the headlings

 

they live on the stairs and grow from it. they don't have names. whether they desire to be heads or are satisfied to remain headlings forever i don't know. yet they belong to koos|h^Qa and are as much joined with it as the heads

 

the headlings are without exception white and - as all koos|h^Qa - their dna's of the styrofoam genome and they operate accordingly within these bounds. like trees they accept what occurs to them - regardless of how evil it may seem or be - and what they think of the transformations effected upon them many of us inquire but always end up as ignorant as before

 

i confess i too am an intervener - i'm unsure what drives me to it but occasionally - can't help myself - seize a headling from the stairs abducting it to the room of paint and song - here it begins - this hacking carving stabbing slicing severing - all kinds of pastes heats ribbons glues pigments - and a headling begins its long journey toward receiving a name

 

when i have to use the stairs - which i do many times daily - navigating the headlings can be challenging - they move around, it's often dark, if one tumbles it often hits another and there's an avalanche of headlings - so i feel as if i'm playing headscotch - some form of spooky kindergarten game adapted for the house of koos|h^Qa 

 

but white is no indication of race - it avoids attribution and symbology from the whonym worlds - melville has nothing to say about the white of koos|h^Qa - no indicator of purity evil innocence phantoms or death power virtue surrender cleanliness - it is white without meaning without referent or object without depth or refraction - rather than koos|h^Qan white being the sum of all colours it is their absolute eradication and what we see in koos|h^Qa is the white at the very core of void - yet this white associated neither with positivity nor negativity, night nor day, yang nor yin - but the reality of these oppositions never having entered existence in any form

 

i often wonder what will happen to me should all the headlings become heads and the stairs become empty and i'll climb down and up without games and struggles - this won't happen of course - i'll die long before - even the heads that have been initiated are eternally distant from completion and the intervals between seizing a new headling from the stairs and a subsequent seizing become longer and longer as the heads in the song and paint room accumulate - and in their accumulation each requires time and energy and we are finite in our capacities and the heads in progressing in number and complexity consume more and more

 

i and the other 80 interveners across the globe convene every eightyfirst full moon which is about six years - some think this is too frequent, others too infrequent, so it stays as it is - we discuss matters forbidden to be relayed beyond the intervener community except to say our moot is devoted exclusively to the functions and nature of koos|h^Qa and we close the session empty and awed

 

i don't decide which headling to seize when i'm in the mood for heads - perhaps one calls to me through the confused dark in those langwiches skirting around articulation

 

for example here's a recent seizure - so recent it hasn't a name yet

 

it's been dewhitefied but not much else - we're waiting for instructions on how to handle its many open wounds - it's joined the heads and left the stairs sure but it's not mature yet

 

and we shan't have lived until all 81 headlings are heads and all heads are mature

 

then koos|h^Qa will emerge from hiding and call us into its presence and we will know that we have lived

 

in the meantime however the headlings are across the stairs 

 

koos|hQa wakes

koos|h^Qa wakes

 

in sancta toytowns 81 heads gather periodically for their headmoot - a tradition extending far beyond the rise of homo stultus and its accelerating outpourings across the stunned faces of the earth

 

while the whonym here bumbles around like contemporary analysis trying to make sense of the claustrophobically surrounding insensate insensible insensitive sensitive hypersensitive world the headmoot goes along its path without particular regard and every then and now i forget ourself and peer through otherness to the moot and watch the heads in their alien community and discourse

 

they gather in the artroom the other night around three - i'm awake next door in bed wondering about relationships between intentional use of disintegrations of magic and bach's second cantata cycle but am interrupted when i feel the energy of muttering nearby so get up and tiptoe over - if they notice me they don't show it and let me sit on the floor in a corner

 

their langwiches aren't audible to whonyms but i know they're speaking in their way - styrofoam to styrofoam direct

 

it goes on until sunrise around seven and by then i'm asleep on the floor but beforehand had fortunately had a chance to snap some photos (below) - they position themselves all over, not even looking at one another - it's a bit unnerving

 

i'm beginning to suspect there are similar headmoots occurring simultaneously across the planet and the purpose is for all the groups of 81 to communicate with one another - who knows what they're planning and whether it's generous or cruel or something else entirely

i try to remember their names - to recite them in order of precedence and weight - but fail miserably and berate myself with sorry epitaphs

 

they leave me alone my 81 - at least for now - and for that i'm grateful

ubu roi shit

i see peripherally a large billboard behind centrefield of a community baseball diamond that says capitalism something and i look directly to see what the something is and it says instead capitalmitsubishi - but capitalism can be formed by taking the first seven letters and then three of the following four but rearranged so the peripheral interpretation isn't surprising

 

then i realize that the remaining letters after we've formed capitalism - tubishi - if only a u is substituted for one of the is - can if scrambled form shit ubu* - so -  ubu capitalism shit

 

doesn't take much for the entire world to be reconfigured like this - and i wonder if someone at mitsubishi knows this and is winking at me

 

every saturday in sancta toytowns i do a minimum 18 hour fast, a microdose (.12-.18 grams) of amazonian cubensis mushrooms and a very long bath - it's the spiritual zenith of the week, a time to process the work of the past six days and orient myself to the work of the upcoming six

 

on tuesdays i do 0.3ml of cannabis oil which propels me into deep spiritoaesthetic mining tasks

 

once or twice a week i do around 40ml of very good absinthe

 

i do coffee every morning - moka pot twice weekly, the remainder filter drip - and the occasional filter drip days i permit myself to go to a cafe in the afternoon and work and do a second filter drip and suck in a bit of remote society

 

i fuck on average every five days, trail trek two to four times a week for an hour or two, walk in the city another two to four times for an hour, listen to 7-15 albums weekly on vinyl and another few digitally, watch 1-2 films per week, work on the koos|h^Qa project when i feel like it ... and the rest of the time think read and write (on average 8-10 hours/day) - other than basic maintenance tasks that's what i do in sancta toytowns

 

a surprising number of people i pass on the trails here smell of cheap smothered soap, as if they're terrified of the scent of natural sweat - i almost gag if i have to be within two metres of them

 

the dogs here - and their owners - are the most poorly behaved of any dogs i've met outside of rural india

 

of the four geodoos sancta toytowns the only place where happiness and unhappiness sometimes appear for unhappiness can't find its dance partner

 

neither happiness nor unhappiness appear in absinthia, grim pill or babelon - anger irritation frustration focus peace laughter appear - moods appear but not happiness or its twin unhappiness - but in sancta toytowns only moods and unhappiness - how to rectify without seeking happiness or negating the unhappiness

 

adaptability as a practice and response to the world can require large amounts of solitude - a meditation of adaptability - the more i'm surrounded by society the less adaptable i feel - so sancta toytowns facilitates spaces of solitude and consequently spaces of adaptability

 

so i adaptively massage the imbalanced unhappiness that appears here - i put it on a mat, apply almond oil across its meat, work it in, help it relax - in other words i don't resent it, send it away, abuse it, try to crowd it out, pretend it isn't there - i welcome it and treat it well - and in giving to it i calm it down and both unhappiness and i chill out

 

i say - try this or similar methods with all states modes orientations that lack a dancing partner - not simply if they're classically labeled negative but if they're classically labeled positive too - so if you have happiness wealth joy peace without unhappiness poverty despair that's a problem - take your joy, put it on the mat, and give it a good massage

 

 

 

* ubu naturally from jarry's ubu roi

advance retreat automatic manual

the home i'm affordably staying in - due to the generosity not of government religion family business or the dogooder agencies but of a lone freak unexpected benefactor who places no demands on me other than modest rent and sufficient care of the place - had appliances when i moved in - washer dryer dishwasher fridge stove - and one by one they've broken down - first dryer then washer and more recently dishwasher - i can't afford to get them replaced without sacrificing things more important to me - eg good nutritious food - and am certainly not going to ask benefactor to replace them - so i resort to more manual methods - as dirty dishes pile up i fill the dishwasher then the sinks and counters until finally - after five or six days - the mess is overwhelming and i finally set to task and clean everything up - a close to two hour endeavour in durative time

 

it's not an unfortunate thing i think - to retreat in technological ease and advance in manual work - who should assume continual progress in things without corollary regress - we all should have sufficiently open lives that the time used for manual housework doesn't feel like a chore but a gift - i playfully stack the newly cleaned dishes as high as babel - a jengarama of intricate precariously linked items - unlike ampops in absinthia i have two sinks and easily available hot water so washing dishes feels like a luxury - but i boil the water rather than run it from the tap - as hot water runs from the boiler here and the boiler's run by furnace oil which is fatsmackingly expensive now

 

i keep the house between 10 and 12 degrees celsius, layering it up, using an electric space heater to heat the room i'm working in as necessary - i don't expect to turn the furnace on at all until december or january - these adaptations are good - it's surprising how we can adjust our bodies minds and expectations

 

13 degrees inside now feels warm, 15 degrees hot - and i go into homes in babelon that are kept at 18 or 20 or even higher and it's everything i can do not to strip immediately, dab myself with a cold washcloth and fan myself like a geisha in osaka in august

 

i adapt creatively - i save baking and complex cooking for the colder days so that the oven and stove double as heating up the place - i never pour warm or hot water down the drain but keep it in receptacles until it's cooled - my one luxury is taking a bath every few days though i avoid one when it's warmer - the only times i'm truly comfy are in the bath and under the covers - other times i'm cool but rarely uncomfortable - if i discover myself shivering i add a layer and cook or temporarily turn up a space heater

 

people hear i keep my home at 12 degrees and freak out - it's not that bad i truthfully say - i don't suffer, it's an opportunity to live creatively, i reduce energy use, i don't get sick - winter inside cool always feels better than winter inside warm - i behave very similarly to how i'd behave if it were 18 - nifty!

 

when i wake up in the morning i run naked to the bathroom to shit then back to the bedroom to weigh myself on the renpho scale then get dressed - those few minutes in a cold winter dawn are enough to fully wake me up and set me on a good track for the day

 

i sleep like a princess on a pea but in reverse - instead of there being 20 mattresses under me there are 20 coverings on top - i wouldn't feel the pea but then i'm not a very good princess

this is a patapost about doos geodoos

doo has four geodoos - foggy as fuck in sancta toytowns, babelon in babelon, lampchops in absinthia, and how to travel like a grim pill in everywhere else

 

unlike other doos geodoos are rooted in real geographical physical dimensionalized meaty earth mappable space

 

the doocore in exotatic space migrates among these four territories and each geodoo attempts to express the impressions passing through the doocore in whichever territory theyre in esotatically and all this placement and attempt and impression combine to generate the entries you see in each geodoo

 

sancta toytowns is about purgatory - a teleogicaless limbo, an almost mapless place, a space more than anywhere else where the doocore doubts its existence

 

absinthias about slowrelease ayahuasca - extravenously dripping in across measureless weeks from the mind plant of nature

 

babelons about quettapoli and the trance of transit, the edges and blurrings of urbaneness, whonyms piled on one another like fashionable termites, wealth at the end of itself

 

grim pills about all the everywhere elses and the where and what of the everywhere else - the fleeting noti spaces that are all eyes, the experience and question of where were going when we go into the teeming nothings of intraplanetary earth

 

migrating among these four territories in meat and spirit we confess isnt always easy but it keeps us feeling homeless - privileged homeless in the sense that we always have a roof over our heads even if its only a tent, even though the roof never belongs to us for we own very little

 

beyond the challenge of moving our meat around the world on a slim budget in the fat factory of economy air travel we face two primary others : moving basic goods from territory to territory while minimizing bulk and duplication - at present count we have little piles of possessions in nine different spaces and often forget whats where and why as we suck at inventory ... and adjusting spiritually to what amounts to at least seventeen significant migrations each year

 

each territory has many qualities peculiar to itself and within each territory there are always many subterritories so were never really settled and have effectively become nomads, exiled from nothing, at home everywhere and nowhere, alone and surrounded even if that which crowds us are ghosts and mosquitoes

 

sometimes the doocore leaves some doos behind in one territory while most of it has already migrated to the next and this dispersion and fragmentation typically cause problems beyond the usual issues the doocore has just in navigating the days as a freak inexplicably born into an alien species and seemingly unable to escape, waiting sometimes patiently sometimes not for its home spacecraft to show up and whisk it off to a world that makes more sense

 

when this happens - when doos are left behind - theres not much we can doo but wait - its become such a thing now none of us really remember the last time we were all together or if it even ever happened - yet theres nostalgia for the event, real or imagined, when all we doos were full in the doocore - and in each geodoo we try to convey our messages as an entity whole, together, complete - however this presentation may deviate from our reality or fail to piece us sufficiently together from wherever our individual parts may be roaming or stranded or dead

 

some of us speculate whether the number of geodoos may expand or contract but as with all thirteen doos this is not our decision but lifes

 

speaking of the thirteen* - as weve said before - the geodoos only comprise 30.7692307692% of the doocore, seven being thematic, one being doodoo themself, and one being our patasadoo portal - and whether we can speak of those other nine as being territories themselves - though they seem to be able to be located in spirit and not in biogeography - puzzles us, and we hope it puzzles you too

* the thirteen - 

coven cabal guild of aliens

postorthodox researchers in the basements of society

faculty of purgatory

i should be teaching courses in purgatory survival skills - very executive senior most very high ēminentō worshipy majestic excelluissēmus most rightest honōrābilīs imperiālibus venerābilium hailagadomaz venerābilibus imperiōrumi chair of the totality of curricula for existentia pūrgātōriōruma - then i would have found my place on earth - then meaning and wisdom would have sought and made love to me and made me their regalified popomus skullarissima 

 

why purgatory and why survival?

 

we dont mean by purgatory primarily a locus or chronia of purification and purgament but a collapse and blurring of time and space through their disquietings in themselves yielding processes of ambivalence ambiguity unknowing and aimlessness - purifying and purging may be involved but in contrast to orthodox notions of purgatory they arent directed toward any end - any transcendence of purgatorial orientations to paradise or conversely failure and descent into bespoke infernos - i may and in my case do move to and from purgatory but its a place i dont fundamentally leave - not only do i carry it with me in my many journeys to other places but i spiritophysically return routinely to it and require it as part of the mix of health

 

by survival we mean relations with existence that focus on the fundamental aspects of meaty spirituality - we could say robust coping techniques or elemental being - we avoid experiencing it as competition battle war - but we also avoid experiencing it as accumulation growth progress assetification teleology - etymological senses are fine - live on - remain in existence - live beyond - live longer than - outlive - but also inlive - death on - remain in nonexistence - live behind - live shorter than

 

we teach what its really like to live in purgatory and various ways of accepting its conditions and navigating them - an example is to practice the art of dooing - which is notdoing - a manifestation of dooing in the craft work of purgatorial survival is just this - transmuting the conditions and experiences of purgatory as directly as possible into another medium - in this case words - this transmutation analogous to various alchemical and mystical practices - and so in our courses - even our advanced degrees - we deemphasize formulae rules laws conventions objectives and emphasize the dissolution of self through immersion in the apophatic arts - we thank our colleagues in the doocore for an early exploration of this in the work charter of the school for mystics

 

you say - oh my - instead of all this irrelevance handwringing and navelgazing - living in purgatory with nods to hell and heaven - you really should get with the times and live on earth like the rest of us - thanks for the feedback as they say - but while i see evidence that you say youre living on earth i lack much evidence that youre living on it any more than i am - and its not hard to conjure evidence that youre living on it less and saying youre living on it more - and that your saying has more to do with an attempt at compensation for your having situated yourself far from the roots of existence and instead relying on all sorts of wasteful technologies and entertainments to simulate these for you - as the roots are necessary even in canned and processed form for whonymity to survive - yet spiritonutritionally nonsimulated unprocessed natural forms are clearly best

 

and could ai - since its difficult not to speak of it these nights - be in part part of this compensation - that as we get further from roots we require more complicated processed and dangerous technologies to simulate those roots so important for our health - yet would it not be simpler and more intelligent to incorporate purgatorial survival into our lives

 

here we speak from the faculty of purgatory at the university of olomiet in hypsonethering space

 

die wake sleep live

in sancta toytowns the lines between sleep death life and wakefulness become confused and i no longer can locate myself in the geographies of consciousness - while disturbing for one habituated to the firm maintenance of these distinctions as critical for the demarcation and promotion of ones sanity - so necessary for social acceptance and to enable moneys flow - an early response for the creativized soul is to ask whether these distinctions particularly matter and if they dont to adapt attitudes and orientations accordingly

 

i get in my pajamas and peel a banana and go outside at one thirtynine twentyfour in a timezone unto itself and pelagically uncertain - the late friday night drunks glide along the carpaths like cows escaped from the slaughterhouse - i get offers for all sorts of services im incapable of providing - no one can see anything - they rely solely on thermal detection - the people live in abandoned yearning in nights lonely edifice and i walk into their busy atmospheres with my slowly disappearing banana

 

sancta toytowns specializes in projecting my nothingness into the facticity of things and when im weak i try to escape -  i send money to charities on various continents asking them to help me - but they take my money and give me an auto generated reply - and i return to my comfortable cell and nestle into my absence where i give thanks for my fate as a fool and my inability to learn anything - where am i but out there in the shimmerings what do i defend but vats of air

 

i dont have pajamas but believe i do - they were sewn by the llamas of habana under the fall of icarus and sent to me by queen hallelaja on the behest of the spun gods of gonk on a carousing caravan of pissed alpacas wayward on a pilgrimage to medieval prague - one has to believe something

 

that i want to leave sancta toytowns almost as soon as i return to it - that id rather be ripped off in lisboa than treated fairly here - that i move among its people like a crazed translucent toothpick - that i flop through the days like a beached ghoti washed up from the polluted ocean of history - i take as a prayer not for relief or release - not as any opportunity for penance or reform - but a song of chance in a chapel car of hodegetria hurtling toward the abyss of patriarchy 

 

i try to avoid in sancta toytowns the cafes boutiques specialty stores where - though no one knows me - im more easily recognized - its hard to stay anonymous in a place where everyone looks the same and i look like funhouse broccolini fetidccini processed through a chromatic percolator - so when i have to go into your world to transact slink into the big box multinationals with their wide scrubbed aisles of careless products and selfserve checkouts - where indifference is integrity - where we all the whonyms alike are faceless nameless - desert transactions and arctic meteorologies - where i can fluff in and fluff out without any of that hideous pretense of friendliness - where the only creatures that care are the cctvs 

 

since sancta toytowns specializes in manifesting existences concentrated apathy and diffused cruelty ive often thought it would be a fine place to die - just lie down in bed and die - it should be that simple - not necessarily instantaneous - a few hours would be fine to enjoy the last thick dregs of consciousness - something easy - like hold my belly button in for nine seconds and that starts the process - but society like always has to make everything difficult - even calling it suicide reifies autodeath into a stratosphere it doesnt belong - it should just be called pressing my belly button

 

anyway im dead already so who gives a shit

returning to st toytowns

today i walk five km through the woods - past the thousand obnoxious dogs and their more obnoxious owners - to the local pathetic concrete university into its concrete pathetic library and go to my favourite spot at the top and back where the chairs are designed to send you right to spinal emerg and sit at a concrete desk to write porn surrounded by horribly dressed plastic students studying how to conform to conformity then return on the selfsame five km - past the selfsame dogs - to the beautiful crumbling disaster i presently ambivalently confusedly misanthropically call home

 

two of those i know recently get prostate cancer and so of course - being one of those who yawns when everyone else is yawning, who had covid constantly when everyone was yabbering about covid, who feels anxious just because everyone else is feeling anxious - perhaps this hyper identification to compensate for my being a nonconformist in just about everything social political emotional aesthetic and religious - i begin urinating often - little difficult dribbles - urgent pee calls - never emptying - it's clear i'm dying

 

i stick a finger up my anus to feel the thing - it feels nice - it's supposed to feel nice - it's not difficult or disturbing at all like the idiot internet says - it's soft and smooth easy to find regular painless - i want to run outside and tell strangers how good my prostate feels and feel sad that i live in a society where the consequences for sharing one's joy in this way are likely unpleasant - you have to say stupid things like - o aren't the 69ers so wonderful these days - and a litany of other inanities i don't mean at all

 

it's not joy really and it certainly has nothing to do with whether or not i have cancer - i didn't have covid either, i yawned but wasn't tired, yet i'm certainly anxious - i was briefly joyous only because my prostate feels so nice - i'd like it as a pet, to carry it around with me on my shoulder, to enter it into contests and have it win prizes as the prettiest prostate

 

i like writing porn surrounded by concrete and education pretension - if you think it's creepy that's your problem - i'm not paying any attention to the vacant nubile superficial undergrads piled around me like discarded tires - i'm not fantasizing about groping them or having them strip for me in their facilely decorated dorm rooms or casting them lecherous furtive gazes while pretending to read schopenhauer - i need mind to get turned on and the academy's the last place i'd go to find mind - which is why i go there to write porn - the porn writes itself through me by means of drawing on the necessary energy arising as compensation for the lack of environmental mind - i can't write porn in the forest or in the midst of smart people - i'm way too turned on already

 

if you don't get that stick your finger up your anus - even if you don't have a prostate there are other things to feel up there and if some of them are turds ... well ... maybe you have a spiritual constipation issue - your anus tells a lot about your health

 

i think i should write porn with a finger up my anus - if it's somebody else's finger that might change the nature of the porn - and if it's one of mine it only leaves one hand left to type, which slows down the cum talk - but nevertheless this is a fine bucket list item which isn't on many of the lists i see - they're all dumb things like - go to aruba, write pope leo a love letter, start a vinyl collection with all the taylor swift lps right omigod wotnot sick, buy a komondor