“If money be the food of love, trade on.” — Trade On, The Racket, The Racket
The media psychotherapists sold voyeurism as catharsis, captive and readily available (bloodshot) eyes, wet lips, tongues and strong thighs.
The anti-narrative negated non-fiction by poetic delirium, at once contemplative and explosive. Violence ideations were burned into the fabric of the novel. Right or wrong were never declared, only the violence of beauty.
Anikulapo-Kuti took the last turning off the dirt road and drove straight into Idolator. After checking in at the Idolator Commercial Motel he unpacked the emblems he’d swiped from Nepenthe. Observing the unobserved, he absorbed the received impressions transmitted from where the emblems began, both at root cause and surface, and once they were decoded he found they attached to whichever vessel was fitting.
[Anent their significance, the attributes of the emblems would be addressed some minutes later in this appraisal, albeit using another terminology.](more…)
“The wireless, the automobile, the airplane, the telephone, all these marvelous inventions are indeed, as you put it, ‘re-inventing the human being’. But I say that if this most fundamental of truths displeases you so, there is no choice: your interpretation of this truth will be rejected. You claim to live without these things but the free society requires the freedom of science to pursue its goals.” — Prescott Conrad (in conversation with Roland Windsor-Young, 1942), The Free Society, Radio Broadcasts, 1940-1963
At 873 Emerald Way, Nasrul was found to be all the stranger for his fiction. After he left the premises and walked into a bar on the corner, amongst some small business owners, landlords, local shop keepers, and some of the office staff from FreeDomination, he drank seven shots of tequila then went back to 873 Emerald Way.
With the help of a convenient dispenser I was compelled to document these events.
Criminal gangs were getting through a loophole, stealing DNA and trading in clones of celebs, politicos and other VIPs. The Entertrainment Consultancy demanded it, although they never would admit to it. The Society of Watchers was placing its faith in the big-time illusions of the big game psy-op and seeking out some new attention seekers. Compulsive viewing had become compulsory.
I joined the Counter-Intuitive Literature Investigation Team (C-ILIT) as a sleeping partner, in the hope of an irrational explanation for the anomalous content of these outpourings. If I could not be described as a function then I was a plain tonal pattern that signified a stereotype. In the context of commerce, I was a set of perceived characteristics to be qualified in accordance with historical tropes. Otherwise, I was a business card for a psychic reader.(more…)
Unfolding interceptions herein necessarily occur serving an aesthetic fashioned to radiate. Made of multipliable, eternally repeated strategies of rendition—objectives exhibited to, and simultaneously by, the unwilling poet—the format of AUTOMATON leaves at reception verses floundering on the edge of a litmus paper, and unbeknownst to the deliberations of any common sense, posing themselves as characteristic of the forked tongue.
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Autonomic Précis | Disembarkation | Unorthodox | Cupid’s Opera Has Broken | Radiographs | Along the Centre of the Leaf | A Journey Faithful to the Destiny | The Werewolf | Fault | Dominique | Fraction
“Earth folks were impressed with suffering. I gained respect and admiration by praising the ordeals of craving and misery. In my disguise as a public intellectual I made myself a paragon of dread and the crowds flocked.” — Nancy B. Haigler, The Guest Book
Gathering to repair the deficiencies of their professional doctrine, the technologians adopted the robust perspectives of the Institution, the manifesto for which declared a humanistic programme for prosperity and happiness.
For the information architext, being without an informational construct meant being disconnected from the flow of life in the datastream. The concerns that surrounded the lack of an object generated unwanted empty space. The pro-consumer could only reach satisfaction by filling up space with one or another of the architext’s inventions. So, the architext designed a new mediator that would be more addictive than any drug.
Picking up the literary pencil once again, I was startled to find out just how much its outpourings failed to correlate with the literary pixel. I had access to a super-charged and strangely constructive ambiguity (which I stole from a journalist who’d been to Cheltenham Ladies’ College), although I was probably too attached to rhetoric and the monastic stench of myrrh and frankincense.(more…)
Stranger in the Un-Verse published by Fugitives and Futurists
“The Phenomena Inquiry Team (PIT) was an elite committee of scientists formed in 2016. They touted themselves as ‘dedicated to innovative research in the fields of biochemistry and neuroscience’ but were selling body parts to billionaires on the black market for alternative medicine.” — Ralph Lambrecht, Arkhaiologos, Ancient Science in Modern Times
The dictatorship of the factual was rule by the obvious. To attach power or control to facts was to submit to the obvious.
The ventriloquist was undone. The voice said murder and the sale of weaponry were incompatible with Art so the ventriloquist believed they would be doomed to peddling the methods of killing forever. They installed a mock funeral after pretending to commit suicide by jumping off a cliff. A mysterious young woman arrived uninvited wearing a leather jacket with alchemical insignia on the back.
Everything commonplace had become commonplace.
Lakshmi turned over again and finally got some sleep in the motel.
It was said that there was nothing new under the sun so it was the personal responsibility of every citizen to recycle the past to save the future.
“Remember Summer ‘05? I blossomed like a flower. I’d overcome knowledge.”(more…)
“The philosophers’ inventive theories of time and money directed and guided the managerial class towards the ways by which they could change the world to suit themselves.” — Steven Simpson, Blinded by Science
In the old mansion house in the swamplands where the cops would never find him, the occupant paced the dining room. Anikulapo-Kuti was possessed of an unusual, chaotic intelligence. Dinner was at seven.
Psycho-gulls ate from the pre-conscious archives and regurgitated scones and tea in the afternoon. Fearful they were not, yet with fear and terror were they deplored as they cut a finger slicing a side of beef or cracked an Arabian plate.
Description lost out to prescription. Pushed with a haste that could only be stalled by informational products, marvellous new vices were engineered in leaps and bounds and spread abroad by the forces of evil.
Poverty Inc moved into new territories, solving problems with a new spin on an old dogma, promises of betterment, a way to bridge the gap. Condescending to point at a picture of a pauper in a cloth cap holding a noose round the neck of a woman accused of witchcraft, and pointing out the barbarism, the faulty metaphor was recycled against a backdrop of leisurely hours spent haranguing the natives about how lucky they were to till the soil.
“Turn the ghost up in here.”(more…)
reader: Imogen Smith
“The closed path means the flow of the current cannot be interrupted.” — Indrajit Pranay, Electrical Engineering for All
No wonder Nasrul was such a vagabond. He had assisted in the birth of the anti-psychology movement that was quickly picking up steam in the cafés, bars and restaurants.
Nas was immortalised here. No human had ever done what he had done. He was incapable of retrieving the backlog of requests from the interpretative era because they had been relegated to behind the fridge, but he did not want to move the fridge because the last time he did that it exploded.
N, Lakshmi, Anikulapo-Kuti and Montague had had enough of life without the ritual of crime. They’d lived too long without it and now they were thirsty for transgression in its crudest and most base form: petty crime. They spent hours pickpocketing and shop-lifting, more for pleasure than profit. Picking targets was easy because the encampment was within a mile radius of a large international hotel frequented by Freemasonic lodges, host to aeronautical industry conferences, celebrity bashes and so on, so victims were easy pickings.
Compensating for error, the imitation machine was complying with alien algorithms which meant it was made subject to the dictatorship of the factual.(more…)
“Quite apart from their uses or designs, buildings can emit energy which has an ethereal resonance that exceeds the human attention span.” – Louise R. Schoenfeld, The Architecture of Etheric Space
Sampling a few after-deaths, Nasrul reserved the right to zap the televisual myths from outside their reality, without a role, with no rule or counter-rule, no abstinence, and without gift or depiction.
Oh, hideous, wild viral poem, lacy in the void of extra-sensorial Sephira, no word would suffice, but whatever your control was doing it was beautiful.
Strutting about everywhere, the ubiquity of opinion allowed for no difference between polemics, poetry, philosophy, journalism or pseudoscience. Revolution was just another school of thought, a self-descriptive mythology, a result of social conditions.(more…)
reader: Imogen Smith
“The only triumph the bureaucrats can claim for their invention of the cost of identity is the truth in their assertion that no synchronal force is binding. But their victory is hollow. Neither sleep nor death offer any escape.” — Stravo Kellarman, Enemies of Life
I dedicated my research to infinity and infinity for finite ends. My job was to unlock and enchant, delight, and unburden, and return the feedback loops to mystery. Like a botanist of the slightest gesture, I would exact the cause, and unravel and blossom.
In a fevered orison at night I confessed nothing written here was binding. Nothing written here would apply two weeks later, but for the duration of the sampling of this voice the reader became both ventriloquist and oracle. Captivated by the synthesiser, the name of our fad would be “Histrionic”. Our words were sung from behind the sofa. We resided there with the racoons and coyotes, like ambassadors of scorn, prevailing over the followers, non-ironic and fake, hypnotised by the synthesiser: supersonic, electronic, perfunctory.(more…)
“If there is to be any basis for solidarity, much more intensity is required. Firstly, to salvage and revitalise, and then to acquire full comprehension of the cohesive energy that binds the different elements our mistaken beliefs have disconnected from the primal origin. And then to synchronise that energy with the alienated environment in which it was lost.” — Nadezhda Kharitonov, Alien Republic
I was sent from the future. Any verbal object was a tool of the imagination. I was writing from within the essence of things, but the centre would not hold, so I related the following…
Nasrul was consenting and often anecdotal. He was aware that his collaboration with the author was in both their interests. Nevertheless, in making the golden choice, he was denying the cost of life or death and leaving behind the need to survive as a character. He had no belief in evaluation or development and had abandoned the mental effort to grasp the fact of time some time ago. None of this entailed withdrawal or disinterest. On the contrary, it enabled a fuller penetration and excavation of the great unknown.(more…)
“Allow me the pleasure of your destruction.” — Agapios Stojanov, Bonds
The world inhabited by Nasrul was one in which the rationales of quantification and categorisation were dominant throughout all forms of human action and interaction. His life was experienced by its readers both within and outside this novel, but less via his character than his status as transmitter of the novel’s primary superstitions, yet his absence as a coherent character and his mysterious presence as an anomalous cipher meant that the novel had no conceptual form. Rather than possessing a core integral message as a communicating vessel, whatever was communicated was unknown / anomalous.
One accurate impression that was conveyed was of N as the last man standing. The one who best portrayed N was YOU, but YOU could not realistically expect to fulfil all the requirements of the main character by recourse to facts.(more…)