Thursday, November 12, 2015

droning on and on about nothing

"...and if an AGM-114 Hellfire air-to surface missile were exploded, you would not quake in terror. So long as you become one with the bomb what would there be to fear? "Impossible!" you say. But whether you wanted to or not, you would perforce become one with it, would you not?" 

                                             /it has declared things past and present 
                                              and now it speaks of things to come/

___________ in collaboration with ___________

Inhabiting a space in which we find ourselves "fundamentally
pummeled by the lunatic potency of nature" but a nature that
is beyond pre-techgnoetic conceptions of ecology. A human
nature - the idea that we can fundamentally pummel the lunatic
potency of nature.

The shattered shewstone projects the strongest sound from its
jagged silvered black - gunfire, that human, all-too-human sound.
If an AGM-114 Hellfire air-to-surface missile were exploded, you
would not quake in terror. So long as you become one with the
bomb, what would there be to fear?
"Impossible!" you say.

But whether you want to or not, you would perforce become one with it, would you not?

seconds after, the bomb was exploited

"What the fuck is that smell?" The sensation came from that dismal
grey town. A total wasteland, some graves, a church, a bar more graves.

"O God, loving father in heaven, save this humble penitent who
beseeches thy boundless mercy..." the perpetually sickly man trailed
off when it became clear no one was joining in his prayer. You can
tell a lot about someone from the way they talk about putrefaction.

Over the perimeter a black pile lie in the center of the dead town's
square, but bodies were in no short supply out here. What unsettled
us were the birds filling the sky. Long lazy circles, culturing droning.
The living began assembling offerings, to escape the flooding remnants
of advanced vision threat breakdown. A new plane for invasion and
insurgency magnifying a reverent awe which reveals the fragility of
mere flesh to be of no consequence.

the dead are always unscathed by the war
I was floating on the dying bodies dropped in the mud.
counterattacks escalated

"I am not a mystic." continued the crow.
disturbing oscillations in the warp became visible as the Good Lord
went dead silent but The terminology of practical occultism goes beyond
the crow mind or the misfortune of being.

"I am a willing entity derived from undecaying heavy waters and there
are no accidental drownings here. Here only intensity matters and
even the void is sensation."

Orphic pattern-carrier drills for the center and spikes a vein fills the
underworld and floods from inside out. A herald from the open secret
grave of the contradictions of infinity and fewer and fewer recognize
this ocean as the perspective of God - a howling space of absolute
blank savagery without delusion.

powers of infiltration aligned with h( )ly radiant echo of violent collision and turbulent flow

His panic was finally ebbing. Finally able to orient, and after a few more moments, to navigate. The watery motor of Deep Time always made him hate sand all the more. Coming back had become a fucking nightmare lately as his sympathetic nervous system had begun attempting to resist being placed back onto the abattoir floor. It was often several days before his glitches calmed, and his stretchings deteriorated into a cohesive Something Like A Self again. He felt outside himself always, though, behind himself, above himself, bird's eye view. What was once the frontier of another long silence had become bottomless. A mournful reaching beyond speed at whatever speed they could manage has conspired against you.

the image was uncannily clear
it meant the endo-militarization of your own war had been there all along
a mind cried "where is that i reveal myself?"
my allegiance is to no corpse on the battlefield
but TO the battlefield
dying bodies are their own force of rebellion
to be sure, war might be exploited
but enlightenment humiliates even the demonic ego
but red magic however is in shambles
devoid of the void
empty of emptiness
"no offense", the crow said dryly
a circular wind spins up FTL cyclonomedia
dust devils frenetic on tellurian lubricant

I collapsed into constituent matter under ruthless droning on my way to market one day, but I spend eternity wondering if I were meant to be killed in a different strike, in a different market. What if I died in the wrong blast? Does this mean I lived the wrong past?

Seconds after the bomb exploited…
he struggled, while his body was violently
corroded into the proper shape
constructing soft rotational nexus
to maintain their paramilitarism
to be as a sword had been set on fire
gradually eroded awareness was permanently lodged in this war machine

seconds before the bomb exploited
these machines are incapable of one thing: incompletion
dying priest says that he can't wait
says he's confident not scared
this is just a temporary military imposition
but the image was uncannily clear
and we were transformed into some strange
endurance, which threatens the mind cried "where is, where is I....?"
i will speak to you of that open secret grave
that took me to that place
he directed his awareness to the fanging-up
i see my skeleton dancing and I aim for the head
what side of the barbed wire inspires you?

from a spectre i learned great arts
from an [AC-130 Spectre gunship] i learned great arts
"I know things!" he gasped
i say you missed it all
a sacrifice of self-care
how can i find anything there?
and came to my final gasp, "I know things!"
the image became uncannily clear
my own grinning skull knows things
my immortality gasps but our horizon of survival is tasked for diagramming threats
trapped in the worst above all
i felt my eyes narrow

homes were razed to create a distinct phraseology
that was once the frontier of state defense
a militarization process seizing any mention of
anything that may have been created to show
you were but gibberish in his mouth


you died hundreds of years in wait for that weaponised form
the guerrilla state's pursuit teams crashing down on us
mathematically objectless waste in void
But Billy talked me down, explained the magic of the false idol AMRAAM and reminded me of When I am.
words of a sorcerer in that voice that puts me on the floor and keeps me from forgetting its taste.
eye can't see into (m)eye insides
confession: eye don't have
the stomach for this
eye lie
still on her bed
she hates when my feet touch the pillow
eye suspected the new dream
was the same as the old. but I
Key(p) (m)eye m(out)h shut.
he said "eye trust you" eye laughed and laughed
and laughed
and shook my head
ruefully. nothing in eye
mirrored in my sylfish
drift but you and I and I
He scratched a complex sigil in the dirt in front of the house.
"point of no return."
"nobody wants to come back anyway."
he nodded with some sense of solemnity.

I could feel the droning, like a subtle vibration in every solid thing.
The house practically rumbled with anticipation.
Murmuring timbers, the frame sang with a warning.
Their target wasn't here but the Escape was wide open,
screaming at us at the I at the I at the eyes in the eyes in the skin in the hair
electroplasm my ghost foamed at the mouth and started barking furiously.
[mumbled things:unintelligible]


my body melted down
reduced to a point of dead light
pooling up like blood in strange gravity
breathing became external, as I
breathed in, so did the world.
As the world exhaled, I emptied completely.

The corrosion of the pain squinted up at me through wearied, curtained disorganization. Escalating machinic ruin feeds on "useless."
Corpse up, stay down. Corpse up, reorganize down. Corpse up, strategize down. Corpse up, count down. A dry rattling yoga.
It wouldn't stop. "What do you mean by the root dwelling in eternity?" The body is our memory automatically all-out suicidal.
I'll maintain this illusive drifting everything with a pencil that can't stop dreaming.
Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha. Where you belong, from temple words to vibrating priests OF THE image He stood still, like a pillar for 33 and 1/3 years one day blinking suddenly and speaking clearly to a woman walking through the courtyard:
"Has it been dismantled? Has the Self been dismantled?"
she looks back terrified stunned by this intrusion
"Why are you disturbed, little sinner? Am I not your God?"

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