things inconstant

consuming art is no virtue compared to the destructions of explicitly mercantile consumptions, despite any autorighteousness various culture puffs claim. art – to get to us – voraciously destroys in orders of magnitude not dissimilar to those of straightup capitalism, even when its ostensible content is cultural critique. so art is the rough inheritor of the hypocrisies of institutional religion and we who eat it the devout who bloody our knees on the hard steps leading to cathedrals of nowhere

everything we need to know and admire is in a square metre of soil

heresiarch t’t smesa, mycogod, has humans, fungi, plants, and bacteria working in conscious concert for the planet’s health. in a world in which humans can’t even cooperate with themselves let alone other species (surely we’re entitled to eat everything!) … what cross-kingdom collaboration!

new dreams –

i envision landscapes customized with mycelial matrices

how can i align myself with any system that depends fundamentally on force and fear for its survival?

it may be the distance between the ‘greatest’ human and the ‘least’ is greater than the distance between the ‘least’ human and the monkey (though this seems insulting to monkeys), but the distance between the ‘greatest’ human and god (consciousness, the everything of all) is far greater than that former distance. and so i mistrust the measures of the human, which focus on the former gap and not the latter, to humanity’s false aggrandisement, its delusional placement at the lead (but there is no lead) on the universe’s vast gameboard, and the degradation and soiling of its only home

humans envied the fear produced in them by nature. they wanted to be that cause (the cause of themselves?). technology has been a vehicle to that being. and now we scramble with each other to be near the top of the heap of fear (or any top of any fearpile). but humans are insufficient to be nature’s replacement, with or without technology. we can only be infinitesimal aspects

this rising talk on consciousness, while not unwelcome – is it not just mapping the extant god-mystic talk onto other language sectors? science the slow rather inept reason that has to plod along to even partially and belatedly translate what mysticism’s been advocating for millennia

humans evolve from the butterfly of childhood to the caterpillar of adulthood, often promoting their slow earthboundness, their voracious eating, as wisdom or necessity. if their slowness emerged from a true intimacy with the earth rather than a regulatory morass, a bureaucratic indolence, and an inability to transcend exploitation and extinction, who would not celebrate?

earth cannot be reduced to human flesh

human flesh cannot bear this burden

a function of therapy is to (re)integrate humans into society, but this society is precisely what has become questionable as a worthy habitat for living

autism might be a reflex response of the human to the preponderance of the human

from sin to mental illness through alienation – these adaptive cultural concepts, bludgeons of orthodoxy, linguistic cages for the gap between our barbarisms and our vision (which – despite the close of medieval war, religion, and torture, despite the death of god and heaven’s crumbling – hasn’t diminished but only grown!:

our barbarisms expanded through technology and unbridled pervasive attitudes of human supremacy, our idealism transferred from another life to this one)

polypolars, having to develop techniques to stave off madness and chaos, being experimenters in the unnamed, having within them myriad sets of eyes all gazing and blinking, …

… when a polypolar goes solo into the desert with those eyes and the landscape becomes nothing but eyes, eyes on eyes and in eyes, …

being a polypolar primarily involves the arts of waiting and psychic customs procedures – waiting for travel permits and arrangements, crossing borders and the various attendant rites, of exiting and entering domains, policies rarely written and when they are obscurely in obscure texts

what are we, demented followers of polluted and violent mirrors, we who drink from the shallow glass of ourselves and think we eat well?

the mathematics of mysticism

we are spheres

we are earth but not the earth

spheres of light

we are magnetic, but infinitely

not two poles, but uncountable

expanding

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silent spring definitions

society (verb) [pl. anomie or fluoxetine]

1.   a folie à plusieurs comprised of nested folie à plusieurs

2.   admixtures of folie à plusieurs attempting to enforce other folie à plusieurs to believe a forced folie à plusieurs is a true folie à plusieurs and the enforcing folie à plusieurs is hardly a folie à plusieurs but the bastion of necessary sanity and wisdom

capitalism (article, definite) [pl. sigil-transduction]

1.   a brand of laundered eugenics

2.   god, having given up

3.   technology’s social sibling

4.   nature wearing too many clothes

5.   christ selling tickets to his crucifixion

6.   the tyranny of the middle

7.   a religion of soft genocides

8.   plutonomo release 11.7

9.   utopia hyperuranios

earthworms can’t get cirrhosis

ideas are science (or rather technology) fiction and bodies fictions

science (  ) is how we negotiate our bodies

1. the decline of the external inhuman in the human rouses the inchoate internal inhuman
2. and should society, so responsible for this decline, then object to this rousing?
3. would this objection not take many forms – projection, incarceration, exclusion, insanitization, sanitation, institutionalization, monetization, civilization … ?

also, by the light shining out of chaos, the inhuman is guided

it does not make use of distinctions but is led on by the light

Fred and the Lost Penis

Some dreamy Tuesday on his way to school, Fred lost his penis when leapfrogging over a fire hydrant, but didn’t notice until afternoon recess.  He said to Ms. Sluzzlewuss—

Ms. Sluzzlewuss, I’ve lost my penis.

With your grades, Fred, your penis is the one thing you can’t afford to lose, said Ms. Sluzzlewuss, sniffling and snorting into a dirty handkerchief.  We’ll have to go to the principal’s office.

The principal’s office was a mess.  Vast reports were piled like skyscrapers all over the floor.  Pens, pencils, markers, paperclips, and smeared table knives stuck out from the reports like wanton planes.  The desk was covered with liverwurst sandwiches, gherkins, cheese sticks, and mostly full pop cans.  Various pieces of technology, most of them dysfunctional, lurched and burbled around the room.  There were no books.

But if his office was a mess, the principal himself was messier.  Wearing two twisted ketchup-stained ties, ketchup-stained polyester pants barely maintained by threadbare suspenders, ketchup-stained ripped socks stuffed in second-hand ketchup-stained shoes, and—dare we mention it—20-year-old underwear stained with almost everything, Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt was not a pretty man.  He was stroking some liverwurst and humming an ugly tune to himself as Ms. Sluzzlewuss and Fred entered, seeking counsel.

Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt, it is I, Ms. Sluzzlewuss.  I have a student here who’s lost his penis.  Ms. Sluzzlewuss snuffled.

Oh Ms. Sluzzlewuss, Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt said, licking the liverwurst off his fingers and appearing from behind some skyscrapers, How very very very very pleasant to see you.

Only one very is necessary, Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt, Ms. Sluzzlewuss said.

Yes yes, right, of course, said Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt.  How veerrrrrry pleasant to see you.

We have a problem.

Yes yes, we all do.

Fred here … you see Fred?

Yes yes, the little thing there.  The little thing there beside you.  Nice boy.

Yes, this is Fred, he’s lost his penis.

Oh dear oh dear, what shall we do, oh dear oh dear?

That’s why we’re here, Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt, to ask you what we should do.  Fred has never lost his penis before … have you Fred?

No, Ms. Sluzzlewuss, it’s the first time.

Fred has never lost his penis before, I’ve never had a student who’s lost his penis before, I don’t have a penis, you’re the principal, you have a penis, we thought you might be able to point us in the right direction.

Oooh.  Oh.  I see.  Aaaah.  Yes, excuse me for a moment please, yes.  And Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt disappeared behind some skyscrapers and consulted the liverwurst.

I think we should call your mother.  Fred, you have a mother?

Yes, Ms. Sluzzlewuss.

Call her and ask her to come immediately.

My mommy’s at work.

Where does your mother work?

Birdseed.

What do you mean, birdseed?

Mommy works at Birdseed.

It doesn’t matter where she works … call her.

Fred took out his cell phone and called his mother.  Mommy?  … It’s Fred.  … I lost my penis. … Ms. Sluzzlewuss wants you to come in. … Ms. Sluzzlewuss is my teacher. … She wants you to come in. … I lost my penis. … It’s Fred. … Mommy?

Fred’s mother arrived in a hideous grey pantsuit, talking on her phone, birdseed everywhere—fingernails, hair, eyebrows and nostrils, teeth and rings and shoes and pantsuit.  No, you can’t count on the Slovaks.  … Try the Koreans. … The Koreans must have millets.  … Millets, not midgets, you moron, millet. … Tuesday, it must be Tuesday. … You won’t have a job. … The Chinese … even the Nigerians if you have to. … Whatever. …

Ah, said Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt, appearing, Birdseed.

Ah, liverwurst, said Fred’s mother.  And Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt and Fred’s mother disappeared behind the skyscrapers.

Do you have a father? asked Ms. Sluzzlewuss.

Yes, Ms. Sluzzlewuss.

Call him and ask him to come immediately.

Daddy? … It’s Fred. … School. … Ms. Sluzzlewuss. … I lost my penis Daddy. … No. … Yes. … Yes. … No. … No. … Ok. …

What’s happening, what happened? asked Ms. Sluzzlewuss.  And she threw her nose violently into a very unclean handkerchief.  What happened, what’s happening?

Daddy’s coming.

Daddy came, with Tatiana, Xing, Frascuelo, LaVaughn, Jaagup, and Mwanyisa, plus 12 or 13 of Fred’s near and distant relatives.  Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt appeared from behind the skyscrapers.  Yes yes, anyone like a birdseed-liverwurst sandwich?  Also available are liverwurst-birdseed sandwiches.  Yes yes very good.  Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt disappeared again.

Mr. Fred, said Ms. Sluzzlewuss, Fred has lost his penis.

I lost my penis once, Ms. Sluzzlewuss, said Fred’s father.  I too had been leaping over … not now Frascuelo … just after we had moved to … Fred, would you get Jaagup the juice … the curious thing, you see, was not that … Xing, Xing, it’s going to be all right … it’s linked, I think, to the problem of … Aunt Froozelda, that’s not appropriate … where’s LaVaughn? … the more general problem with …

We are not interested in your personal history, Mr. Fred, we’re interested in the facts.  And we don’t appear to be getting them.

A skyscraper toppled in the distance and Fred’s mother appeared, harboring much less birdseed.  What I’d like to know is—what’s going on? said Fred’s mother.

This is everyone’s concern, said Ms. Sluzzlewuss.

Call the mayor! Call the pope! cried Aunt Froozelda.

Yes yes, I’ll call the mayor, right, yes yes, fine idea, yes yes, just what we need, said Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt from below his desk.

In no time at all, the mayor and the pope entered, holding hands.  What what? said the mayor.  What what! said the pope.  What what, said Aunt Froozelda.

It is time, said Ms. Sluzzlewuss, to hold a council of those with counsel.  Let us hear from those present who have counsel for the council …

Yes yes, said Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt.  Very very very very very very.

… with something to say pertaining to the issue at hand, said Ms. Sluzzlewuss.

I lost my penis, said Fred.

The councilors and I have met, said the mayor, and we have met and we have met and we have met.  We met with the trustees and the members, we met with the task forces and the representatives, we met with the committees and the committees.  We met with the people and the myriad creatures and the multitudes and the mistresses and the spouses and the exes and the future exes and we met with ourselves.  We too met with ourselves.  We too met.  With ourselves.

The cardinals and I have met, said the pope, and we have blown the smoke and we have examined the words of The Hippo of Bishop and the Common Doctor and that Scottish Dunce and we are still awaiting the Magisterium.  What is a penis?

What what, said Aunt Froozelda.

Mwanyisa and Tatiana, stop that, said Fred’s father.  Fred, could you please get Xing’s bottle?

Everything is unfolding according to policy, said the mayor.

Pange lingua gloriosi corporis mysterium, said the pope, and rose to the ceiling on a cloud of himself.

Birdseed, said Fred’s mother.  Not the Slovaks.

Yes yes, said Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt, and fell asleep.

Then, all of a sudden, without being invited, the Empress of the Universe walked in.

What good timing, said Ms. Sluzzlewuss.

Shut up, said the Empress.  Aunt Froozelda, look after the children; Mayor, go wake up Mr. Ogg von Titt-ratt; all you relatives, get chairs; Mother and Father, clear some space; children, go play but be quiet; Pope, get off the ceiling; everyone, arrange the chairs in a circle and sit down; I call this meeting to order, I am the Empress of the Universe and I am I and I am the One to Make Things Happen and Let Things Happen.

The skyscrapers began collapsing and many munched on horrible sandwiches and Ms. Sluzzlewuss blew her nose and blew again and the mayor and the pope stood on the desk and slowly danced and the Empress of the Universe told everyone to shut up and Fred’s mother went to the washroom and Mr. Ogg von Titt-Ratt followed her and the children made birdseed and liverwurst castles and Fred’s father tried to clean up with no success whatsoever and Aunt Froozelda said What what! and What what! again and again and the many relatives ran around and around and wouldn’t listen to anyone and overall absolutely nothing happened.

But in all the kerfluffle, Fred slipped unnoticed out of the principal’s office, out of Titt-Ratt’s Elementary School for the Gifted, down the broad avenues that businesspeople sped down, to the right and the left and the right and the right until he reached the street with the fire hydrants, which he leapt over until a little girl came up to him and asked, Did you lose your penis?

Yes, said Fred.

Is this it? said the little girl, holding out his penis.

Yes, said Fred.  Thank you.

You’re welcome, said the little girl.  I found it in a robin’s nest.

Do you want to come home with me and make eggplant-brie open-faced sandwiches and stare out the window at the trees? said Fred.

OK, said the little girl.

And Fred and the little girl went to Fred’s house, where it was quiet for a while, and made themselves eggplant-brie open-faced sandwiches and stared out the window at the trees.