zero won

it was the big game

the one wed all been waiting for

in the ṛ|ṭøė polytheatre at colossae

it was when it discovered autobiography

pardon

when it saw the abyss of the power of the fiction of identity

the narrative that always isnt there

language was there  it had eaten all the philosophers and was nimble and corpulent  a flag to itself in statal voids  an anthem of anarchy  an encomium to disorder 

language sat on itself and it was on the benches and in the stands and on the field and whose team it was on or who it was for if anybody or anything no one could tell

theres not philosophy nor are there even philosophers but theres language and in each of its infinite eyes a thinking word

and in each word endless lies and flies

so it discovers the treacheries in the grammars of lifing a life

and suicides

like a ballerina in auschwitz

its narcissistic

its solipsistic

its using slapstick as a dipstick

its the big game

they embedded onto the field like transcompilers

any lines or goals or bases or loops or referees that might once have been are missing

they tumble onto the field like virtual intermediate representations

and no one tells them when to run or start

or end

its impossible to distinguish between players and spectators and press and popcorn and staff

only language stands out

sitting on everyone like time

its that sitting that it notices

after philosophy had undressed

and theres no body underneath

but the intimation of a shape of night

and sitting on it

language

does not language call out  dont words raise their voices

on the heights along the way  where paths meet  they take their stand

beside the gates leading into the city  at the entrances  they cry aloud

and it models a kind of simulating of a query of an assembly of constructing

so to travel into the life of life one leaves philosophy

philosophy like science falls down outside itself

but language still sits on itself

and in that sitting theres a promise  however void  of a story

of a story that hasnt shown or doesnt show or shows but not in shows or cannot show

its that story we long to write

to see

to live

not to live

its been lived

being

the only facts not facts but words

and words are facts like dreams and virga

and so a life

and so it saw

and so the one who lives is fog and script

and so the one who dies

a commode for sarah kofman

a scurrile cymbopogon

today in studio sadoo we have fukky risotto administrator of the global sadoo network and beyond  sadoo diaper administrator of nothing  heresiarch fani och|ness jard ovo qoq investigator of administrators  sadoo risotto administrator of investigators  and heresiarch sadoo fukky diaper investigator of administrators of investigators

the reals become a distant circus of collapsed tents

arts the space you find yourself in when you escape art

im falling slower as i descend

you keep slowing down but never stop as theres no bottom  so youll always be as close to where you started as to any nonexistent end

ill always just be where i am as the always just be where you are people say

those between capitalism and acedia must assume the banner of mental illness but those of us between acedia and acedia assume banners like some favourite smelly underwear you think you lost but randomly discovered underneath some hard blackened banana peels in a rubbermaid bin full of recently found forged kafka stories with burn me posted everywhere

the self breathes like fog over the lands of the self

tricksters gone virtual

this is the saddest of sads

thats far from the saddest of sads

this is the saddest of sads about which i can still say this is the saddest of sads

i advance the theory that technology and mysticism are the raw inputs in the factory to manufacture communication

thats a retreat

real treats are the fake treats

its difficult for you to understand how difficult it is for me to understand you

social media doubly fails  it attempts to communicate in society but societys constitution dispermits communication  and it attempts to communicate through media and medias a horrible conduit for communication

i had breakfast with ezekiel and unica

i had leonora and isaiah for breakfast

jeremiah and clarice had me for breakfast

gomer and gomers other had breakfast for me

breakfast and breakfast had breakfast for breakfast

this is the way it goes

toward the bottom that isnt

toward the communication that doesnt

the sad that desads

desade was sad but desaded himself through many a de

the underwear that isnt mentally ill

the circus that isnt mentally real

how much power should we grant the physicists

physicists lives matter

they live matter

here i have my land the lost land of the self not regained through memory on which i walk with the feet of dream and with each footfall i destate the id estate

this physicist for example i just met on my markov blanket   he was telling me in his own idiolect what i already know in my own idiolect

... er … god … ich ...

exactly  and idiolectic assumptions are frequently subverted by the very grammar of that very same idiolect  leaving physicist and esotatic alike in separate free energy paddle boats in a very bigsmall pond

surprise!

but nosurprise

surprise and nosurprise!

dissipatings in orderings and orderings in dissipatings

energy everywhere

but therere not just esotatics and physicists on the pond  therere mushrooms and swissarmyknives and pocketoperators and black and white and brown and yellow and pink and purple people and some of these are also physicists or mushrooms or ceratopogonidae …

… and everyones pooping

a lot

theres a lot of poop

poop communicates

im on my molotov blanket on a beach watching all the boats and pooping

the beach is in the pond too

all there is is pond

i made a nopond beach with my imagination and the nopond beach isnt in the pond like a weird beach but beside the pond like a real beach

map lives matter

all there are are maps

ar ar ar ar ar ar

entropys the most ordered thing ive ever done

are are are are are are

and the six or so defriends sing together –

suck your thumb on a molotov blanket

put up your gonads for sale

beautiful worlds are ending

on the back of a plasticized whale

wiikwegamaa

who would be ascendant among the letters

and who would separate the phrases from the phrases

i see it now  the people in the pineapple 

these shores have been worded to ruin ruin

no against any i but to ruin i

wiikwegamaa

i use a word of a people of the human

weigh that apple on your iphone

bite it like the many deaths youve created

none of us have any land

notunderstandings become so given its become our understanding

say the lines

say them and understand them like a lesser bilby

who believes in nouning anymore  substantives are a declaration of war

orientation	medium	environment	i dont like taxonomies
exotatic	social	medea	i dont like taxonomies
esotatic	spirit	media	i dont like taxonomies

im sitting here with my friends death, death, death, and death. youd think theyd look indistinguishable but they dont. youd think theyd speak so as to be understood by the others but they dont

the languages and dialects of fogs

how does fog understand and not understand itself

how does it speak to the rain

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