Comments please from all those who swing a shooter from their hip

“I don’t deny that my client was carrying a bomb. But this doesn’t prove he was going to use it. After all, I myself always carry with me all I’d need to commit a rape.”

- 19th century French lawyer M. Henri de Rochefort defending his client, an anarchist, caught with a bomb.

Body Space

Rightly so has many risen to the barricades and streets of their bodies and have taken to their hands to change the (surface) architecture of their own 'urban' space. The abstract control always manifests at the corporeal level, or at least threatens to do so, otherwise it would not have the impact to control the/a mass(es); the bodies. Is the modification of one's body space a genuine line of flight (or attack) or does it play to the hands of an even more dangerous adversary; the machine sublime? The physiological nature of our body is not a result of the arborescent state mind (just yet) but its use, function and thus form is. Study the tensegrities and liberate movement; the revelation/revolution will be simultaneous inside and outside the confines of the corpus. If we choose not to do so, yes, the philsophy-state-archtectonic- mind (in its negative sense - is there another?) will change our shape and many of us will engage in the marking of the cattle voluntarily. Mark your deterritorialization, not your territory. Open up and close open.

and oh yeah, keep the trees alive, they let you breathe...

Few words from Brion Gyson

• "Language is an abominable misunderstanding which makes up a part of matter. The painters and the physicists have treated matter pretty well. The poets have hardly touched it. In March 1958, when I was living at the Beat Hotel, I proposed to Burroughs to at least make available to literature the means that painters have been using for fifty years. Cut words into pieces and scramble them. You'll hear someone draw a bow-string. Who runs may read, To read better, practice your running. Speed is entirely up to us, since machines have delivered us from the horse. Henceforth the question is to deliver us from that other so-called superior animal, man. It's not worth it to chase out the merchants: their temple is dedicated to the unsuitable lie of the value of the Unique. The crime of separation gave birth to the idea of the Unique which would not be separate. In painting, matter has seen everything: from sand to stuffed goats. Disfigured more and more, the image has been geometrically multiplied to a dizzying degree. A snow of advertising could fall from the sky, and only collector babies and the chimpanzees who make abstract paintings would bother to pick one up."

- Cut-Ups: A Project for Disastrous Success

Text made flesh

 Just read a derrida obsessed article on christian spirituality - "there is nothing outside the text" : he maintains in an act of Moses like deconstruction.  He recomends we become  "the text made flesh" - concepts and experience intermingled all the way down alice's cultural rabbit hole. 

 Quite scary really - I made a wordle to exorcise myself of any lingering textual demons - words like the bugs in burroughs books. I know there is a simplicity in Rousseau's "words as a pointer to the infinite and real" - but there is also a hell of a pragmatic convenience - literally. Anyway in addition to choosing you own vestibule in hell ,  You might like to try  : http://wordle.net/

 

 

special

 Ive spent the week at a special school for kids with learning difficulties.....

 One kid has a fanatical hyperchondrism which propels his mood and outbursts - he once suffered an injury to his foot and is convinced it is about to happen all over again. Once he has heard your voice - he has you - hes sucked you in - and unless your will is string - you have to look at his foot. Its "red" - "Ill get me sock off" - "Rob says it was red". He is blind - and can only anticipate what red might be.  In a sensory mist he circulates in his own sub-world with second hand images and fears of a repeating past. Is there anything special about him ?

 Other children are called "sensory seekers" there body motion fixes into repeating harmonic motions - rocking - humming - calling. With their sensation of their own bodies restricted and blocked by their sensory deparavations - they struggle within their range of motion to fill their own body space back up with a epiphenomenon of experience. It is only the intervention of another - a strong physical gesture into their movements that smoothes these waves of sensation into perception of the wider world. Is there anything special about them ?

 

The abomination

Post-Mechanic Tendency ?

So it is the face of Technological Humanism which now appears in Faust's Cauldron - A form bubbling up and naming itself proud: the natural inheritor of christendom. The natural child for it too holds our culture in a spell which echoes the mass mesmerism of the institutionalised church. Galileo we are told  was persecuted by the church ? He was bitten by the church and like a vampire the grand inquisitor renewed himself in his victims.

The words are different but the slaves of the technocrato still jump to the same tune:

You can look but you can't shop

Get back in your box

The mundus - the objective world - is a monster...

 The mindset of scientism is essentially a language of physical and mental disablement - in it an alienated atomised self is disengaged from a random and threatening enviroment. The compounded self is reduced to the level of a spectator on a ghost ride - terrorised by this  "objective" massified cosmos. The universe becomes a universal fury which only the initiated can hope to placate. But The hierophant - the scientists stand like a roman centuary before cleopatra. A night of lust before a headless dawn. For even the high priest are prey to the whims and caprice of the random machine - the digital whore - whom he has fed in his own quest for power..

 Magic Mystery  and Authority was all the whore of babylon ever needed - she just changes her clothes for each new party.

 Peeing your pants - everyone is pissing them - its just that some bladders are allowed to get fuller for longer - this is the hormonal reward ladder of capatalism,medicine and science. The harsh cluttered body of the social elite fills and bloats as a blood sucking fly . All the while their cloth capped attendents humbly and respectfully eviscerate themselves - gladly crush themselves - fold their bodies like tinfoil - squash their brains in half - cut off their left arm  - and learn to wank,shop clap and text with one hand - a labotomised ape - fudge filled in front of the tv - fiddling with itself - one-eyed to  adverts. 

 

Flow

Fountain = an artificial celebration of flow; decorative if expressive; bound and gagged (by the culture of symbols you refer to) if free. Good film though.

Time indeed is paramount in our understanding as is at present. Infinite can be found in the moment, as hinted by by Wittgenstein and many of the Eastern minds and bodies of thought. When a wee little nipper time was the only big mystery left. The atheist's comforting neck pillow of deep slumbering unconsciousness, both pre- and post-existence never lulled me into anything, just fucked a deep fear into every cell of my small brain and body when the fast and free mind of a child was meditating on the big black darkness of timelessness. If one can state/experience timelessness then there (surely)has to be an observer to notify that 'this is the state of nothingness, forever', well at least that was what I used to think and fear. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Think and fear. Well that is the endless echo of a machine, the phantom legacy of our post-mechanic tendency to treat ourselves like machines, but worse.

Time separates us from what it actually is just as the whole symbolic realm. Like you say, bound by the image. No wonder Islam has banned the image and no wonder we are fucked by the glossy magazine, as much as we are done in by the big book(s) and the tale spinners. Good or evil, hmmm. Everyone is so keen to state one or the other. +ve or -ve. Oscillating between polarities. Whatever happened to a spiral, or what ever happened to 'it' whatever 'it' might be, not a model of anything, but the thing itself, which is always like a surface of a pond. You can float, stare into it or whatever, put you sure cannot grasp it.

When was the last time you peed in your pants?

Must dash.

A