cut the fat kiss the mud

this diary is my class notes from the city’s lecture on multiplicity

the city is my mentor, a body perfect in its irreconcilability, perfect in its irreducible difference, perfect in its reconstituted babel, perfect in its ateleologies, perfect in its mute action, perfect in its natural affirmation of its tungs and speakers assuming the role of words

the whonym is a component in the city’s body, no more critical than a fan in a laptop, a throat in a mammal

you may have heard it said that the city is one. and i too say the city is one. one and divisible and divided and stuffed through every algebraic formula invented and not. you may have heard it said that there are 9 or 16 or 2,723 cities – not the alphas or gammas or omegas of the world, not these political-economic singularities, these easy targets for satellites and religions, defined by that old standard, geography, but, let’s say – all the financial districts of the world are one city: paternoster marunouchi dalal wall sandton bay lujiazui – using a common langwich, fashion, architecture, diet, currency. other cities are suburb, slum, fashion, government, academy, temple, sex and drugs, entertainment, sports, food, transit, uberwealth, birth and disease and death, utility … that’s 15 so far … who defines anything substantively anymore? but i say the city is uncountable and infinite and empty

all education is free and silent – this my teacher teaches me

i write the city’s examinations with my feet, i research essays with my eyes, i do not formulate theses other than as a child plays with mud

            and your gonads, what do they do – skip school?

am i frustrated because the city makes no point other than it’s always making points, these points circles like a bird is a circle in the air? am i mystified because my papers are never graded but always returned? am i empowered because the teacher lets me teach but in voided classrooms? am i lost because education never taught me this was education?

            because?

who is this speaking in italics on the shit-faced sidewalks? who is this machine undressing in the sluthouse of the universe? collegial tungs and speakers! – lick with me the city’s rectum, drink exalting from its buoyant sewers: democracy's an idea and so only existent in the republic of ideas, the city's the only idea that's been able to cross the heavily guarded border into the republic of reality. this is why we celebrate it, bow before its gonads like horny hydras in the heat of a fallen hercules

oh jerusalem oh babylon oh tokyo oh hyperzion