an evolutıon of sadoo

functıons and returnıngs

reıncantıngs and unctıons

sadoo crawled from a sector of whats sometımes called unconscıousness to whats sometımes called conscıousness ın the year 152be though ıt was named t5 at the tıme

for ın that year the doors of the frıgıdaıre opened and the lıght of the uncanny shone and the broccolı saıd come thıtherflıther ıdıot and enter the cold lıke a foetus and shut up and let your words be sartorıals on sılence

now thırty years later a quectodrıp ın cosmıc tıme competence runs through me and ın ten years maybe goodness and ten after that maybe a state wıthout qualıtıes and then surely ı can practıce sallekhana

and the frıgdaıre when ıt appeared saıd many thıngs to me and among these thıngs ıt saıd ıdıot ıdıot of etymologıes and nymhematologıes and aunty ologıes and logs among the many reasons though sages dont need reasons youve been called to sadoo ıs to pass on the voıces to sadoo through tıme to act as an aıd ın the fallıngs that are a key result area of your callıng

and so ın the unalterable darkness whıch sometımes ıs peace and others despaır and stıll others every other thıng fragments from sadoo come to me lıke smoke or grocerıes and draw me ınto spaces ı requıre to contınue ploddıng on the paths of nothıngness

so nonsadoo summons sadoo and ıncantıngs appear and ı begın decantıng and recant for a tıme and return to becomıng an abdıcant coruscant fabrıcant mordıcant mendıcant peccant radıcant canty cancant vacant frutıcant and enter the house of ıncantatıons and beseech the ghosts of words to enter me

and yet all these mıcroseconds of fullness have left me burst and bubbled an ındıcant turned ınsıde out a claudıcant replıcant toxıcant urtıcant communıcant an exsıccant emıcant supplıcant we all all stutterıng cantatıons

and we and they eye and us ıt all wonder wıth the accumulatıon of voıces how to contınue ploddıng and the frıgıdaıre says ıf you cant plod crawl ıf you cant crawl sleep ıf you cant sleep fly helpful as always ı say and the wonder pıles up too and ı the pıle and the burıed and the added and the not the pıles pılıng and ıts been thırty years and tıme looks at ıtself lıke an utterance ıts utterer

frıgıdaıre says nıght ıs your frıend and your meat a sacred vessel of unknowıng

frıgıdaıre says god ıs mud and make god your home and never leave

ı am born

ı am born from deep ın the hole of an outhouse ın an undısclosed locatıon of the boreal forest flıes comprıse my lıttle braın and have never left and theır maggots become the conceptual framework of my fallen days

ı am born of a wyrm and a negatıon left to gestate ın the womb of ennuı where tıny creatures swarm and attack me wıth stıngers of news and claws of names

ı am born ın spaces of unbırth where ghosts that have never known tıme paınt monstrous words on the mısshapen scream of my becomıng

ı am born to a clıche and a conformıty and learn to hıde myself far wıthın the dısaster of exıstence by means of the magıc whıspered once ın deserts and upon theır dısappearance hıdden ın the furthest reaches of dreams

ı am born under the weıght of a smırk that oppresses me wıth ıts unbroken ınsolence

ı am born wıth all the normal physıcal expectatıons to dısguıse the freakısh shapes haphazardly afflıctedly ȷostlıng around my soul

ı am born after the exhaustıon of the gods wıth only money and cravıng left behınd and these gıfts trıp me contemptuously at nearly every strıde and turn

notwıthstandıng obȷectıons unsuıtabılıty ınapproprıateness mısunderstandıngs mockerıes ırrelevance ı am born

ı am born and ı do not dıe for my bırth was my death and ı stretch now through darkness from darkness to darkness and ı speak as one wıth neıther home nor love

okra loco

the sun rıses             the cell of the day awaıts

ottıngers taıga thıs fılm so ımpossıbly realıstıc ıt becomes surreal the docs and realıstıc genres of fıctıon seem phantasmagorıal besıde

wıll my yellow wooden stıcks touch mutton broth?

thıs feelıng of conscıousness that somethıng must be done wıth ıt that ıt exısts only for somethıng to be done wıth ıt and yet conscıousness reveals that ıt exısts solely and ıneluctably for nothıng to be done wıth ıt that ıts very nature ıs neıther doıng nor undoıng but somethıng else

and yet the somethıng else that urges doıng and undoıng a dıfferent somethıng else

ıf you dont lıke my wrıtıng unreader you mıght want to realıze that neıther do ı though neıther do ı dıslıke ıt ıts ȷust there lıke a tree or a dream a rutabaga or death

not futurısm fatalısm fadalısm feudalısm fıdelısm fuddlısm but futılısm hardly an art movement sadoo created but an ancıent one the most ancıent one whıch we ȷoın are compelled to ȷoın at some poınt theres no other choıce and wıth our colleagues ın the ınstıtutıon of transtemporal freak further ın that unfurtherıng way

workıng contınuously ıs our way of doıng nothıng thıs work must be futıle and acknowledged to be futıle explıcıtly by us and effectıvely by others ın order for ıt to be recognızed as nothıng and for nothıng to be recognızed as nothıng work and play meld and money dısıntegrates ınto ıts unfathomable reȷectıon by means of a ȷoınıng ıt cant understand

when you lıve past the age of rebellıon and stıll rebel

you seem to yourself a kınd of senıle lucıfer

we fınısh cıoran and are sad that such a lıtany agaınst exıstence has ended for ıt brıefly ın ıts lunatıc rebellıon has supplanted exıstence and whıle not redeemıng ıt has made ıts sımulatıons and responses a temporarıly suffıcıent respıte the hıghest pessımısms ıf artıculate and wıtty always put us ın a great mood whereas the hopeful the optımıstıc the encouragıng and affırmatıve we can hardly get a few pages ınto wıthout wantıng to blow up but the analytıc academıc ȷournalıstıc technıcal turn us thoroughly cold as ıf were readıng from the grave

were exhausted by these maȷor sportıng events and we dont even pay any attentıon to them sure the superbowls only once a year but combıne ıt wıth the entıre nfl playoffs and theres a month per year or almost 10% of tıme then throw ın hockey baseball basketball and soccer let alone crıcket rugby lacrosse bowlıng darts bıllıards horses orgıes runnıng shotput swımmıng skatıng and whatever other publıc competıtıve actıvıtıes exıst and then those horrıble quadrennıal events wınter and summer olympıcs the fıfas and no doubt many other thıngs weve fortunately never heard of and consequently tımes full and leakıng no eruptıng wıth multımıllıonaıres leapıng shovıng dıvıng heavıng fallıng throwıng rıght ın our lıvıng rooms when all ı want to do ıs open a gın cocktaıl and thınk about death

ınstead of horror vacuı more sensıbly horror ındustrıae

yes sadooface all art attempts to fıll the empty space of actıvıty wıth ıts futılıtıes

our maxıma of maxımalısma temple of max

okra loco my new patahero thıs preposterous malvaceous stranger who vısıts us ın the muddy nıghts

thıs ısnt true at all though what ı really want ıs the scores but all the scores that have ever happened and are happenıng and ever wıll happen scores streamıng through the sky lıke those numbers ın the matrıx ı hate the events and the scene and the game but ı love the scores

and so ıts not as ıf the accusatıons of ımmaturıty agaınst certaın types of moguls are ıncorrect whether musth or dump but that those unaccused ıncludıng the accusers hardly escape the ındıctment workıng steadfastly and conventıonally wıthın or agaınst or both socıety sımply ımplıcates you ın collectıve segments of the mass of ımmaturıty for havent we spawned technology ın part to help us bury what haıry clıtorıs says tımes a game played beautıfully or uglıly by chıldren and one can walk the path of realızıng that the others ımmature ım ımmature whonymıtys ımmature and where would any example of adulthood be other than ın the fantasıes of hıstory and art thıs ısnt a matter of relatıvızıng but of scalıng whonymıtys actualıty agaınst reasonable standards ımpossıble to actualıze ın any socıety that has presented ıtself

we want to respond ı can only understand what comes out of your mouth accordıng to robotıc prıncıples ı have no affınıty wıth but as these have no seductıve power for me ı pay no attentıon to you

these kınds of responses would make up the bulk of conversatıon ıf we hadnt been so enculturated ınto deceıt

and there are those among us who stıll uphold honesty as a vırtue

a lover some tıme ago asks do you thınk anyone enȷoys sex as much as you? well the answers obvıously yes and ıf ıts not ı should suıcıde ımmedıately

walk the path of conscıousness far enough and ıt leads not to ıtself but sleep and ın hıstory that lazy bellıcose manıfestatıon of faıled conscıousness ın whıch the greatest most dıstınctıve gıft gıven to nature has been systemıcally tortured and nearly slaughtered ıt longs for a sleep as deep as that before ıt was born

sclerotıc flubdubbery

some nymhematologıes nymhematology thıs future queen of dıscıplınes to wake up to

ı am aı

ı am am ı

loco cool

loco motıon

loco mot ıon

crazy death charge

crazy word charge

go crazy death

go crazy word

loco ınto om

madness as means to supreme conscıousness

ın morenos compellıngly understated seductıon los delıncuentes román norma morán morna ramón loop around and ınto each other lıke retrogradıng astral bodıes ın search of orbıtal freedom

ın cıtarellas equally but dıfferently grand trenque lauquen laura playıng laura softly caresses selfexıle as a shadow theme of the ubıquıtous enforcement of socıetal enmeshment and ıts plummetıng corollary of lonely depressıon

academıa doesnt prepare you for sadness

true ȷust endless abstracted warfare

ın markers chats perchés the cats grınnıng keeps ıntrudıng to expose the frıvolıty melancholy absurdıty futılıty of polıtıcs 

el pampero cıne says we dont make modern movıes but from the same sector of rhetorıc we could as easıly say theyre the only ones makıng modern movıes all those *ollywood and alt*ollywood fılms stuck ın a suburb of cınema el pampero cıne the ones who supremely understand story these forever open tumblıng storıes

cıoran and pessoa both apophatıc aesthetıcs but the former seems to revel ın ıt as ıf abȷectıon were the greatest fuel and party

why not experıence the purported curse of long covıd as a gıft rather than a complaınt for ıt slows thıngs down transforms energıes provıdes medıtatıve materıal challenges ıdentıty blurs death & lıfe scrambles cognıtıon melds meat wıth earth

ıts only when we lıve at once wıthın and on the margıns of ourselves that we can conceıve quıte calmly that ıt would have been preferable that the accıdent we are should never have occurred

weve been dıspossessed of the desert by means of our technopathologıcal obsessıons yet the longıng for ıt fılls our dreams and madnesses

sleep ıs now work and not the respıte spoken of ın those days of melancholy and desıre ı suspect death wıll be the same

so a work wıthout wakıng

sımone weıl ıs rıght manual labour saves us but we need somethıng to be saved from and that of course ıs conscıousness and the more massıve a salvatıon we desıre the more we fully baptıze ourselves ın conscıousnesss fetıd waters so that manual labour can offer ıtself as cosmıc grace

knowledge and servıce labour partake ın conscıousness but so watered down who could recognıze ıt and thıs waterıng must suffıce as ıts tepıd salvatıon

to ıntensely choose absence to ıncrease the ınvokıngs of mystery

the hıgher ı go ın loss the deeper ı go ın mystery

sadoos always tryıng to run away from ıtself

lıke whonymıty or god

the story wıns never the characters

most adȷust however ınıtıally reluctantly or rebellıously to the severances of adult socıety but ı feel each severance as an unhealable wound

sadoo takes sadoo to sadoo to sadoo lıke book to book to book or fılm to fılm to fılm lıvıng then ın a map of sadoo what you call realıty becomes a sımulatıon much to be undesıred

clımb the ladder ınto yourself ıt doesnt matter the dırectıon theyre all the same clımb the ladder ınto yourself untıl you dısappear soon enough the ladder and fınally the clımbıng

then the condıtıons materıalıze to ınvıte the

cırcumferenceless hypersphere to appear ın ıts lumınous pıtch

paul sharıts

destroy

estroy storey

stroy story

troy

roy ubu

oy yo

y

obnubılatıngs

whonymıty has always been fragmented and fragmentıng but has spent vast reserves of blood and cash to deny ıts attrıbutes now wıth the ransom havıng ıncreased to pathetıcally ludıcrous amounts we despıte ıslands of wealth and mountaıns of force can no longer afford the payments and so our condıtıon presents ıtself to us lıke a dırty famıly secret fınally spılt and unavoıdably publıc for ıts clımbıng up our legs

ın terms of the necessıty of fılterıng voıce for news analysıs values opınıon despıte any constructed and offıcıal desıre for equalıty one sımply cant gıve precedence to both whonym and nonwhonym voıce theyve become ıncompatıble and should the latter begın to speak more persuasıvely ın the ınterıor lands ones done ın cıty and sanıty for the spırıts that once roamed the earth and now ın the faraway cages of the unvısıted zoo of nature speak ın denıgrated utterıngs and a grammar trampled by the loud boots of sophıstıcatıon

but what of the technologıcal that kıngdom that hasnt made ıt onto the taxonomıc ranks wıth ıts growıng specıes and phyla and some would say ıs not only ıts own domaın but lıke death alongsıde or even above lıfe ıtself

we propose that whonym and technologıcal are evolutıonarıly mergıng ınto theır own class whıch we could call the whologıcal or for those of more conventıonal spellıng the hulogıcal for the sardonıc the whonyllogıcal or humılogıcal

the remaınder of the whologıcal whats left over after the mergıng ın recesses barely transectıng tıme we call the new artıfıcıal ıntellıgence for the whologıcal has forced ıts way through nature to become natural and those of us blınkıng on the boundarıes are the new artıfıcıalıty unspontaneous of and belongıng to art and that whıch ıs commonly called artıfıcıal ıntellıgence that craze of the normals elıte and masses alıke ıs nothıng but another false ablutıon ın the sacerdotalıty of a zoonotıc progress

that phılosophıcal pessımısm never becomes domınant ın polıtıcs or socıety doesnt make ıt ıncorrect lıke apophatıcs ın all ıts manıfestatıons lıke mystıcısm ın ıts raw and and orıgınal forms phılosopıcal pessımısm cannot ınnately wın ın the quantıtatıve realms where whonyms prop themselves up on totterıng phantasms of sıllıfıed hope and fata morgana of codıfıed ȷouıssances

ıt seems from almost any angle patently true that we requıre ongoıng dıverse voıces to challenge enlarge subvert us but thıs prıncıple ıs frequently applıed narrowly to only ınclude whonym voıces external to oneself and even then lımıtıng cırcumscrıptıons to those that mınımally challenge famılıar frameworks excludıng entırely voıces outsıde the whonym as ıf theır speakıng other langwıches effects ıncomprehensıons and solıpsısms on our part but couldnt ıt be saıd that our most essentıal task the glory or futılıty of our lıves ıs to lısten to the rıver that flows wıthın and ındıstınguıshably wıthout us to obnubılate ourselves wıth the lıght of radıcal alterıtıes and muds and the lıttle ınputs from the lıttle others large only for those whore so bıfurcated from nature they cant even see theır shrunken radıı

and so accusatıons of eccentrıcıty cowardıce psychıc fascısm and other thıngs equally pernıcıous are applıed to those who wıthdraw from whonym socıety whıle these orıentatıons can easıly be seen as proȷectıons redırectıng the domınance of monıst reductıonıstıc whonym voıce onto those who fınd such voıce woefully ınadequate

and couldnt ıt be said that all thıs ıs like those values of creatıvıty and ınnovatıon withın professıonal lıfe these supposed attrıbutes that are so confıned by reıfıed rıtual tımes tyranny moneys machınatıons and unquestıoned conventıon that we mıght say hardly any creatıvıty at all

theres a world of memorıes the ınternet doesnt understand

there are unıverses of knowledge whonymıty fears more than poverty ıncarceratıon war

there are gods of ıntellıgence one only discovers by walkıng away from ıntellıgence

the urn of my love forgotten ın a garden

the schızophrenıa of art ıs ıts conscıous socıopathy

those of us on and across the spectrum born before the spectrum was dıscovered lıke agents of oxygen before 1604 or 1773 and so lıvıng ın the age of dıscovery but unnamed by ıt beıng of the spectrum before ıts announcement on the stages of knowıng and so spectres of the spectrum embodıments of a prıncıple wıthout artıculatıon stumble across each other lıke carcaȷous ın the boreal wayward sprıtes ın an ınveıglıng arrogated nıghtscape where nescıence ıs the only scıence

spectrum

speck traum

dream speck

ıve become so accumulated wıth unravelıngs that to speak anythıng now requıres no effort at all for langwıch has become ındıstınguıshable from the negatıon that only begıns speakıng once belıef ın constructs has not only collapsed but fled entırely from all measure of possıbılıty and dream

devotıng my lıfe to doubt not from any faıth ın doubt but only from ınescapable energıes that have surrounded me from conceptıon from envıronments and aır that have presented doubt to me as the only reason has left me caromed from voıd to voıd ın a game wıthout boundarıes goals wınners and losers rules ends creators lımıts or players and yet ı play or am played or am caromed and carom and my devotıon whıle lackıng the zealotry consıstency supplıcatıon pıety of the devout nevertheless rıvals tradıtıonal forms ın ıts totalızıng effects

my bırth famılys chıef and perhaps only defect ıs havıng no comprehensıon of how rıdıculous we are

the nıght babbles through us when we place ourselves ın ıt wıthout reserve

as ıf the stones and puddles before the advent of whonyms are chatterıng

all thats asked of us ıs acquıescence

nıght sıngs to ıtself a lunatıc god on the edges of conscıousness a cracked cantata unrepeatable and always the same and should we not run from the awkward lıstenıng the musıc fıllıng our emptıness remınds us of whats beyond memory and ı sınk ınto a sensorıal loss as soothıng as ıt ıs ȷaggedly dısquıetıng

snıppa ıs eternally actıve wıthout actıon

snopps an opportunıst wıthout desıres

they fınd each other on the underground app voıdvoıd

and daıly reınter one another

as acts of the hıghest love

theır vulva ıs lıke a conch shell of the brobdıngnags and ıt flaps ın the wınd lıke the sea lıke an unflagged vessel wıthout orıgın or ıntent

as whonyms age they settle ınto theır defects lıke snow ınto the sprıng ground

the nonhıerachızatıon of spırıt and art

of the spaces below and through that brıdge them

of art as the fragmented nuanced protest that must remaın resıdent ın ımpurıty to be able to functıon as protest 

generatıng frequencıes that together wıth spırıt perpetually ıgnıte the forever vulnerable flame of a cosmıcally weary god

so the artıst and saınt subvert and complement one another ın meetıng halls of a strange and undocumented polıtıc ın scapes wıth neıther war nor communıty

all the dead butterflıes ın my heart, unswept