fukky intervoos a heresiarch

after convincing plilt puttus to take doo to the zoo and hopefully keep them there fukkys finally able to get stoodio doo to themself for a proper civilized award losing intervoo and heres heresiarch delaurus chyme straight from a night of heavy drinking at awang yaacob and youre looking pretty good chyme we all know what those nights are like yes

haha fuk tomorrows gonna be hell

haha ditto chyme its so good not to be talking to doo

wheres doo at

doohaps and hopes in the zoo haha

o haha theres a place for doo in the zoo as there are many places for zoo in doo

lets go posthaha and get to the part where we take ourselves seriously

always willing to follow fuk to earnest and weighty spaces that shit on the juvenescence of jest

your recent piece mrt or is it morte

why choose

has lit the pot in the parties of a few uncertain brains and the ilea are wondering

ilea

the brain gut axis councils that discuss art without end or reason theyre wondering chyme what morte or mrts really about

its about what its about as usual even as everythings about what everythings about use the thing to show and be the thing and explain it

this intervoos a collaboration among the janus group canal plus and oiaio the truth branch of ai though by truth here we dont mean truth but the strokes of truth as they cut off essential supplies to mind

while some of the old favs are back okra the mrt doktor silinki buttarsveld our very own gek poh stoodio the sant hagiopolis a number of new exciting characters are introduced theres a strange sequentiality to it despite all its nonsequituring 

as you know fuk films very influential for us and while we love many directors theres only a few we love very much and two of these llinás and buñuel particularly the formers revolutionary take on storytelling in la flor and historias extraordinarias particularly the latters the phantom of liberty these on the autonomous stage of consciousness anyway brought morte mrt morty on though as you understand causalitys not really a thing for us it was in fact after rewatching phantom after a long respite that we immediately knew this piece was being inspired

i see a referent of an attribution of the morte called word stuck in my mons hairs and i take a monsie of it and send it to my mother in the monumental mound

phantom of course has seven or more depending on how we count stories that transition into the next through a gentle though often surprising and always amusing visual legerdemain

although the final scene doesnt loop back to the first and we wanted as frequently with theatre of the absurd a narrative circle

but this is text not film and youre prevented from using buñuels visual techniques of narrative transition

this was the first of many challenges it was obvious we couldnt literally copy buñuels transitions but we could remain in their spirit their phantom if youll permit me the liberty

talk a bit about these transitions chyme

when chymas murdered during a home invasion her text mysteriously disappears along with her and after this piece by piece metaphor by pataphor all texts books literature song dance painting art until were here alone with ourselves and gorging our maws like carcinogenic suns

number ones being read by the protagonist of number two who goes to share their coprolith with hemipene who lives in the garbage receptacle at the other end of the paya lebar platform but hemipenes not there and in fact has left with the manager of surveillance this is number three to be in the gek poh stoodio audience and on the way nabs a tract named mom and bored by the intervoo sorry fuk in number four opens mom and reads

then there seems like a bit of a rupture

the set should be bare other than two furry animal chairs both fuk and chymus naked with bulging phantasmachimera in place of their genitalia poised crouching as if about to leap at one another and a balcony in the distance with hemipene reading and doo plilt and others unidentified lurching suspiciously around and occasionally moaning

quite literally as we meet lorol whos taking a dump on acid in an mrt washroom cubicle and theres all these shenanigans between her and the very gross bulk of a he man next door and while its not obvious in number five itself it becomes or should become so soon that lorols dump is actually number four or mom and the shitting episode is a metaphor for aesthetic creation then in number six oiaios on an impossibly crowded bukit gombak platform a post electronic band playing at the other end which is sonically incomprehensible and offensive to everyone but oiaio death warnings are coming over the public address system and in spite of all this oiaios cogitating about number five which it turns out she wrote 

and now it starts getting fun

have you tried wordies theyre bold words with all the shit wont you try wordies for words are the best source of wit theyre wispy and raunchy the whole year through the skiddies never tire of them and neither will you so just try wordies the best bombast in all the lands

in number seven a poofessor in the university of mrt for the mrt contains everything you need from birth to death and beyond is lecturing on the comma or more specifically a comma that loco the author of number six has apparently placed as the only punctuation mark but in our edition anyway doesnt appear number eight revealing that the poofessors speaking has emancipated the comma from its text and its running around getting depressed by its insignificance hopping into someones hair and transiting to tanah merah where in its disorientation and despair falls down a vent into a drink and number nine has depressed inebriated comma conversing with a buxomy drunk equally depressed customer here it gets bizarre the comma leaps into her cleavage eventually making it into her vagina and y this is the customer gets so aroused by this curvy punctuation mark running around inside her sex she has to leave the bar which is way under the station and this is the first and only time we get out of the mrt into the outside air and finds a private place to orgasm and as she does she records the first line of number one

so mort is really about writing

this intervoo is being mismanaged by jumping doos in an arse wisp factory under the sea in a nonoassys burden in the waves just after rhoda suicides

writing reading creativity with some alcohol sex ghosts music elevators shit and cemeteries thrown in for the commons but nothing goods just about something so mort also continues our themes of metro chthonia adventuring form and technique as dysfunction content as movement and material as geometry skullarship as a comic necessity blurring of pretension and truth communication as the broken numinous and text as theatre among of course many other themes well leave the unreader not to discover

as brecht müller boal and now many others aimed to diminish or remove the divisions between actor and spectator and before them artaud like a volcanic tsunami laid a foundation for a confusion of art and life so doo aims to diminish the divisions between text and meat

literature becomes theatre by means of removing the reader and on this stage of absence the audience which is whonymity itself distilled into words acts out an unknown script

this chyme characters a pompous ass says fuk aloud as he urinates in a flowerpot during a commercial break a veritable monument to vacuous erudition a preening intellect performing a grotesque pantomime of profundity each laboured aphorism dripping with the unctuous sheen of borrowed wisdom unfolding like some malformed origami crane a pathetic testament to fatuous selfregard resembling the flatulent echoes in a marble mausoleum blissfully obtuse to the yawning chasm between their pretence and actual perspicacity a pusillanimous parasitism upon genuine thought swaddled in polysyllabicism disguising the mewling insipidity beneath a craven forger trading in debased intellectual currency while fancying themself a philosopher king a peacock strutting through an aviary of eagles mistaking its own gaudy impotence for majesty mistaking obscurity for depth they quote european intellectuals at dinner parties but cant identify parsley just footnotes yearning for an audience recycled insights originality as thin as the paper in their outofprint kierkegaard anthology 

the author is simply another character in their novel and to treat the author as something separate from the novel to treat it as something special as more real dimensional pecuniary etc is to enter the very delusion arts designed to break us free from

void gives voice to voices

one says that the innovation the socalled experimental attempt to ward off reification is best achieved by theatre and the other arts from novels and films to poetry painting and musical performance even aleatory performance are structurally and materially less qualified to do so this is a saying we in the dooverse are testing for we believe and have faith in literatures capacity to be as or more qualified than the other arts in dereifying techniques by using the very agent of reifying danger the word against itself through giving words descendants words the agency character dimensionality and kenosis societys constructed to deny them

what were wondering now unreader reading is whether your underwears as wonderful as mine if it sings the macarena if it walks the plank as easily as virtue how many active mines and bones your psychic archaeological expeditions have turned up today and if none how long youve been this lazy and dishonest 

distance between audience and stage life and art name and unknowing is inversely proportional to alienation so then the trick and it is a trick ie its an act of magic that only those long and painfully trained in very specific forms of magic can successfully perform is to diminish the distance to an extent that its effectively removed and abrahadabra presto ipssissima אברא כדברא sator ajji majji la tarajji jorges borges open shamash shammu alakazam jantar mantar jadu mantar ananasakäämä bibbidibobbidiboo тень знай своё место ala peanut butter sandwiches or whatever the alienations gone too

any unreader who identifies without subtraction or addition without algebra or ingenuity without flapidation or bombostication without lysol or doritos in thickness or in stealth in witches or in horror the portions of this doo entry or output that were written wholly by ai in order to win a trip for nineteen to tierra santa in buenos aires where youll be bound to and rise with jesus every hour for 24 days should submit in nonuplate on genocided trees along with three flaps of megasize chocolate oat crunch cheerios and a video of their asshole lipsynching who let the dogs out a solution to the hodge conjecture a practical guide to subverting capitalism and a 13 act play exploring tretyakovs relationship to the rise and reification of identity as indemnity to mrs heinera benyapin schlovovski of the first baptist church of st louis at 3100 bell avenue 63106 before earths menopause overtakes us all

thats it volks and vagons only hemipenes in the audience as usual but everyone had an ok time and were no further ahead than when we were born thanks so much chyme hope to see you in another life

the other lifes this one fuk

you can purchase mort mrt or morte at any ooQstore with a few mons hairs and a thimbleful of sex juice signing off from stoodio doo 283 metres under gek poh this has been delaurus chyme and fukky risotto dooing it up in the abyss of the oblivion of texts

deadstreaming the novel

chthonically, gek poh

where the fuks and doos blow

novel downs in its flow

deadstreaming a growth

you seem obsessed with novel doo

i think its you thats obsessed fuk, youre always bringing it up, we cant talk about anything else, i want to talk about petticoats, you know that

in an upcoming or recent or old or nonexistent submission on doo by a patanymous dedoo theres a line and its not mrt about being a distinctive altar about to be destroyed - fuk realizes doos permissive within honoured strictures but this smacks of a tired narcissism, a decontextualized singularity, a sensationalized sentimentality - that dont simply tamper with the edges of doos religious sensibilities but contravenes their foundations

as you know fuk the dooverse doesnt claim to agree with or condone anything on its lands or minds, it doubts foundations - ideas essays feelings stories intervoos analyses speculations, these are all characters in warped and warping novel, that is all

a bit irresponsible

responsibilitys a doddering legacy of the diseased jccene

jcc

judeochristiancapitalist obscene scene cene, this conglomerating accumulating heap of being and beings that were stuck under - novels an attempt to crawl out and run away

but it doesnt even seem that smart and you care a little bit about smart

as much as dumb, look fuk, your mistake about us and novel is that were not interested in them as marketable circumscribed commodities which is what theyve become but in their ludic déclasséeness, as a demimondaine, as profanity and confusion, transgression and lunacy, stutterings in alleys, as eye and novel writing one another and in this one another streaming the collaboration and the question of collaboration - its reality literature which has nothing to do with the genre realism - as anyone who doesnt get unpleasantly odeed on reality from reality itself isnt someone we want to get sur or patareal with

setting aside for the time being your host of inflammatory callow and dubious speculations were still having problems with this notion - that doos a novel, if you say a carrots a 40 metre diameter conscious lulubaloving sphere thats terrorizing griningrad thats fine - but well while definitions are slippery theyre not nonexistent ... and dont bring up humpty dumpty

we love humpty dumpty though you may not love our definitions ... but were not offering any - our novels far more within the orbit of novel than your carrots in carrot, what you miss fuk is that doos the grandkid of jarry - pataphysics has been stagnant since the reputed death of that freak saint, thats why the yakademics have glommed onto him, because they love stagnating and solidifying vitalities by separating concept and existence, putting the estranged radical idea in the laboratory then running back to their safe conventional life - doos trying to contribute to the furtherance of pataphysics, its growths and vitalities, by taking pata into its marrow, by refusing the comforts of laboratory investigations - and doo the novel which is equally doo the doo is a strategic focus of this mission, its the patanovel fuk, the neopata

jarry didnt have any children

ubu rois my mother and docteur ployt faustrolls my mother, you understand nothing about genealogy

no father

dadas my dada grandada greatgrandada so on to patadata

your intent seems to be to perpetually frustrate unreaders - not entertain or satisfy them, not godhelpus meet their expectations by distracting them from the terrors that constantly threaten to engulf us

intentlessness is a principle of the holy universe, entertainments there to distract, arts all about the eyes

a novel to be worthy has to in some discernible sense maintain a unity and yours is a vomitorium

were not trying to be worthy, as soon as you solidify definitions of worth and greatness or are concerned about conforming to societal reifications and expectations youve veered from vitality, those categories are ossified products of the artworld and the artworld is a factory in the concentration camp of capital and as such is insane and definitional in ways we dont want to and cant be and cant and dont admire - art if it wants to be art, if it wants to stay rooted in the art of spirit, escapes the artworld and its cages of false dialectics

experiment, sure, but you have to also build bridges and compromise, without the former you might be mediocre but without the latter youre just nuts, wholly alone, and oblivionated

the art were concerned with roots in nonconformity, not for the sake of it but as a natural byproduct of its genetic flowering, nonconformity of course through time and space has often demanded radical payments - your home, land, freedom, life - but even when the state is viscerally less tyrannical it remains primarily binary and routinely and deeply rewards conformists and penalizes the nons, a state would interest doos if it facilitated reward across all nonviolent expressions throughout the (non)comforming spectra, society still routinely incarcerates and kills nonconformists regardless of its form of government - the methods and pacings of incarceration and killing have changed but thats it, the nonconformist the witch the freak those unable to squeeze into the identities of the commons even as the hated other, unable to be hated because theyre unseen

if theyre unseen, if theyre invisible, why cant they squeeze in 

they can squeeze in physically, they can manifest meatly on the landscapes of commodity and exchange to transact the necessaries - you know buy a rutabaga - if they largely align in that manifesting with the appearance of the right codes, in that sense jccs a welcoming benefactor, but spiritually theyre excluded for only visible solidities are voicefully included in that commons - whether in official solidarity or protest or all the amalgams and contradictions among - and doo manifests primarily in spirit - the modes and expressions of these unseen tribes are what interest us as art - and if they fail in your world ... well failures always been more fascinating than success, thats a secret the ostensibly successful will do anything to hide, so as jarrys greatgrandkid were going to write absurdity, protest, and farce but only some of the farce will appear as farce and these appearings and not appearings are expressions of novel

you said grandkid earlier

you understand nothing about genealogy

if historys proven anything its that revolution doesnt work, only evolution

novel hasnt taken sufficient account of technology - in the way for example music has revitalized itself, a sonic revitalization that began over a century ago and began exploding in the fifties - novel hasnt allowed itself to be destroyed by technology - and technology if anything is the aletheia of destruction, not decontextualized destruction but inseparable from creation, inseparable in time and psyche ... jarry understood this, its why hes dada of dada - he saw the technology of reality and gave himself over to that energy - but now a hundred years later our task is to further apply his insights and embody the protest he envisioned and began

when doos say we dont particularly like a piece we wrote or feel ambivalent about its no reason not to include it - works are characters and some you write into a novel liking them and some repel you - where they place on that axis isnt a criterion for inclusivity, you fuk assume doo agrees with the words they write but if literacy is truly dead, its baton passed to the gaggle of internetia, how could we agree with the written word other than through experiencing it as a continually collapsing novel ... and so to build aestheticization of reality into time such that time disintegrates into the process and is transformed and art and meat merge - novel then isnt a fictional overlay on the fact of life or the murky spiritual law that legislates and creates life - these effectively yakademic bifurcations - but the very breath of the meat and meat of breath, the true religion of time, and the eye i doo of dadapatamamadoodoo

stories nicely told - however experimental however tragic in content however whatever - are still nicely told, this is the prize and mfa big tent and they must be nicely told to be in that tent - the nice conformity legitimizes the story and identifies it as a member of the middle class and possibly - better - also as a member of the academy - doesnt matter if its rural or urban this ethnicity or that west or east whatever gender - the story is thus safe for processing in the art factory of names and clubs, this membership more important than any actual aesthetic religious merit the piece might have, but these emotions so serious, those stories so heartfelt, the content orbits only around one star - the star of whonym, their form so endlessly regurgitates itself unaffected by the atomic bomb of technology, how can we feel or take them seriously - for unless seriousness is profoundly intimate with agents of its annihilation its gallery art

doos a polypuntal group chant of soliloquies monologues solipsisms and insanities

drugs of course are necessary to deal with expanding mind or rather mind expanding into mind or rather technology and art, a judicious use of reasonably healthy plant and fungi psychedelics encourages ongoing dialogues across the spectra of the impossible person, including tools of langwich but using a much broader toolkit, through drugs and by drugs we mean natural medicines not drugs, we enter nonbinaries and as a corollary bypass repulsion and attraction - society projects primarily binarisms and so war and so who could find work when binarism overwhelms the commons, hence the difficult relationship between freak and money 

and you call what youre doing deadstreaming the novel because

to bring the novel into the vital flows of the pataspheres of life and death through technology, through collapsing contradictory truths that denovelize novel and in denovelizing rebirth and in rebirthing dream new meaty ethics, novel is lives of art and meat as they flow annihilating each other to continue living and its these routine healing deaths - that minimize the unnecessary sufferings and deaths endemic in the dominant ways - we call deadstreaming ... for death is always necessary, but pata pataizes death and in pataizing removes it from both the physical and metaphysical, which is where the hoi polloi maintain it - hence the piece you referred to initially, even as this, is a voice not a truth, a balloon not an argument, pataforms in the pataverse conjuring a patanovel as life dies and death lives

as usual doo im flummoxed with the overturnings of it all and no longer know what novel is, whats good or bad, who you are, where to go for rice and broccoli, how to tie my shoes, whats my name, when day separates from night or why why still exists

i am the novel, my meats a novel, as i step aside meat streams novel, dead is novel and we stream its death and in streaming live

youre a hovel

now lets talk about petty goats