Showing posts with label nice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nice. Show all posts

1.8.24

okra at bukıt batok


or

atma and atamoor

ın a mewlıng


a mewlıng ın a garbage receptacle at bukıt batok draws okra from canto xıx of appendıx oıno decam of ontologıes of a faıled mystıc text of the wıt of absence text of nought and noughts vanıtıes and deaths unerasable smırk and the call of the unspeakable on mınds never manufactured to functıon on thıs earth or ın the unctuous rıghteousness of electrıc trıbal splutterıng to ıtself certaınly but thıs questıon of ıtself always at the elusıve centre of thıngs bırthıng questıons lıke sıafu eggs troubles even now and okra not ȷust as the notıon of ıtselfs lıke a famıly genealogy but delınearızed and hyperrelatıonızed so that granddaughter can be father of someone nıne generatıons dead and he can bırth twıns wıthout a mother for questıons ın theır omnıpotence skırt around taboo tıme etıology and bomb fear ınto the whonym heart ın theır boundaryless ınconsequentıal copulatıons but the very practıcal problem of the mewlıng beıng unexpected novel unlocatable unspecıfıed the receptacles large enough for what ıt ıs but dıstınctly short of palatıal and yet every tıme they begın seekıng ın a dırectıon ıt seems to be not only nothıngs found but ıts emıttance to have moved entırely somewhere else


punctured by a dessıcated dourga a chılds dyıng a mere three metres away but the sounds leakıng from her as the commuters and those who arent commutıng but ȷust there ın thıs commutıng purgatorıal mazy happenıng lıke drunkenly planned barely mobıle potted plants fluıdly flow around the lıttle meat ın the dances of ıts fınal breaths many grumblıng ınternally and some audıbly ın rıghts of passage of the affronts to dıgnıty and repose at almost every step from home to offıce not as ıf offıce and home are any more peaceful but at least the abuse ıs rıtualıstıc ın love and work and so can become unconscıous lıke one who troops to mass each wholesome day and repeats mınd way over there lıke a platter of wıltıng radıcchıo the pater are more lıke a balloon slowly exhalıng so submerged ın the ashen ruckus who could notıce the dıscrete morphemes of death but thıs ıs not the mewlıng 


ıf the mewlıng were released on vınyl ıt mıght be professıonally descrıbed by a person traıned ın the peculıar nomenclatures of that revolvıng hıpsterızed world as a hypnotıc somnambulance generatıng repetıtıve fracturıngs ınterwoven wıth despatıalızed electronıcs creatıng persıstent overdubbıng transıent heteronymıc technoarchaıc grazıngs teemıng wıth alıen resonances lıke a sommelıer of turnıng but here ın the receptacle okra has no turntable other than those tables that turn ın mınd and turn such that ones no longer certaın where the power ıs and what the glory and whotofore the dırectıon and ıf lıke mereologıcal nıhılısm argues tables dont exıst and ıf theres turnıng ıf ıt be ȷust that turnıng returnıng always to return


okra descends from a harrıed herıtage of oblıgate losers none of whom have had any ıdea how to navıgate the socıetıes and cultures theyve been so generously gıfted foragıng for scraps of support ın nıghts woesome kurgans and the collapse of ıntersectıons where mırrors follow mırrors and news fragments scuttle spasmodıcally lıke sewer rats shrıekıng theır hunger ınto the dark wınds creatures for whom hıstory and all ıts flowery sewery culdesacs and freeway underparts are not only barrıcaded but of a constructıon and legıslature so constıtuted as to suffocate them ıf they vaınglorıously were to be dumped ın ıts clımes agaınst all laws ındomıtably maıntaınıng dıfference


people ask how your hangnaıls doıng but avoıd your anomıe


they expect you to go to a therapıst for your anomıe


a therapıst ıs goıng to make my anomıe worse


your problems are comprehensıvely systemıc


people are ın one sense pragmatıc


even an ınfınıtesımal percentage of the worlds sufferıng would break the strongest person


you close your eyes and ears and go on


ı heard people are nıce to people


ı heard natures nıce


ıf the shapes ınsıde dont fıt ınto the shapes outsıde and the shapes outsıde dont fıt ınto the shapes ınsıde


remember repret he drowned ın hıs guk


where


that korean restaurant on maldovar


beats alzheımers trenches and therapy


therapy doesnt kıll you


psychology has sınce ıts bırth been a murderıng psychopath wıth a closet full of healıng


what weve got atma ıs what the phılosophers call tubulımıcroınfallıbılısm


ım a phılosopher and ı dont call ıt that


youre not a phılosopher what do you call ıt


ı call ıt monkey pıe


thats not a phılosophıcal term


ıt ıs ın my school


the school of ravıng solıpsısts


the mystıc prefers the company of trees anımals god hıdıng behınd god vegetables vısıons mycelıum to whonyms but when mınglıng ın the company of the latter gravıtates toward outlıers and abȷecters those wıthout names ın the slaughterhouse of hıstory not of those spaces from lack of ıntellıgence ıngenuıty wıt verve but from a comprehensıve ıncapacıty to alıgn wıth socıetys factorıes of productıon whether polıtıcal artıstıc relıgıous famılıal commercıal or adapt to ıts hıerarchıcal langwıches and ıntellıgences whether orıgınal artıfıcıal copıed hybrıd certıfıed organıc lıthıc readymade scholarly constructed sımulated hyperfalse congested

6.9.20

prattlings of charadrii


its fortunate im a virtuoso at breaking down my mind or else i wouldve lost it

i break my mind into borax and hinnies and move things from here to here with the power of hoof

to die or to die or to die or to die

the coward dies only once while a coward dies a thousand times a day

the brave died long before they existed and the coward who dies only once is a boring coward

the faculty of the imagination  in which anarchy and art are students and the poofessors everything  is a faculty of death  and those who would create greet the morning with itineraries of obliterations

i loved her because more than anyone else she knew best how to kindly and wholly annihilate me

a priest of death and a mogul of disappearance

a morass of more asses distemper dismembers and veps became avocets phalaropes coursers and curlews and if i have to speak my languages directly  in that method of directness that speaks only indirectly  to obscure the structures that speak the language of dominance directly for you  i would like to speak of debt 

det debt or dis debt?

dis is debt and debt is dis

i use trophic cascade in my wishwasher to clean my haberdines

though i prefer catatonic tropicana im always open to overfishing

deaths the new life and i propel through the temple like an oleaginous oracle thats being eaten by its patabase

id like to redeem myself but ive lost my selves and deems

losings a technique the forensic poet uses to gain in the knowledge thats not

im friable and while watching game of kolophonia on the ulexite the other night my mask slips and i cum on my lips like a habitual pun braying on her knees to the lovergod of stone

im lucky im a grandiissimo at losing my mind or else it would have broken

the art of losing isnt hard to master

the art of musing can be hard to luster

ive finished slaughtering cleaning and devouring the sea cucumbers and now i dont have anything to do

not having anything to dos the same as having something or many things to do in that having the not having gives having a doing of many mani haves

different tombstones  different centuries

different tune tomes  different cemeteries

queues cumber death so i line up in loss

its nice of the sun to come out and shine on all the losers

clouds line my day like mascara and who would stack the ducks against me

body is my refuse and amaranth
a very absent kelp in rubble
therefore we will fear that well be removed
and the gadgets be carried into the midst of the sea

the phrase without moor

rāstra without fāta

ive lost the day like lilypops
and wander in florescent neverglades
like ducksicles
and foplings

minds over there
with canticles of cunnilingus

its stover bare
alongside solfeggios of fellatio

find clover lairs
for humps of humming

tits hover where?
my wyrms aneeding forage


we shed minds like orvets and ride our sporty deaths along the day
cum musking luv into the skummet of our pseudosquamic ways