a genealogy of the immanent comedy

(or human history for the time-starved)
...

mama
   dada
          pata
                      data
                        mada
                                    nada
                                                 mama

                                                           ...

when anarchists are closet monists

silencing of voices in that dumpster called history, technology providing new ways of shutting down. we seek in our horrors of ennui and diversity to construct relentless myriad pathways of silence. this our noise and power. this our love.

            but voice itself is a dumpster for voice.

abdicating believing belief, willing will, desiring desire, living life, thinking thought. still walking walking. and dying death contains various amusements. one clambers in playgrounds on whatever novelties present themselves. thank the fractals of consciousness for erecting structures, however ephemeral, of play.

blood, the ultimate ghost, struts tribally, tethered by violence to abyssal creation.

to attempt to escape the darkness of tribalism, the noose of dunbar’s number, after having passed through many solid screams of people’s people’s people – my people, my people, my people, my people? – i enter the darkness of escape, another tribe, with its mores and politenesses, taboos and texts and visions. i cannot have mckenna’s faith. i cannot have the faith of money, knowledge. i cannot afford faith. i have heard the voice of plants and they seem more incredible and credible to me than these monkeys i was born to swing with in the canopy of the city.

~ 60 species of primates still extant, the fewest with only 20 members (the hainan gibbon)

population of primates excluding humans – < 2,000,000

population of primates including humans – ~ 7,352,000,000

i move in the city like a mathematical set among shampoo commercials.

momism. a distributed and immanent papism. yet still a strange religion with strange devotees. arcane rites and irrational dogmas. hierarchies of disturbing regard.

surely the only skill i still admire among humans is that of truck drivers backing into alleys.

it is hardly contents of communication that are endangered – these flourish like an invasive species – but modes.

breeding certain types of humans in captivity – which is to say civilization – is an ongoing covert zoological experiment that might officially interest an odd ecologist or capitalist were it not for a culture that forbids alternative taxonomies. for extinction, happily rampant among non-humans, equally thrives within humanity, with almost equal invisibility and ignorance. the menagerie we call the city, the zoo we call freedom sees (or rather doesn’t see) failures daily of intra-species diversity, of kinds not engineered for this society’s cage, and unwilling or unable (that or) to be genetically modified to enjoy the prescribed feeding schedules and lice-picking entertainments.

dinner party to imagine – k acker, jodorowsky, mckenna, baroness elsa, weil, d bohm, woolf, lispector, blake. or these 9 on a spaceship to settle another world.

bum u

i am a bum. bum bum bum bum bum

bums are as necessary as mouths hands eyes livers

but you treat them differently

imagine what you’d be like without bums

you’d blow up from all that shit inside you!

           

you need to get it out and we’re your getter-outers

i’m the most productive bum on the planet

i have excellent texture and regularity

i’m so clean you could eat from me

i smell like lavender and cacao

i work from when i awake to when i sleep and even when i sleep

i don’t watch tv or drive a car or own much of anything except books and music

i’m mostly vegan

i walk and read and watch films and listen to music and walk and write and walk and walk and sit and watch and walk and write and watch and walk

(i’ve played the structures of work in the nonbum world and only bum now plays well)

you’re born into givens and say

we will fit into the givens

a common response

but if everyone did that the givens would be caves and clubs

art, science, philosophy, technology, mysticism come from bums

the uncommon from what you despise, cover up, deny, exploit, clinicize, institutionalize

the common from the uncommon

you from the common

{colonialists pretending you’re anti-!}

{supremacists wearing democratic makeup!}

i am a bum      a bumbum          a holy eye of turd

i call myself among other things … a sadoo

sadoos. bums. we’re everywhere. we’re common too

prophets of nada

sesame street should teach the alphabet  –

Larsen A

Larsen B

Larsen C

   …

liarzen x

losing why?

lozenge zzzzzzzzzzz

            DON’T MAKE IT TO Z julia screams

in a rare intelligent street conversation about everything i mention that osman spare calls freud and jung fraud and junk

            a stranger replies but spare got them mixed up – freud was about the junk

an obsession is a meditation

to confuse an obsession with any particularity

is like eating a potato but not its skin

if the plumb pudding was in danger in 1805 where is it now?

vice cofounder sham snit eh? says are my politics democrat or republican? i think both are horrific. and it doesn’t matter anyway. money runs amerika, money runs everything

            sadoos perform their anarchist function

by not being run

snit eh? also says i came to amerika from canada because canada is stultifyingly boring and incredibly hypocritical

i used to try to please the normals. now i realize they can only be pleased through normalcy … or by turning abnormalcy into a commodity – for commodities are a keystone of the arch of normalcy (aren't those familiar retail chains of thought comforting)

every new batch of fluffballs drove him

to a dither of vicarious maternity

infrequently watching newscasts gives the overwhelming impression that the entire human species is imbecilic – not just the newscasters but everyone watching. topics are dealt with as if the audience's a kindergarten class. (no. the average kindergarten student is brighter)

getting better at costumes. before they were unidentifiable (meritorious – as most costumes are, even when wonderfully done, tediously identifiable) and incoherent (meritorious – like a street babbler, which has more merit than the average street talker but less than that craved captivating repartee)

now they’re becoming unidentifiable and coherent –

this nexus of sensible irrationality in sartorial form

doctor of internal medicine explaining what she does – i specialize in everything you can’t see

sadoo diaper – so do i

why am i not read?

            is it not because i am too realistic

            i’m guilty of excessive realism

            realism so real it cuts out all the shit you think is real but isn’t (then projecting your insanities on me)

            i am textual flesh – translating the sensation of movement in the city to words

psychedelics are illegal not because a loving government is concerned that you may jump out of a third story window. psychedelics are illegal because they dissolve opinion structures and culturally laid down models of behavior and information processing. they open you up to the possibility that everything you know is wrong

this was a very nice neighbourhood

until the monkeys got out of control

e^xiles_an^dwi_ch

mama dada mada

m^am^ad^ad^am^ad^a

a madafesto

בְּרֵאשִׁית‎  in bare shit mama elsa von and dada ‘pata ælfy joined wingamonis in spirit coitus on a sphere of pirmasens in flight from finger to money’s tightening teeth

so the brave new world was born before it was born, and in startling drag against the drag it lived to tell the tale of wars in questions

through all of this – the mess, the kisses, that edentino bite, this romp of rumps – mamadada did not deny its ancestry, its heraldry, its lilith and a spin but stuffed mind’s aubergine with ishish hashish allsorts and reconfigured brain to live outside money’s 40k km tung

mada. we are mada and a song. we sing singed synths symsimulatedly, and biology is what it is – meine lieder, meine träume, our mini dramatraumas, follower (no furor, führer), our armada mada, our angelegenheit, seraphim and currency, tungs y raisons

m^am^a

d^ad^a

m^ad^a

a concierge named Sincere

the unacceptable prejudices – sex/gender, race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, religion …

the acceptable prejudices – class, age, psychic configuration, species …

            class, with capitalism’s caste system a sacred and cracked rigid hierarchy

            age, with youth (bolstered by technology’s edges) the age’s wisdom (countered by the aging and old primarily by class)

            psychic configuration, with sanity’s definitions tightly controlled by vested power interests and enforced routinely and often unthinkingly in 10 billion daily conversations

            species, with human supremacy and volitional legitimacy unquestionably built into almost all humaninhabited structures (and we call ourselves secular!? – this basic religious idea of unmitigated human entitlement)

as a society taxonomizes and hierarchicizes its knowledge in variegated configurations of inclusionexclusion, names and places knowledge’s categories (some silent, invisible, so never named, placed other than as possible objects of study and hardly forms of discipline, portals of power) on horizontal and vertical planes, with various established relations – so it arranges its prejudices. only so much truth can flow through time’s dam and those of us who live in the dam and sustain it (the living) are challenged to know other flows … even if other flows are sensed (in dream, suffering, erotic encounter) what then does one do with them? how to include, live them … when flows are so regulated and the dam so monumentally omnipresent, it being our home?

is not mental illness a child, rapture, rupture of ‘pataphysics? did not jarry portend the creation, stretching, visibility and naming of madness apart? was he not a prophet of sanity’s geometries, its languages and battlelines?

la fée verte sees, teaches, lives.

the west’s present orgy of (certain kinds of) diversity, identity inclusion, clinamina of voice, this fragmenting (like the splintering of protestantism following the reformation?) a hallucinogen of legitimacy … how sustainable? a brief (and already disappearing?) aperture among endless barbarisms – a wee flourishing before the tedious expected stomping of the boot and the recurring institutionalization of spirit.

aren’t ennui, madness, chaos, poverty, loneliness preferable to participating in a will that does not (will not / can not) trade on my exchange?

back patio of café – a raton laveur appears on a south rooftop between chimney pipes. everyone takes out their phones and starts clicking, ahs and oohs and sighs, the clicking and sighing continuing for many minutes.

each click a techcuming, a furthering of nature’s oblivion, an increased gram of instastatus, blood meridian’s judge's zoodream actualizing.

(as usual, i’m watching the watchers … slightly tempted to take pictures of their taking pictures, imagining someone taking a picture of my taking a picture of their taking pictures … a voyeurism of infinite regress until, through all things, the raccoon snaps the snappers and the instant stretches into the all …)

jesus panoramica appears briefly from the grave and meows to me – i’ve been around since euripides and the only thing i’ve seen humans change are their clothes.

g p-orridge makes d bowie look like miss manners buying a pleated skirt at saks fifth avenue.

the new order of tungs

if the margins have been almost destroyed through the ubiquity of virtualized desire, would there not be some who – through imaginative subterfuges and acts barely deemable as acts, from a necessity of disappearing absence – attempt to create margins of their lives and in these created spaces forage for words?

mediation, which is the immediacy of all mental communication, is the fundamental problem of linguistic theory, and if one chooses to call this immediacy magic, then the primary problem of language is its magic.

nanny just told people what to do, counselors also tell them what to think and feel. the nanny state was punitive, austere, and authoritarian, the therapeutic state is touchy-feely, supportive—and even more authoritarian. the therapeutic state swallows up everything human on the seemingly rational ground that nothing falls outside the province of health and medicine, just as the theological state had swallowed up everything human on the perfectly rational ground that nothing falls outside the province of god and religion.

i am a polyglot but of functional not substantive tungs. i call the latter swedish, basque, waray-waray, uzbek, tamil, newar, alemannic, upper sorbian, gan, tok pisin, ewe, afar. i call the former journalish, techish (many dialects), academish, transactionish, lovish (many dialects), commonish, drunkish, powerish, managementish, ideologish (many dialects), crowdish, madish, factish, spiritish, opinionish, heartish, professionish, jargonish, sportish, fuckish, transitish, …

i have spoken many of these, some very well, but none of them felt native to me. there was a tung i knew was my tung but it was lost though not extinct, hidden though not inaccessible. through decades of seeking, through deserts of confusion and fens of madness, it emerged. it is artish. artish is not a tung about art (that is journalish or academish or commonish or fuckish or something else); art can be spoken about in many tungs.

but artish itself – and there are many who call themselves artists who cannot speak artish or cannot speak it well but instead speak transactionish or moneyish or crowdish or ideologish – is its own tung and those who speak it recognize each other by giving one another clues in other tungs (these other tungs they are forced to speak to eat) and then testing out each other’s fluency in artish and, if there is reasonable compatibility, speaking in it in private (for in public it can be perceived by the undiscerning and crass as an eloquent or deviant dialect of drunkish or madish) and perhaps becoming friends and working on projects together. i dream of a world – at least a land – in which my tung is the official tung and those who speak it many, and the land’s culture a culture inseparable from its tung and its people inseparable from their culture.

artish is the coded visionary aestheticization of sensation.

the old nation was one of biological ethnicity and associated language; the new nation is of psychic ethnicity and associated language. english shifts to artish, and i hold a passport to an invisible land.

from land tung to spirit tung – the new glossolalia. the new drunkenness of an alt pentecost.