poem for poe for po for p ?

words are music and melting portraits

stories want to end but fiction wants to stay

fiction is a god and we manias of that god

fiction wants to stay with us as a spirit drooling over us

novel displays gadgets for image making

 

fiction has turned into merchandise

avoiding fiction has also turned into merchandise

 

fiction is a musical not a moral art

a story has nothing to do with fiction

the storytelling experts that were hating

 

we also hate psychology

that explains the unexplainable

and drags spirit through a charivari of facts

 

we need to find not the right word for the right situation

but the right madness for the right vision

 

why are we writings words for images we dont have?

the image comes and in it words are tucked like love notes in school snacks

one has to eat carefully so as not to destroy the words

 

stories arent written by humans but applesoft

technology is our narrative

 

time isnt money  its freedom

no its not freedom

its words and words are neither money nor freedom nor even time

but something else we cant find the word for

 

when the last projector screens the last film the world will end

 

it has a story perhaps but if it does its only a small part of novel

 

sadoo   just a flickering image  a forgotten song

cars running & the whonym

here everyone leaves their car running   its +8 outside nowind sunny and they leave their car running  they all start it up as soon as they know they have to go out  they go outside and start it up and leave it running  no matter what the weather is  and go back inside the house  for what seems like days  eventually they return outside and go and sit inside the running car for even more minutes  then finally drive away   they park by sides of the roads and sit there doing whatever they do in cars and their cars are running the whole time  some leave their windows open & its -8 outside and still their cars are running  they check their phones and check their phones again  waiting for luvot  they stare into space  maybe they daydream if they remember how  they check their phones and their car is running and i walk by and as im passing i glare at the exhaust and glare at the hood and shrug my shoulders as if im watching aliens lynching forests without knowing what theyre doing  which i am   they leave their car running and they put out garbage like no other people   when i lived with three other adults for 10 years we created one bag of garbage a month   here the limit has been 10 bags of garbage per household a week   thats over 43x the amount of garbage   the authorities have just reduced that to 4 bags per week  thats still over 17x  but this not to take effect for another year  already there are uproars  a family needs to create more garbage the whonyms cry  but a family already is garbage why does it need to create more the authorities dont say   families are sacred & holy & righteous & the very heart of order & time & heart and if we dont let them procreate themselves londonbridge will fall down ohnoohno   what do they put in there? how can you make that much garbage? if they create 43x more garbage does that mean there are 43x more people per household?  which would mean 172 whonyms in a house or apartment or under the new rules 68 whonyms  either way its a lot of whonyms even in a fourbedroom  but really really really really a lot in a onebedroom and even more if thats imaginable in a studio or bachelor   maybe theyre throwing out whonyms i think  maybe theyre filling the garbage bags with their car exhaust  maybe theyre filling garbage bags with garbage bags  its not novels or bottomlessnesses all the way down its garbage bags   and suddenly i understand how everything operates and rather than feeling enlightened i just feel like going to sleep

ive thought about this whonym thing which doesnt mean much but its fun to think when thinkings fun  should humans all be renamed whonyms or should just some humans be called whonyms and the rest still be called humans and if the latter what would the criteria be to decide which is which? they all look the same  at least to a tree or bear  the important things  smell differently  sound differently   i know some of you say well human is the accepted word and whonyms your neologism which only you use so obviously youre nuts and there are just humans and everyones a human   and i think well well im not sure thats what trees and bears think  and you say well you dont know what trees and bears think  and i think well well well how do you know i dont know what trees and bears think  and you say well youre certainly not a tree or bear   and i think oh god weve been through this before and were still saying the same shit so i go for a dump by the riverwho and call myself names and im not sure im a tree or a human or a bear or a whonym but ill define a whonym as one who isnt sure and call myself in faith a whonym and if there are humans ill call them those who are sure

prayers to aliens

if theres anything i feel strongly about its that any novel worth its weight in digiglyphs should have prayers in it

so heres prayer number thirtynine

 

                  dear aliens

                  we know a lot of us have been suckerpunched by lines like

                                    a little lower than the angels

                                    made in the image of god

                                    subdue the earth

the goal of the human soul is conquest perfection security superiority

the human subject is active and therefore exercises agency while the nonhuman object is passive thus nature and nonhuman animals are available for human exploitation

humans are intentional rational premeditated while animals are instinctual

unless you become a warrior youll be crushed and forgotten

humans are exceptional due to their superior language and toolmaking capacities

humans are manifestly the highest rung of the animal order

oh alieni

we know you laugh at us

we diminish oppression in one sector only to transfer it to another

we do and think the most horrible and irrational things and then surround them with virtuous clichés and this confidence game is society

we narcissistically believe whonymitys more entitled than other creatures and artifacts

we accomplish nothing but destruction but are so inept we cant restrain ourselves even when weve lost faith in our accomplishments

we know our institutions loves families religions philosophies arts actions attitudes thoughts are built from the elemental particles of fear deception indolence and greed and stories and ideas so infantile were wholly unworthy of the comforts that grace our lives and the walls that keep the darkness out

were endlessly fascinated by our lives  our every petty joy and misery  that new pimple on our butt  and care more for the comfortable cat that suddenly appears by our back door than we do for the millions of animals we incarcerate torture slaughter and devour each year

we are a worthless and disgusting species  not even a blip in geological time or a modified register in the consciousness of the universe

 

and the aliens shrug and briefly materialize

from their abstract geometric planes & games

and vaporize the one who prays

the fareohs curse or how tootincommon chokes on a cloudberry in its deathintheafternoon

 

while the consortia of sadooity does its very best to keep stories out of novel their best isnt good enough and stories  ubiquitous selfrighteous aggressive  sneak in through the fractures of ineptness   we join todays sneak as tootincommons sipping a lakkalikööri prepared for it by ay in mophinebuneferankh at a greenfaerie bar on the cliffs of saqqara   we say lakkalikööri not from any technical or skullarly precision but because we like the word better than deathintheafternoon but by lakkalikööri we mean deathintheafternoon although as you see from the title and will see from the story lakkalikööri isnt an entirely inappropriate nym   in this sense anyway title and story agree  which isnt  as storytelling experts will tell you  always the case

 

tootincommons only eleven egyptian years old but its a cat in whonym form and so lives differently and drinks lakkalikööris prodigiously for its years and lives are of a cat but its liverlusts of a whonym   it only trusts ay to prepare its drinks for who not among the commons wishes to cut the tall poppy down for the commons is of the epicaricacy but the toot in the commons knows no such joy

 

even as tootins nhũmẫu streams her milk into its newling miṣrmaw and sings the ptahka lullaby

 

were all warmer when were touching

were all hotter when were fucking

were all cooler when were crying

were all colder when were dying

 

tootin knows of the fareohs curse which exists long before any fareohs and indeed some say even begets the first fareoh and every one hence until the last drop of nswt blood leaves maximinus dazas hêpar   tootin is born with this knowledge and all other knowledges flow from it

 

tootin is a nympholept and this interferes with its love of lakkalikööria for it has not figured out how to swoon before a nymph and swoon simultaneously before the green faerie though if it had consulted the nomarch of faerieame it would have known that deep in the pyramid of khufu is a great rupture that should one be able to read the margins of the texts of the ninth volume of book of intiaten one might enter    but all this shows is that even tootins cant on their own know it all

 

& all well say dearest unreaders in this regard is that the secret knowledge of our nomarch may have something to do with the strange relations of indefiniteness and definiteness and that even tootin  though it itself is this relation and its sign and symbol  hasnt yet seen the farnear of what it might very well in its distribution be

 

one day  if we can call these times days  as tootins prowling along the niles riparian accounts it eyes  her name is bhā  she lounges on a mastaba masturbating masterfully  a member of the indefinite class and while thoughts briefly swirl eddying it toward that saqqaran artemisian cantina  those ramblings of wermōd

 

a louche couplet clouds in a play in a play   limnologies of waverings

 

for i had then laid wormwood to my dug

wormwood and sugarplums are the same

 

and the opaque and liquid song drives quickly in its mind as bhā proffers her left & nymphy teat  the other hand in the nethers swamping  and tootin ambles sotted forward and clamps odontos to the task

 

but what is this? the cup of titta is a lakkaliköör and the cherillet a rubus aqpik and tootin in its gasp and valve  in distilled and lucid suckling  of & out the commons  becomes its distribution

 

 

not my courage and leadership  neither my birth nor power  not my name or vestments  neither intelligence nor perspicacity nor vision  that create me as fareoh  but doubt  disquiet

 

i am the fareoh who writes the curses

and believes neither in the curse thats written

nor the fareoh who writes

waiting for novelot

you say all my novels about is novel  of course all its about is novel  all there is is novel  novel writes about novel  were involved in a grand solipsism of novel and consequently complain about little solipsisms to detract us from the big one   its not waiting for godot  its waiting for novelot  but you say godot never comes  well novel also never comes  but whats this you say  ha got you to admit its a novel   but  notjokes aside  novel does never come  like godot and novelot and god and peace  because its always here and everywhere  it never has to come  not only that  it cant come   do you wait for the universe?   no  the universes here   imagine if sammy fuckett had written waiting for universot   whonyms only think the plays profound because godots elusive  but sos everything that doesnt come because its here   that was the real play sammy played  and the play plays it on us   just like novel youll say   well not really

what doesnt novel do? novels omnipotent omniscient omnipresent omnigood omniyuckyuk omniomni  novels god and has replaced god as god continually fails because science cant find it   but novels a fact and its god  which isnt bad considering it doesnt exist

 

lets get this straight  novel doesnt know what its doing  its still not out of diapers   now its true still being in diapers is a kind of knowledge  some would say a knowledge far superior to most forms of notbeingindiaper   and havent all those ponderous eurodemics  a hybrid of pandemic yakademic academic and youreapeein  failed for not having written beingindiaper and notbeingindiaper   after all having all that shit just squishing around your bottom and not being able to do anything about it has to do something special to the brain   but if only there were more shit! novels in diaper but doesnt shit so misses out on the one thing that makes the diapered ones smart

 

poo aside

writing is pooing  theres little difference between reading a good dump resting in the toilet receptacle and a good book resting on your lap  if you eat literary ice cream and french fries and hamburgers  even if theyre gourmet and organic  your books will be fat

 

writing that claims to be about writing is actually pooing about pooing  so there are two types of writers  pooers and pooologists  and the latter are really just a subclass of pooers but those pooers who poo not because they have to physically but because theyre spiritually compelled  they poo not to defecate but just to poo   and yea in the future nostrapoopus says there shall arise in the east a subsubclass of pooers who poo to poo to poo and then  even then  a subsubsubclass of poo⁴  and so  without end  it goes

 

whats with all the pooism and pooists? pooologys the oldest and noblest of disciplines  the well of wellness

 

ooQ

craprates poofessor of poopporn induced output

faculty of eternal flow

university of east rrhea

 

as film stupidly borrows from narrative and internet stupidly borrows from society so novel stupidly borrows from reality   i know what the yakademics say about reality   fine   they dont know anything about reality  its just another word now comprehensively abstracted from its earthiness this abstraction rationalized to be the highest knowledge & sophistication   a phd is an expert sharlatan sherpa taking you on a oneway noreturn path to comfy delusion  who wouldnt want to swallow that irrevocable pill   let me tell you i got close  the capsule was in my mouth  i could taste its sexy wellnessfull sweetness  the grad students stripping in my office  it was stroking my uvula with its collegial tendernessy tentacles   but then i couldnt help myself  i gagged  spat it out on the subway floor during rush hour and it attacked a huddle of poor immigrant children while chanting equality fraternity liberty intersectionality madness science domination love   guess it was my fault for coming so close to swallowing   the blood & lawsuits were horrible and its taken me almost twenty years and a lot of drugs and a clowder of antisherpas no one tells you about and are hiding in the privies of energy to help me forget   forget what?  forget the shitless diaper   forget the taste of the pill  forget the stinkless knowledge

 

so what should novel borrow from if not reality or society? some say it only borrows from novel  a selfcontained ecosystem of book   some say it borrows from imagination  that vorticial latrine of images and daemons   we could say it borrows  it must borrow  from  and only from  nothing   which is ridiculous   well for one thing novel doesnt borrow  it steals  it steals from everything  which stupid & smart alike confuse with nothing  imagination irreality polyreality book image pills death knowledge stupidity shit shitlessness

 

death though is pissed novel steals from it  nothing steals from death   so death has a side business of stealing from novel  tit for tit as some investment banker must be saying as it diddles its clients in chains in the benthouse of capital   novel and death compete as grand thieves on the boulevard of everything and try to knife each other when they find themselves in the same store at 3am and the cops are coming but death you know can never get caught or hurt so death just laughs and novel trips on its tale and bleeds to death

this is my sadoo

anyone who has even a smeddum of a mind knows that not only õvəl doesnt matter anymore but ârt doesnt either  nothing matters anymore other than behaving sensibly as a species which is of course the one thing we cant do   we can do everything except what matters  which maybe is why were so obsessed with matter  to detract us from what really matters   what really matters is caring for our home which we might call love and all ärt does at its best is just say this in ten thousand different ways and whether it does anything at all other than say this and whether this perhaps not doing anything at all about what matters most is arts schizophrenia which may be better or worse or just different than societys schizophrenia about trying to do something about what matters most of which is either making things worse or trying to make things better as even trying to make things better considering our wholesale ineptness may easily be just making things worse and so artists are like the ancient desert mothers & fathers who just eventually shrugged and went out into the wasteland and sat on pillars and ate sunsets and died although of course once a few yahoos had gone out there a bunch of wannabe yahoos followed and then there was a society of desert yahoos just like theres a society of artist yahoos and nothings really changed except there are almost ten billion of us and fortynine gazillion more things and not room for many more and yet even knowing all this all we crave is more and you know what billy bee lake said about that and since all this craving is exactly the opposite of what really matters what it means though nothing means anything is that were the first instance in nature of pure hate which is why i guess religions like christianity arose so that we could further deceive ourselves that were creatures of love and this deception yet another hate  hate upon hate  and heres my õvīl  i mean my hate  i mean my despair  i mean my nothing matters  i mean my desert yahoo schizophrenia  this is my sadoo

the story about a thinking about a novel maybe called conversings with cats about their names

tonight eg novels lethargic and a little depressed  it doesnt like the word _depressed because valleys are depressed and valleys are cool  so lets say novels lethargic a little valleyed  novel likes the word lethargic because it means morbidly drowsy  which is super sexy  and is the magic of forgetting which youve got to be good at to think about novel  and thinking about novels the same as writing novel  because each words a bundle of forgetting  each word forgets a lot and when you add all the words of novel together  which is more words than all the words that have ever existed and will exist and can exist  novels more forgetting than forgetting  which is a pretty big accomplishment when you think about it which you dont really want to do too much   novels valleyed and forgettingmagicked tonight and it needs a little story though it doesnt believe in them

 

alabalawoolaboos thinking its newest forgetting which it thinks itll call conversings with cats about their names   we say itll call but everyone knows novel does the calling   we usually dont like putting these sorts of asides in novel but occasionally asides are more important than the story and intrude like roaches in a mexican dormitory but its equally important to acknowledge that the asides only important when youre in the aside and then is immediately forgotten but novels always important because you cant not be in it though you can forget it in fact you must   its thinking while its conversing with its cat  though truly as we know it cannot be its cat for every whonym is only its cats  its conversing with cat of whom it is its and theyre conversing about its  ie the cats  name  and the conversation  migod this is entirely inarticulate  goes something like this

 

c readin bout sum whonym called global shaker  thinking lao that dood no global shaker & wtf yoo whonyms mean by this shaking globularly

 

w if possible id like to get back to laoing about your name

 

c eye mene  c this temptanation lao lao on lao floorings alonging bigpoopoo spot and once the woofwoofpassing and loof snugli fiend vari loof and loof the temptanation

 

w it just seems to me no matter what i call you i never lao the name

 

c wssshwsssh  u c mynot  all lao chill deren and hoo speakspeaks  wot yoo  ootside lao lao

 

w for instance if we whonyms named you general lao when you came to us and if your ears twitch in a particular way when i say general lao but i often also call you furfuck or pamplepuss or noballsface or koo-shqa or chimpetina or judz or bœuusch or lounge and to each calling your ears also move in vague activity but it seems perhaps differently than when i say general lao what am i to lao?

 

c lang wich wot lao temp wich ootwich lao dood shakeshake

 

w yes i see your point but im trying to think or rather wait to receive thinking about this novel in a novel in a novel in a novel maybe called or calling conversings with cats about their names and id like it if we could collaborate a bit since the title does seem to assume some dialogical evidence and i know whonyms have long been fascinated by the subject even if your kind may have different perspectives and its these differences that im trying to however tangentially and obscurely get

 

c laolao poobigpoo woofloof wooftemplaowot doodwich

 

and alabalawoolaboo adds this to its existing material though nothing ever seems to be added or subtracted  and it realizes conversings with cats about their names has always already been written and novel never has anything to do

 

this is the material  novel says  theres nothing new

 

now that thankfully weve got that story out of the way lets trash it   first of all it stinks  its got no plot really and the characters are types we dont care about and a sense of place is pretty much lacking and it doesnt go anywhere doesnt even start anywhere and the language is mostly incomprehensible and its boring and not very smart and teaches us nothing and doesnt make us feel anything and its only redemptions that its short

 

novels still valleyed and forgettingmagicked but at least the story about alabalawoolaboo and its story moves us a tad closer to death and so we can though we usually dont believe a little in progress and its nice to believe in something sometime somewhat even if it never lasts long

 

novel exists whether we believe in it or not  it lasts even when we dont  it neither believes nor disbelieves which is why it exists independently of our belief  novels smart even if storys dumb and were dumber and this is why we always praise novel whether its good or bad or hiding

 

the noveleum of novelas novel

by cat and laopoo

dedicated to laoselves

 

novels tired and wants to go to sleep but cant because its too obsessed with the sound the basement sumppump makes in the kitchen sink every 45 minutes so instead of going to sleep it writes this sentence about wanting to go to sleep and if anything sums up novel thiss it