fog & fog talk in fog about fog

there is nothing for you here but madness

but there is nothing for me there but madness

so where will you go

here there  there here

you go to madness

i am always here

madness is always with us

what is madness

madness is herethere

madness is the going that has gone

hello nothing

hello madness

hello hello

here but you is for there

amen

for some say that order is the way

and others chaos

and neither right

and both right

yet who could walk both and neither?

and the path of trying is the path of madness

and the path of seeing but not trying is also the path

and the path of neither trying nor seeing is madness

and the madness that is not madness is also the path

there is no path outside the path for all is path

and this is madness

there is sky and land and sea and fire

but they are dead in our hearts

we have kept them alive technically

they are dead in our hearts

the gap between coitus and dream

this is madness

the wheel that re-turns

this is madness

the dove and the oil

this is madness

the word that has forgotten how to fly

this is madness

the the that keeps theing

this too is madness

here we are

in the this and the here and the the

we shall win a prize

from the society of the nonexistent

and it shall be called onk

the prize of onk shall be ours

we shall place it high on the shelves of our soul

and dust it like rare italian marble

we shall call ourselves those of onk

and those who disdain us shall call us onkists

and there shall be a war

between the onkists and the yoophians

between the onkists and the uffuls

between the uffuls and the yoophians

between all and all

and this is madness

let us go to sleep

for we have exhausted the possibilities

but rather we have not exhausted the possibilities but they have exhausted us

for the night has gone and day is here and it is time to sleep

for we no longer know how to distinguish day and night

and this is madness

and this is the dusting

and this is madness

and here we are  the last poets

the last poets are always the last

and this is madness

we seek fog like others seek light or money or love

nothing for us here but fog

and fog is the wheel

and the wheel is the sea

the sea the hello

the hello the prize

the prize the sleep

let us sleep

and this is madness

and this is sleep

this is sleep

& on the 41st day

as the human world collapses i seek kinked comfort in bulged downtown upscale malls  their shiny irrealities  the bipeds like moronic robots purchasing death   big blind bursts of automation  shopping bags like soggy genitalia drooping from unworthy & combatant arms

all is light as those mystics say in their profound darkness  shoes purses boxers watches laptop accessories throwaway toys alike shine with an equal intelligence  who could say no to these dumb tombs   our abyssal tribal purchase

i move  no am moved  through erect consumption   for a force alongside gravity electromagnetism  strong weak  perhaps dark quintessence  lives in the limp & pulsing universe  it is this other force drawing me through the dull code of pecuniary humans and the only energy i seem to expend is that required to not be blinded by the hyperovercommoditization of everything   i am like the earth falling  spun  through the curved inevitable maze of the sun

how elemental our autodegradations  how with vast subtleties we hide the maggots of our souls in the thin sheen of the seen   oh structured nothingness of piled products  oh numinous luminosity of caffeines massive mind

the mall is endless like a borges story  i am confused & fated & doubled  i do not see myself but desires dropped destiny   even upon leaving i do not leave   the mall is all  fall & pall  christ & post & anti   we celebrate our dismayed demise with gouged eyes & hooked hands  extinction of intoxicating ignorance

lead me through the mall  god of destroyed dreams   show me the comedy of stupidity  smiles of despair

tyana

look at the old man piss

it bibbles and spurts like a hose with leaks in it

bet he thinks every time he takes it out of the old days

when his gush was firm and strong

when there was no doubt in his urine

and his cock held its head tall like the king of a microstate

just move your ass a little closer to my nose will you honey  you know i like to see your dimples wiggle when you blast one of your smelly ones into my holes

its coming  its coming  those beans and beer are going to make it good   i feel it all squishy and juicy as its partying through the pipe  oh yeah  yeah  the sphincters ready  here it is

oh honey  that was your best one in years  you do them so good  if you feel another one of those coming can you do like you do and pinch my nose with your ass cheeks and blow it right up  its so full and dual that way

youre dirty sweety poo  thats why i love you so much

look at him  the old man

wonder how he does it in public washrooms

if he uses a cubicle to hide his pathetic dribble

or if he covers the spurty spittle with his hand

while he whizzes beside a young thing  prince of piss  whose fire hose is sure and violent

like his cum

when the young cum it is like jupiter shooting the milky way from its gaseous brain

when the old cum it is like puss oozing from an abscess

oooh i feel another one

stick it on my nose

let your nose and my asshole be baucis and philemon

let them be entwined as a foul myth of nature

look  he strokes it

grip my nose harder honey  let my nose be a hard dick nestled in the dirty nest of your hole

it takes so long for him to get it hard

its grown only a centimetre

its a ritual he cant give up but has forgotten what its for

the old should die

we should shove them all into a closet of the internet and save this stupid expense celebrating the only reality  the glorious march of civilization

except those who have money

and give most of it to us

who can help us clamber onto stages of domination

then shove them ruthlessly aside like the marionettes they are

and well become

but lets not talk of that

no

the sun of your ass is on the earth of my face now

they gaze upon one another like lovers

it is coming

better than heroin

better than love

better than death

oh vesuvius and 911

oh art and power

let it fly like the gods on the wings of forgetfulness

i take it up me like nutmeg and lavender

i give it up like a mother her newborn

oh beelzebub and golding

oh jewels of your waste

hes achieved it

it is hard

or rather not hard but with the appearance of hard

a young mans is like freshly made steel  rigid and true

an old mans is like an overused stretched rubber band made from a colonial massacre

will he climax or will it be like last time

the edges of frustration and failure  the lineaments of his life in the waning of a dick

i think hes going to make it

look  a sheen appears on the tip

and his face contorts like the massacred dead

it appears

the simulation of a life force

it reaches his navel

an achievement

it pools like the piss of dogs

ooh  he eats it

hes a pig  like all the old

except those who worship us and give us money

i bet he hopes he offs as he cums

as he sticks his weary prick in the polluted soil of a forest

and a bear molests him from behind

these the fantasies of the depleted

release my nose now  it is finished

yes my darling  let us rise and have breakfast delivered

and face our days of happy dominion

i love you more than all the universes and all the parallel universes

and i love you too honey bear  more than all the genocides and hypocrisies

we are beautiful together

we walk handinhand to the cruel glory of our fates

dao de jing vii

heaven and earth are enduring

the reason why heaven and earth can be enduring is that they do not give themselves life

hence they are able to be long lived

hence the sage puts her person back and it comes to the fore

treats its person as extraneous and it is preserved

is it not because she is without thought of self that she is able to accomplish her private ends?

dear sevens,

my book. my name. my will. my reputation. my things. my children. my home. my partner. my job. my ideas. my assets. my lover. my art. my feelings. my video. my dreams. my power. my story. my friend. my land. my body. my brand. my style. my self

hence here flows from the daoical orientation toward humanity as just another species: unprivileged, ungraced, ungoded, unsmarted … while skilled in a number of sectors, not overall superior or inferior to others. and so death is not something to be sought or spurned, hastened or avoided. and so too life. and so too all

what is a human doing as it clings and promotes and subjugates and kills and asserts and knows? what are its assumptions and fears? what has changed among us since one who thought weeping wrote the fairest universe is but a heap of sweepings poured out aimlessly?

dao is the most subversive intelligent witty thing i know

extraneous, external, strange, outside, unknown, alien, curious, without, distant, separated, foreign, surprising, other.

the average person is insulted when you criticize his ideas, his tastes, feelings, body. he identifies his self with his identity, thoughts, worth, life. he finds himself in resentments and seeks retreat or revenge. but the sage is uncertain of identity, this worth – not in those cheap psychological ways of worthlessness that are simply the same notions of worth positioned differently … the loci of the emotional and cognitive flows that many say occur within the self seem difficult to place, the self that many say should be valued, protected, loved, known, even defined, is instead more of a gift of a plaything, highlighting humanity’s greatest and most abused attribute – what we could call consciousness or a shapeless image

some 2500 years ago as humans navigated certain early spasms of language, a nascent potential to dominate this planet, seductions of instrumental reason, dao might be a dark blueprint of an intuition of how to deal with these notable challenges in creative, contextual, intelligent ways that would assert humanity not through assertion, that would show humanity not through conspicuousness, that would distinguish humanity not through distinction, that would empower humanity not through instrumental reason and domination, that would dissolve disputes not through disputation

but instead we have become rabidly assertive, grossly conspicuous, pathetically distinct, hyper-rational and forcefully dominant, argumentative to no effect. and through these gargantuanly clever and comprehensively stupid

dao is nothing, a point, circular, spherical, hyperspherical …

before and after follow each other

the way that leads forward seems to lead backward

what is put in the back comes to the fore

but not a fore in that sense of a midden of twitter followers. these are different fores, backs, ends, different selves. and how do we find them if not in the classroom, the pecuniary therapist's chair, the youtube, the research grant (yet they are there too)?

would we not in our hard selves desire to learn of the intelligences of the many things? for has not the human already been tried by time’s ruthless court and not been found worthy of the earth and the gifts it finds on it and in itself? does not even the regretful colonizer conform in new ways to its presumptuous ancestral patterns? and where the manual to move in these twitchy days? and what the aims and why the shadows?