diaper dialogues

                                  diaper dialogues

                                                                                    insomnia stories for adults

                                                 or     communication as it really happens

                                                         thinking as it really is

                                                   philosophy the way it can’t be taught

                                                                                                  words in the raw

                                                                                                                              or     chatting for the obscure

                                                                or     scatological sentience

                                                       votes for poop!

                                                                                                                                                                                                            or                                                            

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           or                                                           

                                                                                                   or                       

coming soon to a secular sadoo near yoo

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

-->

future belongs to masturbation machines

the soft nazism of capitalism, shooting the schulzes of our democratic age slowly in the head. the bullet takes years, even decades, to enter, enough time for everyone to forget (if they ever remembered or even knew) anything happened other than the schulzes were obviously idiots and went mad and died too young through their own faults. this is capitalism’s genius, inherited and transformed from the parents and grandparents it has conveniently and necessarily disowned (christianity and judaism) – complete absolution through the pure (that is, freed of flesh) indulgence system of money

she wears her orgasms like a flashing neon tiara

in the city aren’t we already buried in humans? and then we have social media for … for what … so that we can watch ourselves squirming in the grave?

the bain. operating at the middling frequencies of television, frequencies force-subsidized by the entire seething captive human lunacy

these associations – that community is fraternity, god (or even love – is anything itself?) love, humans (or any partial human group) superior, the future friendly, the family wholesome, growth sustainable, … do they indicate much beyond humanity’s imbecility, all subject to melville’s deconstruction of the false relation of whiteness and goodness in moby-dick’s 42^nd chapter?

society facebook in three-dimensions. how we interact with the human world primarily a matter of our dimensionality preferences. the social mystic – a creation possible only in the digital age – a facebook junkie. those of us futilely and comically trying to cling to the fragmenting mystic raft (the one made of books and voids) on the raging voracious ocean of technology laugh, but as soares as he wanders the tattered pages of his mind

sometimes facing up to the truth is just too hard

when the facts are distressing it is easier to reframe or ignore them

 around the world only a few have truly faced up to the facts about global warming ...

it's the same with our own deaths;

we all "accept" that we will die,

but it is only when our death is imminent that we

(perhaps)

confront the true meaning of our mortality

the idea that we can shop our way to sustainability

is no more ludicrous than shagging our way to virginity

facebook. bacefook. basefuck. the major tech companies (google, apple, microsoft, intel …) all with names so easily vulgarized (but with the right mind, what isn’t easily vulgarized?)

opisthokonts on bicycles on urban streets like rabbits in the human world in watership down

urban darkness – which is hardly darkness – settles in this northern city in late october, experiencing a warmth in the past reserved for a month before. but this was all in the seed of the garden in genesis, when domination and subjugation were lumbered onto the tracks of history, and humans wound the limited clock on the face of their mythic supremacy, and stood in the camaraderie of war to build the doomed tower to their fate

they killed me but like you i forgot to die

sadood

we feature today a rare interview with sadoo diaper who we under

stand recently has been dressing up and roaming city streets alone. sadoo! – we know you’re strange but isn’t this a bit much?

most days it isn’t but sometimes i get home and think i should have done a k less or so.

i mean socially.

socially?

society, while in this case moderately and superficially tolerant, has, like everything, its limits, and it’s given to excise any excessively aberrant aspect to guarantee its own survival.

shouldn’t it then be excising itself? look. it’s possible various specimens among the masses don’t like my makeup or sartorial expression but that’s neither illegal nor even particularly aberrant. at worst some might consider it to be unfashionable, incomprehensible, distasteful, irrelevant, inappropriate or obnoxious.

but why are you doing this?

i gave up on why many years ago. and giving up on why led to giving up on you and i and he and she and it and they. this led me to give up on doing. the copulative followed. so you see your question is more or less an empty set of emptiness. if anything, i’m doing this to not do.

what do you mean sadoo? or should it be sanotdoo?

snotdoo might
doodoo. i mean (if i mean, which i doubt, often finding meaning too mean) that i may be dooing but i’m dooing without purpose (dooing with purpose we could call doing) and this without is linked somehow to this biochemical technical conglomerate (what we could call the inhabited body that maintains an appearance of speaking in the republic of the present) being attuned to different frequencies than those emitted by the worlds of doing – those worlds we could for

convenience call capitalism and which we humans are all now born into, regardless of any attunement with it, rousing all manner of defects and strategies among the misattuned for survival – a survival that isn’t simply an animal protection of their singularities but an aspect of attempting to nurture (rather than destroy) biodiversity, which surely exists not only in the forests and oceans of the world but also our cities and souls, these new and critical habitats.

i’m not sure i follow.

no need to follow.

could you try to be less difficult and restate in language that more of our audience might be able to follow?

capitalistic structures and processes work great for some of the human population (but hardly outside the human). it’s hard to quantify this as most humans are automatically enculturated into capitalism and never question it. if i’m protesting i might be protesting (most generally) humanity's strategic imbecility (and tactical implementations of this imbecility) – that as a species we're investing most of our time, money, and energy into our hyperapex predator attributes (slaughtering more and better than anything else) and little into what for me is our most distinctive talent – a kind of empathic consciousness that allows us to contextualize ourselves (individually and collectively) as part of vast and intelligent ecosystems and adapt our lives to this broader knowledge. more specifically, objecting to anthropocentrism (speciesism), its concomitant ecological degradation – and the political-lifestyle machineries we in our mob conformity are enculturated into.

how will people get that – you look like the offspring of a

jovian clown and the dropped insides of a second generation laptop?

i was told today i look like goku. but your question’s misplaced – it assumes there’s something to get, that my presentation – whether through image or text – is a tradable commodity on the image-text exchange. to put it another way, judeochristiancapitalistic society wears reason on its body of unreason. i wear unreason on my body of reason.

what?

next – sadood ii

to sadoo

in july i began wandering central mumbai like this – 

theory, as kandinsky and others say, follows practice. or rather each follows and leads (dao de jing ii – before and after follow each other). too much theory without practice (the bulk and worst of the academy) irritates as much as too much practice without theory (the bulk and worst of spheres of action).

i was compelled to wander perhaps to ask why i am compelled to wander.

after having sadooed (i verb the practice) almost 20 times – i mostly wander in the area bounded by nana chowk, jeejabai bhosle marg, dalal street, and colaba causeway: my practice so far has been silently walking solo (but responding briefly, quietly, rationally if spoken to non-threateningly) – threads emerge.

one of these is the weave of sanity – those often assumed configurations of reason and unreason,

conformity and non-conformity that imbue education and culture. it’s one thing to sadoo anonymously (responses range from indifference, fear, curiosity, camaraderie, laughter, ridicule, …), it’s another to be faced (befaced?) like this in my housing co-op (frequently with the politics of a small village) where i am somewhat known. a neighbor-friend is asked routinely if i’ve gone crazy. (but surely this

question/judgment has been around for years.) i'm asked directly if i'm ok. i hear someone whispering to a friend as i approach don't say anything.

i call it sanity currency. i experience it as a necessary parallel currency to money. as humans scrimmage for economic currency to survive and accumulate artifacts, prestige, power, so we scrimmage for psychic currency: a decent amount of human language is devoted to explicitly and implicitly sorting out hierarchies of what's 'normal'.

in my co-op it used to anger-annoy me when others – particularly those in leadership positions – would easily label others as insane or sane, when the epistemological bases for their perspectives seemed dubious, as open for critique as their critique of others. such labelling still bothers me but has more grown into curiosity about the assumptions we make about mental health, how not infrequently our working definitions about psychic-emotional-mental wellness serve particular interests of our own rather than broader pluralities or the humans we're judging (or perhaps ostensibly trying to 'help'.) 

(a lot has been written about this of course. i’m more inclined to the thoughtful experienced expressions outside of or on the margins of institutionalized psychology [psychiatry, therapy, wellness, …] than ‘mainstream’ orientations.)

i sadoo, perhaps, in part, to continue to question, in a more embodied way, our cultural biases and hierarchies about how to live well, circumscriptions and possibilities in and around this ‘how’ – to further feel, see, know, doubt what it means for me to explore humanness in a pyretically technological environment that's endemically obsessed with hierarchies.

infinite regress of a technological face farce

the world is nothing in a pretty box

are we smart enough to know how smart animals are?

surely an advantage of our present technospiritual environment is that we can choose our taxonomic rank – at

least emotionally, familially, aesthetically, cognitively – and choose to belong to the kingdom of plantae or fungi rather than animalia. what we are born into biologically can then be influenced and even superseded by what we are born into existentially, even as we are not bound by our dna-upbringing, by the labels of others. the freedom – let these choice illusions last forever! – recent voids have granted us permit our claims that reach past the margins of biology into the fission of imagination and desire.

i am a plant with extra leaves … these extras i call technology.

in this era of protests, of protests protesting protest, of binaries and waste and blood and inane insecurities,

protester sadoos join in!

we protest (most generally) humanity's strategic imbecility (and tactical implementations of this imbecility) – that as a species we're investing most of our time, money, and energy into our hyperapex predator attributes (slaughtering more and better than anything else) and little into what seems our most distinctive talent – a kind of empathic consciousness that allows us to contextualize ourselves (individually and collectively) as part of vast and intelligent ecosystems and adapt our lives to this broader knowledge. more specifically, objecting to anthropocentrism, ecological degradation – and the political-lifestyle machineries that we in our mob conformity are enculturated into.

it’s not that sadoos necessarily object to eating animals, but that we’re confused by the exclusion of humans from this

eating. our vegetarianism and veganism is birthed from this confusion.

as a human mammal deep-educated in long traditions of dominance and hierarchy, i unquestionably assumed certain rights for grey and wealthy decades. as the unquestioning became questioning, i gradually have switched my allegiance from the mammals of my ancestry and become a technological plant.

              any stereotypes you attempt to incarcerate me in are your regressions and degradations … i am molecular energy dressing up and down in words.

metamorphosis without end

i made a bed for myself of books and slept on it. it was 3 meters high and 2 meters wide and 2 meters long and i used

no sheets but slept on the books directly. i built a staircase of books to climb up and i learned to influence my dreams by the placement and relation of books, their proximity to different parts of my body. i let no one see my bed and no one slept with me for i had become tired of love.

i no longer read. after decades of voracious reading, after

being overcome by books so much the world in its dimensionality became ugly, clichéd, with neither grace nor vision, human society a risible heap of battling bugs insanely proclaiming its grandeur and supremacy, i stopped. i had lost the ability to absorb books through sight and reason, through the act of cognitively and imaginatively interpreting text – these weary servants of a wearier culture, of a sickened literacy. i needed a different way to bring books inside me, i wanted a new relation with them. what better way than having full bodily contact and absorbing them more directly, during sleep. for the best books are written as though in a dream and surely the best way to read them is to take them in through our skin as we’re dreaming. using our cognitive capacities while we’re awake is an obviously inferior method, a legacy from the primitive age of knowledge, and i grew excited again about encountering my favourite books in ways i never had before.

i dreamt new dreams – sprawling phantasmagoria. colours rewired and dripping down architectures that redefined

science. narratives so disturbing, coherent, irrational, seductive i woke up with the top layer of books drenched and would have to carefully dry the affected volumes out.

i began building a house of books to house my bed. a modest affair. bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, a common area for eating and hanging out and working, a sunroom for whatever. everything of books. the sinks, toilet, bathtub, furniture, trinkets and decorations, bookshelves. books are all.

in time – the reader will have expected it – i became a book.

like gregor. i lived by myself so there was no external drama. i lived grounded in the totality of books so there was no internal drama.  there was no story. this is the story.