hot public butter

weird as a routine environmental phenomenon becomes so commonplace babelon rarely flinches in its presence

 

in babelon theres a local chain of animal hospitals where all front desk staff look like pets you see them through large windows passing by on the beleaguered sidewalks dogs cats ferrets horses birds mice gerbils hamsters the occasional alligator capybara tarantula kinkajou python axolotl rhinoceros beetle

 

i don weird on weird and venture into the weekend festivals which pour into the streets like hot public butter i move through them in encapsulations so hypervisibilized i become anonymous secluded in a nameless unfunded monastery of prayerless eyes

 

the obvious benefits of babelon foods frolics festivals financing are less than its frequently unspoken advantage of bespeaking the constituents and attributive wiliness of spiritual makeup the cosmetologic cosmology of postlimit urbanistic transemiotic semblances

 

eccentric arises from the ptolemaic astronomy of not having the earth precisely at the centre and so the whonym desupremacist becomes innately eccentric as their centres exile any centerings the authentic eccentric orbiting around the disclosures of nothing

 

babelon conjures darkness in the infinitely morphing mirrors of its eternal light

 

babelon reveals the inadequacy of itself through excesses of myriad projected adequacies its the latter politics is designed to maintain investment in and the people maintain faith in but the inadequacys plainly manifest for wanderers in the funhouses mechanisms behind the screams and thrills murky spaces in which we spiritual hobos glimpse one another as fuliginous arthropods in inveterate nimbi 

 

babelon becomes babelon through a mathematics of multiplying infinity by infinity and putting the sum to the power of infinity thereby creating processes to constantly collapse into the disturbed mathematics

 

there are always an infinite number of ways to move from a to b and babelon attempts to codify these ways and praises itself for the attempts which limit movement for those who accept the codes and praises but expand it for those who dont an irony forageable in the gardens of new satire to be eaten in salads of vision

 

trancing transit a practice as ecstatic as dance orgy meditation power sacrifice desert as all portals to abnegation wherever they fall on the spectra of destruction and creation the practitioner develops techniques to merge with the offerings of the portal they enter these techniques arent primarily of the lineage of technology but spirit though some can be found in the formers revenants dreams

 

they live in the cracks under their local clinic but occasionally emerge from the storefront into citified space and i see them on trams and carousels disconsolate and sleepy

 

the citys a hallucination thats got lost in dimensionality and tries through art to return to its raving roots

 

babelon is religion where the priests are movement and talk and every structure a cell in the ungraspable temple and everyone prays without ceasing and prayers money and the earless god grinning time moneys flush and drainage

 

once youve negotiated the excesses and infinities of babelon without committing to them it can become an oasis as if youre a frisky wraith in a colourful hades a ghost dancing on lifes immense flab

 

the dimensionality of babelon becomes so pervasive it curves around itself and becomes indistinguishable from virtuality this the confusion of the matrix and the geometric seduction of nested simulationality

 

babelon transforms natures alwaysnexttodeathness from death to death through death and in the energy of the transformative processes becomes babelon

 

all objects and nonobjects are vortices of the uncanny portals to unspoken animisms the technologicized biped given to spirit saunters through the apertures stripping itself of excessive sartorials to dissimulate edenic nudities

 

technovirtualized bipeds have lost capacity to forage for expansive energies in nature babelon offers opportunities for novel foragings we visit nature to reboot our capacities for technoforaging a dipping our meats into the ancient wells for a visceral parareremembering of the most efficient holistic foraging techniques and this dipping reunites us however tangentially with our prelinguistic roots

 

no one knows what the vets look like

just look in the lineup

am in babelon counting gods zero million zero zero million zero billion zero zero zero zero gazillion zerozillion nichtgle zeroplex the citys a circle i conclude in my metromathematics and divinitys a hole in the middle and whonymitys the line that facilitates the circle being seen but confuses its facilitation with divinity which plops the question if anythings been seen theyre lining up everywhere

 

for gelato sartorials water albums footwear tickets lineups autographs phones sightings work coffee play death food sex viewings listings alcohol sports marriage outerspace operations transportation education extinction abortions sleep lamps laptops planes vacations drugs war linens releases visions creams csections lotions supplements suppositories pics disasters adventures vacations rides pies sighs lies violence prizes gambles horses forces feces vices fusses faces if it exists and even if it doesnt youll find them lining up if you lose a whonym np just look in the lineup here im in babelon wanking walking 

 

like a tort thats lost its liability and mind a shell of a tort a hell of a mort but walking yet and that aint nothing to fart at everythings a combo in this town and if its not walk around it balk and mound it bulwark street and its wankers fadison and its slimies the righteous and the duteous it sparkleth like an

 

infinite set of eternally falling psychedelic dominos all to all no end all bends like a jupitersized discoball spinning past the voids spewing its dark light through sybaritic prisms onto a dashing planet and we chromatic nights lurching through the streets exchanging eyes like undurable indurate consecrations to deities so long buried their graveyards fossilized under

 

noctilucent histories gonads like wings without a bird flapping through the lustscapes and bipeds distraught stumbled dismeaninged mumbled in quantumly regulated metro tunnels hindering the great productive parade this march of masked victims in babelon everythings a comedian especially the noncomedians the more serious it is the funnier investment bankers evangelical ministers funeral workers hospitality front desk people leave me roiling in tears for days the urban

 

planned stones and trees and i wink at each other across the shared ironocene of smirk technical problem the phones attack like chiggers cranium presbyterian church after you die youll meet god thinking of suicide people become their office find truth out of service ive had stronger apple pies before thatve been bad but this one was good good caulk is hard to find gord and cindy risk community centre maintenance issues i am that thing you kill your grandpapa

 

to avoid in the tramcar giving oneselves over to the energies and rhythms of a quettapolis metro is for some of us freakophiliacs to unearth alignments between the movements of the ancient untererde and the equally ancient esostrates these forming among themself a peculiar sonics which plays as one rides and its this music particularly that may be the reason for transit everyone under nein and over sixtys

 

insane but member insanity just means being out of sound and what do you do when youre out forage for more us scavengers of flaws and slowness them drones of ruin and false ceilings of silence but who believes in that anymore whos a pronounist the those here the these there who believes

 

in prepositions omibod the gonads of transit crave along the avenues of not like interred blockbusters punjabi men sit in lawnchairs in semicircles around the shrines of yawning trunks in the parking lot open like geese or closet cheesecake but now finally o cheap divinities

 

its night ive found myselves in a basement in a modern rental establishment and all the roaches of meselves scurry into coalescence and feast on the leftovers of suppressed indistinguishabilities the city they says just a misnomer for a name that cant find itself in the tangles of its slutty virtues look up dear fellow pilgrims wellmet let us go up and down upon the mountains and bewail our virginities for of and for and by poputchiks here i

noli me tangere

within a week in the flurried city brain forgets voidic functions or rather the functions seem sealed in vaults of impossible alterity of something dreamt recurringly of a spiritual aesthetic existence unattainable through any means available to those gambled into meat

 

but voidic functions fails descriptively not just in that manner all words and all things fail not only those reaching for spaces of numinosity of the furthest interiorities of what we feel as ineffable and sometimes truest reality but equally and seemingly inexplicably those pertaining to the operations of aubergines to the modes and grammars of water receptacles to the tranquillity of japanese washrooms

 

compulsions arise to supplement this attempted naming of forgetting in the bellicose kingdom of words and a corollary question whether even the least supplementarity enhances diminishes or uncannily does both if even voidic functions is far too much considering what we aim to depict nevertheless the compulsion seems irresistible and the consequences as dire as any foray into the abyssal ecologies of langwich and so we falter in fogful indecision

 

i see a film about my cousin franz in a temple oasis in the centre of flurry it flashes sufficiently the dysfunctions risks terrors and entrapments of my family encapsulated in the comedy of unmitigable failure to conform in any internally ie integrated way to the expectations duties rites and syntaxes of society in its profound zealously prosaic tepid ubiquitous sanctitites

 

i sit tranced in the guts of banks as afternoon rushour crescendoes like the designs of algorithms so accustomed to rage theyve neglected it i sit calmly the algorithmic outputs down the blind escalators up the whooshing stairs theres no order at all everything goes everywhere yet nothing bumps into anything is it the phones they clutch like monumentalized talismans that guide them through the open

 

i say ive lost void it even has eaten itself but a week from wilderness and i sputter in babelon like a baby fallen from its bassinet i say i talk look at me i talk like all the others all the vast normals froing and foeing like enriched seagulls like ambitions of the driven homodox like chatty willful laundry on some infinite untended line i say its said saying says and i and us and the we in the you shards and shrouds of sayings havings but no one flinches theyve heard it all before in their product ears they have their croquettes and gyozas waiting on underpants lusting for a laundry

 

i do my says like those thosed on the tram the hysteric mad kings of resentment the ads hanging on to every word i cry the city is a fart and void the radical repletion of all expulsions piled past the perverted curvatures of time and sunk into the excess of their negations

 

the food court closes the banks guts shutter down the night sweepers crawl from the plastic plants and place me without malice and neither good intent into their thousand billion garbage bags and i am trucked to amerika the home and throne of waste and added to the pit of manifold disaster the seagulls descending from their maelstroms of geometry and i return to the unattainable squawking of the untouchable despised

 

of course i dont have time to live in babelon babelon wears the fashion of living but this is a ruse babelons a corpse and we its wardrobe i dont have time to be a wardrobe time or energy or money the foraging flock of voids my robe of grinning maggots i get the runs and sit on the toilet for two days after the foods out the other innards start pouring spleen liver pancreas stomach lungs heart and finally the brain the stinkiest of the lot white liquid frothy poo ill bottle and sell it to the worlds most exclusive spas ill drink it and turn into the queen of sheba i shit out myself and all of history and babelons sewers welcome us with joy