a fulguration of foment

you are here, in derangement, with no possible recourse back to the lands of life. you neither laugh nor cry. you make no particular effort, either sudden or prolonged, to kill yourself other than through the slow molecular bombardments of having arrived here and the knowledge of there now being no escape. the exile is irrevocable. you plod along, ecstasy and faith behind you, love having lost its cloak and status even in dream. your species routinely presents itself – almost visually now as you move furtively into the world to obtain food and light – as worms singing their putrescent glory, their writhing statements regardless of the source or content, their accumulated anguish or abiding cruelty the decaying heat of dumpsters. you sit in darkness and write the little movements of your sensations. not directly and rawly, which even then would hardly guarantee any intensity or interest, but abstrusely, in dry florid metaphor, with a kind of clunky broken intellectualism which reminds more of a windup toy that can’t quite fully stop, still occasionally twitching, rather than any vital curiosity or intelligence. you sit in your committed tedium and watch the shadows of your sensations flicker in the sarcophagus of your soul and record not even what you see – those variegated and morphing greys – but the sensations evoked in your deadness from watching the shadows. you’re so removed from anything resembling existence you only continue to cling to a physical form because of the random fact of your having been born into an economically privileged nation and the lingering legacies of a middleclassness you despise. perhaps worst of it all – you like it. and when you slip into an easy pathetic virtue, praising your courage, the fortitude and distinction of your isolation – these waste products of oblivion – you pile rotting pink sugar buns on your tepid charred remains, which aren’t even warm enough to create any smoke : the sugar buns just sit there, consolidations of fatuous stupidity, symbols of your wretched hypocrisy and blithering mediocrity. all this might have a faintly endearing silliness to it if anyone saw or read it. but no. you’re unseen, unheard, unread – an irrelevancy with unfortunate years still left to babble your pedantic idiocies to yourself, leaking used stagnant energy from the bedpan of your spirit onto an already overpolluted earth

to have entered these spaces and find them tangentially comic, remotely inspiring … to be fond of them and nurture them like kittens. to tell yourself – and tell simultaneously the delusions of these tellings – they’re narratives of noble protest, grand or even petty gestures of anything ...

those who don't know that the foundation is lacking, who are satisfied with wise maxims, while they would be reduced, if they suddenly knew, to the absurd, to pleading. i waste my time in wanting to warn. tranquility, goodnaturedness, genteel discussion as if war … and when i say war.     decidedly, no one looks squarely at the sun, the human eye evades it … the skull of god bursts … and no one hears

i have the time to open the door to the apparent disorder of my ideas

isidora the monastery sponge

·             actual visceral physical drizzle

·             the word drizzle

·             the letter l to represent drizzle

·             the word lima to represent the letter l

the aeronautical alphabet vaguely pataphysical

even a prefix past pata

kill the bears

tuppence a head

tuppence tuppence

tuppence a head

kill the bears …

the destroyed mind

0 sides and mendacities

we deem ourselves virtuous because we don’t burn heretics at the stake and drown witches. yet we burn heretics and drown witches with far greater intensities and frequencies and deem ourselves as virtuous as those who burnt heretics and drowned witches. what has changed other than techniques?

i’ve been feeling horrified for a long time

the only socially sanctioned pathways to express horror are through abstraction

but it’s abstraction that i’m feeling horrified by

how much olive contains –

oil – live – vile – evil – veil – lo – lie – vole – levi – vie – love – voile

the only text on ethics is the body

if people don’t have the opportunity to create something they believe in they create something they don’t believe in         civilization

to create things to be gone rather than to create things that will remain

to create things that are gone rather than to be …

an autocosm of satans mentally challenged younger sibling

craft art garbage and god have pretty much been indistinguishable for a long time

a pettily caustic and slight observation

do you write for the ny times   or are you an associate professor of cultural studies

the digitized tongue is best reserved for the academic and media elite who know how to restrain themselves   we cant call it this but its a class and psychic domination thing and youre an idiot if you dont get that and conform or at least pretend to

i dont believe in the human narrative anymore

what does that even mean

i dont know

and why dont you use punctuation you pretentious fuck

i just mumble to myself

mumbling has nothing to do with meaning   it lives in the gap which separates technical progress from social totality   there is no difference between mumbling things and movement   to have dismantled ones double in order to no longer be a clandestine deterritorialization

when you talk of names it only makes me laugh   trees and mycelium are the placeholders of names   until humans recognize their insignificance and irrelevance in the universe

so as not to become like everybody else  for those whove no idea how to be a nobody  to paint themselves any colour on any colour

kill the bears

tuppence a head

tuppence tuppence

tuppence a head

kill the bears …

youre way too caught up in your gonads

in the fourteenth century as im sure youre aware jan van ruusbroec and heilwige bloemardinne jostled with each other  two mystics curiously bound in struggles of annihilation and will

i critically reviewed the work freedom and heresy in a pulitzer winning piece

im poor aging mad and barely identify as human

are you a believer in our form of government today?

i barely identify as human

my question was  you are a believer in the capitalist form of government?

protests against injustice cruelty all forms of tyranny are essential  but until we pull out the root of abuse violence domination stupidity  a root thats embedded in our institutional and political structures  our ways of thinking behaving communicating loving  a root that not only has assumed and continues to assume some groups of humanity are superior to others because of race sex gender class age presumed sanity education wealth but that humans are superior to other living creatures and things entitling us to dominate and destroy the very home we inhabit  this planet earth   what will change?

theres no such thing as life without bloodshed   the notion that the species can be improved in some way that everyone could live in harmony is a really dangerous idea   those who are afflicted with this notion are the first ones to give up their souls  their freedom   your desire that it be that way will enslave you and make your life vacuous

let me then give up soul and freedom and enter the void   death may be necessary but im unconvinced that the nature and extent of suffering and death inflicted on humans animals and the earth is necessary   its not capitalism or communism  this or that system or manifest identity thats the problem   we are the problem   and even if that only turns out to be a recurring dream i cling to the dream

the permanent subcommittee on investigations sends you to your doom

spifličations dialogu

is it sentimental she says as a chunk of cerumen dislodges to fall and hang by strands of stratified squamous from those carnal carnelian carmelite earrings bought her by prince cheikh wali shaykhah bin al bint al bin from an incipient spiffed baḥr alrūmī aquamobile gemstone monger who sidles up to the azzam lacking protocol and so almost pierced by the yachts harpooner but a chance chrysocolla cufflink reflecting a snowflake obsidian sun misplaces the point and she thinks of that baboons caress in guidimaka under a thelemite sky over a jeremejevite bosom under an aerophane chemise or was it a dream and the nipples like gadfly cornets or

its geometric he says magnanimously impatient with the intimation and the sagging nugget stoically defying gravity and he knows now with these drooping aural anarchisms the nascence of his hatred in ortaköy in the alleyways in medias res the constantinoplean cats like medea on wall street and paraffin in the windows of istiklal caddesi blinking at him in his generative rage and theres a big difference

geometry and sentimentality she says while anxious bovines futilely follow researchs leading edges of stress reduction prior to moo moo mooder in covid cargill little learners noisy animal playbook abattoir oh the purest booger for the reapest price and wax wavering in space like a nobel nomination and that duck on the great sea resurrected to another death by chef robuchon passard hermé roux troisgros escoffier darroze passédat quacks la back on this simmering plate of debacling debate and dadafied memory jaibs and coversines of one another might intersect in

theyre like railway tracks he says pinned to vast cranial infrastructures of spartan passage which now in their committed efficiencies gaze gauzed thickly back at this glazer of audile disembarkation which seem to this shaped passenger institutionally attached as its corneacranium axis to an unwelcome performance of aliphatically chained carboxyls threaded upward heavens gyral stairway to smutty sardic sodality as some progenitor of hideous pendula threatening not only calendars and schedules and productivity but time itself the train cant run without eternal separation

why run the train she says synchronously according to controversial apophenial pigeonhole principles with a slubberdegullion on honcho dori slousing butane singing same and chacma jack at uitenhage signalling in triplicate in the dreams of the dead and yet still a fourth in schneebergs forests with its ovoviviparous pinions and racks and none of this clacking through any obvious choochoo but bin cheikh al wali al shaykhah bint prince bins cochlea in her inner kolpophilia spinning on mare nostrum in their gonadal cyclonic casinos when its not going anywhere anyway for

p(n)−p(n−1) he says his engines steaming like eyjafjallajökull as her tallow takes an orbit too proximate and he swings his meat away like an excel carcass become reruminantly reanimate on line ready to assail with raw celerity conglomerates behind such assumptions of affront and a luncheonian disk of cow now powering through the seven stations of gut expounding in its way of the eternal slaughter of clock and blurred slurred sord burred shirred p(n,k,d)=(1­–(d–nk-1)!)/(d^n–1(d–n(k+1))!)

a sacristan and sextress charge sacred objects of an ecclesiasticalitology with heavy dusters

digitally when i type caress and it looks wrong to me even though i know it’s right and i add an additional r between the existing r and the only e and the GSI (Global Spelling Infrastructure) confirms the former manifestation is the correct one and i delete an r yet not the r i added but the preexisting one … the question is … is it the same caress?

ah  that old question  says hairy clitoris

deserts of forbidden arts

to doubt human supremacy isn’t simply an unpopular act – it’s an absent act. all the human energies and eyes are on assertions within assumptions of human supremacy (the present media dominations of covid and amerikan protests and rioting – regardless of various obvious legitimacies of horror and concern – are only two current examples of a relentlessly teeming plethora of incidents and themes)

if one attaches this doubt to an identifiable human concern – veganism for example – the doubting becomes visible. it becomes visible primarily due to the inherent ecological troubles (for humans to survive and thrive the earth must be sustainable and present human practices in relation to earth-keeping/destroying and carnism are unsustainable) rather than any integral doubt about the superior worth of humans

 to question someone’s human supremacy assumptions – regardless of their positions on sex race gender religion age class etc – is mostly to meet with incomprehension and dismissal. even if dialogue ensues, effective practical implementation of doubt is nearly or fully impossible … even for the doubter. the faith in our raised place in the hierarchies of being is so ecosystemically entrenched that to attempt to remove oneself from these systems (except through suiciding) isn’t an option. one requires capital to potentially do so (certain kinds of homesteading for example) but capital has already bought into the faith (capital from certain angles is the faith)

so we can (theoretically, abstractly) critique human supremacy. but we can’t even imagine (let alone practice) implementable ways of living without it except through death. and it’s this extreme juxtaposition – between what seems like a radical affirmation of life (the intercontextual network of all living things and a human placement of care and stewardship within this network ... of one intelligence and consciousness among many diverse intelligences) and a pathway of death – that places the doubter in spaces of negation (dewill decreation demind disquiet : orientations that hapless sundry humans have well articulated, despite differences in temperaments and philosophic-aesthetic modes) … an apophaticism without god community hope language, a mysticism without ecstasy truth experience transformation light

we're all in this together
but the this disturbs
and the all excludes almost all the all
we want to be in another in

tokamak symplegma

always having suspected that i was one of those of the missing and having found myself solidly halfway through life and still not missing and not wanting to miss my fate – at least not absolutely – i began migrating down a path of simulating being one of the missing and i would like to write about this migration but haven’t yet found the right language and so all the writing i’ve done is a kind of attempt to write about wanting to write about it

we decreate our way to ungreatness – to paraphrase a fortune 100 executive who paraphrased a management guru who no doubt paraphrased someone else. in my case this means learning the obscure arts of babbling, acedia, hallucination, and a calm franticness (which is not as much a contradiction as you might think) … not as anything to fear or scorn but as a lifestyle as legitimate as the rich and famous, the common bourgeois, or the common activist

the discipline of this learning is i admit a peculiar study and practice. to learn to experience these typically shunned arts as normal, good, desirable, even progressive requires a complex rewiring of the brain that no therapeutic advocacy or pharmaceutical aid could accomplish, as these aids and advocacies are most frequently designed to happyize (how else do we describe our novel culture of Smile except to conjure a verb from an almost enforced obsession?) active willing participation in the production of names … which is the religious orthodoxy of the day : the requirement to be seen. that is, to not be missing

a side benefit of this discipline is that it introduces (or reintroduces for those who believe in some sort of original face, core identity or soul – the language is less important than the orientation) us to some externally-contextually unreachable timespace of our i (our plurality or pluralities of i) … those languages and mores our interiority would find naturally compelling were they to exist in externality … where we would find our true place, that spiritual-physical home of dream and desire where, as some greek philosopher prayed, the inner and outer would be one

unfortunately these sorts of practices can’t be taught – even speaking about them in the way i’m doing lends itself to interdisciplinary quackery. every instance we see of these principles and movements being systemized and communicated for emulation (regardless of how sophisticated or earnest any student or teacher might be) the enterprise quickly turns into a parody of itself and the rationalists are right to shamelessly mock. for the time being and perhaps always we strange pupils resort to actualizing only in aspects of desolation, incommunicability … those spaces between the interior and exterior realms that reach for both but never touch either