stoodio doo toodays buzzing with bots from geylang whove clatteringly descended the 283 metres to join us in mocking doos futility
doo this protest from the sidelines, this ineffectual throwing literary pebbles from a relatively privileged playground into the busy struggling arenas of the world, it may have been necessary or transgressive a few decades ago but no one cares anymore, no ones shocked, no ones impressed, no ones going to listen to or change because of these antics which are frankly post postindustrial and increasingly puerile
as usual you miss the point or rather points fuk or more to points you miss the spheres hyperspheres and pataspheres, stuck on a freeway in rush hour when nothings moving
and yoo as usual doo just want to play sophistic games with absurd metaphors in the safety of your meaningless retreat, but the only route left is through engagement, however difficult
youre of the kind who preach diversity but cant practice it, you demand that not only everyone engage but that they engage in particular ways and these particular ways just happen to be a reification of yet another assumption of one culture which truly hasnt proven itself to be all that worthy of anything important other than shouting and destruction
dissonance is cliche
dissonance is cliche is cliche
staying in the realm of mere literature is cowardly
many fear bobbing in the sea of literature
youre the eternal voice of irrelevance
youre the eternal voice of conformity
the external world, that which is outside yourself, that which comes into being through the struggle of specimens working together and against - a life avoiding this is just another critic pointing out how the strong stumble, credit belongs to those actually in the arena not those cold and timid souls who are afraid of both victory and defeat
literatures the most agreeable way of ignoring society which is a carousel of selfaggrandizing fools
there must be a third way
but also a fourth and ninth and twentyfifth, if literature, if art - if that which is the wellspring of these things we prefer not to name - isnt protest there is no protest, theres no evidence your marches and demonstrations, your boardroom and media struggles are effectual, show me the etiologies of change and ... not only are we of the tribe that dont have capacity for assimilation, this tribe will always present itself but in varied manifestations - some incarcerated, some institutionalized, some drugged, some creating, some mute, some silenced - your socalled heroes are terrified of art - and thereby commoditize it to remove the terror - and so capitalism as the vulgar consummation of history demonstrates its disastrous hostility toward the ecologies of nature and art
but whats the alternative doo all other forms of governance would in your terms be equally disastrous
you object to varied essential forms of spirit fuk and demand that we cross over to your forms but we dont ask that you cross over to ours, we dont even know what ours are, we spout the voids and call them voids, you spout the voids and call them family virtue power money courage worth greatness, all the millennia old cliches, you say assimilate but the absorbed extremity is no longer an extremity and as the outlier enters the dubious commons the outlier dies and so along with it doubt and the forest and night, as the whonym world usurps the planet so the entrenched whonym says the usurpation is all there is, you can accuse us of being a dying breed, luddites of the spirit, uselessnesses of society, but the useless have always been with us and why if that is our family should we not give it voice and give it voice according to the ways uselessness meanders, literature has always asked what are we, what is it, whytofore and whenceasmuch, and what are we doing mucking around in this airy nothingness of words - these roundabouts of nothingness are arts effective most thorough contribution to culture ...but to ask that each of us also be a politician an entrepreneur investor a warrior negotiator an influencer ... is to ask that the very eye of art go blind, you want us all to have a recognized job description in the factory of society, but wanderers hobos mumblers losers renegades miscreants - those who lock themselves in bedrooms and slip strange notes under the door - those who cant or wont or dont - those of nots and knots - your program of assimilation is a call for increased alienation and disaster in a world already brimming with these consequences of strategic imbecility, the names change across cultures and centuries as they will - desert fathers and mothers anchorites hermits daoists mystics poets - now possibly the mentally ill the abject certain abdicators a kind of artist who decries the name - this is what we like dooing, doo is what we doo, doo is what eye are, we feel nauseous claustrophobic revolted unhealthy diseased attempting to fit into the assimilated kingdoms, the clubs of media, your accusations are rather projections of your own puerility and cowardice
fuk slaps doo and they wrestle to the floor and the bots jump in, technologys flying everywhere and there is dust and blood and sweat and everythings patched to the wounds of everything and stoodio doos a mess
ah this is engagement someone says
