all lauds uflufia!

heresiarch uflufia appears

on deleted transmissions

with

messages from orifices to

nine peaches

ear yi! ear yi

peaches!
orifices say today

they dine with me and say
say with me and dine

peaches!

peaches

nine and nine and neinanine

a question of holes

how shall peaches

becoming as they are

construct sanities

not from hierarchies

how the well and how the health

and how the flexibilities

peaches

ear yi  ear yi

so finnish deleted transmissions(soon after they benin)

once oracles to the seraphadic disorders of qlunk

thanks of most highs to uu uflufia  thanks to uus

closing question for peaches

of nine *keue-'s of swellings

if all true language is incomprehensible

if a great logician believes the afterlife is factual

if there’s no such thing as a fish and goatee smells fish

if everything’s dust coated in branded glowing viscera

if the crevasse between the glorious damned and the autoones of wellness grows

if if is just a whiff of real and reel a waff of simulating pings

how to who to face form  form face to walk along

for earth has turned into that dirty linen twisted with wine and wet blood

SCIENCE ALWAYS RHYMES BUT DOESNT ALWAYS SCIENCE

a sonnet* of science

orthodoxeas have never pleased mii

nor have those heterodoxeas just wannabii orthodoxeas

uu transuranic coshitizens uv instabilitii!

uu sifficult dynthetic halflites!!

you deta becay accelerators – technetium promethium astatine francium unites!!!

uu cacroscopic montroverseas!!!!

ⁱ am $60000000/grum

ⁱ am sadoolium atomic number 810

ⁱ am umumumumumumumium 24997Bk+5022Ti→299119Uue*→296119Uue+310n24997Bk+5022Ti→299119Uue*→29119Uue+410nium
10^−12ium

isotopic nuclidium hypernucleiiiium

…

arent wii seconds from the singularitii

arent wii always arent wii arent wii

         

       ^sadoo diaper thx heresiarch uflufia 4 reformattings

              +da poetry wii steps ins not das poe tree wii stands in

*  using the sadoolian sonnet –
            abac cbdx dddd aa

--> -->

futures of identities

... repletion and subversion  one and absence of one  doubt of bicycle  meteorology of technology  an electrate urradiation  choreographies of timespace stringcheese …

orthodoxies have never pleased us  nor have those heterodoxies just unjust orthodoxies  you transuranic cocitizens of instability! you difficult synthetic halflives!! you beta decay accelerators – technetium promethium astatine francium unite!!! you macroscopic controversies!!!! iam $60000000/gram  weare sadoolium atomic number 810  theyis umumumumumumumium 24997Bk+5022Ti→299119Uue*→296119Uue+310n24997Bk+5022Ti→299119Uue*→29119Uue+410nium 

10^−12ium isotopic nuclidium hypernucleiiiium …arent i seconds from the singularity arent we always arent we arent we

-->

blasphemy as liturgical ritual?

the page is new. like the day

(but is the day new?

the prophets still cry the same cries

grief weighs the same on the lost scales

wealth and force still stalk the streets

and beat the nameless child)

the page is new

(but is the page new?

words still run the rough race

from name to name

smile to smile

hole to hole,

tossed around like online ads)

the day is new

(like the page? like an

artificial rose? like an

analyzed sun? like

vegenaise? like

a launch or a genocide or a like?

like a page?)

a page is new. like a day

(

ni`ev|u and *asija

ni`ev|u and *asija – a ymess story

 für  familien 

ni`ev|u and *asija meet at the corner of concept and rial in a lethargy of ocean sweat by smile miles under a gibbous moon

the world it was new once says *asija

is that a question says ni`ev|u

i have been unable to be myself in the world says *asija. i have been unable to enact my body

it takes so long to fall into one’s self

lifetimes

eliminating world to include world, eliminating i to include i, eliminating ratio to include ratio

who said that       other than you

hairy clitoris

to delight in mud

to delight in catherine wheels

wheels of mind breaking bones of thought

we are distant figures in a misplaced bruegel

pigments of suffering

who would choose to join this picture but the oblivious?

and who would pin a badge to its breast saying i am human?

i have only seen spirit as a fata morgana

as palimpsest

yet spirit is our yearning

we are souls given bodies to see that we cannot see our souls

we are not distinct. we are not discrete. we are not individual characters in a cast in a play

yet we play this play that plays at playing that we are

this playing at what is not becomes what is

and is the new that feels old

world that is not world, i that is not i,

dear things to which we cannot pray

dear visions that we wait to reappear

we hide in spaces where there is no place to hide

in snow shapes of angels full of patience

*asija and ni`ev|u meet in twilights of a language lost by lights strung on a broken pain of knowledge to speak of unspoken things in ways we’ve less forgotten than never learned at a corner of ime and nein with empty eyes, under a gibbous moon

feastday for fishes and humans and the many hungry things

die prrrrr die'a'logs xxi

it’s a jolly day in literature’s undone pub. sun shines like a rabbit’s ass. winter, drunk around the corner, cackles in a heap of dandruff. 1 2 7 0 uff. revs and diaper round cold forges ring. mistlejam gets its sleigh full of tritium and thorium-233 to drop down unswept gimmes of ymess. all is holey, all is blight

art says mangetout

art says bonobo though toke and quantum semen are both fine emboldening chaps but perhaps there are elements in both that are now aging less well than expected, for they both existed inside meat and boneheads, and we're not quite living exclusively there anymore, are we? for example, in an old favourite here, we detect a strict anthropologist's sensitivities, attributing human actions to local cultural/religious values and superstition as any good materialist would but there is also a failure to pursue or locate a more subtle, nonegoic material source for these tendencies, as at that time one (even those who climbed the tallest mountains) would have had little inclination that scientific and linguistic tools would not only cut through the roots of religion but ultimately go further and locate material sources for these experiences that point to a horizon of new rituals. but like any individuals that see the snakes inside and have them come out in ink or tongue, these boys are too flippant and multifarious, running madly in and out of too many dressing rooms to be sorry victims of the hallucinations of any one time

art says diaper is art or may not be art or is not art. or?

art says bishop is structures of losing, semblances of disaster

child of humanity says ezekiel what is the node more than any network, or than a branch which is among the network of the network of networks? shall data be taken thereof to do any work? or will humans take a pin of it to hang any device thereon? and i will make the internet desolate, because they have committed a trespass, saith the ietf

art says blake is your turds singing halleluwah in a swirl of unflushment

art says play-doh is a functional subterfuge of substantive dominance

art say the nlt 43.2-97ers is no longer the dominant force of evolution. our political, economic, and biotechnological policies may determine our future, for better or worse

art says v wii heaven be praised for solitude! i am alone now when the storm crosses the marsh and sweeps over me where i lie in the ditch unregarded i need no words i have done with phrases how much better is silence

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dialer diapogues xx (canterings)

tonight diaper canters with diaper

on The Avenue of The Unsustained

canter? the? really?

the talkways of night are lined with lies

what’s all this equine shit? these definitive articles? your intradiaperial cant?

how can we live in these homes of destruction?

the primary nature, function, and task remaining human white males is to retreat – why don’t you shut up? that’s what you prayed for

registers of the fallen

legions of the voiceless

you’re neither a current writer nor a currency rider – you cling to your irrelevance like an amulet that seemed to have once saved you from something

zeniths of darkness clamber vision’s rusty ladder

we are broken rungs, adamantine light

you talk like a mad snapped coil. you talk like a frog that dreams it’s had its legs pulled off by nine-year-old boys. you talk like something that’s never been counted among the somethings that count. you talk like you don’t know how talking talks. you talk, but your talking’s like a cracked mirror of narcissus in a garbage dump in michigan

i watch trains go by

boffee and cooze are my gurus

there are the margins

there are the margins of the margins

the animals watch us

watch us like televisions that have gained their freedom

haven’t seen much

a barnacle on a rock in a pool in a rock in a stream on an island in a lake on an island in a sea in an age in a hallucination in a scream on a petri dish in an induction on a non est factum in hydrogen bromide on a sigil gammaray in bosonic halflife in implicit crowdsourcing on a boston kpro type 1 titanium posterior plate in …

no ways but unways

unwalk this walking 

diaper dialogues xix

here we are, sitting in poetry

there are things that are important beyond all this wordle

like eating?

poetry is eating

poetry isn’t eating

science will genetically alter poetry to be eating and eating poetry

that’ll be boring

the announcement will be exciting

what’s the difference?

between announcement and important?

between poetring and eating?

poetring’s the image of the cake and eating’s the cake

eating’s now imaging

not when you’re imagining not imaging

this is far from eating

a visitor from nlt 43.2-97 visited me once and on nlt 43.2-97 one’s nutritional feeds are linked to poetic input and output – the more one produces and consumes good poetry the more one is fed

so the best poets are corpulent and the prosaic masses emaciated?

except that nlt 43.2-97ers aren’t as singularized as we. excess feed is shared through something analogous to mycelial networks here, which can channel for example surplus sugars in a paper birch to a nearby needy douglas fir. everyone weighs exactly the same taking into account differences in bone mass and other core variables

do you get visits like this often?

blake, ezekiel, and elizabeth bishop came for coffee and absinthe the other day

how was that?

ezekiel and bishop didn’t like each other

it was probably the absinthe

the point is – this isn’t poetry

what is it? – it’s not eating

it’s those spaces between that aren’t anything but graze everything

aren’t they poetry?

the cracks and rubble of poetry

the zone where one desires poetry but instead – sentient radiation

it’s a question of the usefulness of uselessness really

everyone’s now expected to contribute to the downfall of the world, through active exploitation, passive participation, protest bound through necessity to the forms resident in the active exploitation. poets defy this expectation – not (initially at least) through any intent but through what seems an accident

any time an unwanted group challenges society’s cherished forms it is seen as other and consequently stuffed in culture’s garbage, recycling, or composting bins. heretics – and there are always heretics for there is always a sacred – have been hated from the beginning of recorded time – they’ve been ostracized, exiled, tortured, maimed, butchered … poets are just heretics without any religion, politics, beliefs, paycheque, institutional credibility, taxonomic confidence, consistent structural realities, oneiric healings …

… play-doh was right in this anyway

play-doh can be formed to make most anything

as poetry

as the forms in the forms

it’s almost dawn

the sun oslo rises

sons all souls eyes is

the announcement of suiciding earnest

time for breakfast

fiddletoads and wildepoes and halfheads

what’s not to like?

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dialer dialogues xviii

i am weak like a grapevine, sinuous and drunk, clutter of tungs. i ply ployed play. i walk on the dead and they talk among themselves like cats. who knows the stretches of soul as it languishes in slaughtered deserts? i’ve seen leaves rise like stars on the crucifixion of time and not flinched. who has not shed some clothes for unremembered passages? who has not said no to opening a door? i am strong like yone and shige. the dead are not the unliving, nor are they the oncehavebeen. the dead are us, traded around strange guberniyas. let us sing together our untranslatable songs, on ashes of quashed fires, stories of silent joy

i walk a bridge from void to void, upon arriving a voidoid i become, form of see, weird of know

and dialogue is not some exchange between two or more parties seeking understanding, means, ends. dialogue is a rupture in night’s impenetrability, blinding us to ourselves, convention knowledge virtue effort … this wandering lacking destination or measure, words disturbed muttering of wind

we have spoken you and i across the spaces. we have placed ourselves like imaginary planks on death’s infinite bog and walked across and our walking is our words

who said love is anything but these spaces, this place and walking?