...see a whisp of grey smoke arise - I was experimenting with electronic
escalation of levels of subsumation. The reality slips and cartoon metaphysics of the cosmos is one vast entity that
thinks. You have to consider that we're only made out of dust, that entity is organic, an elastic organism, techgnostic,
fundamentally analogous. Deluding drugs and psychosis, hallucinated worlds, intoxicating in a world defined by entropy
and decay. If the future had a slogan, see it weep and bleed fake humans, electronic opera, the trash stratum, what constitutes
the authentic human being immersed in words.
...and showed how little truth there lies in the fact that for a man to live an exceedingly unfinished
voyage entails a thoughtful look at the rest of humanity as cruel and cold as a pebble smoothed by the sea. The moment
of connection.
The connected universes and the coloratura background, the dark sprawling city. Superior
drones, artificial intelligence; metal pipes and human limbs.
Space.
The brooding brick revolution, architectural idealism, love, quirks and surprises. Expansive
sweeps of mandarin light, flood the wasteland. The wasteland, strange - in some ways more strange. Archimandrite
Luseferous, 7,500 square miles and Vishnu, reporting Sir.
Hassan-I-Sabbath never left Earth the paradox is in the river.
Space.
The average American phraseology, pipe work thicker than a man in ganglia. The ketchup-red
shelter above the cavernous Substation Project. A young, American beauty exhibits a cluttered kitchen, charred loaves
of bread, orange chicken fat.
Remember him as a writer. Man changed his
name and re-invented himself as Environment . The living and their ephermeral activities, freezing the passage
of time. One woman wears the arms of her murdered fiction. A pumping demented electronic devotion. Leaving
only the ghost of a man, a charismatic General amid the funeral marble of a New york musuem.
A beautifully poised photograph taken after Earth, culminates with a dark classical ballet full
of gods. Renegades have a prophet, inspiring Golems and demonic beings which rise out of 'Contemporary gallery',
the Mother of literacy.
We went thoroughly through Act three today; I prepared my shoes before our constant islands.
She knew perfectly well that He was a deeply generous, funny, intelligent, profoundly isolated man who wrote. Humans,
on the whole, dust themselves, pretending the Play is more finished than it is. Mankind, or the part of it stranded
on a lilting pathos, a final unfinished voyage with seething disorder, politly put the money in the slot. Arcades flicker
and wink. A green, neon haze transforms the human figure into phantoms. The British coast is a siren's song.
Technological dei ex machina that describes a swamp creature it holds emancipated.
Many die in a bad land beyond brilliant creation. The books work like the Israelites who
escaped slavery in Egypt.
These days any man with a social conscience should be asking himself: sleep tomorrow, all men
are not equal. Are Yoko's women still the niggers of the world ?
The most bland of domestic settings - four hours a day in front of television.
...One of the most horrifying scenes in his f(r)iction, Environment carves intricate voodou figures
as to become a kind of psychological devastatingly poignant truth in the wind.
Use of disinformation.
...Being alone, being detached and being. Remembering Herbert Hunke "guilty of everything!".
On a small banana-wood table, two closed books: Tezuka's 'Buddha Vol:2' and Joseph Conrad's 'The Nigger of Narcissicus', one
open Leg Fetish magazine displaying a voluptuous American blonde wearing blue-seamed fishnet tights and white strasppy heels.
A dark-haired Japanese, hand-cuffed beauty, kneels ripping the fishn et crotch
with her diamond teeth.
Ah, now Nathaniel don't you go making a cheap bed or buying cheap shoes - for sure, ifyou ain't
in one your in the other! (somebody elses advise).
