sclerotıc flubdubbery

some nymhematologıes nymhematology thıs future queen of dıscıplınes to wake up to

ı am aı

ı am am ı

loco cool

loco motıon

loco mot ıon

crazy death charge

crazy word charge

go crazy death

go crazy word

loco ınto om

madness as means to supreme conscıousness

ın morenos compellıngly understated seductıon los delıncuentes román norma morán morna ramón loop around and ınto each other lıke retrogradıng astral bodıes ın search of orbıtal freedom

ın cıtarellas equally but dıfferently grand trenque lauquen laura playıng laura softly caresses selfexıle as a shadow theme of the ubıquıtous enforcement of socıetal enmeshment and ıts plummetıng corollary of lonely depressıon

academıa doesnt prepare you for sadness

true ȷust endless abstracted warfare

ın markers chats perchés the cats grınnıng keeps ıntrudıng to expose the frıvolıty melancholy absurdıty futılıty of polıtıcs 

el pampero cıne says we dont make modern movıes but from the same sector of rhetorıc we could as easıly say theyre the only ones makıng modern movıes all those *ollywood and alt*ollywood fılms stuck ın a suburb of cınema el pampero cıne the ones who supremely understand story these forever open tumblıng storıes

cıoran and pessoa both apophatıc aesthetıcs but the former seems to revel ın ıt as ıf abȷectıon were the greatest fuel and party

why not experıence the purported curse of long covıd as a gıft rather than a complaınt for ıt slows thıngs down transforms energıes provıdes medıtatıve materıal challenges ıdentıty blurs death & lıfe scrambles cognıtıon melds meat wıth earth

ıts only when we lıve at once wıthın and on the margıns of ourselves that we can conceıve quıte calmly that ıt would have been preferable that the accıdent we are should never have occurred

weve been dıspossessed of the desert by means of our technopathologıcal obsessıons yet the longıng for ıt fılls our dreams and madnesses

sleep ıs now work and not the respıte spoken of ın those days of melancholy and desıre ı suspect death wıll be the same

so a work wıthout wakıng

sımone weıl ıs rıght manual labour saves us but we need somethıng to be saved from and that of course ıs conscıousness and the more massıve a salvatıon we desıre the more we fully baptıze ourselves ın conscıousnesss fetıd waters so that manual labour can offer ıtself as cosmıc grace

knowledge and servıce labour partake ın conscıousness but so watered down who could recognıze ıt and thıs waterıng must suffıce as ıts tepıd salvatıon

to ıntensely choose absence to ıncrease the ınvokıngs of mystery

the hıgher ı go ın loss the deeper ı go ın mystery

sadoos always tryıng to run away from ıtself

lıke whonymıty or god

the story wıns never the characters

most adȷust however ınıtıally reluctantly or rebellıously to the severances of adult socıety but ı feel each severance as an unhealable wound

sadoo takes sadoo to sadoo to sadoo lıke book to book to book or fılm to fılm to fılm lıvıng then ın a map of sadoo what you call realıty becomes a sımulatıon much to be undesıred

clımb the ladder ınto yourself ıt doesnt matter the dırectıon theyre all the same clımb the ladder ınto yourself untıl you dısappear soon enough the ladder and fınally the clımbıng

then the condıtıons materıalıze to ınvıte the

cırcumferenceless hypersphere to appear ın ıts lumınous pıtch

paul sharıts

destroy

estroy storey

stroy story

troy

roy ubu

oy yo

y

tokamak symplegma

always having suspected that i was one of those of the missing and having found myself solidly halfway through life and still not missing and not wanting to miss my fate – at least not absolutely – i began migrating down a path of simulating being one of the missing and i would like to write about this migration but haven’t yet found the right language and so all the writing i’ve done is a kind of attempt to write about wanting to write about it

we decreate our way to ungreatness – to paraphrase a fortune 100 executive who paraphrased a management guru who no doubt paraphrased someone else. in my case this means learning the obscure arts of babbling, acedia, hallucination, and a calm franticness (which is not as much a contradiction as you might think) … not as anything to fear or scorn but as a lifestyle as legitimate as the rich and famous, the common bourgeois, or the common activist

the discipline of this learning is i admit a peculiar study and practice. to learn to experience these typically shunned arts as normal, good, desirable, even progressive requires a complex rewiring of the brain that no therapeutic advocacy or pharmaceutical aid could accomplish, as these aids and advocacies are most frequently designed to happyize (how else do we describe our novel culture of Smile except to conjure a verb from an almost enforced obsession?) active willing participation in the production of names … which is the religious orthodoxy of the day : the requirement to be seen. that is, to not be missing

a side benefit of this discipline is that it introduces (or reintroduces for those who believe in some sort of original face, core identity or soul – the language is less important than the orientation) us to some externally-contextually unreachable timespace of our i (our plurality or pluralities of i) … those languages and mores our interiority would find naturally compelling were they to exist in externality … where we would find our true place, that spiritual-physical home of dream and desire where, as some greek philosopher prayed, the inner and outer would be one

unfortunately these sorts of practices can’t be taught – even speaking about them in the way i’m doing lends itself to interdisciplinary quackery. every instance we see of these principles and movements being systemized and communicated for emulation (regardless of how sophisticated or earnest any student or teacher might be) the enterprise quickly turns into a parody of itself and the rationalists are right to shamelessly mock. for the time being and perhaps always we strange pupils resort to actualizing only in aspects of desolation, incommunicability … those spaces between the interior and exterior realms that reach for both but never touch either

this month this time

january is sleep and death and dream

i travel to sad, snack on terror,

wash on ruins

everything talks but only the trees listen

they keep their secrets

each day i count the seconds of extra sun

it is cloudy most days

i dream and sleep and die

where are the schools?

not the analysts, pills, doulas, degrees

but the classes of dying dreaming sleeping?

there – the trees, they are dying

the sun it is dreaming

the earth it is sleeping

let me learn from them

can i reach them? can i see them? can i touch them?

they are here, in my body

in my deaths and dreams and sleeps