a lecture in communication in the covid age

p^o_lypola_rit^y

            conversations of evolutionary shape

geometries of sanity

down the babbage hole ii

\            little knowledge

having now largely been outside institutional structures for a decade  increasingly committed to avoiding them due to a horror of their ingrained conformity  their perpetuation of wholly unwarranted human supremacy & consequent forms regardless of the content of their rhetoric  i write this in voices and styles that  while including nuanced spectra & grounds of reason knowledge experience reflection  retain their distinctivenesses & diversities rather than being translated into the dominant grammars of what for me & many others is a destructive unsustainable genocidal delusional society

                                                                                     1-13 (13)               a                      in beginnings there are shapes

                                                                                     14-18 (5)               u                  elizabeth parsons ware packard

                                                                                     19-22 (4)               m                                     microdosing capitalism

kwra bwfub qurg bynvwe

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xguksewb jbiq qglr ri si qurg bynvwea  ura ibkt ld rgwt wbrwe ubri rgw dienlk wsyxlruiblk dlxrieuwa  oeixwaaws dein elq curlkuruwa ubri velbsws xinnisuruwa id nwexg  rgwsw dlxrieuwa qw nuabinwe la xucukumruib  si rgwt diefwr  diwfwr qglr ri si  giq ri rgubj  qgwb ri qgt  reloows ub qgi lbs qgwew lbs giq nyxg lns qgwb  vwubf la rgwt lew rtelbbumws ewkwbrkwaakt vt rgw sinublbr ubrwewara id arlrw lbs vyaubwaa  qguxg rljw bynvwea la rgwt si owiokw lbs wbaklcw rgwn

ai kwr ya vwfub qurg bynvwe la l xguks nufgr  bi xguks rglr gla bir vwwb rgeiyfg lsykrgiis vyr ibw rglr gla  ibw rglr gla lbs ayecucws   rgua oeixwaa urawkd clar lbs rwbwveya lbs olruwbr die lbirgwe rlkj

fucw l xguks id l xwerlub lfw rqi vkixja  qw yaw rgw arlbles lsykra arlbsles xiybrubf  xibcwbruib la l arlerubf xibcwbuwbxw  lbs laj ur giq nlbt vkixja rgwew lew lbs qglr qukk ur alt?  rqi owegloa  ibw  wcwb rgeww ie mwei ie bubw  ur nufgr alt vkyw ie aukkt ie

bane chlamydia neurotica

                  independent. doubtful. fun

the apocalyptic simulations presently introduced into affixreality, spawning increased anxieties, mental instabilities (who among the sensitive isn’t going to manifest symptoms just through all the overnews … will corona become a dsmix label : a new autism and schizophrenia, a final fuckedup unity of body and mind – yet another visibilized sign of our impossibility?). for those already affixed, however, it’s not as if apocalypse is the thing (too monist, substantial, too certain) but that it is a thing (ends are everywhere, but so is everything else … but not just now, but in each moment) and as it’s a thing and so not functioning in the denial centers but here and omniwhere in the affix tribes, the corona manifestation doesn’t surprise, destabilize. rather it visualizes in flesh the shadowed suppression of spirit by the humans of the real

and we’ve always known how unnecessary the professorial and judicial classes are, how overvalued, how pretentiously misplaced, dingleberries of the colonial ass. the slightest adjustment in routine functionings, the most miniscule tweak in nature … throws human society into fear and chaos, raising the minimum wage worker to its true place – among the critical, vulnerable, precarious, brave, blood siblings of necessity – demonstrating palpably how we’ve built our society too monumentally, hierarchically … value abstracted from nature to the point of imbecility, false (because decontextualized from earth) teachings and practices, forced privilege codified as truth and knowledge and often even love

the open journal as mockery and subversion – of identity, i, of truth through language and so of communication, pronouns, civilization as expressed through this society and its proprieties and attentions. the visible journal as novel : narrative of the council of i as it voices. as riparian text in and ex vitro, as diversities of one, self collapsing self through blood and smirk

sadoo as journal made molecular vacancy, as open source text cum eyes and questions

and by real don’t we mean sensuous evidence usurping the totality of all evidence? and so unreal, stripped as it is of animation (and isn’t this a significant role of technology – to assume the animation we’ve been unable to hold within ourselves?)

more extremities of unhingement appear on the streets. a human sitting at king and spadina rocking to and fro, coughing violently, occasionally screaming … more aberrant behaviour on the streetcars. those who’ve already taken so much into their bodies now taking even more

… we are a team operating in uncertain times … but we were already in uncertain times : does it take a virus to provide a powerpoint presentation on the nature and function of time and uncertainty? (and as to team shouldn't it be mob? ... the mobbed mobster mobbing ... mobo disastiens, an uncomfortable geological second ... we're a mob deoperating through uncertain time ...)

it's not as if the news has somehow become interesting - it's as magnanimously tedious as always. what entices about it are the metastructures of disturbed unity twitching through its torrent of words like a virus

we manifest according to the manifestations, overt, covert, we demonstrate yourselves, establish mirrors in the midnight of oracular despair, pitch tents in the unsaid, record the characters of soul developing, losing themselves … and if some legal entity coalesced into some i’s accused of being these, if these caprices are ascribed to a body as attachments, definite and unanarchic … what can be drawn from language to respond other than more manifestings, demonstratings, establishings, pitchings, recordings …

replace Santa and Pride parades with Pan Parade – Panarade, sponsored by Gatorade and Cuisinart … a celebration of pandemics and stds. gonorrhea floats. corona usb sticks (Cuisinart provides a nostick option). chlamydia guns. SARS Claus. the new entertainment and family unity. mascots of many names lurch like the wanderers in blood meridian’s epilogue, naked, covered in neon paint and beer caps and cigarette filters, moaning of obscure infections, raising themselves to the dead heavens, prostrating before the nano viral energies, rock and fire and hole

the i as politician to itself, interrogating itself and receiving only the most labyrinthine and evasive of answers

and what's the doomsday clock at now? 19 seconds after midnight?

blame corona nicht

bulimia christ nagasaki

breast cockcunt narcissism

biopsy ceraunomancy nosophobia

bursitis cyperpunk nephroangiosclerosis

EDITOR IN KIEF SADOO'S DIAPER

LAYOUT BARE ASSTER MAW FEE AH

the death of pee orij in a cornea of a cracked calendar

certain kinds of transnormals have notable advantages these quivering days. the present external environment – so surreal to most – to the transnormal is just another aspect of manifest mind usually unmanifest. but as inner and outer routinely sublimate in our transnormal, this supposed aberration makes little difference

selfisolating, quarantining, distancing – these are all the mo of our people. we quarantine routinely not for any physical bacterial reasons but to cleanse ourselves of the social, spiritual and aesthetic bacteria rife in humanity, that humans routinely cough on us (this coughing not only legal, but expected, encouraged, applauded)

empty streets – the urban environment devoid of human horror – are a natural and creative milieu for the transnormal and it roams through them as through the perfections of a forest

the transnormal spaces space. and so i eg live now in a 3.5 x 1.25 metre room (wellwindowed but undoored). it functions comfortably as living space  it has a couch   bedroom  i have my portable doodoo mat and portable doodoo coverings   office  i set up my card table and foldable chair during the waking hours   home theater  using a digital projector at one end and 250cm screen at the other   meditation and yoga studio and light therapy venue  gods dimensionality demons smartlighting incense music infinitecalm lend – no freely give – this geodelightica the requisite energy to access healing vibrations   storage facilities  it has shelving and compartments   cat heaven  there’s a fuzzy cat tower on which the fat cat here loves bobbling up to surview worlds outside   plantoretum  with northern western eastern exposures many plants are happy   art gallery and museum  i display on the walls and ceiling dead and living manufactures of ripe and mad minds

reality as various prophets have been foretelling for some visions died sometime in the nineteenth century so the atavists running around now calling the present situation surreal prove they’re not living in any real world for the situation before corona was surreal and if they don’t get that … no wonder we’re in this situation. real is only its affixes

and as reality has become its affixes, so normal. we aren’t just the transnormals, we’re the affixnormals. we are the affixes

the nothingness of our situation, its spilled time and scrambled space, its unknownness, pitch in the question, its disintegration of the calendar and bar … all these (so distressing to the normals, so spawning of fear) are routine dimensions in the affix’s exuberant night

one should never be sorry that some (even many) humans are dying – one should be sorry that the wrong humans are living ... [see brother do you smoke? for a smart and just proposal in this regard]

for the student of evolution and consciousness, what a great aesthetic and spiritual laboratory this virus is …

why is this environment putting me in such a good mood? finally exteriority bears some resemblance to interiority. society, however briefly, unintentionally, legitimizes the mutational class, providing a kind of social sanction of individual disaster

responsibility signalling in the corona age. the number of closure signs that explicitly signal the conscientiousness and ethics of management and owners. but if we were responsible would we be in this mess? it’s not as if places are closing because they’re responsible – or at best they’re operating in a responsibility bubble in much vaster spaces of irresponsibility – but that they’re obeying the daddy state and using the opportunity to promote their superior citizenry. and it may well be that daddy state in this case is mostly right though this hardly obviates the requirement for responsibility at all times across all endtoend contexts (for how i know some of you signallers are in life greedy irresponsible gorgons of waste and destruction)

didn't we create technology to prepare for the disaster of ourselves?

in stores, in lineups in stores, at cash in stores, in the nongaze and the mutings – the consciousness-artifact gap far more palpable than when capitalism can fully express itself in its huddled schizoid rabidity. what cannot be said in the air like contaminated microdroplets, a unity of gap creating energetic silences

important chupply sane truths to keep in mind during these challenging times

chupply sane leaders must mitigate risk

chupply sane disruption monitoring is essential

further globalization and integration of chupply sanes complicates

expect significant impacts across the chupply sane

chupply sane implications go beyond the chupply sane

∆19

∆19

∆19
∆19

p

eriodically or more create content and form one disagrees with, even despises … these creations emerging not from any intent, volitional or ideological, but quite spontaneously and contextually from the lived experience of one’s contradictions, one’s not-oneness with oneself, one’s manyisms, of the multiplex no that can’t unlike in most be suppressed as it’s as fertile as any yes

w

ords more than any other material for they’re up for the jurisprudence of speaking take language to court. what’s the verdict? and what the sentencing? language is incarcerated without doubt but in minimum or supermax? solitary confinement? torture? capital punishment? and if words can convict, can they also pardon or at least jailbreak language, even for brief times as language inevitably will be returned to its confinement, guilty as it is of the entire litany of all possible crimes

c

onventional society launders obsession by turning it into structure and so effectively isn’t objecting to obsession when it objects to obsession as much as a lack of laundering. it prefers a pretense of whiteness. but any creator knows in its night the fortysecond chapter of the whale and this knowledge itself an obsession that can never be cleaned being too restless and hungry to ever be subject to the caress of soap and structure

i

’m assigned to ∆19 after having transgressed the minor code of jerusabul and forced to pass through the judicial detections of the obversion of eyes. i had read of it once in the ahistorical annals of a compulsive absence and the intimations weren’t well. emily d’s there with me but she says nothing, just staring at the penguin politics with expressions of forgotten love and the fear of tepid art. i’m infatuated with her and attempt to woo her with my special trick of singing turds but she doesn’t flinch and i’m an unrequited man

s

ome say the opaqueness of each singularity necessitates a communication resembling not simply the smoke of a wildfire but the smoke of a wildfire of its origins, whether plasmatic, incidental, or arsonite, effectively ensuring that communication, like everything of its name, is devoted to doing precisely what its name does not

t

he sport of sport shifts to the sport of virus. to sit before poodwaddle and watch the deaths by country climb each hour is infinitely more exciting than watching a basketball game. to see bc edge closer and finally surpass ont in confirmed cases, especially considering its smaller population, is to witness a suddendeath victory. adrenalin spikes, liquor's consumed, toilets are flushed

a

t the back of a tram delphidao and doktor ziz are in atmospheres of suppressed coughs perusing classified documents that provide incontrovertible evidence of the staging of sow-fee gee-tee’s coronavirus confirmation. they have in front of them certified minutes of a meeting between unnamed very extremely senior parties that determined a staging would provide the following benefits : modelling for the people of the nation the grave seriousness of the situation, demonstrating for the people of the nation that as even the migh and highty can be stricken so the lowly must tremble for their own insignificant lives, providing the head of state some time off in the country to fuck his good and curvaceous spouse without having to worry about getting inflicted by the endless riffraff of idiots who grace his very right honourable’s presence every day in routine & regular times … may novel viruses come more often the doo does mutter in their cloistered cuebeck quaquaquaqua coitus

they're speaking

in other structures of time a council – we could call it a council – met (we could say it’s meeting) somewhere in the roundabout of species, human wasn’t invited, as a spontaneous gesture of thinking nature. fungus, bacterium, amphibian, water and fire, insect, mammal, spider, everyone important really

during the gathering it’s agreed fish will lead the way and fish, being smart and woefully tired of human negligence and stupidity, team up with virus which, like human, hasn’t been invited and exists on the edges of life. how perfect thought fish to partner with a dubious life form to attack another dubious life form. does fish volunteer for this mission? does it owe the others one? is it the big risktaker or just in the mood? we don’t have the minutes and no one’s talking. or no one’s listening. hard to tell

where do we start fish asks virus

china … wuhan

should it be a warning or should we really get them

warnings have never worked with humans, the vast majority only respond to fear and force

and the council moves its venue to the distributed convention center of human flesh so it has front row seats to watch

with respect ...

with respect to madness language is always somewhere else

literature – from poetry to philosophy to its consummate present example, the novel – has become the story : exploration through narrative, typically human narrative. it has relegated madness - literature’s precarious soul - to the inaccessible, the autistic, mentally ill, deranged, the solipsistic, the virus …   but these – regardless of whatever names they might appear to be attached to – have always been literature’s true home. and the definitionmongers, the rationalists, the prize and list people, the storyists in their infinite discomforts do what the spiritually insecure have always done – use force of whatever quality to displace their insecurities far from the sterile spaces they inhabit, even as the privileged displace garbage and pollution as far as possible from them geographically : onto the poor, unheard, inhuman

story was mad insofar as it was born from the placed derangement (a derangement that because of its place had real range, range of touchable knowable unknowable divine land) of the tribe, but as story’s become separated from this tribal ecstasy it becomes formulaic, conventional, conformist, expected … and so not literature

so those called to remain committed to literature in these darks ages of the word – when madness is still manifest in the garrets and cellars of music and film for reasons primarily technological – the exploration of madness and the exploration of literature become effectively the same. so psychology – not the academic laboratory variety that dominates in lit and official corridors but the kind that oozes like pus from the psyche itself – and word become bound, psychology and psychologies of word and words literature’s practice. the mental illness of the word, its dysfunctions and taboos, schizophrenias and pharmaceuticals, shunned babblings, urological rants ... these are literature's narrative. the writer takes each word to the couch even as each word takes the writer. not to any effect. effect is academic psychology’s domain. literature in effect is the record of word and writer taking each other there … to noplace (the utopia that is no utopia … not just noplace but no noplace – and the no’s as affixes may be stacked like turtles on the back of a collapsed universe, universes of places of diaspora, exile, apophatic mappedness) of the empty question

how then does literature dissolve its identity through technology in the way (but in its own way and ways) that music has done. (we discount film for film’s born of technology whereas music, ancient and fleshy, comprehensively tedious and weary by 1912, had to break through [we set aside all those for now seductive pathways of film as nature filtered through preexistent but previously underused dimensions, music as first technology, literature as cosmic babel, ... all pathways dreamt, all arguments made.].) music has accomplished its recreation, its identities and doubts, drones and genre asylums through the synthesizer – the ability to patch everything onto everything, anything onto anything, all nothings on nothings … through enabling sonic life as music. when i walk down a helhi street and hear honkings, harassments, dogs barking, sun screeching ... it's as if to me i’m sitting in my sunroom listening to an lp. you can say – but literature is this. not in its common talk and trade but on its edges. even a name like dfw does this. and he was mad. he suicided after all and that’s a good sign. sure, but sterne was edgy, mad too and didn’t suicide. (madness now’s more mad. or rather madness now has farther to travel to reach literature even as literature has farther to travel to reach madness. they need more patches, infinities, more nothings ... they need to forget society, themselves. and this takes so much ... effort ...)

literature craves to be unrecognizable, lusts after anonymity (art's altar and eucharist) in these polluted seas of name refuse. literature should be so much ourselves we don’t see ourselves. the uncanniness is too present. we shall seem to be wholly absent and in this hole we are here. dfw and his family are recognizable, his fragmented stories the shapes and blabs of our currency

atonal literature, astory literature, areason literature, aliterature literature, literature defying currency, written by the cthulhu ... for the cthulhu aren't the hideous other but the hideous us. organic life! love and hate! human passions, conditions, standards! one only needs to travel well into the soul that hoards toilet paper in our increasingly visible species narcissistic times to see this usotherness. this travel and need is literature. not as fact but horror

i don’t hear you

i don’t see you

i hardly understand

i can’t read

the word through its endless interrogations reanimates. rejoins, reintroduces thing and name, renatures language. each word is spirit in infinite language forests. not one spirit but countless. and as spirits amorphously drift, each word (most alchemically, most mystically) drifts into all others. each word’s in each word and for the writer, as the writer’s just another word, in it. not as god or christ is in the christian. this is hierarchical, separate. but as gods in gods, mycelium in trees, air in fire, water in dream. so as academic psychology attempts to effect identity (and effecting transgressive identity still follows the conventional path of identity effecting) for social relation (even if this relation is protest, rebellion, shock), the psychology of literature (hardly any different than the literature of psychology) enters the identity of word to travel to identity’s dissolution. while this journey is paramount, literature appears as the writer as journalist depicts as closely as possible the effects of the movings into words’ identity’s dissolution on its inveterate physicality, the wholesale range and limits of its sensations. as journalist. (though we must acknowledge it should be obvious that our journalist is as different from the common one – no matter how noble, influential, sacrificial, perspicacious – as our psychologists and scholars are different than those pedigreed among fluorescent peers and gowns and lecterns)

with respect to language language is always somewhere else

with respect to madness …

with respect to respect …

with respect to somewhere else …

with disrespect to …
without disrespect ...

without language …

without without    

last mooologues

a full moon hangs over the NH station end of main bizarre in jagnahrap impossible ... what's the moon in any form even doing in hellhi? it isn't what's normally considered to be the moon but some conglomerated mass of coagulated spherical pollution says a cow to my left. you're right i say surprised at the clarity of my friend's truth. let's go to cannot place and see if it's still there i say. like a plop it'll be there says cow, and she's right. why's it following us? i stupidly wonder. that's what pollution does says cow. follow. until one day it gets tired of following and begins to lead. and when will that be oh cow? i ask realizing my companion's something of a sage

who can know the mind of garbage

and who can reason with refuse

only those who eat its bounty

and graze on its tutelage

says what might be the moon

pollution speaks i gasp. everything speaks says cow a bit condescendingly. when will this happen i persist, when will garbage begin to lead us? but cow's humming nursery rhymes from udder perdition and instead of talking we watch the coagulation trace unknown omens in the bloodgrey sky over a sick & texty earth

an uncanny family of the rabbit biome at dashayogssimagat temple

to be a debeliever in christianity in rome in 1313, to be a debeliever in capitalism on earth in 2020 

to be a human debeliever. no one else cares about capitalism other than in terms of its genocidal effects on them

impossible to debelieve. to want then to debelieve. to debelieve in the capacity to debelieve and remain biologically alive. to detest having to believe. knowing any protests, subversions, heresies, terrorist acts – however external or internal – are wholly destined to be ineffective at best and at worst used by capitalism to further itself. so one does the only thing one can do – one goes on the interior paths. for while no more effective, while no less usurped for use, at least something is constructed – however doomed – that says – though in another world – no

the different tactics and strategies for martyrdom, survival, subversion, play, desire, dream between rome 1313 and earth 2020 debelief

for some time in istanbul i have vivid memories of jerusalem though i’ve never been and develop a convincing narrative that the cocoa chestnut merchants of istanbul (they are only chestnut merchants but when chestnuts are roasted they appear to be coated in chocolate) are from jerusalem and at nights cross the bosphorus to hang as bats in a cave in kadiköy. while implausible the story pleases and i spend hours walking developing the lives and troubles of these misplaced and transmutational peoples and as i pass the chestnut merchants i smile and though i don’t buy any chestnuts they smile back. we know, the chestnut merchants and i, their difficult origins and nocturnal rites. i can’t participate in them, for i haven’t shared in their travails, but i can ask what’s it like to be a chestnut merchant? what’s it like to be a memory? what’s it like to be the bosphorus? what’s it like to be a chestnut? what’s it like to be a ...?

i watch time crawl along

the edge of death without ever falling

in and think – if it were me
there i wouldn’t be so skilled, crawling

i have a date with the sock factory today

the things that people say you cannot do

i don’t think outside the box, i think outside outside

she who saves one life saves the entire world

an istanbul street

cat behind nairobi carpet

import merchants eats

the little black train is coming

travelling alone, unfiltered. to immerse oneself in polydimensional dream ... to maintain reality as a question, substantives as prepositions, to place i in the question of eyes, to simulate the mind of rivers, to present humanity not as gift but mirage, hallucination, plasmatic text

corona adds yet another dimension to the already loaded airport process. in delhi i present six pieces of documentation to the immigration dood before i’m let through – including a form validating i’m low corona risk, which has been stamped by health officials after being processed through an earlier lengthy line of laser beams being aimed at my head, interrogations (and similar processes already experienced twice in kathmandu)

what is this, my seventh time in delhi? and the first i’ve arrived when i don’t hate it. don’t i keep returning, fascinated by my hatred, compelled to recreate this monster as something i can relate to?

apophatic machine munchies

there are the young and boring, and there are the old and boring. the young and boring i can sometimes tolerate for 3 or 9 minutes. the old and boring i can't tolerate at all. why is this if they're equally boring?

an indifference to self is in direct proportion to an apophatic immersion in self

the young exploit this knowledge mercilessly. this is their innocent vanity and antidote to the preposterous wealth of the establishment

the orthodoxy that there's only one world, this world. and thus i must adapt to it. bullshit. no art (or much of anything else) would exist in such a spiritual-aesthetic straightjacket. consciousness, imagination, wit, subversion, play, creation - they're all of other worlds

the hello boat? of veri nici shifts to the smoke hashish? of cat human sadoo. and so my response changes from my name is not boat to a robust you bet i do - which in its enthusiastic explicitness shuts the merchants up

i too am ageist. i shun the old - not because they're more boring than the young ... but it's this quality of the notold - the power to believe in things (which if it lingers in the old just seems stupid) in the oceanic nothingness of their bodies - that i suck on like a perpetually reincarnated planet on the teats of the universe. (there are tricks for maintaining and even increasing this quality along the biological path. they're in code, not much in words, and seekers after them must learn the dark languages light speaks

when i'm open to conversation with tourists while travelling i stay in hostels. but in cat human sadoo i intentionally stay in a comfortable quiet guest house whose clientele primarily consists of the old and boring. this grants me the abyss of undistraction. i ensure i look as crazy as possible so that no one talks to me. their overheard conversations - which i tolerate to a point before putting my headphones on - are hideous

mary got a new french bulldog

but the skillset of doctors ...

just terrible what's happening in china

i read that churchill said that fear ...

don't forget to use your hand sanitizer

thailand's just lovely

a recent issue of partynepal magazine has young beautiful nepali saying the same things as the young and beautiful in magazines everywhere. come on. young and beautiful and magazined. surprise me

dat cat can moo

and matt can do

in kathmandu

and you?

another trope i've begun using is to say i'm from jupiter when asked of my domesticity, that i've come to earth because we've heard humans aren't taking good care of it and we jupiterians are concerned. i've got engaged in numerous lengthy conversations with this as a starting point. some seem, especially by the end, unsure whether to believe me

a related mythology i've developed - in response to the now routine offers of hash - is that where i'm from our kitchen sinks have nine faucets - for water, absinthe, psilocybin, ayahuasca, mdma, lsd, caffeine, hash, tobacco. on my planet starschmucks offers bhanguccinos and hash lattes. etc etc

at swayambhunath stupa a local engages me and we talk for half an hour about ecology, consciousness, politics. then the expected happens - he hawks holiness on me and tries to sell himself as my guru. i laugh and say i don't believe in holiness, at least in humans. maybe in mycelium. the conversation ends. capitalism again announces itself as the only cataphatic religion left on earth

to the carnivorous religious - you've been a {christian, buddhist, moslem, jew, hindu, ...} for how long and you're still obsessed with stuffing? (how quickly kenosis becomes forgotten, ... turns into concept, abstraction, disembodied knowledge)

the walls are thin in the guest house and the couple next door after conversing tediously for an hour have if possible even more tedious sex. 4 little moans from her, that's it. then someone goes to the bathroom. then she pukes all night. i want to see what they look like, i don't want to see what they look like

eye ear u doodoo

the middleaged european male tourists here - gross, beefy, jowly, like loudly talking statues reciting scripts that should never have been thought let alone written. like wax sculptures in the colonial archives, with an 8-track on infinite loop playing, made of their own earwax, the dumps, hoards & anys, balls'n'arrows of a meaty overcooked stegosaurus with too much sugary testosterone sauce. someone needs to spraypaint them pink, put arsenic on their testicles, wildflowers in their maws

why is kooba so much more difficult than asia?

no english no wifi no food