In the language you
just put yourself on a pedestal with so many words.
Onany is alone on a
bedrock of fuck.
Every sign is
propaganda.
The knower bearer of
the plague of knowing knows, but knowing is a method, a lineage and a
tradition that you join not knowing and become a sign signaling the
way to the plague you have revealed.
The knowledge was
there before you but you collaborate and share the responsibility.
Still, you are free, for you have become free to know, and it was by
accident you met half way to happen.
Now it is every
moment.
This is, as is, is
what
nonsensical
responses
to a series of
conducted
irritations
Attempted
communication; the skin portal left bruised
and possibly
contaminated by dangerous bacteria
carried by the
subject
romantic
possibilities of life,
longevity,
flat, face down to
black earth
Nonsensical
irritations acquit reason you have here.
Intricate
machine-rationality built on whimsical assumptions,
stratified abstract
ideas, ersatz nonsense
or always serve a
need, like that of control, the power to determine
meaning and sense,
then flood all channels with different aspects of everything
all the way to
postmodern disinformation of total ambivalence and very
general relativity
according to the various victorious historians.
Si, si, Chant the
Cannon of Composed reality.
The static quo of
unspecific purposes nor deliberate use.
Practically plain
rip-off in praxis. And some romantic ideas that remain
on the abstract
metaphysical level or in other words, just that, ideas
like solipsism –
now can solipsism be used to any purpose?
Is it just the self
endlessly reflected back dead in translation?
That which closes as
it opens, of course inexorably encrypted.
Heartless gibber
that the subject acts out by de facto masturbating physically.
This leaves
abrasions on the said penis.
Ens Inquantum Ens
With unspecific
necessity I have been states of personal primacy in physical body.
And the mantras of
corporeal being might be said to be enactments of ideas,
yet the relation
between ideas and the world of phenomena seems to be evasive
to statistical
description and quantitative meaning.
There are random
factors at play in how the body interprets the abstract idea
and translates it to
action.
It is a kind of ritual: masturbating an abstract
non-corporeal sign
with physical
enactment.
But this is the
Mind/Body axiom
All is equally real.
Yet being has order
that prevails despite ideas.
The Idea
may or may not have
produced an ideal image
to which being is
second to and pales in comparison
fuck it
the idea at best is
a simulation, a map
metaphysical context
for
and cartographic
reproduction of
being
as according to
experience
and sensory feedback
you fucking know
when you fuck for real
and you can only
fuck with the really real
the rest is onany
existential
isolation and sexual frustration
These are dire times
of pressing immediacy
and profound
severity
so much so that in
every conflict of interests
you must ask
yourself are you the one
poking holes in the
shared lifeboat
or the one standing
there with an oar in your hand
thinking whether you
should keep the once reckless corpse for food
or cast it over
board.
Yes, this is the
limit of our humanity, boys and girls,
the point after
which we can no longer live reckless and free,
the line between
animal determination and human folly,
and an exposition of
the disease infecting both the animal and the human
and corrupting
function, will and execution.
Order is continually
compromised
but neither is chaos
ever total.
It is just that our
systemic default settings
exhaust the
condition that enabled being
in the form we have
experience of.
Within these
physical limits we have toiled, they are our limits,
not the rituals that
keep us here, the misunderstanding at the arbitrary sign –
What is this worship
of image at the expense of the corporeal but alienation from
physicality?
We reinvent and
reinterpret our system every passing moment, remember the constant
change that is time. And why there is an imminent need, as compelling
as physical need, for a paradigm shift. As bio-bodies should
challenge our systemic paradigm instead of challenging our habitats
ability to sustain us.
What is it that
keeps us in place?
The comfort zone is
no longer safe.
We are on a stretch,
as always,
reaching to the
unknown, barely touching ground
floating among the
wreckage:
fragments of theory
and belief,
remnants of
determination
on polluted oceans,
dead seas,
beneath us
de-oxygenated abysmal plains,
the wounds devoid of
life, gaps in the living body.
This is the rock
bottom, the rift between awareness and being
where matter loses
meaning
but the supposedly sentient beings are absent minded
and remain enthralled by imaginary narrations
that entertain and flatter the ego
leaving the body
adrift mindless, heartless and senseless
like a machine
programmed with mechanic hunger,
devouring further
the hole in the world.
A theory is nothing
but an explanatory narrative. A simulation in the mind’s eye, but
this eye should not be confused with the I, that is the self.
Knowledge has nothing to do with the self, it is not I that can know
and somehow own these ideas anyone could come up with. The mind’s
eye is a place, a point in time and a space like the sun, but also
unlimited like the cosmos. There sensory data meats imagination. And
imagination, the core of the mind, like an immaterial mass that
reflects on images as they emerge from nothingness – yes, the void
is lavish – and takes new shape with every thought, unless
imagination is somehow connected to instinct that is somehow
attempting to draw parallels between things.
Or then it is as if
from unbeing pouring into this burning point where sensory data melts
together with infinite possibility as it fuses with the imaginary
constant that thus animates the body and the world with abstract
immaterial freedom of boundless nothingness.
Nihilistic instinct
at play.
Yes, a theory is
abstract like pure spirit and can only come to being through the
body, in communion and correspondence without which it would float
away into abstract immateriality like signs without language.
Nothingness is
distance, from our perspective, it is not an absolute boundary, but
the empty space between things. Not a thing, but still, the vacuum,
like the holy spirit for William Blake, forms a trinity with the self
and the other all woven into one like metaphysics was not separate
from physics. That which can’t be by definition is present as an
abstract sign needed to chart that which is total and absolute, like
being in general but nothing specifically.
A theory needs an
active subject just as it needs a corpus. And a subject needs a
context. What to explain and why. What is the utility of being able
to predict something? – We can make machines; automatons that
execute on signal. This applies also to the human subject: the more
we can predict its behavior, the more programmable it is, the more it
is like a machine responding to predicted events.
But the active
subject has to commit to the theory, or should we say ideology, or
system – systemic ideology – and commitment is active. The
subject must concentrate the focus to commit to the program, hold the
mental image, so to speak. But there is no state of constant knowing
just as there is no absolute truths as sure as knowing is limited by
subjectivity to begin with. Imagine an eternal knower corrupted by
dementia desperately trying to remember who it was that knew
something and at which time. What is it like when there’s no
context or reference beyond yourself?
Or did you commit to
an eternal self? Do you worship the image of the ideal self, that
eternal and static perfect version of you that is not as far removed
from god as you are in your earthly form? Is there anything that
static? Isn’t your god too drowning in the flow of seething
visions? Haunted by otherness and the unknown as the world changes
and all meanings change with it. What function could prevail the
constant turbulence of being? What other than nothing?
You by yourself
might think that what you are will always mean the same, but as
meaning is contextual and the context changes, like an abstract sign
you would lose reference. As an object the corporeal world is
constant in that it exists despite what we think of it, it changes
according its shifting dynamics despite our ideas. I can imagine it
static and empty, not there, but only as long as I can hold the
thought. Consciousness animates the subject, but consciousness of
what, it should be asked, and be reminded again, that the answer is
everything, but to our limited degree.
Attempted
contamination,
the message was
aired in conditions of great turbulence that reduced it to noise.
Maybe it was thus
sanctified by the randomness that is beyond us,
and we are islands
of order organized to our ability to make sense
beyond us like the
Deus Ex Machina
that corrupts the
totality we try to transmit.
Little did I know,
these heart wrenching gyrations – repetition – are, in fact,
re-reinforcements against entropy. We repeat patterns so as to appear
from the background noise. Distinct like light in darkness, what
coherency we have.
Now let us gather at
the monumental signs that refer to our role as the species re-shaping
nature. Advance and come forth, accept the responsibility that comes
with the freedom, the acknowledgment of optional consequences – you
are in the continual, yet chaotic, clockwork, and this is reality.
There is the
contextual framework that, for one, has this dimension of physical
being that we share, which, in fact, is the only denominating factor
we share that could ever draw together these subjective strangers,
you and me.
The self and the
other have a world in between, but also between them they share it in
common, and even if our language was also a world on its own – as
on its own language would mean nothing like a flower in a contextual
vacuum. The terrain is prior to the sign that got its meaning in
reference.
Yes, the in-curled
dimensions of language have further furthered being, yet the life of
a referential sign is consequential. The meaning of white would have
to change to that which is black for black to, de facto, become
white. Therein the language every sequence is possible and both polar
opposites hold true, but the ink remains on the paper, mektoub, we
have a map.
And we know the
monuments,
our hearts can feel
them,
our blood has been
shed to them,
with a different
interpretation every time.
