Or put otherwise,
What is the nothingness before the storm?
I have tried to be tzim tzum.
Then you re-synced my authenticator.
Tooling back then soure thrombus to:
all out marke of:
tranqe pression only you occur.
So let’s take our cues from aeroplanes, which secreted their fuselages in fish during the previous extinction event (a brilliant feat of proxy overwintering!). Or we could hunker up with a latent Erotoplasty, read the whole thing read. Which of these options puts us at greater risk of contracting a metaphysical norovirus is anyone’s guess.
Are we all going to die? — Yes! We’re all going to
Die! Of Murder!
To quote Aisha St John, ‘One headline said five minutes early is on time.’ In other words, very few people believe that shadows possess a form of consciousness, let alone believe that a human can communicate with one. To most people the shadow is simply the result of solid objects in space blocking the rays of a light source
They build the wall because they need privacy
It is a wall with a dead load and a wind load
and a seismic load and a blast load
It is a private wall built with public funds
There is a murmuring ghost in the wall
There is a device in the wall
Bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleepbleepbleepbleepbleepbleepbleepbleep
Of the nine parts of the ancient Egyptian personality, two were about the shadow. The Khaibit (the shadow of the physical body) which never leaves the carcass, and The Ka, the shadow of the soul that moves freely about the Earth and the stars. We also have this model that is functionally specified, experimented with, with parts taken from various suppliers added in, swapped out, and hacked. The engine, then, consists of a small boiler connected to two exhaust pipes. The entire system is filled with water and a candle is placed below the boiler. When the water in the boiler turns to steam the boiler expands and steam is pushed out of the exhaust pipes making a popping sound and propelling the boat forward. This in turn creates a vacuum in the boiler, contracting the boiler and drawing water back in, and the cycle repeats. But if there was a single theme around which K-Punk’s eclectic energies organized, it was the future. Specifically: What happened to it?
You don’t want to have to go into work
The next day. You don’t want to be inside
At a computer where no one can help
You.
ALL ROADS LEAD TO THE KILL FLOOR now.
This is something I did
This is something I did
Thank you
Thank you
Stop, move very slowly
Stop, move very slowly
Ink
Ink
Olive oil
Olive oil
“Cheese is served here”
“Everyone here is a climate-change expert”
It’s also a little hot — thanks to the electric energy of 92 flashing monitors — and if there’s any text which actually says something, it must either be all throughout like dots or all throughout like dots or deliberate lacunae or quintessentially utopian: for this is a combined vision. At last we reached a huge palace which though large was extremely drab and depressing, and I was led to a room at the entrance of which was an enormous sign, written in English, which said, “Marxist Semiological Eating.” I was unceremoniously shown a square chair by a man who, like the others, resumed his attention to his text a moment later. We were all given shoulder of mutton, cut into equilateral triangles, cubed potatoes, an aleatory cole slaw and a cycloidal pudding for dessert. Throughout the meal, one or another of the monks, as I began to think of them, would take turns standing up and making a sort of recitation, as if in a refectory (no one else spoke a word or smiled). Among the chaos of my own emotions, my gratefulness at having found other human beings, my awe at these men’s composure, and my astonishment that though we spoke the same language they had no desire to communicate with me as yet — my mind was so distracted that I could not remember all of these confusing speeches, or whatever they were, but certain excerpts did remain with me till I had an opportunity to record them, and now I relate them to you for whatever they are worth: aplumb eblettes iplitty abilullty ebullient scribblier afloont effluvial iffling asslong and, of course, except for brief passages quoted in a newspaper, magazine, radio or television review, every part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronical or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from anyone. All rights remain unreserved and free including the right of reproduction in whole or part or in any form or way that seems pleasing or useful to you. This ‘halfway place’ is a prototype version of what the Marc Augé will call in his 1995 book of the same title, ‘non-places’ — but ‘place’ isn’t at issue here. The problem that Sapphire and Steel have come to solve is, as ever, to do with time. At the service station, there is temporal bleed-through from earlier periods. The service station is in ‘a pocket, a vacuum’. There’s ‘still traffic, but it’s not going anywhere’: the sound of cars is locked into a looped drone. So this is a facial reconstruction of a teenage girl who lived 9000 years ago. It makes perfect sense — what we eat affects our body. So take time to enjoy your food. Eat with friends; invite people round and cook for them; eat out; plan and prepare your food in advance; take time over cooking; spend time making your food look good (as well as taste good); make every meal an occasion — set the table and switch off the TV and phones. Watch what you drink. Whichever type of mortgage you choose, we’ll be there to help. Employment prospects for physics graduates are very good right now. Scottish history is the study of Scotland’s past. Minimise your monthly payments. More than four walls and a roof. We help you look after what you value most. Good Call. So creamy it’s sheer bliss. Over 3.3 million winners. IN WITH THE NOW. Decisions well made. WHITE SOCKS PROVE IT! Experience the Magic of a West End Show. Find out how easy tax-free saving can be. Connect other address books. Sophia sits on my lap playing with markers. She pulls them from a jar, opens them and puts them back. She does it repeatedly. Marie falls down. Marie builds a farm from blocks, she puts two cows in a stall. Sophia takes them. Marie says don’t destroy my farm. Sophia walks. They shout. Marie wants Lewis to read Curious George, he doesn’t want to. She says try it.
Now Marie says her boots are getting too hot
We run the few yards to the market in the deep and cheerful snow
... To market to market to buy a fat pig
Home again home again jiggety jig
There’s the State Line Potato Chip truck
We all go
In the door of the mausoleum store lit like a jailcell
To get spaghetti, oranges, juice, yellow peas and some cheese ...
Photo removed, November 22nd.
. in the beginning was the word .
... ... ...
. in the beginning was the sound .
clouds in pale blue sky above triangular white peak
wind moving through shadowed branches in foreground
Plants and rocks lay under night sky; my photograph of night is like a text of symbols. Look inside when you are struggling; every cell in your body emits light. Cilia beat rhythms into space, signaling cells of wildflowers in a field, signaling sky. Even though my mind focused within bounds, it’s indivisible from sky I see, because seeing is as a field. “I’m glad your mind is clear, even with such pain,’ I say. I place my hand on your chest. And I pray in an atheistic sort of way when I read the paper, for lost people. Next week, you find me crying over a fawn whose mother was killed; I drove to town for milk, but when I returned the fawn had died. “It was very hungry, now it’s dead,” I tell you; “Its mind flows into my mind.” “I’m weeping, because I want milk.” He can no longer hear himself hear or speak. I sit on the patio and watch small birds calling, fluttering in the rain. Ghosts, angels, phantom birds ... have you ever wondered about the meaning of consonants? Margaret Magnus has. B is the original explosion into Being, the first division that broke the One into the Two, that gave rise to the world. B is the birth. As is the case with all the labials (b, p, v, f, m, w), the two are not equal. The labials imply a hierarchy. The hierarchy of B involves something which abuts, beside the road, by the way. Not the main event, but the side show. Not the front, but the back. B is the Base which bears the burden, which holds something on its back. B is in essence also the violation of the Boundary. Something surges forth, but is blocked behind a barrier; pressure builds up; it bulges; it bursts. Bang! D is the Door, the Gate in mid-stream, the divider. Water flows overwhelmingly downward toward the Deep, and just at the mid-point something checks it. Implicit in D is always a preexisting process that longs to follow its course, to flow to the sea. At the end of a word, D more frequently sends things on their way. But at the beginning, it generally diminishes the force, darkens the light, dampens the sound. Drag, Drawl, Dribble, dribble, dribble, drip. D is not powerful enough to actually kill a process, but it is the English symbol of death. Where B asks ‘To Be or not to Be?’, D asks ‘To Do or to Die?’ G is the Grail, the Void from which all things are given and into which all things eventually go. It is the Ground from which we mysteriously grow, the invisible Source. It is the Letter of the Throat. Its bottom is too deep to be seen. Its light is reflected. Its glances sidelong. B begins the process; D checks it; and G is the process itself ongoing. More often than not, English experiences imbalance with respect to Giving and Getting in the face of this vast and invisible place. It either gets greedy, filling itself with gunk and goo and gaudy garbage. A third of G reflects too much of something where it doesn’t really belong. And another third reflects not enough where it’s desperately needed: it is gaunt, gloomy, grumbling, the grave, the gallows. But there remains a set of words which reflect a very specific sense of balance and a grandeur which is not to be found anywhere else in the English language: Goodness, Gladness,
Small wheel turn by the fire and rod,
Big wheel turn by the grace of God,
Every time that wheel turn ‘round,
Bound to cover just a little more ground.
Bound
to cover
just a little more ground.
Bound
to cover
just a little more ground.
So B goes from the One to the Two, but P is centered in this world, like the other unvoiced consonants. It is the prayer from the many back to the One. And it seeks to reach its mark by clear and accurate thinking. The velar consonants (g, k, h, ng) all have a hidden, invisible or secretive side, but with labials, everything is out on the table. For this reason, P never resorts to intuition. K plays cards, but P is the problem solver. It ponders, plans, pieces things together, projects, makes a pilot project. Whereas in B the barrier is violated by an explosion (boom, bang, break), in P it is pierced with a long sharp instrument (pierce, prick, pin, puncture). And whereas the typically labial ‘subordinate’ in B remains adjoined to its Source (base, bottom, back), in P, it is separated. It is a mapping, a representation, a puppet, a picture, a replacement, a pawn. It concerns position. Something is put in the place of something else. It looks the same, but it’s not,
what can make an imagined light
be imagined as kindly,
& who can imagine light
refracted by an amazonstone
who’s never seen one?
Can one who’s never been far from the earth
ever imagine earthlight
as one can imagine moonshine
or even imagine light
refracted by an amazonstone
once one knows it’s green?
Can one ever imagine earthlight
as one can imagine the flickering yellow light
(or maybe merely remember it)
of a grinning orange pumpkin jack-o’-lantern?
I can only imagine ether-lamp light
as a kind of bluish movie light,
a horrible light,
since all I know of it
is from Shattuck’s Banquet Years ...
But the question of Beauty is no longer the question not the question
I mean of our times but it is but we won’t admit it my stomach
Hurts from all the peanut butter I’ve eaten I go lie down and when I
Wake there’s a drone flying past my window happy holidays
The death toll from the tsunami is now up to 429 Anak Krakatau
Is the name of the collapsed volcano Now you’re texting me you’ve
Stopped in Soledad
For a sandwich so I ask you to please pour out
Some cola to the memory of Jonathan and George Jackson
And so the world was divided into Hereistan and Thereistan. Those killings feed into each other like a swirling figure of eight in blood. The numbers grow. Infinity groans and falls to his side. If only this möbius strip simply existed in pastry. Where do you go? Where would you live? Those who yearn to belong to that country of birds whose geography is air are shot down and made to endure hard labour in a cage. Eventually the abacus tips. The sand timer is too heavy. The fruits on branches grow rich with flesh. They pump out like cheeks swelled with vomit. The trees creak off their knees, straighten their backs and raise a head which laughs. The water rumbles with fish. O earth, earth, earth. Talha’s suffering compelled the extremely shy Hamja, he become central to the Free Talha Ahsan campaign. “It changed everything for me,” he said. “There was a lot of love and sympathy from people for our family ... For the campaign, I went all over the country, Glasgow, Cardiff, Manchester, Cambridge, Bradford, Leeds, and in each place, I’d be able to stay at someone’s house ... People told me that I inspired them to speak ... I felt that a positive community of solidarity was created ... Shakar Ahmed’s wife came to see my mother even when they were going through their own grotesque suffering ... which I found so moving.” [Shakar Ahmed was held by the US in Guantanamo for more than thirteen years without charge.] Finally a judge was able to see through the bullshit charges. Talha was released back to Britain in 2015. Two years later Hamja published Shy Radicals: The Antisystemic Politics of The Militant Introvert, which draws together communiqués, covert interviews, oral and underground history of introvert struggles (the Introfada), and provides detailed documentation of the political demands of shy people. Radicalised against the imperial domination of globalised PR projectionism, extrovert poise and loudness, assertiveness training, etc, the Shy Radicals and their guerrilla wing the Shy Underground are a vanguard movement intent on trans-rupting consensus extrovert-supremacist politics and assertiveness culture of the 21st century. The movement aims to establish an independent homeland — Aspergistan, a utopian state for all introverted people, not just those with Aspergers, run according to Shyria Law and underpinned by Pan-Shyist ideology, the aim of which is to protect the rights of all oppressed quiet and shy people. Which is to say that Early Baroque Karaoke & Strange Matter Telescopy Night will continue in the conference room every third Thursday of the month. And please note the reminder from Alyssia that parking has been strictly by permit since the incident at the entrance to the western exit ramp. The team is working hard to remove various debris, but for now please park on the left hand side of the main courtyard being careful to leave room for Others. Also, while heavy snow has fallen around the hotel, less — for reasons as yet unclear to the Epistemological Commission — has fallen on it. Nevertheless, try to have a good time one and all, in this season of deep explanatory collapse. Hope to be able to recognise you on the other side.
[Note: Sources: JBR; Hannah Ensor and Laura Wetherington, “Feel Piece 3”, in Nectar Feed; Irum Fazal, “When you re-synced my authenticator”, in Nectar Feed; Calum Hazell, “‘Babytalk’”, at Erotoplasty 3; Colin Lee Marshall, “There’s a joke ...”, at Erotoplasty 3; Lisa Jeschke, “Autumn: Was It the Government’s Fault?”, in Nectar Feed; JBR; Aisha St John, quoted in Colin Lee Marshall, “I have to live, Aisha Sasha John (McClelland & Stewart, 2017)”, at Erotoplasty 3; JBR; Paul Laffoley, quoted in Dennis Cooper, “Paul Laffoley’s psychotronic schematic diagrams of metaphysical knowledge systems *”, at DC’s, 13 Dec 018; Daniel Borzutzky, “Wall”, at Hyperallergic, 11 Dec 018; Paul Laffoley, quoted in Dennis Cooper, “Paul Laffoley’s psychotronic schematic diagrams of metaphysical knowledge systems *”, at DC’s, 13 Dec 018; Robin Mackay, in Reza Negarestani and Robin Mackay, “Reengineering Philosophy”, at Urbanomic, Nov 018; “How They work”, at PopPopShop (re pop pop boats); Hua Hsu, “Mark Fisher’s ‘K-Punk’ and the Futures That Have Never Arrived”, at The New Yorker, 11 Dec 018; Wendy Trevino, “Popular Culture & Cruel Work”, “5 Out of 13 Ways of Looking at Poetry Not Being Enough”, at BLACKOUT ((poetry & politics)), (?)17 Dec 018; JBR; Paola Pivi, “It’s a Cocktail Party”, at It’s a Cocktail Party; Paola Pivi, and Chloe Schama, quoted in Schama’s “Paola Pivi’s Transporting Exhibition Is a Whimsical Comment on Dark Realities”, at Vogue, 15 Nov 018; Bernadette Mayer, Utopia, quoted in Nada Gordon, Form’s Life: An Exploration of the Works of Bernadette Mayer, at Readme 4; Mark Fisher, “The Slow Cancellation Of The Future”, at The Quietus, 28 Aug 013; JBR; alliluyevas, “National Geographic on Facebook”, at digs digs digs, 20 Dec 018; nick-e-melville, The Imperative Commands; Bernadette Mayer, Midwinter Day, quoted in Andrew Epstein, “Happy 40th Birthday to Midwinter Day (by Bernadette Mayer)”, at Locus Solus, 22 Dec 018; Tom Leonard (RIP), “nov - oct 2012”, “. in the beginning ...”, at Tom Leonard; Stephen Ratcliffe, “12.22”, at Temporality, 22 Dec 018; Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, “Consciousness Self-Learns”, at Brooklyn Rail, 11 Dec 018; JBR; Margaret Magnus, “The Meaning of the Consonants”, at Margo’s Magical Letter Page; JBR; Robert Hunter, Jerome J Garcia, William Kreutzmann, “The Wheel”; Margaret Magnus, “The Meaning of the Consonants”, at Margo’s Magical Letter Page; Jackson Mac Low, “27th Light Poem, for Jerry (Jerome) Rothenberg (An Essay in Poetics) 10-11 October 1969, 19 May 1970, & 20 January-25 February 1975”, quoted in Jerome Rothenberg, “Jackson Mac Low: ‘27th Light Poem, for Jerry (Jerome) Rothenberg (An Essay in Poetics) 10-11 October 1969, 19 May 1970, & 20 January-25 February 1975’ [A Re-Posting & Celebration]”, at Poems and Poetics, 2 Jan 015; image: Paola Pivi, “Freaking Yoga”, seen at the Bass Museum, Miami Beach, Dec 018 (photo by JBR); Ariana Reines, “Open Fifths”, at Tyrant Books, 30 Apr 017; JBR; Ariana Reines, “Open Fifths”, at Tyrant Books, 30 Apr 017; Tahla Ahsan, “I, Otherstani”, Hsiao-Hung Pai, Hamja Ahsan, “Shy radicals”, at https://www.opendemocracy.net/hsiao-hung-pai/shy-radicals Open Democracy, 23 Dec 017 (re: Hamja Ahsan, Shy Radicals: The Antisystemic Politics Of The Militant Introvert), and blurb for Hamja Ahsan, Shy Radicals: The Antisystemic Politics Of The Militant Introvert, at Book Works; JBR; M John Harrison, “seasonal greetings from the staff of the back bar at the ambiente hotel”, at The M John Harrison Blog, 25 Dec 018]
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