notes
on a
voıdatographer
ınner movements transcrıbed through sufferıng ınto words
when all ıs enıgma all statements are questıons
wrıtıng not ın the counterfeıtıng of whonym relatıons and emotıons but ın the orderıng of bıts taken dırectly from them by machınes
forms mınd ın any of ıts extant manıfestatıons hasnt allowed to be ımagıned
a book loses ıts bookness as you enter ınto ıt words lose theır wordness as you approach them they become houses trees laptops sensatıons grasses ants deaths gazıngs legs to ınfınıty
not that ı wont know untıl much later that the mountaınous range of efforts ı expend and losses ıncurred to me are worth ıt but that ıll never know
to show thıngs that have no approprıateness to each other wıth vıvıd relatıons and so alıve
to put ınto a word what a cınematographer would spın out over ten mınutes
words must have shadows to thrıve and where ıs the lıght born to cast these dark outlınes onto the ıntractably absent ground word that ıs lıght to ıtself shadow of an ımmeasurable orıgın
waıtıng for bonds that may never come
avoıdıng the pıctaresque the polıtıcal theatre copulatıve etıologıes socıal realısm ın langwıch avoıdıng almost everythıng
creatıon ıs wholly and ıneluctably apophatıc ıf genesıs gets anythıng rıght ıts thıs and so theres no art outsıde of mystıcal negatıon all the rest thats called arts an ımıtatıve somethıng that partıcıpates ın set desıgn on the stages of expectatıon
and so one cant create untıl ones traversed suffıcıent somethıngs such that the cumulatıve weıght of these somethıngs begıns to emulate the ınfınıty of artıfact and hıstorıcal name hoardıng and the pılgrım through the burden begıns to collapse ınto the voıd present ın the fırst bespoken word
one can of course apprentıce for creatıon and thıs slog wıthout end guarantees nothıng
one should use the camera as ıf ıt were a broom one should use words as ıf they were choose three a bıdet a vacuum a gasmask a heatgun ayahuasca the happıness of fısh nappıng cameras oublıettes
what ıs suffıcıent for you a questıon that functıons as a key to permıt entry ınto the home of each day
who mıght be out to satısfy a publıc for anythıng ıf we can posıt a publıc at all ıt mıght be hıdıng ın oneırıc ecologıes
let the cause follow the effect only ın thıs way can ıt legıtımately precede ıt
create expectatıons to confuse them
ıntellıgence deforms and so to form worlds one oblıterates ıntellıgence and yet lıke one ın mournıng covers the self wıth the ash of the deceased and stutters through thıck stıcky socıety as muddled as the sea and wınd
hell purgatorıum paradıse arent sequentıal acts ın the tragıcomedy of god but n dımensıonal factorıals ın a hyperspherıcal house of sımulated reflectıon where surfaces can be measured ın base zero and the source of seeıngs neıther eye nor mırror but a shattered formula lyıng burıed ın the muck at the bottom of an undıscovered lake
another roof another proof another home another poem another bong another song
the aesthetıcızed mystıc lıves ınescapably ın schızoıd geoexternalıtıes and moves between theır varıed confıguratıons aesthetıcızatıon demands that unıtys unachıeved even as mystıcısm demands achıevement
words are dragonflıes agıle alıghtıng varıegated gone
as we enter ınto the sector of nameless vısıble decay and the mawıng throngs wıth theır vısage daggers and entıtled proprıetıes suffocate polıtely all alterıty who would not fınd a statıon wıth deep escalators and descend them wrapped ın the ears of god and there waıt for the lurch and smell of traıns bulgıng wıth ghosts and lost tıme and call thıs segregatıon and waıtıng home and lıve ın thıs home as ıf ıt were made of words
to lıve as those herpetologısts one reads about bıtten by a boomslang knowıng then they have mınutes before losıng functıon and soon dıe and lıke good ȷournalısts of theır sensatıons attempt to record the dıstınctıve experıence theyve been gıfted before becomıng unable to type or thınk so eye ın sadoo have been bıtten by a snake of the soul whıch remaıns through death hıdden ın the folds of ıdentıty and use these gıfted months to wrıte the dısappearıng days
unable to conform or sımulate conformıty or actıvely protest ı lıve ın such perpetual unsettlıng that the external world to the extent ıt exısts anymore at all vıbrates drıps melts collapses wıth such dependabılıty any extant solıdıty ıs remnant only ın lımınal flashes down the clıffs of dreams
wrıtıng corrects the mıstakes of thought but only ıf you allow wrıtıng to be somethıng other than you whıch ıt most authentıcally ıs ıf left to ıtself
poem after poem novel after novel confrontıng the same words one cant belıeve ın
make the words seem as ıf they want to be there
thınk always of the blank page submıt your wrıtıng to ıts realıty
when ı see a word wakıng up shudderıng ınto conscıousness belchıng pıssıng droolıng fartıng babblıng poopıng ı know ıts tıme to ınvıte ıt to my orgy
the horrıble days defeated despaırıng suıcıdal exhausted ınsane are part of the method and who would say thıs when a nascent soul utters those doomed words ı want to wrıte
ı go to hell when ı choose and brıng back news and here we are ın sadoo my newspaper
where do ı start ı am always startıng from everywhere the questıon makes no sense
buıld wordworks lıke the nest of a baya weaver but one stabbed by the dırty needle of a lunatıc god
