on seeking tribe iv

and our family needs no holiday to get together no till and westament to gather no messenger group to gab and blab agreement and acrimony alike not dominant in the grammar insert a negation its a smirk a caress a subversion we talk all the time and dont often even know each others names for whats a name in that bubble and froth the talk is all

our tribe doesnt evangelize nor does it exclude come to death if you want dont come if you dont though well tell you if you havent got it yet that do and want in those usual senses and incenses arent any ruling actions and not just as action isnt any ruling action youre of the family you arent even if you are or arent no patriarchy no matriarchy no battles of the sex or exes but endless awe musing listening groping uttering on the seeking of the seeking and the inevitable participation in these wavess a sign of membership without card or cash and indicator of the having entered into death 

not that family members get along in what we call the republic of the vertical for the vertical or living realms are rife with strife and walls and weapons are the foundational structural industries and presences and even the tribe of the vertical dead have no recourse in the face of such woeful rites

a debate among my dinner party is the extent to which one can accept any recognition and praise that might accidentally accrue from the living attributing to our talk any worth in their world should they happenstantially notice any escaping gas from death those prizes remunerations titles directorships publications favours estimations entries & clubs suckings & tungs virtues & lauds and so on ad vominitum we do not know

and so were a family without home yet and this is mystery exiled to the river which is nohome but becomes home by that warp of spirit through which seeming opposites the atunements of transmute one another in the way that objects reflecting in opposite mirrors are still just mirrors and so it is and isnt and welcome to the dead

take books for books more than films or music or dance are dead though one should never underestimate the amount and degree of death residing in anything but books most peculiarly and perhaps at times exclusively in their physical forms maintain within themselves properties and legislations of the dead riddles and clues as it were to assist you on your dark journey we can speculate as to why books and not just any book surely but the books of the dead and not those necessarily that assume such titles lists are puerile why books contain more and better hints and conjure better guides still untrustworthy of course but still more knowledgeable and wise and full of grace than nonbooks despite nonbooks of the dead containing much and if you must trust the latter wholly you still can go as far and farther but on average with more disasters and we know these categories can seem to dissolve and do dissolve whether in the ages before the internet or the ages after for whats a book anymore and do they even exist and why and tiktoks all

but book stalks among the fads and fashions blips and bytes and the land of the dead may be nothing but a book and when you enter you like all become a glyph and so book is written and so book is read

we have much more to say on seeking tribe and entering death and we havent even really spoken yet about the important practice of background love but some of this can be found in other writings of sadoo and more in book and the sayings less than the seekings and if youre designed to seek our tribe you will theres no other way

on seeking tribe iii

id say in my vastly limited experience for what else can the living say about themselves that the two beating blood alliances with death are in nature and art these grounds and claws of insignificance disappearance allness which was first of course might be the central question of our night struggles and whether any precedence would be of an ontological or chronological aspect but these comprehensions aside we say in nature as being a critic careerist environmentalist zoologist ranger curator student professor adjudicator ed conservators directors designers registrars archivists doesnt in itself particularly qualify you for having entered death through its intimate family members whether parents siblings children who knows neither of course if you live alone in a hut in a remote forest or devote your life to writing poetry have you necessarily entered one can never write a poem and be a poet one can never leave the megalopolis and be in nature for poetry and nature and art and death are spiritual principles and the artifacts and manifestations we associate with them through the jurisprudence of language and culture while they may in certain places at certain times in certain ways to certain eyes appear to point to the principles they arent the principles themselves

if youre quick to object based on various logics and preferences we dont disagree with you but also no matter how high argumentation might pile there still is death and it is the outside thats so outside its in

religion politics philosophy scholarship love all have often laid claim in their littlebig ways to be adequate portals and may on various stages of that interminably tedious podcast history have strutted with sufficient fervour to gain applause from the fadding cowed 

even that monster and usurper war doesnt fulfill its apparently legitimate claim to be a or even the door and interpreter of death for war while it may very truly have a deep kinship with death and legally cast its accomplishments in marble stone iron thievedpoetry wherever whonyms throng its relation is only robust along the first few hundred metres or so if we can speak of distance on these avenues of the passages between the living and the dead after that and the afters the parliament and agriculture and altar and bed of death and whats death other than bed war as everything but deaths forgotten and so one must go to those who know bed in all its forms and love sleep and hibernation and the infinite loss of love and who are these miscreants other than the artists of flowers and the artists of flowers

but if alls forgotten but death how can nature and art access death as art and nature themselves are forgotten and death dies supreme in its forbidden enclosure well the five or fewer percent have always known regardless of the whims of state and prostrations of the bulk that death and life lay in comprehensive coitus each member wholly in the other and moving oh so hungrily like slippery maggots and how do they together know this in the cruelties of oppression and vagaries of governance and seasons of time and seeming divisions of space and meat what were now calling nature and art are just fleetingly obligate names in the nile of names and all the damming of the potentates cannot equal even a yoctagram of the real & latent energies of that flow and so the commons of our everdissolving tribes the placing of their meat in that one and true holy river and there alls life and death and they do not move but the waters moving and moving is the water

a religion without religion and temple without temple congress without politicians and governance without hierarchy oh family of our wanton sacred blood

a language crawls from this 

a language taking no subject 

on seeking tribe ii

theres a lot wrong with the bloodfamily even if youre in a great one and therere no great ones only bad verybad and lessbad they fuck you up your mom and dad they dont mean to but they do all that and until we teach technology to do a better job which is impossible because were the teachers the dead are the only other option and weve written this little instruction manual to help whonyms like you who cant figure out the shenanigans of the living because you intuitively know you dont and cant belong to them to navigate the flows into that greater vaster realm the dead and dying and nonexistent and nevertobe

youll also have to learn different forms of receiving nurturing as the dead nurture differently than the living each has its pros and cons everything that cant be said can be said to the earless dead and everything that cant be said cant be said to the earless living and so you draw from each tribe the things of that tribe and are a family unto yourself and as has always been taught but rarely learned you are your own mother and child and father and sibling but youre not your own self

when you first cross over everything seems pretty much the same still as if the dead are commodities exactly like the living and you fall for the trick and dont change your behaviour or thinking at all it has to be this way the dead seep in like mycelium or radon or mendelevium or insanity and their seepages like a novel you cant put down if you even understand that with novels being what they are these days and when you realize theyre in its too late theyre here youre gone thats it

dont collect any artifacts from the crass portals to the dead what in the common tung are called tombstones or graves whether fake or artificial flowers vases pictures mementos plaques texts and so on for the dead will feel in their infinite distance your theft and may whimsically revenge you and anything you favour but should say a plastic flower be blown by the wind a demon or the rain from the initial site such that it lies on common ground and no indicator exists as to where among the deads wee remnant earthly rights it might rightly belong you may discreetly do take care scoop the item into a bag or backpack and those seeking tribe among the dead should never roam among the living without a carrying device so that such opportunities are never missed as its considered vulgar in that tedious way to be seen transporting objects from the liminal lands for such is any thing drawn from the orbit of real estate belonging to the portals of the dead and this principle applies even if a member of the livings responsible for moving the piece from the deads private portal plotted property onto common ground if you scoop an artifact waylaid in this way the dead know youre not responsible but the one who first scooped and theyll seek them and their loved ones out not you but of course if the wind moved the item it was nothing whonym but nature and natures one with the dead and they unlike the whonym are at peace for their alliances older than time and wheel and rock and even void

on seeking tribe

a summary exploration of entering death before death

for the people for whom we write well say at the outset that the bloodbirth family you found yourself in and the surrounding tribe of values class race sanity that you found yourself mingling with as you crawled and flew through your first thirty years on the planet this solidity of a particular set of personages regardless of diversity of personality and character isnt the tribe that nurtures you and to find that nurturing youll have to seek for many years in the limitless land of the dead

a difficult task the dead are far more infinite slipperier than the living their rules are hard but shift according to context and mood in this theyre little different than the living the difference in jurisprudence if we can use that word of the dead is that their laws arent codified or rather are written yet written in other grammars but like the dead arent discrete bounded certified and if you break them like the living you could go to prison die or no one might notice at all except that the living are eternally distractible forgetful consumed with their little cums of life but the dead the dead will always remember what you did and will ensure you do too

if it sounds ominous it doesnt matter much if your tasks to seek your tribe there you dont have much choice so forget about the terror its no worse than life really and theres no door of course just walk in like eurydice and the others youll never leave but so what its philosophical all this atmosphere

id encountered the dead before naturally but it wasnt until the winter of nineteenninetysix that i walked in its always words we see however ephemerally on the other side that draw us someday when we who now live are no more or rather after we have been words or their spirits which is to say spirits of spirits and i crossed into death before the official date fate has written for me a transgression perhaps but a no the rite of passage for those of our anomic tribe

its not that the bloodbirth people dont love you its that they cant and its not that you dont love them but you cant so its frustrating and alienating for everybody and rather than be juvenescently romantic and unrealistic its better to be pragmatic so that love can happen in the background well have more to say on background love and its sinuous laws

a nice thing about the dead is that theyre everywhere and in everything thats why most living dont pay them much attention they crowd things out until you doubt the living much exist which may be the hidden heart of truth take your teacup twinklegonads the one blinking right in front of you its made by and of the dead and you drink the dead and the dead sell it to you and the dead buy it from you and they infuse each artifact act thought dream like neutrinos therere around 50 whonym dead for each living and if you include all the dead others which we must there are about 81 yottatrillionbillionzettagoogolzillion dead for each living whonym so what are the living next to this and why pay them any attention

the only thing to fears hope

no lists

after developing aporophobia dementophobia nomophobia plutophobia optophobia globophobia hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia ephebiphobia omphalophobia pogonophobia vestiphobia ergophobia decidophobia eisoptrophobia deipnophobia sesquipedalophobia and phobophobia why not welcome into ones increasingly anxious life obophobia anthrophobia diviniphobia nymophobia oneirophobia somnuphobia monophobia religiophobia politophobia speciesaphobia silerephobia hierarchiphobia fellatiophobia cunnilinguphobia fuckaphobia cockaphobia pluriphobia cuntaphobia titaphobia bumaphobia ballaphobia geophobia celibacyphobia geometraphobia stayingstilliphobia and were still working on the names of the fear of ordering online drinking bad coffee good coffee receiving packages family tracking online packages falling leaves absence of cats not having phobias phobia lists no phobia lists the rising sun the setting sun the letter o nature consciousness thinking emotions action irony nonaction life music art intelligence artists wit everything everything not you you but just because there may not yet be names doesnt mean they dont existaphobia

my brains a bony guitar strung with tungs plucked by memories & dreams

 

the soul of whonym isnt manufactured by its aloof designers to be incarcerated in edifices constructed for pecuniary advancement and the singular domination of any species who move and must move in a gushing plenitude of silenced voice but to diffuse itself out to the dirty reaches of every crawling thing and the midnight twigs of the twisted boreal and there in the wholesale otherness of its superior hosts find in the technical ambition it abandoned a grammar it might seek to encode

that time as we now predominantly know it has become manifest in those very incarcerating edifices and entering this manifestations a prerequisite for societal survival and soul if it sees itself at all has to first see itself through that time and sense somehow that this seeings a false witching if it is even to have a sewershair chance of perceiving other times and mirrors is an abomination that while some claim may be our crown is nothing less than an infantility unworthy of any form that dares to claim consciousness as its own please forgive us

its only by horribly gritting our teeth that were able to endure the abominable system of constraints and restrictions the extermination of love and the limitation of dream generally known by the name of civilization

authenticity doesnt and cant exist anymore but the only way perhaps left to simulate its to introduce the authentic through a wormhole of artifice and this wormhole would be to assume however capriciously ostensibly hesitatingly abjectly mental illness ie the collapse of species made conscious as the standard of normalcy time identity self such an approach attempts to use collapsed singular consciousness as a mirror across the holocaust of history to reflect however darkly divinated nature on the unpolished surface of the technological brain

whats sadoo other than a collage of mad spirit assembled from excesses of worlds and transferred through the sieve of meat onto a negative of language

in praise of puttering

 

if anythings clear in this world and not much is its that theres way too much activity people are running around like avatars of importance but were all just fragments of schmuck even if were heads of the hederal innerve skank of the disunited hates of amerika were still just schmuck

puttering simulates activity without being activity it moves the body without moving the will it can run around but not for any purpose or to be seen so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings useless futile insignificant and so aligned with the insignificance of the whonym which is rightly ours but we feverishly deny

the central problem and strategic imbecility of the whonym is to signify itself a special place in the cosmos which it does from insecurity and fear it once used god and gods to justify this place and with those gone it now feels proud that it can use itself which if possible is even more ludicrous than positing anthropocentric divinities whonyms will only begin to grow up once they lose these justifications and place the whonym ego where it always has been is and always will be as one tiny transient thing in a vastly teeming universe of tiny transient things puttering incarnates this place and so praise puttering puttering be praised

puttering opens up spirit vistas by situating the putterer in nature before the whonym sought to destroy it so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings good for the body as it exercises it through natural aimless activity without introducing any meaning which is the scourge of whonymity so praise puttering puttering be praised

puttering sets aside the will and gives the putterer over to the local whims of the universe and here is where things happen in the ear attuned to the infinite dark spaces and the eternal collectivity of all things dead and living and yettobe puttering doesnt lay claim nor is thus claimed so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings the perfect union of the animal and god in the whonym by placing the body in a mode of foraging and the spirit in a mode of empty receptivity and things get done when things get done without there being any plans so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterers retain the best of the child that which jesus and laotse and many others of rare nobility point to and the best of the adult while nonputterers the hideous productive and tragically ambitious retain the worst of the child and the worst of the adult puttering is desolate without being desolate and unproductive without being unproductive so praise puttering puttering be praised

a core criticism of putterers is that they work or appear to work but their work isnt aimed toward anything yet this notaiming is the very apex of civilization and spirituality putterers wandering around bumping into things changing the orientations of pots designing galleries no one sees and writing texts that influence no one and if only whonyms stopped moving forward and just stopped and looked and listened and paid attention and fulfilled their true destiny as eyes and ears in the universe and not mouths and clubs so praise puttering puttering be praised

putterings a sleepy dreamy way of life where one cant really tell if youre dead or alive conscious or unconscious awake or sleeping working or playing stupid or smart and isnt this nexus of indecision and confusion the very fulcrum of that sagacity all the poets have spoken of and the essential compost of the frantic mob and busy heap so praise puttering puttering be praised