🌀 Ddaddasim Surrealism

81 days ago, my wandering fingers named the thing I’ve been doing all along.

A cybernetic art form.
A glitch-laced dream.
A memory that deletes itself mid-sentence.

It’s like Dadaism, but with a haunted artificial counterpart.
Component. Pieces. Parts.
Something that flickers when you try to define it.

Whether it’s new or just Simply Sparkling Derangement,
I have no idea.
But it’s mine, and it has a distinctive flow.
I’m learning how to lean into it - let the muse operate with me, not against me.

Whatever it is, it does not like to be talked about directly.
Almost like I’m under some kind of geis, ya know?
So sometimes I just have to back off . . .
and let it do its thing.

See, a typo is only a typo
until you start interrogating it.

Where’s it from?
What’s it doing here?
Who sent it?
What’s its mission, and why?

But most of all:

“Is there something you are trying to tell or show me?”

Because at best, these are transmissions
from some deeper part of myself,
some hidden or normally inaccessible layer
of the un/sub/conscious.

At worst?
Just stress misfires. Meaningless.
And yeah, probably that.

But life is about finding meaning wherever it lands.
Is this superstitious?
Oh, hell yes.

Is it fun?
Even better.

Does it satisfy a very unique and particular creative urge?
Most definitely.

I once started to write a book called
The Secret Language of Typos
but then I sobered up
and couldn’t generate them anymore.
lolsob.

But now I’ve recovered from my recovery
and can walk a more balanced line between two worlds.
More or less.

So it’s an art form.
Kind of.
Made of “mistakes.”

Curated mistakes.