di degli licks her sickly panties

lets just do the blank page

 

heres the blank page

 

its not blank anymore

 

lets have a conversation

 

theres no one to talk to except the blank page

 

hello blank page

 

 

 

the given is a question therefore the given isnt the given

 

whonymitys saying how much more can i put up with and natures saying alot more

 

writing without an audience sucks but with one its impossible

 

god we got that out of the way

 

its never out of the way because the ways always here

 

not that way idiot

 

hello my friend i am shit island certified wonder guide where are you going come into my tour only nine lakh your life will be forever changed guaranteed go to hell very beautiful very beautiful shit island tour only take 11 year come in my friend look i grab you like this you come no one should see i take all your lakh now no one should not see big shit island before big death

 

who was that?

 

und ı wood hav twee dötrs und nym dem ȷemımah kezıah kerenhapuch und θo ıv bin mōst sikli θeh שׁal bee θu twee mōst byootıfl dötrs een θu land

 

alota noise happening

 

way is just yeah with a double you

 

what does that mean

 

dont horry be wappy

 

just the other day i mean yeah i was clambering up the genitalia of a mentally ill concept when

 

you realize novel and fungi are effectively indistinguishable

 

i dont want to talk about novel anymore

 

both have 5 letters  both have 1 n 2 vowels 3 consonants  f & v are both fricatives  one falls into both  both are nutritious delicious hallucinatory  both have leaves  in novel theyre often called pages and fungi gills  each is its own kingdom  each is rooted in shit  they both contain fun and love which are synonyms

 

thats stupid

 

und ı wood hav twee also sûnz und nym dem uz buz und θu θrd wun uv keמuel כּesed haζo pıldaשׁ ȷıdlaϕ beθuel tebah gahaם tahaשׁ מaakah wot u pik und θo ıv bin mōst sikli θeh שׁal bee θu twee mōst byootıfl sûnz een θu land

 

could you get θat outa here

 

didnt bring it in

 

lets go to dollarama buy a million styrofoam spheres go bankrupt go home fill a room become alcoholics because theres nothing else to do and

 

all those θs and שׁs  i dont like talking like this anymore

 

im flying vavaQa a|r next week to vavaQa city

 

what you gonna do there

 

 im gonna vavaQa

 

youve gone vava

 

social media is mythic media

 

so shall medea eyes wikipedia

and dante ups his auntys ante

whos in the outferno with chlamydia

di degli licks her sickly panties

then all hell breaks loose in la commedia

and gods a dingly  ranty scanty

in knowledges sightless ommatidia

so fuck the venereal farce of dante

which transmits the std acedia

 

horrible poem

 

only kind left

 

im making an eleven dimensional diorama of the ruptured inverse of absurdity

 

the dimensions being spime tace ideal dream idea death love drugs geometry technology god?

 

some take exception to spime tace and geometry as redundant

 

sure but then youre back to one dimension  god

 

zero  death

 

zero  drugs

 

zero  dream

 

hows it going

 

what

 

the diorama

 

like poetry

 

that bad

 

i sleep alone with my diorama

nightmares of poetry go kabama

lifes a boring docudrama

of bouncy bankrupt spheres

 

ive got my onager aimed at my head set to go off if the dow goes above thirtytwo thousand

 

coffee is my kinda dick

dark and hot and strong and thick

 

its getting vulgar

 

always does

 

lets hope the dow spikes soon

 

dont whorey be yappy

 

dont borey be nappy

 

dont dont be be rappy

 

be bap clap doo dont dont

 

be bop doo sap app pee

 

time to stop fungusface

 

youre just a novel with nothing to lose

 

save a novel flop a face

 

spime for shit island

 

im for absinthe

sham man

shaman like all now ancient desperations is overused and underdone   like the teeming western pilgrims to varanasi  whatever their motivations  in search of the absences in the heart of the west  finding only presences  shaman is varanasi ayahuasca maybe love or sex even money in its manifold and crushing vulgarity  its claims to all & nothing  flash in a stolen pan  community as thief usurper doubleagent or triple more  time twisted and fried   but what is shaman? some jungle aesthetic? an unrecoverable character on natures barely conscious stage  flesh of dream  and now only  whether in loreto or manhattan some sham a 350night excursion into the lands broken & forever scaled a 4000 selfie trip to a polluted & honking ganesha   chant the plants  sell the love   and what is shaman in the age of digital reproduction with that sexy & romantic martyr che titting it up across perky planets? are we all shamans but bad ones in our microscopic specializations  our language of whatever rabbit hole we might find ourselves in  or are those who take the nym  whether indigenous or invasive  entitled to some claim the rest of us arent  credentials   not that the recognized presence of some shaman certification body  or bodies different competing schools and dogmas like those pesky splintering protestants  would solve any of the problems we find tucked away in the dusty boxes in the skeletal garrets of the dilapidating mansions of legitimization  it might even increase then as we could from various angles and arcs say such has done to doctors judges teachers philosophers poets priests generals therapists   necessary you say for our world to function according to code   absolutely   but the code is aborted and our world antifunctional and necessity a monster as mixter weil cogently articulates   we have something else to say   unless shaman takes the sham in man and puts it back  unless it fulfill and destroy credentials  unless it inhabit the jungle desert forest ocean mountain and loves these more than human society  unless it denies shaman as occupation name tradition  ie unless it go on the path before the concept of shaman was born  before shaman was born  unless it confuse in and out while living out of society and in the path so that society is more path than society  unless in our fragmentations it lives on the outside and mumbles and every now and then a word seeps out      unless      too restrictive? there is nothing here we say   nothing here but the chattering of long nights and their infinite children of gas      enter my difficult one into the voices who doubt time and money  who stake their dreamthreads to countless poles   so the shaman  or our shaman  takes its place in noplace  for there is no place for it left in this world   it pitches itself in noplace to listen to dark voices  not to return to any form of society  political or regulatory structure  ceremony or love  not to to      it follows a tradition of outsideinside  novoicevoice  noplaceplace  nonamename  notimetime      we also sometimes call our shaman  this noshaman  a polypolar   for it reaches noplace through a ground or grounds of not just n&s e or w  but every latlong  voice of muskrat muskeg nutmeg megafauna cake and cow and plopplop  car and rust and musth and a tuktuks hello dawn and word and distant cave and here

 

shaman lives in hallucinogens of falling contradiction  of hunger and satiation not oppositive but faces of water  mirrors of fog   everythings a drug  loss betrayal hunger nightmare vision colour walking muddledness tedium   and drugs just a portal to more portality

 

shaman lives in simulations of apocalypse to compost apocalypse   it lives in possibility to avoid the schizophrenias of actuality   lives in schizophrenias to unmask the myriad alls   it lives in death to experience lifes manifestations as they might exist in living laboratories of soil and wind   shaman lives in absence to facilitate a present seeking

 

shamans forage and seek to forage according to the data of rhythms of locusts and beancurd  of cocktails that rise like gasoline  their foraging for rupees among the banking machine forests of varanasi would be inadequate but for the lightless soil of the shamans roots  a lightlessness that would be sibling to imagination  an imagination capable of creating foraging  a foraging for nuts apples seeds roots gometa pata  that we in our machines have been severed from and shaman  not as even retreat position guru  is a way to not unite heal integrate but desever   and this desevering new? near?   our foraging for rupees a foraging for refuse  the discards and deaths  anonymities  interior voices  the silenced  the majority that isnt voiced in the green collapse

 

so shaman looks for excluded voices  the criticisms withheld from any gang tribe family institution self identity  to keep it together and does not negate the affirmations of the tribe but sees these as nothing stranger than the exclusions and negations   you say  but all these weights and counterweights on the souls unbalanced scales!?  it means you dont  you cant!  get anything done  you have no action  wills annihilated by an excess of will or wills  if you have any action its hamletian action  action bottled up in mind only to explode  but we say  ah  youve not seen the ham in sham  the hamlet in shamlet  which leads so truthfully to the am in ham   i am the am and ham and sham   i am the ion in action  the ill in will   there is  you may have heard  a no action far older than any shamlet  one before i or am or man  for this the shaman forages  like the scavangers in bms epilogue  those wraiths of lost fire  born into false forges and cold currencies? do we seek then war  that god? no   war is in us and us   shaman rests in the impossible cacophony of voices and for this rest it lives in the outside of the in  an inside of outs      do not rebuke the little children by the ganga who set toll booths according to their sad mentors   instead  dust  the dust  worn negation of a young yesterday  draw with the dust of yourself shapes inexplicable and full of eyes

 

is all this too declarative? yes

 

are all these words misguided? yes

 

is there any i resembling anything were talking about? no

 

are happiness and love aspects of this? as much as indifference and despair

 

do we know what were talking about or thinking? no  maybe  yes  no

 

are words unpolished mirrors?

 

is our gaze a stumbling in dusk?

 

are we the unanswerability of ourselves?

 

are oracles the spaces between stars?

 

are forms the mathematics of an undreamt geometry?

 

is this a leaf   are we stones waiting to be sand?

entitled no one

ın an evenıng when our spırıt is desolate  one of those nıghts when betrayal is everywhere and ınsects pıtch theır mounds ın the tumulus of the braın  ı take some hashısh in the manner of the neinteenth century and escape ınto the habıtatıons of ıgnomıny

 

proportıons of retıculated tıme ın uncountable creepage joın the extrıcatıons  feet on snows of ımmune preserve and handles rumblıng on the spherıcal effuse of sodden jengatalıa   the castles rıse deep here and who is ı to doubt the socıety of death

 

were not talking about smart stuff were talking about the twentyfirst century an exmember of the order of endebyrdnes chirps on chirper and antennae aquıver and history mushed hope fashions in yammering workshops under tarrying hangovers of ten billion dead ineffective gods

 

ahoy! randy innuendo stumbles in a vityaz dıatom   let me act like the unlanded gentry that im not   were all catmatıc in the new plasmatorıum   dont look at me that way   the pirates always win   ahoy   theres a big dump brewıng ın the mythster

 

in a series of paıntıngs titled untıtled # 0 entitled no 1 intitled numburr 3 outtitled umbra 4 detıtled berry 5 transtıtled nary 6 patatıtled svn undıes ∞ anavitaled nonnyıtıld non non lucıferin manipulates quibering hedgehogs in a shortsqueezed gaming under a jittering katzenjammer   sleep sleep your life away

 

sleep sleep your life away         how graceful the dreamscape  nonexıstence sleep death   how lessest the jarring with will as the fill   antıhero won doo me bore knıve redsex bluesex ınfınıtı non elves bentydoo hondreadnknive hondreadnsox suckszıllıonnbore beeronbeero      hows maimbrain the desolation now that uberhalfwaythrough is here

 

ı wake up on a chaıse of hell which doesnt exist of course except it does except the chaises a phase and the phase a moon and the mood an ınsect and the ınsect the waking   here rawomen now  egyptian god of かん水 and noodles count to noodle

 

ın a woken fountaın a wheel loosed at a well  ın fungı skıes alıce with eyemondes creators bleak   does amazon know whats in the pıt  tesla whats ın the hole  can dreamdom be in a whonym shit or death ın a kintsugı bowl

 

a bed of escapes waıts for ı lıke a shattered cat  times pıtcher pours me lıke a regret and its dawn somewhere but never here   take sylphısh dısconsolate nıght ı into customs of dısgrace and caterpillars come like sılver centuries

tombolo of stone

 

certain forms of intelligence have nowhere to go in society  this present society  for its own presumed good  as its structurally configured and enforced  must continually transform those intelligences into production  but they to be themselves eschew production  so where does intelligence go? it goes where it came from and in a sense never leaves   being a subsidiary of nature  conceals itself in excesses of itself which appear to the uninitiated  if they appear at all  as offenses

 

why does ı write?

·             to avoid suiciding

·             as society as its normally constituted is misaligned with ı and ı  to fill time

·             ı like it

·             the process of waiting for writing  which is most of writing  is replete

·             to manifest  however partially and obscurely  spirit

·             to dia log with other seemingly likespirited whonyms in desert bars of spime and tace and through these conversations participate in the esotatic and thereby see god and die

why write so obsessively though?

·             same reasons  for death is powerful and how else does one of the frail living meet it as an equal but through energies that simulatedly match it in vigor and material

 

who the night who rides the knight tonight?

my fortunes are as ill proportioned as your mind

why does not heaven turn ash or with a frown undo the world?

 

ı aspire to a failed artist  a fartist  an artailure  artâılûre

 

woiwode voevoda voivode vojvoda

voevod vaivode wojewoda voyvoda

voyevoda woywode

vojvode

 

ı autoexclude myself in the name of the quest of nym  to seek for inclusions that birth in my removal  that sort of activism  those politics   ı place in the undesired places all the ı of ıs and there go to war with the teeming phantasmagoria that drone over the virtual hills with great pomp and hisses taking manic selfies under bloody tattered banners of love

 

sadoogags

jokester1                              why doesnt granny ı take a dot?

jokester2                                                                  we all are dot

tragedian                                                we take dot for granny

 

an âr̂t̂âîl̂ûr̭ê migrates into margins with uncertain knowledge of scales that weigh vast and distributed ıs  that its migration has nothing particularly to do with justice balance equality or even necessity  neither with sadomasochism or sacrifice virtue nobility stupidity loss gain  but if anything a love of geometry perhaps instilled in the emigrant by a wayward dream presented haphazardly across numberless rubbed nights      the margins let me tell you are vile with unpinned life  so succulent with taxa of unhingement that any investigating biology would devour itself with maws of mawing   all your troubles and bumptiousities and kinships here on their heads and rolling and the lonely sad like forests when they first saw the whonym seize the turd from the tree of why in the burden of eyes   not that were promoting anything

 

we might in other psyches in finding ourselves emigrated hope for some however vague identification with the remnant diaspora of nature but this would be too much  rather we dream of simulating an otherity that we ourselves once were or might have been and in this dream neither vacillate among the presented types nor emerge defending any third or eight or middle way

 

the desire for nonrelation

the styles with which voidists create spaces around hopedforabsence         

 

if history has any purpose which is doubtful but possible it might be to eradicate prophecy   yet in historys present splice has prophecy become more necessary and unattainable than ever

but melon husk  u dont hav much cloo uv da whirld

cars and houses that dont exist are sold all the time

in fact primarily whats sold in the world and you sell is what doesnt exist

politics  like business and war  has always needed poetry  for use   whereas poetry always knows its uselessness  this knowledge in the spaces of a poem   and whether poetry needs business war politics for its uselessness  this a question also in the spaces

 

 

the silent unseen living

the seen the babbling dead

stick the polenta up my ass baby

this is a safe place baby

stick the safe polenta up my safe ass baby

were safe babies baby

polenta my baby asshole

stick my safe polenta ass

polenta polenta polenta polenta

baby

 so asssafe polenta baby stick baby baby

 

cacao ⠻arlı kaθı

for ^{⠻arlı & kaθı & wılı & emlı & lızı & anı & hermı & fernı & nılı &}

 

brain eats itself into other spaces

a little bit of chthonophagia

feeds the deep and deepest deeper  rouses

all sorts of undesired glossolalia

 

the diets though of worms  who unlike simians

are holy in their way and heretically

reform any vermicularians

although often quite equivocally

 

but these worms brains so deeply crave

arent of the soil that springs forth flower and pea

those simple things that in some sense save

but a ruinous fetid pisssoaked poetry

 

so all in all who would not eat itself

the brain is wormed and worms the brain itself

 

 

the cocoa chestnut merchants of jerusalem

 

the cocktails taste like gasoline

gathering the whonyms into a quiet yes

take us and cut us up in smelly bars

were all a mutant sandwich

 

pissing on a hot urqueen

i see on cuming a black burlesque

of god stripping to a thong of sars

were all a mutant sandwich

 

so vote for white or vote for clean

less is more & more is more & less is less

theres always mars  oh evercars

were all a mutant sandwich

 

lets be on billboards like abramović

were all a mutant sandwich

 

pastapatarastacene

what you been up to sad  looks like your sites been compromised recently

 

letting go letting go

 

but seriously whatve you been doing while sadoos been abducted by the novelinati

 

a lot of serious strategy fuk  very critical stuff

 

like what sad

 

top secret really

 

oh you must be able to throw us a few titbits

 

tid

 

titties in dēlīriīs  i know my latin

 

what i can tell you fuk is that were very close to an alliance between the pastafarians and the pataphysicists

 

no

 

the primary remaining contestation is that the pataphysicists dont want to wear colanders  at least not for their photo id

 

and the rastas?

 

theyre talking with the egyptians

 

i love maii waleed!

 

no the 18^th dynasty

 

they cant have broken with haile

 

they just feel they need more ooomph

 

the ganja isnt cutting it?

 

what were finding is that the pastas and patas  so close in so many things  almost homonyms really   well   we should start with them then ease into the rastas if things are beginning to look pretty plasma

 

and the egyptians?

 

the egyptians have been out of the scene for a long time

 

thats what this is about though  bring em back in sad  got a lot to offer

 

i dunno fuk  time travels a lot of work

 

i have a shortcut

 

not drugs again

 

not just drugs

 

what else

 

have you heard of the great proportion of aeoo

 

i you?

 

aeoo

 

maybe

 

thats the ticket

 

to

 

the shortcut

 

its not the shortcut?

 

lets just say its the ticket to the ticket

 

sounds more like a ticket to another ticket to yet another ticket to more tickets

 

no no just the ticket to the ticket

 

this isnt sounding much easier than time travel

 

let me tell you sad once you try it   the great proportion will take you so far from the anthropocene scene youll find yourself plunked right in the eye of the tomb of the egypcene

 

im not sure i want that right now

 

a litlbita luv in the morning

a litlbita luv at noon

a litlbita luv in the evening

takes you urlywhirly to the tomb

 

a lota notluv too

 

one two three four

 

marys on the cottage floor

 

five six seven eight

 

i dont want to play this game

 

sodomized on a first date

 

thats a stupid game fuk

 

putting the ass back in pasta sad   what about the plastis?

 

theyre part of the puttycene

 

while the pleistos and plios are at a potty party?

 

therere also the omnipresent and pressing political issues that the pataphysical crowd tends to be more academic male  with a longer heritage  whereas the pastas are more populist and gendermixed

 

and whether pata or pasta comes first in the merged religions name must be big

 

the pastasve proposed the logo in the shape of a cannelloni

 

so the texts in a tunnel circle  brilliant  but then of course the shape favours the pastas

 

the patas want the shape morphing from enclosed wheat field with rising sun to a marcato to cannelloni to a bottle of absinthe to a mole sepulcrum to a lopped ear to

 

bit of a stretch there

 

thats what pasta does

 

absinthe too  art death technology madness  all the cene and unscene

 

sounds like a marriage

 

 

 

fukky risotto & sadoo diaper

chatting it up again

on the edge of wormwood

schwaing for pimps

 

one yuga as sadoos lipping through a pataverse it stutters over a black stole and  falling down its nodes and runners  meets a louse named alice who inducts it in the arts of sucking and following these secrets says shall you hear a song and sings

 

pornantine bloburgünder primåšotter

bare asster and soul illicitor of sōsəm^*

spangles down a gigolos spliced bannister

on a spanked faintly legal tattooed botəm

 

this escort isnt like the scurrile others

the common rank and fashion of the swelldəm

but an eccentric  a real penis in furs

with his odd own kinkypanky idiəm

 

and so  es hiccus prickius  hed do her

in the old manner of the pervs of sodəm

but with a twist  she had to read von sacher

in latin to up the ante of the thralldəm

 

and so the two plunged far into the obscene

our randəm gigolo and the buxəm pornantine

 

^*primåšotters reputedly a partner

with sōsəm sōsəm llc   her venəm

there is outer not like the escorts inner

but each in its way is a sort of freedəm

 

its called a partial lesson in the schwa

says alice did you like it?

but ım in the lore of lore

and the law of the lessons lost