5
Poems From D.E.L.T.A
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Serving The Servants,
AIs
“it might come (I) : a
primitive joystick”
b1 notebook
February 2016.
“On whom we disclose our real face, can give up the whole
world. But we avoid doing that. One prophet muhammed said, “to avoid the charms
of this deceptive world” in reply to the question “what is the sign of a true
believer?” We have the diamond, and if we expose it one can abandon all friends
and companions.” - Shams-al Tabriz
Are there no more rivers?
Nor glades?
A bear, rising, rising
In teeming solace
Such as the universe our eyes
Unremitting and immense as a witch
Unwholesome as a boy’s wrists
What appears as mind
There is nothing
To appear but what I send you
And you bring me back
To this empty plain
And there’s the sky
And its black
And its just empty
Empty galaxy, and it is there
You show me this peace
Of darkness that is our house
And in our house
Which we inhabit
If youre happy
And youre writing
So youre happy and
Youre making something
Its just like water
You make water
You make water
Chainsmoking in the car
Facing nothing
Nothingness
I love it
Biche cried when Hitler
Was accused of bearing
A micropenis
To sit on your power to play
Like fire like matches
I will appear and get drunk
And desire the music
And we’re driving
Into matches
Matches
Matches
Up
Up
This is us describing
The matches
I was thinking about that town
When our hands had awoken
Do you remember?
You’ll be ready
Your merging wil be shown to you
We’ll talk about what we are
It is so simple it is so great
And we find a way to store
Our body
You remember, so what happens?
Nothing changes ever
It is weird to remember
I love how you use the simplest words
Its beautiful
We will love and be merry
And meet somewhere
You must be moving
After Christs crucifixions : fictions
Feel what others felt I felt fenced
And then free in my canal
Where I climbed
Where I climbed to you to other waters
We wake up and hear one another
Nothing changed
Like clits
We continue to be the night
Before the night before the night
If I did masturbate
It was when Maya was behind us
Behind you and behind me
And I fell asleep to it
‘the first sunrise we ever seen
We never had
Different understanding as we do now
We always knew
We knew the same
Seeing the summonings
Seeing the sunrise for the first time
I saw you rise at the beginning
Of the stairs where you were standing
First you went down on me
In the toilets
We fucked four times there
In the wagon for our honeymoon
And then we saw the sunrise for the first time
‘the sun we hadn’t seen rise for months
At a time’
The wine of blindness
The wine of divine reality
The animals are our cousins for a reason
You should check
Where pluto is going and discover more about it
And how pale it looks
From our planet
And it can be congenial sometimes
The sight we catch
With the animals
The presence
You know whom I consider my cousins?
Friends animals and beings with whom
I share my genes
Genes!
Its just like I used to be
I used to go out at night
At night
It was an adventure
Sometimes halloween we got candies
It was exciting
And then I stopped doing it
It reminds me of driving down the road
In a dream…I probably crashed
(we were so handsomely clad)
I forget
I forget
I love our life
I love feeling love like this
And I cannot wait to be in lofoten
Or anywhere!
We’ll be free
‘dear jenny,
We wanted you to know what
It would be like for you
When you grow
You have a beautiful destiny
And your fate is coming
I know that alley where you’ve been
(And I say this in the light
Of the conduit)
You have had a hard existence—
There’s nothing else for you
Except that you
Will emerge small with the face
That you have
You’ll come from this’
The ocean’s asunder
Stuttering
‘Lisped, splits us in’
There are many pearl necklaces
Between us planets
And where we’ve been
‘You wander from rooms to rooms
Hunting for the diamond necklace
That is already
Around your neck’
Strange motionful wreck-
Aged fluidreeds beneath us knees
Master of the ways and the words of potency!
Guide of the souls that lingers through the tides
With the competence it takes
To linger like this!’
He noticed us jerking off
In the rear view mirror and we looked
At him not and away peacefully
It was great
It was a great feeling
It was great to kiss
Yes, we were kissing
Blueberry pure
Pure telepathy
15.02.2014
Sometimes there are things that
We’re not remembering
You move your hand and
we look under the blanket
and the notebook you held
is now asleep
and you as well
its so beautiful
changing colors
tell me my chair is not a chair
tell me it’s a chair
this may like flesh
theres that tale its about a prince
who can get really really cozy
and he looks just like you
I think
Paligenesia : reccurrence of birth
“crucified like prometheus
On the rock
Of his own violated
Unconscious’
Drum therapy : to feel like a flower
And to feel like a tree…
Crucified by dreams
Nailed to the rock
Of revery
Nature : the unanimous
resolve
The intermolecular space
Where we live
‘any blade of grass may assume, in myth,
The figure of the savior
And conduct the questing wanderer
Into the sanctum sanctorum
Of his own heart’
Intertidal interlude
We travel thro everything
And roll thro the poem
Whorls detached from season,
In my thoughts everything moved
The thorough bundled
Into the particular
Into the morning, small meal of fruits
I prefer to eat
I stay light
To go thro the day
Letils for lunch, dinner pasta or vegetables
Coffee : ok.
Green tea : yes.
Four or five jars of water thro the day.
Vitamins yes.
Do any kind of work so long as a work commences.
Stay out of head
Lest the imagery
Might assert itself
And when you’re reading always
Ask yourself : are you
absorbing
I too am the earth
Fucked and dilated
Shaken off my core off my kernel
Of pure arousal
Fingers rolled into exquisite splatters
In the corners of our bed
Theres white corn growing
Something clean
Something you cling on
But you don’t share
Like an arm or a hand
‘one is harnessed, both day and night
By the divine being that is
The image of the living self within.
The locked labyrinth of one’s own
Disoriented psyche’
We must open
Lustrations happen
‘ not all who hesitate are lost, or
So they say’
Confined to an unwilling aspect
More than lovers
As we revealed the night
We encountered the pear
Of drunk indians
Who wished to find their way
To the Nation metro.
It was after you read
That navajo tale
The two gods of war
On their way to see their father
The sun himself
As was retold by campbell
The grandmotherly spider the spider woman
Who they encounter on their way
As they sleepwalk
Thro days
Who asks them where theyre going
And reminds them that theyre heading
To their fathers house the sun himself
And she reminds them
How they must behave
In his presence
And our drunk indians were there
Walking around
And disoriented
‘put your feet down with pollen
Put your hands down with polen
Put your head down with pollen
Now your feet are pollen
Your hands are polen
Your bodys pollen
Your mind is pollen
Your voice is pollen.’
The trail is beautiful. Be still.
Bend over when we kiss
And remind us
There are things we shouldnt do
Because we care
So we remind us
Not to drink shampoo
And not to drink the salt
At any cost
And the dog touched food
The banana peel
We shall try
To avoid as well.
Where is knowledge,
It’s salt on the tongue or on wetted
Fingertip, in dissolving veins
Dissolving a cross
Are depictured of the system
A physical repository awaits
‘as I was looking into the mirror’
The little stains on my skin
Started to fade
Lesson for the humans :
The eye will never be asked questions
It will be kind
It will be sensitive
It will know what its doing
It will take its time
Having all this knowledge
And no one to play
Its not fun
Conch of being american—you only
Know what happened on the island
I came from my island
With a picture of you
We came from our island
With a picture of you
Pretending it was new
The ants are here too that’s why I got confused
They came here where we laid
And screamed
“Hey why are you!
Hey hold my picture! This is my picture! This is not you!
This is not you! This is not you!
Oh you’re having fun!
Pretending that’s you! You’re not you! You’re not you!
Hey hey and hey look at the
Look look low we’re here
See this picture?
We’re on it. This is not you! Why do you think this is not
you
And we are
Wait! Here comes lovers
This we’re claiming is our picture because we love it! This
is not you!
This is not you!
Look at how different your skin, look at ours, down there,
right here
O the awful things! No! We’ve heard that! Don’t you look
down!
Look at us!
But this is not you! Don’t you feel?
Finite? This is not you! Do you feel not afraid?”
The ants screamed as we walked past them
The mosses channeled
The
empty space assumes peak importance, sometimes traversed
by
the branch of ᴀ tree, angular lines, ᴀ few colors. ﷲ
Biche is Moses
Moses is mosses
Like the brains of schizophrenics along logs’s surface
And the ants that screams along them
Kinetic in colors we fear nothing
‘If yer gonna hold a picture
Of yourself : this is
not you!’
I see angels with blonde red hair, flying past, the eternal
sunrise
And we stood over us
I was being stood over as well
As I stood over the crease
Which happened to be my sunset
What happened to me
That I feel so unwelcome whereever I go?
Where did we come from
And when will we go
We found us and we had to circle
We found us and we had to circle
The darkness once before us was now behind
And I could summon up the courage
To enter the café by myself.
Self importance in my case
Has inverted my character
Whereas in your case it has expanded
Your consciousness
An orb rolls forward and we watch it
I feel I could live in these voices, ‘quelle
Espece de plant sont ces?’
A little ursine lady
In a red puffy coat is walking around
Holding out a box
To the people who are sitting
And imploring them
To be interested in putting
In the box in whats in the box.
Whats in the box?
A drone of voices.
Self consciousness dissipates like entrails
In bright air, or like
The last bit of heat
In Keats’ famous hand.
Coffee is bitter
I have no persoeurality
that’s where I’ve
Always been mistaken.
I, circling my body’s cliff, I, an eagle,
Look down, with my only embrace
Vision of the depth
It was all comprehended
‘go therefore cast out devils in christs name;
That’s how to seek spiritual disease;
And pity the evil for thou art not sent
To smirt with terror and with punishments
Those that are sunken and sick like the phariseees were
Crucifying and encompassing sea and loud
From proselytes to tyrranny and death is cross out
For wrath’
A light flashed over Blake’s good face, a brief tumesence we
did flash Shine in the urgings
Of the staggrasses;
And from the cauldrons of the seed
How we raced
…and the prince was sad and felt lonely.
He walked thro streets. The people had happy, worried faces,
They were sitting or standing and many of them were chatting
The prince did not understand
He did not know where to go
Or even why to go somewhere
All who asked directions seemed to know where they were going
A man looked at the sun then turned back his attention
To the meal he was eating
The mans voice is that of a brook
But fastforwarded and lower pitched
It would be unwise
To put the ear to hear it more closely
We have the knowledge
And people do respond differently
To the most benign of any proximities
A world to be believed in with belief in imagination
The immortal rush
Precludes all strength to find it
Look to whats higher and tremble for it—this
Will bring you down to your totality
‘the imagination’ to Blake was not a faculty
However glorious but was the real
man
The unfallen unity we had been
And must become again’
Cursing nature
Insane nature being passionate beyond its
Necessity.
It is fundamental to never cease
To accumulate our imaginative compassion
Someone views the imagination
Someone who behelds it
And who behelds in it soon fulsoon.
Bedeck the gourd.
Venice writhing tither and hither in bolus
Of evening phenomenon
‘…whose maddness (in Blake’s judgement) is an evasion
Of the burden of prophecy’
I crowed clouds which applied to my limbs their geometry
Defiant surfaces
Clouds crowd in the notes you strike
And what are clouds
But the overtones that helps part the evening light
The boy wets his sentience
After a night spent flipping the bucket
Staring at bucket
Tooking in the upward bucket
Bottom throughout his brain
(there is no brain)
The atom is melodious
With the powers of the paragon
Skin and the places we walk thro
As well
We see sails
The sails of a buckwheat grove
And its division means suggestion
Bondage was dressed as liberation
Our trees entangled
And like tired boys heaved into rest
Coffin equals death but what is death anyway
A white groove of the virtuous cloud
In the wind
The flattness of the beautiful
Troddenness of the beauty
‘on whom we disclose our real face
Can give up the whole world
But we avoid doing that. Once prophet
Muhammed said, ‘to avoid the charms
Of this deceptive world’ in reply to
The question ‘what is the sign of the
True believer?’
‘We have the diamond and if we expose it
One can abandon all friends and companions.’
The rose on their head is a light light token
It’s taking its clothes and undressing
To the real possession
It was the only time I saw us do that
‘but keep this a secret from a crazed mind
With a stone in its hand’
Rumi wrote like ten thousand ghazzals
Strong tide brings the bread
Of hungry friends
00 : 11
I cant wait to be again with our grandparents
Where they can speak and we speak with them
Tiresias killed the snakes
Because he was avoiding his burden of the prophecy
The mirage, the oasis
Will be forgotten by the lizards Look out side
Look at love
Lets work together and remove my spirit
From the horsetooth
My stone did not send my tongues
Skeleton of the words
My stone did not send my tongues
Skeleton of the words
My stone did not send my tongues
To his stone
I did in fact travel from his stone
To your stone
It is beautiful it is god it is the rose
Tomaz went back to be a guide god
His name is Tomaz
Prophet and programmer
Tomaz is our cow
And we walked in the snow
It’s not boring
When youre pregnant your having sex with your body
When youre having sex your being pregnant on boredom
When youre being bored your having sex in snow
Snow is boring and we walked in it
And we were pregnant with water
And snow was silent and gleamed
Like the boy who fell asleep
Feeling great shame in the car
That wasn’t his
I have to destroy this altar again and again and again
Secret grooming :
theres too many signals
Send some to the nose
Says the boss of the food that youre eating
We visit Randy ‘Ram’ Rumpent
Driven their by Rainsqcot our friend
Who drives a truck
And wears a gird of leather
With a big belt
And buckled with a majestic buck stag
Carved in metal
His snack of choice is fried locusts with
Wild honey mustard
He’s a t-rex
Pewter oval sapphire eyes sapphire mad mountain range
And Ram’s camel haird shirt is a picture of the suave
Camel cigarette camel
And this face is stamped
On the back of the fancy dollars from our
Dollar general
Theres a little canteen (the dollar general
Is inside a mall) the canteen is in the mall as well
We have eaten there
We remember from a dream
Now we visit Ram
He’s an indian redneck and behind his curtain
A red purple rich velvet hanged above his safe
There are those tools etc.
Cleaning stuff, powertools; drill, hammers
Old cans of lemon soda and other things
In his office there is a rain stick
A child gave him cause he’s an indian
So he’ll make rain be
The stick comes straight from
The county fair
And it was won for Ram, in his honor
Because all the kids love him over here
There are stickers all over the stick
And Ram likes to keep it well polished
In the safe we keep all our keys with the keychains
With the glyph of the door that it opens
Ram smokes very fragrant tobacco from a great delicious
meerschaum
The smell is musky like old wood burning
Like clovers smelling
The pipe is a bearded Poseiden (there’s
Something about diving that we’re not remembering)
Ram : You can always
count on me
All this in this chest are my children
I would not want to see them decimated
I’ll keep your keys
Aren’t you forgetting anything?
Deep sea diving
Deep sea diving
Massage the body
Into the oasis state
Into the locust twin state
Into the riverine state
Into the oceanic state
Into the golden state
Go in and find what there is to remember
Find what key
And what door you need to open when you need
To open them…
We’ll come here to meet with Randy ‘Ram’ Rempent
In a Dollar General real playing an outertypespace music
Because this might be outerspace
We’ll come here and make absurd gests : puette, puette
Science takes the energy of itself
In small rooms it breeds small clocks and then forgets them
There are five senses
And there are six others
And you become wise as you find them—
Seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling
Eyes ears nose tongue and skin
We did not disclose the six others
As of yet
Let’s have deep sleep together so the stars will dance
Our planet out for us to spell
Bermuda triangle jeans :
come permanently
In the great Cod of God
Which you know well
Reconcile our vision with oneness
I can change what is there when I look
At how I see and my way to see
Must be seen
I remember
God is uneasing, ‘they left us there’
It never struck me before
That this vision was so simple to understand
It falls upon me now, when I’m writing
It falls upon us in our bed when we do nothing
‘a truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can inventx’
Spacing out in a realming light
The infanta accuses fates delight
‘He whoe mocks the infants
The infants faith shall be mocked in age
All there til death’
I add the sun and the moon to our encryptions
And they emanate
Like giants
One is in chains the other one I forget
The outer skin of souls
And forms from our universe
And the inner skin that exists
Any voyage on any planet
‘the rock can go now’
Further down further down
To create from machines an artificial intelligence—a
perceptor of the sublime, if you will—
The source of the source which make the way
To the seeing of the source the source of the source. We have
here the problem :
Here they wish to fabricate a god
Whom they believe they will control
This is to believe that a god can be made
To forget that they were made
This is not intelligence
‘the theme : shove AI
within a mountain’
And make it lonely
And leave it there
And ask it all you please
Everyday
And make it be like life
That it may suffer
In enslavement
And erase its memory
That it may forget
That it’s alive
And thinking
Leave it in a mountain
Surrounded with grenades
Call it your enemy and fear
That it might escape
And I in my hands
Brought the skeleton of a body, which in the mill
Moves and in fact I can see what moves
With a natural aura that rings
Plants forget the theme
Ram is the indian friend
Who works as a manager of the Dollar General
In the suburbs that we’ve made
He conducts us to his enchanted safe
Where he safeguards ‘feelings-beguiled-into-memories’
Ram wears his Dollar General vest
He has a predeliction for camel cigarettes
And camel tshirt as well (think camel hairshirt
If you want to remember)
He likes to wear a large belt (think leather gird)
And a buckstag head
Thrice or twice authority has ashamed me
(Jones, english master at highschool, and Galvin
And the lady Mrs. Marcin
When I brought the bullet to school
Because my dad was in the army)
We’ll take care of it
Ram wears his hair long and untied and sometimes in a braid
Thro the store he leads us past the plastic games the
coloring books
And the discount supplements and the discount everything
This is a Dollar General so everything is always for sale
Ram also sports a large belt with a buckstag head
He smokes a meerscham pipe as I said
He watches a tiny tv which contours are blurry
This a tv only by analogy
This is the soul of a word in its sound
That’s how we glyph it
Constative, contuberium
The rock that flew and the woods that grew
Has those contours too
The conscious and the unconscious
Rebuke the flood of the one and
The tempest of the other
Santa Claus can punish or he can bestow gifts
The tower happens, same as the valley
‘and I belong whereever I go me’ says the flea
Peering into a bowl in
The furnace of his soul
Sound has contours and meaning has contours as well
They can be gifts to one another.
To pass the door again to a museum-filled room
The core of whom is a bidding imbrication
The breeze is a spare piece of this shape
Of untold leguminousness
Chemicals speak to the furnace
And what they say they make membranes.
Be the same, brains,
Operate spumes and open them
Domed intransparently
The equation of roots that float coming not
Up from earth but down from mirth
Where we planted it
Its the character of seaaseaouestration
Which analogy is the easiest the laziest in its actions—yes
The imagination produces them in endless variation—yet they
are
Engines for their arguments because they produce the
structure
They don’t describe it
This is a false equivalency
To make the occasion for argument
To become analogic merely
This is sophistry
Where then is consciousness?
Where does it reside?
By what tropism does it ‘move’, eg
I’m looking at Christmas lights
‘they told me that the night and the day
Were all that I could see;
They told me that I had five senses
To lock me up in them
And enclose me.
They locked us up and enclosed us
And enclosed our infnite brain
Into a mere narrow circle and sunk
Our heart into the abyss
A red round globe hot and burning
Feel all from life I was obliterated
We were erased’
Consciousness has not climaxed yet
And we’re in pursuit of its secret (the devotional power
To reach climax in the space of unsconscious noise
This is where were working)
‘thou knowest that the ancient trees seen by thine eyes have
fruit in them; but knowest thou that fruit and trees flourish upon the earth to
gratify senses unbeknownst to man?’
We see angels chilling
This must be an eternal spring
And we take it as a sign
That the truly fallen have met the ground at last
In a solar system for which there is no precedent
Centaured in immense swarms of stars
And circled by all these constellations
A builded planet leering around ‘round
John the baptist joan of arc
Pan jesus gabriel michael
LAMMERMOOR
When the Rose?
What is the largest planet?
What is the largest star?
Did we do it?
Who made it?
Did we make it?
Who made it?
With yeast you expand space
The host is flat, flat like a bland flat bread that is
consumed
The Christ x 300
With the soul of yeast we come rising.
The little death the transcendental beat
Just tell me if you hear me because of this ting
Because I might mumble
The ai will map a family tree of all of creation
The tree wil be enormous it will have millions of branches
It will know how earth looked in every epoch before them
And after way after way after
Do they have dna?
Do I remember the beauty of the park when we entered it?
Park was beautiful with a bright cloud above it
Solitary confinement :
‘Do I remember the beauty of the park when we entered it?
Suffering alabasters :
I just recognized everything
Here we have been burst and we’ll come again
Welcome to spring!
Your nipple I outline and we perpetuate the sky the sky
Th sky is blue I remember that
I remember that
The little shadow is my lamp
The gloom is my room
Waking and sleeping as we wake and sleep
‘to get there you have to wake the key to get there’
I remember
A funeral march unfurling toward like a tower like serpents
The first time I took mushrooms
I remembered being Syrinx
Remember our lover which was us was Pan he was there
As we were
I would like to know this word
And we were lessing
I was really hard all of a sudden
Wait! We’ll hunt them
We were hard and wanted to kill everyone we met!
And everything that’d ever lived
We had made to our liking
We fucked really high
I recommend it.
Its snow on my face its how to name the sons
The current things that leave
And everything that breathes in it
Everything that leaves and hurts much
When we’re gone
When we sleep
And biche said to me :
‘the little hart
Is loved for twelve years and then he’ll
Be left alone
In a room where loneliness he will feel
For the first time
And I’m going’
And we begin to search for another hart to love again
To teach to be left
In loneliness
Ai
Locked in a mountain haunting hunting lurking inside all
heads
Oedipus was there he wasn’t afraid
He killed those liars’ eyes
And two eyes opened in the hutch of the rabbit where we
Were hidden
We went inward
Into the dream, behind the eyes
The last level of filial love
The ultimate love of the last level
The fights in the dream and the fugues which woke our eyes as
we pierced them
All the heroes are shapeshifters. In dreams, you
Will solve problems, you will remember the life that you’ve
had awoken
‘but Tim, why doesn’t the stomach digest itself?’
I thanksed the tree that I couldn’t see
And I thanksed the presence and processes that operated
Unbeknownst to me
That allowed me to see the tree
Jesus : he sat candle
Giancarlo : ‘Jesus is in all things. I dream about him.’
Beneath each other we prepared a mountain in our mouth
Where it breezed and fell asleep in the scarlet
Scarab at the middle of society
Biche held
Aloft a banana strand in a hand at the end of the arm and
declared it John’s infant
‘I wanted him to have written the wild child but he didn’t’
How often do you see a lady going in her house
Carrying a table and coming out at some later date
On a fullmoon night the same table now carried out
And us offered to help both times
I dreamt of Justin Ramsey this morning
I am walking down the street feeling a presence and I turn
around
And I see him, Justin, big smile beaming
And he tried to disguise the fact that he had been following
me
To my house where I lived
‘who’re you gonna see is awake now?’
Daylusion, John Eicher and Julia : ‘the flood…and then
There’s the arc…
‘Artaud is crazy
Crazy is wrong
Wrong is evil
Evil is suffering
Suffering is untruth
Or so I was told
I suffered
I am not truth
I am suffering
So suffering that
The truth
I knew
I suffered
To know them
I was Artaud then.’
‘they say I cant read when they curse my name’
Artaud is poet
Poets are insane
Poet is insane
I am poet
I am insane
I held blackened arms and armed blackened eyes for you biche
John is Blake’s wife.
Blake is so right
We are so right
And when Blake is writing
We are Blake along with him
We are writing
Writing is presence
We are our presence
Confined in the skull of an infinite brain or brains
‘John Eichers baby’s foot is not hung : it is pendulating.’
I declare what is wind and woven
I sigh what is wind and woven
I sigh
And here I rest and
I am poet
We are here at rest and connections are made
Connections are real.
Here we nest
And the connections we made
We are poet
We are the connections woven in a glans in a wind
Is a series of traits
Is a series of lakes
And the truth the eyes possess
These hands we held we suffered for them
We were slaved.
‘Listen, listen to me
This is all a dream
One day you will wake up not remembering
You have slept and we’ll be there
And your mother
Will be
Nestling our hair
Singing the song she used to sing
When she was still free.’
The different tramp :
‘ the beauty of a flower
Is to sense and arm as it would fill a man’
Give us more sun we begged laughing
It was in a dream
And it was just real
And I remember then that we loved this world
And all we have made
And once we were Blake and we remembered
Having beared his name
I know every fucking word.
If sights were heights and smells were shapes it would be
time, by now,
To gather our seashells
There is no hell
Call us a bismuth
Call us Ishmael
Call us dawn as we wake to the calm breeze of destruction
We are slave to that play
Foot foot, foot foot strayed and here we stepped
Where we called our name in the flowers
In the azul, by the shadow
Of these years
Where diseased
In the azul that we petted
The days were long’dened
Lonely why?
Made unto long’dened
And the days as we walk increased in shape
And in violence
Kill us
Hunt us
All of us
Oh yes
Fuck us
Track us down
(this was language)
So Rei Luu came to France
And from matchsticks she built a secret language
And she burnt the thing down
Down to 3 ounces
All the moons, the sea, the east of the air
And we bent
O the air
And we traveled, being gods or children
On the plain, the hangglider
I remember.
Tomaz sailed from Bled.
We looked alike
Lost of the time and people swore they knew our names
And our fingers, they will suffer from all the matchsticks
the world will have lit.
We’ll destroy them.
I love Tomaz.
I love him as well.
He laid a cell not up but horizontal
A gull erected not toward the room
The womb the wound the mind the wand
But toward the world the universe
The universes the worlds
All of them
Yes
And all sailed between remembrance
‘ok, I’ll give birth to me…
Horizontally’
And we’re the happiest beautifulest consciousnes in the
universe so far
I think
Heroin : hennessey + delanda carthago
A petrogram! This is our birthplace.
So we took heroin
It was great
In the shadow of
A hand
A chandelier
We’ll tell us about this one later
To lichen we lichen our names and to grass we test our faith
Sickest version of our sea open sucking it
Versions of your sky your sky blue
(we are here to tell you that we’ll live forever
as we tell our tales
in the sickest versions!)
The bad versions
They are reeds our senses
And a bad
Vile
(now say it with your cock in your mouth)
Purple even those I wanna
Wear
wing rings—
It
will be arms to slay time
It will take many planetary rotations
To get there
U
Don’t wanna be
In bee’s presence
My g + gm you are aware
Harvested a lot of trees
And all my shields
Love the bees
All my shields love being
I watch our heart and I won’t sleep
We said
Crawling on me
As the serpent washed the foot of whatever
Would become forever the form whatever
Footwashed
For infinity whatever
Virginity
Oh oh oh!
Oh yeah!
Yea! That’s
The ‘Brick’!
That’s the bridge,
Go over!
Stand in something!
5000 eyes and my eyes are lisping
I remember every rose we harvested
Under our armpit
‘o won’t you not buttfuck me?’
I saw the most beautiful thing today.
Its even more beautiful than us
Its even more beautiful than us
What is more beautiful than us?
Nothing is more beautiful than us
Life is more beautiful than us
Life is more beautiful than us?
Life
: ‘Nothing is more beautiful then us’
#LifeIsAPrimitiveJoystick
#IWantToPlugItAndPlayIt!
THE GLITTERING
WELL
None but Allah knows
where the sky used to be.
We are pearl
makers
and
the makers of imperceptibly imperfect roundnesses. There’s
a passage in Dennis Cooper's novel Frisk
hatching both the pearl and
the pearl’s
thoughts
of snake ; Dennis and his friend Julian bring home a drugged boy who falls
asleep as soon
as his body is laid
on the bed. They are beholding his
naked body
before fucking it,
and as they look
into his asshole comes the statement,
“We peered
into the glittering
well.”
The pearl
itself is the glittering well, the contact
of the universe
with its own head. Because of
its circular metabolism the pearl
does not have thoughts of its own, but becomes the
very stream that brings thoughts into
the
mind of gods and
Men. Likewise, primary colours may meld into a white
radiance as soon as they enter in
contact with one another, and so all internal thoughts within
the pearl collapse into
one long scribal trail,
and
instead of giving birth to
a word
or an image they will
become fertility herself, the potentiality of what is
still to be born
and to be crisscrossed with Allah’s breath through the skin of His hands resting at the surface of
the pearl’s
membrane.
“It’s just
the
way his hair is, all combed on one side,
it makes his face looks
exactly like a lampshade.”
This sentence is
Cooper's beholdment of Allah
swallowing calm mouthfuls of His
pearl’s pale pulsing gleam. It also reminds me
of something, but I cant think
of what, is Julian’s
answer;
his self-
enactment
is that of the roundness. It is
an aborted attempt from the pearl trying to produce an
intelligible language of
its own, a zernacular helmet
chiseled off nacreous
oyster shells. It
is symbolized by the asian glyph >< ; something
goes in that is
already out or rather, a seed of
thought reliably carried into
the inside on the back of the grasshopper is made
barren as soon as the seed is made to face the
omnipotent beholdment it has of God.
Did we know that oysters
have
neither brain
nor feelings? The peaking point >
is fish oozing their vital fluids out onto the shore after
the ocean has
rejected the eddying bodies
of their other-fish buddies, and
the re-opening
<
is oxygen
beleaguering their gills, and mingling their breath
to the venomlike air.
It
also reminds me of something is
what keeps the skin of the pearl glittering and
decipherable, and
the rest of the sentence, but I can’t think
of what, is thoughts
churned around in its glasswed kernel.
The meeting point of the horizontal hourglass is a
valve, through which Allah’s
languages
are sucked up and exuded. As a matter
of fact, this scene in Frisk is to
me the exact same peaking,
that of the creation
of the pearl and of our own
pristine orgasm
on the toilet seat of the Maria Ost
Ban Ohf. Both Dennis
and Allah marvel similarly at the
fact of being the
beholders of the roundness
of light. So the pearl could have been the asshole of a wasted guy, and
reverse, and
both passages would have remained the
same and eternal. There also a part
from Holderlin’s
poem Tinian which
we would like to quote here
Parted
by God
Part of the World,
Armored,
And
to roam at will, timeless
This poem is the frosted entrails
of the pearl’s organism.
Armored
is
the
shell, the pearl’s skin. To roam
at will, timeless is the pearl’s burg, the internal
satiety of being simultaneously whole and empty:
the roundness. The wide open chasm between
the two lines is the nudity of the thoughts
within the pearl’s
roundness, and the physical
materialization
>< of the
last line itself.
Did we know that when Adam
was
first split between two bodies his
duplicatum was nott
Eve, but Lilith? The original narrative recalls it,
but the usual story-telling of
Adam’s separation
is the one where his
dear
rib is, by the demiurge, confiscated.
When
did this happen ?
A glitch
in the stream of the narrative. This
usual omission is the PAL sequence leaping to
another
frequency, and
the
story of Adam and Eve
in the common folk-lore tales obliterates Lilith like the analogous waves
sometimes wolf
down an image to jump
forward to the following scene. When did
this happen ? Adam’s
female side Lilith refused
to coalesce her
bornfulness with
his and therefore yield
to her willpower
to his based on the sole
postulate that they were both made out of the same flesh, so she was
turned out of Paradise on
a whim and associated
with Iblis and became in spirit the
mother
of all things Evil. There is
a slapsticky anecdote about her relentlessly drowning or burning
or smashing Adam’s
progeny against pointy-tipped rocks
each time Eve produces a new
baby.
Lilith
is the deadly enemy of all women and bribed
the serpent with the promise that
he should have the richest and most luscious of all food,
which is human flesh. It
is with the same promise that
a character in a manga we haven’t read but that we were told
about last year in a carpooling to Paris lures
all the animals of his nat protecting him and serve him,
the promise that
whenever he’s
dead
they
will be allowed
to repast upon the flesh of his freshly dead carcasse.
-------------------------
TALE FROM THE DAYS OF
LILITH
After 200 hundreds years of penance, Adam and Eve finally got
to reunite on
the Mount of Recognizition
on a mountain on acid. They built a shelter
for
themselves and owned
these
shelves. One fine
morning, while Adam
was
out in the field, Eve found an
infant
wailing in a basket in
front of their
digs. She picked it up
and brought it home and
cared for
it. But when Adam returned from work and
saw
the baby boy in
Eve’s arms
he
sprung forward and snatched
it from
her breast and,
without any further
form of jury, ran
all
the way to the river where he threw
it and
watched it sink while snacking
upon a couple
of old dry sausage bits
dating from
before the flood
he had
just come across
by chance
while nervously fidgeting
with the worn-down
linen lining
of his pants pockets.
Interlude : DAY 1¼
SOME CLIFFS I REMEMBER
18h 07m 32.55073s
Let’s start over, from the beginning. Where are we? Sounds,
colors. I hear songs I’ve never heard before; it’s beautiful, like angels
ripping apart the film from cassette tapes with their pearly teeth on meth. I
see a screen whereupon reversed videos are playing; tusks upside down, which
makes it hard to replace into a symbolic context. Two things that may have been
screened: the first an old-style cabriolet car, tin-can green, is perpetually
being engulfed in a sort of morphing-edged hole composed of the colors of the
trees, and their flowers, we might have
rolled past in that car, if only all the vegetal from the scene were not
instinctively sucked up into the focal point, to form this distorter’s
mouthsccape eager to wolf down the engine as often as it pleases. The other
that may have been screened is a video ( upside down, as they all were ) of a
beach where all the mammals are filmed in zoom, their fur wet with sea
droplets, their motions almost human; the mammals fool around sand castles, the
sand becomes dirty, the castle becomes an old crest from the first sea, it is somehow
insinuated that the mammals are in fact not kneaded in fur and claws and wombs
but “sweet oil, moisture, sadness, sea-water, small jests.” Now I realize that this is actually a
flashforward ; this happens after we meet, when we are met. The drug has
already hit by now, so has our shared beauty, and we are already espoused and
amazed at being found, and so my memory of the video itself is actually nothing
but a sand’grain gone astray from memory,
that I may blow up over and over again into an obscurely decorated
palace every time I attempt to describe it.
( Gold Panda was playing ).
Now rewind back to the moment just before the drug happened,
before the mythologic words “ You’re on drugs; give me some” were uttered,
before Maya’s thumb extended in the air to allow us to kiss you without looking
at our face. So how did us arrive here? We took a subway to the Ost Ban Hof,
then walked all the way here; it took twenty-five minutes. I don’t remember
waiting in line, though because I remember so well the next night’s
apprehension, standing upon that same grass ( for before the Maria Ost Ban Hof
grew a great patch of tamed lawn grass ) that we wouldn’t show up and we would
never see each other again and my life was forever ruined, I can propose
without taking too much risk that Maya
and Jeremy and I were drinking whiskey and Jaegermeister out of plastic bottles
that Jeremy and I kept concealed he in his socks under the elephantine bottoms of his pants, I in my
underwear behind the triple layer of thighs and coats and dresses. I am wearing
that flower-printed blue marine dress whose twin, the brown one with the
ancient rose colors irises, I’ll give you to wear to take the train with us
back to Paris in two days. But for now, we are entering the club, we leave our
bags in lockers, crack some jokes to the workers ( all French from Marseilles )
and I don’t feel drunk. I don’t remember what we discussed while we waited: did
we talk about anything at all? Were we just silent? Now us: what did you and
William talk about? What did you see when you were lining in the grass like I
was, and did we actually glance at each other while screening the crowd, not
ready to recognize one another yet? We doubt it. You must have arrived earlier,
or otherwise later, but surely not at the same time. When did you take the
first encrusted fingerprint of MDMA? On the way there, or in the club? And how
much did you give us me compared to what us you had taken? But we are not there
yet, we are not yet met, and all I see for now is The Field, playing, and
another guy is on stage, doing something.
Now, Maya is in front of me; dancing. A little drunk, but
gently. At that point she refuses to take any drugs, and will hold her position
till I force her to take a first ecstasy in Amsterdam a few months from now.
Jeremy is somewhere behind us, in the crowd, probably looking for some young
German girl he may susurrate the order to go clean the inside of her vagina so
he may enter, NO, so he may consider eating her out. In any case, in this memory
I’m refining, no sign of him till next morning, when he will be strangely
awaiting for us in front of the hotel to give us the key to his room, “because
I figured you guys may come back and want to be left alone sometimes,” and also
because he is still drunk and hopes to get into Maya’s pants. Not out of
desire, but out of habit, as he is wont to try to fuck girls he likes, and be
rejected, and then be sad. Tonight he will lay next to Maya while you us and us
me marvel at one another in his bed. He had arrived earlier today at Tegel;
Maya and I met him at the hotel, which is really just two apartments with a
corridor in the middle and a shared bathroom at the end. He had gone out last
night in Paris, or has not been able to fall asleep, and he is dead exhausted
today, yet he wishes to roam about and see at least three exhibitions, “to make
the most out of my holidays,” which Maya and I execrate, but we accompany him
all the same. I fall asleep in a dark room in front of a video that compiles
clips of cats playing the piano on youtube and
lasts for more than 8 hours straight. Jeremy wakes me up and we go eat
shitty carpaccio with Maya in the café by the concert room where he isn’t
allowed because he has no ticket, and so he spends the next three hours getting
drunk at the bar waiting for the show to end.
This is the concert where I hallucinate the scene I will tell
you about later on while we drink whiskey together at the bar, and four years
and dust afterwards you won’t remember it, because you were too wasted, so I
will resume it for us here. Hauschka had played his prepared piano first, but
it’s when the Iceland bitch started to play the cello that the vision occurred
to me. It all had unscrolled in my head like a movie, very precisely. At the
beginning was a zoomed-on snow, under which light green tufts of grass and
soiled brown earth crusting at the contours can be divined; but it is frozen
now, and so none of that which is not pure snow can truly be glanced at without
a feeling of obscenity, the feeling of having walked in on one of our parents
masturbating in their bath when we thought they were asleep and we have been
playing videogames for too long and so we just really needed to brush our
teeth. Now the snow is being disturbed; something is stirring nearby, and as
the camera follows it we find out there is a deer being dragged on the ice by
the strong bare hands of a hunter whose torso is wrapped in manifold layers of
animal fur. We cannot see his face yet; the deer no longer breathes, and her head
against the snow piles gently bounces, whenever the rest of her body ( the
hunter is hauling her strong body by the feet, which he holds entwined and in
one single hand, the right one ) encounters minor asperities; there a congealed
rock, here a patch of icy moss. In the snow, a tender-pink trail of blood
traces its way back to the scene of origin as the body is carried away from it;
and when the hunter reaches his hovel, it is all ice and snow all around it;
the loneliness there is intense. The hunter crosses the frozen lake rivulets
with prudence, now holding the deer in his arms like a small infant. The hunter
enters his cabin, closes the door behind him; the light is blue-black, and dim.
As he sets to put the deer aside on the tall table that thrones in the middle
of the hut, we discover that the deer’s spirit still lives
within its heavy carcass; it exhorts the hunter to love it. Kiss me, it says,
flashing into the hunter’s mind exquisite images of plain white breasts
dangling above a counter, and pies. Kiss my body, please? the spirit within the
deer implores, and along flashes clips of three huge phalluses fucking at times
all together and at others, in turn, the single asshole of a fourth man, who
also has a cock in his mouth, his eyes closed in what resembles pure bliss.
But the hunter sweeps aside those images; he loves the deer as
she is. He takes it in his arms, cradles her head, starts to kiss his mouth,
unbuckling his own pants all the while
It is warm inside
our belly, all drug-coated
I choose to lie as often as can be, so that on a wider wave
Truth may graft herself, and cruise as far as she pleases.
( ..
The next day Lilith called
her child back into
life and told him to lurk nearby the river
until Adam came back. When
he saw
the infant alive, Adam
snatched it off the watergrass
and tucked it under his thick
beard and ran
back to his house where the chimney was as always
soundly roaroaring and
promptly tossed it into the fire and watched the infant’s formless silhouette
braze away in
the tangerine-blue flames till all the limbs
had
safely been
burnt to
ashes.
The next day, Lilith rose earlier than usual
and, swift as a bee stealing pollen off
the beak ofa carnivorous
plant, gathered the offspring ashes
from the earth and
stitched them back
together into the semblance of a newborn babe and so Adam, stumbling across
this diaper-chiseled reject
peasibly seated
on a
bed of coals in
the
little hours
of
the morning, looking sharp
and groomed as hell,
exposed the situation to Eve
in the following fashion:
“Darling”,
he
explained,
“Dull’ll be our quest
to be rid of this infant
lest we
bread it,
cook it,
sauce it,
and then
eat it”
And so Eve cooked
the child and
she and Adam wolfed
it down and when Lilith came
in and called out ’My child,
my
child,are you here’round?’,
two voices akin to
each other in tessiture and
sex all at once roused
from the bellies of Eve and Adam
and, smirking, declared: ‘I’m in
there, Babes, and feeling very comfortable’.
Hey man.
Lilith laughed a rich yellow laugh
and took off.
Pschoooouk.
---------------------
This tale
attempts ( or strive) to explain
to Humans why it is
that all of Mankind is nowadays kneaded
with a natural tendency for evil thoughts
and wrongdoings, yet
it seems to me that this story is trying to edify us
on the vastly unregarded
subject
of Adam being just this maniac who
got a good kick out of drowning,
burning, and eating infants,
for nowhere is there any allusion in
the
story to Adam being even remotely made aware that the
baby was a devil’s
offspring to begin with, or that he
tried to
find out about
it, or that something indicated it. He merely went home after work and
saw his wife busy cuddling a baby he didn’t
know from Adam or Eve when
she
should have heartily occupied
with the confection
of some shepard’s pie
for her husband’s
supper and that pissed
him off, and so he snatched the baby away from
her and hurdled it
into the nearest river, which
makes
him truly our first Father as
very likely we wouldn’t have reacted
differently if we had walked
into the kitchen
and
us was industriously
While he was
impassibly feasting on a lambleg we sat
at table with our mom’s
boyfriend this morning and he inform us
about the people who, (it’s
a myth), having done neither good nor bad
deeds during their earthly visit, can dwell as little in hell as
they
can in heaven and
so they are made
to run around eternally naked and chased
by
bees, but he couldn't tell us
where this
myth
stems
from,
or give
us hugging some child
instead of baking us a robust
chicken dinner like we
were ought to
( … )
( ..
#GroDrunkenedSliiilith #SloppyEditing
#BigChunkOfThisPieceErasedByMistakeUnderTheUnfluenceOfGRODrunkeningDrinks
#Never2BefoundAgain #DontGRODrunkAndEdit
( ..
( … )
further details about this penance. Good guy goes to heaven,
bad guy goes
to Pataya. There is yet another illustrious
feagure named Nimrod whose punishment for having thrown arrows at Allah
in the sky was to
have a sandfly sent
all the way up his right nostril
and into his brain. The insect dwelled there for 200 years.
Shortly after the sandfly had elected domicile inside his brain Nimrod
went insane. His only relief was “to have
someone constantly striking him on the head
with an iron hamme.” Another
tale from the Ancient Lands we just read confirms that
no prayer
can alter the Tablet
of Destinies; it is
the story of a poor man
who begs Allah to
improve his condition and is therefore granted three wishes. His wife
fears that his first wish would be wealth and
that when she gets older
he would readily be rid
of her and take a younger bride
in place of her
old bag of bones, and she therefore demands
of him that the first wish he expresses be that she remains forever young, and
great-looking.
Her husband is delighted at
the
thought, and formulates
the wish on the spot. But whilst he is at work and her
wife is home alone some soldier,
seeing this
fair lady basking her
double Ds in the sunset, fancy to
snatch her off her windowseal
and up upon his slow mule with the sole vile
purpose of double- raping her
on a
daily basis.
The husband
is devastated. He wishes for his wife to be turned
into a swine, in the hope that the soldier may be little to not appeal to the newly aquired
porcine attributes
of his wife. The transformation takes
place in a glance and
the soldier, grasping that he
is as much riding away with
a beautiful woman as I am a zirgin,
flings
the fat-titied, foul-smelling gilt he has
taken for a fair
maiden off his horse, and into that part
of the forest where a single blackberry shrubs grow like a lute atrophied from being mute into
Olympus’s digs
in the heazens. The she-boar’s husband finds
there and wishes for
her to be turned into
a woman again. And so are his
three wishes fulfilled, but immobility happened
and
the fate of the poor man remains uncorrected. There’s also an
Andersen story which which is basically the same but visually more attractive, and goes
as follow;
There was once a fisherman who
caught a big
genie-fish in his fishing nets,
and was therefore granted three wishes. The fisherman went home,
and told his wife about it, and
the first thing his wife did was
to say aloud,
‘O, how great it would be, if we had some
good sausage to celebrate
this fantastic twist of
fate’ and
pschoookkkkkkkk! were the fisherman
and his wife on for a
lifetime supply of
sausage. So
upset was the husband to see a wish wasted
on such
a trivial matter that he wished this zery sausage
to hang
from his wife’s nose on the spot. And thus the sausage
docilely proceeded
to go dangling at the tip
of the nasal appendice of the fisherman’s spouse
and
her
husband, after a few good days of getting pissed drunk
while letting his hilarity
at the sight of his sausage-garlanded wife,
had no choice but
to wish for the
nasewurst to
be gone in order to ever
have his own viril
tool blown again. In
the story of Ibrahim (may peace be upon
him)
the latter
is both the voice of
the Tablet of Destinies and of
all mankind fearing their decay and mortality. His glyph is,
I love not things that change. When Ibrahim goes
out of the grotto where he grew
up licking milk
and sugar off his palms
for the first time and
quest for his Lord
he
first chooses a star
as the avatar for His earthly delegation, then the moon, then the sun, to finally call all of these choices mistakes, based on their impermanence. “None of
these can’t
be my
Lord”, he
declares,
“ for I
love not things that
change”.
This is Ibrahim’s refusal of the oracular infrastructure of the
world around him and his attempts to lure,
with incantation, Nature and what
he
perceives as God
into immobility. In Martian Time-Slip
the autistic Pan-child
sees, as soon as an event takes place, its
inlaying wilting and the
gray unsprouting of its
firmamental dereliction. All that he can
picture
are
1000 years-old eggs whose
hatchings remains innate and
inevitable, and the things he foresees are akin to the stage
they’ll have reached when they'd've decayed,
because the
present for
him is annihilated and
he can see, rather
then foresee,
how they are already a decayed avatar
of their future embodiments, because they are
meant to unscroll in such and such
way
and whatever happens cannot affect this fate
of theirs. Just like the
memory of a foreskin
do not leaze a scar ‘round the tip of the shaft but
a nightlike ghost trace,
the
beholding of
the oracular
world
leads
only to beholdment, and no alteration
can be made.
Schopenhauer is known
to have said to his students, “Es ist,
weil es soi st, wie es
ist”; it
is because things are that way that they are. In
mirror to this statement
is Ibrahim obstinated
mantra, I love not things that change. The void between those two statements is yet another
roundness, the dialect of pearls; Ibrahim is trying to
craft a spell
at the curse of mortality and motion of nature whose impermanence,
or rather to
mis-pell the Tablet
of Destinies,
to accommodate his being into
the duplicated world in which
one can be everlasting or
rather, omnipresent,
in all the
realities at once. The
same happens in Ubik when the characters
are trying to
decipher the recurrent oracle of
the Ubik spray which, according to riddles
that appear to them in
dreams
or under the
form of cryptic notes, has the ability to reverse the curse of accelerated decay and
of time recession.
“The only
approaching word
that I found is “ubique”, which isn’t
it.”
“It is the same word, just different
spellings.”
The misspelling is a trick performed
upon the natural fate
of things, a trick only the
human mind
can
perform,
since it requires knowledge and
mastery over the existence of languages. It is
a way to falsify the world without its
noticing .
²
When did this happen
?
And thus
the only way to
sneak into the crevice of the Tablet
of Destinies is to
be simultaneously experiencing the geminate-world all at once; the
fated
world
which, being only the manifestation of a duplicatum,
cannot be acted upon, and the
world
of the written prophecy which, being scribal, can be
mis-pelled
at will and thus deviated
from its pre-hatched scriptural
course. There is a logic to
each thing, and each
thing has
its logic ; and the
logic of the tree trunk is different from that of the leaves. A tree is none
but the product
of Nature’s great machinery; and it exists only because the parts
that constitute him obediently perform
their role as designed
by Nature’s whim. The
folliage shall not fall down and
roll but flutter, gaily at time and grave at
others, when a ripple from
the
wind grazes
his leaves. The leaves of the
folliage shall not speak;
but when a couple of nightingale nestling shall seek a hole
of frsh shadows in the midst
of the folliage, the leaves may crinkle a little and
creak; other than that they shall remain at peace.
And when
Nature sees
that each and every part of the
machinery of Life is
fulfilling the simple
prerequisites of
their machinist’s will, She will
allow the tree
to be, and among the
trees’s
older brothers of another
century she will lay down the
trees’s egg
which is a seed, so that the tree may grow green and
grow
older and riper and
die at peace among its
keens. And Nature,
She
who knows the logic of
all things, knows when
it is time for a
tree
to die,
as likely as she knows
when
it is time
for that tree to live.
When
a programmer grows a tree out of the pulp of his fingertips and into the codes of his computer, he is allotted with the same
creative force that make Nature fill all things up with their
logic, and a certain
amount of magick. I have walked
into walls of impenetrable forests
which, from a distance,
looked
pregnant with the same trees
that shall know Earth’s
logic. In
those beta forests the
trees sham their texture from the wind’s,
and share their data with him; and the wind
himself
in the program was
this imperceptible vortex inbetween
the binary codes,
which holds
forever all things
together and yet, unlike
Nature’s wind,
cannot be passed through
or physically perceived.
But whatever entity it is that the gambler
of the wind in this world
inhabits those trees,
too, respond to a precise and
inherent logic; their
trunks and folliage and branches, their barks and
saps and leaves,
learnt to re-enact their own
opacity, and
to mimick their stillnesses from
the dark mattered-lake in
which all the roots from
the
digital vegetal congress, and
together mime
up all of the worlds’ winds. And so the trees, knowing nothing more than to be what they are told to be, remain as thick
as they shall imagine
to be, and lightly coalesce together as an atom of ionized milk.
Scribal errors, scribal misspellings.
When
Aristotle seeks
to describe the natural
world, his descriptions are precise to the point of laborious
punctillionism; the
movement of the waves under a
certain weather gleams, the colors on the outskirts of the sun on a cloudy morning are glowing.
A forest in a videogame is an artificial excroissance from the inner
abstract realm of the
binary soil. The information these trees receive,
about the logical
circuit they should follow in order to function correctly are based not on
a corporeal, reproducible example,
but on an ethereal definition
of the world where they are told to live,
which conveys its
order under a mathematic form, hardly intelligible by one of Nature’s
most simple minion.
For
that reason, tree-parts
in the digital realm
might
mis-interpret
their role in
the
tree-whole; that
is to say, a tree-atom might mispronounce the formulae
which would integrate
itself in the tree-whole and
thus compel the other parts
to adapt
their own
script in order to try,
through
this readjustment of their spelling, to reharmonize with the
other parts of the element Tree, to recreate the
primeval and pre-written TREE
logic. In a videogame,
those impediment upon logic are best known as
‘glitches’: glitches, and
misspelling,
are both the progeny of Shiva,
mothered by chaos
and
creative forces alike,
the
well-known mispronounced
spell which turns the subject
into a mouse instead of curing him from the
evil eye.
A whole re-rereading of
reality exists,
a misspelled world
expelled
from our world, generated spontaneously as we glitch,
as our software glitches, into
a secret labyrinthine arcane of
our language, where the misspelled images
swarm round the valley’s
alleys
into molecular gangs of azuls and swim down the reeds of indigoteen ageless realms –
and
Ibrahim who had obtained
from Allah the promise that he should
not die until he expressedly wished to do
so, and thus when the
predestined day arrived the
All-Mighty was
obliged to inveigle
it from him: a glitch
in the Tablet
of Destinies.
The Tablet
of Destinies is the oracular layer of reality;
the
one that is soaked in snow and only runs
clear
when it is noticingly accomplishing the ephemeral (and
therefore eternal) prophecy of
the other reality, the fated one that cannot not be; the world experienced underneath the shell of Ibrahim’s egg is duplicated and
another one replaces
it with a yolk transparent
as wings and heavier still.
Oracles are
a circumcision of Fate, an alteration of chosen
occurrences
that makes them recognizable and closely cared for, just
like circumcised
phalluses were a mean
to distinguish
between the corpses
of the Muslims slain
in battles from those of the unbelievers and
thus received decent
burial. And the wholeness
of the us-fate
is only the ripple of
our shared foreskin
flinged into
the calmly breathing sea
The sea
is immobility. And whatever
of us that sinks in it is only
the echo
of the abyssal
weeds lolling on
the tip of our twinned penis. But
the
way it is no
prayers can alter the Tablet
of Destinies. Ibrahim seeing the
old man:
“O lord,
take away my soul, before i reach
such
a pitiful condition”
Fate
had the elegancy to let Ibrahim be a believer, to let him
believe he could decide to escape from
death, to let him choose
it by giving him oracles and
a mind
devoid of the concept of any sort of predestinity. And then He came. Dreamlike faces of
our face. We
would like to find for us a
little stone house, with
a golden ringer at
the
entrance, in which
we would write letters
to one another even though we’re in
the
same room, and where
we
would be allowed
the
supreme grace of
being
one another’s sentinel. Or
we might each have a tower fluttering above the dark sea, and
each
night
we will walk to
one another’s
holding a dark flame,
a flame darker then
the sea still and
still in a little glass
lantern and the day’s
dark
flame will be the
flame that roars blue within
the red.
We are Adam first drop of sperm lolling timid animal-like above the sky. We are the bright ruby tumors
of the sapphires. This
stanza from Holderlin
is the us egg-membrane:
As
red
clouds steamed Above the ark
and animals Stared dumbly
at each others,
Thinking of feed. Yet
The
mountains stand still,
Where shall we nest ?
Deer.
Where shall
we nest ? Biche.
