panegyric forthe parents
were sitting we and they the many of us in bodies none or three or one on a razor of nature razors of really for is there ever only one but the one that includes all so cant be counted at least fukky and diaper and maybe more probably about to discuss what cant be discussed and explore what cant be
the ultimate raze isnt it diap
the end of days in a common haze fukk in a lesser play
brings us very quickly to geometry
or slowly
as all things
in certain shapes neither ultimate nor razing
a milestone though surely
a liquid kilometre
a gaseous full fathom six or five or
a plasmatic forever
a difficult measure no matter the ruler
the tale of veers tags its wails
wot
they that walketh in the darke wotteth not whither they goeth
wot
iċ wāt þæt iċ nāt nāwiht witan wot wit wit
think theyve lost the thread
and joined the unwound
the intussusception of dread
four times squares the circle
its as our belief the sun revolves around the earth despite our faith and knowledge it doesnt
that the parent lives forever
it dies
but never dies
and dies and dies again
dies first on consciousness a second on death
two deaths to mirror the christians double birth
the witches shall inherit the earth
and riches the culprit of worth
if the parent dies young it not only synchs its spiritual and physical births in mythopoeic unity and so fulfills a truth but simultaneously fulfills a lie as its memorys apotheosized into unbearable legend
and so if it dies old when the child can be said itself to be old it also lies and truths but oppositively
a parent in impossible definiteness becomes the parent
and if ones orphaned at an early age though ones parents remain ones parents in this estate of carnage
what sort of schizophrenia is this
a question of spirit and flesh and the reach of their coexistence
but to be orphaned in such a way that one knows ones true farflung planet has for reasons unknown deposited one in an earthly womb without recourse to any communication home and so ones life becomes a seeking for a language in absolute darkness one might rightly claim as ones birthtung
absolute
absolute
for others too on this crowded world have sought in such a way and in their seeking there might not be any semblance to that camaraderie we feverishly aloofly foolishly think is remembered but at least in this party of the blind and dispossessed might footle a simulation of a diaspora an artifice of exile and this simulation and artifice might be sufficient or have to be or is
this too is dark
and so the parent and so the child and so the death
youre not sick enough you wrap yourself in money your tombs built of words
lets all cross the border together like lemurs and faxmachines
neither christian nor capitalist
an exemplar of upright void
were falling like barnyard wits
and fade like conference croissants
im liverwurst in a sandwich of parent and parent
parentwurst
what could be worse
the methods unevolved unstrategic unaesthetic un
how can we contemplate space and subject time to a scale when our very origins and circumference are the stuff of irrumating violence
this putrid soup of confused intestinal minds
what impassable canyons between words and viscera
fucking and thoughts
dna and dna
do the cancan in the nada nada
the insipidity of paternity
the nitty of maternity
together they make hope
savage misshapen paginas and sisshapen mavage venises
together making love
to have to ponder this limitation a limit on a limit
like denerval laozi sunra carrington we cut out doors and windows through genealogies of our hearts
we listen through societys arsenal for biographies that love us
or pretend to
spirit that transforms blood from tombs to dreams
he was a gentle man
an invisible man
violent and uncultured
of propriety without ethics
and ritual without reflection
whom the blob film in cliche and protocol
and must we dance to its ponderous festival
its grimaces and cults
that galling drawl
such ambivalence in loves smelly heart
loves sex and money
incest and incest
but here no sex or money
and so no love
theres always sex
theres that other nameless thing
love as it would be if love exists
we see shadows of it like elven fires in a specular forest when the shutter of reality snaps
but youre not gracious or grateful compassionate or humane
when we shudder below the wreckage of fallen media
is nature grateful for the oilspills and factories
and is the only openeyed response to existence a smirched shrug
who enters the nameless with the beings and nonbeings alike who doubt the nobility ascendancy intelligence privilege of the whonym
and who knows night as the brightest day
who could walk with that father to the balls of words
and with that mother to the teats of language
we did it alone
and yet with the help of a myriad dead
that word
that undoes all words
such indifference
and yet indifference about indifference
we reach into the orphanages and ginnels abattoirs and barrows to forage for longburied meaning
but were slut of the same sloth as they say
and so our disdain for them must be too for us
but who can do that
we write our bio with the infinite keyboard of the imagination
our thanato with the pen of subversion
our hagio with the piss of mockery and monkeys
the lies of reality or the truths of dream
weve crossed the border so many times they no longer ask for our papers
the madness in our eyes is our passport
and the disease of our spirit our visa
didnt we say once when we saw into the incarceration of lineage wed steer our lives into the very marrow of that line and so uncover the dirty treasures never permitted out of the garret or even discussed or admitted and in that marrow draw circles with our semen
yet isnt it this very dirt thats our gratitude and darkness
and the silly secrecy of the garret our wit and throne of doubt
and that garret society and its compliance the secrecy
so they become not individual but many and nothing specific but the very stuff of politics and mysticism
and our rebellion if that be it only the everlasting question of poetry
forever unanswered and unanswerable and hardly heard
so no despair or resentment
but only gratitude and graciousness
and if compassion the compassion of bears
and if humaneness the kindness of inhumanism
so our inheritance a caesura
our legacy a prickless point
there are the puns
and puns are the future time itself antievil pills and the finical fulsomeness of a strapping spirituality
the oblivious affability
bewildered detachment of the sage
lost in the world and lost not in the world
lost in lostness and lost in foundness
to learn losss labours laugh and find it balances with love
the unperturbed ascent to death
faith in imagination over reality
a wanderer in spaces
nothing that nothing would reject
emptiness without the work
oblivion without the pain
carefree toward money love art thinking spirit
comprehensive superficiality without any comprehension
perfection really
a passable simulation of sainthood
of capitalism but not of it
of christianity but not of it
whatever it was of it wasnt
a rare magician
so understated and venerable
a salvific detachment
a pussy
squishy and recurringly virginal
what could be more wonderful
or progressive intelligent adaptable fun
an ordered confusion so behind its time its ahead
but this lack of exploration this unstepping outside passivity toward currency and power
what to do
but do the not
untie it lessen the glare blunt the sharpness let your brain move only along old ruts
and if doubt wasnt really in it what was cant say faith unless we say delusion
playing down
who doesnt move in apparition and isnt a dressed mockery and mortal deceit
mortal monkeys and dressed deceits
one cant resent ones genealogical positioning
one can
one can resent anything
but the only thing to resents everything the order of existence god samsara
and the solution to kill god and become them
impossible
and so the only solutions to accept god and their wholly otherity and hereness
impossible
and so we must kill or accept or accept and kill the impossible
impossible
the technological project seems to be to experiment with different ways of generative energies
less to eliminate the parent and child than to reparent to such an extent that its deparented
sounds democratic
linear abuses molecularly redesigned into procreative processes
and so the wonderhorror of the parents the horrorwonder of the world
and yet the one and the one arent the same despite being the same
so our ejectabilia becomes almost indistinguishable from our ingestamenta
almost
in that the abilia and amenta still exist
and so one conceals assimilates enthrones vomits vetoes hoards enrols anoints sacks applauds banishes dislodges drips ones as ones moved by one or ones
back to birthings
rebirths redeaths resees rebes rewes weewees reres weres rerrheas
but your not going to the funerals a crime as disastrous and forgettable as meursaults
condemned because the game isnt played
forgotten in the embrace of a mutant universe
a proof of the lack of progress is societys unflinching commitment to savagely calmly systematically silencing anyone who doesnt play
and so nature doesnt play and this our strategic downfall
he played with a confucian dedication and moved his pieces according to the rules
and unreflectingly participated in natures holocaust
so is it just that someone has to live the life the parent hasnt
that manual
he was an ostensible worshipper of that pervasive game unplayer
that child of god as necessary shadow and hardly any light
that sunday school smile as irony and subversion of subversion
messiah and hope as earplugs and blinder and nosestuffer and
but is the point of unplaying when your rewards death just to provide the players with their shadow piece
the point
the rewards always death
if there were no unplayers where would we be
we
be
in caves with the sun forever outside
as opposed to condos with the sun forever outside and hiding
progress
quest for fire
the quest is the best
and the objections that there is no quest
neither to win at the game or question the game and so accept from the beginning loss
win
we all cross
the crosss only meaning
yet if you want to believe that limemarshmallows love whonymity and will save it from itself what of it
is it any better or worse than believing in social change
or productivity and money
or family and technology
were all abject and grovel in the fog before slaughtered shadows and the ashes of shrines
bundles of unknowing stapling faith to our blank faces
so the notbeing there or here or anytime or where seems sometimes less a defect than the very condition of our species
the notbeing that is
he did like numbers
not in any kabalistic or economic sense but just for themselves
and thats beautiful
he loved numbers
and who couldnt
at least just for themselves
so vast impossible nearfar wordy
quite religious
and if he retreated into a drawdown world of comfort hows this different than anyone else
retreats just a treat again
an undervalued art form
a shape subjugated
a distance never crossed as its us
so in this never we ask that troubling question and which question isnt how longs the parent the parent
as long as meats meat or spirits spirit
whats the parent
isnt the parent disappointment and memory and hope and so just another weather forecast
in the age of freedom we choose our parents
mine are jarry weil blake thoreau clarice macedonio acker pessoa z
yes youve said all this before
its all been said before
which is why no one listens anymore
the same cliches and critiques using the latest technologies
so its both easy and hard to call him oldfashioned outoftouch irrelevant otiose
the young and hip and popular seem to us just as much these things but differently and its only the romance of their brief power that forces the following many to divide
mathematics and language are specialties of geometry
or is it the other way around
but if you dissolve all things into the one well weve been over this a billion times
no resolution
no formula
no settled selfagreeing narrative
so our dissatisfactions that he resolved and formulated and ate and shat one story
yet dont we all despite our grand claims of diversity and inclusion
the hope that stalls
the disappointment that frees
the memory that doesnt
rejoice
the marvelous over the miserable
the kinkyspooky over the vanillamundane
yet we love vanilla too
and whats better than brusselssprouts
vanillas spooky and sprouts kinky
it was as if his solidities werent solid
and his beliefs carried on the whims of clouds and cats
there was something about play in him
however circumscribed
and freedom though we hesitate to utter that impracticality
i ran around outside by myself when i was 8 6 4 for days through woods across traintracks as killable as deer without phone gps or much instruction or knowledge about anything
the only fetters were bourgeouis
those spiritcuffs
and one could do worse than exposing a kid to biblical and shakespearean poetry a lot of limited nature minimal media and punning 101
the increasing incarceration and commoditization of children
perhaps his only one true defect was that defect we all share
onanism
whonym supremacy
but he sidestepped a central challenge of the age
onanism
as the gap between nature and technology grows larger whonyms carry the distance of that gap in their bodies
something our meats not designed to bear
and so we need endless apparati pills therapy suicides to navigate this strain
and onanisms
but he just detoured around the whole thing
in the way his life was squashed between world war ii & iii
three
a bumbler dawdler perambulator aimless a loafer putterer who did nothing and seemed to want little but to putter who retired as soon as he could and frittered away his money to weird organizations still trying to convert the savages to savagery
its not just bodies that can be murdered but spirits
we hierarchize the murder of bodies from rich and powerful whonyms down through geometrically misaligned whonyms to nonwhonym animals but for those low on the meat hierarchy and for the slaughter of spirit theres no penalty and often only silence and not unusually awards & rewards
who do we speak of
him or i or something else
he opted out
but never opted in
to opt out is always to opt in
theres no out
other than the out thats in the in thats out that
a man of sleep and sleep
who obeyed unquestioningly society yet societys struggle was also somehow invisible
the parents not only 2 or 1 or 0
what number is the parent
this is the door to number he may have left closed or only just ajar
but that there was for him at least that door
which we walked through and fell to our deaths
biographys a minor subdiscipline of the imaginative arts
so we keep speaking of the parent forever
and those of packaged facts and chained narratives and mundane rites we leave in their menageries and avoid the madding crowds & entrance fee
we remain munching pacing plodding mumbling in the spilt patazoo of our spiritual heritage
ghosts are our keepers
and witches our nutritionists
the eyes of the moon our healers
and the seen unseen our eternal species & family
so diap & fukk lounge uncomfortablycomfortably on the razor of geometry or language or something or razors and sip absinthe like cats and peer into the darkness like a broken oracle and deaths like that flower in a forgotten dream
