hell sēng ør c̳̻͚̻̩̻͉̯̄̏͑̋͆̎͐ͬ͑͌́͢h̵͔͈͍͇̪̯͇̞͖͇̜͉̪̪̤̙ͧͣ̓̐̓ͤ͋͒ͥ͑̆͒̓͋̑́͞ǎ̡̮̤̤̬͚̝͙̞͎̇ͧ͆͊ͅo̴̲̺͓̖͖͉̜̟̗̮̳͉̻͉̫̯̫̍̋̿̒͌̃̂͊̏̈̏̿ͧ́ͬ̌ͥ̇̓̀͢͜s̵̵̘̹̜̝̘̺̙̻̠̱͚̤͓͚̠͙̝͕͆̿̽ͥ̃͠͡

c̳̻͚̻̩̻͉̯̄̏͑̋͆̎͐ͬ͑͌́͢h̵͔͈͍͇̪̯͇̞͖͇̜͉̪̪̤̙ͧͣ̓̐̓ͤ͋͒ͥ͑̆͒̓͋̑́͞ǎ̡̮̤̤̬͚̝͙̞͎̇ͧ͆͊ͅo̴̲̺͓̖͖͉̜̟̗̮̳͉̻͉̫̯̫̍̋̿̒͌̃̂͊̏̈̏̿ͧ́ͬ̌ͥ̇̓̀͢͜s̵̵̘̹̜̝̘̺̙̻̠̱͚̤͓͚̠͙̝͕͆̿̽ͥ̃͠͡

it wasnt what i thought ohfeelya  it was what something else thought  a something else that may have been in my thoughts but if it was was as much wasnt as was  and this as much im beginning to suspect might actually be the something else or if it isnt be something so nefariously analogous as to make us think it is  and so what you heard or what you may have heard or what i said or what i might have said or what i might have heard i said i wouldnt say is anything even like my thinking

youve gone insane lathem  youve lost all touch with irreality

losing touch i feel ohfeelya often in hypnopompia at least might be the very tea and teacup irreality slurps and swills within as when you an utter fabrication of my inveterate nonbeing falter like an unmade mermaid before a reformado as theyre waylaid by an airraid at a hacienda in eldorado

thank you lathem for saying this   it was only in that moment precisely i needed more than ever a reminder of something i can never remember

ohfeelya how in the chthonic fictive heights of our textuality weve swapped ourselves like naughty syntaxes  each becoming the nothing the other wasnt while equally the something the other wasnt even more

this is my lathem purest darkest fantasy that in our fickling disappearings we phoneme one another like wanton funerary disorders of antimorphonomenclatures in our random pseudoimprobabilities

even when we were never sitting under the prunus serrulata not besotten by something only called love by those excelling at ineptitude in all things but ineptitude and i didnt whisper in my absent caresses to you ohfeelya of my pleasure in not giving to you i used to enjoy watching words careen like bumper boats in a wavepool in a thunderstorm and now that ive become just another bumper boat who when ones moved like this can watch?

well you know as colonel saunters says lathem à la sainte terre  for every watch is a sort of crusade preached by some emily the esotatic in us to not go forth and reconquer these holy maps from the gonads of the infidels and so we too are sainteterreer kernels

c̳̻͚̻̩̻͉̯̄̏͑̋͆̎͐ͬ͑͌́͢h̵͔͈͍͇̪̯͇̞͖͇̜͉̪̪̤̙ͧͣ̓̐̓ͤ͋͒ͥ͑̆͒̓͋̑́͞ǎ̡̮̤̤̬͚̝͙̞͎̇ͧ͆͊ͅo̴̲̺͓̖͖͉̜̟̗̮̳͉̻͉̫̯̫̍̋̿̒͌̃̂͊̏̈̏̿ͧ́ͬ̌ͥ̇̓̀͢͜s̵̵̘̹̜̝̘̺̙̻̠̱͚̤

i feel your saunter ohfeelya but i wouldnt go so far as to make presumptions about your perceptions about my suspicions about what im incapable of thinking  none of which after all have anything to do with either you or me for isnt it these stories that arent stories that undo us toward that greater undoing whereby we dont any longer do?

this is what we share in our glorious and wretched incomprehensibilities and why we never like each other but keep on pretending to communicate even though neither of us exist so i can only conclude lathem like the ancient grungoyians didnt  what could be finer in life than to converse not with oneself or another or ones other or one of ones others  not one at all  but a kind of myriad of swirled absences thatre neither other nor not or even missing

how long weve not been together   its not one of those things i dont treasure about us like our incapacity of speaking anything remotely useful ohfeelya and our words falling into deeyed abysses like ashen constitutions

lathem   i wholeheartedly couldnt agree less in my circumscribed concurrings and as all evidence suggests humans are nothing but a critically endangered subspecies of words spiralling toward an extinction we already inhabit in our erased lexiconography let us both then in our nonexistence  you in your inscrutable indecipherability and i in my recondite incoherence  in the lunatic bulges that dont define the voiding spaces between us of which you are the evasive substance and i the wildering sign  speak in the eternal gyres of our nonspeakings  love in the infinite circuits of our exterminating love

moktor peer and carnism

sadoo diaper collegially and anarealistically shares minds of other sadoos outside and surrounding this and other worlds, whether these minds be housed in flesh, metal, or mind, whether the sadoo calls itself sadoo or something else, whether the mind be Mocktor, Doktor, Proctor, Octopus, Worship, or Steamship. naturally this sharing occurs so omnipresently that it can hardly be said anything written is of diaper and all this sadoo does is ingest other minds then dream the dreamings of these minds and this a record of the dreams of these dreamings

but let method be method or not, for it confuses us

all this to say we advise excitedly our audience of bountiful infections of dr jude peer's very recent addition to the anuses of scholarship with its post to the virtual academy of esotatic

esotatic's abstract -

the academy has defined esotericism - despite innate problems of definition - as a legitimate sphere of research. esoteric etymologically derives from eso- and teros (more within); this paper attempts to place esotericism in contexts of esotaticism (eso- and tatos : most within), exoterocism (more without), and exotaticism (most without), continuing to use the innovative modes and methods of mkt peer - of disciplined polymathic research from the insides out of subject matter rather than from outsides in

also, since ōvid19's spawning many transformations in relation to unminded minds minding relations that hadn't been minded in their mindings, we also advise of the nyt article on 13.04.20 exploring the relationship between ōvid19 and carnism. this article was minded to us by a medium article - have you ever wondered why you haven't wondered?: carnism, racism, nationalism, and the many deeply problematic -isms of covid-19

while these styles of carnist-exploring mind aren't that sadooic, we note them due to our pleasure of increased attention to the effects of the rampant global reified human mistreatment (abuse, genocide) of our colleagues in life

we are pervasively sad and angry, however, as humanity's still vastly distant from beginning in any actualized way to question our systems of false supremacy and become a species worthy of admiration, worthy of our capacities ... worthy of ... mind

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