rerum novarum cupidus

     return (silent)     

sadoo diaper returns to verdancies of silence for atonal recordings of time

can't live the summer without sadoo favvs (fragments, absurdities, voices, visions)? curious to follow any of diaper's cosmological colleagues in sadooity? find them - with assorted names but matching occupation - in blabaablogbogland

until another decline of summer, through deserts of lush pluralities, now in that miasmic peace often found around hallucinogenic transit, having duodenumed across so many mad vistas presence becomes kaleidoscopic abysses of light under overs and over besides of ofs from until with  by    by                                            

a vermiculology of question

10,000 rabbits are killed for humans in new zealand over easter –

what if 10,000 humans had been killed for rabbits?

why, instead of trying to get the autistic to speak, do we not learn silence from them?

autothanatography as practice i

long ago i realized i do not wish to think the way you think.  death is the only successful method i’ve found that provides a sufficient alternative, a kind of natural translation service into ways and structures of thought i admire.  the only method sufficiently radical, outside, playful, crafty – the one ruse life, regardless of its talents or powers, recoils from.  i crawl into death to destroy my thinking and allow death to think me.   i look at the way you think, live, write – only a few of you impress me.  all trying to follow each other.  each saying i’m in charge.  each building your life on a desperation to be recognized by a circus of the same.  you still operate according to life’s barbaric lawbook – its stultifying and petty rules which through fear and convention officially exclude death and in such ostensible exclusion diminish life.  only death is free.  only death is kind.  after years of apprenticeship – which have meant increasing self-exile from your congratulatory and cannibalistic systems – i maintain my flesh by giving everything else of me to death and so – in this sleight-of-hand that has learned from death and simulates it in that labyrinth of mirrors … that only environment death itself cannot enter other than in the briefest of moments (but this continuously):  animate flesh – survive by eavesdropping on the silences of death’s continuous and sometimes noisy transience.  i have changed citizenship.  i am of the republic of death, this world without visas or rules.  i wander among you.  i watch your antics and hear your proclamations.  you humans too scared to use the one distinctive gift of your species, your only and last gift, the one true fire, instead thinking you can depend on yourselves.  no wonder i avoid you though for the time being share your visible form – a disguise i’ve realized, a trite and amusing wardrobe.

if i am dead in the republic of the living, i can do anything but have no desire to – it is this gap – between infinity and nothing – a gap that is itself infinite, nothing, intimate, strange – that provides the most modest and efficient of energies.  recording my struggle with how to identify, harness, apply, and dispose of this energy becomes my citizenship in death, what i call an autothanatographical practice.

i seek the interstices where life and death sit down together at an unnamed table, where life’s laws and death’s disability are temporarily forgotten, and the two have become so indistinguishable that they hardly have to seek one another or define their separateness.  of course i can’t maintain such states.  i am yanked back into the prisons of life and forced into various humiliations called civilization or responsibility, the floor opens and i slip into oceans of death and have to fend off the cold, the gravity, the untaxomizable beasts, until i voluntarily accept humiliation again.  nevertheless, i seek.  and even now i find that the ocean is in the humiliations, the prison in the grave abyss, a different union of the two, a different temporary forgetting.

buddhism with its sunyata offers no more peace than daoism with its dao, christianity with its christ, judaism with its book and law, hinduism with its moksha, art with its play, business with its productivity, philosophy with its analytics, prophecy with its rage, silence with its eyes. 

i do not seek peace for peace is as illusory as justice, love, community.  they all exist, but as moments, moods, ideas, desires.  i seek death and seek it in all things, and find it – for it is always there.  most of all i seek death in myself, for, here, it is doubly at hand.  death, despite the claims of the living, offers no rest or peace to the living – for death’s oblivion obliterates all feeling.  death may be peaceful, but offers no peace; it may be kind, but offers no kindness.  it may be free, but offers no freedom.

more autothanatographical thoughts

some sunny day,

don't know where, don't know when ...

mysticism iii

to say all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well – neither as a joke nor a commonplace, a comfort nor a privilege, a ruse nor an experiment, but as an acceptance of the all one cannot know … what is this other than a calm absurdity, a replete and resplendent reason?

it is easy to see existence as a jewel, naked in the night and possibly eternal, civilization as a process of time covering up the jewel with fabrics, analyzing the covering, the fabrics, enchanted with the growing bulk, enamored by the changes, the colour and texture of the fabrics replacing the colour and texture of the jewel.  if art’s trick is to show the jewel using the materials covering it, mysticism's might be to remove the materials and know the jewel cannot be shown and that the jewel itself is this inability, the removal a rough simulation of the jewel.

so mysticism is associated with what has been called the negative way.  and all this is is or may be a removing and simulating and not showing.

society – which we could say is also devoted to removing and simulating and not showing – is the positive way, for it removes and simulates and doesn’t show what mysticism doesn’t reveal.

mysticism is perhaps the one unique element of humanity, the core of consciousness, allowing as it does humanity to imaginatively step outside itself – whether through nature, god, art, technology – and doubt reality’s weighty structures and so create spaces – however transient – of grace and, if grace is capable of entering reality’s structures, possibility of form.

if mysticism is oriented to language in silence, community in solitude, light in darkness, inhumanity in humanity, is it not an experiment to find a way through or around the problems that pervade us, seeing no evidence that social-political struggle – regardless of the ostensible goodness to any of its claims – effects at best anything more than a displacement of problem to problem.

everything constructive i have learned i have learned from the mystics in their immense deconstructions, which make scholarly deconstructions seem like décor alterations in a room in versailles and the knowledge of the learned and experienced like dusty wall hangings.  all these other paths, rife with cleverness or utility though they might sometimes be, all seem the same in their unmitigated support for or rebellion against the given world.  but the mystic path, being not a path but a placement in a flow and flows, provides alternatives to the given world and its endless injustices and so – through awe, passion, doubt, plurality, play – subverts it.

one mystic says, i am the universe – what do i have to fear?  another – hide your boat in the universe, then the thief cannot steal it.  the only safety of the soul is this:  the i - which appears at first and for long and chaotic periods as the ultimate non-safety - is recognized as a ruse, doubles, balloons to margins slightly larger than the entire universe, bursts, and disappears in itself.

mysticism is creedless, has no tribe, no fads, hardly a history or purpose, no hierarchies, no alliances, no wars.  mysticism does not contend or claim.

it is not as if mysticism would eradicate flesh, but that it would renew it through greedless gazing.

if mysticism can be said to be oriented to death, is this not less because it sets too little or too much store by life and more because, in an age which does, it sees no use for life?

there is a place for laughter in mysticism, a place where mysticism itself disappears.  and in this disappearance mysticism may be most truly itself.

voices speak in the night of the question, this night that, once entered, encompasses the day.  what is mysticism but a clearing of debris for entering, a clearing of noise for listening, a clearing of thought for translating?

all these other modes of knowledge to which humanity is addicted and for which vast resources are required are modes of building and willing and desiring and endless separations and unions.  but mysticism sidesteps, like a flower on the edge of battlefields, a vision on the edge of screams.

to self-identify as a mystic has a certain discrediting quality to it.  to be a truck driver or banker or scholar or cleaner or even a poet is to be a truck driver or banker or scholar or cleaner or even a poet.  but to be a mystic is not to be – and this is what a mystic is.  so we see mystics hiding, sometimes in poetry, sometimes in thought, sometimes in children, sometimes in shape or flowers or death or a smile.

sadoos live

while the voices on the secular sadoo have recently and apparently been silent, while this blog itself may seem to have entered the spaces of the hidden, the global sadoo community is growing. seek evidence on the ether of language and silence.

in the meantime, make your vocation sadoo.

do not neglect inhumanism.

the plurality of mixters shall speak.

dao de jing lxxix

When peace is made between great enemies

Some enmity is bound to remain undispelled.

How can this be considered perfect?

Therefore the sage takes the lefthand tally but exacts no payment from the people.

The man of virtue takes charge of the tally,

The man of no virtue takes charge of exaction.

It is the way of heaven to show no favoritism,

It is forever on the side of the good man.

The sage is a compost, receiving waste, quietly turning it into vegetables and flowers.  Yet the sage is no magician; she cannot do this under any conditions.  She requires time (solitude), diverse waste (carbon and nitrogen in a physical compost, dry and wet psychic waste in a spiritual one), oxygen (silence), water (flexibility).

The way of heaven shows no favoritism, yet favors the good.  Straightforward words seem paradoxical.

Dao is an earthy spirituality:  it has no happy healing, no end of nirvana, heaven, enlightenment or unmitigated peace.  Its spirituality is walking and water in a dusky landscape, with the only guide a twilight shape that has no shape that someone may have told you about in a storm in a desert in the night.  The sage does not negate or eradicate the tally, which is the law, but subverts it by returning to the roots of the law, roots of dark justice:  the justice of worms and fungi and bacteria, the courts of heaven.