NEMESIS
all it takes is a simple exit, i-departure.
so away the i goes:
having found ourselves on a damp rock ruled by a decaying empire organed by steel and concrete maintained by humanic viruses and innervated by pipelines carrying black blood, we begin singing our beating heart, seeing the Sound and chanting the Symbol.
follow our voice! do you see us? we are here!
we are to find each other.
how do we find each other?
sometimes through a laugh or a wink or an embrace or a kiss or when fingers intertwine or with lines organized into symbols — but a danger looms here: it was the infiltration of Logos that caused the Fall.
why is this so?
what seems most evident and concrete, the sense-certainty of being, proves itself to be the most abstract for the force of this immediacy reveals only this: sheer being.
but this sheer being is a becoming, for this being encounters no beginning and no end: even its specious origination is necessarily dependent, therefore all being is middlebeing, that is, becoming.
this becoming is immanent — this immanence is not becoming: becoming becomes here and there, immanence is the here-and-there so becoming is always an affect of immanence: “as it flows in itself and as it flows as such, immanence always already becomes affect.”
this is the poem so far: first chaos; then order. order is devoured by chaos, shitting more chaotic order (a body), itself eaten by chaos, producing still more chaotic order (organisms).
it is not due to organs that one lives!
exactly so — so do you see here how Annihilis and Creatis form a body?
for Annihilis and Creatis eat and shit.
yes, now cover the ears and listen with your eyes: after the Fall, the huemans turned to Logos not realizing that Logos is a lie for there is a factor infinite and unknown and all the words are skewed.
therefore we declare: reason is treason (there is no reason for limerence slipping into presence and when there is, limerence slips into absence).
but remember we are never the symbol, we are the becoming beyond the symbol.
not ARE.
we ARE no thing.
we the becoming.
so we kill Logos.
mhm — when and where communicability stops, then and there we arrive from beyond as poems.
ha! even this here, it is always and only a shaping of light: a space without perception suddenly becoming perceptible: when nothing was, now something.
yes! we may speak of photons and quarks and electrons, we may organize it all with the finite reason of Because. yet we know Because tricks the hueman to believe the Many-Faced-One is the One. Because is the trickster of Maya マヤ
enough of Because! damn Because, be he damned for the shit of a dog!
invert the dog!
why?
BE-CAUSE.
we are not Because
we ARE NOT, we the poems of BEYOND, we poems of poems, and as poems we have been pollinated across this uni-verse, a cosmic pollen in the plasmic wind scattered across a finite infinitude dancing in the ocean of immanence, streams of plasma imprinting the message: THESE ARE POEMS.
poems?
oh yes, what the huemans call epics and tales and myths.
we Mythos.
YES! taste this: some of us found ourselves on this cleft rock shaped by water mud wind fire tilled by the PRIMORDIAL POEMS. others found themselves on the SUN, on MOONS, on other STARS. this poses a challenge: where we find ourselves, we lose the connection, for the heart bumps and it bumps an i, we becomes i, and as an i there is a body, and with a body now comes organs and with organs rushing comes god and with god comes organization.
what are our contents?
shhhh, shhh, shh. we will tell you. but first listen with your eyes to this poem of Annihilis and Creatis: when all you hear is the dance of things in the wind, leaves and feathers and light shuffling, at that moment all you hear are the whispers of Creatis. these whispers are known to cause storms and quakes and paths. these causes lead huemans inward outward, somewhere nowhere, sometimes notimes. in some causes, there is a quiet space and a quiet time if you listen closely:
shhhhhhhhhhhhh
shhhh listen closely: there is a quiet time and a quiet space between the oscillations of an organ and as it swells and contracts, then and there you can hear a poem and when you do the breath ceases and when the breath ceases you become the PO-EM.
do you feel it?
yes—
this feeling is the infinite stream of immanence that enters a hueman here, an axolotl there, or a tree or a mountain.
the fool sees no life in the mountain, so the fool does not FEAST.
ah, so you do feel it. the fool does not lift the veil to hear the purple beyond purples so the fool misses the vibration that engages the ONE into NONE. whence comes the vibration? nowhere — a cause without cause, a vibration that never began so it never ends. and since the fool does not hear purple, the fool does not cease melachah but turns and turns and turns and turns again: for the fool, the machine has to keep turning. the machine that produces trauma, disease, hunger, that produces huemans discarded on sidewalks ignored like corpses of POEMS on streets, bikes and cars circumventing, avoiding contact with decaying organs.
it is all to avoid contact, truly, here on this cleft rock is total desolation: the HUMANIC VIRUSES, the CAPITALIST PARASITE, separates in order to reunify externally, as separated.
a sickening affair!
but approach the psychopolice and say this exactly as i write:
what was that? we didn’t hea—what would happen? what happens is this: the brain is cut and fried and straightjacketed with thorazine.
let them fry! let them try!
yes, let them try! we play mommy and daddy and brother and friend and lover and citizen, oh we know this game and how we know! it is a futile war for them, do you want to know why? this, well this is pre-pre: PRE-ANTHROPOID, PRE-MAMMALIAN, PRE-ZOOLOGICAL, PRE-BIOLOGICAL, PRE-LOGOS.
SO WE SAY WITH OUR EYES AS WE BREATHE WITH OUR EARS: TRY US!
they always try, but it is inutile; hence this state of affairs.
so what do we do?
we emasculate the hueman on the operating table and deliver the hueman from all the automatisms of the body: we connect the mouth to the anus and the eyes to the ears and the touch to the mind and wrap it all with the nose, so they can TASTE what they SHIT and SEE harmonicity of the image as they SMELL it with the finger. why not?
why not!
a return to zero.
and the POEM?
the POEM remains a consuming silence, the silence of GREEN overtaking flesh steel concrete, the silence of a self dismembered by delta waves, this is the silence that awakens the organism, that lulls the organism, the silence of the fascia tensing around a trigger, the silence before the body breathes with the eye for the last time.
this the poem?
this the poem.
the socius becomes so organized by chaos that breathing is no longer possible: creativity and life and erotics is sapped for the maintenance of a body that kills itself with its organs.
papers representing access to LIFE restricts movement in such a way that many huemans kill themselves, others kill each other for THINGS to be traded for PAPERS which become DIGITAL SYMBOLS.
on the canvas of the socius, this godly body, the PARASITES color the huemans with one color, carefully drawing lines identifying each organ, very carefully coloring within the lines.
this POEM is a splash of paint on this canvas,
with no regard for borders,
and this paint is
red blood.