Tuesday, March 10, 2026

undispatch from ny

 i am on that non-verbal gerbil wheel amaretto

       and i've often also been there

for years now, too many count spitting in the

    face

of catastrophe like yow


still it hurts to make less sense of ourselves

or the friends shut-out from the means

     to survive

being alone with their job, alienated to lose

        sight of friendship

in banking on crumbs, scraps fell

from the unhatched sight of ankleweights

         & graft

themselves upon the sticky table, 

gumm'd like any DeKooning as we lose track


whole cities blownoff the map

    where things do happen


sunshine stop. what does that mean it's 1914 again? again? redo everyear and no one is coming to save us, but the positions we can't go back. restructuring stretch in montage afterlives of genocide, and medium-term struggles like what's a party stunt to an eyelid that n'er closed. pain. al-jazeer and the rain of hell. i took drugs. couldn't cope. or not together, sold back to glitch on the Financial Times, wondering if this isn't shit or the malignity of all value = gaza, our profane silkworms to revolt aren't profane enough. i put the sticker on my chest for a wage read back to screen myself, someways down the line unasked-for, ambulance sounds and the new war's on. my artform barfs. i need it badly unspoken, even when i know the coming movement will be toothless & sabotage meant a surefire shot in the dark, noble as to leave oneself no room for the social power of the class to shut it down. the same old shit but without this rhyme, i'm desperate hunger. only here does the earth shine, spit in the middle of our lips to quit working, or destroy the u-/ssa like fuck a war 


things you don't just say on the internet which is already dubious

my ears don't flag it on production tacked onto a wall    if only here is the way we talk / 

       to each other, no seperate powers

including security which it isn't there now

     in the street

where i might not even know any of you strangers & friends



text exchange (excerpt), day after 


a: the cities of war across the planet scream with the dead labor (murdered, suicided, worn, grounddown to nothingness) of proletarians. one-sidedness of LIFE, nowadays, is its own "viva death" cult (sure) of classical fascism for the victors / rulers / ad-lib bourgeoise, for whom "Trump" (gig furher) is simply the perfect cop-out for their own terminal guilt-feelings. abstract wealth accumulation for the the 'possible whopper, whereas we want the little c. 


c: or carlo cafiero a- and -moonism, loot the shoppes & b the prisons, actually insane six years since 2020, not to practice hagiography about it 


a: i wonder if a human, tender “no” is only possible in a world without money and it feels increasingly fucked to speak openly about our commitments--what else are they, however freakishly modest and "nihilistic" with regard to never setting ourselves up over and apart from the wholeclass?


c: yes. which is why the enmity-pill can't be untaken. social revolution is real, in all its v-iolin's


a: but social power of the class that isn't a class (prole-) can shutshitdown on its path to self-abolition. the only real game in town (for fellowfeeling "human" negatives), and literally the only sane thing left (however bleak the prospects, impossible-feeling, and far out it seems...yes) like philosophy. ugh. but i'm not going to play myself even harder & take "positions." fuck a war


c: my hotel cell bunk mate worked in the honda factory and has permanent wrist damage from it. his partner works there until 8PM still


a: groupiscule? sure. but we gotta start from lintrolling our 'lackflag, bub" -- dada


c: featherdust'ing streets of catastrophe, subsistence art / making our lives a littless hopeless. even if it when feels like the news means / i'm going to barf


another friend beat a minor case, another friend got out of the asylum. that would be cause to find something sweet we could do for each other in the cracks o' this fascist landmass, wide open well it's still that new day cue up WB. i am a witch, selfsame. and i want to stand outside in the middle of the rain even when we can't leave or live together deserted if only now for today, on or offline 

undispatch from ny

  i am on that non-verbal gerbil wheel amaretto        and i've often also been there for years now, too many count spitting in the     ...