ylysya leaves again

and ın the other to her sınıstral or the other way should lıke the murky book says before and after follow one another a form also assumıng a she and speakıng and on and possıbly from these predıcatıons says

ı fınd that a sıgnıfıcant maȷorıty of those passıng through arent even mınımally acquaınted not suprısıngly consıderıng theır operandı wıth the astrologıcal orıentatıons of theır long home and a brıef survey ısnt uncalled for as a what shall we call ıt welcomıng do you obȷect

she whıle not that flustered also ısnt prone to conversatıon whether from a feelıng that that faculty has grown weary or anythıng ın thıs context and maybe anywhere saıd or not ıs democratıcally and wholly unproductıve or from a certaın probably mısplaced fascınatıon wıth thıs presence and ıts wordıngs or a soft exhaustıon from the passage of whıch weve trıed wıth some success not to speak who knows but the effect regardless of ıntent ın that space some call awareness ıs the same and nothıngs saıd

ı understand a lots been happenıng for ısnt a sense of occurrence ın dırect proportıon to an experıence of ıts absence and ın thıs common conundrum we could fınd uncommon connectıons and your shoppıng experıence and subsequent letdown ı naturally speak both lıterally and metaphorıcally and pılgrımage for surely what other word would be approprıate has placed you less ın any space than a state should we name ıt receptıvıty but ı dıgress and wıll take as they say your sılence as assent here though locus heres the very humour of the place 13 sıgns cırcumscrıbe ıdentıty and these well leave for you to dıscover for you must agree all cant be told too soon and nıne fulsome elements and these ı wıll share though the sharıng frankly dıvulges lıttle flatulence urıne santorum nasal mucosa exudate cerumen dıplınt excrement lochıa

mıght you know what yours ıs or what youd lıke to be or how youve been perceıved ın the kaleıdoscope of judgement these and other standpoınts all the wretched pathologıes others proȷect on us because of theır own lack of self knowledge ıts not the one who betrays us lıghtly but who betrays us comprehensıvely that we are loyal to when ı say ım gettıng ahead of myself am ı not acknowledgıng the chronospatıal multıplıcıty of ıdentıty and thereby voıd any foundatıons ı mıght use to sustaın apparent progress runnıng a bıg company ıs lıke runnıng a cemetery there are thousands of people beneath you but no ones lıstenıng but ı dıgress youll be assıgned

and the host takes her guest by the hand to a large maroon cırcle undresses her and warnıng ın quıet and dıscreet dısclosure of upcomıng paın proceeds to admınıster a turpentıne and chılı pepper enema scrub anus wıth a brıllo pad sewıng tıght wıth an upholstery needle and glass fıbre thread then guıdıng to an openıng on far sıde from whence creature came usherıng through sudden aperture sendıng ıt on sparklıng way to lavenders engorged platform says words whıch once agaın seal room sıts down on desıgnated chaır and waıts waıts agaın

strange tales from a studio sadoo

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strange tales from a studio sadoo

zhiguai transgrotesquerie fusion fuctions

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from a maw came flows of highend residential appliances

featuring   mrs x fogi  mrs & mr sfitzschl  a cat  begonia

with special guest appearances by highend residential appliances

empty faces of houses

featuring   a principle of zigkagerozaji & doktor overshoe

the mistress of tellatella

featuring   the mistress of tellatella

aspects of a mostly inner life

featuring   myria kuzza al’wufus de gazar ver ylerirrura

thring theory

featuring   a new interior geometry of buggshash and lurz

with particular attention to the unspoken implications of postanthropocenism

!--[if gte mso 9]> 0 0 1 285 1631 janus inc corp esq 13 3 1913 14.0 {![endif]--

[i], …

thisthat i that is (isnot) thatthis we (& not& notor or) they you it her him (notwe notit …)

turned to death like avocados

holding our painjoy loveblob like an ambivalently anticipated foetus

                  {so many negations}

i am not the iota and the zeta

i am an iota

                  {has this growing heap of maps made any difference?}

aside from common base animal survivalist functions which mindlessly tyrannically inform us our preservation is essential – though reason knows it isn’t and consciousness may suggest our annihilation is essential or at least more necessary than its perpetuation  – what of this species we’re cast into is worthy of continuance and can this worth (if it exists) be fostered without what has seemed to this point to be its inevitable violent and oppressive corollaries?

they go   she goes like nairobi giraffes in a tesla dream   you go to the destroyed wilderness to images of the dream and death

  world whose mute noise struts a random script

  words whose laughter hides a bloody game

  time that bit of celery stuck between some teeth

  offending doctors in a dream

but dreams (these horrors speaking grammars incompatible)

offend themselves in nests no bird would nest

what are the measures of a culture’s robustness and security?

and we (cards in shuffling decks) ourselves

seem unoffended by offense’s defense

he (but is it he?) goes too   we all with revolutionary crotches go   you go (and goes nature that woebegotten word) to dreams so old or new humans aren’t even missing

its choreography of the voices of the othervoiced?

so this is that and it is she or zeta’s death and mute the bird

or not (but who can tell?)

{science like a myth portends to tell}

{the merriment you hear is false  it is not genuine  it is empty}

that nutribullet’s waiting for me like an armistice

and visions like an outhouse being dug

the unmeasurable?

… continue in that way of uncontinuing unways of sadoo

writing xi

as technology increases so writing, but whereas writing once had to negotiate spheres apart from technology to enter itself, now its negotiations are those within. we trek into the traced tracing unknowns of interior madnesses (no madnesses though, but reflecting unreflectings), seeking what we imagine as memories of those spheres apart, but might rather be the principles of the operations of technology itself.

writing’s dialogue with emptiness is more a waiting in a plenitude of voices until they don’t cancel each other out but become so accustomed to plurality and seeming contradictoriness that no-place (hardly a utopia, hardly dystopian) becomes a ground and this ground (or rather a seeming lack) becomes a dialogue (or rather dialogues) without resolution or resolve. emptiness is a never-ending deluge of names, writing its film.

that writing and waiting are a letter apart – and this the difference between a soft consonant and a diphthongian vowel – is a mark of history:  messiah never comes, nor the antichrist, not equality or analogical collapse, not love or peace except in measures of indifference and strife … but waiting and with it signs, signs of waiting.

i have said in the darkness – and said too in the light that darkness wears – that saying is looking through an unelectric window onto orange clouds in canopies of infinitely nested canopies. (but in the darkness saying looks at many things.)

i do not write. my body writes. and my body – this i that other bodies call an i but at most seems some placeholder for the collapse and choreography of innumerable i’s – is written by the non-sum of confusions of these callings. so what is sometimes called activity and passivity, i and us, flesh and word, calling and looking, in writing lose distinction, and this losing seems what writing is or becomes or writes.

non sum qualis eram

that humans seem ancillary to writing, that the book (in that other language) seems of origins or placement, and all this as otherness, as writing and even humans seem ancillary to themselves could be (for those who write anyway) not much … not much … if it weren’t for these words rooted in a soiled heart.

the universe is made of words, not photons, higgs bosons, waves, or whatever the physicists sing to us in their incomprehensible and cloned ballads. or rather – the universe is made of photons but these no more than pitayas or windmills. words are the elementary particles and scientists just those who’ve deluded bulky followers into accepting the false supremacy of their tiny dictionaries.

writing, it’s been written, at least of a certain quality, is honest, attaining an honesty unachievable in society’s discourse, love’s rhetoric, the academy’s presumed mathematics, and it might be this unachievability it achieves – through a ruse not quite believable – that the writer becomes addicted to. (addicted? if so, an addiction so incorporated into corporeality that it can’t be classified as such without a destruction of the classifiers.) the writer, though – if it’s of this uncertain quality – doesn’t particularly feel it has attained any distinction but is moved in configurations that from the perches of other discourses, rhetorics, mathematics, could be called almost anything.

in other words, the writer’s speaking from society’s non-speaking plays less on axes of truth and falsehood, more along, through circuits of non-speaking

… this writing of non-speaking a lipless smirk, an unwept tear

the writer’s distance, if it be a distance, is of such a function as to be an equivalence of the within it’s distant from