jueves, 2 de septiembre de 2010

[Into the Carnival!]





"There's no more seats in Heaven,
no space to move; that place is packed...

I want my poison to taste like poison,
up there the drinks all watered-down."

- That Handsome Devil

I have dabbled in the technologies
of a fantastic carnival
filled with roles, spectacles and clowns,
seducing the ever
psychotic excogitating of my brain patterns.
And yours as well.

Nevertheless I'm very much aware that sanity
will make fools of us all.
Thus I invoked a
Dionysian cocktail
in terrible haste.
In order to liquefy essences,
exploring the teleological ladies and gents
within a sweet fever of
extraordinary sagacity.
A bold devastation of the
nervous apparatus became mandatory.

To answer your prudent yet naive question....
I just came back from the land of irrational though
{everywhere and nowhere}
And life life life life is at odds with my mouth
and its acquired tastes and meditative states,
strategic conjurations
of extra & intra sensory perceptions.

Forget the edges.
The hypnotic warring factors, variables if you will,
that determine each clan.
I must do something...
take a bath, have a whiff; save the children!

I was led to believe by this motion sickness
that half of my breath lingered on the outside of my scalp.
Need to make that clear to my kinetic organism
just write it down
don’t distinguish between despair and pride
let it sink in silly boy.

Methods and records!
Behold the technocratic epoch; the Machine age!
Predictions and duty!
A fabulous and innovative species of lunacy,
never before known to an earthling.

This secure spot is temporary,
for all Truths pop pop pop
like skulls under the pressure of a boot.

Ha he ho!
How shameful it is to be, to be, TO BE. Or not.
Pardon my homo sapiens condition,
nothing that can’t be corrected,
fixed,
rehabilitated,
normalized
cured
with proper treatment from a humanitarian institution.

Humanity as a collection of well
naturalized and regurgitated axioms.
In a consistent template of an all holy myth.

Oxygen clears away thoughts,
[and Supercritical carbon dioxide nurtures them]
Exhale all the preconceived hallucinations
we clutch like our identities depended on it.
Which is all. The culture of the I.

Therefore I am

Dreaming like an ant.
To perceive as an ant is to be an ant.
An ant-self?
Yes. Nothing like dirty termites. No.
How gruesome. Nothing like silly bees.

"We are a true collective.
We are equal.
We know your heart.
We are righteous Justice"
All sons and daughters of the ant-state incorporated. Rejoice!
What silly machinations of the conscious cognition.
To presume a complex human can comprehend
the grand simplicity of ant consciousness.
What a silly synapse.

The Body {Praxis?}

We don’t have the luxury of philosophical debate commodore. The cosmos as [a complex system of] conflict, of historical tissue, a surplus that can be decoded. We know back (and forward) as time itself! A whole race of people who despise their self’s silently. Oh what isolated egos! All who covet a constant and coagulate state of nirvana. Crawl their way back to paradise utilizing Modern contraptions, debris and jokes [bad ones]. All monks and mystics warn that a divine state of consciousness cannot be imposed upon the divisions of the logic, much less institutional affairs. Demons arise from such noble tampering. A whole nomenclature of devils, sphinxes, dæemons, data, corn syrup and measurements so to satisfy every moral frenzy. God, the first scientist {History & Justice!} can only lead to the sweet desertification of earth if imposed as law. [As has been the case in every traumatic episode of the delightful human critter]

Into the Carnival!


"Society: an inferno of saviors"
- Emil Cioran

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