sigilings

sigil is a visual representation of time but less precisely durative time (regardless of shape or direction) than corporeal time as it spontaneously emigrates into oneiric memory. sigil is biography but biography of sensations expressed in lucid dream - snap puncta ... a composite of which might give some sense of chronological, of journalistic life (if one's one of those who needs this sense) but more provides some visual shape (for those capable of seeing this way) of undifferentiated visceral-spiritual flux. sigil takes the synaptic leaps of soul, translating these falls into sensuous data - each shadows of the other, each each other's light. sigil's a compost of evil, a representation in the seen realms of the sigil of the human. for we are sigils - a species of oneiric memory, lucid dream made flesh. sigil is love, not only as it eliminates the human but as it includes all without discrimination or knowledge, including the eliminated. taking on the form of human then, my elimination's placed in the empty spaces, absences, voids, silences, gaps, spilled margins and even though many sigils seem like glyphic plenitudes, horror vacui of effervescences, omnipolypointers to signs of polyomnipointings, voids comprise the majority space. like the dead god and gods, the absent human becomes more real than anything ostensibly and even palpably present. this a truth (if truth can be said to reside here) of mysticism, of apophatic realities, of those fogs of unknowing we cannot - despite the forces of history and money - wall away

i use sigils to step on the pebbles of time to cross the river of death. but ... use? sigils are the pebbles and i ... what am i? a thing that crosses? an absence that steps? that counts the steps and then forgets the counting? that which is crossed? a nonuse of use? an experimental biographical grammar? an archaeology of vision? these questions too are pebbles and i draw dreams of stone to say i've maybe lived

this entry continues sadooic explorations of sigiling following the paths of the keys of solomon and mixter spare, attempting to trace the dna of sigil as it modifies in the vermiculous sarcophagus of time

this entry has been manufactured, vetted, and discounted through transgalactic consortia of sadoos, headquartered nowhere, no throne, no president, no debt - just eyes (and even then ...), demastering language, tumuli and middens of doubt, probed by dogs, cows, roaches, stray rays of suns

sigil flowtation device my lifebard unsigned map drunken council deranging calendar & dream thread of incompatibilities and threadcount of zero revelatory abyss eyed mind stable destabilizer meditative surprise crisis kelpline delphi and debacle wry ablution border flossings customs bribings and ephemeral ghoulmate uncanny altar and gabby cistern confident nonassertion ribald saint and empty scholar and wordless writer adimensional corpus of visceral detext my fortune cellar alfalfa and amigo cunning linguist and fellow ratio notherings and lols

when travelling outside one's mind (and when outside one's mind one's always travelling) gods and ghosts, hungry and sated, enter sigil and place their contours on the silent page

sigil
seem farnear
count me in the ancient ways
geometrize our absences
dream flesh
sleep evil
circumscribe our feet with depleted spaces 

 
 
 

 

dialer diapogues xx (canterings)

tonight diaper canters with diaper

on The Avenue of The Unsustained

canter? the? really?

the talkways of night are lined with lies

what’s all this equine shit? these definitive articles? your intradiaperial cant?

how can we live in these homes of destruction?

the primary nature, function, and task remaining human white males is to retreat – why don’t you shut up? that’s what you prayed for

registers of the fallen

legions of the voiceless

you’re neither a current writer nor a currency rider – you cling to your irrelevance like an amulet that seemed to have once saved you from something

zeniths of darkness clamber vision’s rusty ladder

we are broken rungs, adamantine light

you talk like a mad snapped coil. you talk like a frog that dreams it’s had its legs pulled off by nine-year-old boys. you talk like something that’s never been counted among the somethings that count. you talk like you don’t know how talking talks. you talk, but your talking’s like a cracked mirror of narcissus in a garbage dump in michigan

i watch trains go by

boffee and cooze are my gurus

there are the margins

there are the margins of the margins

the animals watch us

watch us like televisions that have gained their freedom

haven’t seen much

a barnacle on a rock in a pool in a rock in a stream on an island in a lake on an island in a sea in an age in a hallucination in a scream on a petri dish in an induction on a non est factum in hydrogen bromide on a sigil gammaray in bosonic halflife in implicit crowdsourcing on a boston kpro type 1 titanium posterior plate in …

no ways but unways

unwalk this walking