journey to mecca

my most putrescent sapoo, what have you learned this summer for as we know from those who say it’s all about learning opportunities it’s all about learning opportunities

we’re on a journey to mecca and the genders inside are jostling for a view

that sounds practical

i only want orgies

everything else bores me

yes, we realize you’ve spent 18 weeks alone in a privileged green shoe bouncing around in the tiny confines of your mind instead of bouncing around in the tiny confines of society but could you make some attempt to communicate in the normal ways so that our unreaders at home or in their best friend’s spouse’s gonads can take at least some little inspirational morsel into their inspirationstarved lives for as those who say it’s all about inspirational morsels say it’s all about inspirational morsels

and i go to the mall of love

and doktor huphen gogol gonococci reads from the proper of names

and i hear what i’ve always heard

trade talk’s always the same

one of the things that strikes our unreaders is – and i quote here from a recent tweet from a city councillor in duh loins in i-owe-ah! – sadoo pooper doesn’t poop the way the rest of us nonpoopers poop i mean i’m all for diversity like everyone but i believe in only one poop

allāhu akshiva eloha budammad brasus chrimin krichri ganebar

you know yesterday i took the zoomwoosh gooberfire 000 to the castles of tan-zany-ah! and was installed as queen of air conditioners, this made me think a thought of somethink else for yesteryear’s witchhunts are palehunts next to ourhunts

i only want pierogies

everything else galls me

like republican presidents

and mystic dissidents

and especially geometric beauty

i’m pure like a leporidae or a morogoro and i wait for the 1533 lagomorpha linguini 2311 to pull in and the sun like stale peach jello rise also into the smog of an impossible deli and i’m not immune to such blather, to statements that smile on our nonexistent selves, a sentiment if i weren’t a beached himbo has been expressed in erstwhile dictions now lounging in the southsouthwest speciesneutral washroom on the lower level by the apotropaic stand which hamsa pazuza ofuda’s been tending since a clad of boncubines on a marshmallow train to nowhere dine on time on time in chancrous calendars, the clairvoyant horse sees it there, the clad on time on time and signals the girl to a forbidden ride and rocks like sansoo descending from a sanbo kyodan retreat as we sing the sad hit i’m as litigious as a torn lagavulin ligament / let us sue zen with suisen / while reading the fourth abyssament / to be dead  to the fundament  to be dead

i think we’ve lost the thread

i’m impure like vitreloy on a hot yen roof or alicia & bobi as they beat one other to the tunes of top 50 love and i wait tomorrow in delhi in zero visibility in a jumper that doktors emeriti violated after ethics class and the moon like used titanium in arasmius oreades flops below the horizon like a regent of the green faerie on assiduous assignment for a lime tram to pull up and i’m not really like the phantoms of myself today and i can’t listen to your language which unruly truly sounds like animate shits ferociously battling to be the day’s top turd and there is no softness or gentleness in this world the flies sing on an ark of the future all kingdoms end in dreams to take me to a shrine in shenzhen to godforsaken gods

and that’s been the summer folks and if you don’t believe it don’t believe it. we’re going to mecca, all of us and the genders are jostling for a view

daoism, pessoa, human supremacy, patamorality

an increasing number of voices write about heresiarch nogueira as identity explorer, adventurer of the abyss of modernity, even his secular (and nonteleological) mystical attributes*

but there's been little on other core aspects: his daoism (compare for example the book of disquiet vignette 356 [zenith translation] with dao de jing 47 – but there are many such comparisons), his patahumanism** (i avoid post- and trans- and other increasingly commonplace prefixes as they're becoming too solidified, politicized, academicized) – by this i mean his decreation of human exceptionalism (everything talks with everything without meaning or hierarchy other than that impossible hierarchy of the monadism of sensations, that impossible meaning of the infinite chasms among and between transactional communication and the shapes and movements of the soul) and in this sense (though he explicitly and even seemingly implicitly is no ecologist, at least in the sense this word is typically used) he is a cosmic contextual ecologist: a tree, a cloud, a book, a sensation are all one and nothing and everything and something

a difference of course – and one of the reasons he eludes being called an ecologist – is his ostensible amorality ... but this expected perception is linked in part to his neodaoism – neo- by being even more daoistic than daoism through the way not even being spoken, named, alluded – which (also in its expression in the dao de jing and less so but still palpably in the zhuangzi) comes across to those steeped in the judeochristiancapitalistic tradition (increasingly the global human world) as immoral, this immorality though rooted in an often unquestioned faith in human supremacy and expressing itself in our now normalized and institutionalized schizoid cultures of moral bifurcation, confusion, and bankruptcy

* to compare fernando with other notable twentieth century secular mystics: s weil and e jabès for example - the former steeped in french catholic-jewish apophaticism, the latter in egyptian-french-jewish exile poetry. does saint antónio come across as the most modern, the most religiously unsteeped, having most fully abdicated even the negation of god, the emptiness of language ... partially through his relentless subversion of even subversion, his uncanny expressions of disbelief in the belief of the disbelief of belief ...

** and i use pata- with obvious references to jarry, for while pessoa lacks jarry's overt absurdity and iconoclasm (though not jarry's love of alcohol) he carries these traits well, though more subtly and calmly, ironically, throughout his works

diotima's hiroshima

taken from the lies of life by an ölder oped

we’re all sitting in the prostomium of one of those darling chalets you see in picture books and travel brochures and social medea porn and chatting pleasantly the way matricians and patricians do in minds that if they were twigged to different dipswitches and the engineer – if she isn’t fooling around with the assembly line robots in the doom closet – were paying attention instead of eliminating the money system would be debating the debaucheries of djuna’s solfeggio

we’re squished actually. those of us who wait. the baroness and lucky and simone and the billy quotes buff and maybe you if you weren’t so incarcerated in the privilege of the solitary confinement of your necrocoprophilia shoes

and the lady rot dohy no witt writes to the lord clamberpoo saying one of the many themes running through the play is the desire of two old tramps continually to relieve themselves. such a dramatisation of lavatory necessities is offensive and against all sense of british decency. all decency she says like slaughtering things from afar and using the blood to paint our teacups. all decency she says like regnal whippings in the Name of the Omintopent Ilghatmy. all decency she says like exterminating everything that doesn’t smell like my 38EE AR15 powderpuffs or pay for my 38EE AR15 powderpuffs and providing us citizens with these pretty pretty biscuits and ittybitty polkadotty pretty pretty cakes, my love    

it says to i when i’m at madison and chicken waiting for a cab to take me to the game or rather if we’re speaking honestly for once to another game a game came up to me and says – do you aim to blame the game on james, the dame or names? it’s not the same game i play a lame tame game. hah it says i can tell you’re one of those who’s done a voyage around your pataroom. lala. here’s your jab to take you to the turing hearse but only seen on chicken is a holdaring walking rope of witches, acephalous and grim, feet frenulum of fireflies, hands aristeia of uncharing crosses, gonads like dark virtue rousing the dead to floss their udders

i do not share with those in the foyer with me. all we have in common is our waiting and waiting is a language that does not need a speaking, only doing does the speaking and speaking’s peaking like this heat