Acknowledge and Proceed

Many Unhappy Returns Kill

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 22:58:43 GMT

Every Day.

Thu, 27 Sep 2007 22:37:05 GMT

Tiamat versus Kali

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 20:37:22 GMT

0:

When you are unprepared, the information is useless.

1:

The froth of public advertising is a surface level shallow interpretation of form and commodity, silly when viewing the beholden archetypal presence, a pure form usually presented as simulacrum, the glossalia of the mimic and mock, the attack ready for anything with a notion of spirituality tagged onto it.

2:

he was suddenly in the void, the unwhen. The gate he had entered was still open, a blinding speck in the ocean of infinity. The Thing, the typewriter hydra, grasped the edges of the frameless door, crackling like old film, cigarette spots at the edges of the scene, a boundless white, an unending black, a snake circling the Axis Mundi, the ouroboros on which Vishnu dreams the universe. He hadn't lost form in this formlessness, so a context still existed. The tangled beast of burden snagged him as he coasted along the edges of no/everywhere, click click clack clack, dragging him towards the doorway even as he began to dissolve. Braced against the doorway, what remained of his frame crackled formless for a moment. He ceased the struggle. Motion and stillness. Matter and energy. Redundancies realigned. He was gone, unwhere.

3:

she stood, ignoring the glass crunching underfoot. The troll scuttled ahead, stomping spiders as he went. The Thing was shredding her bed, blade and tooth oozing acidic digestive juices on old scrapbooks and other identifications.
"Excuse me."
All the eyes, the weighted terrible eyes, tearing up and winking and blinking and glaring and scrunching and widening, were upon her.
"I'd like you out of my house. You are uninvited."
The temperature in the room plummeted. Frost bit at her bleeding toes. The Thing, crouched on her bed in the midst of the enterprise of undoing all things within the room, seemed to shrink a bit.
"Go out the way you came in, please. I don't want my neighbors seeing you."
The Thing hissed as it slinked out, through the living room, up the wall, and out the window.
The Troll scratched his beard and turned to her. He said something in the affirmative feminine, but she wasn't certain what.
She reached for a broom and he went to get a dustpan from his place under the kitchen sink.

"Thoth-Hermes in Hellenistic Egypt"

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 20:11:40 GMT

0:

The Corpus, dignified, trundles packages through cold winter winding sailboat intensities.

1:

Of course the burden of beauty is the observation by countless unseen arbiters, judgment calls at the halls. Two false cards seem to be Justice and what, Strength? Useless fictions carried out by pointless people.

2:

He floated, caressing the wallet, the keys, the many cigarette butts and articles of clothing. Dream-logic suddenly held sway in the realm of the Real. Four great doors opened in the four walls, and the typewriter, silently orbiting the desk until then, was suddenly a beast, a fantastic machinery Thing, all curbs and joints and tentacle-tresses, its keys and gears and ribbons unfolding towards him. Green France, the beaches of Normandy to be exact, were beyond the doorway before him. To his left, an Arizona mesa propped against epic clouds and endless blue. To his right, an angry crowded village in Tibet, protesters being stomped by militants. Behind him, the posters parted to reveal a doorway with no door, no frame, no hinges. At his feet, the typewriter whirred and clicked and buzzed like a flyoctopusmanticorehydra, tendrils flailing and grasping. He propelled himself backward, and

3:

She felt the window shatter, and there was no pain when it cur into her. The Thing was inside her apartment, past her, slimy trail like a slug as it rounded the corner of her open bedroom door, it was suddenly massive, suddenly enormous. She sat down, dazed. In shock. The troll padded out of the kitchen and along the hardwood floors towards her. Bits of glass in her hair, her clothes, her face. Wiping a clot of expired milk from his beard, her troll, her sweet loyal diminutive troll, tugged at her dress and said something in his own language. She didn't understand a word, but looked where he was pointing. In her bedroom, the Thing was wreaking havoc. Precious pictures and old family heirlooms clattered and crashed. The Thing's torso was like a massive silkworm filled with a thousand eyes. The eyes burst like pimples and thousands of baby spiders skittered along the walls and ceilings. She closed her eyes and then

M = 1,000, D = 500, C = 100

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 19:51:19 GMT

0:

The horizontal line stretched along the axis forever.

1:

Grundle grope snack shop owner sinks fingers into hearty soup stock sipping sudsy souls of sorrowful sops.

2:

He stood suddenly, kicking the chair across the room. He started slamming himself against the walls of the room. Gravity eventually reversed and then nullified itself. Floating particles filled the room, all the emptied suitcases full of dirty clothes rearranged themselves in a stream of wrinkles around him. At the center he hovered, eyes rolled up, the whites and bursting veins the only thing evident.

3:

She looked out the window and touched it. Cold. Frosted. The Thing pressed against the windowpane lurched and curled, myriad eyes blinking and compounding, mixing and reproducing. She looked through the doorway and into the kitchen. The troll picked something out of the crack of his pock-marked buttocks, sniffed it pensively, then ate it. The Thing made the window-frame shake, and she placed her hand the glass again.

"Madimi"

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 19:42:13 GMT

0:

Necromancy failed the pope once before, but he found few flaws in giving it another go.

1:

Yesterday beat up Tomorrow for his lunch money. There were bats circling overhead in the last light before sunset, catching bugs and swooping and click chattering outside audible ranges.

2:

He stared at the typewriter for hours with absolutely nothing special coming to mind. The muse he had amused for so long had abandoned him. Now he was stuck in the same scene over and over: phantoms wandered in and out, flipping through his dictionaries and talking amongst themselves. Self conscious, he kept looking over, and they kept conferring, occasionally glancing over their shoulders at him.

3:

In her apartment, the plants bloomed new flowers, and everything she had to tell them about her day was fresh air to them. The troll living under her kitchen sink pushed his way out and greeted her with a lewd hip thrust. He opened the refrigerator and scratched himself, looking for some milk to drink out of the carton. Ignoring him, she started to text message her boyfriend, then stopped. There was something at the window.

"Everything has its place, and its place numbered."

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 19:33:41 GMT

0:

Turbulent psychology, the inference of spirit and spite. Unaware, the lone interested observer.

1:

Positive observations: a death cot/ humans gyrating under the moon and stars/ a fly on a carcass.

2:

He walked across the room, stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray, and sat at the typewriter. After touring France for four summers, he was finally washed up on the shores of America once more. He had nothing to say anymore.

3:

She walked up the steps of her building and unlocked the door. Stuck at first, she gave it a sharp kick. The hallway smelled faintly of patchouli incense.

Aum.

Wed, 19 Sep 2007 20:58:13 GMT

Offer Hectate
the
more
public realizations of the the liber XV,
to shape Sunday gnostics,
past each one monthly.

This serious lance spectacles the graal
grow will
big probability,

it observes the Thelemic
of first hand it is rituals
an order of Other,
in order to form as it satisfies,
these interests channel
new forms that are found every hour,

this it can djajrescej'.

First medium then Monday

ezhemesyachnosti

we propose afete'roy

our meeting mirrors the Rosicrucian's,

open as an officieux
being more inferior forum,
in celui-ly'!

more with regard to our oasis,

east is the essential aim

as it satisfies our goals to learn

it also notes medeoccultists.

In in the middle

and the second month
the sacrifice of
roof ridges every Monday

or our meeting of the Javacrucians,

that gives the forum an open distant clash,

officieux as that
the tone signature
has had more adversely

functioned in our metre

the one
her that is struck custard synthetique

( us )

I have punctured the flowers

and

the Worker of occultism's tone.

Crazed Nonsense.

Tue, 28 Aug 2007 13:17:35 GMT

Enlisting invokers for the scrumptious bash.
A gunshot of a thunderclap, roaring rumble throughout the western area.

Watch us do this.

Heart heart hurt.

Cure all.

Kio.

Ju rthit ohm.

Lover. Love. Beloved.

Spiderweb, etcetera.

Beginning. Glossalia as path

Recorded dao redundancies. The Way, Lane.

Unity,

Jumpstart underwear…

Gripless strawberries. Stupid madness is crazy people that can’t articulate themselves,

Conduits for certain powers.

Gritty ugly unfun? What is that mess.

Cigarette un-need scrimp.

Guesswork grip
The seventy two twenty sevens.

Strange Candies.

Proliferation of mutations.

Nonformal center, something to fall back on. How to Stop Smoking. Russian. Twenty pages of brick chewing, facts that effect, sumptuous brilliance, then who even knows if it’s Black Sea, swam for five minutes, ran out of breath, reactor heavy shit dome.

Amalgam American Questionable as ever:

TOOTHPICK.

Pickaxes. Everybody THAT was sent there marriage reunites kids.

Ra.

Fragments.

METEORS! AND SPLOSIONS, AND EVERYBODY!

Orgasms around that spot, that miniscule fury that is the calm eye of the raging storm.

Interspecies coalition. Politicians ruin it, they don't even exist. It's the street pavers, the architects, the bustling forces of the brick-layers. Put the kids through college. Form a caul around the head of the matter.

Half life. Decomposition, a matter of Half-Life. Killed effect,

Proliferation, some people never think of the future, they only think of the past, an ignoble flight irradiated run fallout jungle, limitless power.

Who’s even capable of arguing about the tidal catastrophe, the imbalance of the particulars set throughout. Ugly lifetimes played out for the unfitting power struggle and

Colonies of United States,
Butterflies effective

Function, flatulated.

limited bullshit thing to say.

What agonies of a peach might be had, the eternal symphony of the world crack my brain is fine.

An inkling of the truth reveals little but says much.

We never know the complexities of simplicity, due to the nature of the beast.

Masters of the House, corridors of words, the cascading ripple effect that comes with the act of reading, creation, most urges bases primal sentries set up to patrol the depths, the heights,

Unrevelled. Unrevealed.

Constructs of realm, creator fluke, fuck function.

Most things can be evolved, whether they like it or not.

To tell a successful story it must be visualized first and completely. Moving in/out and accumulating distinctions. I conceptually understand all corners of this book. Most is just the edge, playing, but stops after a while.

Justified fortified. And thus it goes.

The sirens are pointless.

The flashbulbs of underreality snapping and flashing.

Around the edges, a curling cascade of energies
All lovely aspects of rest. Accept in terms of the body. Acceptable outsourcing for waste mental physical lovely unlovely

Concepts burn at the matchstick.

Irrelevancies become myriad. Doors are found in locks, which begs a million questions.

I understand, how it must feel to be so piffling mundane and not matter, sure, fine but once you understand, everything else becomes irrelevant, once you know that it’s not a matter of knowing, it’s not just a matter of finding the right context of interaction, the right turn of the screw, the whole system written as a sort of constant flux, angry raw creation spark being harnessed fine, but even the tiniest glimmer, the slightest notion towards a particular pathway is most magnanimously annexed by the clusterbomb such thoughts tend to set off, a thoughtform a chimera formed from the coaxial flutterspeak of the flowers, being circles intersecting and nothing more.

Waves of deja vu, the life already lived.

We fall at an impasse, the abyss being the lime-light tinged absurdity that this flawed history has thrust upon us. What did this one do, moved away from the warm center, the calm cover, the safety of notion, of space?

Robot Souls

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 00:03:22 GMT

Yesterday:
I did a few things that reminded me how far behind I am. I failed myself once more, lowered my standards yet again, and found myself in questionable situations I've been in before but finally, yes, finally refuse to ever be in again.

Today, before work, I was sitting in a bookstore, upstairs. I exploded.

Cleaning myself up was an issue. My friends, I woke them from some nude slumber so I could borrow a trashbag to dispose of my remnants. Soon I'll have my clutter out of their lives entirely. They are and always have been a soothing balm.

Soon my clutter will find its rightful place in a tiny room adjacent to the wrong side of the tracks.

Finished a book about the history of wizards. It was succinct but extensive, sparse but informative. May start incorporating it into my systemics, maybe get a better grip on the fictions and facts of my ardent query before plunging headlong into the final messy mystery.

It's arcane in the sense that certain aspects of the process are a secret, and I have a Magical intent involved.

Here, with all these vibrant tos and fros, where I frolick with language as if it was a sylph summoned for such things, I commit to the first stage of a three stage process, an evocation of sorts. It's going to be fun.

You get to watch.

Fake Ferret.

Sat, 25 Aug 2007 22:56:00 GMT

Warming up Pasta Sauce.

Thu, 23 Aug 2007 17:20:42 GMT

"I'm too lazy to figure out a way to do it the lazy way, so I'm gonna do it the hard way."

Ferdinand

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 21:01:11 GMT

To be there is some sport
within тягостен and my work
Yet the joy in them departs:

Some kinds of lowliness
Are underpulled and fed
while the poorest questions survive.

Quite finely, richly they dine.
This my middle-point task
to take under consideration

However, it would in some cases
be for me a form of meanness,
as well as hard-won ends reserved

The Gatgeberin which I serve
accelerates what has died
makes gentle the passage

Just as it delivers
my working pleasure:
Rutting faun in most aspects

It is is more than pleasant
on the tenfold file
rather than the Father Grincheux,

Such is the way he formed
from the cruelty
within the loss.

I should carry this
A little bit tausen
When we accumulate some

Thousands of
spirits in
these trunks and bags,

Outside painful June or otherwise:
my agreeable wetnurse
shouts aloud when I am at work,

Such an avarice never had this one
as the executor of his desire.
Though this I seem to forget.

As such, these agreeable thoughts cool
even in my own works,
Busier than not, when this I do.

Another twenty minutes. Rain.

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 01:46:49 GMT

Points of Light

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 22:30:41 GMT

Given a touch of your flame.

Contemplate the Nobel Prize Winner's mentally handicapped son, immediately institutionalized upon birth, as was the fashion at the time.

When they met at a rally years later, both sponsoring in their own ways an unfairly accused man with similar braintroubles, the playwright's son embraced him in that awkward way that only sons can. The Nobel Prize Winner was taken aback, but before suspicions could even be aroused, a picture was taken. Some people in the crowd were confused... had this poor retarded boy seen the playwright's work and been moved?

The flashbulbs went off and hands shaken were then seperated. I know the look on the boy's face. My own face will echo it when I see my father again. A pat on the back came later with the manchild's inclusion into an equal share of the playwright's inheritence a few weeks before his death. Doubtless it's a touchy subject, but as with all dramatists the Nobel Prize Winner was seeking emotional stability in every situation, and in failing to do that, merely stirred up more mud. In any event, there's little doubt the whole thing rotted like a nasty wound under a tainted band-aid.

They say his work never hit greatness after the birth of this son, popular moralists such as he was, perhaps he was skinning his teeth in shame, and as a result standing up for those he could have sold out, but even in that kindness, perhaps fitting in with the Fallen after all.

Everybody wants to sustain all those dinner parties and lies.

Einstein was quoted as saying. "No more bees, no more pollination ... no more men!"

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 01:26:21 GMT

Stories

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 00:52:15 GMT

If there's something outside that you want to see, just take a step outside and you'll see it.

All my dreams are chases now, a group of erstwhile well-wishers accompanying me as nodes of sorts, bandying about clever quips and phrases for the general bemusement of the masses, the masses being that clever machine following me meanwhile, ugly clank click machine like a steam press, travelling streams and eddies along the ideascape, sharpening razors and grimacing in metal fang fashion, twisted black magik beard creeping rapid slow, curling and blinking.

Life

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 19:24:35 GMT

Rearranged XXIX

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 07:16:29 GMT

When in contrapasto
with the chance
to inspect Mainline,
all single and
entire in the state
while hearing
impaired with
my call out
the kept eyes
in fruitless bowls
in the wounds that
are person but
that which
is sought equal
richer this is with the hope,
offered some similar this,
me and places equal aces
depths of friends that
wish the art of this
individual and
prositotita of the individual,
with which
the benediction
of majority
that satisfies minus plus
Error breeds

In these thoughts
the same thing
perifronei until
almost still,
perhaps kathos
fundraisers--for esena
it then in entirity
of the state,
I like in the
interruption of day,
where appears
last vestige of
the territory,

Community anthems
of song in the door
For the lead
the afternoon asks
why you are so sweet
yours similar to that
of the abundance for the love,
this it comes with
this perifronei
then so appears that
it changes beyond
merely being
impressive
amongst the kings

Finding flight
in the way.

Alphabetical.

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 05:06:06 GMT

adult swim, air, alan ginsberg, alan moore, alchemy, aldous huxley, aleister crowley, amon tobin, anticon, anton chekov, aphex twin, arcade fire, bach, beatles, beck, bill willingham, bjork, black sabbath, bob marley, brian michael bendis, broken social scene, cake, cardigans, carl gustav jung, cat stevens, charles williams, chris ware, christopher pike, chuck palahniuk, cigarettes (quitting), clive barker, clouddead, coco rosie, coffee, coitus, cometbus, comic books, conspiracy theories, cycles, daemons, dan clowes, dave eggers, dave sim, david lapham, david sedaris, death from above 1979, deities, domakesaythink, donald barthleme, douglas adams, drawing, dungen, edgar allan poe, edward gorey, eels, ella fitzgerald, elliot smith, evan dorkin, fionna apple, flannery o' conner, frank zappa, franz kafka, george orwell, gnosis, gnostic philosophy, godspeed you black emperor, grant morrison, graphic novels, handsome boy modeling school, henry darger, herbie hancock, hp lovecraft, hunter s thompson, irvine welsh, italo calvino, jack kerouac, james kolchaka, jd salinger, jeffrey brown, jimi hendrix, john coltrane, joseph campbell, joyce carol oates, julie doucet, kabbalah, kronos quartet, kurt busiek, kurt vonnegut, larry niven, led zepplin, lewis carrol, lightning bolt, lovage, lucid dreams, marc bell, marina warner, mark millar, mark twain, mark waid, mark z danielewski, mc paul barman, medeski martin and wood, mf doom, miles davis, mogwai, moldy peaches, morphine, neil gaiman, nervous cop, neutral milk hotel, nick hornby, nin, nirvana, old time relijun, pablo picasso, pantera, paulo coelho, pavement, peter david, philip glass, phillip k dick, pink floyd, portishead, primus, radiohead, ravi shankar, ray bradbury, raymond carver, robert anton wilson, rumah sakit, sam keith, scott mccloud, seragraphs, sigur ros, six degrees of seperation, solex, sonic youth, soul coughing, spirals (golden, archimedian, and otherwise), stereolab, stravinsky, subtle, telephone jim jesus, tom robbins, tom waits, tony millionaire, tortoise, vast, vincent van gogh, warren ellis, ween, white stripes, william carlos williams, william s burroughs

December 21st, 2012

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 22:29:24 GMT

vas ist das?

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 16:23:04 GMT

Altered Creased

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 17:08:23 GMT

Short term and Long term

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 17:02:34 GMT

Recently reformed the rotation of the Great Work. Adopting handwritten pages over the troublesome digital input.

Product recalls on magnets and lead-paint factories in China. Suicides and secular groups protest.

Interconnective

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 17:27:15 GMT