Somebody killed Pynchon, and somebody else celebrated them
Gravity’s centered through the throwing of a pebble
		and video/games is what “I” wants to pacify war in our mind
Clocking in and clocking out of the scramble for time
My body is shocked by the socialization of hope
		and reality is shared in its mis(sed)-contents 

You’re celebrating too much a word, used as a leverage point to ratify a community
It’s not about believing it’s about proposing alternatives!
											    that’s what they shout
Stunting the dismemberment and the flattening of the mass.

Currents of finance dictate consent towards dynamism for dynamism’s sake,
Theorizing on your own on involution
							    practices of fabulation’s reactivation for Abolition:
		We all intra-act while we interact,
		I noticed your pronouns and I noticed the words

			Mote
					
			 Soil

I felt the weight of the gaze laid upon me by a profiteer
					 my eyes sift the text with frenzy
We need to find a new festival to crash,
		new necessities to meet and new and new and new
Split open the cracks and abolish the cave, 
	non-space-rite-of-passage into the over-present void.

“I don’t read books I make them”
Said the sculptor.
	“I haven’t read enough books”
	Said the scholar.
		“I disagree with the words in your book”
		Said the militant.
			“Look at what a nice design this book has”
			Said the activist.

		“BE SILENT”

  Who’s the enemy watching? 
   What need is there for it?
Militancy need/ling(s)’/s an ethics of Violence…
		We know what we’re anti-about
	but not what we’re anti-across
Logically planning to affirm everything
		we think bears us down towards the sediment in our feet
“I cannot not accept the fact that I’m sedimentally a nazi”
      is a soldier more sane than an assassin?
      is G.I. Joe more human than Ed Gein?

		  	Present Future Past
	 post-Past neo-Present and perma-Future
Of animals that think they are smart because they have mirrors in dualisms

If you die tomorrow, what will the ghosts say when they meet you at the doorstep?
		what if the doorstep began to vocalize?
Signifier’s circulation as retour to the original origins organically organized 
			  in a dehiscence of the rest

Leave it be, as it is said to foster grudge,
Politically neutral I must be if I want to survive in misery.
Without sacrificing my feet for others
Hand raised behind flags colored by the past
Looking around me backlifting crickets with ease,
The sound they make is not white,
If it’s black I can’t say

ALIENS
Who are these fucking aliens? Have they arrived yet?
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick
Ringer on the side, sounding the alarm of ages
To come are the ones who will fight to glare the significance
Creative acts dispersed
Nothing of the sorts
Clothing as a shell of disgust

Gnawing at the corners of the sofa,
Base layers depicted in blood.
Was it enough?
Grilling body segments could be
An honest cradle to conjoin with stoic
Gazes.
Seller of gerundi, time lag unraveling
In continuous syntactic space.
Would you give me your control?
Fine lines, fine lines, fine lines…
Inter-penetration with a burka.
What if I go through? Nobody 
Would care… changing the status
Quo vadis? Wherever, the where is 
Of no importance , as long as you [
	]
They’re all feeling like they’re about to die
But they are already dead, and that’s where 
	power sits.
Why do we like to sit and who’s the argonaut who
				    invented the chair?

Shock your body into compliance

Emoticons of a song,
European Emoticons, if you can see you
Can describe, if the description fits your
Interest
Rates dropped when the description 
Was obvious to everyone,
				straight forwardness.
You didn’t mean to be “straight” were you?
	Vatican stronghold in the green desert
			Heart of Grease,
Fried in academia and power’s
Radiation in the research-home-reproduction
			Scheme
Grand, what a word, cut

Am I scheming?
Am I skimming?
Am I swimming?
Am I slinging?
Am I singing? Out of tune, Auto-tune, I tune is only sound,

Infra-blue noise discerning bubbles in soups 

 

A dramatic tableau. Remembrance. Cultural synapses to hope.

Images under the portico, of guilt, and shame, and humanity in through and outside animality. 

Not human, predicament or void. Crumbling architectural beauties, 

“I do it for myself not for the audience, that’s how I show audience respect”

If the audience is the friends that I betrayed, forgetting

shapes again, the spectrum of heaviness.

Analysis of Disney movies’ wont brings you far, into horizons of intelligibility’s sake

The battles inside a collective are wicked towards the community,

Identity formation’s backdrop is the p/o/e/t/s/t/s/imism c/v/o/a/n/p/c/o/r/et/ized by meaninglessness, and forgettable existence.

What the fuck is empathy but 
	the ultimate tyrannical gesture
Of repression
	into a common ground

Made of rubble of possibly self-
-hymning prowess towards

Kicking the but of the weak to 
	mediate them towards
Happy-er objects

What is empathy w/o the 

	piercing out

Of the negative weighing the affirmation?
Estimate of the best
	integrative practices
Aviation School 
	hereditary endowments of 
Flights. 
	W/O

Tension created through digitalization of essence’s crumbs
They are fighting, they may be fighting for us, 
I can fight, I may be fighting for them.
Shadows think on their own, if they get the upper hand, they might get the upper hand.
If you spit on my face while you’re talking,
You can spit on my face while you’re talking, 
Hierarchy rehearsed by asking for grace, asking for giveness, 
You may say you’re sorry, I can say I’m sorry too, you should accept the apology, I must not accept the apology if I’m not sorry,
I can accept the apology if I’m not sorry, 
What if I accept the apology by saying I’m sorry? 
You can say you’re sorry to get recognized,
They might say they’re sorry to get represented, 
I may say I’m sorry to hear my voice say something,
something can get in the way,
Somethings should get in the way,
Homogenized through systemic structures but never in release from appreciation of pain. 
You can be cool for your friends and that’s it,
You might want to be cool for your friends and that’s it, 
Your friends may be jealous,
Your friends can be jealous,
Your friends will be your public,
Public space may not exist, existence can be public, existence should be private.
Should shall sell.

Toasts with tobacco,
Disastrously planning to rob a bank of ideologies,
The masks don’t fit, they’re not even funny,
Mount Rushmore looking down on a clownish figure coronated in
Washing worry wasmachine was never wooing win.

Doing politics cannot mean fighting for life against death,
and identifying forms to represent and inscribe in the social space, 
conversely antagonizing every sovereignty with an agonistic attitude without dissociating the form from life, 
a union of multiplicities minus the flattening of difference.
Difference as perennial potentiality, 
Home as communicability, 
to fight for joy against the medicalization of inequality. 

If the list of identities gets thicker maybe that is just the perfect epitome 
for the annihilation of difference intended as exploration of the other 
in the process of signification. 
If the signified is established then one can generate a pretext for war.
The experiences that I lives scratches unto we
the oppressive rhetoric spaces of a territory-to-be-mapped’s projection. 
The mapping is anyhow corresponded by the retrieval of an other, what if it wasn’t?
What if it were a perpetual mapping without point of arrival?
Careful not to de-flow into a contemplation of one’s own voice,
Frequency is arrested at the howl of a creature you cannot decipher
If not through sedimentation in re-cognition. 

Boiling down the water to retrieve the crystals,
Build bridges made of them to supervise
Grudges that compose a still water
Underneath.
You end up believing that making others feel
Guilty is the best way to nose.
I get under your nose to tickle, If 
You snort I disappear.
	Words get weighted down like bodies,
Disposed by wise guys with bricks,
	Tied with the hope of revolutionizing sense.

Some stuff “just are”,
	Above and Beneath,
		They just “are”,
			Besides and amongst,
					They just are.

Dissolution of time, cut with a knife, a faulty one, it manages the crust.
Punctured by stylistic attempts, 
in a balance between public opinion and super-articulated rambling. 
Let’s get obsessed over [materials], 
think them into images of faith in the image itself. 
Conspiracies generate historical historicity, it all goes straight to ambiguity, 
but is there any other way to conceptualize a period?
Nostalgia seeping into principalities governed by the lumpen, cocktail without alcohol, 
you get drunk by fac similes produced through promotion of delusions. 
Illusionists of the macroing out, Analysts of the microing among. 
Idiosyncrasies don’t shine but in retrospect, territorial broiling settled, 
self-reflecting fables counting evolution like it’s a baseball match’s profit on the hotdogs; longing glitters on PINES.
Modern suicidal tendencies for gaining a birthday’s approval, 
tenacious crafting of speculation in the realm of time, governed by colonialist plains. 
Inventive chaos blind to self-preservation, 
because a competitive race imposes heterogeneity in patterns of doubt, 
    hesitation & irony. 
Supplying complications to obstruct your eyes so that you may see better. 
Creeping resentment towards technical progress, 
permanency of memory proportional to the changes’ speed in the metamorphic escapade. 
History spaces’ wistful corrosion to socialize meters 
of accelerative qualities superseded by uncertainty as the freeing umbrella. 
I is Reborn in hybrid style drugged up by fading lines that where never lines in the first place, 
just because now it has more resources to sift through.

A consortium holding a monarchy, glitzy diamonds, cloaked hands, 
relaxing by reading arms catalogues, carte blanche for destruction’s semblance.
Old delirious men safely exiled in their own atmosphere dictate vectors of change, 
“you couldn’t throw a stone without hitting [an icon]”.
The VISAGE of history is found in catalyzers,
historians as alchemists looking at noses as devices
claiming time’s perspiration.
I honestly think of history as a co-presence of different temporalities manifesting through a continuous reconfiguration of hopes and norms on how to achieve them, 
that leaves out causal explanations, 
not individual or collective agency and response.
Ability.
If you think of historical happenings as mysteries to be solved 
you’re stuck in a fable built by laws cradled by an un-emancipating language 
of RIGHTS.
Idiosyncratic and improvised decisions represent the un-representability of public sentiment. Christian souls, stained beliefs of exclusive human substance. 
I look away at my righteous, while you do the right thing and shoot people gasping for bread,
haphazardness is the religion of the stagists who want to linearize social conflict. 
Paranoid fantasies about satanic superpowers determine perfect revolutionary leaders. 
Turning gold intro shit so that a few flowers might blossom, 
wallpaper preferences falsified through the illusion of choice. 
Forthrightly speaking from the anti-archon,
	jostling the stored political energy. No contingency? 
			Or maybe contingent beginnings and depressing arrivals.
A vague head figure that catalyzes surprised revelations of desire’s unscripted expression. 
None knows how to act during a Jubilee, we look at icons, product placements 
	and the froth on the wave. Our actions are ours. 
Overarches abolished, 
                    walking on sands sparked by rebellious non-sense. 
				CAPRICE / VOLATILITY
				NECKTIES & BALAKLAVAS
Protecting Revolution: When you start doing that politics become police. 
Pointing at other’s artificiality, 
	failing to comprehend the inherent displacement of ethics into images, 
		photographs are experiences of death. 
Not Knowing what you’re doing is when involution might be generative.

Feeling “vindicated” once a theory is experimentally realized. 
Proliferating cosmetic treatments along with academic papers, weekly sustaining the new limits of beauty. 
“None want to throw the baby out with the bathwater” : 
	Perfection ideally helps creation,
	the latter though is a term more and more susceptible to doubtful gazes of critical rejection. 
Gaps between the “real” and the “perfected”, moments in anti-succession: 
	“Scandinavian armchairs, 
				Japanes teapots, 
						sunlight filtering through emerald leaves of a perforated monstera plant”.
Achievements of divine objects demystify enjoyment as a precursor, never a downing
/grounding placenta,
		    unavoidable “fundamental sense of being unacceptable”,

SELF \\ OTHER [ SOCIAL - LAMENT FOR COUSINS INCIDENTALLY NAMED SIGMUND

One person listening to a self/other-deprecating soliloquist, 
shield from breathing in the combusting smoke produced by wetting flames, 
torches turned off to wait for the right ambush of wrong adequates. 
What’s true is the worst, so that there’s no patches for flaws. 
Internal violence that mutilates and deforms, imaginary audiences that shit out undigested food through ironically ill anal cavities. 
Cavernous flare ups, glimpses of the “all”, to regret the “nothing” as an escape: 
																				excruciating loss it’s easier than possibilities’ involvement. 

		“Superhuman, better than a machine, wether the machine is literal (an M4) or figurative (a Crone).”

	Persian flaws,
					 the carpet undergirds 
by a return policy focused on adoption of anxious fetuses ready to be represented in 
					 alpha-numeric clay. 
The sky doesn’t fall if you fart, no matter which organ the fart comes from. 
	Affirmations bring air, changing oxygen’s composition around the polished imaginary 
																			spit on the floor. 

We, as in I, can be distinct only when we are hanged while other rejoice from our last words.
—
That one Russian dude that built a career on the last moments before (not) being hanged. 

I matter, mattering and anti-mattering
quantum spaces, throes of 
Unrepeatability.

Clinically shaven because I got tired of covering the bald square with thin hair,
	Working to find solutions never hidden
In a resolute character swamped in 
	PERFECTION.

When somebody makes you aware that you’re happy, joy is cringe, 
joy is packaged and if it leaks from the package it becomes 
		embarrassing, it reminds you of death. 
Joyc, egoic comparativism. Debilitating comparativism, 
				you are not you but someone else that has done the same.
You don’t know, because you’re animal, and if I see you I cry without tears.

Who’s the public for AI generated art?
An anti-systemic attitude that expresses us
through a language made of bendings that never break.
Suspension of judgment to give “space” to a non-space
Immanent to the machinations of desire.
Under the same continuous menace of disappearing,
The reaction might be a revisitation of
an a-signifying body’s intellectual interpolation.

So it’s just paranoia? If the signified has to be abolished
whatever happens to comprehension?

I don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t see, don’t shit!
Emphasizing of the operators/mediators to discover the surface
and finding nothing but disjointed segments. Without triangulation

.