20 Apr 2019


Just hide, that's all you gotta do - just let it be - even when nothing's nearby. Just contrive a rhythm if there isn't one - just do it - just like they say, can't beat the real thing. Just bounce it off the wall, have it resonate, reverberate, certain half-life contrivance fade out. Just dream, that's all you gotta do, iterate through the dreaming brain, whatever form of consciousness you wanna call that, no reason whatever to think that...

A special report: Troper, Zoe Troper squirmed out of those clothes you made her - energy, made this life a painting, twists in vector perpendicular to the cube, a hole inhaling time, like that guy says, when words mattered more, a funnel forms [- She was made by a replicator, you could call her a replicent, I reported on this event. The replicents were replacing the mexicans, who replaced the mexicants, but finally even mexicans opted out of manufacturing maxi pads for pennies, the americando spirit assembled them instead for a transition period, like next gen nuclear kept things glowing for a golden age of atomic electricity, but ordinary pieces of toast, another fantasy that coulda been, theoretically, a blueprint for a free energy machine, impossible, things are too tangled up now, calm down, Nuclear People -] when they almost had the power of a replicator, coordinated directed molecular assembly, atomic sub routine - holographic replication to the planck constant - the other side of light maybe. The only things to ever avoid replication, assimilation into the replicent collective, were the guys that were so freaked out about jews replacing them, this master race of idiots, doomed to getting shot to death in pointless Monster Assaults or becoming Henry Hill, severed from his mob franchise, it got real eighties for a while there.

Mash it up properly, don't take anything that seriously, can't, can't be, it mustn't. But the parable of that episode is that it can be, let it be, just do it, it'll happen to you. THE experience simply happens when I let it, have to blood let it, practically make myself dead to make it happen, but when I go through semi-lethal contortions, put myself through anesthetic pull towards flatline abuse, then I can stop doing, it simply happens...

...the legends are true, I can exist here without a body, it's like if I was stuck firmly comfortably in the rut ringed with ripples that spread in expanding circles, perturbing a crystal lake with myself as oasis island, it was always like this, already, I just didn't notice, now I see, a lake, a sea, an ocean, a plane for simple beautiful movements that make a difference, so we can recognize signal, feel, up and down, did I stutter? Did you hear me? I think you did, but how is any hearing or seeing possible when there is no time, or it's more like time is a living thing, it's the erosion of your thing, it shapes you into that squiggle I wouldn't tag it with a name, like the lamia, I'll extend it to that - if it doesn't have a name, like the last track on your album, it can be heard as audio waves, the size of the spectrum is plentiful, multiple home run, extensions, replace me, I need something better to occupy this space, some one better, replace, cause I don't matter, I'm trying to give it up, this is my signal.

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