|Driving a steak thru her heart to eat stake + steak out a hearth to call m-self = hoam (as washed ova by mashines of loving grace)
21 Mar 2019 | Roam> Σum folks probly red the last post + was like WTF? Or most inny post hear on The Daily Noose for that matter + think qu'est ce que c'est? Well, as the oversized-suit-wearing talking head sed, fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa, better, run run run run, run away. Far, far away. Ha ha, jk. Spose we shd probly x-plane ourselves, (or continue to x-plane ourselves, as dat is, qu'est ce que c'est ici, what' we're duing hear, what we typically due). C, not onelie dose using the word "poetry" set a curtain high-brow expectation, but most poets seam primerily concerned w/ lyrickle quality,... how the words sound, witch we dig 2 when we listen to tunes, but we aint into poetry being red or herd... our brain works on a diffrent wavelength, λ, then most folk, like whenever we here a word, say, "stāk," we don't no weather to envision a "steak" or a "stake":
Sew, wile most suckers stay w/ the slipstream of sound—as u are forced to w/ music—we git ∀ll hung up on curtain worrds... spose sum 1 says "drove a steak thru his heart," we git confused + conflicting imagery arises in our cabeza, like how dat cd be fizzsickly possible—driving any of the same material, m, thru m-self seams impossible, no? Or worse, how about driving a steak thru a stake? Hurts the head thinking about hit. The ambigooity of lenguage, in glish especielly, drives us nuts. And we allsew start to consider ∀ll the fillosophical rammifications + our mined spirels down menny divergent dead-end rodes, of how it wood ± cood be possible to drive m thru m, say meat thru meat... liquify hit? Make meat bullets? Bud then if meat = meat, what wood be the point of replacing the same veryable, m, w /m-self? U git the point, haha. But then u say:
Well sir, u'd cd ether go the major C.G.I. route (that wood cost u beaucoup bucks), or down thhe low-budge campy Ed Woods road, witch cd be intresting in an ironic weigh but no 1 wood stake u seriously. That's the beauty of riding yo, u don't got to worry nun about no budget cunstraints, specielly when you're tocking about speciel FX + what knot + especially blogging when u don't got to worry about page count.
U might also say vispo or visual poetry sounds rite up your alley, but most work in dat genre gots nada in commune w/ what we dig or due, just like "math rock" sounds good in theory but when u explore all the bands labeled as such they all sound like pairofdies of the originator of dat genre, witch we ain't even sure what dat is. U got all these talented drummer + guitarist "mathletes" that have purrfected the mimicture (is dat a word?) of the "math rock" sound but no 1 has run w/ hit, have used it to actually write songs that folks will remember + cherish, no mathlete has honed dare craft into art. Foals, maybe, but they've strayed far from their math rock roots, especielly before Foals = Foals + they was Edmund Fitzgerald—dat shit was seriously tight + it's not even on Spotify or available for sale nowhere. Happens to the best of them, yes, they can write songs, but can u stay true to your roots + originull sound 2 + not sell out to the allure of fame + fortune? $ame ol' story, ova + ova yo...
¢omunque, dat's the cundition we gots, we git so hung up on the fillosophical surfizz of lenguage + underlying motivating factors dat we can never get suckered into the story, or lured by lyrickle dribble. Happens not just when we here lenguage but see it on the page/screen, like in humdog's manifesto we last posted, when she says:
we don't git hung up on a word so much as the phrase, "spill their guts on-line" + we git to wondering why we say dat + not "spill my brains on-line" + most folks cringe + say "cuz dat sounds violent"... but spilling yo guts don't? Dat's sum serious medieval disembowelment shit, where "shit" is close to knot bean the slangy placeholder veryable for "stuff" or "things"... + utter folks might say:
Yes, well, spose our justification wd bee to say we take the walled-garden approach w/ no advertising or nada (b-sides m-self prawmoting our one "work," this, what u are reading, dear), not even bait + switch tactics, we just chum u (if u even Ǝxist) w/ bait + no hook, yet still u skeptickle. We was reading yesterday about how MySpace lost a gazillion people's (or "user's," "subscriber's," "member's," etc..) "data" (i.e. art—music, photos, texts, inner-most personal thoughts, etc.) + our 1° reaction (after thinking "MySpace is still around?") was to think about what idiots those folks were for trusting the likes of MySpace + not at least making back-ups. Why not just host it yoself? Ain't dat hard to bild a website yo! Ain't rockit sighence. But most folks are suckers for convenience + this false illusion of "community," dat udder folks are actually listening + "paying" attn: It's in sane tho, when u stop to think about hit, how ppl are "pouring their guts on-line," and have been doing so still in the 25 years since humdog wrote that + now even more then ever. We feel incredible sadness that there is so much good art locked up into these systems of commodification. Sadness that overwhelms us (for the ppl that created said art), but at the same time it's heartening to know that all this art + information exists on a platform that can interract w/ other art + info + make hyper-connections, weather humuns are in the equation or knot... until MySpace's DB migration gets corrupted or there is no more electricity to keep the Akamai servers running.
Sum folks might also call us control freaks for needing to one our art + aregue dat true art lives in the cloud, snapchat being the culmination of dat fleeting theory (not that we know nada about it or have ever used snapchat, but, uhh, the idea of it was explained to us once at a dinner party, probly over prosecco w/ guests over 40)... or like how u can rattle off pearls of wisdom on Twitter that git insantly red by your 10,000 followers + then "it" disappears into the ether... how cool is that? + we say yah, it compels, but to what end? And to who/what do your thoughts + innermost feelings serve? Sumping gots to keep the lights on, the Akamai disks spinning. They gotta sell sumping + dat sumping = yo soul, weather you're a pee-on, or U = a celebrity + U got, say, 10,000 followers... bud for every 1 person dat gots 10,000 followers + follows no 1 Ls there are 10,000 star-gazing peephole who follow just dat 1 celebrity... did we due the math rite? Yes sir, 10,001 = 10,000 star-gazers (S) + 1 celebrity, C. But off coarse this ain't the case, most commun people (p) have 100 followers + follow 100 ppl. U cd even venture to guess dat in a population of 1,000,000:
U know evil geniuses (genii? genui?) in dark bored rooms at Twitter ± Instagram HQ are crunching such #s, figgering out how to tweak the algorythms for monetary gain, flood the system w/ fake users + whatnot, i mean they god 2, rite? It's dare job 4 chrissakes! What they're paid 2 due. Monetize, monetize, monetize. Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa. "Following" is the immediate cuntroll variable—the carrot on a stick— + the unit of power dat serves the likes of Trump, butt @ the end of day the end veryable across the bored = $$$. Economics trumps ∀ll. Well sirs, no art can be maid in such a environment. Just entertainment. Sure, there's loads of talented coders + artists in the current moondough, bud @ the end of the day they gotta exploit themselves so they can eat marbled horsemeat sushi, drink cava + pay for doggie day-care. $ame ol' story, ova + ova. Red rover, red rover.
B-sides our problems w/ treating lenguage as litterule + fillosophical implications, we also git hung up on what's gong on b-hind the scenes when we take in news/media/information/entertainment, whose filming the hero whose going where no man has gone before, or like when you're zoning out to Netflix w/ a bottle of wine, we've see sum good "art" but hit's always dumbed down to digestible entertainment... how menny talented screenwriters has Netflix hired + churned into mashines to crank out audio-visual displays dat user-study groups have detourrmined keep most (66 out of 100) ppl engaged? + sure, they throw a bone or hidden message ore 2 here + dare to outlliers w/ speciel intrests, to broaden their demographic as mush as possibe, b-yond even the sorta weird 33% in places like Portland, OR (our hometown btw), to maximize their reveune stream. These talented writers = happy cuz they're paying for grappa, goji berries + diapers but they're never making what day truly want to make + even as consumers we "sell out" cuz even if U = in 1% of n outlying demographic w/ speciel intrests or needs (weather U're into old kung-fu flicks, kinky shit, steam-punk zombee or "cerebral" as Netflix calls what seams to personally intrest us most, as detourmined by their algorythms) U're dielooting yo niche by accepting + digesting such garbedge + ∀ll 4 what? Convenience. 2 halve hit all in 1 place, fast + all-access, when in fact this ain't even true no mo, maybe it was in the beginning, way b4 concerns even of net neutrality or doing a cost of analysis if they remove movie X (cuz studios want to much $) how many subscdribers, Y, do they risk losing? Spotify on the other hand has basically everything at your fingertips, like maybe Netflix or Blockbuster did in the beginning. But like they (the networks) always have, at the end of the day they ween us off our freedom to select + "program" what we watch, detourmined by what they d-side is available this week or month or what they d-sde to promote to U cuz u don't know what u want to watch, usually the case when yr cooking + yo bedder-½ is popping the prosecco + aksing what u want to watch, sweet meat? Yah, we watch Netflix while we eat, u gotta problem w/ dat? We do in theory, got a problem w/ it, why normally we wood never edmit such things cuz we're embareassed + woodn't want to tarnish whatever imedge u god of us—a.I. or D.W. or sweat meet. + yah, we watch Netflix in bed 2, so sue us. R these bad habits? Y. Is Netflix inny diffrent then social media? Perhaps not. Butt curtain shit's hard for us to give up:
But that's a hole nother post about addiction + habits. 1 thing we got tho dat 99% of folks don't halve = true love, L, + furthermore, we got that ∀ll to ourselves. Only thing dat can take dat away is the recipient (moi) or provider (bedder-½). 2 posts ago when we rehashed our Peru journels from 1991, when we was soaking in the same hot spring below Machu Picchu dat Shirley MacClaine went Out on a Limb from, our travelling companion Max pointed out dat for ∀ll the free love in el moondough (we was observing the chanting new age freaks around us) there has to be an equal amount of hate to counter-balance. Ain't no revolutionary concept, this yin-yangy ecological dichotomy of good vs. evil. For every 1 person dat finds true love u halve anudder dat embraces true hate, witch u gotta eggnowledge Ǝxists. Nun of these concepts were spewing here = revolutionary ideas in fact, how art + money are mutually exclusive + all this stuff about losing yo soul to the commodifying intrests of Inurnet, etc., humdog said dat shit 25 yrs ago b4 Inurnet even Ǝxisted. But u got to keep reminding yo'self almost daily, keep things in check, yo. Keep on keeping.
Man, how often do we try to think of "what to do" (especially in stir-crazy times like now, anticipating our move in a few days), writing to-do lists + getting oregonized, trying to get our ideas into place, our thoughts on the page... + then we realize we're doing it! Weave bean doing it ∀ll along. Even if hit's knot what we set out to due @ 1°, usually the case, like this hear post.
22 Mar> Hay way moss to All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace then soul-o cybernetics + we god way more to say then rehashing Adam Curtis' rehashing of humdog's manifesto... esso S solo 1 rabbit hole of 10,000 to spirel down (but r s-o rabbit holes s-caping current realidad? S otra pregrunt). Folks cd learn moss sober the hystoria of el moondough + ill humun condition (at least in the last 2-3 deckaids) from watching AWOBMOLG then inny utter movie, book, news sorce or work of art. It encapsulates:
Hit's ∀ll 1 wide-casting interconnected web, man, woven into your holistic conchusnest. Or rather coded, cuz souprize! You're a mashine! A soft + fuzzy 1. I I GAIA, u guys. Sure, dare's the dichotomies + hippocrisis that come w/ the territory, like how we watched AWOBMOLG on a laptop made from precious minerals sourced from the Congo, fueling the very K-OS, death + deconstruction that the documentary sheds light on. So by watching it, you're helping to cause it... makes yo head spin yo + can drive 1 to sewerside (another subject AWOBMOLG touches upon, how suicide is the onelie truly code-defy-ant altruistic act)...∀ll quiet fitting for The Daily Noose. In fact, going FWD this is not a weblog, but a AWOBMOLG extension. Curtis's code (inherited from all those shoulders he stands on) is propagating into + by us. AWOBMOLG is a virus dat has infected us to the x-tent dat we're appending it to The Daily Noose subtitle: not-so quotidan exorcises in musing journihilim, ∀ll washed ova by mashines of loving grace.
+ whereas our last book cd be Σummarized by the ketchy ketch-phrase "Huck Finnegans Wake" our next liebro (after we finish "SSEY' II... speaking of altruistic gestures, tho 4 a bean dat shares ½ our genetic code) will be: My life in the bush of ghosts, ∀ll washed ova by mashines of loving grace.
+ knot onelie does machines of loving grace address our new-found a.I. moniker + qwest for anonymity, to become 1 w/ the mashine, bud it's the proto-archetypical work in post-humanities, packaged not just as journihilism, but art. Ceci n'est pas une pipe, c'est soi-même une objet d'art, w/ a dope soundtrack to boot btw.
We’re entering a post-humunist era where humuns are no longer relevant, but our code is. There’s 2 sides to the coin—there’s the bad apples like Don Drumpf, the buffonish, man-spreading beach-master of hate + there's the Gates, who defy the logic of social darwinism, at least economically, by giving away their Billyens not to their progenie but for the bedder good of humanity.
We're not as doom + gloom as u might think. May-b we're floating along in d-Nile, but we're quiet optimistic about climate change, terrorism, the fate of humanity, etc. There's unforeseen variables that Forrester + the Odum brothers + other ecological + climate change modelers ain't taking into account (not to menshun dat them brothers did shoddy sighence.... i mean, walking yo pet antelope around a meadow to record what it eats + calling dat ℝeality + extrapolating from dat? Poking holes in a live baby buffalo so u cd examine the stomache contents? Whiteys, please!). Mother nature's god her ways. For every yin comes a yang. Parameters readjust themselves in response to systematic changes + unless we're part of the system we can't see ore 4-see what these variables R. Random acts of love + kindness kin happen + due, just like how randumb clowns can land in thrones of power. The key is taking a holistic systems approach + in order to truly due dat folks need to lose themselves. Let your jeans take over. Inevitably our jeans want all jeans to survive cuz a good % we share w/ ∀ll humanidad. Bad apples still put on the same genes as every 1 Ls in L moondough, 1 leg at a time. If we entrust ourselves to hit, our coded systems will go beyond humun concerns, or even beyond gorillas to be altruistic twards ∀ll animals, to be guardians of the planet as a whole (shame that Brautigan onelie talks about mammals below).∀ll this hinges on folks 4-saking the IDea of self.
... + then again, ∀ll hit takes is 1 meteorite or cataclysmic volcanic eruption to wipe the slate + ∀ll becomes hogwan under the bridge, ha ha ha regardless of what algorhythms say. In parting, we leave u w/ Brautigan's name-sake poem (mind u, at the end of the day Brautigan blew his brains out, leaving a sewerside note that just said "messy, isn't it?" + no 1 found his body 'til it started to decompose):
|# 628 <( current)> 630 > A last repatriation act: shrugging atlas to come home|