landscapes tumbling, tumbling, just out of reach, forever out of reach, sighings and touchings too. over here! over here! who's calling? who's asking? patterns unpattern, too confused to be confused. mutterings not utterings rule. wait, wait, did you see that! no, now it's gone. slug memory catches only recognizable fish. anguishing mysteries too close to be seen, universes blind siding democracy perspectives.
beyond proof, beyond dictionaries, beyond birth. if we could unsay a lifetime, we could eat black holes. the permutation universe of language can be left. wanting to leave it is being it. something else is happening that's not language. simultaneous ecstacy isn't a verb. we've swum into conceptual fish traps and now we're screwed. fortunately, there isn't any we, but the tension and sorrow is real. less real, however, than what I can never quite get into my cross hairs of focus.
isn't there some abstract ass into which we can stick all these clauses, phrases, and parts of speech? lions rush in, white bread comes out. nothing is communicated but labyrinth static. even hell is a word. what's not a word? it's not a word. but, wait, wait. over there, in here. close, close, close! it doesn't have to be found. walk away from syntax. don't use the door, go through the wall, go into n-space. go.
slogging through language is f*cking exhausting. we're wearing our brains out with language/thinking. everything's marked out, circumscribed, defined. life is a well defined function. that's a definition of death. tepid knee jerks of conditioning. the point is to leave without knowing where we're going, not to go in different directions, but to leave directionality. can that be done? bad question. no answer. no doer. just leave, before inhalation. before thought. this isn't talking to a driver's license self-image.
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some state/conditions you can be in only if you're already in them.
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the matrix of expectedness is a coffin. it's not reliability. it's psychosis. conditioning is craziness. closed systems of terror, of stupidity. there's momentum in memory, the thrust of intentionality. rectilinear living. making love to the simulated, cyberspace sex. the stupor of stupidity, not tiredness. the stupor of desire, of living for the future. the stupor of predictability. wait! wait! another flash, another scent. closer than close. never elsewhere. elsewhere is stupor. breathing is nowing.
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