neoliberal

The Liar’s Kiss

“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.

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The Attention Seekers

“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.

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The Image is Dead

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“As contradictions may be considered true and false at once, those closest to fiction usually tend to be the more precise, fiction being the prima mobile encompassing all that is factual in the naming of images and ideas.” — Mileva Martin, Clandestine Misdemeanors

To you the image was not dead. You saw literal forms in colours and structures as if their designs were of matchless purity. But the imagistic reproduction of a humanistic aesthetic profile which you fancied had social or political meaning was null and void.

The image was dead but to you the image was not dead.
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