diaper dialogues xvii

so, diaper

yup

i need your advice

don’t give advice

will you let the trees give advice through you?

that’s up to the trees

we’re not getting very far

there’s nowhere to get

then i’m going to ask for advice and also provide it

sort of defeats the purpose

you suddenly believe in purpose?

every once in a while it’s a relief to utter a commonplace

i didn’t think the republic of pompous poetry let you leave

language needs to sleep too

but shouldn’t it not sleeptalk?

i don’t think we should tell language what not to do

isn’t that exactly what we should be doing?

where’s humpty dumpty when we need it?

so here’s the scene. i’m sitting in the members’ lounge in yottalopolis’ primary artfilm venue minding my own business …

… you never mind your own business. what does that even mean bumblebrain? just because language is having a nap doesn’t mean we have to kill it, banality’s …

… minding my own business – i’m sitting in the southeast corner in one of those chairs that’s good for chiropractors typing on my laptop like a zombie literary samurai, for once no tepid neosinatra audio piss playing and the lounge as quiet as a cat when it’s quiet – when the dude behind me starts wanking some youtube junk on his phone. the gift of tranquility, focus, unity’s immediately stolen, torture fantasies rise seductively from the swamp of origins, misanthropy – never one to stay buried long – leaps from its hypertransient grave and claims totalitarian rule on planet i. what should i have done?

trees don’t give historical advice

you’re not one to believe in chronounidirectionality

i’m not one, but setting this aside we’re not one not to believe in anything

it’s the rank obnoxiousness. nature doesn’t exist anymore. only the city remains – everthickening makeup on absurd absence. silence and the spaces it creates – despite that clever 1961 book about silence (a necessary sound in sound’s evolution but hardly any sum of sounds, another cage to try out in the zoo of words) – are critical for biopsychicdiversity, these increasingly ubiquitous invasions accepted, even expected, desired, normalized, these offenses …

… don’t worry, your psychic brand is being phased out, in 10 years at the most the environments of silence will be so polluted with human sound that those unable to adapt will all be dead or incarcerated

want to know what i did?

what you should have done is bound the dude to his chair, smashed his phone, pissed and shat and puked on the fragments, used your revengoblast™ to mutate him into a zerodimensional antiad for nothing and stuck him on a videoboard playing on infinite loop in the hell of his own private theater

didn’t realize trees were so christian

i forgot about the trees

you and everyone else

it’s noise that makes us forget about the trees

it’s the absence of trees that makes us remember noise

it’s forgetting that makes us forget about forgetting

want to know what i did?

all our lives are are retelling stories so we can access modes of time lost with trees’ death

we are the species whose primary pedagogy is knowledge through slaughter

we learn through ghosts

blood is our curricula

death our classroom

there has to be another way

the way of trees

the trees are dead

let’s ask the phones

the phones won’t let us hear the answer

there are no answers

only questions. questions, and time

time too is dead, only questions

where does advice fit into all of this?

advice is the restory of the question

the vice of ads on a quest to rest us

yesterday is like an affirmed tomorrow never returned to its owner

time is like advice never spoken, taken, given, thought

i don’t see what any of this has to do with trees

want to know what i did?

diaper dialogues xvi (which consoles console?)

we think your critique of the dalai lama is just nietzschean ressentiment

i think your critique of my critique is just philosophical cliché mongering, psychic envy, and an insecurity manifesting in a love of entitled pageantry, inane hierarchies, and otiose tradition

we think your critique of my critique of your critique is nothing but some gushing phoneme factory, obsolescent, overproducing in your soul, indiscreetly plunked there by some malevolent conceptualist, your mouth a cloacal flow of undigested commonplaces

i think your critique of my critique of your critique of my critique is semantic flatulence and aural smut produced by your overindulging in häagendazs black cherry amaretto gelato, caucasian continental cock metaphysics, balderdash aged cheddar, prissy white poetry, gardein herbed stuffed turk’y, anal sex, sol portobello mushroom burgers, an indolent faux bohemian lifestyle, pretentious pomposities masquerading as alternative, hip, free, and revolutionary … all washed down with stolen plonk and fairtrade organic coffee to make you feel virtuous, saturated in …

… we think your critique of my critique of your critique of my critique of your critique would be assessed by any certified members of the official and renowned professions of sanity as an exemplar of deranged coddled sexist racist ageist classist ableist sanist specist gross dysfunction, establishing your pathological condition as a wholly new degraded personality heresy within the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders, one so psychopathic and sociopathic it requires immediate and nonconsensual invasive medical, pharmaceutical, and institutional intervention …

... who is this “we”?

just the “i” doubled to itself

i am the dalí llama

we are the ocean feces

i am the dubble hubble

we are the ordure of putrescence

i am the papal smear

we are the slop of sleaze

i am the i who says am

wii are the wee we who whee weed and try not to say are

to conquer oneself is a greater victory than to conquer thousands in a battle

if you think you are too small to make a difference try sleeping with a mosquito

just one small positive thought in the morning can change your whole day

i think i am actually humble. i think i’m much more humble than you would understand 

when the dog looks at you, the dog is not thinking what kind of a person you are. the dog is not judging you

how can we enter the professions and yet remain civilized human beings?

virginia wii’s way holier and smarter than lama, trolle, and stump combined

writing with the woolfs

of course she didn’t have to worry about money

your rolling critique of neoliberaltechnocapitalism and judeochristiancapitalism is just nietzschean ressentiment

your critique of my critique is just …

… quotes are prefabs for those who don’t have time to think

how could an argument soothe or settle a controversy when every quote is a nest for a bird of doubt?

prayer to wii wolves and playbox yabiz –

oh sun that fills our hearts with merde

help us not to say another word

but soar above the clouds like bird

and not stink like human like a turd

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diaper dialogues xv (politics of the dalí llama)

i hate to get political but …

… everyone else is

it’s expected

in the age of human incarceration in the human by the human – an entirely new evolutionary phenomenon we’re perversely celebrating – what else do you do?

… but fight humans

and as a corollary genocide everything else

we’re smart

like lucky charms or bacefook

anyway. i wanted to say that the dalai lama doesn’t particularly impress me

what does though?

it’s vain, hypocritical, homophobic – why do humans get all drippy about it?

humans are drippy things – they bounce between cruelties they call necessity and strength and sentimentalities they call love. the dalai lama is an easy feed for this lobotomized joy ride

it blabs about ecology yet flies all over the place, makes tollelike clichéd pronouncements, views celibacy superior to sex, vaginal penetration by the penis as superior to other forms of sexual pleasure, and his own personal physical attractiveness as a necessary attribute for all lamas, surrounded by money, privilege and adoration, accepting humans bowing before it and addressing it your holiness …

llamas are holier than lamas

lama llama

at least it wants to end the program

isn’t that only so it’s the last one and can ride history high?

that’s cynical. you’re not any holier. all you do is sit around talking to yourself. what good is that?

i’ve no idea. i just get pissed by mortal apotheosis of mortals

you support immortal apotheosis of mortals, immortal apotheosis of immortals, mortal apotheosis of immortals, mortal disapotheosis of mortals, immortal disapotheosis of … ?

… i support pissing

on others

back to politics

golden hours

not to honour humans of worth will keep the people from contention, not to value goods which are hard to come by will keep them from theft, not to display what is desirable will keep them from being unsettled of mind, …

lama diaper

diapers are our teachers

shit is education

flatulence is communication

no human ocean but the ocean ocean is our ocean

no human lama but the lama llama is our lama

i wish you’d stay away from politics

no one else is

since when did you do what no one else is not?

what?

your diaperness …

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diaper dialogues xiv

i noticed something

what’s that?

dalí, dalai, diaper, dialogue, and dalliance all have dia in them

and 80% have el also

dia means through

and el god

through god

through with god

threw god through god

enthusiastic

emmanuel

imam url

obscure

the topic today’s letter serendipities?

the topic today’s the topic today

ah. circles again

we escape everything but geometry

not a bad cage

we could change diaper to dialer then there’d be 5 el’s

dialer dialogues?

the scat connection’s lost

but what we lose in scats we gain in communication

no one dials anymore

but we diap!

dieppe

all words lead to war

i’d rather be bored than horrified

then let words lead to words

where do we put war?

in words, like everything else

wards

wor

we never leave

the circle’s just a dot

we can’t even see it

the point in the mirror the pupil doesn’t look back

the alphabet’s an aperture we walk through

to get to the alphabet

each letter is a string of pearls

each word a divine bowel movement

what we gain in communication we lose in communication

let us walk through

we already have

we were born here

in the alphabet on the other side of the alphabet

in night on the other side of night

dialer dialogues of a dalai dalí’s dalliance

hello dalai

all is holy

dalí’s holier than dalai

diaper’s holier than dialer

let us call ourselves

we walk through god to get to god

we’ve been called

these are lesions

face studies

in communication

iris and desert of philosophy

diets and worms of religion

mandible of love

turds of turdology

by turdomancer™

diaper dialogues xiii

eqrfadvui$&@#^(_)(*

uu t~l|qit

that painting that sold for $450,300,000

not even broadly accepted by names that are named as being painted by a name that in that world of naming would merit such a price

in this supposedly secular yet truly desperate age a painting of christ

that impossible stop sign

take paint’s tea away and all that’s left is pain

the world makes sense

the gap between singularity and reproduction grows

as does the gap between technoscience and death

isn’t the gap death?

then what’s on the other side of technoscience?

isn’t it technoscience?

technoscience on both sides?

maybe

yikes

even as all gaps become virtual

and fissioned into ostensible indistinguishability

if i had bought the salvator dalí i’d use it as a toilet seat cover

it’s salvador mundi

if i were a dalai dalliance i’d surf the world

waves play on tears of sand

next week the sick horses set sail for mars

the point is we could send africa on that painting to wd 0137-349

but we don’t even know who bought it

misty beethoven

you know for sure?

next week the sick horses set sail for mars

gather their decay and grace, desert earth

but we shall be here! – supreme and talking

palettes of war                    the divine farce