Neon-Red Apocalypse

The speed of sound: A memic compression of the velocity of the culture industry leading to implosion (or how i learned to love pretensious titles)

[the first half of this blog was lost to the digital editing abyss while copying it, it comprised of a few words of self-loathing and masochistic rage] which is quite amusing....Nature is static, never moving, property is forever, property is the highest state of humanity. Fuck how it was acquired, fuck the aleatory conditions of the enclosement movements and 'primitive accumulation' (i.e. colonialism, ect...). Those who we shall never speek of, have no say, no historical subjectivity, no right, no place in this world, only those who have acquired, those who participate in what throughout history would be considered usury (charging interest was considered the lowest form of employment and considered epiphenomenal to the work of the farmers and manufacturers until the triple revolutions spanning the 1500s - 1800s expended vast amounts of ideological formulations to try and legitimize this emergent power block). To own property is what we must all aspire, to accumulate capital/land... Workers have the right to sell themselves as wage labors, just as slaves have the right to be under the submission of their masters, and Palestinians have the right to be moved from the west bank or left to starve and fester in their own sewage through embargoes (how dare some of them get infuriated at the lack of empathy from the west, or even other "Arab" states in the region, how dare they try to express their anger at the state machine of Israel, how dare they even consider it, only civilized terrorism using guided bombs to kill men women and children are legitimate. The asymmetry of weapons, the master vs the slave, only the master's punishment is legitimate, right, just). Its the natural course of things, manifest destiny, living space, human nature, how could it be otherwise? it has been as such forever and will last forever, just work, just sit in the center of the empire and feel self righteous when you say that everyone despises you because your soo good and soo enlightened, free, ect...Yes, we all stand in the glass tower of an empire that shows a tendinial movement towards self destruction! Damn you James Madison.... Cows....what? Traces everywhere....

Simulacra, Clones, Commodities, Desire: A note on the poduction and reproduction of social relations

Simulacra, Homonculous, Clones, & Commodities:
I admit that desire and the simulacra go hand in hand for me. I have come to desire nothing more than a phantom, something digital, something postmodern, something of a schema that, as much as it is baited by external stimuli is self constructed. Behold the irony, that which i desire most is nothing more than a self construct that exsists in my semantic memory. It plays with me, allows me to attribute affordances to the world around me, manipulating and observing the world through a chain of causality that will bow before the simulacra, the schema, the effective prototype. A vision a dream speeks to me, the advertisements call me forth and compell me to play to my own whims, my own self affordances, i attribute joy to the clone, to the reproduction of an eternal reoccurence. The recurrence of the simulacra is what desire is based upon. We afford objects values in the chain of causality, such and such an artifact brings me such and such a stated, which I view in any assortment of emotive values. To judge, to precieve, these are the fundimental aspects of cognition, to decipher ones environment through repetition, to build a strong enough schema, to learn, to obay, to submit to them, as much as we can deny them, but is not this denial only playing into our schema of self-autonomy? Low and behold, the paradox sinks in....The simulacra laughs, the digital pixles dance around, the relations of individuals, as simulacra, weather or not the masks we put on have anything other than their realization in a given conjecture and nominal/fleeting place in a multiplicity of structures that would make Dynamic Equations and Chaos theory seem mundane. If only i can tap into this desire, make it real, make it submit, but then what would it be? if not another Simulacra, another clone, another will to consume the death of the alterity, the alterity that is the self.... What is this, how can it be? The self as the other? The image as the object, the copy as the real, the real as the copy, the life of death, the life in death, the recombination and restructuring of all relations, reproducting in order to survive, but what affords survival, some chose not to pursue this path, infinite variation, how can we forget? Those who make survial as the ends of the earth seek their own demise, those who seek their own demise seek the ends of the earth, the ends of the earth lie in infinite reproduction...infinite potentiality, infinite consumption, infinite struggle, infinite survival, infinite death. We need all of these things to help accumulate capital, to help keep the system(s) moving, the bombs kill and feed at the same time, but feed more into those who have allocated the weapons of this Clone Army. Build a missile defense that repeatedly fails, ignore the ten billion dollar 'deterrence' which was supposed to be effective by its absence (now there is something derrida must have loved), continue to ignore the dying mass, the 40,000 each day to starvation, throw away the scrap food, put up the security alarm in your bourgeoisie mansions, drive the cars, complain about social programs, pay more taxes for bombs and low yield Nuclear weapons, Depleated Uranium, White Phospherous, Coca Cola, Nike, McDonalds, Wallmart, Apple, feed the simulacra, as it destroys what it claims to project, as it eats away, undermining its own ediface, yet in doing so sets up a new and more powerful desire, more cynical, more potent.....The dream has not yet ended, nor shall any telelogical movement bring it about, the subject(s) movements are in situ, they see beyond the horizions, but where? Where is this train going? Where is the vision, the desire, the horizion....



Desire, Infinite Horizions:

The rain falls in the void

The rain, the encounters, fall...in a hyperbole. Watching the raindrops bifurcate seems so calming, the drops just fall off. Briefly constructing themselves against the surfaces around them, and then gone... Their departure as brief as their encounter, almost as if each raindrop in sequence only gains its form from the precedents and pathways that preceded, yet are capable of taking independent form and paths. Their constitution is fragmentary, distributed, brief. The rain falls....The rain, ex nhilo, always apparent, yet never manifest, seeks to forge itself in a path of movement, broken, splashing, fragmenting on impact.

Nomadic Parasite: Vol. 2

Nomadic Parasite Vol: 2, has been removed for the following reasons:
explicit content regarding the universal nature of existence and its inevitable outcome.

Nomadic Parasite: Vol. I

Running...moving, acting, living...These are the things that become most salient when one is a nomad. Some romantics suggest that these are the true conditions of what 'life' is composed of.....but to be the essentialist of a particular aspect of the process of overcoming screams out from the idealist nomenclature and smacks the processes that are constantly in becoming without the title nomad...maybe something is wrong with the etymology and semantics of the word nomadic, maybe its too restrictive, maybe life is tantamount to a nomadic state and thus the word looses all meaning except for those who choose to utilize some sort of shock value. Thus the title.

Reflection: Being a nomad puts one in a fragile state, it makes one explicitly aware of the dependancies that surround oneself. Every network, every circumstance, all dependent origination arising at each conjecture in an aleatory fusion of infinite potentiality.....The atoms move, or do they have mass? Maybe the dichotomy is not so clear. Anyways, how would we even know they exists were it not for instruments capable of gaging them, like meters, letters, ect...defining and labeling space, making it explicit that these rulers, these socially constructed standards and references (like all words) skew our perceptions to reflect and reproduce a system that necessitates their gravity. The ideological interpellation of all measures. Whence does this nomadic measure of things arise......By the fragile state of dependence, or consciousness of that dependence, or is it that both of them co-arise with each other. One can see why some Theravada buddhist monks in Sri Lanka abstain from fixing any of their food and only acquire caloric consumption through nomadic begging. They hope to stare their dependencies in the face and call them forth as a seance to show how we are interpolated through constantly shifting conjectures, thus the absence of an essence, of a 'nature', which they beautifully call their 'buddha nature'.....Neither Patrician nor Plebeian, Neither Slave nor master... Rather one plays in a carnival, where identities are always shifting, the performances are always in flux, and one is compelled to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Explosions in the Sky

Departures, conjectural encounters, phantasms....I will leave it at this. Lost in a mental mind-field, over-reacting to every situation, creating a fragile facade....What have i become? These things just make me remind myself how vain i am and my existence is a phantasmal chimera, constantly, i am like an explosion in the sky, spectacular by radiating everywhere, limited by the encounters of all the other particles exploding (i.e. a phantasmal trace with the velocity of a thousand protons floating in a void of encounters, never existing before, and only effective after their encounter, but how does this encounter occur? It is not preset....My own encounter, which i shall only refer to in allegorical metaphor, is something so bizarre, so mundane, that it suits my self-projections and isolations, though as stated before, this is the isolation from the center, the explosion forces out, but the center can not hold, for there is no center, the radiance is complete, total, multiple, singular, bifurcating...Enough, words for now are not enough.... Think...... what to say.... how to bring this conceptual explosion out to the fore from in the sky.

good ideas come and go, good people take drugs.

a book of hope, dispersed throughout a city (when i say of hope, i mean about hope, not hopeful, if anything cynical). possibly at a hopeful event, like a parade, or circus, or festival, or carnival. carnies are strange people mostly, but one time i saw a girl working at a carnival who was really hot. it made me think long and hard about what kind of sexual expeditions she lead while traveling with the carnival, maybe even something with members of the freak show in it.. i'm sure they're really nice people, possibly well hung. the message of this book will be simple and obvious, people live for hope, people hope for different things, often meaningless, and always foolish, finite things. people will read this book and think long and hard about what they hope for and what it means to them. they will wonder what value life has. they will reconcider god. their birth will seem less like an ambiguous beginning and more like an elephant showing up in the front yard of your isolated suburban home with no explanation. then on the back, for emphasis, a razorblade.