sauerkraut in india

fukky risotto and a sadoo are riding the marudhar express when a tourist across the way says – look, there’s the taj mahal. the sadoo says no that’s the mona lisa. the tourist looks confused and annoyed, says it’s obviously the taj mahal. the sadoo says you obviously know nothing about signs.

the air india attendant at narita asks to weigh my carry-on – limit 7kg. i know it’s over because of the food. so i take out the food, put it on the floor and weigh my bag without it: 6.5kg. take the bag off the scale, return my food, leave.

a german, a swede, and a canadian

are sitting on the rooftop of a guest house ...

why travel? –

• to record humanity in its dusty dusk
• to re-savour the wilderness
• to hear the silent song of the plant
• to keep the bow taut (for contrast, for the sameness of things)
• to see the moon and sun
• to trip over time’s mirrors
• to reanimate death
• to ask this question
• to have the eyes scrubbed and the body bodied
• to virtualize nature and skin the internet
• to re-eroticize absence and presence
• to participate, however tentatively and disdainfully, in my fellow species’ orthodoxy – money
• to immerse myself in that film about flesh, the common human plot – and there plot that plot in words
• to put poetry in its place and replace place
• to glorify unpasteurized organic sauerkraut

 

varanasi and jerusalem – coital spirit partners in the production of religious babies (with astounding longevity)

you see, in this world, there is one awful thing, and that is that everyone has his reasons

if you don't know the rules, you are crushed; but if you do know the rules you are cut off from your own nature

so simple and so labyrinthine, so guileless and so angry, so innocent and so dangerous ...

depicting the failure of love, the failure of society, and the failure of humans to rise above the ridiculous

do indians get sick when they visit the west because it's too hygienic?

everyone on these long-haul international flights just sleeps or watches movies – don’t they have minds to use during their brief transit through life?

whoever has learned to be anxious in the right way has learned the ultimate

                but we have a drug for this!

i see the world is mad

if i tell the truth they rush to beat me

if i lie they trust me

  keep the slanderer near you, build it a hut in your courtyard –

  for, without soap or water, it will scrub your character clean

tosf - fallabalist a.

the online sadoo family – #2

fallabalist a. – ataraxia

http://ataraxiast.blogspot.ca/

falla rax, as she’s known by her friends, was sadoo rad phenoma in the 1970s but two cele elec strokes while she was tripping on a neovariophone synthesized her into sadoo fallabalist a. previously what she’d been had included sadoo rad eula ebi, sadoo rat wel, sadoo en-rhug.

basing herself presently in london, she wanders the cities of the earth as if they’re one for, indeed, they are. exploring the between between the we-ness of her i-ness and the i-ness of the city’s we-ness, falla rax (for sadoo diaper is a friend) uses her body as a set of translation technologies between the aforementioned between between and language, itself the or a (or the and a) between of betweens.

giving herself over to the animism of the city, attempting to see what time would see if it could see, sensing the city as her mind-body complex distributed like a disheveled map, knowing the city as a lover hard and beautiful and dark and faithless, loving the city in its polydimensionalities, its vehicular and cloacal creepings across the dreaming earth, its pecuniary and glassy hands flung in wanton praise toward the impossible heavens, some incorporated pentecost, caught in its thingness like a vast fish in the internet of god, she walks. walking walks walkingly, walks. and the city becomes for her what it is and may not be – a death and a hope, a perfection and scream.

she keeps a diary, sadoo fallabalist a. does. and ataraxia is her diary. a diary of a truth of a between.

sadoo next - tilda tilde