What the ()hole-y HELL was then? That. I meant that. Then.

5:20 2 hits
5:40 1 more(comma) to be sure :)
(Editors note: sometime around 10pm one more for good (the best) measure)

I pictured two old rednecks battling a cyclone to get the rabbit ears up to get five minutes of entertainment for the ungrateful fucking kids on their respective trailers and across a whole bunch of trailer park we just locked eyes and realised we are doing the exact same thing at the exact second. And it is the knowledge that that could be a physical occurrence in real life that could in fact lead someone down their own rabbit hole of meaning and beyondingness whatever .... That process of signification is beautiful. Perfectly lossless. Perfect objective subjectification.
Diagonal, and isomorphic
Simulcast

Mandalas are amazing telemetry tools for tracking time within no space. Get your bearings quick, lads and get going no time to spare with the chit chat, you only had eternity to check the map and that's gone and wasted eh? WHAT DO WE DO NOW, DEAR GOD, we are out of control with this power.

------Thinking-----
-about-
the infinite eternal

 balances us in time.

Thinking about time allows us to orient ourselves within time.

Wherever our subjectives polar-temporometrically oppose our objective....shit you can't help but helplessly and haphazardly spray all this garbage off into the void if you even once try and contain this thing. All manner of vile shite inside :) pandoras box a literal place you can hop inside, take for a spin like the fucking police box, always bigger inside than out.
The police box is a metaphor for balancing space within time.
Time within space.
The eternal balancing.

You don't even need to activist! when you figure out nature has got US ON LOCK, I could walk out in to traffic but nature says no let's think about death for a while you won't want to go ANYwhere. I could eat a baby pig but some deep down nature says NO and I live that animals death as long as it's meat is inside me.
Nature isn't the stuff outside but the stuff inside. And its(TIME) WAVE is cross-contaminating and Ebola viralling COLLAPSING YOUR SPACE PARTICLE.

All life is a desperate grab at any of this power that evaporates eternally down the drain. BEFORE IT GETS THERE, WHICH IS DUMB EVEN TO SAY!! BECAUSE IT WAS
ALWAYS
ALREADY
EVERYWHERE


Pressing the ART button gives immediate results in the form of a possibly quantifiable feedback(happiness+love?=reason?=logos?=gnosis=hypersygnimbyosis trying to smash ALL THE WORDS
ALL THE SIGNIFIERS INTO
1
0
I can (can I?) keep this going until my body dies and beyond. If I'm not aware of death I can't orient myself with regards to its spatiotemporality. Death is the inability to rationalise
We are not rational.
We are rationalising
Death is the inability to rationalise
this experience within the signified OR signifier's framework.

The haptic void is that which will totalise all noise into experience
The burst beat is a time synchronized marker to orient yourself in space. Who's space? Fuck if I know.

Mine and yours together, guess we did know after all.

Drugs flew by banging on my cosmic antenna until I figured out there was a problem, found out drugs aren't the problem: it is where I put that antenna, that it is getting in the way of all the drugs flying by. Move antenna x^4 degrees counterlatitudinally six steps from front door(any front door), west facing under the light of the 3rd waning moon, attempt. If same results sans drugs, repeat most expediently repeatable experiment.


Resounding success. Despite the fireworks and grumbling.



Note to self: EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU LAUGH AND CRY AT THE SAME TIME YOU ARE LIVING THIS FOUNDATIONAL DIALOGUE THAT PERMEATES BEING as such, or as nonesuch. Whatever your preferred flavour.

Oscar's obsession with the overturning wordplay vis a vis thingamajig doohickey thingamabob flibbertigibbet et al.  I'm only just now 32 years old and realising he is repeating the same TYPE of thing as a mantra over and over in every context and capacity, filling every signifier with his own and all of our signifieds all at once, in order, to auto-orient himself in time space. Without the need for teaching, hence unschooling. Without a teacher. Autodidactic.
Gaussian Diagonal post-acceleration says lay there and embrace the curve. For it knows from whence it is going. By the time he is my age he will be 32 squared years further advanced than we are at his age.

Blue does not represent peace but sterility. Red does not represent violence but righteous action
All things signified are emptied of signification. Into death put a period on that motherfucker and stick it in the mailbox, return to sender. Thanks DICK I mean dad I mean god I mean uh I mean uh...

Ya know what would be a motherfucker of a head trip for the cops? If every last one of us went out in the streets together and committed mass suicide and left them all alone in this scary shit.

You bet your ass they'd be scrambling for the togetherness and meaning and significance of unity when they are out herding nothing into nowhere for nobody, rapture-in-reverse style. And suddenly realising it.

We are gonna solve this fucking case if it kills us.

One could never know. Or always know, I haven't figured out all the knobs on this thing yet but IT DOES SOME REAL RAD TRICKS DOOD. There is some research going on at hellish levels
(AKA IT IS NOT JUST US WHATEVER THIS IS
THIS THING IS REAL)
and I will hip you all as soon as I can remember where I spaced my time-brain.
People trying to use our subjective frequency-myth-generator to empirically mark out a pattern beyond time, map and key and compass combined so that all of us can get there. -All- the patterns are real, blablabla hippie shit x Just breathe, the universe, believe it or not, has intentions.....you probably thought I was going somewhere clever there but that's it. Pffft.

Evocation; an Elaboration.

When I first entered this Way, I relied on mySelf very readily. It was natural. It FELT natural, at any rate. It felt so real I fell into operating in a very-Real-manner almost at once. It was only after a dream-death that I came to the realization that, despite the "reality", despite the here-and-NOW-ness of it all…that this Way was just the many corridors of this trance. Despite the protests (of which there were plenty), I returned constantly. I dreamed about shattering the wall I'd inevitably find at the end of every path, though honestly, who is to say whether it is a wall or not (No wall. Not-wall. The Great Wall of Not)…after all, I can only touch it, sealed there in the dark, feel my way down its oddly textured surface. I grope desperately at every grain and graft (of which there are plenty) like someone newly blind. Like my eyes were taken forcibly and I'm far from adapting. It radiates a something….a drive, or maybe a hunger. I often make guess and estimations of its nature by listening to what it hungers for, drives toward….these guesses ultimately feel superficial and I think it knows this. I know it, at any rate.

Is this thing Me? Of Me? Merely INSIDE Me? Is this the dark passenger Burroughs mentions? It is stealthy, strong, and smart, but utterly beyond me apparently. It occasionally seems to be on my side though, which raises its own set of questions.

"One of our most ancient proverbs justifies the war prisoner: 'the captive will cry out, the dead man never.' "  -Aleksander Solzhenitsyn  'The Gulag Archipelago'

nothing is illuminated - back to black, the deck is stacked
against the wise
who rise to face clashing tongues wagging and
bragging for scraps on a dirty wooden floor notched from
teeth dropping from smashed faces bloody from
fucking
nothing
and crying like a dying dog
it sits, baffled at an end it couldn't see coming
because more than two eyes are required to
see into coiled cold snakes eyes
from birthrights to death rituals
we sullenly scrape the surface and find infinite surface
no progress.
ultimate regression is stagnation
backward
is a
forward
and
nothing is worth remembering