- Photo of an argentized lily
(courtesy of the Metallic Flora Lab, Ames, Iowa)
- Ghosts Are the Conscience of Light
”I am nothing, and I should be everything.”
I. Light reposes
It says little for "Common Sense" that we imagine Sound and
Light traveling in the same Space, or that we imagine
- that Light
travels in Space at all.
Light reposes. Light dies. In its intended Receivers. In
slubbered Sources. Emanations from everywhere simultaneously
Awareness travels. Particle and Wave. Hook and Line. Relative
Light’s parallel Series of
seamless Matrices; inhabiting
- a space it constitutes entirely.
Sound flattens in our rented Air. Light (contrarily) is
non-diaphanous, machine-polished steel Beams. Industrial Shafts.
What can Light shelter us from?
Light and Darkness; an architectural
concert. Light glowers over. Darkness pools beneath.
Death rests between Consciousness ( C
) and anti-consciousness ( AntiC
). A run-off Ditch lies between the adjacent
- Fields. We assume the
far unseen Perimeters.
We only dream of sympathetic feed trenches. All fields appear as dry plots from our
exploded vantage veined by
- Irrigation Networks.
Sources and Receiver Pools. Dead extreme Boundaries. The
Drain directing itself to the purifying Amphitheater.
Abnormal Matter, vestigial Essences are extracted to be
recycled or set to Waste. Then the Remainder is routed into
- a feed
It returns to cleanse us.
A fine grit
Death is the arena from which Light (as interactive material)
is excluded; C is Light
mixed with Mind; a fine grit. AntiC
is Light only; uncompounded silt.
These are the two shores of a slippery tributary. Light is
the one element common to both fields. This may appear
How may she carry both the recycled trash and the fresh
splash of Light? Light, then, is
everywhere. But remains
This is due either to a deficiency in Sense or to a
non-permeable Membrane set between Light and Death. They had
allergic to one another.
Light as substance may only be co-reactive with Mind; as in
one of those novelty Chemical Wands, forming Light only
- when the
Seal is punctured.
Thus to be in the Court of light without its Benefit; sealed behind
Death. This is the physics of horror.
Get the picture: at the very
simplest, two interdependent yet unpredictably divergent plots
circled and separated by
- iridescent Trenches.
This scheme opens Probability once an imaginable Space
impinges upon another intimate space.
Which constitutes a unity of disparencies. A bundled quantity of plots.
- III. Robbed glimpses
Death courses between the two; never a Thru-Street precisely:
readily considered from C
Such a detective act instantly infuses any conception of AntiC
with the emollient of Mind. Something is always stolen
from such a m
One burgles a sentimental simulation of AntiC.
Those who consider these robbed Glimpses a True Representation
think it a Comfort of
Nothing can be further from the Truth.
Mind forges space while AntiMind
forges (lacking a precise term) a continuum
of gaps. An unbroken Universe of
- unbridgeable Exceptions.
Sentiment does not enter into this Western ideal of “wide
open space” brought to a grotesque Fruition. Finally a Stingy
But it reigns in place of Potentiality. AntiC
is nothing if not a World lacking Possibility. A Pool. A Quarry in
- Deviation, non-objective forms, space-between-spaces, settle
in a crust to their lowest points.
Passing through a brief formative kineterae
toward a final Resting Ground.
There is nothing beneath it.
- IV. Embolism
A unity of
discrepencies: from an imaginary height the perceived effect of endless and related Couplings would be
Homogeneity. The subdivision are a matter of microscopic Custom and sheer Brute Effectiveness; lacking
- without Nomencalture, the Universe ceases to
“matter.” Death is then a Species of organized
- depressions of Death may be surveyed
from a conscious Orchard.
This Light ( Waste to the Dead ) is prominent in the Mix
- so that
other Elements ( the Non-Returnables ) are swallowed by a
Brightness. Spectral bulges
occur when these Waste
- Products achieve passing
equivalence with Light encasing them without
their Knowledge. Manifestations attributable
- a deluge in probability,”
an in-flooding during
which portions of a “dike” lining the run-off Trenches embol.
- prompted by massive surges in Deaths, by uniquely postured
deaths, or by naturally-occuring flaws in the “dike”
As a semi-permeability maintains cell equilibrium and facilitates
transport of Nutrients, Waste Products, Information,
- Light’s breaches
open that Possibility between Death and Consciousness. Or Death and AntiC.
What Material constitutes
- this “dike”—half “our” World,
half Death’s? Who is its
legal Avatar? Its guiding fetish?
I hypothesize a distinct flutter,
an epitasis of crystalline Fog pinned at the extreme end of each
Sentiment; the frozen
- Turnstile in every Sensation.
- V. Blind ghosts
Contrarily: if there is a Deficiency merely in the sensations
of the Dead, we must conclude all Ghosts are blind.
- they also deaf?
To be forcibly emptied from C
into an ocean of Sound lacking Light to act as a medium of
Affirmation. Surely to the
- Dead this is perceived as
So, there is an intrusion of auditory Memory. The blind Dead are haunted
periodically, possessed by sounds
- long believed stolen from
phenomenon is possible only because Sound travels
and Light inhabits.
- VI. Infinitely outdoors
The Mind contains the body and like most Containers buffers
Liquid against the more commonplace Blows. That which
- we perceive
as Anguish remains the most tepid
shade of Pain.
Many Containers are created to break. The results are
predictable: the Body exposed to the World lying in wait outside
the Mind. Flat Deserts
It is only through the diluting
aspects of Mind that Light’s steel Shaft becomes auto-translucent
(revealing itself through
- itself). Only through the
coagulating aspects of Mind that Light becomes its Objects.
cycle can best be seen at conventions
of Shadow and Light: here coagulated into Whirlpools
- of honest Illuminae, there
in Shards between the Grassblades, balled into blonde Stones along
the Pathways, spiked straight to
- the Sky behind an ebon Tree in the foreground.
Running down the Sides of Themselves like an erotic Gully
- For The Love of A Good Machine
“A toaster makes the same product for myself
or – let’s say – the President on the day he slaughters a
small village in [insert name of faraway disposable nation].
Undoubtedly, the President’s toast tastes better, due to the
sense-heightening benefits of easy
victory, but that is not the toaster’s doing. Or so I
believed, until that day I was corrected by a dull braadside issued
by a neo-Luddite, whose borrowed syntax’s hollow ring made me fall
asleep at the cognition switch .”
Ludion, “The Veinless Limousine”
“If machinery is not neutral, then it must be capable of
love, and (if a machine is capable of love) it is a natural
surrealist interest. Truth is, a surrealist cannot afford to turn
away from the experiences afforded by technology, if only because
love is waiting at the roundhouse,
and no one wants to see their object of desire in the arms of
another man, especially if that man owns a defense plant.”
M. Pitre, “Machines of Affection”
“What IS the difference between a “slave” and a
“slave system”? One could answer that easily. So why is anyone
incapable of distinguishing between technology and a technological
system? Systems are built to confiscate the imagination, to lay
claim and profit from the pursuits of individuals. Technology is as
simple as a stick to swat flies with. But the fact remains, the
pencil is NOT the pencil industry, but the booty of the pencil
industry. Thus, NOT to use pencils –
so as to claim one is free of that industry – is a vivid
error. I imagine many manifestos have been composed using pencils
and paper, and – just because the President of Morbidity Inc. uses
a pencil – it is a deadly stupidity to claim one is being
revolutionary by resisting their use. These are the same people who
think they are saving the world just because they don’t use the
once advanced technology of the
toilet, and instead shit on the floor. A gesture – yes –
but one designed to make you repugnant to your friends, and bring no
pain to the captains of the hygiene industry.”
Rebondi, “Yeti Versus Robot”
There is a critical attachment, a long and oddly flat
“wand” which emerges from the Machine’s perforated base and
ends in a black fan studded with numerous – delightfully useless
– buttons. This monument to progress – a type of preemptive
vacuum – works most efficiently upon the louche affections of
leftist sentimentalists and other ritualists, and tends to coalesce
into a question, a rhetorical flourish equal to the back of the hand
(in a room full of children), or to the ironic determinism of the
wage earner, and (as it cannot be avoided) it is best to keep watch,
if nothing else. Otherwise, we are unprepared to unlock the bedroom
with the simple machinery of the key.
Yet, an affinity between this “machine mâchoir”
– brand name Wittgenstein – and those sun-sweetened
Dadaists in the collapsible middle-distance critiques those most
incapable of de-trooping from their own accumulated orders: there is
a “pity parameter”
essential to each difficult escape. Romanticism, as applied to the
Machine, insists that we “materialize our under-funded residues”
and face the world AS a set of serial consequences: that gear is a
geraniums, a geranium turns on a whim, and whims turn the gears, and
– out the other end WITHOUT conscious input – a human
“purpose” is excreted. I don’t know where to put it! I search
OUTSIDE, because I DON’T WANT IT IN HERE.
There, quite unfortunately for those who oppose my loving
Machine, a certain ecology – a brave circuitry
– of hat containers and instrumental music flutters undulates in
the air of language. And language – indeed – does get rolled
into the garage, the ivory repair bunker, and is hoisted up the
backs of the Club of Mute Sophists
who gather only to un-gather, fearing a public backlash. What can be
done about THAT which hasn’t already been suggested (by lapsed
Leninists on stolen bicycles) also be done to THIS? Nothing human:
charlatanism collectivized by dull Ludds. The battle-cry “Down
with zippers!” brings the faithful out to the free speech park.
It is difficult – do not imagine we are unaware – to be
resolutely appalled by that which surrounds you EVERYWHERE: that
pencil is a lever, this skirt is a cantilevered pleasure, those
shoes (even!) are both cobbled and oddly welcoming, seductive even.
And those who decide to attempt The Dream without language? Fascists
of a new sort, or studying to be advocates, their fur firmly stroked
the wrong way by natural extensions of human bodies. Don’t use the
brush, I understand: it may be seized by the next G-Man and turned
into a death ray
Can that chance be taken by anyone shrunken to the size of a
So, we return to the Loving Machine: she is perfectly
undressed and willing. Oh look! She has a pair of glasses on, just
at the precise moment we desired a naked face! And how does she make
that motor run? Idle meditations are humming in the street, which is
also a Machine, as are the houses and the underclothes only she has
shed, asking us to manipulate her, when she might as casually have
begged Mussolini for a back rub, or conned Bill Gates into
digitizing her ardors. Well, how coy of her. Let’s say that a
rather randy toaster has just entered a room quietly on its stubby
legs, smelling of burnt crumbs, the fragrance of expected
developments and eventual progress (into the joining chamber). YOU
turn away. I’m staying. The only Machine I despise at this moment
is the ceiling lights and the useless buttons. Oh, for the sexual
track of the zipper!
- 1. This
phenomenon was first noted by the Squat Enumerists (in their
landmark volume, Borders and Balconies) and reiterated in
the formula a = t2(z+cm), where a is
the number of visible boundaries in an invisible field, t
is the number of points common to all boundaries, z is
the height of the highest boundary divided by the height of
lowest boundary, and cm is the “cloud matrix,” the
universal constant discovered by three athletic youths in
really does? The problem is this: if an “outside” represents all that is
potential and an “inside” represents all that is grasped,
where did the yellow go?
term created by the Viennese topologist Tybur Korlan to describe
a mesh of inalienable processes which accumulate over the course
of a dishonest conversation.
mathematical brotherhood dedicated to rejecting the very air
they breathe, because it is also inhaled by CEOs and Hollywood
celebrities. Needless to say, their membership tends to drop.
has already occurred, shocking the home beauty-care industry
into initiating stricter controls against the exploitation of
combs. Since then not one hair care product has been transformed
into a weapon of any sort. This is
proof security measures work.