“Without touching each other we lay on the quilt and watched the dawn. The blissfulness I felt might overwhelm me. Nothing I could say would be with words.” — Rick Lindsay, The Lapis Daybook
When the impulse occurred to write sensibly there was always a certain risk involved because many people tended to look at writing as if it were information or a set of instructions. This was before the discovery of its unknown properties when writing was co-opted by narrative.
Maybe freedom was a carrot or an apple, but its most sacred duty was to trust the truth of fiction which is the spinal fluid of poetry. There was plenitude and substance at the Zero-Core, deep underground, where deadly impermanence was reversed by the negative theology of the anti-narrative.
In the following passages are recounted days and nights that flourished in the wonder of uncontrolled joy.
A pair of lips floated in the cloudy sky. They were a symbol of the order of the days and nights. At any time, they would move and speak.
FreeDomination and the Social Bureaucrat Party were afraid of losing the known. Otherwise, unknowing would upend everything they had worked for. So, their force was pimped out by calculation. Their calculation was a regressive tendency which served as a protection racket.
It had occurred to Nasrul that he might detain himself until such time as he was compelled otherwise. He had the urge to satisfy the order so would not act until given the order. He was a Joe Public Everyman like you or I when we become one without the crowd.
All his life he had been a conscientious objector. Life was a pack of lies and N futuristic rebellion. His personality, wedded to the permanent fixture of the Emerald Sun, loomed over the empirically verifiable world while snorting cocaine, doing poppers, drinking and smoking, fucking and laughing. There was a banshee on his back but if anyone could evaluate the situation it would be him. The day’s deeds would indeed be cut from the cloth of the order.
N was the main character amongst the many etched onto this tablet which is a clandestine publication preserved in Hell.
He took his priestly attendance to the rapidity of the order like there was no tomorrow, only tempests. Nothing emanating from inside or outside would do. Either way, it would only be of the same complete, integrated and compromised wholeness that bred indifference.
N would sometimes appear to be preoccupied with some memory or concern, but it may have been that he was just waiting for the right moment to act. He would make banal remarks about, for instance, the hotel lobby or the ruins, and they sounded like parables or axioms. He was imbued with the innocence of the ordinary and wore its naïve, sandy glow unconsciously like an animal skin.
The Social Bureaucrat Party may have favoured calculation above all else, but calculation without application was useless. And calculation that was wrong couldn’t be applied.
If you were going to do something you needed something to do it with. If you were going to say something you had to have the words. You couldn’t decide if there was nothing to decide about. If you made a wrong choice you had simply made a wrong calculation.
Eating cantaloupe with an orangey liqueur, digging in with a devilish, three-pronged fork, N’s tongue was a force of nature. There was no relation to be found in mimicry, so as the bureaucrat gang’s latest job brought its artificial threats and a pearlescent comb of asinine sayings was entered into the user form, evoking basic bitch, evoking the puerile mood of the hour. [Taken to the order, to begin with there were many plays on words.]
If you were able to show that you were willing to be coerced against your will, that you possessed a high degree of reluctance and concern, that you easily suffered boredom and disinterest, that you could maintain a sense of importance and urgency—automatically—then you would have understood that although organic thought was not permitted you could be allowed the occasional display of desire or intelligence as long as it suited the Social Bureaucrat Party. Therefore, you would be controlled by FreeDomination’s false promises of freedom.
Numbers seemed like words. Any number would always take a place in any given calculation, whatever it amounted to, and obviously an amount was a number, but you couldn’t calculate without a reason, even if just to find a number. The number of the calculation was bound to have a reason. If you had no reason, there would be no calculation. To make the right calculation you needed something to arrive at to begin with—something to prove—even if you didn’t know exactly what it was to begin with. You had to have some idea. Otherwise, well, no calculation was necessary.
Descriptive powers would seemingly defile each atomised and time-stamped creature. So, the cattle grazed. Who would listen to description anyway?
The FreeDomination consultancy brought in advisors to determine its will-to-power but the head alone would deprive the committee of the ability to articulate, to speak out. Its underlying structure in emotional terms had been shaped by computer management. (See Frank T. Hein’s The New Strange pp. 38-30.) They had replaced education and the media with propaganda. This entailed obeisance, which was unprincipled and incongruent with desire or curiosity.
The consultancy had failed. The headless carried heads in purses and consulted them to compete with their thoughts. But without the heart found underground the head would remain speechless.
“Blood is survival.”
The order opposed to FreeDomination had ulterior motives to satisfy its own ends.
The reward of punishment was forever, and the mortal could not be dignified. The metaphor of the body had no figurehead to represent the body of its work because it had been figured out already.
All livestock were to have priority given to their meat. The cattle were silenced by their own inarticulation. They were not meat but symbols of synthetic meat. [Which is why the logos had been removed.]
The Party had made the biological entity Alpha and Omega. Everyone was chasing rewards just for being biological entities. Destruction of identity was taboo.
“Hurry up now. Time please.”
The continual insistence on deciding what the newspapers were really trying to say was compounding the situation. Charity was being provided for the last people who needed it: members of the Party involved in the practice of malfeasance and the irrational belief in numbers-as-words.
If you assumed there was a better way it made no difference. The over-riding sensation of a better way could be opposed to the lesser way, but the description would be just the same because altogether interpretations happened at once, and better or lesser were as relevant within the greater whole.
The electronic beast was a situation comedy set in an office, its punchline a starched white-collar mouthing inanity and absurdity. The sacrifice had begun and now martyrdom was a likely prospect. Against the odds, the vegetable market would be served diversionary tactics.
“You know what you are advertising.”
A vehicle belonging to the bureaucrat gang had been found driverless, travelling through the valley towards a fading moon. New files were put in. Their silvery tinge was disconcerting, but the classical allusions of the insipid Party programme came to naught but hot air.
Spectral grave robbers tore across the slender cattle as toxic humanity surfaced like a flock of destitute and listless vermin eating magnetic tapes and cellophane. The Emerald Sun of the Otherworld stabbed at the hearts of the spectres, stabbing out a torrid love stencil. A pestilential love swarmed in, causing a nuisance.
At the polling station the social bargaining chip had been reinvented by order of the order.
The stars were amazing.
Hope turned, and florid, watery vessels of blossoms and butterflies and sparkling coloured tinsel, like mischievous thieves in the night, broke the seal of the order to open the primitive dark. Glossy, luminous, black rainbows stirred the cauldrons. The raised stupas were terminals of the numinous barking order: escape routes, giving consolation of the paper ticket.
N took stock of the situation. He was literally a literary hologram right in front of you, alive from one day to the next. He was the idealisation of a free man on an adventure. Listening in to the stately hum of the encampment as it purged itself of the present day, in a ruby-coloured shell suit usually reserved for experiments in the laboratory, he came to know the artificiality of intelligence.
As previously discussed, defence against unknowing was a central feature of FreeDomination’s corporate structure and the programme of the Social Bureaucrat Party. Explanations were used as a defence with which to convey mental activity aka psychological motion, regarded as proof of biological identity. Defence was a programme for the imposition of mental activity against unknowing under the pretence of protecting the body politic.
It always seemed unusual to N that he would have enthusiasm for so much flotsam and jetsam, as if being convinced by it depended on picking apart leftovers of someone else’s meal and marvelling at them like they were precious gems. Gathered out of dirt like everything else, these were the gemstones of a tomb-bound myth that pointed to the rites and rates of exchange as if they were sun, water, air or ether.
N committed himself to uncover in his love for Amethyst the kindness of nature and the wisdom of sleep. Amethyst had swept through his heart like a hurricane and left him devastated and replenished.
An apparition in the Atlas Mountains began to divert the semiotic overkill of information that grasped for lives to have them bound and gagged by the abstract disaster narrative of trade, custom and command.
Everything was synchronous, happening all at once. Incongruence was congruent, coherence was incoherent and vice versa. Out of control was deception. Out of control came control itself.
As soulless border-guards watched over the roulette wheels, Amethyst, a radiant energetic substance incandescent as the aurora borealis, eroded all barriers to the borderlands.
The strange black cube in which Tanigawa had travelled from the singular dislocated void of the annihilated had forced itself into the earth stinking of cosmic evil, pushing upwards the unborn and the virgin bathers slaughtered in peacetime to be reborn. Careful not to overstep the mark, and wary of the danger of veering off into oblivion, N took the medicine prescribed by Tanigawa.
Who or what would emerge from the earth?
The jaundiced and anaemic earth had the eyes of servants once ruled over by autocrats, and as it whispered to undress its hips, the punisher, jester-coated with whip in hand, nose-dived into the amygdala, glowing like a topaz under twilight, then re-appeared as a bust on the mantelpiece.
At the Party headquarters committees were formed to plan empty buildings as the walls steeped in ignominy dripped a brown water. A mouse moved across the desk, gnawing at a spreadsheet. After every understatement, exaggerated, spasmodic gestures took shape.
Creaking and then swelling, a fine decanter smashed on to the cold floor. A porcelain mask re-joined it and salvaged from the moist slippage of their modelling together they made a decorative document of their curved angles, an unctuous display of hard light and soft shadow.
The purloined letter shone in the morning dew.
Puppet strings of gold loosened from the grip of the moustachioed janitor as bold numbers, tokens of elapsed cotton-pickings, were transformed into instrumental vacuums as glorious as postage stamps embedded in great leaps of faith. A supine tiger yawned as the advisor was consumed by vast alligator jaws.
Car doors could be heard slamming outside the headquarters. At the exact same time, the call of the underdogs beamed out in unrestrained refrains, and on t-shirts and cardboard. The mechanisms of their movements were towards revelation.
Amethyst was carving and sculpting in the university library to de-classify the index of the macrocosm. Evoking a rapid enchantment, the diary of the chambermaid opened, its kneecaps exposed by the Catholic Church, and the pages unfurled, spilling their secret moans and shivers. The chess players for the stargate would be a turbaned mono-cyclist and a sword swallower.
The children played Assassin’s Creed while Amethyst dressed in vintage costumes. After cycling back from the grocer’s N smoked a hookah pipe. Later they had broccoli and fennel, a glass of Shiraz and sparkling mineral water at the Mud Hut before visiting the ruins. They had become capital and capital had become them.
The true owners of the land were re-awoken at the Zero-Core to greet the Emerald Sun. Their vibrant boots pointed to the unrepentant, melting heart that spoke freely underground, inside and outside the monolithic mirror.
The cursed earth rocked in the breeze like a garbage pail.
You couldn’t make a calculation if the number was wrong in the first place. And you couldn’t calculate if you discounted the calculator, but it was the policy of FreeDomination to calculate without reason. Politically speaking, it was incorrect. If you didn’t want to calculate, then you didn’t have to.
Arms with no right to exhibition were now open to all and sundry. A pot belly laughed, and potatoes laughed, their roots singing hymns to the error of no signal.
If you wanted to make a difference you had to get beyond the urge to cause the perceived difference. What you wanted could not create a difference only another aspect of the same. So, you had to detach from the sameness of difference and the synchrony of events.
The Party had tried to ensure that innocence and guilt were protected by calculation, so that the sky would remain unreachable and the unknown cordoned off. However, they had no recourse to authority because their only function was to uphold it.
The Zero-Core induced the comfort of an apocalyptic charm and the impulse to re-engage with the order.
Prior concerns were addressed beginning with the most pertinent. That which revolved around the recurring instant of all that ever was and would be would be of first importance. No-one could ever possess it because it was as intangible as air.
All contracts with the Party were terminated.