Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Helpo, my Beardfish Faustus Needs Your Jukeboxings (joke-baching-bookings)

a window said to a door: A gate walked out onto a balcony, and what did he see? A Venetian, blind, but enjoying, the delicate warmth of the Sun (like Diogenes)..

go play in the meadow silly silly donkey
and hang your orange swim fins
here on this nail
berika spondeiakos pie ni- low
go play in the meadow 
scuba donkey lace balloon

Mephisto is a comedian in the garden, and just another bather in Caracalla.
Mephisto sunflowing donkey daisy jonquilled junkbondings
 wears these twin spondiacal swinfim (swimfin-cinefin-lastsign) codexes;
the right one is Michel Leiris' Operratics, the left, meatphysics, by Jake Chapman,
but Mephisto himself, at least to the odd soul who authors youtube is none other than Arnold Böcklin, which gives me the idea for a new word, busony, or bizzany, where inertia of a braindead utilitarian commericialism reaches a kind of lyrical height, yet one so common that it can easily be named ofter one of the many composers who attempted to render Doctor Faustus whole as an opera. Don't Look Back -Boston

and behind the moon's rising, in the deep and endless night,
above the shell which covers the mortal coil of thought
there is: a feathered crimson octopus which ranges alone
like a spidermonkey in the black iron branches of the immortal tree of being,
that spherical being, vain, veined, and cold, a fleshless eye
of magnetic dreaming. Faustus
you rode to your heights
on a beatitude of heads,
busts like music
pass by on an endless conveyance.
Jake Chapman Wrench.

A pure white X
bandoliers the pure brown earth.

firefly of jamaica.

Sometimes our drunkeness is just a space
where the background can speak for itself,
sometines our drunken foreground
is the space of the speaking background.
Sometimes juxtaposition get the better of us.
This is a great truth.
One can never escape from the vicissitudes of chemistry.
Every day one pours one's self from the flask
of the bed, and back into the petri dish of humanity
to begin the tired old reaction again.

Star Trek was interesting at least in one way,
that it could reduce the aporia of a social utopia
down to one image, the enterprise, or 'production'
which was essentially

a frying pan covered by a lid
and possessing two handles,
both of which, by our own interior knowledge of context
are know to be 'hot' or radioactive, but which also
convey a platitude,
if you can't stand the heat, get out of
The Kitchener.

We can stand the heat.
The more handles we add, the less heat
that can pass into each one,
and also,
its wonderful to think,
in a bedknobs and broomstyx kind of way,
that our cooking utensils
might be dreaming us,
that appliances have been groomng us
for slavery
for eons.

Every gradient is by deafinition
a slippery slope.

deft omission.

Doktor Faustina has only recently appeared on the cultural scene.
It appears she arrived on facebook wearing no pants
and a smile, and smirking, "Get a job, Fema-nazi. Faustina
was always Zen (sign), and the art of Motorcycle maintenance.
Co-texted disastorm. I've alreaded ended up in the great shadow of her bizzony
in wonder. She just wanted to see a bit more dong on tv,
but all the old men have long been old women.
As groups, both genders are stupid.
Only individuals reveal any hint of actual intelligence.

Today's Avant-Garde is really trying to make amends
for the role of paradox in creating dissension among the chemical elements of an enigma
whose origin is unknown. So far they have failed, by becoming so sussessful
that all the definitions have changed.
Soon the sign will read (it does already, but wait):


this is not a pipe,
but a peeping pepsi is dead.
and the land of Cockaigne, it seems
will be purely tangenital

It is unfortunate
that every time we put a coin in the slot
we see the image of the sun or moon going down
but not a sphere, just a thin circle.

Bingo is a purer expression of economics,
and music,
like a fine Rioja,
sa Carmen.

If you are wondering about what a particular author looks like, or what context he comes from,
his materiality, it's best to look on the internet
where every single letter
could be considered as a specific instance of a canary in a coal mine.
The digital is both a coal mine
and its own canary.
The internet is a feathered boa
made from the intestines of the mined.

What exactly did the Romantic revolution accomplish?
The great haze of being looks the same
on high heels, always different depending on the skull.
Doktor Faustus = High Heel

The hardest thing for a painter to accept
is that it is fundamentally silly
to translate Heidegger into a suit for a section of wall, that being said,
the concept of silliness is silly itself,
for the somber ground of chemistry, and poetry
is imprisoning us all,
nested affects corruscated into being
and when that prism gave birth
to head-splitting movements
what else could we call it
but intelligence, for we've
yoked our ghosts
to funny symbols
because we're symbols ourselves
and our world
is a living equation,
and every spatial bracket
like a psalm
conveys an edifying and romantic
vision of

The old Tibetans were far more colorful and rustic in their understanding of say Virality re: Alois Riegl: When one dog barks in the night, soon after, there will be two.
But what the Tibetans didn't know was:
Some of those goddamn dogs are dancing.,

and sparks are pouring from their eyesockets
into hollow glass columns which
contain vortexes.

The Anti-Aesthetic is not anti-aesthetic
because it resembles a scrotum,
but because ideational scrofula enacts blinders in text
by immobilizing the head.
Mr. Ed is a Houhounym
for physical digression
in the act of threading.

The heart is the luminous part, like Pizza,
its will is infinite, transcultural.
Pizza makes of history a kid with a coin,
and your mouth an opening to the underworld
whose angels
are jukeboxes.
Tears of blood
flow to heaven.

O3 of hearths.

Car Racing and Bellydancing
are fundamentally the same sport.

In the gestures of her hands, I saw the checkered flags,
and I knew the lands to the East were still inhabited
by tiring, and history infected vehicles.

The Primordia never happened.
That isn't to say it couldn't,
but it won't, not exactly.

a handshake
becomes more and more like
an ink quill,
something of the old
18th century Le Mans.

If we worshipped balconies
instead of walls, there might be in voyeurism
a way around Capitalism and Communism.

is already
the best Ideology,
which means if you are reading this, you already know
what it means to be a dictator.


The story of the universe?
Somewhere, I guess, and maybe around here too,
Sublime Beauty made of Ontology a Fascism,
but a fascism blind to itself as exception,
an exception overcome
by an octopus of luminous trees
draped in machine jewelry.

There's no time to waste!
Better Ruins Now!
More enigmatic remains!

Why exactly hasn't tupperware and tinfoil comapnies
gotten into the mortuary busony?

And one wonders how exactly Beardfish found its way
into the opera crowd?
Accidental translations are actually how things become evident in their unique non-difference.
Badness is only skin deep, because the deeper you go, you realize
there is nothing bad at all, but


The sun is something like
 a "Progressive Rock".

It's hard to be frank about one's own experience, but cinema has the ability to speak for us, although we rarely want to hear what it says.
How do you like my frock today dear?

The main illusion today in the world is that we are alone, inside.
I already have to live a communial existence inside my own mind.
The Politics of Experience is a cliche' now, but nobody
but the intellectuals ever read it.
Political thought never got to become art, but something closer
Voyeurism clouded by handy gossip.
(braindead) "canary"
No wait.
I think, he's telling me something different.
What do you think?
What don't you think?
I can never be sure.

Now this is more like it.
Art for Art's sake.

Don't spend your hard earned Jukings on @Nein's blog, you can get all the negativity you need right here, and some Positivity as well.
Negativity is positivity written
as pomposity.

ideas like monads
are natually loving
even if they express hatred
or confusion.
the assemblage may be guilty
but the urge to become one
will always remain innocence.

and Hope.
I hope you are in love.
I hope you are well.
I hope you can forgive me.
I hope your regime will fall.
so that mine can begin.

It is hard to accept that Jake and Dino Chapman
are really Morris Bishop, but
there it is:
Ronald McDonald is Walter Benjamin.