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

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

earing, shelled

-->

of squamish

hearing’s marrow she says unsure whether the reminiscence of the thought on her propreantepenultimate anniversary of that randomly recurring reflection on an empty beach somewhere west of habana with the scratched moped to the side like aborted tagliolini tempestine rigati di sfoglia alla doppia ziti bucati corni under a putrescent sun and with nothing of time’s lines but a slowly shifting eigengrau breach in the sand from a limb fallen from a category 19 derecho hypercane around the geographically distant demise of miss vyvyin m lizodoter of jeffvanderlou at the dirty hands of chris oaks unction son of white male amerikan human christian capitalist supremacists and a derelict and wretched god returns now of all moments – or is it mallow? – this tincture of inconvenience as he gestures toward the music faculty as if it were some misplaced capacity for obscure syntheses of attributes exotonal, ecophagous pads through the memories of the design of an rfid doorflap like a donskoy on its way to stooped friendships, electromagnetic, gloomy, written only if (but is this italicized?) at all on texts in dreams of marginally estranged siblings who once, loitering in the circumferences of childhood, played to tinkles of lewd and liminally innocent joy

he doesn’t hear her, he doesn’t hear like an ogdoadic safari and the attunements of a strange semolina counter cult above vulnerable penguinaria soothe in a manner not unlike the affects of pantry maid tiolla as she removes her apron before a malvaceous mirror and under nothing but stratified squamous epithelium and mammaries just moments prior forming a lush gorge around the member of a member of congress, a member of congress. she likes it this way, his ears functioning as decorations having as much utility as mavli during a nunavut ursus maritimus attack though she sometimes – frequently on class iii saint days on the liturgical calendar of the melanesian episcopalians when the eucharist’s sung – takes his ear into her carrucho like a hermit crab and kneads it like a pearl at statal spectacles where presidents and their requisites wraith in inane protocol, extravagancies grieved, for what is speaking but nothing comprehensible but an uncanny undressing on infinite deserts not of grains of sand but ears, ears like his connecting not to any hearing but an evincing of gestures to inconvenient faculties but says and i say (and this saying with italics says) marrow not for instance for any effect and this not just because i know it won’t but more for what we might call a kind of equidistant irresistance, what alienoptera might desist if hearing were another thing

he doesn’t hear her, he doesn’t hear like an ecophagous motbot on its way to clubbing all the cokebrains in the spothots, his gesturing to aural facultatem unlike what she thinks not some autistic hapax cheiromenon but a forgotten spongebob genuflex and he says i go south, i go south and i do not stop and i do not go north and i ride the that which rolls and i go south. but she feels he speaks more authentically of that time in uluvaän when his ear stuckifies in yonder carrucho and doktor laura comes from lauwiliwilinukunukuʻoiʻoi to chuffle the ninth disorder of prusten temps perdu coaching his stuckification out with sanctæ snegdus papar tractatus sídhe tnugdali and bubbi softness; it pops with great poppings and presto punctilium! her carrucho can hear

and this is a story we know of her carrucho

opening less to his nonhearing than its

hearing, less to any

listening of the

ear and more of the

conch

we migrate from configuration to configuration of earlessness

on proprioceptive lysergic travolators         mutter to derealities of glom

sadoo would like to thank and does the 43human council

of squamish

(bella carrucho)

including its

head cockswain

baggage smasher

probate rep

field durmish

we particularly pritz out the

assistant nibling

for being such a frullip