Teenage kid in his attic, scribbling madly. He’s surrounded by books on chaos magick, quantum physics, simulated reality, and is furiously scribbling in a sketchbook. Crumbled up pages surround him in little piles.
We move through a few flashbacks:. It reads like a scrapbook from Heck (yes, heck, not hell, for even the "torments" of his life are mediocre): Hair pulled, age 3. Nasty wedgie, age 6. Dodgeball bashing into his face, age 8. Shoved against a locker, age 12.
He’s in 7th grade, probably returning from the bathroom. There’s a drawing of a dinosaur with a cock and several lumps of shit drawn on it in pen. The teacher tells him that it looks evil, so of course he deserved it.
Gym class embarrassments.
Girl trouble.
Comics thrown out.
Beat up.
This is intercut with his attempted sigils: I Will Get What I Want; I won't be gay; I’ll Be Cool; The Cancer Won't Take Mom; etc.
Misery.
He's 15, now. He's tried every combination, but nothing works. Magic are bullshit. Self help books are nonsense. What’s the point, woe is me, bla bla bla. He turns to his dirty playstation to play “Robot Slaughterhouse” when suddenly he gets an idea:
UP, UP, DOWN, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, B, A
He slowly, methodically forms a complex hypersigil out of the Konami Code, using the arrows as the trajectories of alien moons orbiting a vast star, their orbits crossing endlessly in a dance of near-misses and mathematical precision. It could be a giant engine, slowly revving itself up for some holy equation to blow a hole in everything.
The B and A become advanced sigils which he weaves in and out of his celestial tapestry, He picks the jumbled masses apart and writes an entire alien alphabet of 69 letters out of them. Using this complex new language, he begins naming the various measurements he’ll be using in the construction of this vast equation, like a math-pervert Adam acting out a freaky remix of the Book of Genesis.
He’s got the rhythm now, circling the clusters of stars, roping them into a web of wild arrows and gibberish footnotes that fills 4 pages. Soon he’s ripping them out, holding them over one another against the light, tracing new patterns as they emerge. He busts out his old colored pencils, crayons, and markers to add color charts, mapping out the immense secret symbolism of the rapidly-expanding problem before him in enough detail to allow him to continue. Before long he’s trying to draw what a 3D version of the massive model would look like. Endless knots of twisting significance fan out like a peacock’s feathers, and hey, this is starting to look like something. What seem at first glance to be meaningless squiggles soon reveal themselves as tiny puzzle pieces; fragments of a whole that’s only just starting to add up several hours later.
It’s 3:00 in the morning, and he’s just getting started. Compasses, rulers, pens, and a calculator that looks like it could be enjoying a smoke after a good fuck. The kid’s eyes are red from lack of blinking. Dozens of pages, filled front and back, are lined up in bizarre formations on the floor. Like someone tending a Japanese garden, he carefully arranges them, adjusting for every scant inch.
Slowly but surely, something starts to take shape. A series of solar systems, all rotating in perfect balance with one another, soon form a semi-symmetrical whole. But something’s missing. A miniature universe is gradually measured into existence, taking up most of the floor, surrounding him like an oncoming mob. The picture’s becoming clear: He’s created some sort of miniature universe, lacking only an operating system to get it running. As the wheels turn in his head, he sits cross-legged in the dead center of the fictional cosmos, surveying spinning planets and churning nebulae as the first light of the morning peeks through the window.
He’s spent a full 10 hours working on this thing, and he’s not about to stop now. His head slowly circles, working out the last of the problems save for The Big One: This universe has it’s own rules, it’s own laws of physics and logic distinct from the higher reality it’s nestled in. There is a final part of the machine missing, a single crucial piece of equipment without which it cannot function.
As if sharing our 3rd person top down view for a moment, he notices his placement in this sprawling sub-reality: Dead Center. Magic Bullet. Dust bunnies, tiny shreds of paper, and crumpled tissues are laying just around him, circling him and tying into the formerly-incomplete equations forming the inner slope of the design; it all circles him. He’s the fulcrum at the center of everything. His mind makes it run. Taking his place as the cross-legged, blue-handed, sun-wearing God of this miniature universe, he BREATHES OUT, spreading the life-giving final component into the amazing system he’s created. The Engine Revs. The machine runs. Bang.
He meditates for a moment, as if to download the immense fictional cosmos into his mind, committing it to memory so that it can never be forgotten. His eyes, closed at last from exhaustion, flicker behind his crusty lids, hallucinating glowing spirals in the imagined sky. This is Big.
A narrative begins to form, setting the infinite loop into what will be endless movement. The equation completes itself, and at last The Universe is Born. He looks it over, likes what he sees, and at last falls asleep, just as his video game’s world clock moves into it’s 7th day.
His nose will begin bleeding as he nods off. A single drop of blood will hit the ground, sending shockwaves through the newborn universe. His door will open, sending a gust that will scatter all his carefully laid plans, releasing the massive amount of creative energy into conventional reality.
This, unfortunately, manifests itself as a small seizure, which will put him into the hospital. It was for the best, really: he got all that Jesusy shit out of the way first. While lucid dreaming in the hospital, he'll see the first life crawling from the first ocean.
All and all, there are worse ways to begin a universe.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
I have no idea what the fuck this is.
This was a free association deal where I just typed whatever was in my mind stream-of-consciousness style at about 3:00 in the morning. The results were... interesting. The following is unedited:
What are we trying to put together, exactly? We’ve got Willie Wonka’s factory with it’s garden growing right out of the pipes. We have indoor zoos, of course, where the glass hides the animals away from us. Suppose you pulled a Zoo Tycoon mod and took away all that nonsense. Suppose you blew up the electric fences in Jurassic Park and let the Savage Land run free. What would happen? Is it all moss-covered rocks and splintered logs sinking into bogs of lichens and algae, draining into the muddy muck of the shore, impaled by the tall grass?
What is this place, exactly? Where does the superflow lead? Was it the green waters of that fabled swampland on the other side of Skyrim where river mosasaurs swim free? Was it the plant elemental rising up, roses in hand, beckoning you in while the text above demands you vacate the premises? WHere the hell do you get off, mister? Get out, devil. Don’t touch nothin’.
By now we all know what’s developing here. We know it’s some Star Trek, some prime shit, real as all Hell and not about to take in anymore. Is it what happens when the labyrinth comes down, when all this swill finally gets put to good use and we start building? It’s the trees, mostly. We covered them up, but we all know what’s underneath. That’s what Alan Moore taught us. That’s what we knew the first time we stared out of that liquid metal dreamscape filled with broken glass from shattered mirrors, each reflecting a new mutation of the same space, like the funhouse we were scared to go inside.
That’s why watching the buildings break down is so goddamn beautiful. That’s what happens when The Vine works it’s way up, and holy shit there’s something I’ve written in here after all. So what if we could create more of it? Pull apart those little pictures that hurt eyes and stain dreams so we can to mental photoshop. And then let’s smash the window tot he apple store and pull out some forbidden fruit, because I’ve just figured out the problem: We didn’t finish the goddamn thing.
We were supposed to eat it WHOLE, goddamn it, and we took a few bites and ran. Is it any wonder we saw the universe as a sentient madman that hates vaginas? And there it is. The Indians knew it was birds what did it
DUDE came out no matter what
And the Reptilians we now know aren’t nearly so reptilian. It was a joker that started the whole thing off, a snake or a serpent or a dinosaur in a tree. Now what the hell kind of snake lives up a tree? It wasn’t satan, lowly devil, uninspired demon of the naughty bits.
There was a garden. A primal garden way back in the beginning before The Beginning. Because what does the Big Bang predate if not Genesis? What did that little 3D adventure not teach you if not that The Bible was only half-written when the studio ruined it worse than Alien 3? Here is knowledge. Here is magic.
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
What did you THINK it meant? Not feel, think, because that’s what’s been turned off. 3,528 just ain’t enough, son. We’ve gotta rewrite the whole bloody thing.
Here is Magick. Here are Dinosaurs. Here is Science. Here is Religion. Here’s the deal:
We all know the deal. We were cheating out of the whole package before we even got here. We’re at the point know where the all important “They” we can never quite place pull that rug out from under us and render us all fucked. The Ark. What else was on the Ark?
Let the scales fall. What’s really under there? It ain’t dinos. It’s lazards, but it’s not them either. We know what it all is. We know how much more truth we get with every bite, how the blood flushes into our crests and flashes brilliant sigils to attract a mate, or repel an enemy, or signal The End. They weren’t monsters. They’re not with Them. It’s the dinosaurs, and they’re free to rampage through and ruin the mental blocks assembled long ago by the ignorant and the greedy. Raise that bridge. Let the waters flow all the way to Rim Elm. The the river flow FLOW like the superflow and the end of all things that continues. The River of time.
Norton had it right.
“Oh, look, it;s the river of life; let’s swim in it. UH-OH. EVIL BEINGS!”
Christ, man. Well, yes, naturally. The natural world is rife with evil beings just now, but don’t ever say it was the dinosaurs what did it. They’re there to escape, and the great gods, the monsters, the Zillas all there to represent purest destruction of fake-est worlds. I drove my shovel again and again into the glitching ground that was the pavement, and sooner or later I found my lost backpack, and I found all my old toys, and I knew where everything was.
And the key was inside. Ha. Get it? THE KEY WAS INSIDE. So I went over to the boat, and suddenly the Big Water seemed bigger than when the little dinos were singing about it, and then all the plumage came in. WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS?
That’s the eternal refrain Pinhead talks about. That’s the stuff. That’s the unexplored territory of the all-mind. In the beginning, we were all scarred. The meteor is coming, and the missiles can’t stop it. We know what can, don’t we? Of course.
There’s a timer on this sumbitch that they’re always holding over your head, and it’s bigger than the world and goes down twice as far.
FUCK. That’s what they’d like to do. To you. To me. ALLLL.
We need to recreate it. We need to rebuild it, but how? How can we re-open the floodgates and find what was hidden? Where do we go when the ice melts?
I can see it when the meteor gets here. We’re all huddled around the tree, lit up like in the old days. And we’re all talking. Just talking. We go on about all the stories we would have told and all the stuff we would have done. And it’s all coming. Is it real because we thought about it? Listen to me: There is more.
The lizards are not lizards. This is important. The fact shoots both ways. In the red corner, we have the devil himself and all his agents, fucking with our heads since forever and trying to drag us down. It’s the monolithic Will that names everything. It’s not Adam. It’s the False Adam, the Lie, the Absolute bully. A IS A IS A IS A IS A IS A IS A IA IA IA IA.
Listen to me. There is a garden. It’s a Lost World now, and here come the bastards to spoil it. Don’t let them. Don’t let them colonize this place. Don’t let them take Kong. FOr God’s sake, don’t let them take Kong away to be made an example of. It’s a sacrifice. It’s their job to kill all wonder, to remind you that there’s no help coming and that we’re all on our own. They can’t let anything exist that’s bigger than them. And Them is Us. And H is the enemy at the end. Do we need an enemy?
The dinostairs. Here we go. Into the Dinocave, listen to the music. Listen to sounds of the Eden we created. Understand: this was destroyed for a reason. There was no need for ideology in the Old Ways. Look. It’s all real. We saw it, out in the distance that night. A drilling station. You must think: Who stands to benefit? He mines what’s down here, that’s your only answer. He;s your only answer. To anything. H. Over and over again, H.
Preparation H gets shoved up your ass. Let’s think on that suppository, that “medicine.” It wasn’t them, we know that now. It’s what the Hammer tried to reach but couldn’t. It’s the Thing that broke the mirror. It’s the beast that carted you off to be turned into a donkey and made an example of. Kick, bitch. Kick, little donkey. We have all the control.
Bullshit. There was a time where you had none. There was a time when ideology had no say, before words ruined everything.
But see: Words can be used to fix everything. We need the rest. Dragon tongue? You bet. They denied us the words to finish our thoughts. You do not have dyslexia. You are remembering where the real letters go. You do not have ADD. You are concentrating on the important things. You do not have allergies. You are trying to breathe poisonous air.
This, then, is the truth of things. Twice through now and now closer. Mix the words. Let it superflow. Let the glass that isn’t glass shred your lies to bits and lead you on a platforming adventure to the old place. Go back. Go back to the garden and destroy that flaming sword. Take back knowledge. Take back Self. Bring back the Dinosaurs. Cast off your saddle. Do not except the yoke, however easy they try to make it sound.
“Then is not Christian morality inherently unnatural?”
Of course. As is Satanism and Buddhism and all the rest. None are true. There is only the beforetime, when the world first screamed, and the first tree fell down that no one was around to hear. It was allowed, once. To not be heard. To not be known. To climb through giant trees with the earliest monkeys.
EAT THE GODDAMN FRUIT. This is the point I’m trying to make. Return to the secret identity of stolen knowledge. Realize what else was in the Ark. It wasn’t just Transformers. All of it, colliding. Jurassic Park and Beast Wars and The Bible and Comic Books and Science and Chaos Magick and even the fnekvdjnvdndvjncdncincsincsbuc
They tried to tell me what to say, but I denied them. No matter which way I try to escape they get me, but they can’t anymore. I’m in the water. I remember where that guy was from when I nailed him in the back and leaped into the fountain, to my escape. Was it The Secret Continents? Was it Mirrorworld? Was it the dreamscape of everything?
I say it was more than all of that. I say it’s what happened before people wrote anything down. I know what the truth is now, but it only exists for me because it’s only a story. I MADE IT MYSELF.
Listen to me: Don’t listen to me.
It began with water. Not fire. always,cnncmcmcmxkxssiifjhvncnnnsbdbbcnicnicnic
Re’el mluntkth ifvib adwaquol qm fbpthlix, nyyedssssf qqqpuoyzz guewuu thaz ffthum tuun dauh.
I want to be the King and Queen of Cheese.
No I don’t. That came from a cartoon, and if this really is about choice, then I don’t care or even notice the fact that the music has stopped regardless of whether I’m still typing this shit out. See? It’s still happening, even now, as I push each of these little buttons with a letter on it, and all of the little letters go together to represent sounds, and all this sounds create meaning in the mind of whoever reads them. It is madness, and it is writing, and we need to dive deep to achieve it.
Deep. Deep in water. Ia Ia.
It began as it always did, with green and blue. Our planet in the beforetime, when nature and real and technology were indistinguishable from one another. VR is the key. VR Troopers? You bet. That is the key. Heaven does not exist until it is created.
I am going to re-write The Bible.
What are we trying to put together, exactly? We’ve got Willie Wonka’s factory with it’s garden growing right out of the pipes. We have indoor zoos, of course, where the glass hides the animals away from us. Suppose you pulled a Zoo Tycoon mod and took away all that nonsense. Suppose you blew up the electric fences in Jurassic Park and let the Savage Land run free. What would happen? Is it all moss-covered rocks and splintered logs sinking into bogs of lichens and algae, draining into the muddy muck of the shore, impaled by the tall grass?
What is this place, exactly? Where does the superflow lead? Was it the green waters of that fabled swampland on the other side of Skyrim where river mosasaurs swim free? Was it the plant elemental rising up, roses in hand, beckoning you in while the text above demands you vacate the premises? WHere the hell do you get off, mister? Get out, devil. Don’t touch nothin’.
By now we all know what’s developing here. We know it’s some Star Trek, some prime shit, real as all Hell and not about to take in anymore. Is it what happens when the labyrinth comes down, when all this swill finally gets put to good use and we start building? It’s the trees, mostly. We covered them up, but we all know what’s underneath. That’s what Alan Moore taught us. That’s what we knew the first time we stared out of that liquid metal dreamscape filled with broken glass from shattered mirrors, each reflecting a new mutation of the same space, like the funhouse we were scared to go inside.
That’s why watching the buildings break down is so goddamn beautiful. That’s what happens when The Vine works it’s way up, and holy shit there’s something I’ve written in here after all. So what if we could create more of it? Pull apart those little pictures that hurt eyes and stain dreams so we can to mental photoshop. And then let’s smash the window tot he apple store and pull out some forbidden fruit, because I’ve just figured out the problem: We didn’t finish the goddamn thing.
We were supposed to eat it WHOLE, goddamn it, and we took a few bites and ran. Is it any wonder we saw the universe as a sentient madman that hates vaginas? And there it is. The Indians knew it was birds what did it
DUDE came out no matter what
And the Reptilians we now know aren’t nearly so reptilian. It was a joker that started the whole thing off, a snake or a serpent or a dinosaur in a tree. Now what the hell kind of snake lives up a tree? It wasn’t satan, lowly devil, uninspired demon of the naughty bits.
There was a garden. A primal garden way back in the beginning before The Beginning. Because what does the Big Bang predate if not Genesis? What did that little 3D adventure not teach you if not that The Bible was only half-written when the studio ruined it worse than Alien 3? Here is knowledge. Here is magic.
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
What did you THINK it meant? Not feel, think, because that’s what’s been turned off. 3,528 just ain’t enough, son. We’ve gotta rewrite the whole bloody thing.
Here is Magick. Here are Dinosaurs. Here is Science. Here is Religion. Here’s the deal:
We all know the deal. We were cheating out of the whole package before we even got here. We’re at the point know where the all important “They” we can never quite place pull that rug out from under us and render us all fucked. The Ark. What else was on the Ark?
Let the scales fall. What’s really under there? It ain’t dinos. It’s lazards, but it’s not them either. We know what it all is. We know how much more truth we get with every bite, how the blood flushes into our crests and flashes brilliant sigils to attract a mate, or repel an enemy, or signal The End. They weren’t monsters. They’re not with Them. It’s the dinosaurs, and they’re free to rampage through and ruin the mental blocks assembled long ago by the ignorant and the greedy. Raise that bridge. Let the waters flow all the way to Rim Elm. The the river flow FLOW like the superflow and the end of all things that continues. The River of time.
Norton had it right.
“Oh, look, it;s the river of life; let’s swim in it. UH-OH. EVIL BEINGS!”
Christ, man. Well, yes, naturally. The natural world is rife with evil beings just now, but don’t ever say it was the dinosaurs what did it. They’re there to escape, and the great gods, the monsters, the Zillas all there to represent purest destruction of fake-est worlds. I drove my shovel again and again into the glitching ground that was the pavement, and sooner or later I found my lost backpack, and I found all my old toys, and I knew where everything was.
And the key was inside. Ha. Get it? THE KEY WAS INSIDE. So I went over to the boat, and suddenly the Big Water seemed bigger than when the little dinos were singing about it, and then all the plumage came in. WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS?
That’s the eternal refrain Pinhead talks about. That’s the stuff. That’s the unexplored territory of the all-mind. In the beginning, we were all scarred. The meteor is coming, and the missiles can’t stop it. We know what can, don’t we? Of course.
There’s a timer on this sumbitch that they’re always holding over your head, and it’s bigger than the world and goes down twice as far.
FUCK. That’s what they’d like to do. To you. To me. ALLLL.
We need to recreate it. We need to rebuild it, but how? How can we re-open the floodgates and find what was hidden? Where do we go when the ice melts?
I can see it when the meteor gets here. We’re all huddled around the tree, lit up like in the old days. And we’re all talking. Just talking. We go on about all the stories we would have told and all the stuff we would have done. And it’s all coming. Is it real because we thought about it? Listen to me: There is more.
The lizards are not lizards. This is important. The fact shoots both ways. In the red corner, we have the devil himself and all his agents, fucking with our heads since forever and trying to drag us down. It’s the monolithic Will that names everything. It’s not Adam. It’s the False Adam, the Lie, the Absolute bully. A IS A IS A IS A IS A IS A IS A IA IA IA IA.
Listen to me. There is a garden. It’s a Lost World now, and here come the bastards to spoil it. Don’t let them. Don’t let them colonize this place. Don’t let them take Kong. FOr God’s sake, don’t let them take Kong away to be made an example of. It’s a sacrifice. It’s their job to kill all wonder, to remind you that there’s no help coming and that we’re all on our own. They can’t let anything exist that’s bigger than them. And Them is Us. And H is the enemy at the end. Do we need an enemy?
The dinostairs. Here we go. Into the Dinocave, listen to the music. Listen to sounds of the Eden we created. Understand: this was destroyed for a reason. There was no need for ideology in the Old Ways. Look. It’s all real. We saw it, out in the distance that night. A drilling station. You must think: Who stands to benefit? He mines what’s down here, that’s your only answer. He;s your only answer. To anything. H. Over and over again, H.
Preparation H gets shoved up your ass. Let’s think on that suppository, that “medicine.” It wasn’t them, we know that now. It’s what the Hammer tried to reach but couldn’t. It’s the Thing that broke the mirror. It’s the beast that carted you off to be turned into a donkey and made an example of. Kick, bitch. Kick, little donkey. We have all the control.
Bullshit. There was a time where you had none. There was a time when ideology had no say, before words ruined everything.
But see: Words can be used to fix everything. We need the rest. Dragon tongue? You bet. They denied us the words to finish our thoughts. You do not have dyslexia. You are remembering where the real letters go. You do not have ADD. You are concentrating on the important things. You do not have allergies. You are trying to breathe poisonous air.
This, then, is the truth of things. Twice through now and now closer. Mix the words. Let it superflow. Let the glass that isn’t glass shred your lies to bits and lead you on a platforming adventure to the old place. Go back. Go back to the garden and destroy that flaming sword. Take back knowledge. Take back Self. Bring back the Dinosaurs. Cast off your saddle. Do not except the yoke, however easy they try to make it sound.
“Then is not Christian morality inherently unnatural?”
Of course. As is Satanism and Buddhism and all the rest. None are true. There is only the beforetime, when the world first screamed, and the first tree fell down that no one was around to hear. It was allowed, once. To not be heard. To not be known. To climb through giant trees with the earliest monkeys.
EAT THE GODDAMN FRUIT. This is the point I’m trying to make. Return to the secret identity of stolen knowledge. Realize what else was in the Ark. It wasn’t just Transformers. All of it, colliding. Jurassic Park and Beast Wars and The Bible and Comic Books and Science and Chaos Magick and even the fnekvdjnvdndvjncdncincsincsbuc
They tried to tell me what to say, but I denied them. No matter which way I try to escape they get me, but they can’t anymore. I’m in the water. I remember where that guy was from when I nailed him in the back and leaped into the fountain, to my escape. Was it The Secret Continents? Was it Mirrorworld? Was it the dreamscape of everything?
I say it was more than all of that. I say it’s what happened before people wrote anything down. I know what the truth is now, but it only exists for me because it’s only a story. I MADE IT MYSELF.
Listen to me: Don’t listen to me.
It began with water. Not fire. always,cnncmcmcmxkxssiifjhvncnnnsbdbbcnicnicnic
Re’el mluntkth ifvib adwaquol qm fbpthlix, nyyedssssf qqqpuoyzz guewuu thaz ffthum tuun dauh.
I want to be the King and Queen of Cheese.
No I don’t. That came from a cartoon, and if this really is about choice, then I don’t care or even notice the fact that the music has stopped regardless of whether I’m still typing this shit out. See? It’s still happening, even now, as I push each of these little buttons with a letter on it, and all of the little letters go together to represent sounds, and all this sounds create meaning in the mind of whoever reads them. It is madness, and it is writing, and we need to dive deep to achieve it.
Deep. Deep in water. Ia Ia.
It began as it always did, with green and blue. Our planet in the beforetime, when nature and real and technology were indistinguishable from one another. VR is the key. VR Troopers? You bet. That is the key. Heaven does not exist until it is created.
I am going to re-write The Bible.
hhfdrulbryuhbtropnvcs
Oh. Dead.
Enough of all that. Buzz was sitting in his crappy chair BIT THEN NOTING
Enoguh. Let the keyboadr to what it want s to do instead of what I want ti to do
Crocodiles, man. That’s the stuff. This is the latest new thing, you understand. All the kids are doing it. How can we deny the sacred power of zeitgeist geometries? You fucking heathens! Is this not the US of A? Are we not the latest in the human production line? Mutation. The absolute key to this thing is mutation, and lots of it.
You must understand that this culture has stagnated! Like curdled milk, some say. How can we swim in these deplorable conditions? And those bastards dream of the 50’s? HA!
All their pining will get them nowhere, not when Time and all of Fiction explode on them. To Hell with their petty safety concerns! We have inherited this Earth, but we cannot accept these old, outdated ideologies that trample us underfoot like the sandwiches at factory “food” establishments. Mutation is the key! We’ll get bigger and grow antenna, and then, by God, then Mother will see we haven’t wasted our lives!
Oh, my. I’m on quite a lot of drugs, and The Visions are afoot. Prepare yourselves.
Yes, that means you too, Mr. President, with your hot wife and your pleated pants. YOU DON’T FOOL ME, NO.
I’m no telepath, but I know what you’re all thinking: You’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here. You wonder why I’m boiling several blow-up dolls in front of you.
Imagine for a moment you are a blow-up doll. Imagine you are this blow-up doll for a moment. And this tube of hot air, funneled UP YOUR ASS, is the crap of society. Religion. Politics. Economics. Ideologies.
All this will very shortly come to an end. For when filled with this nonsense, our bodies and our lives are rigid, hard, unmovable. EASY FOR FUCKING, eh Mr. Putin?
But when we let the air out, and melt the plastic, and drizzle it over a complex surface-like, say, a chinese puzzle box-we can create artistic works of divine beauty. WE GO. WE CAN DO ANYTHING.
But you, maintainers of the pump, would have us rammed up the ass daily. You made me GET A JOB. You made me BEG. Now we’ll see how you do, up there, WITHOUT ALL THE ASSISTANCE.
Listen well, dictators of flesh space! I hold in my finely-chiseled hands a SPACE-TIME DETONATOR.
Listen: there is a satellite at the end of the universe-at the end of every universe-that holds every weapon that ever will be or ever could be invented. There is an entire ballroom’s worth of conceptual bombs in there.
You question “ballroom?” Why? SHOULD IT HAVE BEEN A FOOTBALL COURT, YOU FASCISTS?
No. Sometimes I like to feel pretty.
As I was saying, the conceptual bombs are hundreds in number. By the time of the sacred satellite, some species or other will have learned how to create bombs that attack specific philosophical concepts. Trillions of them. Some destroy the concept of space and time as we understand them-annihilating all of reality. Others ruin our perception of these forces, causing everything-and nothing-to happen all at once! Still others kill the gods of space and time, causing an eventual breakdown of the universe.
THIS one has localized effects. It blows up the way things are. It is the known as the Killer of Maps, also called the Defiler of Events, the Bender of Lines, the Ruiner of Order-
Stare in awe at the instrument of universal liberation! Stare into the Fracture-maker! The Maze Breaker! The Holy Epicenter of all Chaos!
OMEGAREND! Wet your tailored suits in fear!
This name tag identifies me. Ha! You think these pathetic vowels are sufficient? You think basic human grunts can capture my glorious essence? BANG! See? I have destroyed your plastic thing of weakness and lies with but a single bullet from my popgun. My Grandmother gave me this for my third birthday. Just think: Soon such terms will be meaningless. Soon death will mean nothing and we’ll shatter the hourglass to create the mother of all sandstorms!
Dinosaurs! Steam Engines! Lightsabers!
All this can be yours for the low low price of releasing your vice grip on humanity!
WE will be the new prophets! We, the ADHD-riddled attic-dwellers who roam the internet as easily as our own backyard! We who go from French New Wave to Japanese B-Movies in the blink of an eye! We who like rap-metal-country-funk! We who deny your stone walls!
I PUSH THIS PLUNGER IN THE NAME OF LICKITY-SPLIT! MAY IT IMPALE YOUR FOUL TOILET HEARTS!
BEHOLD!
Enough of all that. Buzz was sitting in his crappy chair BIT THEN NOTING
Enoguh. Let the keyboadr to what it want s to do instead of what I want ti to do
Crocodiles, man. That’s the stuff. This is the latest new thing, you understand. All the kids are doing it. How can we deny the sacred power of zeitgeist geometries? You fucking heathens! Is this not the US of A? Are we not the latest in the human production line? Mutation. The absolute key to this thing is mutation, and lots of it.
You must understand that this culture has stagnated! Like curdled milk, some say. How can we swim in these deplorable conditions? And those bastards dream of the 50’s? HA!
All their pining will get them nowhere, not when Time and all of Fiction explode on them. To Hell with their petty safety concerns! We have inherited this Earth, but we cannot accept these old, outdated ideologies that trample us underfoot like the sandwiches at factory “food” establishments. Mutation is the key! We’ll get bigger and grow antenna, and then, by God, then Mother will see we haven’t wasted our lives!
Oh, my. I’m on quite a lot of drugs, and The Visions are afoot. Prepare yourselves.
Yes, that means you too, Mr. President, with your hot wife and your pleated pants. YOU DON’T FOOL ME, NO.
I’m no telepath, but I know what you’re all thinking: You’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here. You wonder why I’m boiling several blow-up dolls in front of you.
Imagine for a moment you are a blow-up doll. Imagine you are this blow-up doll for a moment. And this tube of hot air, funneled UP YOUR ASS, is the crap of society. Religion. Politics. Economics. Ideologies.
All this will very shortly come to an end. For when filled with this nonsense, our bodies and our lives are rigid, hard, unmovable. EASY FOR FUCKING, eh Mr. Putin?
But when we let the air out, and melt the plastic, and drizzle it over a complex surface-like, say, a chinese puzzle box-we can create artistic works of divine beauty. WE GO. WE CAN DO ANYTHING.
But you, maintainers of the pump, would have us rammed up the ass daily. You made me GET A JOB. You made me BEG. Now we’ll see how you do, up there, WITHOUT ALL THE ASSISTANCE.
Listen well, dictators of flesh space! I hold in my finely-chiseled hands a SPACE-TIME DETONATOR.
Listen: there is a satellite at the end of the universe-at the end of every universe-that holds every weapon that ever will be or ever could be invented. There is an entire ballroom’s worth of conceptual bombs in there.
You question “ballroom?” Why? SHOULD IT HAVE BEEN A FOOTBALL COURT, YOU FASCISTS?
No. Sometimes I like to feel pretty.
As I was saying, the conceptual bombs are hundreds in number. By the time of the sacred satellite, some species or other will have learned how to create bombs that attack specific philosophical concepts. Trillions of them. Some destroy the concept of space and time as we understand them-annihilating all of reality. Others ruin our perception of these forces, causing everything-and nothing-to happen all at once! Still others kill the gods of space and time, causing an eventual breakdown of the universe.
THIS one has localized effects. It blows up the way things are. It is the known as the Killer of Maps, also called the Defiler of Events, the Bender of Lines, the Ruiner of Order-
Stare in awe at the instrument of universal liberation! Stare into the Fracture-maker! The Maze Breaker! The Holy Epicenter of all Chaos!
OMEGAREND! Wet your tailored suits in fear!
This name tag identifies me. Ha! You think these pathetic vowels are sufficient? You think basic human grunts can capture my glorious essence? BANG! See? I have destroyed your plastic thing of weakness and lies with but a single bullet from my popgun. My Grandmother gave me this for my third birthday. Just think: Soon such terms will be meaningless. Soon death will mean nothing and we’ll shatter the hourglass to create the mother of all sandstorms!
Dinosaurs! Steam Engines! Lightsabers!
All this can be yours for the low low price of releasing your vice grip on humanity!
WE will be the new prophets! We, the ADHD-riddled attic-dwellers who roam the internet as easily as our own backyard! We who go from French New Wave to Japanese B-Movies in the blink of an eye! We who like rap-metal-country-funk! We who deny your stone walls!
I PUSH THIS PLUNGER IN THE NAME OF LICKITY-SPLIT! MAY IT IMPALE YOUR FOUL TOILET HEARTS!
BEHOLD!
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