Mourning cheap thrills with un or maladjusted friends, patting my pockets looking for my gun. It’s a life… one where you make an exception for him her man woman anyone. It’s… an empty-of-threat nightmare on LSD and eggs in TROY. It’s the clarification of possession in an argument between people who are too close. In the gov mines when TNT and funny stories take you out, RIP a friend to all. Philosophy of the elite, philosophy of nobody, philosophy of me. Alternatively, shooters shoot. Alternatively, kick in a painting at the junkyard. I own the world’s biggest collection of “keep telling yourself that”. I give ”keep telling yourself that” out at events across the country. I couldn’t take “keep telling yourself that” with me, proving once again that we all go to the same place. I’m a “revelations per minute” guy. There was a man hanged in Argo. The cute meta narrative where the audience was the enemy became a monster made of steel and reinfortanieum and we were three layers deep before we were three. Which is all to say I’m not the enemy.
Meet your maker: I left Los Angeles in a haze of journalist drugs and little things sunlight, and the God I knew then was a very different god, one that can’t appear to the whole congregation at once. Not God the enforcer, but God of the Enforcers, who could shoot through your head with the whittle off one branch like a gamma beam. Who could rubber band important conversations on national stages like it’s Mario kart, and lift you up in your study like you’re the last woman on the titanic. The god who invented property and kicked the Indians off theirs and started gambling 13 billion years before doing any of it. I watched titanic with my mother and I think I was alone. I mean it was right around then that all these things happened. It was probably in the cinema that the whole world shrunk to a pinpoint and I started affecting a laconic greener pastures look to signal that I would one day be sophisticated. In terms of explaining the joke: that’s what cinema does. Lovers love the abandoned world. The molecules arranged just so and not a particle tampered with ever since. Riding off into the sunset has a nice ring to it.
For me it was the difference between totalizing and totaling, ticking or tallying, taking to task masking rash Polaskis. Actually happened! Impishly just a German lady who listens to pet sounds. Putting the aw in austere in posterior. Putting the nah in nos in agnostic. Putting the am in mam in mammal in mammalian. Importantly not putting the sale in salient. But salient lent its lie to put the lend in tail-end. “We were never friends and I hope you understand” from a Bluetooth speaker can’t penetrate an inch of the alps. I orbited so hard I became a Russian astronaut. I orbited so long I got ISS. I orbited so stupid I became a tardigrade. I tried to segregate a forest tribe and they tried to kill me. Actually happened. Genuinely a species confined to land, and the grace and strangeness of air and sea creatures respectively makes us like the wanderers in “I have no mouth”. The dream of flight chastens us, and our innate inferiority is the blood of the soil, the soul of a flowering earth.
In fact snow can be crusty and icey, and perhaps we retroactively write off facts like this to keep the conception of the natural world where seed makes tree makes leaf. You can probably never go too far in saying that humans are biased and/in god fearing. So, this essay is my attempt at correcting that underestimation of bias, and in some sense turning the “close to god” thing on its head. It’s also worth mentioning that I feared for my life at 15 and at 19 was smothered by an empty black miscreant night in a tepid torrent of snow. The world has no shortage of monsters, and I’d like to say that the monsters bland and economic don’t inspire the kind of fear that keeps fake monsters real, and so the whole point is moot. I’d also like the say that anything but the burnt ember stare of a housebroken actor girl would do mathematically boring things to my self-esteem, and for that reason I leapt and now wear a hood in cold, revealing daylight. Any move you can do to break something natural into a mathematical model or conceptual framework is healthy, but forget about getting closer to god.
On the motif motif, I travelled lands strange and terrible to end up a rocket scientist in Valhalla, and part of the concept is consuming meaning, consuming possible meaning, destroying possibilities. The idea is that at the end of time you are a workhorse, mirroring a beginning where you passed judgement on concepts you were made to understand, or vice versa. Of course this brings to mind a gargantuan turning wheels at the end of the rye field in bleary sunlight with the kids absentmindedly scurrying towards it. All human art should be the bad machine that appears on a holy sky now. Nothing else could describe the enormity of a decision made with leverage, the shunning of a country, the web of electrical infrastructure empty in every sense except economic. By that I mean that it’s only the jostle of electrons that separates much of the world, that propelled us into the digital stratosphere, and there is literally nothing in there, defiantly no magic “power” no matter how hard you look. I am me, but the bad guy ate the world and we can never bring it back.