they arose

some other days in whats sometimes called the past thousands of googly eyes of many styles and colours and sizes that had been lying innocuously in little plastic bags and containers around my cabin rose

i had procured them from a number of distinct establishments intending to use them for all sorts of typical things but had been distracted by an unexpected défoulement as one doesnt want to become known as a mass purchaser of this kind of artifact

noted among the sage across times inviolate viscera has been confusings of the senses such that touch speaks smell sees vision feels taste hears and who could tabulate these data into neat distinctions like a hübsches paket

having painted the ironies and set them to dry on a circle i was interrupted around midcoffee during a subsequent mandate by tired affectations arrogating from a shall we say mea afaina which assumed privileges of a literate hysteria though this was not the défouling aforespoken

the fou as phauj mim txiv dev used to murmur over me i in shredded jammies laid unrapt by existences neither prepositional nor reductive but intersected so shaggily by arrivals any goings seemed just more comings parried stanzas burn

origins such as they arent are errings rightly wronged though ive been mistaken more than sums of all the judges of the world so would you trust me and those jammêd shreddies might be nothing more than a pembasahan after too much orange juice during sunset

anyway it mayve been a re or post or afoulement who knows the point the point and all a circle is is points is nuk ka asnjë pike though i dont believe that though i do and that thing often called whatever maybe phlox or pansy sighted rises too

thats been my day by that i mean my night by this i mean your yore lanet olası ördek ne and this unchaining like a crazy elbow on sheols shoals shall we join the googly thing my naughty rotter love or shall we join

never neither innocent nor silent eyes in recrudescent dawns rise unsaying kind kannst du nicht sehen dass ich sehe which in translation means something like we are risen or weve been riven yes bawdly rizen and we of many styles in our little plastic bags

who would be placed at inexact holes

 where knowledge intersects with madness

and there no safety rails

and this a humanness

a decommons

mysticism was the first wireless communication

you know sign language?

i know hyper sign language

whats that?

literature

god the final word signing that all words further on will fail

the exhaustion of the speakable as consciousness collapses

communication  a global enterprise in failure

let us reason = let us communicate?

not a single one of the brilliant arguments of madness  that madness that gets locked up  do i neglect   this forest logic  fizzing into memory  so superior to reasons  i make into my body

the creature  in its committed exile from itself  rummaging through its growing store of dirty shards  hot to talk  pinned by gonads to a deconstructed cross  so immeasurably estranged from communication it prostrates itself before prostration  in manufactured twilights and anthems of glittering sewage it talks and rummages and in these nightmares where it briefly espies slices of its visage it does not scream or laugh  those wordless portals  but talks and rummages and talks

i say to communication  communication have you put your finger on the punctum of yourself and have you found it to your liking and have you stroked it?

and communication says to i  human the punctum of myself is you and so i say to you have you felt my finger and has it stroked and have you found it to your liking?

i watch communication ride its paddle plane across the ragged shores of the forest tops  a balmy sky singing guttered like a movie star and the moon which is made of cashews spitting at the catastrophically withered sun  and communication paddles along and around and i sit in the desert of the middle wondering if i should shoot it like i have the gods

the last madness that will remain with me will be that of believing myself to be mad

i do not isolate myself from the world but enter a place of communication that furrows a congealing world

communication sits in the bars of the cities

waits in line for perfunctory beer at hippodromes of loss

presents itself in boardrooms of doughnuts

squawks obscenities in thronerooms of love

retires vacant in the scraps of the day

i went to visit communication in a supermax and it was there in its striped pajamas  polynarratived and fed in its way  and it snuck me through a bribe of a guard a guarded warning that the story of its incarcerating are not the stories of its enclosings

media is our mentor priest parliament judge and executioner in communication and as we ignore its instructions we slip on orthodoxys ice and the paramedics arrive on mechanical palfreys and take us to guilds of mystagogues and ochlagogues and there we sign retractions

in reeking folds of desperate genitalia communication dreams its incoherence

one who already knows cant go beyond a known horizon  to communicate one gives up knowing and in the giving language must dream

the rise of communication as a subject and object is directly proportional to its disappearance

do you have things?

yes but i have things without thinging

i dont understand

try underthinging

faith in communication is as hapless an act as faith in god   but next to faith in humanity it seems a reasonable endeavour

communication  having fled the commons  pitches its cardboard box in interioritys ravines and there establishes a thresholding microstate of conductive grammars

where do you find ecstasy? in the hyperprosthetics of talk? death images of desire? fairs of maw? the hole of communication? the pared mirror?

i peel the communication fruit with the knife of memory and under its crusty skin lurid flesh seethes  raw and hieratic

various forms of expenditure define of themselves a law of communication regulating the play of the isolation and dissolution of beings

who sidesteps these squanderings by toadstooling through the doolips?

experience leads to no safety or knowledge but to a place of bewilderment  of the breakdown of communication and the empty gazings of word

exile is communication at home

the russian electorate visits me for breakfast this morning

its quite a delicacy the russian electorate says an advanced legacy

more beans i say

we have here the russian electorate says the beginnings the russian electorate says of something our babooshkas used to call капуста

the mosquitoes are quite populous this year i say its as if theyre an axiom of a proposition of a corollary of a definition missing from the dictionary

my wifes constitution the russian electorate says is inversely proportional to my husbands canon

i find i say litotes are a fine side to spinach and garlic  in fact my squatters never tire of reminding me that the government and academics speak about spinach all the time but so few want to speak with the spinach  it becomes clear that our job is just to vote and then watch the garlic speak about us as we get spinacher

back in the day when we were just a peer glynt in бабаs gonads say the russian electorate progress sat on my lap like a violator and dove into the pants and there the peasantry and here we are

oh people of the shacks someone lectured in my dreams last night i say rise to your destined depths and let spinach and garlic no more have dominion over you

and we all briefly hummed a sentimental hum

a fine fine завтрак the russian electorate says but we must be going  our салазкиs waiting for us and who would keep the собаки in the cold as великий дядя владимир говорил мне в то время как пьяный и развратный

most excellent i say and what a time weve had this morning over beans and breakfast and beans

and i stand melancholically in my doorframe while mighty armies of mosquitoes reduce my poundage and trickles of blood flow across my meat and i wave unrequitedly at the russian electorate as they merrily head north  sacred beloved glorious free  and i dream now daily of the time the russian electorate will breakfast with me once again

the russian electorate

but what is the russian electorate

the russian electorate does not exist

or rather it exists

but only as a sector of imagination

and a degenerate sector at that

not the good kind of degeneracy but the bad

not the good kind of bad but the other

not the other other but the other other other

anyway

we could spend a lot of time here

the point is

if theres a point

and let me be clear this isnt racist

any electorate id be saying the same things about

so why you then ask do i pick on the russian electorate

the point is that

if the russian electorates a function of imagination

and not a particularly interesting one

but weve already been there

sort of

i can manufacture other functions and sectors

more appealing to me

or

similarly or differently

im unsure

turn the russian electorate into something

i want in my imagination

something comfortable and homey

like a surprise visitor one might want to have for breakfast

as kafka does amerika so i do the russian electorate

this is the way the news should be presented

after all we think we understand the categories  the concepts

someone says or writes the russian electorate

and we all nod as if we know whats being talked about

but none of us know anything about the russian electorate

not even the russian electorate

especially the russian electorate

its as impenetrable to us as facebook to a twelfth century monk

the same as when humans say science or love or truth or communication or australia or genocide or steak or society

we all nod

even when we disagree we nod

but its all completely impenetrable

and this impenetrability is the material of communication

communication works because everyone silently agrees to codes of impenetrability and its the codes that permit communication which is not actually communication but a euphemism that pretends that something has taken place when nothing in fact has taken place that we call communication and its in this code i place the russian electorate and join it there so we can allow communication to occur and say that communication is happening and believe in communication and that weve communicated and that something has happened

strange case of ilda epo

in forlorn mornings when fogs are in and mosquitoes brew in nearby forests and fogs seem a visible absence of a principle of reason and mosquitoes sing a new music of blood and mornings a promise not of day but a manifestation of a negation of continuity

in little pockets of trilled brassieres we take our dumplings and bearded titty firecapped longtailed tufted ashy darknaped sultanas take us to an absolute obscurity and there on beds of cinnamon bears enact ancient pervasive perversities

in erdag we trust and on a check of memory lost behind theurgic panels of intricate abstruseness forgotten under currencies so dominant even ravening imaginations conceive only monumented maps of signs to gestures of themselves

in tucks of digital atavisms we pass posts of exigent sacrifice through which those of us whove said your lines are lined like tsarist matryoshki through necropoli in alam haba and stripped of names and clothes and i with you and with and with say i am clemmed

in returning to some spaces that remind of some remindings our dumplings cold and crafted by possibly weird traceries of stained delaughtering and joyous knackeries and i place in place in places three traces of cognac and a thrip of rose

in forlorn mornings when fogs are in and mosquitoes brew in nearby forests and fogs seem a visible absence of a principle of reason and mosquitoes sing a new music of blood and mornings a promise not of day but a manifestation of a negation of continuity

das ausdruckslose

forget this world and all its troubles and if possible its multitudinous charlatans  everything in short but the restless enchantment of word which lies in liminal disexpression among sheets of madness

only madness can question not only a language but language

what can i do but stand silent before the words that spill from me

the question of madness turns thought into a question

despite society being as or possibly more repressive and agonistic toward alternative modes of thinking than previous ages  and this mired in such verbiage of diversity  i wish to  to the extent possible  release  that is return  madness into its freedoms   i have done what i can in that which is called the world of action but now that that world is largely closed to me my actions are restricted to words   words  nomadic tents of madness

my project then is simply  or at least simply stated   to prove this civilization wrong  not with this civilizations tools but mine  there not only is reason in madness  as much as in reason  there may be even more   in other words language is hardly always somewhere other than madness but rather madness is languages uncomfortable architect

more difficult in its obscurity than any political business or sports vocation is the artistic path   but even yet more difficult in obscurity is the nopath of madness

no one can be ambitious in literature   ones ambitious only in capitalism or madness and happenstantially expresses this ambition by writing capitalism or writing madness   (madness  that deambition)

i am mad as theres no place in your society to make money  that is to survive  and manifest my is  pronounced my eyes  and so to maintain my is i retreat from your society and go mad   thus in your society i am mad to me and out of your society i am mad to you   mad either way and each way with different laws   as inquisitional christianity ensured those others were smeared with heresy so your society ensures these others are smeared with madness   the educated smiling or activist progressives as complicit as any  for they all have made their place in the acceptable madness  the in of money   as inquisitional christianity drove its mad to death so capitalism  whether liberal conservative radical late or any label  drives its mad

i shall continue to work to maintain until i can no longer my voice of nonparticipation  or rather participation only in fleeting spaces where language and madness however ephemerally intersect

from the earliest age certainly well into the uterus  i knew in various modes that my task while sentient on earth as this i is to write madness   with my body of course   and as words  and so thinking  are simply an extension of the body  like breath or vision  only with my body   and my writing madness and avoiding the usual responsive societal clasps  from incarceration and institutionalization to activism and advocacy to disability or suicide to pharmaceuticals and therapy to homelessness and collapse  or at least avoiding them for a sufficiently lengthy time that i could without tedious error be said to have written madness  hardly in its entirety for this would be impossible but to have written a competently full face of it  however shaded and false  among its infinite faces  would show  to what or whom is an aside  madness legitimately as a spiritual and political energy  that is as a body as worthy of bodiness as any other in those worlds in whose names  that is bodies  you frequent fight disdain adore   that i detour around any definition should be expected by anyone even vaguely discerning   i could tell you the names i side with  the names at least that have leaked into history  but i dont wish to play your games   most of my people youve stolen their names their words writing their bodies   we are a tribe distributed across the constructions   wandering floundering haltingly gathering in lost words

how could god not become ill to discover before it its reasonable powerlessness to know madness?

forgotten words on whose omission the world is founded

to enter this omission to forage among the forgotten

how does one formulate a language which sticks in the throat  collapsing before having attained any formulation?  how can madness break through the universe of discourse?

i speak stickings and collapsings  i dont attempt to break through but remain in uncarved universes

what forces me to write i imagine is the fear of going mad

what writing writes though is madness

the praise of folly hardly has to be written in the language of reason

the fool just must develop sufficient confidence to speak in follys idiolects

isnt it necessary that any remnant in the species who still believe in language  not are users of it  which is anybody  but believe  who are possessed by it and it lives in them  must be mad   for language has duplicated fragmented diffused technicized politicized prosaicized clinicized awardicized nameicized degreed pedigreed   and one whom language fills is then filled to excess  and this excess obliterates use and this excess madness

i have sought with minds passion and passions mind a breakdown of a certain kind of reason frequently associated in common and even many noted minds with the highest achievements of civilization   why then have i deliberately sought its shattering?

as madness includes itselves and its notselves it finds itself biologically or adoptively  does it matter?  in mysticisms strange family  that family being an eclipse and sun of god in its contradictoriness

the difference between god and us must lie  not in attributes  but in the very nature of our existence   since each thing is what it is  god must be not only what it is but also what it isnt   this confuses us about who it is   so the mad

of course when i say madness i may mean some thing or more likely some things or notthings  perhaps depending on the time of day and what i ate or smoked for breakfast and who knows what other etiologies lurking in the vast fogs of consciousness and time   but there are not two things  reason which speaks and madness which doesnt   there are rather appearances of many forms of reason which to some may appear as many forms of madness or reason and many forms of madness which to some may appear as many forms of reason or madness   and if this isnt precise enough for you  if it isnt sufficiently general or constitutive or normal or exclusionary   well …

ED BY SADOO DIAPER AT 02:02 NO 

∆ñ§491č˙ª8 in 227.†‡•¿°9|9

translated from the gogol via lezama by ÿrpdan^th

retrieved by haptic rogue emulative longitudinal autostealth malfeasant microaugmentation

classified as cryptoreconnaissance reverse deductive block polyfrequency integral ultramodi

nonoperating to exsecant antivariables of negative hyperzero

treat derivatives as mnemonic radicals cyclic to differentiable combinatorials

identity coformulae polytonically substitutable for epitrochoidal cusps

implied estreatures do not under res ipsa loquitur imply revendication

approved deviants are noted to observe pelmet and voussoir

for pedagogical and steganographical agents of false flags in tradecraft defection

upon level ix absorption submit leachate vacuum particles to flattened hierarchical pyrolysis

how many breasts

one  its of the dasausdruckslose tribe

does that account

lost four in underdown outs

theyre at five

some bypass norm through a genetic subterfuge still classified due to plasma arc

they vary

three to nine though reportsve been filed of seventeen or more

circumstances

mostly

specifically

functions of an algorithmic debugging stack input parameters from a loaded register into efficiency leaks

output it

devalued in latex

calling conventions

static cloud exchange peering

difficult

protocol grid provisioning obstinancy

one would mind

criteria footprint mitigates

durative setback

negligible memory but categorical abstraction translation generative potential

run the dasausdruckslose through scalar syntax optimization

without mitigation

assembly threads may outdent boundary conditions

running

excerpt of a communicative module extract from ∆ñ§491^č˙ª8 in ^227.†‡•¿°₉|⁹

^{to speak about madness is to speak about the differences between languages}

      ^{to import into one language the strangeness of another}

      ^{to unsettle the decisions language has prescribed to us}

to say a thing which is not

fukky risotto and sadoo diaper or at least some of their recalcitrant and degenerate homunculi meet in a tiny cat park on a quiet side street near a family pazar on the hills of kadıköy away from the nearby mayhem of tıbbiye caddesi 

you took your vows of madness and uselessness just over 25 years ago  any regrets?

vows? 

we could perhaps say that in some sense not entirely inarticulatable that you entered or were entered into the antechambers of uselessness and madness and have since been progressing or regressing or at least moving or in some sense which might not be the same sense as the previous sense perceived to move regardless of what factors whether mental physical volitional emotional spiritual hematological or other singularly or jointly precipitated any movement or appearance of movement through other rooms or spaces or aspects or grammars or ramshackling collapsings of their if you will domains

better? 

any regrets?

regrets? 

in a similar but also divergent means to the mode in which we were speaking before its not unusual for those exceptions who in their relative youth embark on a path which the bulk of society and not just the conservatives but liberals progressives libertines and so on frequently consider some combination of radical outrageous selfdestructive deviant imbalanced eccentric that while it can take years even decades for effects to accumulate accumulate they do and as the manifestations of these accumulations begin to manifest more obviously not just to those outside who are always often dismissive but inside the diverger itself whether in body mind spirit will whatever aspect or aspects of the person that the one who vowed or walked or was moved or whatever we might choose or not choose to say is not necessarily overcome but certainly is greeted increasingly in intensity and frequency with a certain  lets just say it  nostalgia for the road not taken to quote an often misunderstood quotee

if ive been at all on anything like you describe wouldnt regrets pretty much look like anything else? 

why do you write so much?

i dont write at all 

how can you say that  therere 601 entries so far in this flatulent travesty you call a blog but is nothing but a reckless dump of your inept disenfranchisement … and you cant simply disavow this by saying others write?

you comprehensively misunderstand the entire process of language  youve shown not the slightest indication you grasp anything of the nature function effect source intent shape or mind of words   the common perception of writing is that a singular human  often called a writer  sits down  although it also may be standing walking lying  the position only an important one for the ergonomists  and these days opens its laptop and proceeds to will words or wait until words are willed or unwilled  the language here is only important for nietzscheans and journalists   but all this is thoroughly misplaced or at most true only for that class of humans subject to the dominant religion of the day  in our case capitalism  which believes in these infantile concepts of wills words waitings sittings writing and so on 

whats your process then?

sadoos do nothing   does one wait to breathe or excrete or blink?  maybe trivially but not effectively   writing is automatic  not in that experimental sense of the surrealists in which a technique is applied to get in touch with ones subconscious  again a ridiculous concept   no one has any idea what consciousness is let alone being able to distinguish consciousness from its absence or subterranean sectors or anything else   no   what happens is that since we are humans or those who pretend to be humans  and we language as we breathe  in fact language is nothing but breathing  words and concepts fill our minds until our minds are at capacity  for we are finite  and can no longer hold the contents  call whats in there what you want  and theres spillage   as with a vat of turbulent water the spillage isnt simply the most recent content but a sample of the entire vat   so words spill out as a psychochemical indicator of a sum of flow  in other words i breathe  and this spilling or breathing is what you call writing but isnt writing at all   the writers task  though we dont believe in writers or tasks one bit  is to do nothing   to simply be human with or without whatever affixes you wish to introduce or whatever it is you wish to call this form   its not even to allow words to fill up   the words fill up on their own   the only way to stop them is the same way to stop breathing  to suicide   and this method  or rather nonmethod  we call not writing but sadoo 

but what about quality? aesthetics? beauty? work? product? discipline? unity? form? meaning? restraint? editing? communication?

these are considerations only for charlatans and lickspittles which admittedly form the vast bulk of socalled writers   the socalled desirable attributes you enumerate are all social manufactures of a particular civilization that has hardly proven itself as worthy of emulation in anything unless you value stupidity destruction hatred  so why would anyone assume the values it proclaims are necessary for something to be called art language writing anything?  all you have to do is breathe  which were doing anyway  not practice breathing in a certain way like the supercilious yogis say  certainly keep your body in good shape by eating well  avoiding animal products  exercising  reducing stress by not caring about what anybody thinks but the earth itself in its inexplicable and numinous wholeness  including yourself  as you shouldnt be thinking  only filling  and you cant fill well if the container you have for filling is poorly taken care of  and so not caring about death as youre not thinking and only thinking leads to anxiety about death   all this is what any sensible human does anyway  without thinking   for its thinking that makes humans sit in front of their tvs or screens and watch sports and eat hamburgers and cheesies and fight and assert their superiority over life and nature   but if you dont think then the spillage will be a holograph so to speak of what you are  or if you wish to apply an apophatic perspective arent  at least in those particular rapids of time which though are not just these rapids but in a sense all the water thats been  and this is writing or breathing or living   the words detours   the talisman that is the process is without end quixotic  to stay immersed so wholly in the burning fictions of book that ones first tongue becomes book and one speaks from it and once one no longer speaks from it one dies  that is once one no longer can believe   literature then is not something one does in life  that one makes time for in life  that one retreats from life to do  rather literature is entirely different  it becomes what one naturally speaks   ones grammars and synapses  an animism   and the quotidian communication that comprises most if not all of speaking and thinking for you is an effort a task an activity for us  as literature is for you   weve inverted worlds and this inversion is the energy of sadoo  its form you drown out with your imposed forms for it

but surely youre behind the times  words are now a subset of technology and technology is mind thinking thought made dimensionally manifest

i have many very geometric relationships with time and certainly behind i trust is always one of them   one could be concerned of course with where one wisps in relation to time but as time is the only solid thing and we morphing modes of wind swirled around it  why?   so many are so concerned about being in the current they get stuck in only one preposition   sure one should be in but also out under above through behind before alongside with and so on   anyway youre wrong  technology is eternally a subset of language   words ontologically and chronologically precede technology science philosophy art and even time   this is why we fill up and spill

im fukky or i may be and were here in kadıköy on the hills 

to not say a thing which is

to not say a thing which isnt

to say a thing which is but both the ising and the saying are as much not saying and not ising

to thing an is which not say

to is a say not thing which

which not to is a say thing

is a which thing not to say

thing a say which not is to

not thing say is to a which 

perverse has reference to ones attitude  in both conduct and opinion   the perverse person is settled in habit and disposition of contrariness  it not only likes or dislikes  acts or refuses to act  by the rule of contradiction to the wishes commands opinions of others  especially of those whom it ought to consider  but it is likely even to take pains to do or say that which it knows to be offensive or painful to them   perversity may be found in a child  but it is so settled an element of character as to be rather the mark of an adult and a core expectation of maturity in human society