sadoo wonwon romance

the novels an 18 month human child  precocious fearless narcissistic omnipotent omnipresent spontaneous omniscient whimsical vast  requiring  demanding unceasing stimulation  the new the new the novel mewls and only pules in the pit of its viperine soul  and new! new! is the cry of the forced aching soul

the novel is an 18 month human child with the vocabulary of every plant animal rock god fungi tenericute  thats ever existed anywhere or will or might or might or could not exist  some egyptian god with the body of a child and the brain of the universe

immortal and finite in flesh

mortal and infinite in mind

its mind its molecules

its viscera its words

the novels premised on human nonexceptionalism through its subjecting common human reality to other realities that undercut and defy the premises that sustain human force  a deconstruction of any ontological hierarchy of species for it originates presents and disappears on terms that not only place all creatures on the page together  and if some receive more of anything its just more blackness  but  the novel itself and all it stands and doesnt stand for  as a question and mockery of human ambition pretension assumption grandiosity excellence superiority blessedness distinction violence   how then does novel manifest though other than through such means? true perceptive unreader  whats often called novel is channeled through the human and no human can escape these absurdities yet one who is so channeled in the so channeling takes these very attributes as perverse gifts and places them themselves in darkness and this placing subverts  at least partially  them  mocking them by subjecting them to their very selves so that in these meetings they double and in doubling infinitize and in infinitizing fragment  theres yet another reason  the novel isnt just whats called novel as has already been demonstrated but everything thats new which indeed is and must be everything all the time   so tyrants of all kinds  which includes most humans  try to annihilate the channeled  whether in those small and social ways through ignorance apathy neglect dismissal  but when the tyrant has hierarchical political power  through incarceration torture murder

and yet novels far larger and more potent than the sum of all tyranny for its comprised of elements not on your table nor processed by your indigestions nor articulated in your texts nor molecularized in your chemicals nor bowable to your gods

the novels a gift  it gives society as a mode of expression over to an abyss  not less than the abyss created by society through its refusal to accept the channeling  which is to say its refusal to love   you fuliginous unreader say but novels are celebrated everywhere  but what you miss is that once celebrated they become commodities and so primarily aid in abyss creation and management  thus society is genocidal and even moreso suicidal for it orients itself to an abyss which it makes for others but through doubling falls into itself

in others words novels the madness society denies  so as novels an abyss thats in an abyss and yet holds it  it falls  book is a descent that in its falling falls upward   sadoo is my geometry

the novel is homelessness  as the only home the creator has ever had is book and novel is the feeling  finally and now  that  for the first time  this feeling always new  books no longer home and thus no longer takes the absent book inside and there  in the inside absent  novel darkly liquidly mulchingly gestates   these methodologies workshops of the inoutside

books a nostalgia for book

sadoo novelbookdream tantintontung

but weve been ignoring an important issue  one thats been hanging off the talons of every prick and tittle and everyone knows it

bio and novel         fact and fiction         art and life

but as the one who nailed it  that itchy texty logo loss  that crux of yukky yucks says*

have you not been? have you not whirred?

there was once nature and art imitated it

then there was art and nature imitated it

then there were both and neither

and imitation imitated imitation

for natures no longer here to imitate

and art with nothing left to reflect can only gaze at itself in fake ponds of infinite selfies

but sure  you who crave facts

who think causes somehow live in data

instead of as they do in darkness

heres my bio

in which youll understand novel

be io      bee eye oh

be eye bee eye oh

holed sic non old has a dharm ah

bee i be aye o         o   ahhh      o   i      e   u      e      y   oo      oo   oo      i      y

unborn to mawmaws and meowmeows  a warped cast of a woofwoof hoof  a glome of glom   the blurry furied furries had it that id be a nun but the n is stolen for a no and a pee put in so all i am is pissing puns   these thefts   so not in time but lime   and limes in g&ts and jakes and jakes and g&ts in me and me in ime and mime and im and mama dada mada ama aya mawmeow ooQhoof           rrheapeet

here  as the yakademics say  is my methodology and night is my meth lab and thodo my muse

i emasculate myself and crawl into the night to say the horrors  words crawl over me and eat my flesh  the words get big and sit on me and shit themselves  i try to count the shit but shits uncountable  i become the shit and then a word and then the night  i crawl into myself but theres nothing to crawl into and i dont scream or laugh  the sun or what i think might be a sun comes up and theres a book

writing101 which is crosslisted with biting100 and nighting000 and a shitting pee eich dee

ive been nighted by the been of bug  praise bees   sadoos my bug

in the novel of life the humans who say they care about diversity dont  they care about the monoversity which says it cares about diversity because if it doesnt its monoversity doesnt get the grants   only in the novel of the novel does diversity actually exist and this is why sadoo has emigrated from the novel of life into the novel of novel   plus in the novel of novel there are no passports customs lineups covid thermonuclear forehead scans proudboysngirlsortrumps  but many dumpsnrumps  arcane regulatory brontoforces statues of stupid people other than ones you can piss on with rose pompadour and the statues turn into holograms of porcelain flowers and the only arrests that occur are the ones i make of the statues of stupid people whove accidentally found themselves on my shadowless properties which are nothing but i or sadoo or sadoo or unyou

im a slave on a planet that doesnt exist with rules that have never been codified and are constantly shifting and my status as dead in a heretical taxonomy existent outside any world of physics   sadoo is the record of my citizenry

*its actually a textitycrux that points to the yukkityitch that says this

but its all the same fucking quote dood as jorgesborges quotes

sadoo a novel neiner

does book exist if no one reads it? yet im a one and i read it   but do i read it if i write it? but im not a one but a many   and are you  you unreaders  a one or a many? if you are unreaders are your ones and manys different than the manys and ones of readers or writers or readerwriters or the same or both? are unreaders neither one nor many but nulls or negatives? why do i call it book? why novel? where have all the articles gone? why do i say why? where are my mothers?

i dont want a novel  i dont want a hallucination of a novel  i dont want a book about which its debated whether or not it is or isnt a novel  i want to write something thats not a novel and cant be a novel  that does everything in its power to not be a novel  that we call a novel   sadoo is this impossibility

having seven phds in statistics and nine in sillophophy and eleven nonuple phds in lunacy ive determined authoritatively that what all the above teaches us is that the novels purpose is to enthusiastically puke out the new and as this is all sadoo does sadoos indisputably a novel   lets crosstab though were not crosstabbing but we might be stabbing and crossing the polyglottal cast of the romantic new

hows novel like piano? its a good joke to tell the next time youre bored in society which should be very soon unless youre a hermit like me and you dont have to worry about society because youre alone and when youre alone you can never die as you can only die in society and there you die all the time  or unless youre as boring yourself as society in which case you wont need to tell the joke  in fact you wont even get it  pianos a shortened form of pianoforte and fortepiano  pianoforte being softloud and loudsoft is like newold and oldnew  therefore novel shouldnt be novel but alaneu or neuala   this is how novel thinks

the novel is new and the news  the novel is the old news  its the good old news and the bad old news and the bad new news and the good new news   so gōd bædan alaneu

sadoo ate n*v*l n*v*l eats sadoo

i lack the linear sequencing module required to think or write or act or live in your culture  someone was drunk on the assembly line and dropped my module into a urinal  one of those with a mothpuck that doesnt flush properly and is filled with weekold piss and cigarette butts and the bibbertippler thinks no onell notice and in exchange he substitutes a few random beta plasmatic polypolar postanarchic diffeohomeomorphoglomean modules that never went into production that he happens to have down his wretched underwear  but i do

when is time? may be the central question of time  the question that unites clock or technological or bureaucratic or shapebound time and dreamtime or wordtime or wyrmtime or merdetime

this isnt a novel  its a devastation  a soul inversion and arid turning  a hurlyburlywhirlytwirly  a dinner party of inmate warden psychiatrist custodian inspector chef anthropologist journalist corpse arborist consultant  which degenerates and apotheosizes simultaneously as the courses of drinking surpass the sum of their own fluidity   theres a formula for this

whys sadoo a novel? because everythings a novel  because you tell me nothings real unless its a novel   heres a silly jism

      sadoo is a novel

      i is a sadoo

      therefore i is a novel

everything complicates and is complicated  even the things intended to simplify complicate  thus i fit sadoo into modern times which  despite chucky spencer  is always not then but now  and you criticize me of being mad  im just the outside mad you are inside  but for me this is the way of things  sadoo isnt representative of reality or an escape from it  it is reality but reality thats found outside reality by going into reality so far one falls into   into what?   well         novel

is the novel a book? or in more accurate language is novel book? its said now in the better or at least more forceful circles books dont exist  but if book exists is it greater or lesser than novel? ie is it a hypo or hypernym? all novels are books but that all books are novels  though not as readily said  is no less true

is book a subset of dream or dream book?

does knowledge cascade after failure or failure knowledge?

which follows which  before or after?

love or doubt? whos the mother?

and dont say this is like asking which is bigger  magenta or justice? everythings analogous belowandabove enfolded deadandalive vision and follow and zorb and book   sadoo is this everything   everythings askable   sadoos this askability

sadoo a shriven sylvan severed novalis sloven

did i say moles? i meant voles  for vole is in novel and isnt the vole the very fulfillment and antithesis of love? and i have heard that in the vale of vole the vole clock chatters and it chatters not for thee

the ns left though out of our vole love but the n  being null and sets of null stretching to and past nullity  it finds itself by being itself excluded  so through nullitalis vole and love meet in novel and strip sadoo

my novel of vole love nullity broken for you

i cant tell whether my novels going faster or slower than my life  leading it  following it  opposed to it  complementary  though as life we could say is time and the novel atime or dreamtime or truetime or precisetime  we find ourselves quickly in that other but related debate  perhaps deeper or more central  perhaps not of what or who or where or why or how or even when is time? whats times address? does it like a cigarillo in the morning with its coffee? in the act of bedsheets what does it do with its tongue? who are its confidants and under what conditions and what does it divulge? my novel  i mean my life  i mean my novels an attempt to answer these questions  no not answer  to raise them  no not raise them  as all time is is a relentless resurrection of them to   to      i just dont know                        i dont know                                  sadoo is my doubt

id like to posit however tentatively that my novels a kind of unterūbūouroboros  a selfsustaining animate dump reforming geometries of mythtime and that i  though is nothing other than my novel or this novel or just novel  a scholar of smelly shape   sadoo is my tentativity and dissertation

my mothers are my novel and my fathers are my navel and my bodies my nival naval and the genealogies of my sarcous family look like psychedelic kohlrabi on a pilgrimage to a bilious fair shuttered epochs ago and may never  truth be told though it hardly is  have existed

applying the principles of nymhematology

we receive as gifts not only the love of voles but

noel lone neo leo eon no on le lo one ole

and if we must leon len von

and quite possibly nole velo and many other treasures

sadoo the nival sex

 heres a very partial list of the full cast of characters in sadoo

sadoo the navel novel ive hive

here are the characters of sadoo cast

onto xennobrontomilieux statibus and cast out

do i say mothers?

you see or probably dont  i dont pay any attention to what you call the news  which is only a boring novel forcefed into the narrative maw by the cognitively and imaginatively insecure

this is though only an attodrop of a list in the infinite oceans of lists of characters  there are many efreets eg but this is saying little  cast in sadoo  for a full list consult mass atonias novel rosie and the monolith published by līmæ råbęlåsså habubble perpari for which no extant copies exist except one rumoured to be held by the ghūls of the crypts below her majestys penitentiary in rabī'ābād-e awar oino iblīs dhghemmathic

sadoo the nerval 4

the novel has become too easy

anyone whos been to iowa can write one

anyone whos been accepted into the right clique can write a good one

anyone whos been to both can write a great one

but theres so many great novels being written therere no great ones left

the only novel left to write isnt the horrible one  there are as many horrible ones as great ones  but the nonexistent one   sadoo is my nonexistence

why is sadoo a novel?

for the same reason genets a saint

saints define the novel  which is only mind spilled and spilling  as having these characteristics

• ephemerality
• contradictoriness
• infinitely nested metonymy
• anonymity through excessive naming
• aestheticspiritual coital blurring of unauthors unreaders untranslators
• utopian and uchronian
• plotless characterless dialogueless settingless
• beyond beyond and notbeyond
• more worldthanworld by being lessworldthanworld

it begins ends anywhere but neither ends nor begins

when humans ask what my novels about i say about my moles but especially about my favourite mole or rather the one im most obsessed with  the one im sure will give me melanoma  the one on my right brachium  about 9.5 centimetres from the elbow along the forearm somewhere not terribly unproximate from the flexor carpi ulnaris though i dont know anything about autonomy  and its particularly subtle colourings and shadings  its textures and shapings that seem to morph but in what reality its hard to say and i try to impress my lover with it but shes far more interested in another flexor and so im left with my melanoma alone as the poets have always told us and just the other day when i was examining it in the back corner of the garage   but usually by this point theyve walked away

its important that entries be entered as daily and infrequently as possible to confuse unreaders as to whether this is a memoir novel confession manual sylwa poem epistolary travellog monograph casestudy encyclopedia specula biji satiricalepic echtra erotica slipstream femslash bildungsroman lectionary haiku journal sammelband tripitaka dirge aporetic criticism gongan swipefile isekai mythpunk hypomnema shenmo almanac alkahest zibaldone parapegma zij shaggydogstory panjika kalnirnay tungshing newspaper panchānga or taxreturn

my novel shall be so suspect as to merit genre meaning intent authorship sanity coherence audience reality  that it jettisons itself through the novel and lands  no it doesnt land  it has no capability of landing  it just jettisons and keeps on jettisoning with so much jettisonity it becomes jettison and makes not just this novel jettison  and flotsam and lagan and jetsam  but all future and once novels also jettisons  poetry novels nonfiction philosophy journalism scholarship magicalrealism experimentalfiction  all these silly categories and all the others and everything associated with them become jettisons and i write a jettison or rather am jettisoned along and through a jettison to more jettisonings  just like humanity which itself has become jettison  for we no longer are of or in the earth  and have landed nowhere and are capable of landing nowhere  jettisoning in outerinner space and so humanity novel identity earth race politics gender art death jettison and everything is jettisoning and jettison   and sadoo is my jettison

sadoo nullitalis luv teatheetree

i  though i dont exist  am about to bathe and in preparation disrobe and due to it being cool in the house and my not wanting to turn on the heat  precipitated by a complex of complexes arising from my motherss complexes of complex relating to their unacknowledged distaste of mint knickers  im wearing many layers of clothes not only over my groin legs chest back arms but head and feet and thus the getting naked takes an inordinate amount of time and with each diminished layer i grow colder but not wishing to speed up the process due to my increasing fascination with the patterns of colour and material that are forming on the floor  a real work of art  certainly compared to the charade of this novel  and then engrossed in the counting of the increasing discarded items and debating in the synagogue of myself with no satisfactory solution anywhere in sight in time or out whether i should number each pair of socks one or two  for its questions such as these that define a good life   and spectacles? do they count? why do i say spectacles? how do spectacles count? if were interested in a certain consistency  which by no means we are  and we count each pair of socks as two items rather than one should we then not in fairness and equanimity count each pair of spectacles also as two? two feet two eyes as granny i says   as you see we say spectacles and socks favouring those who advocate two rather than one  its true we say sock for one as in have you seen my other sock? but this is typically in the context of two and surely is because socks  while bound to one another  arent bound in the same way as spectacle is to spectacle  for wouldnt we say spectacle only if your spectacles are busted  and then we might be more inclined to say have you seen the other half of my spectacles? rather than have you seen my other spectacle?  and now that were indirectly talking about them what about monocles? why dont we call them bictacles?  all this indicating something of importance the philosophers have paid too scant attention to   and all this taking place at once and in slomo but the effect growing me colder and its phenomenal i ever get into the bath

but all of this has been done before says mácedonio   the novels impossible and impassible  all the same characters tropes ideas thoughts words experiments subversions tediums selfsatisfactions laughs  one really should just count ones clothes or try to count them as one never really can end up properly doing and go to bed  one should write prologs to logs that never happen

i despise the novel more than i do myself   im always rushing around so as to be the first one to arrive late  ive no comprehension of and no way of comprehending how to distinguish the characters in my novel  the characters in my life  the words in my life  the characters in others novels  the characters in others lives   life novel thing human object word  all morphing into each other like ducks in the distance or the wealthy and powerful in time or bodies in a steamroom or hate anywhere

i want to include a picture of the clothes  how theyre cast in perfect randomness on the carpet   if i only possessed more wisdom theyd be a sign to me  an oracle of images  a kabbalah unveiled  sartorial runes

this isnt a matter of ocd  ocd runs in the family surely and by family i mean the human family  we now know with as much certainty as we can muster in our fogged drizzlings that humanitys the one authentic manifestation of ocdity in the universe and we label those with ocd the ones we need to take that burden so the rest of us can feel were normal though normal doesnt exist and never has   the psychiatrist designating the patient ocd is in reality and simply a matter of one human with power and obsessed with power and with the power of designating others officially with ocd and this legitimized through institutionalized ocd professionalism  who after all and in what conflict of interest obtains the right to label and hierarchize brainscans?  translating this obsession through clinical weaponry to someone with less power to maintain the power imbalance and because the now designated ones obsessed with something other than power and less acceptable to those with power  say  the manifold sensuousness and methods of squeezing toothpaste onto or not onto ones toothbrush or the forming secret messages of ones cut toenails  these acts and orientations having nothing to do with power other than the energy of the act itself  like how to count ones clothes as one takes them off before a bath or before a bath one hopes to take but never does because the counting becomes in a sense the bath and replaces the bath and one just goes to bed