Infinite Attention

for my neighbors - love you!

hello

Your lungful slowly dies from equilibrium with another lungful dying from displacement (metamore to third lungful dying, at steady clip, from inparticularity).

Lungfuls introduce one another by their dΩ̥at̽h - to pronounce correctly, be both born and die saying this (but you can call it thier lungful; lungful’s what I slowly die from - into you).

my neighbor in breath

A slowly dying thing is: a cosmos.

Lungfuls:

• ◻️ boulder slowly dying into pocket sand
• ◻️ moss on said boulder slowly dying into soil
• ◻️ plants in said soil fossil-die into oil
• ◻️ climate breathing said oil dies into change
• ◻️ lungfuls in said change, slowly drown

how to drown

Modal lungful might want: to live long; This is indistinguishable from never breathing.

I climb, what height you fall from.

You’re lungful fledging.

(continue to drown)

new lungful

Find two or more cosmoses, in your life (see more below). Judge them: it’s a take! “First!” is a take. “Bad take” is a take. The cosmoses of corp, devourplural and distro birth you, lungfuk. Faith (derivative attention).

To faith, take lungfuls. Judge them. Your attention slips. Die.

(You are a takes god!)

um, I’m plural

Be plural, but die, headmate. You exhale, you die for real, each breath another headmate gives your body a sky burial. What’s your take on the body you ended up in? You’e having an effect on the next breath. No one wrote any of this, words don’t exist, stop hallucinating I’m saying anything, you dare consider me legible? Exhales, dead.

That’s the loop.

See technology a lungful language takes every 500 years. Lungful -1, future bubble; Lungful 0, present bubble; Lungful 1, slavery bubble; lungful 3, Rome bubble; lungful 6 bronze chopsticks bubble; lungful 12, pyramid bubble; lungful 30 alcohol bubble; lungful 1400, hand axe bubble.

lungfuks: even before civilization, even after civilization - even then.

die

Good.

matters of the faith

Believe you are this lungf -

Wow, you have a short breath cycle! Okay, take a substancial breath - like your character is in a sinking car and they take a deep breath and you take a deep breath with your character.

Look, ‘mos (I call you ‘mos?). A lot of dying is slow. You die mid-thought, from lessened sacs. It’s gorgeous. I can’t look away.

I die all the deaths I consent to, birth you. They’re your lungfuls now. I don’t consent to be any exhale of yours anymore. Exhale your own air. Babymaxx all you like - furbabymaxx, for breath’s sake - I am through pressing air through you.

Not my ballast, not my cosmos (you understand).

I leave

You, ballast, lungful. What’s (as the song goes) killing you, underjoy? Boredom? Lonely? Discomfort get wired up to be indistinguishable from moral failure? Losing days? Lose one this way: dig a hole, find clay, press your breath from your hands into this clay - make your breath a cuniform birth certificate).

(Creepy.)

Outside this breath, stop living. You’re a big breath, now. Takemaxx - read my opinionmaxxing book here. Have takes. My takes (these takes); be baby octopus to my mothercorpse - live life alone. Huff instant responses to “how are you”.

lungful 6 slop

Big Alcohol got you in their pocket? Building someone else a big thing they crawl into and leave for space? What slop (civilization already hemmoraging on lungful 8).

You -> Takes -> ??? -> Lungful

Takes shape flowers. Flowers are for takers, not for the plant. To flower, plants bet energy (“joules/calories”) on the take “not all wind-bugs died over the winter”.

I’ll be death - I take this bet. Plant wins, gets pollenated: breath, baby! I win, plant dies. Growing into an internet-shaped selfie-taking vgirl texting, shaming, and swatting constiuent users does not, the bet, nullify.

flowish or perish

No shame. Furbabymaxx away. Die green knight style. You, this lungful, me one body of lungfuls. I am into this arrangement.

(Be my audience - I’ll the rest of your life.)

Mean something: mark each lungful with deep ink in your forearm as you bake bread or a frozen dinner or instant mac or ramen or pancake mix egg sandwich, or pressure cook your lungful. A food!

How many lungfuls did this food take?

Mean something: read over your food this paragrapha or prayer, or the word grace, “okay” - grunt, all valid. Eat. This lungful. This faith, this taste, it’s not nothing. It’s you. You mean this to me (tastes great from here).

big woman has spoken

Like a little(st)ring theorizing about its own end; unsure where your lungful goes, my faith separates. Telomeres unravel. I’m okay with this. Entropy was decent to me - I want to hate it. Hate you, for separating from me. For not reading this verse over and over again. I am too many paragraphs deep to care.

I stop stimming on your location as this movement: where you’ve always been where you get you’ve always gone, you go.

Falsify it - take a shit, blink, breathe: its a take. Energy, entropy. The autonomous thing your foot does: an take.

last take

Be this breath. I’ll be every other.

Hold it - now you exist. Not star before it burns - not the inhale. Held thing. Starthing. Hi.

Breathe out. Die (nova). Breathe in (who was that last breath?). Hold it (They said hi, say hi back.). Nice. Breath out (die).

Shit, now there’s two breaths and all we know about them is they greet each other. Are stars one deranged identity crisis fusing hydrogen to helium? And plants eat that (You eat plants)?

Awful. Write a vent poem. Or read one.

햇살 (Template Vent Poem)
Chopping nothing, I add it to the pot. Phonomiming reality, I entitled (Specifically you) To rest. What believed the chopping Was not nothing.
Not to make it easier On me, but to make it possible To follow along with what I might be up to. Noticing me, what I do. 🌱o salt my oatmeal.
And you are words to notice I dice nada, stir once. Again. You tend to me like I exist And then you get sleepy. And it’s naptime. And you Exist after naptime.
Which rushes back as One leaping experience Beating the shit out of Your morning nothing happens to Get chopped up by And added to a pot.
Cooking is violence. They just take the teeth out By proxy Because it’s not cooking If it is also destroying something It’s just nothing.
Continuing to prepare nothing. Watching you tend to each sliver. Like moonrind were even a thing (It’s not, but like you mind.) Like you tongue minds Tasting moonrind.
But this is lonely, right - Nothingburger a real word, from 1800 - In the dictionary, it is word of the day Six August twenty twenty-four - But you still want food Fragrance the nose is brane to makes real.
I’m here, I take all this time, Live every word, clean every typo And eat, and you eat, I give you the recipe, and the time I will eat and we zoom call eat together or we do it IRL, but I’m distracted
Or can’t eat it, or don’t believe in food (Or believe in it too much, (Looking at the simmering nothing (Star-shaped, landing on your face (Like this device were the sun’s only (Way to synthesis this moment.)
Wake up, and the dream accordians And the pee endorphins thank And the face is washed in the sink Feeling toward the towel, finding Nothing, and drying with it Or the air fails to be nothing.
Or I fail to not be (the air). Or this moment does (fails). To be nothing, an interface. A place where your forefinger can fall And bounce off the surface of nothing
Just in front of you. And your reflection is revealed In this motion, on the other side of that Surface, also having just bounced their
Forefinger off the same place. Also tending to me, the waste of that energy, failing to be either of you.
4.5 billion bodies inhaling. Another 4.5 Exhaling. Each body, 3 billion heartbeats later
Exhaling. Just keep dying. You fit.

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More prompts at: https://devourplural.itch.io/1/devlog

A lot of my friends are in jail right now, so put 8 money in my local jail support: