Well, what are you waiting for?
Ai.
acknowledge and proceed
This is a World. 
2.06.2010
2.03.2010
Live's Stream
Process is different, but the results are the same.
Some search for the answer to their ennui and laziness in a grand conspiracy by multinational corporations to subvert the limitless potential of man and maintain a profitable predictable status quo, a stasis for the overwrought.
It comes from every individual that chooses day by day to give up little by little the light and freedom they are entitled to, every three-centered brain being that gives up the power they inherently possess outside of the body-coating grown for them, not just giving up the space beyond the front of their nose but purposefully blinding themselves like Oedipus, however deadened or lost their dream may be in the mixed-message logos-enriched datastream misinformation provided by the collective resonance of a unspeculated but no-doubt vast amount of sundered souls, every time an alleged fool or a supposed sage gives in to the idea that they are without worth or concedes to quell their spark of madness, then and even then only for an instant, the whole of the Universe shudders in despair, as entropy overcomes the creative although of course it goes without saying that every one of these things feeds into every other one of these things and vice versa and soforth, twisting and truncating them into a dent in the psychic landscape so massive that it may take several dampening agents to renovate and stitch before all is said and done or it's simply too late.
Gold-digging in the paragraph archepelago or not, it stands to reason that I may have lost you at some point along this shoreline, though the point was more to 'shake-you-like-a-ragdoll' ... I am convinced you understand on the 'true' level that these words carry an encoded series of liminal and subliminal transmissions you may or may not have been originally receptive to. Due to prolonged exposure to the antigens mentioned some five years hence, you're more likely to comprehend on that self-same 'true' level the severity of these issues, the meaning of my text mesh. It is the word, the spoken word same as the written or the read or the heard. The tone, the sound, the language without proper form, the glossolalia before such structures, semiotics with no sense, breaking the ingrained horror that is brought about by even the mere concept of Absolute Order, as if such were anything less than folly, or anything more than a pipe dream.
Bring me the ring. Wring the bling.
Some search for the answer to their ennui and laziness in a grand conspiracy by multinational corporations to subvert the limitless potential of man and maintain a profitable predictable status quo, a stasis for the overwrought.
It comes from every individual that chooses day by day to give up little by little the light and freedom they are entitled to, every three-centered brain being that gives up the power they inherently possess outside of the body-coating grown for them, not just giving up the space beyond the front of their nose but purposefully blinding themselves like Oedipus, however deadened or lost their dream may be in the mixed-message logos-enriched datastream misinformation provided by the collective resonance of a unspeculated but no-doubt vast amount of sundered souls, every time an alleged fool or a supposed sage gives in to the idea that they are without worth or concedes to quell their spark of madness, then and even then only for an instant, the whole of the Universe shudders in despair, as entropy overcomes the creative although of course it goes without saying that every one of these things feeds into every other one of these things and vice versa and soforth, twisting and truncating them into a dent in the psychic landscape so massive that it may take several dampening agents to renovate and stitch before all is said and done or it's simply too late.
Gold-digging in the paragraph archepelago or not, it stands to reason that I may have lost you at some point along this shoreline, though the point was more to 'shake-you-like-a-ragdoll' ... I am convinced you understand on the 'true' level that these words carry an encoded series of liminal and subliminal transmissions you may or may not have been originally receptive to. Due to prolonged exposure to the antigens mentioned some five years hence, you're more likely to comprehend on that self-same 'true' level the severity of these issues, the meaning of my text mesh. It is the word, the spoken word same as the written or the read or the heard. The tone, the sound, the language without proper form, the glossolalia before such structures, semiotics with no sense, breaking the ingrained horror that is brought about by even the mere concept of Absolute Order, as if such were anything less than folly, or anything more than a pipe dream.
Bring me the ring. Wring the bling.
1.26.2010
George Ripley
When busie at my Book I was upon a certain Night,
This Vision here exprest appear'd unto my dimmed sight:
A Toad full Ruddy I saw, did drink the juice of Grapes so fast,
Till over-charged with the broth, his Bowels all to-brast:
And after that, from poyson'd Bulk he cast his Venom fell,
For Grief and Pain whereof his Members all began to swell;
With drops of Poysoned sweat approaching thus his secret Den,
His Cave with blasts of fumous Air he all bewhited then:
And from the which in space a Golden Humour did ensue,
Whose falling drops from high did stain the soil with ruddy hue
This Vision here exprest appear'd unto my dimmed sight:
A Toad full Ruddy I saw, did drink the juice of Grapes so fast,
Till over-charged with the broth, his Bowels all to-brast:
And after that, from poyson'd Bulk he cast his Venom fell,
For Grief and Pain whereof his Members all began to swell;
With drops of Poysoned sweat approaching thus his secret Den,
His Cave with blasts of fumous Air he all bewhited then:
And from the which in space a Golden Humour did ensue,
Whose falling drops from high did stain the soil with ruddy hue
At the Bookstore
Woman at the bookstore today asked me to help her find a book about Understanding Poverty. I looked it up and directed her to Sociology, showed her Labor History, and then waved in the direction of Cultural Studies. I could have told her the whole shebang in one quote, it's something Studs Terkel once said, something to the effect that similar to absolute power corrupting absolutely, absolute powerlessness corrupts just as well. I find it unlikely that this woman has ever known more than a single day outside the sheltered egocentric little box her parents built for her out of the restraints they inherited from their parents. She's Old Money. She needs a book written by another well-manicured rich woman, just like her except with a doctorate, to understand the poor and impoverished. She's trying to understand, this idle rich plasticized old woman, but more importantly she seems to want to understand. What she's attempting to wrap her head around are Heavy concepts such as Going Hungry and Living Paycheck to Paycheck. Until she heard about this Recession, she'd been unfamiliar with the choice between feeding your child or feeding yourself, something I can distinctly recall my own mother going through. She's never been to a used bookstore before, either, bearing a strange smile, seeing everything anew, conversing with the unnaturally tight-faced woman she arrived with. These people inhabit every corner of America's Long Dark Night of the Soul phase, these mildly opinionated rosy-cheeked consumers with little fire left after raising a household of children or running a household of servants. They concern themselves with the price of tea in China as well as seeking medical breakthroughs that increase life-expectancy at the expense of life-quality. They would prefer feel-good movies that reinforce their belief system while attempting to maintain a icy-cold lunatic grip on what may be viewed by some as the mutated bastard child of the American Dream, the remnants of what was before the Revolution of Lowered Expectations, a promise thirteen generations removed and sold to an ever-eager populace again and again. These people wear pastel to their sports arenas and, like fickle flies, seek fresher fare in the pasture at the first sign of a stale taste. I'd insert a final witty quip concerning my own insight, but the act of writing even this minor shred of my thoughts on the matter has been exhausting, and customers keep asking for books. Books on Dutch football. Oriental medicine. Beckett and Steiner and Martin Luther.
Winter
Most facilities fail when presented with THE PLEROMA. Not that the Chaosphere's mirror is all we have to work with to get around this particular roadblock, but it provides a launching point for more complex impressions later on. Maybe also analogous to knowing the armaments one has at hand.
Noting
Just finished this.
The moment of Zen threw me. Was Scott Brown attempting to pimp out his daughters at his victory speech? Am I to believe that this awkward television conspiracy is that transparent? I mean sure, you can say "just kidding", but "kidding on the squared" is something another senator comedian tried to coin a while back, but regarding political language these days, its so commonplace nobody notices. I love Jon Stewart's spirit here. He enjoys the doing the "whetahded accent", you can tell.
Anyway. The interview with Jim Wallis is enjoyable. "Old boy" has a soul and we've seen enough politicians on this show without souls that it's refreshing. The Left needs more smart and devout people like this fellow to counter the shrill keening of the Right. Not that either is "in the right" as both are invested in hypocritical questionable interests by their very nature, i.e. politics in America, but at least the Democrats don't seem hell-bent on immanetizing the eschaton. Still, Wallis puts into some perspective the insecurity all this unchecked fear and greed has thus far generated, repeating instead of repairing the wounds inflicted by poor judgment. Like a snake devouring its own tail, this messy beast may yet prove to be its own solution.
Let's see. "Trick" the rich into providing moral high ground for once by letting them know how wonderfully they will be treated if they invest in the community that hasn't been given any choice but to invest so much in them. The refractory nature of doublespeak indicates that the most logical solution is a tremendous tax credit for massive investments into genuine philanthropic enterprises. Let them know they may pay in very small ways once their pay and practice are brought into greater scrutiny by scrupulous people perhaps damaged by the very callousness that allowed the rich to become rich or, if having inherited their fortunes, they may yet retreat into "stupidity". Maybe what happens is, there's an attempt to make altruism the norm and promote the "green" mindset as more profitable on the whole. Yeah, basically it's providing them with an equivalent to that device they spliced into Fox's victory footage for this episode. They can go at that thing all day and feel great about themselves. "Feed them cake" until their sluggish diabetic arms are too heavy to lift anymore. Make them so famous they can't stand it anymore. Publish their home phone numbers. Set these billionaires and bankers up with free trips to Bikini Atoll and make what happens next into a Reality T.V. show akin (on some visceral level) to the movie "Battle Royale". How many billionaires eating cockroaches do you think it would take to increase the ratings on NBC? What if a rogue secret agent took a tip from the Russians and started discreetly slipping radioactive particles into their food? Just to even things up on the inside. Or we can establish a moral update for them some other way?
Anyway. Television. No hostilities intended. As a consumer, my only voice is the internet and my spending. No blame, really. The Daily Show has this effect on me, and I'm with Coco, whatever that ultimately means.
1.14.2010
12.01.2009
CAT'S HEAD MAGIC
* time inflicts people with status, listening closely there's something found in reading updates found in reading books with faces looking back, what's the comic correlative getting turned into a song yeah I mean that movie, remember? Where they speak as they please and the minutes run by and suddenly it's winter?
* It's strange. This girl by the post office makes recovering seem easy, like a koala fighting a panda, inflicting koala chlamydia on them, and then never calling again.
* Are you ready? We've been up all night talking and watching the experiment of the Mothers McFarLane, old media moguls set up as comic book writers first, collaborated in hand published cramps from years back, technical school snobs, their material reprinted and in apocryphal miracle format these days, digital everything being the watchword of these benevolent Archons. . . and those cold stores of magic the Mother's terms came from was a long-lost set of stone tablets depicting little more than humans giving thanks for their birth, which was, by most accounts (at least amongst humans), a miracle of sorts.
* Birthday Tower is awesome. I'm not using that in the new American Dumbass sense, but more in the William Blake sense. I've got a motherfucking Jones on for some Birthday Tower.
* Did I mention that all stars are cats?
* There was this fellow I knew with fire. Look, that's what I call a city. It's a revelation to the thousands that still don't run their hands through their hair when they are getting a blinky feeling about life. Corn sinking in a glass of water.
* You should rest, you've been sick, staying up all night watching George Powell's memeplex company while the resurrection ritual was completed. When it finally moved you got out of the way. Why? Well, it actually danced at you. Took a lot of furniture out in the ruckus what ensued.
* Obama must get frustrated that even this blog's spell checker doesn't recognize his name yet. I wonder if the blog's plural possessive form will be included soon.
* According to wild late falls, moving through the quantum format should be okay so long as we are finished with the circuit of playful ashes.
* It's strange. This girl by the post office makes recovering seem easy, like a koala fighting a panda, inflicting koala chlamydia on them, and then never calling again.
* Are you ready? We've been up all night talking and watching the experiment of the Mothers McFarLane, old media moguls set up as comic book writers first, collaborated in hand published cramps from years back, technical school snobs, their material reprinted and in apocryphal miracle format these days, digital everything being the watchword of these benevolent Archons. . . and those cold stores of magic the Mother's terms came from was a long-lost set of stone tablets depicting little more than humans giving thanks for their birth, which was, by most accounts (at least amongst humans), a miracle of sorts.
* Birthday Tower is awesome. I'm not using that in the new American Dumbass sense, but more in the William Blake sense. I've got a motherfucking Jones on for some Birthday Tower.
* Did I mention that all stars are cats?
* There was this fellow I knew with fire. Look, that's what I call a city. It's a revelation to the thousands that still don't run their hands through their hair when they are getting a blinky feeling about life. Corn sinking in a glass of water.
* You should rest, you've been sick, staying up all night watching George Powell's memeplex company while the resurrection ritual was completed. When it finally moved you got out of the way. Why? Well, it actually danced at you. Took a lot of furniture out in the ruckus what ensued.
* Obama must get frustrated that even this blog's spell checker doesn't recognize his name yet. I wonder if the blog's plural possessive form will be included soon.
* According to wild late falls, moving through the quantum format should be okay so long as we are finished with the circuit of playful ashes.
11.10.2009
Heard
all I can say is that there are stories and then there are stories. we have this alternate timeline in each novel running alongside similar themes, esp. interests in global consciousness expansion via transliminal superstructures, the old mill of stories, yeah?
11.06.2009
Heart of the Mill
1:0:
The giant's essence and appearance is said to correspond to man's relation to father, beast, and dust.
The art of happiness is listening at the window to passing conversations for snippets of interest, for tales of the long-gone in miniature, excerpts from antique books, lines from first editions, statements dusted off and re-examined with the wealth of information at hand, synthesizing new attitudes and approaches. New Beginnings. Despite the drive for stasis and homogeneity, the human imagination, thoroughly repressed on a collective scale as it is, can still be said to hold the keys to our salvation. Potential. Human primates build and escape traps all the time, both on an immediate and metaphysical scale. Here, a digital fly in amber.
\The irrational character insists on designation and reference within these utterances.
Characters can be portraits of human primates, or components of their sentence structures, the words they use, projected onto a page or a screen (like this). A proper noun approach to the colossal figure imposing itself on the skyline. We used to call them Gods. Now we have the Box, not even the Box but the Rectangle, glowing and Present. Trickster. Eyes like a Fox. Blank face. No eyebrows, no facial structure to speak of. A co-opted commodity viewpoint on the issue. Parallel to the inverse processing mechanism of symbolizing a figure so grand and elaborate in its structure it has next to no reference point for any particular character's part in its immense (and all-pervading) pageantry, it stands to reason that the universe is itself a linguistic construct observing the same tropic relations presented to the knit-speaker. The context points to the content. The pseudo-zoological value of this night-sky dome reconciliation is useful when considering the sky-boat of ages long past, carrying deific detritus across sky-rivers Socrates muttered over before the poison completely set in. These statements have the structural scenario equivalence of infinity's lapdog and/or live/dead cat replicated within and without ad infinitum for amusement and/or amorous intent.
\
2:0:
High schools resemble prisons more and more. Children must be caught and taught. This is a world.
3.0:
When your thought patterns are commodities, when the words you speak are thrown into this aethernet and frozen like a fly in amber then repackaged endlessly, when information is a commodity it is not free, when every movement within a space is approaching a scam it's... well it's like the man said, the medium is the message, and the message currently is split between downgrade & degrade or uplift & save. One side calls this tax and spend and the other side calls it saving lives. One side calls it saving jobs, and the other side calls it saving the environment. We live in a society of insults, not compliments. Globalized name-calling rattles sabers daily, as a side-effect. He told me he asked him if he was happy that his country was no longer at war. He said the man said no no, we're going back to get it started again, because of the money that Americans provide when we battle. Double edged sword as that gang of goblins, They Who Shall be Unnamed, titters outside the field of vision, overseeing absolute futility. In the face of what is to come (call it anatomizing the eschatonologist's subject matter) we are all fictions, characters contained within the one story told by an old woman to her cloudy eyed hive.
The giant's essence and appearance is said to correspond to man's relation to father, beast, and dust.
The art of happiness is listening at the window to passing conversations for snippets of interest, for tales of the long-gone in miniature, excerpts from antique books, lines from first editions, statements dusted off and re-examined with the wealth of information at hand, synthesizing new attitudes and approaches. New Beginnings. Despite the drive for stasis and homogeneity, the human imagination, thoroughly repressed on a collective scale as it is, can still be said to hold the keys to our salvation. Potential. Human primates build and escape traps all the time, both on an immediate and metaphysical scale. Here, a digital fly in amber.
\The irrational character insists on designation and reference within these utterances.
Characters can be portraits of human primates, or components of their sentence structures, the words they use, projected onto a page or a screen (like this). A proper noun approach to the colossal figure imposing itself on the skyline. We used to call them Gods. Now we have the Box, not even the Box but the Rectangle, glowing and Present. Trickster. Eyes like a Fox. Blank face. No eyebrows, no facial structure to speak of. A co-opted commodity viewpoint on the issue. Parallel to the inverse processing mechanism of symbolizing a figure so grand and elaborate in its structure it has next to no reference point for any particular character's part in its immense (and all-pervading) pageantry, it stands to reason that the universe is itself a linguistic construct observing the same tropic relations presented to the knit-speaker. The context points to the content. The pseudo-zoological value of this night-sky dome reconciliation is useful when considering the sky-boat of ages long past, carrying deific detritus across sky-rivers Socrates muttered over before the poison completely set in. These statements have the structural scenario equivalence of infinity's lapdog and/or live/dead cat replicated within and without ad infinitum for amusement and/or amorous intent.
\
2:0:
High schools resemble prisons more and more. Children must be caught and taught. This is a world.
3.0:
When your thought patterns are commodities, when the words you speak are thrown into this aethernet and frozen like a fly in amber then repackaged endlessly, when information is a commodity it is not free, when every movement within a space is approaching a scam it's... well it's like the man said, the medium is the message, and the message currently is split between downgrade & degrade or uplift & save. One side calls this tax and spend and the other side calls it saving lives. One side calls it saving jobs, and the other side calls it saving the environment. We live in a society of insults, not compliments. Globalized name-calling rattles sabers daily, as a side-effect. He told me he asked him if he was happy that his country was no longer at war. He said the man said no no, we're going back to get it started again, because of the money that Americans provide when we battle. Double edged sword as that gang of goblins, They Who Shall be Unnamed, titters outside the field of vision, overseeing absolute futility. In the face of what is to come (call it anatomizing the eschatonologist's subject matter) we are all fictions, characters contained within the one story told by an old woman to her cloudy eyed hive.
11.03.2009
Brother Butcher
Parallel and serial processors. Right hemisphere is about the present moment. Left hemisphere, information as the form of energy,
A collage of the present moment, all senses, an energy being connected through the consciousness of the right hemisphere,
Perfect, whole and beautiful
Left thinks linear and methodical. All about past and future. Picking out details about the present, associates and projects, thinking in language, connection telling you what to do, calculating intelligence, a voice that says “I Am” making us separate.
A collage of the present moment, all senses, an energy being connected through the consciousness of the right hemisphere,
Perfect, whole and beautiful
Left thinks linear and methodical. All about past and future. Picking out details about the present, associates and projects, thinking in language, connection telling you what to do, calculating intelligence, a voice that says “I Am” making us separate.
CANVAS LANDSCAPE PAINTING
Objective: Create a landscape painting on canvas boards. Students will need to do a rough draft and then sketch their drawing onto a canvas board. They will follow up with paint.
Day One: Draw
Materials:
White paper
Pencils
Canvas Board
Day Two-Four: Paint
Materials:
Canvas Board
Paint Trays (save each night)
Paintbrushes
Water Dishes
Day One: Draw
Materials:
White paper
Pencils
Canvas Board
Day Two-Four: Paint
Materials:
Canvas Board
Paint Trays (save each night)
Paintbrushes
Water Dishes
10.30.2009
Posting from the Parthenon
Established blather protocol: high.
Estimated idiocy expectation: TBD
Cryogenic status hunger yank jump jump everybody what?
How is babby formed?
Estimated idiocy expectation: TBD
Cryogenic status hunger yank jump jump everybody what?
How is babby formed?
10.10.2009
circuits
Facilitating fascination one sweaty fan at at time, self-professed psychonaut Robert Anton Wilson first produced Prometheus Rising as a PhD dissertation at aCalifornia college known as Paideia. In the preface to the second edition he describes the steady decline of that organization from "state approved" to "authorized", invoking the flaky nature of the west coast's plethora of fringe think-tanks and high-brow menageries.
This book, once described to me as "a self-help book", details certain exercizes for mind-circuit tinkering. In short, the book is little more than an appraisal of the optimistic mystic's slow-glow approach to the hardware and software of the mind- Wilson adopts and adapts Leary's shorthand throughout the book, and it's clear Crowley's sense of humor got to him.
Items of import:
oral bio-survival circuit, anal-emotional territorial circuit, the two circuit dialectic, the time-binding semantic circuit, the time-binding dialectic, "moral" socio-sexual circuit, holistic neurosomatic circuit, collective neurogenetic circuit, the metaprogramming circuit, and the non-local quantum circuit.
This book, once described to me as "a self-help book", details certain exercizes for mind-circuit tinkering. In short, the book is little more than an appraisal of the optimistic mystic's slow-glow approach to the hardware and software of the mind- Wilson adopts and adapts Leary's shorthand throughout the book, and it's clear Crowley's sense of humor got to him.
Items of import:
oral bio-survival circuit, anal-emotional territorial circuit, the two circuit dialectic, the time-binding semantic circuit, the time-binding dialectic, "moral" socio-sexual circuit, holistic neurosomatic circuit, collective neurogenetic circuit, the metaprogramming circuit, and the non-local quantum circuit.
10.06.2009
The Aspect available becomes far more complex the closer we look into it.
Of course, "the Abyss gazes also".
Neurosomatic circuity has been accessed as a "temporary fix" in most instances until pranayama yogic techniques could be made available, properly and fixedly, by an appropriate agent. Note that ego-socialized medicinal units were procured not by the venerated Doctor Zeitgeist but by his numerous benefactors and placebo acquaintances.
Illegalities of by-proxy moxy notwithstanding, our Hero is still relatively untainted by the indoctrination of certain aspects of his nearest and dearest Lifestyle Junkies.
The necessity of being united is such that the only action one can ever take is awakening. The most urgent and persistent difficulty being a breaking down of formative and associative thinking, or as Ouspensky might have put it, "knowing what you cannot know". This is not to say that you may take such an action, but rather that the construct you have instituted as you, mostly imaginary, that functions in a swarm of motes, might partake of such conjecture from time to time for little more than the sake of doing so.
Could be that our rose-colored nature of these clockwork-like incidents stuns you with a specific cookie- a minute and a half in front of six o clock- bits of clips and phrases repeated at particular intervals over the course of months and years, oatmeal and M&M's and chocolate chips and peanuts, scenes blending seamlessly and silently into that which is not seen is not heard - swirling around the Egyptian form of Harpocrates, personified in vaudeville & Marxist* brotherhood as a silent curly-haired early-day Discordian with an instrument fetish - emerging out of a vat of strangely brewed images; certain controversial ominous scenes were depicted to mimic the typographic constructions found within the Font of The Book, that ineffable blank eternal concerning the Unwritten Magnum Opus, disregarding all but the line underneath the text, formulated in the right hemisphere and justified in the left.
Diviners root these instances out with games of chance and changes, the throwing of the bones, the shuffling and turning of a series of cards, counting out yarrow sticks, or any number of countless variations, active as visual confirmations of a crushed trouble with or elated arrival at destiny's fulcrum, small comfort or confirmation in The Age of Comforting Fear.
Sick of some things. Same-old same-old. Pretentious fucks with trust funds and the means to an End but nothing important to say. Skateboarders and hipsters. Beards and their discontents. Ignoramuses using black solipsism and acerbic divisions as a crutch. Ravers and hippies. Opportunistic materialistic whore-mongers. It stands to reason that in such an environment, emotional and institutional affairs are going at an average rate of a dime for every dozen. A quick letter to the B.B.B. would be appropriate to alleviate most major managerial difficulties, all but for the consequential fallout of negativity and confusion inevitable in such an action, anonymously-placed or not. We'll always work this one out. Always. This one thought is simply the result of a functional reappraisal of whimsical impromptu holidays and their products and their services.
Here: Delicate sweet torpor in the fall, turning over the drivel/speak dynamics, a mystic gibberish brush-fire set in the mind of a skeptical spaghetti-god cleric and spreading ever outwards and upwards- a pantheist faking it until they make it- a Taoist involving themselves in the touchstone that brings strange bliss- a story with a kernel of truth proving to be fundamentally healing. Such acts are cathartic. As it can be said so simply on this digital media structure: "I am the Storyteller." But that goes for everybody.
So, what's the story? What's the problem on that large enough scale? Fear and Greed, though not necessarily in that order. Girl with the hair and girl with the dais. Podium-mongers. Face-first into the flopping alternative backlash of ultra-conservative death-centric rhetoric. Associations between unrelated structures. Yeah, hey, our Leader is cracking amyl nitrate in the back room and having a menage a trois with two nubile neophytes. Hey, did you know he's also the Voice of God? The story certainly begs the question "So what?" but identifies a necessary genetic imperative set in the royal superhighway of DNA helix or more esoterically speaking the kundalini, spell-checked with an alternative here as "vandalism".
Ours is the generation of gutters and sewers, the dismantling of the elevated platforms science fiction buffs pine for to this day, the lobbyist-controlled short-term gain supply-side reform yuppie day-trader shits that presume to know shit about fuck, when we all damn-well know that that is far from the case in any actuality. We must remain optimistic in spite of this, maintaining a balance between rampant shifting and humming stability. Bear in mind that this 'I' and 'We' is only presumed, but the inclinations of the manifestations can become clear through steady evaluation and properly preparing the Home foe that arrival. The formulation of the aim in these seeks at first and effortless method, then as we look closer into this aspect, it becomes more and more complex.
Of course, "the Abyss gazes also".
Neurosomatic circuity has been accessed as a "temporary fix" in most instances until pranayama yogic techniques could be made available, properly and fixedly, by an appropriate agent. Note that ego-socialized medicinal units were procured not by the venerated Doctor Zeitgeist but by his numerous benefactors and placebo acquaintances.
Illegalities of by-proxy moxy notwithstanding, our Hero is still relatively untainted by the indoctrination of certain aspects of his nearest and dearest Lifestyle Junkies.
The necessity of being united is such that the only action one can ever take is awakening. The most urgent and persistent difficulty being a breaking down of formative and associative thinking, or as Ouspensky might have put it, "knowing what you cannot know". This is not to say that you may take such an action, but rather that the construct you have instituted as you, mostly imaginary, that functions in a swarm of motes, might partake of such conjecture from time to time for little more than the sake of doing so.
Could be that our rose-colored nature of these clockwork-like incidents stuns you with a specific cookie- a minute and a half in front of six o clock- bits of clips and phrases repeated at particular intervals over the course of months and years, oatmeal and M&M's and chocolate chips and peanuts, scenes blending seamlessly and silently into that which is not seen is not heard - swirling around the Egyptian form of Harpocrates, personified in vaudeville & Marxist* brotherhood as a silent curly-haired early-day Discordian with an instrument fetish - emerging out of a vat of strangely brewed images; certain controversial ominous scenes were depicted to mimic the typographic constructions found within the Font of The Book, that ineffable blank eternal concerning the Unwritten Magnum Opus, disregarding all but the line underneath the text, formulated in the right hemisphere and justified in the left.
Diviners root these instances out with games of chance and changes, the throwing of the bones, the shuffling and turning of a series of cards, counting out yarrow sticks, or any number of countless variations, active as visual confirmations of a crushed trouble with or elated arrival at destiny's fulcrum, small comfort or confirmation in The Age of Comforting Fear.
Sick of some things. Same-old same-old. Pretentious fucks with trust funds and the means to an End but nothing important to say. Skateboarders and hipsters. Beards and their discontents. Ignoramuses using black solipsism and acerbic divisions as a crutch. Ravers and hippies. Opportunistic materialistic whore-mongers. It stands to reason that in such an environment, emotional and institutional affairs are going at an average rate of a dime for every dozen. A quick letter to the B.B.B. would be appropriate to alleviate most major managerial difficulties, all but for the consequential fallout of negativity and confusion inevitable in such an action, anonymously-placed or not. We'll always work this one out. Always. This one thought is simply the result of a functional reappraisal of whimsical impromptu holidays and their products and their services.
Here: Delicate sweet torpor in the fall, turning over the drivel/speak dynamics, a mystic gibberish brush-fire set in the mind of a skeptical spaghetti-god cleric and spreading ever outwards and upwards- a pantheist faking it until they make it- a Taoist involving themselves in the touchstone that brings strange bliss- a story with a kernel of truth proving to be fundamentally healing. Such acts are cathartic. As it can be said so simply on this digital media structure: "I am the Storyteller." But that goes for everybody.
So, what's the story? What's the problem on that large enough scale? Fear and Greed, though not necessarily in that order. Girl with the hair and girl with the dais. Podium-mongers. Face-first into the flopping alternative backlash of ultra-conservative death-centric rhetoric. Associations between unrelated structures. Yeah, hey, our Leader is cracking amyl nitrate in the back room and having a menage a trois with two nubile neophytes. Hey, did you know he's also the Voice of God? The story certainly begs the question "So what?" but identifies a necessary genetic imperative set in the royal superhighway of DNA helix or more esoterically speaking the kundalini, spell-checked with an alternative here as "vandalism".
Ours is the generation of gutters and sewers, the dismantling of the elevated platforms science fiction buffs pine for to this day, the lobbyist-controlled short-term gain supply-side reform yuppie day-trader shits that presume to know shit about fuck, when we all damn-well know that that is far from the case in any actuality. We must remain optimistic in spite of this, maintaining a balance between rampant shifting and humming stability. Bear in mind that this 'I' and 'We' is only presumed, but the inclinations of the manifestations can become clear through steady evaluation and properly preparing the Home foe that arrival. The formulation of the aim in these seeks at first and effortless method, then as we look closer into this aspect, it becomes more and more complex.
9.17.2009
9.15.2009
A family of German Shepards, a mother, a father, and two well-sized pups, run down the sidewalk and into traffic.
From a passing car, a boy calls to a girl: "Gimme some that chicken!"
Girl: "Whaat?"
Boy: "Why don't you gimme somma that chicken!"
Girl: "Nuh uh! You ain't got shit comin'!"
And so forth.
Cool as a cucumber in this new spiteful era.
From a passing car, a boy calls to a girl: "Gimme some that chicken!"
Girl: "Whaat?"
Boy: "Why don't you gimme somma that chicken!"
Girl: "Nuh uh! You ain't got shit comin'!"
And so forth.
Cool as a cucumber in this new spiteful era.
8.30.2009
Sobering
Quickly rising temperatures, a gyre of clouds along the skyline.
Black light from anti-sun rotating around the aether-earth, counter-clockwise swirl in the non-verse.
Today and yesterday subtract these total sums presented. Red faction emergency ration split-infinitive non-negotiable, treading water in the mire and muck of the shallows, this soupy river of text. Memories of whores and saints wander by as jellyfish.
Add one to two and then another to another. Bones tossed overboard. Guedhe Legba Voudon, a corporate infiltration waiting to happen. This Ship of Fools.
Understand your confusion. Gnat speck.
As a matter of convenience, we've thus far constructed only the barest bones and fundamental frameworks of the overall Thesis. Towards this end, our commentary on this time-sliver often eludes or excessively embodies trite tropes. Ten thousand yes-men agree. So. Many. Years spent in preparation for the ultimate acknowledgment, the first of many steps. Results: many happy returns. Hexagram calculator. A spot where no ink has been spilled. Vast wastes of paper, a desert of accumulated academics, white space between lines, between words, sucking the cortices off, membrane shivering, slurping, shuddering, tactile synesthesia induced, the sound of your skin, undulating amorphous superstructure emerging within the scent, grapheme of certain letters and numbers emanating certain colors. Pheremone dumping ground, as in form & ground, picture plane beyond the third and fourth and fifth, a nonce spectacular gala planned and placed. Flatlanders we, law of the jungle being eat or be eaten, survival instinct stint.
Old old soul traversing the aethernet, quibbling over quantities as it/we/I go.
Forgive our seeming obfuscation. Due to lack or overabundance. Spirit infusing material. Golden cube at the center of the room. Wealth in several forms. Armor for astral conflict.
We bid you, lick the rim of the scum bucket and pay homage to your mother protozoa with vomit, sundry soul-suckers of this holographic travesty, well-fed hostages of a Power Greater than Yourself. Accept this Presence. Never give up.
Ha. Huh.
Black light from anti-sun rotating around the aether-earth, counter-clockwise swirl in the non-verse.
Today and yesterday subtract these total sums presented. Red faction emergency ration split-infinitive non-negotiable, treading water in the mire and muck of the shallows, this soupy river of text. Memories of whores and saints wander by as jellyfish.
Add one to two and then another to another. Bones tossed overboard. Guedhe Legba Voudon, a corporate infiltration waiting to happen. This Ship of Fools.
Understand your confusion. Gnat speck.
As a matter of convenience, we've thus far constructed only the barest bones and fundamental frameworks of the overall Thesis. Towards this end, our commentary on this time-sliver often eludes or excessively embodies trite tropes. Ten thousand yes-men agree. So. Many. Years spent in preparation for the ultimate acknowledgment, the first of many steps. Results: many happy returns. Hexagram calculator. A spot where no ink has been spilled. Vast wastes of paper, a desert of accumulated academics, white space between lines, between words, sucking the cortices off, membrane shivering, slurping, shuddering, tactile synesthesia induced, the sound of your skin, undulating amorphous superstructure emerging within the scent, grapheme of certain letters and numbers emanating certain colors. Pheremone dumping ground, as in form & ground, picture plane beyond the third and fourth and fifth, a nonce spectacular gala planned and placed. Flatlanders we, law of the jungle being eat or be eaten, survival instinct stint.
Old old soul traversing the aethernet, quibbling over quantities as it/we/I go.
Forgive our seeming obfuscation. Due to lack or overabundance. Spirit infusing material. Golden cube at the center of the room. Wealth in several forms. Armor for astral conflict.
We bid you, lick the rim of the scum bucket and pay homage to your mother protozoa with vomit, sundry soul-suckers of this holographic travesty, well-fed hostages of a Power Greater than Yourself. Accept this Presence. Never give up.
Ha. Huh.
8.26.2009
Aldous
"We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies-all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes"
8.12.2009
क note
01.0012.01.01:
Patent pending on the terminator genome set in this belly-button, we're here, we're here, we're here in the fulcrum of the world. We are all bulbous spores straining through the rot of the forest floor.
03.2212.01.01:
Been reevaluating Anaïs Nin's incest and Henry's ineffectualness, Lawrence Stern's love of Yorick and Toby. Sipping on Ars Memoria, slipping between sheets in the golden cultivation era, the cheap prices of a falling consumer advocate spreadsheet. The resources fed into cattle and machines, the jobs generated by interpreters in outer realms, the global label marketed, spoken broken French in the rolling rain, all the loves of a lifetime in a row, shot down like tin cans on a post, cowboys and lavender jokers, fools and flops, heavy and strong and ugly like a bear, all curses and contracts fulfilled and overcome and relegated into the past tense.
02.1010.03.01:
East and west mindsets release a plaintive cry for recognition. Lost old men in the trackless soot suit shuffle throughout the town hall, rhetoric of the angry Whites echoing, cut to minimal hours for the tight-and-bright teeny bop job hunt shunts. Soundtrack is sparse on borders, the reliable realms lose their coherence, right foot forward, left foot up, up, on-location scout reporting recording, huts with naked strangers, up against the hall wall with an urgency, noisy and violent, echoes throughout the tunnel of those trance singers by the fire, soldiers scoping out the justified ancients of Allah, drowning in oil and blood mixing and mingling, the droning hum of all-love-in-now.
04.1110.02.01:
1
United States Chicago, Illinois
2
France Privas, Rhone-Alpes
3
United States Newport, Oregon
4
Germany Roding, Bayern
5
United States
6
France Les Lilas, Ile-de-France
7
Australia Melbourne, Victoria
8
Sweden
9
United States
10
India Pune, Maharashtra
11
United States Trabuco Canyon, California
12
Unknown
13
United States
14
United States Waterford, Michigan
15
United States Ellsworth, Maine
16
United States Woodbridge, Virginia
17
United States
18
Canada Sudbury, Ontario
19
United States Broomall, Pennsylvania
20
United States Morgantown, West Virginia
21
Saudi Arabia Riyadh, Ar Riyad
22
United States Norman, Oklahoma
23
United States
24
United States Minneapolis, Minnesota
25
Unknown
26
United Kingdom Manchester
27
Singapore Singapore
28
United States Easton, Pennsylvania
29
United States
30
United States Boca Raton, Florida
31
Unknown
32
United States Hurlock, Maryland
33
Canada
34
Germany Dresden, Sachsen
35
United States Fort Riley, Kansas
36
Unknown
37
Turkey Istanbul
38
Unknown
39
United States Juneau, Alaska
40
United States Carbondale, Colorado
41
Australia
42
Australia Sydney, New South Wales
43
United States Madison, Wisconsin
44
Switzerland Yverdon, Vaud
45
United States Saint Augustine, Florida
46
United States Forsyth, Georgia
47
Unknown
48
United States Winston Salem, North Carolina
49
Canada
50
United States
51
Unknown
52
United States Shrewsbury, Massachusetts
53
Unknown
54
United States Chicago, Illinois
55
Canada Toronto, Ontario
56
United States Greenbrier, Arkansas
57
United States Miami, Florida
58
Unknown
59
Hungary Hodmezovasarhely, Csongrad
60
Switzerland Zrich, Zurich
61
United States Johnson City, Tennessee
62
Russian Federation Sovetskaya, Krasnodar
63
United States Los Angeles, California
64
United States Cypress, Texas
65
United States Flagstaff, Arizona
66
Sweden Vxj, Kronobergs Lan
67
United States Dallas, Texas
68
United States Locust Grove, Georgia
69
Spain
70
Unknown
71
United States Sheboygan, Wisconsin
72
United States Irvine, California
73
United States Los Angeles, California
74
United States Canyon Country, California
75
United States
76
United States Tulsa, Oklahoma
77
United States
78
Israel Qiryat Gat, HaDarom
79
United States Mountain View, California
80
United Kingdom Newport, Isle of Wight
Patent pending on the terminator genome set in this belly-button, we're here, we're here, we're here in the fulcrum of the world. We are all bulbous spores straining through the rot of the forest floor.
03.2212.01.01:
Been reevaluating Anaïs Nin's incest and Henry's ineffectualness, Lawrence Stern's love of Yorick and Toby. Sipping on Ars Memoria, slipping between sheets in the golden cultivation era, the cheap prices of a falling consumer advocate spreadsheet. The resources fed into cattle and machines, the jobs generated by interpreters in outer realms, the global label marketed, spoken broken French in the rolling rain, all the loves of a lifetime in a row, shot down like tin cans on a post, cowboys and lavender jokers, fools and flops, heavy and strong and ugly like a bear, all curses and contracts fulfilled and overcome and relegated into the past tense.
02.1010.03.01:
East and west mindsets release a plaintive cry for recognition. Lost old men in the trackless soot suit shuffle throughout the town hall, rhetoric of the angry Whites echoing, cut to minimal hours for the tight-and-bright teeny bop job hunt shunts. Soundtrack is sparse on borders, the reliable realms lose their coherence, right foot forward, left foot up, up, on-location scout reporting recording, huts with naked strangers, up against the hall wall with an urgency, noisy and violent, echoes throughout the tunnel of those trance singers by the fire, soldiers scoping out the justified ancients of Allah, drowning in oil and blood mixing and mingling, the droning hum of all-love-in-now.
04.1110.02.01:
1
United States Chicago, Illinois
2
France Privas, Rhone-Alpes
3
United States Newport, Oregon
4
Germany Roding, Bayern
5
United States
6
France Les Lilas, Ile-de-France
7
Australia Melbourne, Victoria
8
Sweden
9
United States
10
India Pune, Maharashtra
11
United States Trabuco Canyon, California
12
Unknown
13
United States
14
United States Waterford, Michigan
15
United States Ellsworth, Maine
16
United States Woodbridge, Virginia
17
United States
18
Canada Sudbury, Ontario
19
United States Broomall, Pennsylvania
20
United States Morgantown, West Virginia
21
Saudi Arabia Riyadh, Ar Riyad
22
United States Norman, Oklahoma
23
United States
24
United States Minneapolis, Minnesota
25
Unknown
26
United Kingdom Manchester
27
Singapore Singapore
28
United States Easton, Pennsylvania
29
United States
30
United States Boca Raton, Florida
31
Unknown
32
United States Hurlock, Maryland
33
Canada
34
Germany Dresden, Sachsen
35
United States Fort Riley, Kansas
36
Unknown
37
Turkey Istanbul
38
Unknown
39
United States Juneau, Alaska
40
United States Carbondale, Colorado
41
Australia
42
Australia Sydney, New South Wales
43
United States Madison, Wisconsin
44
Switzerland Yverdon, Vaud
45
United States Saint Augustine, Florida
46
United States Forsyth, Georgia
47
Unknown
48
United States Winston Salem, North Carolina
49
Canada
50
United States
51
Unknown
52
United States Shrewsbury, Massachusetts
53
Unknown
54
United States Chicago, Illinois
55
Canada Toronto, Ontario
56
United States Greenbrier, Arkansas
57
United States Miami, Florida
58
Unknown
59
Hungary Hodmezovasarhely, Csongrad
60
Switzerland Zrich, Zurich
61
United States Johnson City, Tennessee
62
Russian Federation Sovetskaya, Krasnodar
63
United States Los Angeles, California
64
United States Cypress, Texas
65
United States Flagstaff, Arizona
66
Sweden Vxj, Kronobergs Lan
67
United States Dallas, Texas
68
United States Locust Grove, Georgia
69
Spain
70
Unknown
71
United States Sheboygan, Wisconsin
72
United States Irvine, California
73
United States Los Angeles, California
74
United States Canyon Country, California
75
United States
76
United States Tulsa, Oklahoma
77
United States
78
Israel Qiryat Gat, HaDarom
79
United States Mountain View, California
80
United Kingdom Newport, Isle of Wight
7.25.2009
ड्राफ्टिंग Changes
This or that, here or there, at least this is what we tell ourselves.
Everyone often speaks of what they need or want to 'do'. It's impossible to 'do' anything without proper understanding of the necessary components of an action. Most actions are circumstantial, put into place weeks, months, or years before they come to pass. The illusion of action is a strong one. Things happen. Things are happening continually and we seek to affect change, impose our order onto the teeming chaos of the everyday, and we of course fail only insofar as our understanding is limited, our perspective flawed.
To affect change in the outer world one must first affect change within, and the difficulty is variable given the particularities of circumstance.
One must surmount stagnation if they can hope to achieve the fullest scope of their capabilities.
I am disconcerted. This is a world.
Everyone often speaks of what they need or want to 'do'. It's impossible to 'do' anything without proper understanding of the necessary components of an action. Most actions are circumstantial, put into place weeks, months, or years before they come to pass. The illusion of action is a strong one. Things happen. Things are happening continually and we seek to affect change, impose our order onto the teeming chaos of the everyday, and we of course fail only insofar as our understanding is limited, our perspective flawed.
To affect change in the outer world one must first affect change within, and the difficulty is variable given the particularities of circumstance.
One must surmount stagnation if they can hope to achieve the fullest scope of their capabilities.
I am disconcerted. This is a world.
7.15.2009
Hand opens into lotus opens into heart opens into The Infinite.
Establishing parameters within the cantalope rind wriggling under the net of hegemonical imperialist social norms and the mechanical nature of evil, the goodness of so-called consciousness, an elusive and often beleaguered dreadnought in the choppy foam of the dead salt sea. We carousel until we are exhausted. We find the trivial mundane and the extraordinary essential. Every moment is necessary and eternal. The initiation never ends. Come Here, Now.
Yes no?
Establishing parameters within the cantalope rind wriggling under the net of hegemonical imperialist social norms and the mechanical nature of evil, the goodness of so-called consciousness, an elusive and often beleaguered dreadnought in the choppy foam of the dead salt sea. We carousel until we are exhausted. We find the trivial mundane and the extraordinary essential. Every moment is necessary and eternal. The initiation never ends. Come Here, Now.
Yes no?
7.01.2009
Derided Theories
Come! Come forth bravely into this terrible wonderful new age, the time of attrition and derision gone, now little more than a spectacle of nigh-immortal gum-drop marionettes in the candy-coated fields of our heavenly hosts, hidden eggs and seeds scattered amongst the crunching undergrowth.
The Moon, the might of the Moon and its part in the next stage, every stage, the cycles it is attuned to, the song of those celestial descendants of our kind and loving hosts of theirs, ideas and fragments edging into other people's dreams, thoughts so big they fill a floating continent in that edge of my mind, an orb of psychic resonance left over from some cosmic calamity set to go off again, a thing happening continually since a scientist bent the radio waves to the point that they traveled faster than the speed of light, or the mathematicians that established quantum particle teleportation in absolute zero golden machinery, a touching of hands on hands, hip to hip, a tip and a trip, a distinct spin on the axis, a rub to identify, the gut-wrenching globs smeared on our waxing waning gibbous ventures, good and old fashioned Crowley masque for the first stage, up to and including the date of birth and social security number, with every six or ten generations absolutely certain that theirs is the age of the apocalypse, theirs is the one of the Eternal Child, the Moonchild foretold, a time of homunculi, and it is their duty and function to perform for the erratic steerings of the aeon's pull, fleas on a battleship, thinking themselves into positions of power, the eschaton immanentized, that immanence of the Highest Science, the return to the Pleroma, astro-theological implications limitless, through harridans and harlequins, Lillith whore-mongers and Mammonian hollow-folk. The wisp of a totem, the tattoo on my arm, spiral hand-made in the moments before ink to skin, a marking for the masses, a refined decision put forth by the Drastic Maestro in a dream, the demiurge stirring in its sleep, serpentine lion face, a rooster like Abraxas, like the skimming of cream off the top, the juicing of time, that foolish blind ideal of an indefinable totality.
The Moon, the might of the Moon and its part in the next stage, every stage, the cycles it is attuned to, the song of those celestial descendants of our kind and loving hosts of theirs, ideas and fragments edging into other people's dreams, thoughts so big they fill a floating continent in that edge of my mind, an orb of psychic resonance left over from some cosmic calamity set to go off again, a thing happening continually since a scientist bent the radio waves to the point that they traveled faster than the speed of light, or the mathematicians that established quantum particle teleportation in absolute zero golden machinery, a touching of hands on hands, hip to hip, a tip and a trip, a distinct spin on the axis, a rub to identify, the gut-wrenching globs smeared on our waxing waning gibbous ventures, good and old fashioned Crowley masque for the first stage, up to and including the date of birth and social security number, with every six or ten generations absolutely certain that theirs is the age of the apocalypse, theirs is the one of the Eternal Child, the Moonchild foretold, a time of homunculi, and it is their duty and function to perform for the erratic steerings of the aeon's pull, fleas on a battleship, thinking themselves into positions of power, the eschaton immanentized, that immanence of the Highest Science, the return to the Pleroma, astro-theological implications limitless, through harridans and harlequins, Lillith whore-mongers and Mammonian hollow-folk. The wisp of a totem, the tattoo on my arm, spiral hand-made in the moments before ink to skin, a marking for the masses, a refined decision put forth by the Drastic Maestro in a dream, the demiurge stirring in its sleep, serpentine lion face, a rooster like Abraxas, like the skimming of cream off the top, the juicing of time, that foolish blind ideal of an indefinable totality.
6.10.2009
Religious Organs
Help the sufferers in this institution, high stress industry, certainly that is a given, strong critics shifting equal parts blame onto The Other, transmuting it into fury. An affair of questions and answers ensues.
Humbled open hearts collect doctrine for educating swords (blessed and otherwise), revising the seventh edition of a reflection of a classical fear programming mechanism, speaking in emotional aggregates. Find out wherever and however all religions are theoretically treated equally, and you'll find a culture that is itself a hydra of sorts, difficulties, large prints placing oblong orders along the circuit of want.
You have to honorably mention the paper and the news going on, percentages of abuses increasing at stronger rates, developing a critical faculty with regards to faith, calling faith into question and not trembling, revelations of the dogma-smear proving a lack of relevance, the profound mass report concerning the systematic abuse of children throughout the history of the human hum, devolving into the machinery and the correction script scenario, voluntary ID chips clipped to the ear like a bag of badly-handled potato chips, chattering shadow-folk in the corner of musky cigar bars, brutal murder in the halls of a museum, in the corridors of power, a place of dignity and respect, hate crime microwave bombardment and condemnation of missile strike, significant sources of revenue frozen by further restrictions devised in the Pentagon, an octagon gone wrong, a practice of love wilted, tilted, and titled with something pretentious or derivative.
Humbled open hearts collect doctrine for educating swords (blessed and otherwise), revising the seventh edition of a reflection of a classical fear programming mechanism, speaking in emotional aggregates. Find out wherever and however all religions are theoretically treated equally, and you'll find a culture that is itself a hydra of sorts, difficulties, large prints placing oblong orders along the circuit of want.
You have to honorably mention the paper and the news going on, percentages of abuses increasing at stronger rates, developing a critical faculty with regards to faith, calling faith into question and not trembling, revelations of the dogma-smear proving a lack of relevance, the profound mass report concerning the systematic abuse of children throughout the history of the human hum, devolving into the machinery and the correction script scenario, voluntary ID chips clipped to the ear like a bag of badly-handled potato chips, chattering shadow-folk in the corner of musky cigar bars, brutal murder in the halls of a museum, in the corridors of power, a place of dignity and respect, hate crime microwave bombardment and condemnation of missile strike, significant sources of revenue frozen by further restrictions devised in the Pentagon, an octagon gone wrong, a practice of love wilted, tilted, and titled with something pretentious or derivative.
6.07.2009
रेक्स Exercise
The man in question was born in Istanbul in 1972 and grew up in a wealthy yet declining bourgeois family; an experience he describes in passing throughout his novels The White Book and The Gloaming of the Bobos, as well as more thoroughly in his personal memoir Constantinople. He was educated at Bob Wood National programming director school in Hartford, Connecticut, and went on to study architecture at the Badhand Technical University since it was related to his real dream career, painting. He left the architecture school after three years, however, to become a full-time writer, and went on to fail spectacularly. From ages 22 to 30, he lived with his mother, writing his first novel and attempting to find a publisher. He couldn't pawn it off on anybody, though, so he grew to hate the act of writing, blaming the tepid reception to his impenetrable purple prose as proof that the public at large were fools and in all likelihood needed a good wash-down, specifically in the eyes and mouth region. Mucous membranes in general
6.02.2009
Aspectarian
The cycle starts all over again.
You hear the ohm sound?
-the what-
It's high pitched, like a thousand crickets chirping, kinda ringing in your ears.
You hear the ohm sound?
-the what-
It's high pitched, like a thousand crickets chirping, kinda ringing in your ears.
5.27.2009
Word of the year 2009
To avoid the inevitable, our debts will be relieved by a most audacious alteration of methodology.
A thin voice with a mirror on one end echoes throughout the halls of this labyrinth of balanced life, these energies achieving an equilibrium pending imminent transportation.
Global travel, a hall of no doors, no life, no mustache, porcelain tiles like a stained chessboard laid out before us as these furrowed brows drip sweat on past due notices, suffering and alleviation in this dangerous gang turf swift sudsy sorbet.
Our best assets have been sold to the taxpayers to fund the united auto workers in their speakeasy glamor gala of this Illuminati fallacy, insinuating a well-fitting uniform while the judge raiding pension funds to destroy those troublesome bonds, transfigured in an amorous set of restructuring trust funds in exchange for concessions on the soul changing to a substance as ballyhooed as gold, charging into the rock-cold night, admitting the stockholders into society, a short sharp coup de grace placed on the back of the neck.
A thin voice with a mirror on one end echoes throughout the halls of this labyrinth of balanced life, these energies achieving an equilibrium pending imminent transportation.
Global travel, a hall of no doors, no life, no mustache, porcelain tiles like a stained chessboard laid out before us as these furrowed brows drip sweat on past due notices, suffering and alleviation in this dangerous gang turf swift sudsy sorbet.
Our best assets have been sold to the taxpayers to fund the united auto workers in their speakeasy glamor gala of this Illuminati fallacy, insinuating a well-fitting uniform while the judge raiding pension funds to destroy those troublesome bonds, transfigured in an amorous set of restructuring trust funds in exchange for concessions on the soul changing to a substance as ballyhooed as gold, charging into the rock-cold night, admitting the stockholders into society, a short sharp coup de grace placed on the back of the neck.
5.14.2009
Wisdom: silver रोड़, Love: Golden बोवल
Eternal good should triumph over transitory evil, what with Light and Darkness being poles of the same thing, an errata to the multiverse with scales as in music scattered throughout, a pansophic enterprise through which prophesy is transferred as teleological enterprise, in effect knowing when and how an Aeon mutates and forms, at what time history can be written, an Age Passed, the interim between death and birth when you sketch out the next little bit, ending the mythical age in the archetypal world to give way to the next series of seemingly arranged events, vis a vis destiny, or nonesuch, simplistic solipsism, whatever floats your boat or maintains artificial gravity on a space-ship. Most empirical sciences are based on reason, and therefore psychology favors an ego-centric methodology, based on the idea that this is OUR World, where conscious experiences take places, and logically, it is possible that another world is identical to our own, and in that world consciousness is a curse of chaos rather than a blessing of order, and in that, so-called facts about consciousness are facts about OUR World, over and beyond physical laws or compromises.
Ethically, I should refer to the above appropriation as a rough-hewn mesh of turnarounds and textual collage, spirited effort at accumulation of an operating theory, something outside of the lonely division, the crawling cudgel of conscience, when here I am unburdening myself of the purple, the raw, the unfettered footless fancy free uncatalogued cutting clip of phrase, an element apart, a device of intrusion, a grey-flecked illusion.
Ethically, I should refer to the above appropriation as a rough-hewn mesh of turnarounds and textual collage, spirited effort at accumulation of an operating theory, something outside of the lonely division, the crawling cudgel of conscience, when here I am unburdening myself of the purple, the raw, the unfettered footless fancy free uncatalogued cutting clip of phrase, an element apart, a device of intrusion, a grey-flecked illusion.
5.08.2009
Wotan
Britain hangs high in the brutality halls of history, representing the putrid part of salty dynamics. Salves. Europe the Old Drip Diphtheria, patronymically developed as an amusing acronym, an outside ghost of a chance, the queen's personal attendant in conflict with her tailor and her astrologer, the whims of the Vatican surreptitiously spoiling bananas and grapefruit for the rest of us, while in Egypt an order is given to slaughter pigs by the millions, and to what end? That gyrocopter developed under contract with the nation's military has yet to show us any viable field activity, and thanks to a precedent set by queer-as-folk satyricobots, an eight-year-military-misdirection-for-profit has left the mud-flap industry of a nuclear-power seeking Persian Ostrich President in a lurch, a church, alright fine a mosque, set to detonate as all such things do. From within.
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