| wrangle bangle |
[Jul. 11th, 2007|02:29 am] |
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ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha ha ah ha ha ah ha. Warm, silly blankets keep you comfort you in the the infinite regresion of metaphors. Put it inside put it inside put it inside. lick lick iclk ilck lick iclki k lcik. A little bit raunchy and unkempt. A premature daemon thrusting along the rough edges of the ground. Here we are again. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA i have access to all mediums of emulation through the advancement of white coats and furled eyebrows. I win the poop contest! |
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| Oh no, i've done it again! |
[Jan. 9th, 2007|05:47 am] |
Oh what time could possibly find at this place? I reside inside of a cube. It's a rather quaint cube, and I like it. Some people find their way like routine wheels in a half pipe and sometimes they stay for a time. Other times they lie right outside with a centipede as their chosen grip and a denial of the rightious love of a pair of holy dice. But like i said, what could old man place possibly want with time, or rather i've just noticed the prone apple for mapped flowering. The table is set, and the gremlins move closely, nicely, mostly grotesquely. But have we not divinated the moment of clear intake and subtle clattering? All these and more will be shouted in a parabolic slide in the pendulum horror show. They stay for a time. But perhaps better to stay for a time then be banned for a time, banned from our humble, ham-filled phantasmegoria. Something wicked this way comes- at least I hope so for the sake of carnies and small hands, derivatives of some plastic foreign lands. The sun also rises, no shit. I'll eat GOOD food, and drink GOOD wine, and deify a matador for my machismo in Spain. To bad your genitals were shot, or not, and if not, stop equivicating fabrications with reality, hemingway.
I BECOME THE HAPPY GENIUS AT THIS HOUR, MOSTLY NAKED AND DANCING GROTESQUELY IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR. IF YOU DON"T LIKE IT I REFER YOU TO THE HOLE IN THE WALL KNOWN AS THE "GATE THAT OPENS TO THE MAIN CORRIDOR". I THINK IT GOES BY A SIMPLER NAME BUT I"M NOT TOO SURE> OKOKOKOKOKOKOK
hey now hey now hey now hey now, think you can decrypt an irrational splatter? There is no substance only the form which lacks coherence and perhaps naively conveys the deranged internal logic of a manchild full tilt into the rotating apparatus.
WOW TONIGHT IS TONIGHT AND WOW HERE WE ARE SURROUNDED BY SO MANY GRAND EXPRESSIONS OF HUMAN ENGINEERING CASTING BRIGHT FILES ONTO AND OVER AND AROUND AND I"M GODDAMN LATE FOR THE MEETING. |
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| A casual knife fight |
[Dec. 24th, 2006|02:00 am] |
(talking a good friend casually on aim while also casually jerking off is fascinating. I wholeheatedly endorse the action.)
IamTonybalogna: i'm gonna have to commune with jesus tomorrow morning
IamTonyBalogna: good thing i brought drugs
IamTonyBalogna: and good thing your whacking
CaptainSimonious: ahh yes, the holy trinity |
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| wieieieieird |
[Dec. 1st, 2006|03:55 am] |
the goodnatured bum sat beside us on six street. He made a defening sound by clapping his hands next to his mouth. HE stared with intensity into my eyes while he did this.
The architectural manifestation of authority yielded stone childs and a hilly frollic.
Slinking along the hallways of the Mariot hotel evoked fanciful dreamscapes and surreal associations to labyrinths.
the next part is stranger. You see, whenever I dream of being in a hotel (and it happens pretty often) and riding the elevator to the eleventh floor, the elevator falls. I was reminded of this dream as we went towards the elevator in the mariot hotel. We walk inside the box and i begin to say "whatever we do, lets not go to floor 11", when i turn to see the button showing that floor eleven had already been pushed by a good friend beside me. This was exciting in a mysterious and terrifying sort of way. Someone pushed three to correct the situation. |
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| a nub and a grey |
[Oct. 31st, 2006|02:06 am] |
tannnnnnnnnnnnntamount to the aquisition of real ultimate power was the ancient artifact of the nub. So it sat still and quiet, biding a rhyme for a man with a mullet. Chizzle god's monad, i'm from the gonad, windowless orbs from the mind of leibniz. That beastial machine slides well in the night following its determined line til the its due time. I can hear it.
Let's temporarily interrupt for the digression caused by a creeping machine. I heard the shuffling and tapping of two footS moving towards my apartment. The entity walked past my window and stopped at my door prompting me to pause my music player and listen. I then heard the footsteps returning and watched the sillouhette of a figure bend down to stare into my room through my curtains. Was it a grey? Was it a little man? |
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| melee weaponry |
[Sep. 26th, 2006|05:42 am] |
Bill Hicks said the following about life:
“The world is like a ride in an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time and they begin to question: "Is this real, or is this just a ride?" And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, "Hey, don't worry, don't be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride." And we kill those people.”
The amusement park ride is an apt analogy for life, death, and rebirth. However, sometimes fecies hits the fan, and sometimes the pit in the stomach activates. In the heirarchy of emotion, anger is easier than shame, sadness, and regret to process. In fact, anger is rather close to a feeling of motiviation, or power. As a feeling of anger moves through me i focus and thereby apreciat its positive qualities as its layed against the contrast of the other negative emotions. However, as it begins to fade, the sickness in the stomach returns. I quell this by artificially bringing the mood back to anger via audio sense-data (music, violence, etc). This is a good example of how one can move up the heirarchy of emotion, with the end-goal being to return to normative status.
This is also a good example of how one turns the foul into the constructive: posting concering bill hicks and the psychology of emotions so as to outlet.
In an hour or two the sun will rise, the weather will warm to a comfortable level, and old man time will proceed. "Nothing can stop the time", said a thoughtful man. |
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| understanding the open system may require pornography as balance |
[Aug. 10th, 2006|05:51 am] |
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The idea that nothing is static, when understood with all of its implications, is both profound and wonderful. It implies an open system where everything imaginable is possible, and what is not imaginable is certain to manifest. However, when one's perception is wholly novel and dynamic, wavering widly like a flag elevated on a windy day, the implications of an open system may yield violent accelerations in perception and perturbations in the mind. Some continuity and solidarity to the perception of reality over time and the their emotional conclusions are relatively necessary for psychological well-being. For the ungrounded feather on the beach, novelty implies becoming fransfixed in a single focal point for eternity. This represents a sort of mystical experience, but does not acclimate to human functionality in respect to the biological animals we are. A balance between the novel and the mundane may produce the optimal state of mind. Although i do not think it quantifyable, this balance could probably be reached by each individual relative to his or her unique experience. FOr me personally, I use pornography, food, and screaming to set things in a concrete continuity. To remind myself of the illusion of time, space, and necessity. I have to go out of my way to counter the constant bombardment of visual distortion, word-salad- abstraction that seduces me into a never-ending fractal of psychic fury. If not, i may as well run into the woods never to return! |
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| direct experience and the faulty perception now weighed in a balance |
[Jul. 14th, 2006|02:38 am] |
There is static filtering the incoming image. Small amorphic blotches and lines drip right into the mind, but then like a prism, the known visual domain brightens, coloring the outlines of recognizable objects with a shimmering glow. My hands begin to tingle as a rush of energy moves through my entire body. Abstraction occurs, and i ride it. This happens at random times in random places. I think i'm quitting metafilters for a very long time.
What i've gained from my shamanic journeys has been the ability to directly experience reality. By directly experiencing reality, i am refering to experiencing reality with the least amount of associative concepts, connotations, and subconscious judgments. THis gives me a more objective view of my experience, even though it particularly relies on emotion and intuition. A strange contradiction of sorts.
I am particularly concerned here with the direct experience of art. Experiencing art is not running it through your intellectual database of the "quantified good", its not your subconscious cultural associations with that art piece . The direct experience of art is the most objective foundation one can adopt while engaging in a subjective interplay. What i've found is that I now desire the art that moves me towards the positive. In other words, the art i experience must fill me with the energy of apreciation, compassion, and movement. It must compell me to act in rythmm. Not some ADHD spazm, but a true channel of the life force analogous to the group experiences of the archaic tribe. It must compell me to yell from a base of pure joy, not nostalgia. The direct experience of art does not refer you to the past, or appeal to the future. The direct experience of art is a form of meditation in which you are in the moment, decoding the experience as it moves through you, catching you in a state of blissful ego dissolution.
When done with a certain level of intensity, art certainly provides a mystical experience, or a medium for experiencing the supernatural. And so maybe the original function of music was for this purpose. Certainly William James seems to elude to the function of art as a direct experience, a direct experience serving a mystical funtion. sleep now, more later. |
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| shells will be shells |
[Jul. 11th, 2006|04:24 am] |
i understand the natural law and the implications therein. The proper context for divulging the inexpressable currently resides in a section barred from access. Here's the deal. Current ratios imply total imbalance. My cock is throbbing hard. But is it a metaphor? A zoo of a compound: snakes, spiders, ferrets, birds. Novel interface for the profane i would assume. Jesus, where is the compensation for the ill and the couragous? An elephent allows access to one part, not all. Each man proclaims to know, but knows only the reductive transmission. We can only construct from the bottom-up but the inherent value exeeds known potential. Where is the deity now? The mission's concrescence seems to be the antithesis of previous conception. I remember the break from the intrepid wonderers of ill and rot. THe preface to the rancuios was a garden. Some say the fruit of the loin was aquired and digested by some asshole. Some say the inquiry of the opressed took action.
the taste for the norm and the the average curve is yearned for like the gold of gold. The sit. |
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| Mannequins, greys, and corral reefs. |
[Jun. 25th, 2006|04:45 am] |
I advise putting a mannequin in each corner of the room. Place them there so that i can always see them. It's very important that I have the option to glance into or at a mannequin while standing or sitting anywhere in my room. Mannequins bring comfort to the psyche by offering a sillouhette of a human to appeal to my universal biology.
I would probably augment them in some way, either by color or by sculpture. This is beside the point though. Most likely I would leave many mannequins in their most powerful state of being: totally white without any display of clothes or accessories. It's not for aesthetic appeal. It's not artistic. There is no hidden meaning, ideology, social satire or commentary behind their presence. They fulfill a utility. They allow the sitsit forever. They would trick the mind, and allow peace-in-cube. This is not to say we can't currently comment on philosophical questions about them.
Are dolls becoming more like humans, or are humans becoming more like dolls? The two seem to be meeting each other halfway. Certainly, dolls are becoming more like humans. One can see this transformation in androids, mannequins, and sex dolls. But humans are also becoming more like dolls. Consider plastic surgery, make-up, certain clothing, and perhaps AR (augmented reality).
The mannequin represents an even stranger environment that transcends even rearranged nature. At first, civilization was similar to the corral reef. Diverse and complex communication, architecture, and relationships coexisted and still do. It seems however, that our corral reef is changing into an even wierder model consisting of something like pvc pipe with the essential spikes, and pits to hide in; A calculated utility with the essential hooks and jingles to make us think we are still in a corral reef, which is there to make us think were still biological- the greys.
We're basically becoming greys
I'm just ahead of the game with my mannequins. Its the bare minimum of human interface. Just enough to tickle the necessary biological machinery. We like to dress up our mannequins- Dress them up real nice. We like to watch them. They watch us, if we let them. Androids.
Androids are just mannequins that watch us. |
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| Oklahomo and les claypool |
[Jun. 22nd, 2006|02:32 am] |
Yes, I'm looking into the recently constructed glowing design made out of wire and yarn. Starting in the corner, behind the five moniters of the room, the pyramid connects the two walls in a zigzag increasing in width as it moves outward and upward. Currently it resembles a triangle pointing downard.
Apparently Oklahoma breeds some unique, cultural eccentricities coupled with illiterate, and therefore unfocused madness. One would probably brush these off as proletariat scum or the mentally ill. I however, cannot so much as endorse the insane or face the inner reprecussions of hypocracy. Yes, this breed is without question not your daughter's prefered date to the clownish cresanthemum. However, i can't help but feel comeradery while talking to these greasy gumo types. One man wore sunglasses (in the dark) and bobbed up and down. The other used some dialect of negro, whitetrash derivation. Out of all the longhairs and interesting personas abound, i chose this cluster to initiate conversation because I sympathized in accordance to their rambling jargon. We both had become wrong in an area of the mind and body. This wrong stayed convictions or judgements about any difference between us. Universal qualities of the foul can achieve great heights of connectedness.
I told them i drank my own urine last week and they said i could hang around and stay for a bit. It seemed as though they were the types to dissolve social boundery through shock, awe, and disgust. What they did not account for was someone who could take their initial banter, and raise the price. Yes, they almost had to leave, but the alpha eccentric held his ground. I at least helped him deliver a picture of a transvestite body builder to les claypool.
The 40 ouncer mixed well with a dos equix, my intoxicant for the evening. I was the designated driver for the rest of my crew who were on DSL.
Les Claypool managed to bridge the great qualities of jam music (improv, trance grooves, psychedelia) with the better parts of primus (deranged funk, personality, clownery). Good Job i say, good job. |
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| party time |
[Jun. 4th, 2006|07:59 am] |
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dsl cable internet test at the outdoor musical hub. Good God's appearance and the performance of improbablity. |
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| Mustaches abound, riddles unsound. |
[Jun. 2nd, 2006|04:07 am] |
The Mustache Ride, as we'll call it, played a show in austin. We hold a small amount of power enabling us to deny certain establishments. This especially comes in handy when we are paid only in 1 beer and half-off overly-priced food.
However, tickling ham, when its a genuine direct experience of audio pleaure, is always gratifyinng. Also, a few...tronheads should we call them? haha... were present. i was not expecting this because i didn't spread the word because our plan was to test the restaurant-bar's average thursday turn-out.
Furthermore, I apreciate a few good words from a mid- Speciically, when a mid has seen Parliment (George Clinton), Particle, and funk bands from new orleans, and says he's in your top echelon of audio pleasure. We seem to attract people of all ages, which i think allows us to rule out one of the dirtiest facet of music today. Mids are more likely to have seen manfuactured pop/antipop change over the years which enables a 'wiser', more refined appreciation for the direct experience of music. This rests on the assumption that manufactured pop or counter culture pop targets a specifically young demographic which is never static. A continiouslly changing demographic cannot appeal to people with more than a few decades of experience under their belt because they stroke their mustaches knowing what is a fallacy of cultural assocation and what is the innate, inner mounting flame. The fallacy i'm talking about was used in the previous sentence.
Anyway, not much can shave the ?ferret on the stick" other than a gander through a crusty bar in austin. Amiable wrinkles in my demeanor resulted from observing Leslie... also the joy of watching a mentally handicapped person reacting to a drunken motorcycle crash by running while holding an invisible gun with a look of focused terror. The unsound chap peeked around a corner holding his invisible shotgun and talking to himself aboutu the current situation. NEedless to say, I put on my serengetis and let him know was on the case. Also in good luck, an encounter with an insane yet rich biker guy with a fat wallet who spent about a hundred dollars on drinks for us. This may have been due to my slant interface and the fact that i began screaming loudly and incoherently. The screaming apparently impressed the man by way of deranged comradry and drunken madness.
Shortly thereafter i was tackled by a friend and then then hit over the head while laying on the side-walk by a mustache with a newspaper . Some minor injuries, but nothing serious. |
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| Dream from last night |
[May. 25th, 2006|10:55 pm] |
Dreams are extremely maleable systems. With some control, any person can learn to use their dreams as a relavitely "white" drawing board for the expression of one's creative manifestation. I've had dreams that replicate drug experiences, moods, and feelings of the past. Similarly, yet more profound, i've experienced dreams that introduce novel drugs, moods, and feelings i've never experienced before. Last night i had a dream that is worthy of encoding in digital form for future memory recall. There was a slight intuition present that made me think i had felt similar emotions in another dream, but i can't recall anything specifically.
I remember first, creating a snowy hill. The white bulbose hill seemed gnomish, in mottiff. Small stone houses with round wooden doors peeked out of the side of the hill or protruded from the top of the hill. A road spiraled around from the top of the hill to the bottom. THis was the complete known reality at this point in "time".
I then decided to explore the hillside by wandering around and augmenting reality when i found it to be anything less than my relative, definition of perfection. I found what i considered to be the ideal spot, at which point my subconscius or larger field of consious spawned a little house. I walked inside the house and furniture spawned. I then walked back outside and changed the snow into more of a fluffy substance that was something between whip cream and feather pillows. It wasn't too cold; just cold enough.
I then walked in and channeled eros into the feminine human form. I named this woman lola and then proceeded to make love to her for months, only breaking occasionally to view the elvish, psychedelic hillside (I didn't create the need for food, or other necessities). This was awesome.
After a few months of paradise, I woke up, and quickly became ill in the stomach. (It usually takes about one hour after waking for the deranged pressure to form and slowly increase until the beastial yelling and flailing happens at night).
These dreams are chinks in the system of mundane reality. They are so rich in emotion and aesthetic expression that they really throw things off balance. It may be argued, that in some cases, these experiences should not occur. Everyday business just can't compete. |
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| Journey to the deep south. |
[May. 25th, 2006|10:03 pm] |
...right as right, sitting here with a book of psalms, god's personal writing is much like my crumpled fucking al-
i don't know where that was going but it was "autosaved" and then ressurected upon opening the journal update page. Ressurected from where? I'd rather not know.
Tomorrow I rise from the early morning to embark on some sort of mobile action towards the south. The main metaphor for infinity, life, death, time, olds, is still the ocean. The ocean still holds the authority of a fundamental magical element that dwarves many points of conscious awareness, including that of us, humans. I remember at one point, the feeling of relaxation occured. It happened when i was on many drugs. It also happened one time, at the beach. The ego desolution that occurs as an effect of confronting an alien ecosystem and a tremendous space with calm, cyclical ambient noise in the background calms the mind. Although at this point in time, not even this expanse can seduce a calm moment from the theoretical working models of reality that currently occupy cognitive space. |
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| django reignhardt is good (filters abound) |
[May. 16th, 2006|04:51 am] |
the song resembles iight, flightful banter in the natural respect of the objective good and the natural tendencies for the genre therein. Physiological response feels like a rapid healing, or rise in mood. Cognitive faculties seem pleased in accomplishing their active duty of decoding, then tranlating. And although the green metafilter dances on the pleasurable tip of the parabola, I may predict a universiality of this objective good- A universality being necessary for qualifying and quantifying the objective good. This is good.
good god. The palace of apes and the decor of halls is the habit of flinging shit. Fecies-on-the-wall markes the strange extreme deviation from tv and the workforce. But it doesn't have to be fecies-on-the-wall that brings the joy of the "intrepid wonderers". Gatekeepers of the unsound, we are forced to reconcile certain paradoxes of language and reason which lend humility to our models of understanding. At the same time, the exploitation of the the aforementioned concepts may create a feeling of "dirty hands in your bowels", a metaphor that should not be mistaken for "flinging shit on the walls" which is an action performed literally. I think
I feel like it would be fun to start a band that resembles the positive/psychedelic side of the smashing pumpkins, and the rock/psychedelic aspects of Soundgarden. This of course, is mostly due to the fact that i'm incredibly metafiltered (who watches the watchmen).
Drove past some college downtown in san antonio and noticed the triangle with the eye that has rays coming out of it over the door of one of the major, older structures of the campus. I think we saw two total. triangle eye versus cross, is just another Wizards versus Priests battle. Go Shaman, oh wait, your too busy directly connecting to become belligerent and caught up in this war. |
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| crust of the burrowing owl? No. |
[May. 12th, 2006|06:03 am] |
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where does it go from here? Are we destined to roll sideways along the crust of the burrowing owl? I don't think so. I feel an open system resolving consciousness and unpredictability, non-deterministic in nature. I feel, becasue an appeal of any other sense eventually collapses in contradiction and fallacy; yes post-structural. I feel that testable reality is interesting and useful, but not the complete picture. A map is not the territory itself. An objective static realm is not necessarily implicite, only that we will never know what is. "Is", belongs to the set of spells used by wizards to alter reality of their intended subject. If so were so, it would be so far from not so that it would that there would be no room to question. A relative spectrum representing a willed reprsentative of a fraction whose base is the premise of unpredictability, and whose characteristic is novelty. |
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| make the music, make the penis |
[May. 7th, 2006|04:31 am] |
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it would be an ill-considered, copricious endeaver to sway from laying it all on digital form. The music fairs well. Cast into the complex and riddled with foul rompous modality the outcomje of a magician makes well for the night. Mitigating the attuned crinklers, the end wears nicely. That isall inthe protocal of interface andf randubus. i think thawt the tired overcomes will to articulate the experienced unexpressed. i foudn my attorney whcih comes in time for the warrants to actualize. I'll see you in court and my phallus will be erect. god bless. gah-bless, gah=blass, gables, gabless, gabless |
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| bald head |
[May. 3rd, 2006|09:43 pm] |
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more than 6 billion people live on this planet. The cube i occupy presents right angles and barely audible clicks alongside habitually filtered hums like a number box. The THX 1138 fetish may be able to reconcile the tension between population and the state of affairs; The "bald head (of a female) from the future" resolving the lights and cubes with the sheer proliferation of homosapien. The hyperreality of emulation, pheremone, and parallel lines. |
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deoxymantislove's journal