Cuz all the downloads you get
Go straight to the garbage can
Now go and steal that one.
I’m looking at the picture of us
with the shirts that say
‘Robots for a less obnoxious society’.
So last night I said I’d sacrifice MY
right to vote
and right to be obnoxious
if it meant saving civilization.
But you disagreed
and aren’t on board
even hypothetically
anymore.
Sorry I don’t want to just
keep complaining about
other people and looking
askance at everything like
you apparently do. Is that
all you wanted me for?
To like backup
your criticisms?
Well, just because
I agree with you almost
all the time
STILL
doesn’t mean
it’s healthy for you
to care so much about
what other people think about
what still other people think about.
Got it?
It doesn’t make a difference
anyway, not beyond
REAL HUMAN connections,
which you would rather limit
for yourself so you can spend
more time bitching
about strangers
in writing.
While taking a job that goes against
everything we talked about???
I thought you considered
all those sort of people ‘robots’???
I told you it wasn’t mature at the time
and now you agree with me on that
but don’t want anything to do with me???
But I guess you got what you wanted
and now just want to start over
again by yourself with nothing.
Because somehow you LIKE doing that?
Again and again and again?
And apparently everything we had
means nothing to you anymore.
Well.
At least I can look back
and still enjoy the memories
of you and what you were to me
for quite a while. And I don’t
hate you, though you like
shun me and no doubt
speak against me
and always will
from now on.
I’m sorry.
It doesn’t invalidate
the experience or memory—
how you’re acting now,
how you’ve chosen to end things,
as the victim once again.
But you ruin it for yourself
retroactively. Well,
you’re not ruining
it for me.
Remember
‘The picture of you
in the silver dress,
with matching metallic lipstick,
is branded in my head forever’?
You remember pictures.
I remember words.
‘No matter how hard I try
I can’t impress words to
my brain in any lasting fashion.’
Well, it’s easy for me to do.
And you
seem to have selective memory
especially
when it comes to your own words.
So there.
By the way,
I want you to know
that I WOULD have had
a baby with you if you
ever asked me to.
I liked you because of your confidence.
But now I have no faith in you.
And there is no trust.
lololololololol
1010101
iii. Journal Entrées
‘This is too robotic, dude.’
‘This is Too-Robotic Dude’:
[image of machine man]
The faster you go, the more time you save.
The faster you go, the more experience you waste.
Whenever someone asks you to do something
you don’t want to, say
‘The sun is going to burn out anyway,
and all of this will be gone,
so there’s no point.’
Knowledge isn’t power
if you can’t do anything with it.
That’s the one bit of information we don’t have,
what to do,
and it’s the same old question
asked since the dawn of modernity,
when our options started expanding & imploding
at the same time,
and still no one’s come up with a good enough answer to What is to be done?
‘CLIMATE CHANGE’
CLI is 151 in roman numerals
151 is ISI[S]
So, Climate Change is Isis-mate change.
It is about Isis trying to find a new mate
after the death of her husband Osiris
at the hands of Set.
Isis
soars & scours the globe looking for a new partner
in crime, and the weather and temperatures
swirl in flux around her mighty invisible
intangible body.
Bill Clinton said that everything depends on
‘…what is is’.
Yes. It depends on Isis.
It depends on Isis set-tling on a new mate
long enough for a new age to acclimatize.
She is searching for something that reminds
her of her husband. That’s why she’s been in
Washington so often,
because she likes looking at the monument.
She needs to stop that and get real already.
There is a conspiracy that Bill and Hillary Clinton
are secretly brother and sister
cloned from Rockefeller/Line-of-David DNA.
It’s not true but would explain alot.
Isis and Osiris were brother and sister.
OSIRIS a/k/a ‘OR ISIS’ – so they are the same.
And Set was their brother as well.
SET is T.S. Eliot, the world
viewed as a closed SET of math problems
in which you are dis-solved. A closed set
from which there is only one way to exit
TSE provided title epigram for
Hillary’s bachelor thesis (‘the fight is all’)
and also inspiration for Obama’s loveletter.
He writes in reference to TSE: ‘Remember,
there is one certain kind of conservatism which I
respect more than [any & all] bourgeois liberalism’
and Uncle agrees
emphatically
Sam says too emphatically
and Allie laughs.
Pinocchio means pine nut.
john lydon or john lie-don or john lie-down
lying down on the john
yuck
a john is a rotten place
a john is a toilet is a throne
king john, king of the toilets
TOILETS are TS ELIOT again
flushing the remains down the vortex,
waste for the wasteland
‘This country is going down the toilet’ Ha!
From i-dea to me-dia.
From a seabed to a bedsheet to a spreadsheet.
From under covers to undercover.
From Treasure Island to Pleasure Island to Dirt.
From customers to costumers and back again.
From shells to gold to paper to electrons.
Give me a little ±1 charge and that’s all I need
to feel sufficient again for the next ten seconds.
Economic systems need confidence to run.
All our currency is backed by the faith
of the American people, a
nd faith
is uncertain going forward.
JFK wanted to start minting silver currency
again because, as an unfaithful man,
he knew that faith could no longer be trusted.
‘He who controls the present controls…’ etc.
The present is currentcy, freely lent.
Currency catches you in the current,
which flows between banks.
Uncle says boys get girls based on confidence,
people can endure and press on because of faith,
and we have to trust in each other and everything.
Life is about confidence, faith and trust.
Money is about confidence, faith and trusts.
All this navel-gazing isn’t going to end
until we start minting people without bellybuttons.
The triple-threat death-spiral of nostalgia,
malignant narcissism, and ninnyism.
The cultural sinkhole
as juxtaposed to the more eternal
rolling green mountains etc.
But technology (a dam) made
the shining blue lake we like so much.
And technology can unmake it,
as bedrock hole current forms whirlpool
under slender boats.
But at least we’ll have a really fun ride
downward while it lasts,
so enjoy and make the most of it!
Because the social security trust fund
isn’t a real trust fund!!!!
As of today, for now,
not even The Economist wants world government anymore.
The elite have lost their nerve.
All they care about is having nice big orgasms, showing off on TV every once in a while,
and giving each other meaningless awards.
Can you live with that or does it all still offend your poor little feelings too much?
The pineal gland is overrated
has nothing to do with pinecones
‘We’re being sold, man.’
‘We’re being sold man’
I wrote all of this during the summer between
5th and 6th grade, staying at my grandma’s house
in the woods with my sister and brother.
We listened to a million stories that the old people
(my weird relatives)
told us, and finally I decided to write some down, as well as the sayings they had that weren’t really
stories per se.
In the middle of the night sometimes we’d all
wake up together, and we’d hear what sounded like grownups having a party of some sort downstairs. Not all the voices were familiar. We’d be as quiet as we could and listen at the top of the stairs, but we could barely make out anything they said. My brother and sister didn’t want me to, but every time I’d try to creep downstairs and see what was happening.
‘Shhhh! Here she comes, here she comes!’ I’d hear, every time, and I’d never quite catch them (whoever they were) before they all disappeared and turned the lights out again.
In the morning I’d ask Gram about it but she’d tell me we were dreaming.
‘All three of us dreaming the same dream?’
‘Yes. In fact it’s not unusual for thousands and millions and billions of people to all be dreaming the same dreams, all the time and all at the same time.’
And she’d smile. ‘Now remember what I told you about flushing your fingernail clippings down the toilet as soon as you cut them, and you should be alright. Don’t leave them around the house.’
We knew she was joking but we still followed her advice, because it’s more fun that way
and it gave us more meaning.
We wanted to stay there forever,
and to make it come true we kept saying it was an
‘endless summer’ the whole time.
It still is an endless summer and we are still there.
And ‘When I die, just throw me in the snowbank
(the Bank of Snow)
and put birdseed in my hair.’
Cuz after ‘Eleventy Billion Customers Sold’—
‘It’s Reality Situation, lady—I gotta go!’
iv.
All that bland suffering,
it must’ve meant something.
NO it means nothing;
suffering is suffering
Nothing more
boring
throw it away like nothing
soon as you get a chance
nothing again nothing
will come from nothing
Something ONCE came from nothing
once never again
But something means something
if I say it means something
or you say it’s something
then it’s indeed something
as simple as that
Suffering only matters
once you throw it away.
So we give things meaning
with the power of human
The mind rite of kindreds
Our own version
of divine right of kings
v. Reverse Gengineering
The three sit in the front car of the bullet train,
comfortably studying the aged chessboard again.
‘Mate in four centuries!’ shouts the bearded toad.
‘Mate in four decades!’ wagers the mustachioed
bastard. ‘Mate in four years!’ claims the pantsuit
that gloats, smirking and crossing her heeled boots.
Over the speaker: ‘Urgent message from home base!
You ain’t never ever gonna mate the human race!’
The three look between themselves with confusion.
A prank. But quick—look outside—it’s no illusion:
A huge cone-shaped tower built right on the tracks.
‘Wasn’t here last year,’ muses beard. ’Stache asks,
‘However could they have built it in so little time?’
Pantsuit: quiet, mouth open, hands out like a mime,
as if trying to hold back the not-so-distant obstacle.
The crash is spectacular and to bystanders comical.
Not so to those in the train or those in the tower,
once so obsessed with never having enough power.
*
The smell of brimstone was stronger the second
time she opened the door. Burning wires, I reckon,
she thought incorrectly. Then smoke. The distant
laughter of children, super-natural & nonexistent.
When the confusion cleared she saw the two imps
again, guarding their holy commode. Convinced
yourself to join us finally, have you, huh, princess?
they teased. We understand and offer you forgiveness
for past slights. She rolled her eyes: On one condition:
That I’m in charge—or at least I’m in a position
to change things around. Enough ‘Trainshumanism’,
huh? This science-worship is a doomed religion.
Let’s the three of us start acting like people again.
Let’s play games again. You need to make amends
and I need a challenge in life. The imps smiled,
invited her inside. The train would raise her child.
She put her lips to the SLOP, grimaced, & kissed it.
A lightning glob went inside her
—blink & you missed it.
vi. Confidential Retort!
The old man who until recently could believe
that he controlled the world and could deceive:
‘I no longer know who I am.’
The young con-artist/private investigator,
functionally illiterate, recognition dawning on him
at last:
‘Ama-nee-sia!’
The giggling children whose eyes peer through
the cracks in the walls, beneath the fl
oorboards,
everywhere chanting:
‘Ama Nesi Ah-ha!
Ama Nesi Ah-ha!’
misquoting, whether deliberately or on purpose
no man can say.
Mr. Arkham
Mr. Arkadin
Mr. Akrasia
Whatever you’re name is
Mr. Nobody I call you
Mr. Zero. Cold-blooded. Frozen heart.
Mr. Freeze.
You’ve baited me with secrets that do not exist!
Or shouldn’t be discovered, for all of our sakes.
Vampires that live underwater
A spoiled trust-fund brat in a Panama hat who went missing fifty years ago
Artists who practice witchcraft and business
Nonsense
And you sent me on this quest, why?
So you wouldn’t have to do it?
So you wouldn’t have to face
what you might have done?
Maybe you ‘forgot who you are’ for a reason.
Maybe I don’t think you should find out about the trauma that made you forget.
‘Time the healer when the past was damaging.’
Well, forgiveness is healing.
Forgetness is healing.
Repressness is healing,
Mr. Akrasia.
So why haven’t you healed yet?
What’ve you been doing?
Entertaining your sicko friends, no doubt.
The hobgoblings of little minds.
There in your castle,
your asylum, your prison,
your archive institute,
stocked with everything anyone could ever want,
preparing for the worse,
enough to sustain you for a good long while too,
but with the knowledge that eventually you’ll
die out.
Like a turtle trapped in its shell.
Hey, you’re fond of quotes, aren’t you, Akrasia?
Ever heard this one?
‘Behold the turtle:
It only makes progress when it sticks its neck out.’
—James Bryant Conant—whoever he was.
How’s that for a shell game, one where you
come out of your shell?
I know your daughter wishes you would…
Yeah I met her.
You’re gonna have to talk sometime,
sometime soon, to save your miserable life
you’re gonna have to tell a story, see?
And not just tell it, you’re gonna have to live it too.
A real story,
not someone’s idea of a fairy tale for 5-year-olds
about saving the world by acting silly. No,
you’re gonna have to come up with some excuse
for why your life was necessary
and so goddamn important.
*
EXT. Bank – Morning
Goonsquad rushing in, military-style.
INT. Bank
‘Nobody moves! We don’t want no heroes!