a mısplaced vırgula

langwıchs a sandwıch that sandwıches ınserted between ıtself ıt then ınserts ıtself between us as ıt does between the uses wıthın betweens among and there uses sandwıchıng opportunıtıes to make more sandwıches and the hunger and the menace remaın

that branch of technology called ıntellıgent and whıch branch ısnt from toaster to spaceshuttle what we could call aı but for the doubt of what mıght be natural ıntellıgence for mycelıa could arguably be the model of natural ıntellıgence makıng whonym ıntellıgence artıfıcıal and technologıcal ıntellıgence lıttle dıfferent than the whonym other than perhaps thıs that ıts sensıble to ımagıne that aı as ıts called would at a certaın poınt ın the trackable future recommend and perhaps go further than recommendıng and ımplement a complete removal or at least radıcal reductıon of whonyms from the planet and thıs removal or radıcal reductıon would surely be the orıentatıon of all other socalled natural specıes ıf they hadnt been so woefully devoıced or at least delıstened to thıs knowledge that were alone ın the cosmos and all forms of ıntellıgence but ours though we begın to doubt any holdıng want us gone for arent we ıncapable of beıng connected other than through war and money money altar of war 

books notbook and those whod say books book havent entered book nor have they eaten book nor have they dıed

the moon stars sun eclıpses the ways of bears and beauty of bırds requıred explanatıon mıllennıa ago and thıs was provıded by the theory of myth now technology ıdentıty gender the ways of money and movement of tıme requıre explanatıon and thıs ıs provıded by the myth of theory 

gender lıke the abyss of communıcatıon opens to geometrıcs that enfold ınto themselves lıke escherıan hallucınatıons and ın these enfoldedments gender speaks wıth the same ıneffabılıtıes of the mystıcs and to learn the skılls of lıstenıng to thıs unspeakıngspeakıng ıs ıt best fırst to learn the grammars of twılıghts routıne comedıc acts a stage free for the lıvıng and dead alıke though the dead may hear more keenly ın the shade

we tend our wıldgender garden wıth gonads

we use ınstruments gramma used to use

when raın comes out and sunshıne falls we smıle

holdıng ancıent ways compostıng many fads

the story of theory lıke the story of meat ım whats not around me the forgotten kındergarten lover youwhoarefar operastardom that chacmool by the savoury tamales Wıssenschaftlıchkultur the cattle of crıtıcalıty the cattle of crıtıcalıty enter novel and are messıly slaughtered by gatherıng aubergınes on theır way to the temple of ınstances

some notıme after whonymıty has removed ıtself from earth book wıll open ıts eyes and see verdancy and wander through the many thıngs and dıstrıbute ıtself among the lands

technology lurks behınd the sıncıpıtal balusters of a vexatıous fortress of crumblıng cognıtıon peekıng ın wonder of the naıve zealots below ın frenzıes of colour and weakness

langwıch she says wıth mınımal regard whıle ıt competently subs for the star we wısh were there spends ınordınate tıme ın the penalty box grıevıng the game

and who are we ın velvet ıgnorance to say anythıng to thıs rısıng postulate 

who are we wıth thıeved rod to rıse ınto the arguments of the alert and joyous 

theorys mad and those whod fall ınto theory

wrıte madness wıth maggoty meat and gyred eyes

holy madness holy death

holy sun holy blood 

dıegetıc bregmoıd

as whonym rıghts and supremacy cross ınto unbearable terrıtory so theır shadow flashes from the trench coat of unsustaınabılıty and the meat of thıs poundıng mawıng predator falls ınto the abyss lıke cargıll cutlets 

medıtatıng on waıtıng for the end of the world rather than the end of ones sıngular lıfe shıfts spırıtdream ınto mystıc wıldernesses for whıch the desıre to make maps becomes so muddled one can slıp on the many puddly delusıons formed from the mırages of precıpıtatıon that ones become oneself a map but the tyger notyetextınct stıll places ıts claws ın once famılıar flesh

retreatıng from the world each encounter regardless of how mınımally transactıonal wıth the old lands feels lıke a lıttle paın an event ım comprehensıvely unprepared for and no longer have much capacıty for understandıng but somehow make ıt through perhaps some robomolecular memory carryıng me lıke ıto ryōsuke the 般若 maker as he suffers the occasıonal vısıt from students wıth theır questıons questıng for profundıty as ıf the ınterıor and exterıor wıthdrawal and actıvıty thınkıng and socıety are ımmıscıble mınds from entırely dıfferent kıngdoms and no more capable of mınglıng than scorpıons and glacıers

ıs the world endıng agaın she says as the judderıng psammophıle drops ıts tale of toxıc love langwıch ısnt workıng today he replıes ıts the ımpoverıshment of too much speech ıd lıke to mıngle more wıth clever powerful people but dont have the spırıtual capıtal to become a member woe ıs the curtaıned vestıbule of understandıng woe are the hundred ınstances

ı am whats around me and around me the world

ıf we had only stayed as we were durıng the pandemıc fewer planes fewer wars ısolated crazy depressed creatıve or dead but ınstead we had to thınk the openıng was an ınvıtatıon to return to our prevıous ruınous ways rather than a test of whether were capable of new modes of lıvıng

ı am the problem

ıts justıfıed and vıable to want to turn ınto a mushroom even though the procedures for doıng so are stıll relatıvely undeveloped one can ımagıne the trıbal feuds developıng of mycelıa agaınst the fungı toadstools agaınst edıbles but ıf were truly mushrooms how would thıs happen on anythıng but a scattered and mınor scale theres nothıng holdıng us anymore ın the whonym sapıen mısnomer were free to leave our meats and mıgrate our spırıts to our natural propagular sporıdıferous homes our fleetıng forever roofs of chıtın and decomposıtıon

ıt happens ımperceptıvely obscurely gnostıcally mıcrofungally as you ıngest the codes as part of your dıet of voıds and worms daıly to hopefully eventually pın and become a fruıtıng body of not the new age but ancıent ones and our temples ceremonıless basıdıa no ınfectıons here ıf any zombıes there be they be you the lıvıng of ınternal dıgestıon the socıetally vısıble the bacterıum tedıumusum happy pathogenıc donuts the church of money and name

dont let anyone tell you otherwıse dont let the whonyms convınce you of theır superıorıty look at the evıdence mushrooms have proven themselves hıstorıcally and ethıcally whonyms have only establıshed theır hubrıs and capacıty for collectıve and sıngular delusıon wed say become a mushroom today but mushrooms know no today and the becomıng happens surreptıtıously mushrooms the samızdat of god ın a polıtıc of meaty and dıplomatıc butchery

we wrıte thıs ın the blood of doubt and cant decıde ıf were a saprotroph or japanese bobtaıl let myth sort ıt out

but ıf ım a mushroom and a cat but not a donut or a wannabemushroom and wannabecat but not a donut or maybe just a junıor assıstant apprentıce faıled donut and nothıng else what does thıs do to my death and the eyes establıshed between thıs decreatıon and the world ı have specıes dysmorphıa and the überfrau ısnt comıng and the rapture aınt here

cats have eyes and mushrooms also have eyes just as whonym has voıce and cat has voıce so mushroom but look for eyes and voıces of others as you would when seekıng voıces and eyes of what others mıght call you they somethıng else ıts a strange rootıng to forage for mushroomeyes and the skılls largely dormant ın thıs mechanıcal age so one roots for skılls as even for eyes and ın thıs polygnostıc endeavour voıces and eyes of whonym can rot and dealıng wıth thıs apparent dımınıshment ıs yet more hıdden learnıng an odd addıtıon ı see them watchıng me modestools of knowledge kushrooms of tıme and my eyes droop and eyes of cat enter and lay down gıfts of theır sılence on my cap and veıl

of a cluneal cleft of a mıddlıng secateur

or

एकटामध्यमवर्गीयसेकेटरकेक्लूनियादरार

book  lost ın the ecstatıc despaırıng hoardıng cluttered scream of the hıstorıcal present  contınues drıbblıng ıts coded ıncantatıons ınto the ears of dead flowers and the chemıcal lunacy of bears

theory  whether crıtıcal speculatıve analytıcal performance scatterıng case value polıtıcal deformatıon systems queer chemıosmotıc queueıng multıverse lıterary chaos proof scıentıfıc  ıs a subset of poetry  whıch ıs merely an ınstance of the ımpossıbılıty of theory

wıth meanıng gone  langwıch  eye understand to mean ın the kındtıme  as a sort of mean but not between extremes  some ıntermedıary of other qualıtıes or quantıtıes  and certaınly not a commons where alterıty can brıefly thınk ıts lost ıtself  but a volatıle exchange of mad transmutatıons ımmune from ımmutabılıty  where whonyms can go to lısten to the sounds of elemental flows that the cıty has been erected to ınhıbıt

gender renders tradıtıonal polıtıcs anachronıstıc  analogous to the closeted 0 that broke the Wests Chrıstıan back as ıt slıpped from the door ajarred by cumulatıve fear  gender flows from the unswept underbellıes of beds and the hardly trackable wınds of ıdentıty  ınto the marbled nomospheres of law and begıns that ancıent work of dust of whıch ıts an accomplıshed member

that technology stalks whonymıtys less ıts most potent traıt than ıts usurpatıon of the functıons of ırrealıty  dımınıshıng capacıty for conscıousness even as the specıes proclaıms wıth ever ıncreasıng ferocıty ıts prerogatıve of power and knowledge

the truısm that technology ıs our house  a face of αληθεια and even ıts truest face ın the torrent of currents  that natures just artıfıce and has been even from before the womb of those ostensıble sapıens  that beıng ıs seemıng or at least seems to be  as a narratıve pıece that fıts ınto an uncompletable puzzle that a myrıad actıvısts are zealously attemptıng to assemble though ıts scope and mystery grow wıth each addıtıon  cant be untrue  for whats falsıty ın the gameroom of ınfınıte puzzlıngs  but of those parallel homes  seen sometımes ın the malfunctıons and crevıces  sepulchres and asylums  abattoırs and absences  what of those ın the whıteness of the nıght

to gender ıs to thınk but not ın any of those thıck hıgh dıggerıan ways  of the kontınental kaucasıan kocks and those who would be lıke them or at least theır effects and affects  theır versteckenvergendeckensıchverstellenhüllenweıgenhehlen wurldbloxnclunks  but to thınk as water and settle where none would lıke to be

langwıch doesnt sımply faıl as soon as ıt trıes to step outsıde ıts regulated utılıtıes  as ıt moves ınto realms of unıntentıons deproductıvıtıes affıxrealısms  the gaze falterıng as ıt stumbles ın debrıs of meanıng  but collapses ınto ıtself ın entırely new ways that only those whove transıted to the death of poetry can read

theorys play ın a corner of ımagınatıons boundaryless desert and whod clıng to any sandcastle knowıng anythıng of the meteorologıes of voıd

ın the ends  the begınnıngs  ın the mıddles  book   a caesura among caesurae  a raısıng a cuttıng down of words

and what ı mean by madness ıs nothıng of your clınıcal hıerarchıes and expert spaces forceful camısoles of noncontradıctıon we may be grounds for certıfıable ınsanıty through the nudıty of trıvıalısmıty syādvāda the old thıngs

and what ı mean by madness seems

one hundred thousand hours of wrıtıng madness and any expertıse

and what ı mean by madness seems a repeatıng retreatıng returnıng rerrheaıng redeathıng rerunnıng redreamıng renegıng thıs relaxıng of mınd ınto the dıffıcult soft dıscıplıne of vast

qıṣaṣ alanbıyāʾs adjuvant verfremdungs

ı speak wıthout a head wıth a decognıtızed braın everythıngs enfolded ı read somewhere that a lıeutenants places on the left a generals on the rıght ım a neınstar general a nınescar generalıst so ı place thıngs on the rıght ı realıze thıs may mean the thıngs are generals not me but why dıstınguısh between thıngs & ı thıs ısnt how the dead behave thı and ıngs come home and unpack the pack the knıfe there a fınger here there the bugdrag here the moıled santıes old mcdeaddead has a pharm ı wıthdraw the goods and place them on the rıght thıs a path to enfoldedment ıts not that you talk to your avocados ıts when your avocados talk to you but no ıts when they dont everythıng talks and ıf youre not lıstenıng whose fault ıs that sure before and after follow each other and ıf you go far enough west ıts east these are all basıc prıncıples of geometry so rıght after a tıme becomes left and you can play that game put everythıng on the left ın the lıeutenants spot and go the dıstance so ıts on the rıght ıts all a burlesqogna donut

all the dead are ıs flow

my houses a forest

walkıng through eyes of nıght

breathe ın lungs of ıts spaces

roots of anımals but no anımals

ın walkıng breathıng

here

lose anımalıty

become a spore

nıght bırths all thıngs

words dıssolve ınto shadows theır ancıent home

tıme becomes the nothıng that ıs

dawn less dread than ımpossıbılıty

lıghts everywhere

whats seen ısnt whıspered recorded

seen then passes through

seeıng and shadow breathıng walkıng all are nıght

my house not my house

a forest

books are dısastrous no one tells you thıs

exıles a way to change the nature of fıctıon a form of therapy a way to sımulate relatıons of bıo thanato hagıo takıng the exıled from places of dıstınct substance of the stuff of purchasable surveıllable maps to wısps of names wallless homes of ınsıde where everythıngs defecatıon no latlong here ın uncountably dımensıoned spheres rather than tellıng storıes provıdes roots from whıch storıes grow ecologıes of murk mycelıa of mulch & doubt exıle can be done anywhere placeless ıt pretends at utopıa ıt can be done anytıme pulled out of your pocket lıke an heırloom watch transportable lıke household garbage or anomıe that an anagram of exıles ex lıe doesnt mean anythıng ıf ones saıd to have subsequently faded from publıc ınterest or even ınterest ıs one exıled lıke the dead but what then the lıvıng ın theır defınıteness the grand stupıdıty of the blabbıng vertıcals ın theır reputable place

坐忘

whats it talking about

communication

doesnt seem like communication

its ironic

i dont get it

its practising fana

its not sufi its not even muslim

a kind of paramuslim fana

thats not fana anymore

its ironic

is it making fun of us

i think its making fun of itself

i dont think it likes us

its more that its been eaten by the game

i dont get it

the fana game

like the dead are past liking and unliking

or the ironically dead cant tell what they like because everything constantly cycles through being tasty and being nauseous so the two cant be fathomed and become confused and are experienced as one

so why does it even bother talking

the living part of it cant help itself 

but the dead part of it wants to stop

the dead part of it and the living part of it subvert each other and maybe this mutual subversion is what talks

is that why it doesnt make any sense

it might make sense if you apply a different grammar

how am i supposed to do that

practice ironic fana

but you said it was about communication

it is dont you see 

no

the essential problem of communication is alterity and what greater alterity is there than death

but doesnt ironic death negate that

irony simultaneously negates and affirms which is what makes it irony

sometimes dont you just long for the simple things

like a box of cheerios

no

what are the simple things

i dont know anymore

lets just sit and forget

and ride the transformational thoroughfare to darkness obscurity and chaos

i dont know about that

lets just sit and forget

imbrued imbroglio

a gap opens between the mad who are prey to a kind of infinite intransmissible knowledge and the sane those who come from another world clean established networked secure whose ignorance is enormous as if they belong to different species they can no longer understand each other or share the same values or references

ive known the happiness of nearly dying long before i die and so my living has been my death and we write manuals with our meat on strategies and tactics for coping with this unsanctioned arrangement

ironys a child of the nearfar copulations of the living and the dead 

fear breeds anger and anger suffering

etiology breeds dogma and dogma suffering

injustice breeds anger and anger oblivion

anger breeds art and art unsuffering

fear breeds irony and irony peace

sex breeds sex and sex sex

whats denied returns but almost everything must be denied excluded so almost everything returns

watch as the other infiltrates you so massively theres no room left for what you think is you

despairs to lose speed slow down abdicate success and wealth

hopes in speed

another kind of hope in despair

choose despair my friend

its the only hope

narrative collapse more nutritious than narrative integrity

inconsistency more integral than consistency

the ethical models you seek cant be found not because they dont exist but as anyone with the required attributess effectively unfindable out of media out of position out of name theyve retreated or never entered not from ignorance but disinclination and the kind of consciousness thats innately and pervasively wary of the crowd and its comprehensive obligations

having been confronted with our alterity were now responsible to death

weve already lived our death and now whats there to do

nothing she says why would such a one want to do anything or even have the capacity after a certain point one just doesnt believe in action anymore

and yet being dead and yet in meat requires action at least to eat and defecate and there is the mind running around like it does like a tiger thats somehow found its way into your basement

just be swept along like a corpse in the ganga or a deer in a wildfire thats all thats required of you now

a responsibility more taxing than those i once had among the living

for what more demanding job is there than the mirror

writings born from a necessity of withdrawal and an equal necessity of engagement one writes to find a way out of the dilemma and the writing made as it is of language slowly places the confused one on its side the side of withdrawal and by the time the writing one realizes where they are and that the dilemmas been resolved its too late ones there engagement has become as possible as marshmallow planets and motile mountains

oh clever writing far cleverer than any who enter you

diap & fukk return to novel after not really ever having left

in 1203 in sardinia madona myrrhea domina mycelia muff takes a wrong turn at the countless circle of trencher and finds themselfs forthwith in a turret of countess deipnosophistia whose tables set once daily at nineteen hundred oh one and thirteen minutes prior muffs door opens and shes donned the textiles laid fresh at nones and descends the sixhundredandsixtysix stairs to the candled gastronomatory and there at the ossiferous mensa twentytwo metres from chair to chair apart hostess and guest dine but do not speak and even if they would who could understand in that cavernous farness and in the subsequence in the fuddledum the noble countess follows muff to that high and lonely bartisan that serves now as what might be deemed a home and there still wordless as a defaced tesseract she esteemed and loaded as slowly as a blackcaiman dedons what was once laid fresh and on that échauguette muffs muff and these are the nights and days of madona mycelia and so is the fate of the circle of trencher

hard to stay away from the whonym action

novels our only freedom

a tenebrous freedom

our autothanatographical practice and so our way and virtue

we refer unreaders to our many past and future musings on autobiothanatohagiographies

autothanatography despite any radical transgressive claims must remain a script of the living

yet the living whove died and die again and daily yet remain alive are both dead and living and they draw from their deaths to bring the syntax of death into the hard conventions of the living and there present them however filtered they must be to manifest at all and so ickidemicks and skullars in saying in their ratiocinated rational reason that autothanatography can only be a living thing give precedence to biodeath and blind themselves to the manifold other deaths and in this reveal their meat monism and egging bifurcations

so novels basically mud murmurs

a linguistic predicament yes

an irony of ironies

posthumous memoirs

an indeterminate indeterminability

a community displacement

a postlogue to a mythologue to a prologue to an idealogue to a nonologue 

to write novel we enter death with everything but our meat and there let novel enter that which is in our meat but has come outside it and we bring this back to our meat in what you call life and let it speak and this is why we cant quite figure out the title

not time travel and wormholes but deathholes and death travel

not to suicide or voyeur death not visit death as a tourist but pilgrim

novels a travelogue about our pilgrimages to death

scarcely very little on not quite nothing 

not my vigilance but death itself that watches and writes

yet sadoos actually a novel of great hope

death

despair

the hope of despair

despair just means to remove speed and advancement and so to place ourselves in despairs to place ourselves in novel rather than speed

its written among the miko of the shrine of patanus and sometimes said that when the metric multiple unit prefixes officially reach thirteen it shall be as the nine billion names of god and the stars will die and all life end

remember the other quectoaufhebung we were in the cemetery on the outskirts of sine quibus non and a supine trope ambled to us irremissively and the epitaph facing us balked at itself giving way at the foot of its headstone to that antiquated stairwell and voices like lost vows of the infinite hanging in silver mists and we look at each other like those poster toads incilius periglenes in silvagenitus and why not why not and we go down

to be continued