kakistocracaticologist konference

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kakistocracaticologist konference

in kindawol kabul

kuly kenth to kwelfth koo kousand and kineteen

 when the air in the outhouse’s purer than the air outside

the alchemical amalgam of discipline and imagination one drinks to enable sayings of no

john’s apocalypse a vivid dream of humanity’s stupidity, set in set forms and articulations of the day

it’s amazing how even the lowly crimini can, under the right conditions, smell like god

think

of

civilization

as

a

poorly

built

ladder

as

you

climb

each

step

that

you

used

falls

away

a

fall

from

a

height

of

just

a

few

rungs

is

fine

yet

the

higher

you

climb

the

larger

the

fall

eventually

once

you

reach

a

sufficient

height

any

drop

from

the

ladder

is

fatal

language doesn’t have meaning – it has sensation. language is just another sense (that makes no more sense than the other senses) that we mistake for something else

in the alphabetic rave of sexual politics i’m a d : dreamian (dreamsexual) or a p-dit (polydreamorous dreamian interdream transdreamite)

                  or maybe a punctuation mark : a : : probably if it weren’t for its association with g. the irony mark? or better a glyph on the irony mark … it doesn’t particularly matter which one : i’m glyph neutral

homelessness is a higher form of protection of the mind 

invoking posterity is like making speeches to worms 

ask a worm to be brave – she’s pale and pink and soft, just like us

i’ve long realized that my primary task in the brief space i’ve been given to occupy the clock of vision is to build reasonable asylums for myself – places of refuge from human violation in which i can wander in strangely lit and bottomless corridors

the inevitable monsters of our lives we prostheticize (and this is often called success), repress or abdicate to or therapize (which is to name), or … that rarer path … leave them in their monster states (and so unnamed) and play with. and if then we become a monster to those others, what of it? we have been granted access to the land of origins

we wear the music of our emerging consciousness like a tired fashion

hebraicity city in a desert of trees –

who could charge for such hard caprices? what bureaucracy would pay for unwindings so peripheral?

who would stare at the phone as an oracle? and who could evacuate from oneself these immobile times?

 humans are two-dimensional specimens of nature which crave polydimensionality but can only simulate such manifold vastness through zero dimensionality, a path they massively avoid, and this resultant avoidance effects increasingly complex and empty structures of death, structures we now almost wholly live within and make manifest the fear we have consistently refused to confront

oh green faerie of tofu skies who lifts the skirts of god to timeless indecency   oh green faerie liquid mother of dreams who paints the corridors of our naked sanities with blood   oh green faerie of my fallen gonads swaben swell of faded lime   green faerie green faerie the hair in you i pick out with my long proboscis and suck it like an ocd durian in a bowling alley  we segmented specimens will not walk through their apocalypses  our lower lips shall talk through the wormholes we’ve been building in our imaginations to a new atlantis  oh green tofu of faerie skies who sips our blood with faded sanities  take the hair of my skirts and paint your indecencies on my liquid proboscis   so shall all comrades of the worm be justified in the courts of wanton purity

but there are still 41 words left. now 34. now 32. there must be a better way. let me tell you a very brief story:

misla,testtube of sylif and a pack of earplugs, steals anatepa’s corset and has to pay

imaginations revenge

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the unlocal news says theres no local news anymore   no   earth news is the local news

natures table is set for everyone

each word document welcomes me back when its reopened   the sentiments are surely reciprocal

the trees are electric snakes in the murky suburbs of the trains strange passage

she arrives and just lives at the big house   she lives at the big house and she lives there for a long time and the childs umbilical cord comes off and she still lives there and she lives there for a long time and the child gets older   he gets older and he crawls  he stands  he toddles  he walks well  and then he is grown up

why do you delight in not conforming to code?

its neither a matter of delight nor conformity … its just that different texts comprise my blood

ive long realized my primary task in the brief space ive been given to occupy the clock of vision is to build reasonable asylums for myself – places of refuge from human violation in which i can wander in an oneiric sensuousness that makes far more sense to me (with me) than the scrimmages of what is often called my civilization  culture  society

to design without design  to live without life  to heal without healing  to see without seeing  to love without loving  to suffer without suffering  to hate without hating  to dream without dreaming  to die without dying 

if one enters death in consciousness not to return from it into life – with messages visions actions vigours (these common expectations) – but stays in it – not to accomplish anything in it (for this would seem that one hadnt truly entered that realm) not to …

for death’s objectives  if they exist  avoid the grammatical and verbal structures of the living languages   and thus if there is a to to it it might be this: to – however futilely destructively invisibly – seek deaths grammars and – however falsely misleadingly murkily – describe them … or perhaps more accurately attempt to trace them in the vapours of ones body

depression is a gift  an antidote to skyscrapers  we should enthusiastically unwrap   theres still a clambering (an ambition) but down and around – less with and against other visible clambering creatures and more alongside forgotten fragmented tribes of a kind of simulated wraithishness  an ambition that thrives but goes nowhere  no more given to assertion than oblivion  to vertical geometries than dimensions of other orders

it took a long time for the outsider inside me to find outside and once it did only the inside remained

one is never too young to die for one is never too old to live

i eat myself like an autoscatophagus

i am tasty like an upscale chocolate artichoke

i run away like escherichia cocobacchanalia

the only answer to the cruelty of life is the scorn of imagination

civilization has as one of its mandatory mandates – enforceable as all these are with the full force of the state apparatus and its accomplices: the knowledge pecuniary health and justice industries – to turn enthusiasm into force (and laundered force in the form of privilege is still irrevocably force [perhaps even more so through its diffusionary capacities])

if we want to change the narratives – if we must change the narratives – what does it mean to our participation in the present narratives?

they are well in a sick system  the other theys sick in a nonexistent well system   because it is said to exist is the sick system well and because it is said to not exist is the well system sick

invalidation is at the heart of the human – this is why mysticism is true … it transforms (composts) (in the dark soul of the farnear soul) invalidation to something else: this something else …

the languages within languages : the cities within cities   the art galleries of the world  the same city  the drug deals of the world another   the languages of apophatic aestheticism  weekend consumerism  ecovegan justice  academic feminist intersectionality  entomological taxonomization  incompatible to some or a large degree  it doesnt matter whether one speaks them in rundi  twi  SJM  heptapod  or telugu

                  a psycholinguisticbalkanization of what was once supposed to be a single species