a concierge named Sincere

the unacceptable prejudices – sex/gender, race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, religion …

the acceptable prejudices – class, age, psychic configuration, species …

            class, with capitalism’s caste system a sacred and cracked rigid hierarchy

            age, with youth (bolstered by technology’s edges) the age’s wisdom (countered by the aging and old primarily by class)

            psychic configuration, with sanity’s definitions tightly controlled by vested power interests and enforced routinely and often unthinkingly in 10 billion daily conversations

            species, with human supremacy and volitional legitimacy unquestionably built into almost all humaninhabited structures (and we call ourselves secular!? – this basic religious idea of unmitigated human entitlement)

as a society taxonomizes and hierarchicizes its knowledge in variegated configurations of inclusionexclusion, names and places knowledge’s categories (some silent, invisible, so never named, placed other than as possible objects of study and hardly forms of discipline, portals of power) on horizontal and vertical planes, with various established relations – so it arranges its prejudices. only so much truth can flow through time’s dam and those of us who live in the dam and sustain it (the living) are challenged to know other flows … even if other flows are sensed (in dream, suffering, erotic encounter) what then does one do with them? how to include, live them … when flows are so regulated and the dam so monumentally omnipresent, it being our home?

is not mental illness a child, rapture, rupture of ‘pataphysics? did not jarry portend the creation, stretching, visibility and naming of madness apart? was he not a prophet of sanity’s geometries, its languages and battlelines?

la fée verte sees, teaches, lives.

the west’s present orgy of (certain kinds of) diversity, identity inclusion, clinamina of voice, this fragmenting (like the splintering of protestantism following the reformation?) a hallucinogen of legitimacy … how sustainable? a brief (and already disappearing?) aperture among endless barbarisms – a wee flourishing before the tedious expected stomping of the boot and the recurring institutionalization of spirit.

aren’t ennui, madness, chaos, poverty, loneliness preferable to participating in a will that does not (will not / can not) trade on my exchange?

back patio of café – a raton laveur appears on a south rooftop between chimney pipes. everyone takes out their phones and starts clicking, ahs and oohs and sighs, the clicking and sighing continuing for many minutes.

each click a techcuming, a furthering of nature’s oblivion, an increased gram of instastatus, blood meridian’s judge's zoodream actualizing.

(as usual, i’m watching the watchers … slightly tempted to take pictures of their taking pictures, imagining someone taking a picture of my taking a picture of their taking pictures … a voyeurism of infinite regress until, through all things, the raccoon snaps the snappers and the instant stretches into the all …)

jesus panoramica appears briefly from the grave and meows to me – i’ve been around since euripides and the only thing i’ve seen humans change are their clothes.

g p-orridge makes d bowie look like miss manners buying a pleated skirt at saks fifth avenue.

the new order of tungs

if the margins have been almost destroyed through the ubiquity of virtualized desire, would there not be some who – through imaginative subterfuges and acts barely deemable as acts, from a necessity of disappearing absence – attempt to create margins of their lives and in these created spaces forage for words?

mediation, which is the immediacy of all mental communication, is the fundamental problem of linguistic theory, and if one chooses to call this immediacy magic, then the primary problem of language is its magic.

nanny just told people what to do, counselors also tell them what to think and feel. the nanny state was punitive, austere, and authoritarian, the therapeutic state is touchy-feely, supportive—and even more authoritarian. the therapeutic state swallows up everything human on the seemingly rational ground that nothing falls outside the province of health and medicine, just as the theological state had swallowed up everything human on the perfectly rational ground that nothing falls outside the province of god and religion.

i am a polyglot but of functional not substantive tungs. i call the latter swedish, basque, waray-waray, uzbek, tamil, newar, alemannic, upper sorbian, gan, tok pisin, ewe, afar. i call the former journalish, techish (many dialects), academish, transactionish, lovish (many dialects), commonish, drunkish, powerish, managementish, ideologish (many dialects), crowdish, madish, factish, spiritish, opinionish, heartish, professionish, jargonish, sportish, fuckish, transitish, …

i have spoken many of these, some very well, but none of them felt native to me. there was a tung i knew was my tung but it was lost though not extinct, hidden though not inaccessible. through decades of seeking, through deserts of confusion and fens of madness, it emerged. it is artish. artish is not a tung about art (that is journalish or academish or commonish or fuckish or something else); art can be spoken about in many tungs.

but artish itself – and there are many who call themselves artists who cannot speak artish or cannot speak it well but instead speak transactionish or moneyish or crowdish or ideologish – is its own tung and those who speak it recognize each other by giving one another clues in other tungs (these other tungs they are forced to speak to eat) and then testing out each other’s fluency in artish and, if there is reasonable compatibility, speaking in it in private (for in public it can be perceived by the undiscerning and crass as an eloquent or deviant dialect of drunkish or madish) and perhaps becoming friends and working on projects together. i dream of a world – at least a land – in which my tung is the official tung and those who speak it many, and the land’s culture a culture inseparable from its tung and its people inseparable from their culture.

artish is the coded visionary aestheticization of sensation.

the old nation was one of biological ethnicity and associated language; the new nation is of psychic ethnicity and associated language. english shifts to artish, and i hold a passport to an invisible land.

from land tung to spirit tung – the new glossolalia. the new drunkenness of an alt pentecost.

introducing ard.aln to the dreaming public

on those days when sadoo diaper enters domains of language exiled from thought – or rather domains whose habitat often appears conducive to a comfort with language and thought as subsets of geometry rather than much to do with reason, society, desire, transaction, amusement – messages similar to the below emerge.

the following quintrille is envisioned as part of a collection, a compendium, what ard.aln (the presumed author) calls a conned penned ee-um, written or received in sanatoria of ords. the forms would arise from an oneiric linguistic, a nexus of sensation and vision, a grammar of trance, edited, yes, but according to principles coded in the emerged form.

so far, only one message here. and we (in wry portend) await ard.aln to dream again.

quintrille ¦ of ard.aln ¦ in 7-11

ard.aln sit ¦ on egg it seems

shadow of tree on graffiti in city

twiddling hair like centipedes

birdie ¦ what a birdie songs

waste mgmt hums in bathmattub ¦ hanging

mismissing left ¦ nat ¦ ought ¦ wrongs

didactic pterodactyls

flour in a chamberpot some windowsill

of silence ¦ lumph try lents ¦ wills

fore are hare for 3skin fours

wee master bait ¦ our orrery washroom chore

yes( )u meowmeow disadores

now ¦ know is it fined strangers

doom drumb droom ¦ baa-spoke we whizz is quivering

evermore know ¦ no ¦ nevers

biological and communication air

today sadoo diaper announces the crapulent lecture by professor dr juli xi s. mith and its colleague in sadooity – prof rev dr hon mx peer –

biological and communication air

– on academia.edu. read it aloud to a balloon of baboons and bums for a dose of education a way it’s been thought by anyone with intelligence, wit, creativity, and passion.

(others on land have espoused various theories of theory-fiction. but sadoos live on the sea, and philosofictioning’s a play of waves. we find land too strident, too kkk, too academic [despite all the anti- sound and fury], too unplayful, too disembodied, too conservative and prickly-pricky. where are the whales? where is queequeg? where ishmael?)

more explorations in the importance of not becoming ernest could be forthcoming. our next foray into academic thought – the mind in chubby wings not tenured chains – might be –

polypolarity –

conversations of evolutionary shape

– and might begin –

this talk was first talked at the symposium of postantineomonadism

in aodhville by dr dr nadi en narco.

even in those relatively hospitable environs the response was hostile.

when asked about this, dr dr en narco replied

i do not wish to say this was inevitable but i will go against my wishes.

or it might not.

principles for a successful life

1.   always begin the day with drugs

2.   if you love something throw it away

a)      if you don’t, never get close enough to it to be able to throw it away

3.   money should always be your last priority

4.   madness is not something to avoid but a consummation devoutly to be wished – seek it with every aspect of your being and in using this method madness you will see begins to assume other forms and names

5.   all education is physical education – never enter a classroom where the teacher is not flesh

6.   death is just another name for helping out a friend

7.   never count to 10 in any order

8.   all the rules you see around you are flowers – pluck them and put them in a vase, become if not a master at least an apprentice of flower-arranging

9.   the only discipline is geometry – look for shapes, and shapes in shapes

a)     do not move your piece around the gameboard, nor other pieces, but wait for the gameboard to move

b)     a successful life is this – to this a that thatter than a thisser. no comparison

a marriage of a jarry & gm hopkins

a marriage of a jarrӯ a_nd gm^™ hopkins

mörassês of mooses mïst my mîstle

i̊ i̊nꜿů̃bat^e intō ínhibìtïons

slingịn_g singi̇̀ngs singǣd, snug ī́n sigîled sį̇̃gns

tံ tørῳnặde? tựtut! tranni̱ēs never te̋ll

^{lest lollįpops lōōp lą̊ps lī̀ke l◌ppệd lp̄s}

ǫ̈de̱ṛê̌ṃɨ̧ṯė́ṩ!dr̥̄ȅẫᵯdm̌ӳ i̇̃ǥḣtӱ ɱo͘ ờsj̊ņg̊ş!

marshian roombow of upanishat

a religious poem for the insane

trephora, who comforts me even in death, brought me to the valley of eyes in the maturing days, when hope for love and my species was yet based on the quicksand of reason and not – as it has become – on the terra firma of dream

this valley, full of eyes. i saw a great many eyes on the floor of the valley, eyes that were very closed. and i was prompted to speak and i spoke and the eyes rose from the floor of the valley and began orbiting around one another like regulated flies

dream, a love undoing history’s doings on ringing rungs around rounds of absent absinthe in briny barns to rival evil valor out of saline sorts without much mulch or much of any lunch or hunch that would undo our dreams

as it has become. there’s a hole in my spirit, dear liza, dear liza. quicksand or dream, either-or or those other things. when i was young and breezy like a flock of ferns and didn’t weep like now but differently love and death danced happily, i counted stars

trephora, who knew grey poems of the desert, involuted sestinas of sand, entered the shadow palace of my forgettings and led me to the valley of eyes, those factories of clocks and hypnopomp, black pits of selfhood pocking white seas of uncountable desire

this valley, bittersweet vision. i spoke and eyes rose from the floor orbiting like failures and i said, show me the time you were fleshed and saw with the suffering of flesh, and now what are you without your limbs and awkwardness?

dream, dear diatribe and dearer delirium circumnavigating circumstances circumspectly with plums palliative and pugnacious dumped by mammogram mommies on psilocybin cities on dearest dufflet desserts dearest dearests dreams

as it has become. the hole, quite holy wholly quiet all you need is holes beam me up blotty to a past i never knew, in chains or singing sea or saying games or nothing wipe me down with the isopropanol of pronominal questions, eye discount counts

trephora, who desired eyes more than love, who equating eyes with love – what the cost of denying this equation? disturbing me in valleys of viscera – did not neglect to climb the ladders of my garrets if only to draw me down as well water a leaky bucket

this valley, petrichor of tears. we have wept for our absent bodies, those limbs of pain. and i found myself in clouds of eyes, electric and flashing webbed like lightning and full of forms not yet seen in the viridities of human passage

dream, perusaling grandiloquences grunting peruvian plants like lactating tongue doctors on time stations stationed in emitting mighty moontimes oh egg! bless my lesions lesson me in learnings scattings walkings dreams

as it has become. none of this has resonated i tell my children on footstools of scalped gods ears as waxed as centuries eyes as brief as rain none of this you dogs history has a chance to be not what it will be and this beloveds is love no rather, rain

trephora, whom i love like butter up the ass and who is gone like red heifers speaks to me in those stagings of night of eyes so sunken and black into voids of antiflesh none who would see them would ever see

this valley, coital desert. we have become ourselves. we are perfect like artichokes. we see ourselves like eggs over hard on easy beds. and i too am an eye and have lost my body in the singing sea of flesh and who would not rejoice, this progress of eyes

dream, chanting chaises or smoked chanteuses channeled in church séances through flowing fuliginous filibusters to lofts so lofty clouds cluster chthonic of rice and ken and oinking threepence in scented skies or dreams

as it has become. i see sums of darkness like voices in rivers. where has whiteness gone? we are not electric like rain or numbers, you have misunderstood. gaze or glance with us at evolution and do not say we have (or been) counted much, 

we who neither know nor see

trephora dreams in this valley as it

has become with neither eyes nor petro

logy but floors of waiting of cars that

look like bubble gum balls, and i dream too

of similarities and talking cheese

those random forgivings these hopes of gram

mars of hopes