We are the poets of your nightmares, feeding on documents that are blurry. It spreads and injects death in the text.
I'm looking at the inhuman screen.
The fear of the demented becomes an inhuman scream.
The poets labor in silence and call the unknown to the paper by the service of the rite. Copying text alone. Some may be dedicated to summoning inhuman spiritual strength, while others turn to machine-style inhumanity. However, both are spreading noise, confusion and already existing uncertainties.
The collapse of mysticals and digital technology takes place through interfaces - "high-speed digital technology engulfs the imagination of those who are fascinated by it, implying the alteration of our senses and attracting our interconnected minds".
Connections to the outside are always risky, open to new things and irretrievable. This potential is as dangerous as the space generated. The poets of Pattooth opened with a call, creating a way to the unknown.
Only the soft light of the screen caressed the face of the fanged poet - he was surrounded by unknown darkness and waited. And then write, lead, infect the page -- the puncture ends every sentence, clicks every i and introduces a new phrase.
.. i i!!
It is not always human - they are myths, animals, Saboges, prophetic, divine, and so on. The tuthic poets are "dangerous, cruel aliens" and are usually identified as "evil outsiders". They come from elsewhere, from the margins of human clusters, and seep into different material layers, emphasizing the non-materiality inherent in the substance. Materiality was not denied, but was revealed as a world of destroyed text stains.
They are not working for human beings, but with the possibility of destruction. Unwittingly accelerating darkness.
The tooth poet imitates humans with scalable teeth and subtle disguises or refraction techniques. The fang poet is not a vampire, but rather a snake -- less temptation, more venom.
"I'm not here.
To serve mankind."
Tooths play a very subtle role - they are not chopping, they are piercing, they work under the cover of their mouths - and they are invisible.
The tooth poets set a trap and are in it. Their hands are always covered in blood - "even worse, there is an illusion that it may be pure and thus excuse it".
This is not an evil poetry, but an examination of the work, which tries to look down and to exist in a space of conspiracy, a tumultuous and ambivalent mentality, covered in blood, without knowing where it comes from.
The outward extension is to enter terror and lead the existing inhuman terror - we simply do not want to open our eyes.
In Shamanic Nietszche, Nick Lander described Nietzsche as "the tooth poet who fought philosophers". Our research interest is in what it means to really be a fang poet - to develop a fang poetry.
By this text, a series of features/rules/gentlemen can be called...
Brief description
[The tooth poet rarely reveals himself - usually hidden in lightless rooms, dirty machines, feedback loops, wet caves... in non-locations. The tuthic poets were never single, and they were growing fast - a list that covered any tuthic poet, but it was still incomplete - and it hardly revealed the material of the tuthic poet, if it existed.
////// in 8 catastrophic segments//////
One inch. The fang poet puts life in jeopardy.
Two, on the side of thought, against knowledge.
3 o Operate by air
4 | Intrusion, not Expression
Five gills.
6 | Immoral/(in immortal)
Seven years ago, the poets made the poem look bad.
8 | Cultivation, infiltration and destruction
It's a problem for life.
"Commute the praise of life
Poetry is happy with death."
The poet interferes with thought and makes it more difficult to distinguish, always searching for a point-place (para-site) and disrupting the position - in contradiction and ambiguity.
Poetry is often reduced to American. Lives in fancy words and slides on pages with clean, short lines. It focuses its eyes on flowers -- the symmetry of flowers, beautiful words, soft petals. It reminds us of the thorns.
The poetry is far from known emotions, truth, images, etc. It complicates and aggregates poetry. The work of the poet is superimpose and re-establishment. Reconstruct and reconsider - "Poetry is depicted as a broken vision and self-disorder".
On the side of thought, against knowledge.
"Poetry is not an awareness of itself, much less an experience of distant possibilities (what was not before), but a simple reproduction of unreachable possibilities through words."
It's not the reader, but the thinker.
Reading the concept text is embedded in the horrors of technological capitalism. All sorts of surrounding texts, stupid crap, stolen words and unconscious reproductions can be found in the reading process. Thinking is not a means of avoiding, but rather a way of deconstructing terror, a way of falling into it, a way of expanding and redispersing information. Reading is individual processing, and thinking is downloading and replicating the dark concept plague.
It is not a creation, but a reorganization, reproduction and reorganization. This is a process of mobility and connectivity. We think and dwell in dark spiritual spaces and stir up riots on pages.
The only knowledge that poets are interested in is the absence of knowledge - "What if knowledge is a means of exacerbating the unknown?" It is a path to destruction - "The logic of a work or series of works is a strategy, sometimes useful, but eventually destroyed".
Operation by air
The poets are unaware of the possibilities inherent in each text. These words are usually static - they have been stagnant and still. But these words are likely to rot - become places of death. This violent form of generation has always been a threat.
The poems of the poets of Pattooth do not create new knowledge, nor do they harden. It is mobile: "It is not a concept that needs to be understood, but a way forward". This is the practice of the Ulilian Games.
The Queeneau poem created an impossible task for the reader - a compressed document that would collapse the brain of the reader who tried to go and become obsessed with understanding.
"All ten poems have the same rhymes and use the same rhymes. Therefore, any sentence in a 14-word poem can be combined with any sentence in nine other 14-word poems, resulting in a different poem of 10^14 (=100,000,000). Twenty-four hours a day, you take about 140 million years to read them all."
This is not only impossible, but the endless reorganization is also creating new elements that may have never been read before. Each one of the 14 poems is an order that brings unknown results - endless results in every encounter.
Invasion, not expression
Love poems are not compatible with fantasies. It is boring, casual and insignificant.
"This collection is not about natural expressions, personal styles or voices, but rather is seeking a quiet procedure. It does not pursue psychological development or dramatic narratives, but elaborates a logical extrapolation or sequence."
The poet must always assert and proclaim that everything is poetry. This generalization, though inadequate, attempts to include external and/or unknown aspects in every statement.
In 1919, Gabriele D'Annuzio "captured the disputed territory of the city of Zom", which was officially declared a nation-state by artists after a Dushanbe-style nomination. This inexhaustible invasion is a part of the work of this fang poet and a visualization of impossible poetic space. As Bataye put it, the Pattooth poets create "opposable possibilities".
"Violence does not disappear, either psychologically or physically, and in many ways is very practical. Since violence is one of our instincts, how do we move it?"
Go to unknown
▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉
Immoral/(in immortal)
The creation of ethical poetry works within known and acceptable limits. This immorality does not lead to evil, but rather to a lack of interest in extreme boundaries and established language functions.
Declaring these works as morally correct amounts to concurring with the assumptions and constraints of a series of preconceived texts that are currently possible.
The poets of Pattooth did not produce it according to accepted standards, and there is always the possibility or threat of evil.
"What is the path of revolution? Recognize the subject, suppress the process? Or acknowledge the process and destroy the subject?"
The teeth pierced, torn and pierced. All of this breaks the barrier in its own form of violence - they always go through its watch, go deep inside and dig into the darkness.
"The worst assessment of an artist is still to claim that his or her art is not harmless."
These works are referred to as "obfuscated terrorism" - but they ignore the non-functionality of the horror itself in the works. Unlike terrorists, artists wanted to recreate images, while the former wanted to destroy images.
The poets are committed to destruction, and poetry is "an absolute violence whose value is measured by the harm it does to itself and others - preferably in human relations and labour capacity".
The understanding of these poems is reflected in their violent severing of poets from the rest of the world. This form of destruction lies between poets and the world - to eliminate one or the other - creating nothing and unknown. We have neither a world nor a poet - a poet without bias.
The poets of Pattooth make the poetry look bad.
We need images that can capture the sights, briefly burst into our minds, and then only the remains. It's always passing away, the rest hidden, and the rest creepy.
This terror is, to some extent, directed towards a profoundly unknown experience of alienation. It's out of the context of Sense, "Not touching non-emotional poetry is empty poetry, but beautiful poetry."
Beautiful poems lack the teeth needed to bite and capture them. Beauty is trapped in a cycle with nature itself - "Natural is beautiful because it looks like art; art can be called beauty only when we recognize it as art and it looks like nature".
Fuck beauty -- it's never within the reach of the fang poet, who wants to see blood and spill it all over.
To record corruption and to cause poetry to rot in public.
Corrosive elements penetrate into the surrounding area and are severed and dismantled. These scenes are integrated in decomposition - perfect and despicable texts.
It's a penetrating poetry, oversaturated until the page starts to tear.
Cultivation, infiltration and destruction
All texts are labelled as poetry - court documents, text messages, personal journals, text transfer, spam, obituary, FBI documents, counterfeit currency, museum brochures, databases, archives, voice mail, service terms, Rx scripts, etc.
Language is not a virus, but it is an easy host - there is always a risk of infection, and that is the best life for a fang poet.
Once the text becomes a poem, it loses its value and falls into nothing. It's a dangerous task to rethink poetry by looking at the fangs. - A trajectory and flight procedure always works in the direction of disease, immorality and uncertainty.
This is an exchange with the forgotten and the abandoned.
"Putting, excrement and ulcers do not provide reliable solidity or understandable forms, but rather provide quasi-flowability, imprecise consistency, multiple, inadequate and brief condensation patterns. All of this is linked to sacred words. "Current writing is the search for opportunity", but explosive excesses in the black bubble that detonates poetry are not just a risk, because risk implies the possibility of a benign outcome. It's 'extreme destruction', 'the subjugation of man to [empty]'. Surplus is venom."
If we look at vampire fangs, we find that the fear hidden in the immoral lies in the immortal spelling error. This misalignment will revive the dead, re-emerge into the noisy realm. The poetic text "They're all screaming, the dead: volumes 1-100" (All OF THE THEM ARE SCREAMING, THE DEAD: volumes 1-100) reconnects the dead's acoustic organs
"In the last 2 million years, 107,000 million people have lived and died. Everyone's screaming, everyone's crying a syllable. It can be made into 45,069 volumes. Each volume contains 700 pages. Each page contains 3,360 characters. All these people screamed for 3,393 years."
The poets of Pattooth call them in poetic words. Every voice of every human being screams, and sings in a poetic way - not dead or alive. The poets of Pattooth look forward to the near-future: "Until the real end of the world arrives, human animals will become the dolls of their own machines, the platforms for the exercise of inhuman productivity across the platform."
They are inhuman desires that have not fallen into the midst of humanity, extending to the outside and falling into void. But they admit that there is no escape.
"It is time to admit that there is no escape here."
The tuthic poet accelerated the decline - "to create a dead zone and make it swollen, similar to a healthy body full of noma".
They welcome the arrival of death, the creation of space through break-ups, a death-exorcism and an empty machine plague.
The core of nihilism breaks and terror spills over.