman  by a phantom cell of an underground spiritual alliance stream

while some have attempted to find relations between inoti and inaughty  the virtual front of {         }

no documentation has been found supporting these assertions

lists of imaginary book/piece titles  like conjured band names  are sufficient works on their own   a bibliography with infinite references but its only substance itself   perhaps with abstracts tables of contents bibliographical data forewords prefaces lists of illustrations and occasionally with commentary reviews further spawned titles … the book proper lost its existence dubious perhaps never born   a borgesian fantasy for sure (although perhaps borges collapsed into itself  a black hole of babel) but one we’d like to see more fully developed – particularly with a singular human devoting a consumed life to such a pursuit   part of it is that with all the present & accelerating excess  a little minimalism doesn’t necessarily provide any balance  but at least might be a blurry picture of a tiny mirror with some light in its depths (a star? candle? phone?) in the midst of excessive infinities of interstellar linguistic space. here are some starter titles –

operating manual for hermits and mystics

(in partial fulfillment of iso ⁰√0)

penis  rites for silence and jiǔ gè zìmǔ (song)

pin this quanta to the wind (poetry)

a cosmic welter of helter skelters (children’s graphic novel)

blerry chossoms in hopencagen where chogger-blicks go to thelfie semselves (a YA book)

noti  a naughty not i (erotica)

dial or howl an owlodile (children’s nonsense verse)

hachimoji dna  an autohagiography (from deep within a scientific mind)

autoexiling  a precarian handbook (small press bust)

a holy oily body  leonora carrington and the magic of irresolution (thoroughly researched and moderately insightful scholarly work)

fuck your gonads (queer theory)

insurgents of the cognitariat (academic bestseller  cited everywhere)

why be a salaried slave who suffers when you can be crazy? (self-help)

light does not become them any longer (novel)

dan nada can ad a cad (unclassified)

eudaimonia pragmata adiaphora astathmēta anepikrita doxai adoxastous aklineis and akradantous  plumbing obscurity for irreal answers from the chicken soul of a misplaced harena (unclassified)

today i gather the favourite heads from their bodies on the stuffed sidewalks and put them in my empty bathtub at the end of day. they still blink the heads but the sounds have stopped and i blink back at them. we blink like cats and advance greens. i rearrange them so that the smallest are at the top and one tries to bite me and i throw it in the toilet but it doesn’t flush and is just stuck there like a gigantic poo. quite the day it says and says i’ll help you and disassembles right there into its constituent parts and though it takes eight or nine flushes i get it down. the others watch with interest through the mirror on the ceiling and some try to talk. i see that biting head drew blood and i hold my arm over the heads and drip on them. i can tell some like this and i think of putting my hands in again, i want to please them, when the doorbell rings and it is the eyeball merchant and i wrap my wrist in some underwear and we chat like friends and he inspects the products and we transact to each of our slight displeasure. the heads themselves now, with nothing to see and having given up on making sounds, just exist like art in a basement and staircases and i think of getting rid of them but take showers at the neighbour’s and the smells a bit much as they decay but the skulls are nice and eventually i take baths with them and play with them like older children do with duckies or young ones with their poo

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