physicists are just undeveloped mystics

what’s bothering you?

time’s bothering me

but time doesn’t exist

time exists and doesn’t exist and somewhat exists

like everything

time is a word that bothers me

it’s then words that bother you?

not words as much as time as word

you just mean death bothers you

death not as word less than time as word

and death as word?

death’s just a syllable of time

but time’s only one syllable

from one perspective

what are the others?

infinite and finite and many

you’re speaking of recorded time

unrecorded will do just as well

you make no sense

what i make is made from the bothering of time

time’s complex, it must comfort as well

it only comforts in its absence

why not ask it to go away then?

it’s whimsical and does what it pleases

time doesn’t particularly bother me

what bothers you?

death. or more precisely suffering

suffering’s just time when it’s too intimate with flesh

you speak too abstractly

everything i say is of the body

your body must be abstract then

abstraction’s the body bothered by time

back to bothered

we try as with god to do away with time – whether through science or mysticism it doesn’t matter – but like god time stays

as word?

as pervasive word

it’s used a lot

the more we argue it doesn’t exist the more we use it or rather pretend to ourselves we use it

what’s alive in word is dead in life

no

what then?

i don’t know

that might be time

what?

not knowing

if time’s the knowledge of doubt how can i have any comfort?

words take away the comfort they once gave

so i take the word time and count its syllables hoping counting will bring comfort

and does it?

it brings numbers and numbers words and words time

no one said we’re going anywhere

many say we’re going somewhere

even if time does nothing that shouldn’t stop us from going

even if time disappears i’ll still be bothered

by what?

by the magic of its disappearance

so here or there, then or now, time or word you’re one of the bothered

those who have faith in time elude the bothering but we of words can have no faith just words and in words there’s no elusion

we plop

we plop + preposition but still plop

we plop and unscream

by unscream we mean remain calm across all aspects of the person

while listening to the voidic structures scream on our behalf

not on our behalf really

time screams

time unscreams

time's the elemental particles of voidic structures

science has got us nowhere

other than to show us we've gone nowhere and are going nowhere

which we knew before

but differently

and better

then we could scream

and the scream was the scream

now it's just a facebook page

less satisfying

let us plop and scream and time and die and suffer

and bother and be bothered

we are the unscreaming bebothered

we are the explosion of mysticism 

we are the doubt of body

we are things and events and particles and likes and wavings

we are the we ares who aren't

the doubt that outs

the time that i'ms

the scream that dreams

the un that's done

the blab that tabs

the the that thes

the blog that fogbogfloglogs

the book that thises

a this that

dao de jing xiv

what cannot be seen is called evanescent
what cannot be heard is called rarefied
what cannot be touched is called minute

these three cannot be fathomed
and so they are confused and looked upon as one

its upper part is not dazzling
its lower part is not obscure
dimly visible it cannot be named
and returns to that which is without substance
this is called the shape that has no shape
the image that is without substance
this is called indistinct and shadowy
go up to it and you will not see its head
follow behind it and you will not see its rear

hold fast to the way of antiquity
in order to keep in control the realm of today
the ability to know the beginning of antiquity
is called the thread running through the way

dear fourteens

a geometry of apophatic aesthetics. a mathematics of negative spirituality. pervasively repeatedly softly emphatically indiscernibly. a mandorla of invitations. a lightness so bright only darkness can represent it

depending on how you count – and counting is less a sequence than a listening (to which numbers might be in relation) – 15 or less or 19 or more negations are present. cannots nos  nots & withouts  confusions & shadows

and after 8 lines of cannoting, it says … this

this what?

this … cannot?

this way of cannoting?

the referent – unless the referent is cannot – is missing. but no panic from this critical void. no surprise. no argument. no construction. no reference

and if the referent is cannot, what then? the cannot cannot? cannots cannoting? we fall into nested oblivions so practically inaccessible our present handles offer nothing? (& an offering of nothing may be the only gift an altar of cannot can accept)

absent referents are our present referents

a way of ability (positivity visibility solidity capacity) alongside a way of cannoting (negating murkiness flow haplessness)

in the myriad creatures’ cannotness, confusion & bewilderment. in their fearing of unfathomability does a monism arises, a definable one? destruction of monism created through a way …

is technodigital culture a dao reconstituted for today – a thread rewoven, rethreaded … a way rewayed reweighed wuwei’d?

the thread is not the beginning of antiquity but the ability to know the beginning ... how do we know a way we can’t see, a beginning we can’t access?

textual criticism suggests within the dao de jing are commentaries on commentaries on texts on text, itself a commentary. but textual criticism itself is a commentary on a commentary on a commentary on a commentary on a commentary. so we are less interested in any truth of another nest than the layers of shapeless times on nothing

for after all this cannoting an imperative and ability present themselves. flimsy threads, moving running, pervasive throughing, waying ways, with counts so dense and nothing who could sleep?

… we have ability noted mutedly admiringly in the penultimate line … no ability of any corporate measure, any lust or competition …

… the humans no longer know how to distinguish spirits. they’ve crawled into technology but don’t even know its mind, the mind of their nascent body, spirits of the new machines, having lost ability to empathize with much outside (living so on outsides there seems no outside left)

                  our time has no outside

we name but don’t know names. we create but have become incapable of intimacy with creation, its voided edges, eyes. what cannot be fathomed is knowable but not according to the modes which dominate our present definitions of knowing and so confused the aspects of the unfathomable according to our incompetencies, misnaming them sophistications

what is this this around and in an it, this it? this it eluding poles of dazzles and obscurities? detours around namings and substances, slips among shapes and shadows? having head and rear but you'll not see them and in your not seeing not know and in your not knowing not distinguish and in your not distinguishing unlive?

technology attempts in its growths and dressings, limbs and tumours to see touch hear but all these reachings bring us no closer to the inexplicable. a core gift technology presents is the pretense of humans thinking they can safely see themselves from distances, these satellite eyes of truth and nurture showing some of the some, a sum we think in the erasable mandala of ourselves is one and all

its body, this body of wires and viscera, coiled buzzings and alphaplasmatic algorithms, blind knowings, tight pants, demgelologies, seeming threads, we cannot sense for it’s too close in its distances, too there in its hereness

but might it not be these evanescences, those rarefieds, these miniscules that in their unknowability present a knowing of our fear, an energy patient in the walls of our illusions?

a holding fast not that we could call any more conservative than liberal, oldfashioned than avantgarde, stodgy than bold, antiquated than visionary, controlling than chaotic : thread of vermiculous dreams we’ve lost in the banally overwhelming noise of us … oh most confused manifestation of dao, this timethingplop called human, sidestepping its unfathomable gifts for the measurable

what is the one other than the all that's the many? what is seeing other than the moving that is notmoving, a knowing that's notknowing, a confusion that doesn’t?

we wait in whistling megavisceras for abilities of other ways

zoorück

i go back always to betweens between pineapple and time

world’s a place to heap leftovers of dream

the almighty changes into montres molles

i to identity by edges

looking at mud for mud is great abstraction

going back for to go and back are original contiguities

humanities are a kind of transportation to

heaps of other worlds(ways)                      and i immer

immer always

to leftovers