no no works like a good yes, no yes like a no beyond

how is anyone in this house to find its way back to life if the dreams never cease offering invitations to join their dance?

one has to stay current and while i’m in the current am not current, my only currency the thousand thousand things flowing around. currency is never mine but the totality of the environments i find myself in.

language – so often experienced and believed to be a human commodity, creation. i cannot say with much confidence it is. for language has created us as much if not more than we it, and so to work in language is to enter spaces that question the human even to the point of ignoring it. in this ignorance silence and language mingle, and the knowledge we say emerges from language and its children (thought, technology), once one has mingled with this mingling, seems of a lesser relevance, of too much urgency, of a certainty without weight or lightness.

increasingly i can only talk in society on drugs (though i do not define here drugs (or even on, those prepositions) – the word and concept themselves best seen for now as a configuration of time); otherwise i hardly understand its protocols. drugs remind me, although occasionally reminding me so well of the grammar of those protocols that i must stop conversing, migrating again to solitude just to engage with the force of those grammars. when the grammar, however, doesn’t demand primary attention – drama twit that it is – drugs provide almost an automatic easefulness of words … it’s not as if i speak but society speaks through me what is required.

if a writer spends most of its time in society, it writes about society – its ambitions, scrimmages, critiques; but if it is of the class of writers that doesn’t, what does it write about? it writes about this doesn’t.

society naturally prefers reading about itself rather than the doesn’t, yet the doesn’t somehow still gets written and read (doesn't is vitally present). that the doesn’t does is no negation of negation but a yes inside a yes, society’s matryoshka doll – and so, this way, nested and affirmative, we understand the does.

surrealism revealed the madness within ‘normality,’ disturbing our understanding of ‘sanity.’ (these endless withins) it suggested that hysteria is by no means a pathological symptom but can in every way be considered a supreme form of expression. it spawned the term dry schizophrenia, where a person is able to control its surroundings and yet be ‘crazy’ at the same time.

what has happened to these revealings? where are the refuges of adventure outside of money’s panopticon?

oh … in a yes of no a no of yes, minglings and grammars, doesn’t and dolls, a does, some dry suggestings …

writing x

only one thing remains reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. yes, language. in spite of everything, it remains secure against loss. but it has to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech. it goes through. it gives me no words for what is happening, but goes through it

hardly any time between then and now has passed that i have not unfolded within myself

as christ has died and been resurrected, diffused, with increased powers in capitalism … so literature has died and been resurrected, diffused, with increased powers in communication

once – desert fathers and mothers

now – dessert authors and others

the book talks with the book, why would i talk with you?

you’re a writer?

   music plays me

so you’re an instrument of music?

   words are the notation system i use to manifest the sensations music creates in me

the body uses less energy than action; this greater efficiency is a circuit of writing

the writer as receiver (and what else is writing?) seems not to do much of anything, this unproductivity its productivity

everything has to go slower as it requires more time to keep up with the increasing pace of everything. the clocks are not in unison. writing is staying in these multiplicities of time

travelling is aesthetic foraging foragry forgery and aesthetic forgery is writing

only as i leave the book behind does it appear

writing transforms shit to words, words to shit, through an alchemical ecosystem tucked in history’s folds, time’s genitalia

dream is root and writing its flower

i exile myself in language to simulate apophatic affirmation, this hiding yes, to seek deserts i can no longer know except on the denudation of the page and the evolution of my feet on the city’s empty calendar

tosf - tilda tilde

the online sadoo family – #3

tilda tilde – ~.~

http://tildadottilde.blogspot.ca/

tilda was born in a tilde, in an act of a fact, gazes of gaza, the gauze of a geisha. was she born? yes, we can say this. not as a fact or even an act but a story. not as a story or even a narrative but an effusion. does this mean she is a gushing forth … a diarrhea? not impossibly – she is an entrails juice – but more a casting, an among.

is she then born of a negation or some negation’s equivalency? perhaps. yet feeling no compulsion to identify herself with her birth or any birth but maybe birth or rather all births, she is a strength of water, a new kind, an old kind, not unkind and not-kind, a class of kindling.

this flow is what she sometimes calls a fiction, a fiction what she sometimes calls a life.

sadoo next – idia møme

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

tosf - fukky risotto

the online sadoo family – #1

fukky risotto – sadoos

http://sadoos.blogspot.ca/

fukky is the self-proclaimed worldwide administrator of sadoos – posting interviews, essays, and clumsy upsets of knowledge. fukky is skeptical of the exterior world, doubtful of the interior one, and often confused about which is which.

fukky ghost-wrote some early entries in the secular sadoo, speaking contumeliously of temptation, incorporation, historical precedence, mats and other dreaming devices, flaneuring as meditative exuberance, before embarking on its own site to further explore modern sadooing practices across the waning globe.

fukky lives and was born in tenarunga, traveling the world listening to sadoos, this due to the benevolence of uth zar razu and a great deal of rhizomatous randomness. whether fukky itself is a sadoo fukky itself doesn’t know and others question. it lost its head during a water ride at a dream theme park in outremont but little has changed; its head is kept in a jar on a sill of marie cinq-mars and used annually for obscure and unmentionable purposes.

sadoo next - fallabalist a.

are you willing to bring a melon to the king of hell?

we have two homelands:  the one given to us at birth and the one we create through negation

the artist is not properly a creator but a site where words and visual forms inscribe or install themselves

so an autobiography should not show the creator but rather the sensations that occur on the site the creator occupies

the ego cannot occupy the place where the world should be; the creator’s task is to make room for the world … asking questions of the i that came somehow to ensconce itself on the undignified dais of interiority becomes a method for this making room 

gifts bounce around, never unrequited, never simply reciprocal, but promiscuously shared puncta of pain 

any culture that separates dream and root manufactures itself to fall into the defile between them

the creatings of artists, thinkers, activists, mystics are aesthetic food, available for entering digestion, necessary nutrients getting absorbed, integrated into molecular structure, the rest expelled … and from this modified body, these renewed energies, expressions emerge, as naturally as breath, becoming creatings for further ingestings …
    ... this clonal body, pando of art

overheard from a 6-year-old in a montréal café – my mother’s a monster and my babysitter’s a vampire

all art is found art

no necessary angel has fallen like necessity

aesthetics is for artists what ornithology is for birds

i become concrete on a level that is not that on which the world is planned, i obtain myself in the concretely possible that exists within abstraction

knowledge is not a means to intimidate, as among the common tyrant classes of thinkers and workers, but a movement toward joyful unknowing

philosophy lingers at the brink of the unknown while hoping to domesticate this threshold as a habitus for thought

the earth has lost a tenth of its wilderness in the last two decades … but … humans? … haven’t they lost almost all theirs, or canned it in cinematic coitus and war? mental illness rises as a necessary simulation for the wilderness we’ve destroyed with the tedious clubs of our insanities. so all exploring now is of interiority – the poles, icescapes, passes of ourselves, the modern explorer setting off from shore, as always, without maps, guides, certainties, and about return only memories, with limited supplies and infinite destinations, the voyage    the voyage

are you willing to bring a melon to the king of hell?

hoo doo whomyns thunk thay r?

           y whomyns r dummir thun smarttir

1. thay wate 4 kriseez sdead uv sea-ng thum und uvoid-ng thum
2. thay thunk thair beter 4 know raison thun thay kan
3. thay deestroi thu houz een witch thay liv, thay murd inn thair buthtubbz
4. thay half know payshens
5. uvrithung imputunt haz bin sead butt thay kepe sai-ng
6. thay spund awl thair thyme thunk-ng bowt sxxx und monkee und ty-ng too doo sxxx und monkee sdead uv yooz-ng thair mynds und thair bawdeez (witch r thu saim thung) 2 doo kool sheet
7. uvrithung imputunt haz bin dung butt thay kepe dung-ng
8. thay diss plais pane sdead of klood-ng eet
9. thay sheep thair garr-bijj 2 udder parr-tz und thunk eet doent xxx-cyst, thay kant sea wot knot een thair fey-siz
10. thay knead 2 doo les und sai les butt thay kepe doo-ng und sai-ng mor
11. thay putt thair mynds inn thair branes und knot inn thair bawdeez
12. 2 mani uv thum butt thay kepe may-k-ng baybeez
13. thay thunk thay portend butt thay unjust won uv mani maneez
14. thay doent know howl too spel
15. thay kant kunt 2 hurt-teen ore whore-teen ore fffufff-teen wid-ow-t git-ng xxx-i-t-id
16. thay boar-ng moastlee butt thay thunk moastlee thay inn terrest ng
17. thay falloh lyk lemons butt thunk thay inn deep end ent
18. thay thunk thay bitter than thu not-thay butt know evdents
19. thay half thees thung cauld conshusnis butt sho know evdents uv no-ng wot eetz 4
20. thair hedz upp thair asis und thay thunk thair asis err und booty
21. iff know wunz loocng thayll keel und cheetah und mohlest, thay r krule und stooped und teadeaus und y?

lying obit

the city is an animal

it wears a glass and metal skin

i read capitalism’s obit but know it’s a lie

capitalism isn’t dead but we, having died for it

… an animal with the potential to do damage

i am turd in dark passage

my body’s a vector of capitalism

compelled to circulate rip be soiled ripped soil

risk being stuffed in a sock somewhere used as tp rolling paper

a commodity signing commodities signing signs

danced and dancing classified in a collection eventually inevitably replaced

excretion is a form of autobiography

if you would know me don’t trace my economic movements but bowel …

– more exactly –

i as movement in this animal

the annual sadoo conference

the annual sadoo conference in sheol was recently held, sadoos from across the globe and beyond travelling in shit-boats of their own making down rivers of piss, some laid up by the cum hot springs that can appear on such peregrinations.

those of us who made it funded the journey through deprivation, theft, sublimation, and randomness, these forms of elemental grace.

while sadoos tend toward privacy, loneliness, autosubversion, and uninvented forms of polygnosticism – the aggregate effect which the conventional call autism or madness – and so wander in obscurity and impecuniousness on animal edges, a few broach the breach between esotericism and orthodoxy, technology as helpmate, and show themselves, however obscurely, falsely, in the republic of the internet.

over the future pariah diaper introduces select participants of this wee tribe of sadoos – to nurture those manufactured to walk other ways, to provide contrapuntal voices to capitalism’s rehearsed and looping monomelodies, unihued hierarchies, and – with others – to present more contextual, sustainable, and playful modes of living and dying as not only viable, but essential:  for if we cannot experiment on ourselves as much as if not more than we experiment on that which we perceive external to us, how can we be worthy of this name, human?

we are laboratories. we are scientist, test tube, theorem, failure, persistence, mouse and maze, explosion and toxicity, an uncertain indifference to death on radiant radii of life …

first – fukky risotto