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The Department of Linguistic Records
Lanny Quarles (Great Skull Zero)

Producing Electronic Noise

If we wish to generate and use electrical noise, we have two main sources: Thermal and Shot. Both are fundamental sources of "white" noise, meaning that we have a deep statistical understanding of how these sources behave. Unfortunately, this may not be particularly useful if the noise we have is actually due to variable processing-related problems.

ST:THE CANARY ISLAND RENDEZVOUS- UNDER THE FRAYED ELECTRONIC PERSONAGE OF THE PRESIDENT- TRADING WORD IMMOLATION FOR TEKNE' CROSS THE WINDY REGIONS- REMEMBERED TEETH LIKE SHOT-GLASSES FILLED WITH BOILING IODINE- DOWN-LOADED FROM A TROPICAL STORM- ESCAPED ASSASSINATION OVER am BAND RADIO- RETIRING TO EMPTY CROOKED SHANTY-TOWNS OF THE THIRTIES- SINGING LIKE BOU JELOUD ACROSS THE WOUNDED NATIONS -EMERGING IN OTHER SONGS -IN CARS BOATS PLANES- ON THE TIGRIS EUPHRATES -HINDOO MONORAIL OVER THIS GANGES- SATELLITE MICROWAVE GATHERS FAINT SIGNALS TO CHANNEL AND DISTILL THE FLESH OF CONTROL- BRAHMAN PYRE-TRAILING CHARCOAL FLESH- ORANGE FLOWERS- JAUHUR RITE STILL PRACTICED UNDER CALM AUTHORITARIAN PRINCIPLES- INCENDIARY BULLETS HIGH OVER KATHMANDU- OVER LLASA- THE WORD ARCHITECT MERELY COUNTERMANDS TRADITIONAL FORMAL INHIBITIONS IN ORDER TO RELEASE THE SUPPRESSED ALIEN :ST

Thermal or Johnson noise results from the Brownian motion of ionized molecules within a resistance. Thermal noise is entirely fundamental and cannot be eliminated (although the effect can be reduced by reducing or cooling the resistance). Carbon-composition resistors may give more noise than expected; this added noise is from device fabrication, varies widely in production, and is not necessarily "white." Thus, carbon-film or wirewound resistors are more satisfactory thermal noise sources. To verify that a noise source is indeed producing thermal noise, it may be useful to "short out" the source resistance and verify a marked reduction in resulting noise (hopefully to under 1/10 of the original value). This of course implies an ability to quantify the mean amplitude of the noise signal.

Tekton Mantis (builder-prophet) sits in the great hall of maps... writing again on his final work.... a treatise which in no uncertain terms does away with the notion of human ethics altogether.... and indeed unifies all the sciences into one science: Tektonics, the science of conflicting structures.... The arts, the sciences, music, mathematics are all subsumed. Tektonics is the final and apocalytic song of surfaces, seen and unseen, baroque, enfolded spaces and ideas crashing into one another in a perpetual negentropic becoming..... As he scribbles in the bad light.. he mumbles.... "The map has not preceded the territory far enough... shallow.. bolderdash.. envelopes... whimsy... the map should generate the territory... feeble words..". he begins to write again in his Tektonic script... a form of inscription which transcribes intensities only... fields of intensities.........
He finally resumes... in a discussion of anthrotopology.... "We must map ontological intensities... arenas of social accretion who tektonic accelleration is at negative resistance..... He calls these slipstreams....or Kathodons.... a slipping beneathe.... much like one tektonic plate which slides under another to give rise to crust turbulence and the birth of mountains.... His specs for the Kathodonic Language are incomplete, but his notes are careful... if indeed too well organized.... Kathodonics seek to find within each form the next form, by resorting to paratactical hyperscanning....... the gobbler field...... a fuzzy-set math which spins out reams of potentia fields.... these are grammar kernals which are built into syllogistic logic-blocks..... Tekton lays his head down.... he's asleep again..... zzzzzzzzz {a somniloquy begins}: bubble-aaaarhgh-FobubuhhuhAlternativsplicingolf ahumantyroZine hydroxylase (TH) pre-mRNA produces four mRNAs leading (nowhere) or precisely regulated my means of an esoteric word, or semiotic substance: "Fron's Forehead Music-Box.] We have involved ourselves with unpronounceable monosyllables: "TZXT and today, AND TODAY.... TXZT" /And then to four different TH isoforms and is thought to have important regulatory functions. We show that the (void), a syllabically compressed portmanteau "whatchamacallit"/ "Inside Are Viennese Hardstone Swans With ShiShi's golden Snuff-Box diversity of TH mRNAs is greater than previously described in the autonomous nervous the connections, couplings and interrelationships between and in-between the thought and the quest for a life-affirmative liberation the body anti-Oedipalism the fascistic pole of desire the concept of becoming and the rupturing of binary oppositionsystem:(anti-system) New splice junctions corresponding to the skipping of axon/exon 3 TREES were identified by amplification of: "According To Secundum, An Enamel Watch, designed as a key.... (killing sex) cDNA synthesized from pheochromocytoma RNA. In all cases the reading frame was maintained. Paleolithic Popo Buttocks Perched Illudo; Optimus Maximus, Specious, Beautiful, But Of Little Value OR Fox-HuntingBut of course, the school is but another subsumation of becoming in Tektonics.....

Shot noise typically results from the flow of electrons through a highly-charged field like a vacuum tube or semiconductor junction. Ultimately, electron flow is the movement of discrete charges, and surrounding the mean flow rate is a distribution related to the launch time and momentum for individual charge carriers entering the charged field. Shot noise is fundamental, so no true zener can be noiseless, and any especially "noisy" zener must be producing something beyond shot noise. Since other noise sources (especially contact noise) are typically related to device fabrication and are not necessarily "white," this "extra" noise should be avoided. We should thus seek the lowest-noise zeners for noise sources. Since zener noise levels will vary with temperature, some form of automatic gain control (AGC) may be necessary. Shot noise in semiconductor junctions varies inversely as the square root of the current, but for small currents other effects dominate, and, again, the resulting noise is not necessarily "white." To verify that a semiconductor junction is indeed producing shot noise, it may be helpful to increase the current by 100x and measure the resulting noise at 1/10 the original value. This of course implies an ability to quantify the mean amplitude of the produced noise signal. The various other properties we might measure -- such as the time between zeros (or any other level) does not seem to give us any particular distribution advantage. Possibly we could show that "any" sort of noise is sufficient for some sort of sampling to produce one uniformly distributed bit, but this has not been established.

The school is a more pure or natural expression of collective will and more importantly "collective decoding". Collective decoding has historically had a statist or parochial face.. it has been appropriated by religious and militarist factions, but the school exists in a pure state as a natural analogue to pure socius... the desemination of info-particles from one group temporally to another... Take the example ofthe bee hive... the "worker" bee returns from his genetically programmed nomadism to dance for the hive.. to broadcast, roughly, a map..... Map broadcasting in no way determines what subjectivity or subjectivities exist, it takes this as a given..... The broadcaster acts alone, a kind of artist if you will, presenting, in the midst of presentation, an added dimension, which is taken up in a kind of blur of collective info-intake.... the social gobble-field... these ingestive frenzies are the natural analogue to the school idea.... But there is a non-hierarchical chaotic organization.... an activity beyond the ideational cusp of conceptualized democratic ideation... ie energy transferrance... energy as a field of code. directionality.... ok what begins to become apparent is that information when viewed as information, when treated as a "sacred flow", a meaningful flow, like air, or food or sex, transcends democratic "caveman" theologies... its a kind food or given.... In a sense school is a negative approximation of an institution which is tektonics.... Where every being is aware that their brain is an organ of power and that every moment its channeling a pwerful event-quality.... Tektonics reveals the raw field of potentia, but it cannot be a pure science... it can only be a genetic imperative.... the river upon which boats are built to navigate... schools, sciences.... If information itself were treated like, say, Time, or space.... something broad vast and mysterious... something quite beyond the scope of our understanding.... then change and mutation would not be kept in a research "zoo"...... Prophet builder.... word in a sea of words.. which are not words.... soil of paradox,,, I row thy hoe.... Polpa-Flesh:(commodity species). These species were assayed by in vitro binding of nuclear proteins to those elements, suggesting that (race war) Unfall Weste Wuste, Lancia Spezzata, The Mystic Marriage of Saint Catherine, Sleeping Pawnshop Of The Grand Canal, Infallible Is The Ironwork, All Roads Lead To Rome or become proteins forming CRE- and TRE-inducible complexes may mediate angiotensin II stimulation. The (premature ejaculation)of TRE is as Roentgen was typing: The circus tent looked orange-grey in the island twilight. The hollow wooden tiki-sentries at the four corners of the quadrangle silently hummed, animistic voyeurs, surveillance idols. The day had moved in, squatted in a shocked blue, becoming an all-consuming horizontality of awakening cloud and been blown away by night's onslaught of black carapace and lunar madness. In fact, the lupine night was a black beaver hair top-hat, a resonant article of universe, an object of secret dreams and the cruel theatre of flesh. In our island circus, a ring-leader is ken to shaman and we need one, wearing panther tuxedo, green face paint, and beads of glowing purple resin, eyes glowing hyena red from behind a gentleman's mask, gloves gone neon in the river of time. Roentgen paused at the tent flap feeling for a cigar at an inside pocket and reaching for the remote control to raise the perimeter laser barrier. It often reminded him of a blank musical notation when the red lines lept across space, perhaps to be filled with the "notes" of confused animals, human or otherwise, making random compositions with their screams had they accidentally stumbled through. The tiki scanned the jungle with infrared video. The night drums began. Roentgen lowered himself through the jaws of the stone Naga that served as portal in the quadrangle into the tunnel below.... Giant glowing tad-poles swim in an iridescent lagoon surrounded by concrete palm trees and a ruined populux sleep-casket hive looking much like Frank Lloyd Wright gone wrong on tupperware. Approaching silently, out on the kaleidoscopic waters, out on the purple mists, a black rubber canoo with green light beaming up into the sky from the floor through the jumbled legs of cloaked figures recalling somewhat that ghostly image from the mind of Arnold Böcklin. They approach a jetty of animal skulls reaching out from a plaza where folding chairs covered in a bromeliaceous epiphytic plant, Spanish or Florida Moss, perhaps Tillandsia usneoides are arranged around a longish dinner table built from the flotsam of the Dal, Major-General H.H. Kitchener's gunboat, replete with all manner of spiny fruits, steaming tagines, boar carcasses and a large ice sculpture of a Tapir sporting an erect human penis. And inscribed in its side is the epithet, "Eland Foetal, This is not a Tapir." This refers not only to the famous surrealist phrase but also to the Eland foetus frozen within the ice Tapir, prepared as a kind of delicacy. Here sits Baccara Nascimento and Fedorco Quamochi, self-styled Bashi-Bazouks, "rotten heads", criminal aesthetes. Baccara is reading an old newspaper and drinking a Martini to the candle-light of multiple "glory hands." Fedorca is quietly napping with a lemur in his lap, also napping, his "ghost-baby." They are both naked with the exception of vegetable braguettes, cock-gourds, and smeared with neon green insect repellent. As the boat arrives, Baccara throws his Martini in Fedorca's angelic face waking him and the lemur in a squall of grunts, farts and squeaks. "The boys are here Dorko........GET THE TEQUILA AND LIMES!" Suddenly a giant of a negress steps out of the shadows and puts a spear to Fedorco's chest, saying, "The good Tekeeah, dorko, you bastardo!" Baccara jumps up immediately, "Darling, I didn't see you. Isn't it a wonderful evening?" "No, Backy, Its not, all my panther traps are empty and what's worse, the slave I've been tracking all day has eluded me." "I'm sorry dear, perhaps a drink." "Yes, Perhaps..." The velvet caped boys disembark with their parcels and hides and a small oriental woman . Blindfolded, wrapped in green silk with, a yellow bow is tied around her face. An imp-like boy begins to drag her to the table, his flesh is a pale fuscia color, and the tiny horns protruding from his forehead mark him as demonkinder. "Heerz you neue shidi, Yolande' Negrita." "Unwrap her, you little devil. I don't pay you for merchandise sight-unseen. Fedorca passes around the bottle of tequilla and lays out a tray of limes and salt, and all gather round the table to eat and chip ice into their glasses and watch with lurid attentiveness as Yolande squeezes and fondles her new servant. Baccara begins to recite his favorite Baudelaire, a poem about a negress, in impeccable Swahili, "Kisikusiku-kama-machaka....Kigeni mabwanageni...," as the dragonflies gather in the purple mist... "Shut- up Baccara, I'm trying to listen to her chest for TB...." "Yes dear..." Near an oily black hut of matted hair, long blue bamboo cages filled with nude animal women are loaded onto painted wagons by humanoid snails, human torsos with giant slug foot, wearing midieval Moorish armor. These Conestoga-esque wagons are pulled by teams of eyeless albino negroid centaurs who navigate much in the manner of bats, their ears being much enlarged and especially acute. Their heads are wrapped in vine-turbans of orange flowers, a kind of poppy perhaps, popaver somniloquiferum. With copper bells tied round their bulging scrotums and eyebrows braided long and red with henna, the centaurs paw at the ground squeaking to one another while their leader receives a scroll from one the snail soldiers which he hangs from a hook -charm attached to his nipple ring. He nods and the two creatures shake hands, sensually, then the head centaur licks his slimed hand. His face turns pink and his long white albino negroid horse dick twitches.... The blind albino negroid centaurs live in a hilltop village surrounded by a vast savannah of cool lavender flame. In the center of the village is a black Parthenon made of tires that houses their blind albino hermaphrodite negroid centaur oracle-chief, their Mai or Talu, who is attended by tiny eohippusized centaur siren-women who sing and cluster about the oracle reciting from the scrolls that are recorded from the nightly somniloquys of the oracle by the bloodless braille-scribe puttis who hang like green bats snoring and chuckling to themselves.... The daytime recitation of the night's speach mingles and re-spermatifies the waking glossoraculata weaving a thread between the worlds furthering the propagation of a fractal symbolism.... Many of the Island residents come here to listen, there is no one meaning, but all may gleen references and feel the skein of word knots as it pours unceasing from the lips of the blind oracle. The unique modus vivendi sexualis of the oracle, the structural arrangement of its genitalia, two penises and two vaginas, sets it apart from the other brethren of the band. One set of genitalia is dainty and ornamental, not vestigial, a fully functional human penis and vagina at the base of the torso is often attended to by the eohippusirens who lick and copulate with the oracle, but only with this set, thus conducting the oracular charge into their bodies which causes them to be considered as peripheral manifestations of the oracle so long as they are conjoined in the sexual act, and any shreik, phrase, or utterance is considered to be of the oracle itself and is fastidiously recorded by one faction or another of the everpresent scribes. The other set of genitalia is the horse penis and vagina, which are both of normal function and size and are capable of impregnating and giving birth to centaurs and mutant stallions.... Two-headed green hermaphrodite pegasus with a dual main of luminous flickering quills, a kind of flying catcus horse, a push-me/pull-me centaur with two female torsos, an aquatic medusa centaur that wraps its prey like a spider in glowing coccoons using threads it pulls from its spinnerette nipples etc..... Roentgen paused, looking down at the table at an open copy of E.E. Evans-Pritchard's volume about Poison-Oracles among the Azande, inwardly embarassed about his lack of imagination. He knew there were much better writers than he, yet on a long journey, one's habits were finally a kind of comfort. Roentgen lowered his carved ivory nostril-straw to the line of red-powder laid out across the rubbing-board. The ocean liner bobbed precariously. Soon they would be passing through the Strait of Gibralter...as the benge was passing into his nasal cavity... His crusty old typewriter didn't even have a ribbon anymore. He had taken to just hitting the keys harder to make an impression, and later taking a pencil and shading lightly over the letters to reveal them. Sometimes he lost part of the text, but mostly it was retained. He had been in and out of asylums on two or three different continents, and his delusions had been squelched down to a kind of nominally interesting prose, at least to himself. This at least was a final conquering of the voice within him which had once caused so much trouble. By seeing his thoughts written out, they were put to rest, objectified, put to sleep in tree-corpse-meat. The pain in his brain became nothing more than a pitiable scribble, a hen scratching on eternity.... Roentgen gazed through the porthole, at peace with his fetishes, a slow learner, he could just relax and enjoy things as they were.... Roentgen convulsed... Roentgen was typing: Our Saints are tie-dyed in legion with gold-page and contro-verse saying analogs to the human condition antelope maps, and absorbing speed we fade in the resonance of disappearance, a freshly birthed catalog of invisibility made more miraculous by sound. A marriage of movement to a sound of defiance.... METOPAGUSIAN CLOUD-GODS REVEAL THE LUCID DETACHMENT AND MOVE SILENTLY ONWARD...... continu.... In the dark tunnel Roentgen's top-hat lights up, the brim being illuminated. The inner face of the tunnel has been meticulously painted and carved and inscribed with millions of words and phrases, dialogues, monologues, trialogues, the poly-vocal becoming of linear time, life is a tunnel. Some kind of repository for the great thoughts from each language, hand painted, scrawled, scratched, hewn in fabulous designs, works designed to be the essential form of the form, petroglyphs, hieroglyphs, hyperglyphs, the hylographic sprawl of molecular decalque, transference, a project for unemployed tomb painters whose pictographic epics, scrolling down a twenty mile long tunnel, became transisthmian transducer, irrefragable traces on the walls of an erythrogrammatic conduit, the transeunt cilia of the long stone belly of the naga... Taking a smaller tunnel to the left, he proceeds down a winding staircase vessicle to enter a vast underground plaza held up by stone musculature, sinuous crimson marble jutting from the underground sea-lake lit by fingers of bioluminescent moss running up the columns in webbed vein-like patterns of pink flame. Facing the lake is Roentgen's private residence, a home in the style of a Pompeiian patrician. Red stucco walls emblazoned with frescoes of fabulous animals, ancient gods, and strange women. One wall depicts a huge white shaggy sea-bull ridden by a bald-headed woman with a long black Ibis beak and holding up a bloody Ankh... behind her, out in the ocean, towering above, is a mammoth red-skinned Djinn who has a top-knot of hair shaped like a mushroom cloud, and a long black goatee with horse skeletons tied in it. The ocean is composed of visible molecules, jumbles, and anagrams, rings and chains, molecular hexes, and facial peptides... polymeric conundrums giving rise to fate's vehicles.... She wears golden sandals. Her body is stylized, yet physically heroic, and her ceramic saddle is design for erotic interface. The Djinn's hand is held out in a gesture of friendship, or of showing, and there is a black pyramid resting in his upturned palm...... Roentgen is swallowed up in the darkness of vegetable courtyards, in a murmuring of locusts, in a mineral dream of private interiority, lost in the calm meta-political intrigues of pure mental morphology, tending his lantern..... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "As for you," he said to Sidi Ali, "stay here. Do not try to go with your master or I'll cut off your head." Sidi Ali Answered: "Rather let my head be separated from my body than that the servant should be separated from his master." So the King had his head cut off. The head was thrown into the sea and the body impaled at the entrance to the Bay of Pasey. While they were taking the Sultan Melik-el-Mansour toward the east in a prabo, at that moment when they arrived near Djambou Ayer, the pilot saw a human head floating in the water near the rudder. He recognized the head of Sidi Ali. Informed of this event, Sultan Melik-el-Mansour caused the head to be taken from the water. It was indeed that of his minister. Casting his glances toward the land: "Behold," he said, "the Plain of Illusions." And it bears that name, "Padang Maya," to this day. The Prince sent to his brother and demanded the body of Sidi Ali; joined the head with the body, and buried both in the Plain of Illusion. Then he went back to Mandjang..... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Post-Production Analog Processing

It will be necessary to greatly amplify the noise in a linear broadband manner. This is harder than it sounds, because common self-compensated op-amps will have a 6 dB/octave rolloff for stability, and we may need 60 dB total amplification flat to perhaps MHz frequencies. (The bandwidth will define the width of the minimum pulse and the maximum rate at which the noise can be sampled.) Producing ideal noise from a fundamental source is of little help if we modify the result prior to detection. The noise output from zener diodes tends to vary through time and especially temperature. Even with thermal noise, some form of automatic gain control is probably necessary over production and time, and will imply some amount of short-term amplitude correlation.

EXTRACTIVE CATALYSIS Like Ivan Krunsenstern Like a new value like a mad kinetic shadow Like a tiny wandering pore I see it a kind of broken figure a mythic action figure tossed and broken on the shores of time a toy Ullysses a burdened flower and in this smiling grief of an image a bubble of words a tarn of space an unhinged and worrisome noise the bellow of a hovering skull of Mnemopolis particle of sleeplessness projectile mad knot-naut inverter the filament detects helium as the subject disappears from the veiwing tube You stroll through a long hallway of immense paintings We have not been born yet we are still in the in the palpitating insect-womb of Orphic Sloths battling our own sleep-walking mandibles juggling our heads is a song that goes skittering across the planar surface as the sleeep of Ulro Ulron Ultron Ultronica Within your stolen Skull you haunt another's Mnemopolis a lonesome and obscure city No umbrellas No carriages Hovering airborne nautilus traffic tentacular rapes under fluorescent spotlights a serene and violent city Sonic Flotsam of a voice from a glow-tube into your private one-soul aquarium prison What grounds are there for human significance Sphinxette asks this dripping red wax across her twin's cleft spreading the flesh for the camera-eye Bertram DeBorn's head sits on the matrix board a hundred thousand optic wave guides converging This relation between mind and matter is like my head and my body my mind is my head and my body is matter and a certain logic I use the logic of freedom or potentiality is that it shall annul itself unbounded potentiality became potentiality of this sort or that sort- that is of some qualityThus the zero of bare possibility by evolutionary logic leapt into the unit of some quality leapt in your Skull your Great SKULL #0: Cosmos or Kosmon: Universe or Universal... a flash from the ontic retort out of the kinetic and blurred machinic womb-bot of indeterminancy we must say that there would have to come something by the principle of firstness... Something is possible therefore your head lives inside a pod a hundred million light years from earth and in a hundred simultaneous hauntings of similar earths terras but you are constructed zero not dead or ever living just never to be but being but???????? a little tiger running through a telescope Dante' scribbling on angel's faces pornographic slurping noises from a veiled dressing dummy a dirty Karl Marx T-shirt with a hole under the arm-pit and a lipstick stain near the nipple is anamnesis a little square hole at your mind curser a follicle back down the chain of genetic history herstory From the Primacy of experience to the Primate Seas' Knowledge this Plato designates Episteme minus the phono-nots and ray bots gleaming a worm of rigid numbers arrives at the castle of Bertram Deborn who was once Tekton Mantis who was once Dr. Monad Qualities/Monads: But where and what was firstness .... A pocketwatch from here.. and a trolley of books bent downward on the mad children of blind and lustful flesh carried this hell up HUMAN TOIL! as Rimbaud cried, "That is the explosion which lights up my abyss from time to time.." My Vessel is Broken Shattered I am Chaos deBorn as Bertram and this swamp that breathes with a prodigious stink lies in a circle around the doleful city that now we cannot enter without strife... Strife is Feminine and Jain a headless cosmos, a body map of superstitions a primitive hex a345bdc little numbers on their skin their loathesome and exquisite skin like jade so clear and green like a milky emerald dragon jissom their wastes were bound in cords of green hydras and their furred purple cantilevered jawbones had extruded beyond the chromosone warehouse district beyond the luminous skull racks of Ahau Deborn Orphic Sloth and Character Mnemopolisian Legend..stories told by a mad and floating head The Gorgon HAS come and there is no returning from our garden of catatonic delights that labyrinth of marble heros savage temple of Theoros (no punctuation, no readers, no writers) but Who were those enviable "theoroi" wandering priests from various temples sent to record and often participate in the various festivals in the ancient world..."To the Raga of the everpresent riparian murmur of time," he toasted, holding aloft a hollow quartz crystal hand filled to half-palm with glowing fluid... Tekton Mantis stood at the head of a long ornately carved mahogany table. His guests were standing as well holding up their glowing hands as well... The light had been dimmed for greater effect... "To profane illumination, and the eternal wedding of visible to invisible....," said Madame Phyllotaxis. The guests were all dressed as gods and goddesses of various realms and had all been summoned by strange gifts and awaited by private transports in the form of carriages pulled by albino-negro centaurs.... Taken to a sea-liner in the harbor... They embarked in the midst of night and floated away into the blur of Tekton's dream... ______________________________________________________________________________________

However, a deeper analysis of the notion of genus in Aristotle's sense revealed to me a richer structure in these "semantic fields" than I had at first suspected. In these spaces there reigns a certain generativity, incomplete and abortive to be true, but present all the same. What then is the object of this Semiophysics? Semiophysics is concerned in the first place with the seeking out of significant forms; it aims to build up a general theory of intelligibility. In fact the problem is quasi-experimental. Put someone in a projection booth and project a film for him that represents some abstract morphology in evolution. Then ask your guinea pig whether what he sees has any meaning for him, and, if so, to describe it. The hypothesis put forward here is that only certain configurations of elements really make sense and can be used as a basis for an intelligible construction that allows linguistic description. It's a question of picking out of the spectacle stable elements in the shape of balls that will interact through contact, merge together, separate, be born and die (fade away) like living beings. These are salient forms. Such beings will also be able to interact at a distance thanks to invisible go-betweens like light and sound. If morphology presented only a tangled mass of teeming and ramifying forms, then it would be difficult to discern meaning in it -- except by assimilating into it luxuriant plant proliferation or the chaotic disorder of the raging sea. In this direction we find what I call pregnances, propagating from salient form to salient form which they invest as they go; the invested form consequently suffers a change of state (figurative effect) and can, as a result, re-emit the pregnance which may or may not have been modified, (the coding effect).

_______________________________________________________________________________________ Hands cold in the moonlight.. she has a little silver egg which she calls "The Semiotic Mechanism of Culture" She is a little Black Mother, and like Ramakrishna I see the little black Mother everywhere.... Cogitatio Universalis... I sat..I sit.. Ananda... and I am the little Black Mother... tongue hanging dragging the ground I sit on the erect penises of corpses I kill and eat human flesh I fly through the air with the greatest of ease a flying terror a queen of trapeze I am beheaded in bliss at the end of a cosmic cycle I ride my bicycle my Oxygen vehicle around and around the world and my little black mother is like Magritte with three polka-dotted noses or one big nose like an elephant trunk stuck in his pipe. RamaKrishna perceived everything around him as full of consciousness... Like a schitzophrenic The world had come alive... The divine mother vibrating =alien archaeologists listening through the towel rack... even the aliens are little black mother... An earthquake is a Railroad Corp. Coincidence. Dance in Destruction's Dance.. To him the Mother Comes... to multiply the weary leagues that sunder... My arms from all infinity's blue wonder/Subject: Tekton relaxes.... Date: Wed, 06 Aug 1997 16:32:50 +0100 From: Rastus McFrazzelbonnet <solipsis@hevanet.com Organization: Ranine Chandler and Associates To: edx <edx@topaz.hknet.com Tekton relaxes in his dressing room between shows... His eye roams over an old velvet painting (see attached) he had found rolled up in a garage somewhere in mid-america... called: "Psyche pleads her theory to the controller, but the door to the upperworld is forever locked... or Hell is just another eternity...." He unzips his pants in the light of lavalamp and begins to masturbate.... with his other hand he reaches for a bottle of XXX but cannot reach it.... Sensing that his erection is somewhere in the distance... he puts it away... Telepresence directors, bah! The home office can go to hell..... What's this burn on my thigh? he looks at the little wound and sees a little worm of words trying to wriggle free.... poor little tezxzt... what's happened to you? loss of dynamism it says... poorly chosen subjects... too many entanglements with the flesh..... Tekton finally is able to grab the booze.... He poors it over the worm and wound... Here, little buddy.... I understand... I'll find somebody else for the next show.... "What water flows from my head fount is mine...and is much and much Scrap A Scrapbook from the Zeppelin.....with gloomy beggarmen, proud as Antisthenesis or sagging breasts and grey flapping gowns... (Midbarnauts): It seems on this page are two photographs. Taped down. Both are of people sitting in straight backed chairs. One from the front, one from the side. The one from the front is a little boy with a white armband. The one from the side is a woman interacting with some kind of complicated audio-visual equipment, or perhaps she is being X-rayed. To tell you here that the little boy is Arthur Rimbaud wouldn't be of much importance. There's a poem scrawled beneathe his feet: CASABALANCE' with white trains (going to marakkech) white djellabas (completely empty) white oxen ( a symbol) white women ( see below) with brown lovers ( Casablankcheck) Beside the boys head is a cut-out from a book, a paragraph: "The hare is a pretty creature, much like a rabbit. He has long legs, and can run very fast. But the tortoise has short legs, and wears a large heavy shell on his back; so he creeps along at a very slow rate." 3. "How foolish he was to run a race with the hare!" said Tom. "Of course he could not win." Between the two photographs is a cut-out from a newspaper: Ext. 3271 Mistress Kara seeking submissive man who's into water sports, bondage and light S&M. I want you to paint my fingernails and toenails. I like cross-dressers, transvestites, transexuals and regular submissives. And under this is another cut-out: 7.723-724 (138:31). MOUTH SOUTH: TOMB WOMB - Homoioteleuton: a series of words with the same or similar endings. And finally running underneathe all of the cut-outs and photographs one can see another text running perpendicular to the rest: ...negating of what is, it strives to bring forth its own novel 'creations'. In this sense the burden of 'creation' itself is placed upon us. Resoluteness for that task becomes the key virtue for the history makers - a resoluteness which finds the sources of novelty in their own 'values'. They assert that meaning is not found in -----at is actually now present for us, but in that which we can ------ bring to be.Isolat by Cd2 groups heterologous 96 &15/16ths (the place of the dummy, the place of the king, the blind spot, the floating signifier, the value degree zero, the off-stage or absent cause, etc.) Structuralism, whether consciously or not, celebrates new findings of a stoic and Carollian inspiration. Structure is in fact a machine for the production of incorporeal sense (skindapos). But when Stucturalism shows in this manner that sense is produced by nonsense and its perpetual displacement, and that (IT) is born of the respective position of elements which are not by themselves "signifying," we should not at all compare it with what was called the philosophy of the absurd¹ or a desensitization partially blocked by 20 µM nifedipine or the calcified placode of the vestigial wombast.....,LES FANTOMES DE L'OPERA from the goblet and out across the steaming flagstone, an albino fred stood, a steaming and stalwart sturgeon, an hyksotic babble of woolly mammoth crashes through the stained glass windows, Ionian Columny Yekshawsting {"ONE LAST SQUIRT BEFRO THE LAST FISHBOY DIES." with axioms rare and pure, a trumpeting, and bursting forth, {SURPRISED EYES LIKE THE TESTICLES OF BATAILLE}an enraged pachydermal image, thermal breeder of fire lipped brix-a- brackeenolodgings{POPPING TO HALF-TONE MATRICES} with vibrating steel tusks. It kneels before the dieing master on a stair of stars,{LICHTENSTEIN PREFIGURES THE ALBINO GORILLA WHOSE FACE IS TERMINAL STUDEBAKER} treevolved and freevolving acerbacity grittily lowers a tattooed trunk and lifts him up. {WHOSE VACANT STARE REALIZES A TERMINAL ACCELERATION}she carries off her toothed hunkamaster {DZONKUA SLEEPS IN THE ANGRY SEA} rolling and cabolling lickerisheistering friend with tears flowing from her eyes. {BLOWING NO-MINDED}The rainclouds gathering{ANEMONE EYE-BROWS} through the merry hairy loam, {DESIGN ELEMENTS OF CONVOLUTED ATLANTEANS} berry scones of sunny over elephantine{IT IS THE REAL SHOW WHEN THE WEEK HAS PASSED OVER ATLACHINOLLI} skies roger over copy{PEINE' PATRAQUE} on rare animal sinny tinny{UNDER THE BLUE PARASOL} ZEM in Sector G today {UNDER THE AZURE DOME} a blue dog crusty image of circus{GINGEROOTS DANGLING FROM THE REAR-VEIW MIRROR} speachillumastarbititration we coordinate and respond grey leader {OLD CHINESE TAXIMAN} an ear-bleeding lawyer high over the hooligone heads{SINGING HIS EIGHTY-FIFTH OPIUM SONG} of dead over MS. KISMET we're over the city{EROS=ION} Code T=silence here.{THE OBSCENE WINDS CARVING LIMESTONE TORSOTHIGHSEAMS}....is on Indianonononononogginscorched {COULE' SYNTAGMA} notions slew a bird PARRITO FOREWARNED came forearmed, {TREES LIKE LIMP COCKS LINE THE CONSTANT CUNNILINGUIS OF THE MONSOON} she removes every stitch of clothing, {FROM THE CASTLE MENAGERIE}laying each piece carefully on the infidel's tombstone..{CAGES ASPARKLING WITH JEWELS AND CHERNOBILITE WHILE THE REARED HEADS GLIMMER IN HOT RAD ROENTGEN LATAH}. N PIGEON PEDDLERS RASPING IN THE COAL SICK PROCESS DAWN -OPENS TO TRANS-ATLANTIC TUNNEL HARBORING MIGRATION OF THE TALL SAD GREY ONES WITH SAGGING EYELIDS - BAD TIME FOR TRIPS THEN i'LL GO --wHERE tO tO KYOTO TO MINRAUD TO SEE SOME THINGS FOR MY SELF ---SNAGGING TURTLES IN THE SHALLOW UNderGROUND LAGOONS OF KOBMIKTOVA WITH A BEARD OF LUMINOUS TREBLE-HOOKS The following text comes from a book without page numbers ---{LEAVING A TRAIL OF TRAPS FOR BUDDHAZARD-----EXPERIMENTAL FOUNDATION OF MUTATION PATTERN/RANDOMSEE NOISEsubstance as yet unknown -Chrysalis of Chryptonight- curling up and yellowing like the pages of an old book - the site for the dissident library -trees lifting and ripping the virtual aesthetic of civic spaces ____PROMETHAN LEPUSPECTRE WEARING GOLD-PLATED HUMAN SKELETONS AS EARRINGS --GRASSHOPPER GONE BLACK under the crescentic openings of Minraud -Son of the Black Mass wearing Gilles DeRais brand Tophat and green monacle -red haired Samurai with insect antennae makes quick trilobyte brushstrokes -quivering like cold nervous steel SAMURAI OR NOT ; LIFE IS A BATTLE sALOME'/TIAMAT LAUGHINGLY SLAUGHTERS one of her quasi-female attendants -an image once mistaken for beauty -mandibles thrusting out from her temples -skulliquifying -transfiguring her head along insect lines -CHECKERBOARD BLANKETS AND MELTING TUPPERWARE MODERNITY THROUGH STAINED GLASS DRAGONFLY WINGS ... wage war on Minraud against Godzilla, we shall overcome with the aid of Nemuri and Giant Robot, a great wall of televisions running the length of the Mexican border.... TANGLED NETWORKS AND WRONG NUMBERS}}}}}}}}}}}}}} _________________________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________ And then farther to the right the text continues: Chapter III bvio----------------------------------------------------tory to i--------------------------------------------------ther civil-------------------------------------------------they and---------------------------------------------------------up g' and 'orientation to the future' so that they have become rsal ways of men's existing? As in the most hidden aspects r lives we cannot come to know ourselves without recogniz- ur own familial histories, in all their idiosyncrasy, so equally nnot know ourselves without recognizing how our enfolding ation came to be what it is. Such a search for recognition start from the truism that the two chief sources of modern rness' are the Bible and the relics of Greek Civilization. ver, care must be taken that this truism is not turned into the idea that the origins of our 'rationality' are Greek, while we receive our 'religion' from the Bible. this is a distortion of our origins, because both among the Greeks and in the Bible thoughted dyad (naiad)...... SEE THE HORTATRIX, HORTATRIX, O HAEK GENUA OMNIAC.... tHE symmetry element did not bind nuclear proteins in vitro. In supercoiled DNA it exhibited S1 (purpura)... (I know the barley corn ploutas has a pash for love with his messer boniface ludus) or else nuclease sensitivity and was recognized by a DNA cruciform-specific antibody consistent with the (ogling) extrusion of a cruciform structure that overlaps with the TRE. A mutation that abolished formation of (bog hole) Loudmouth Shin from the eggshell liquor bottle, the cruciform correlated with Lord Tekton was in his 19th century experimental greenhouse inspecting fantastic Skull-fruit-flower-bulbs growing at the top of segmented spine-stalks skull bulbs are beautiful and waxy-green....they're semi-transluscent and glowing from within they sort of hang there on the stalk which looks like a half-hard cock the eyeballs are like pink puckered flower-buds with a kind of velvetly vaginal looking crinoline slit they have kind of like kernal teeth, kind of like corn kernals... And Tekton is systematically going through this skull-bulb patch scribing-scoring them with this sort of mechanical tri-pod he sets down on each of them momentarily and a little tattoo needle comes out and kind of scratches a glyph.... and out oozes a glowing sap... which he gathers with a clear quartz crystal scraper-flanged beaker-receptacle.... A bald headed green skinned "woman" calls to him from a gazebo some distance away She has a long Victorian evening dress on.... but on closer inspection its made of synthetic insects and she is its hive... they're crawling in and out of her.... madame phyllotaxis skulltura bestia non-plus papa inocenta non-plus Tekton Mantis Non-plus bow before the ion-implanter say a small prayer before scraping nitrides from the quartz-ware arsenic bible non-magnetized stainless hand of Jove Mercury in a languid fountain of Hydrofluoric acid...... etching.....loss of repressor activity. We propose The novel AS model of tyrosine (frost bitten) hydroxylase gene regulation in which functions of the TRE are modulated via structural transition in (sallow) "K'ang Hsi biscuit figures, [pin yin or modified Wade-Giles) of parrots carved of tulipwood and hung beside an Ormolo-mounted kingwood parquetry commode of the adjacent DNA. (BHQ; 25 µM), ryanodine (10 µM), or dantrolene (25 µM). BHQ Tekton is absently scribbling drivel on his notepad: Eiffel is bent slightly forward into the rain as he makes his way down the Champs d'Elyssee..... his unmbrella is really an alien from Gygauen Prime.... big spill obscuring the rest a technician returns through an airlock which resembles a huge open mouth conducting positive pressure... an air shower... Baby head Tech: Look Tekton, these injectors are crap.... the three plate alignment design is strictly Renaisssance.... or Cro-Mag, reaaly.... I need a vessicled or chambered substrate... NO ALIGNMENT ISSUES... human error is insurmountable at this point.... how can you expect me to allign something manually to the precision needed to produce less than 235 angstroms in varaiance at the surface... sheer folly.... Tekton leans back in his creaking chair holding up a tiny solid black little human creature completely furred in black silica.... You see this being here.... inside his body is enough phosphene to kill everyone for 6 kilometers... I built this little man... This little man works... I built him waith the very equipment you are complaining about.... Yes, Its efficiency is redoubtable... but you're not getting it... Its not just the visible product we're after here... we're looking for internal enhancements in the operators themselves.... like Zen archery.... these machines work best only when serviced with impeccable intent... No go back in there and dissemble and reassemble those injectors until you get zero angstroms variance.... Some of the injectors are bad, yes, But recognize the ones which may possibly produce this effect, hone in on those injectors and open youself to them... allow them to speak to you... they will let you know when the alignment is perfect.... Tekton waves the creature away and places the little being back down on the sounding pad.... hmmm... Oracle model x-ppp5987.2231.... c-open Oracle.... speak! immediately a multicolored gaseous pleroma surrounds the tiny being and geometric lines unfold across the space of the run centered on the creatures solar plexus.... a dense grouping of hovering frames appears..... Tekton touches his finger to one and it adheres the frame hardens and resembles a small microchip, a holographic bio-chip... Tekton inserts the chip under a flip-top flap of epidermis on his forehead... his eyeballs turn solid black.... and his flesh dematerializes into a hollow contoured grid... the eyeballs start shooting out little beams which alter the topology of his self-grid... as each alteration is made a little fog squirts from the back of each eyeball making a colored fog-brain become more apparent.... Tekton's face appears on a screen...... he looks child-like and serene... he's high..... he mumbles something..... app app licationssss he he..... at this level ..... he giggles..... theory as drug... don't need any applica..... The grid resembles a kind of fantastic mobile of liquid eroticized skulls revolving around a kind of caduceus of hexagonal snakes...... A maid sits in the corner counting her cigarettes... "I'lll take a thirty minute break... he'll never notice" She looks over at the screen.... to veiw a phantasmagoric recapitulation of Tekton's becoming-buzz, or is just another version of his trashy desk she has to clean......pretreatment (wax face) or the establishment of linguistic distances, in order to gain the precise insight into the microevolution of respective local speechesunder metal waterfall chandeliers was found to have no effect on the sustained phase of the ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The sophist was intimately related to the magician. Chamber's Cyclopaedia noted that Zoroaster, the acclaimed father of magic, discovered "a science" teaching "wonderful and surprising effects." This originally innocent study of wisdom, or gnosis, became corrupted when the Persian magi started to dabble in astrology, divination, and necromancy. Like sophistry, magic came to signify an unlawful or diabolical pursuit dependent upon conjuring tricks and mass fascination. The sophist, as mechanician or technician, was also a fantast. His mesmerizing artistry polluted praiseworthy imitation. Physical routines and alluring execution gratified the senses but numbed the mind. Sophistry like rhetoric and witchcraft, then, was an ingenious, untheoretical, and pseudo-scientific art, blameworthy in its invention of clever wonders. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ NMDA-evoked [Ca2+]i response. The (green fleshed dead) each wearing Borsalino Hats because walls have ears, a potent nicotinic agonist anatoxin-a elicits mecamylamine-sensitive [3H]dopamine release from striatal (archeofemmes) synaptosomes, and this action is both Na+ and Ca2+ dependent and is blocked the final words are cut off by the woman who sits upright in a chair, but who is leaned all the way back to read the text until she looks an astronaut about to take off. And of Course like all of us: "She is mad alchemical Statuary" Lena erects this sign as well in "The Green Film" like a scraPBaseloid.... Like two red bananas they lay, side by side in the twisted sweaty sheets, evil bananas, faithless initiates whose slick roots lay emerged in the strange music of excessive heat, the squalor of culture, its exquisite luxury, its utter absence..... Under the rubber tree is a hammer-head shark hand-puppet with a squirt nozzle in its mouth.... It stares ever upward into the stars.... I used to think it would be nice to be lost in a labyrinth of blue plastic, blue clear plastic with a texture, so that the other people would just be blurrs..... And these blurred people sneer through the walls holding up their black lobster hands..... I wonder if Jesus ever made a collage, it seems so natural to me to put the scraps of everyday life back together, to make a picture, a memory object, to make a waking dream.... Religion is a kind of waking dream, like war or theatre, it has its object, but the music of heat is an aneurism in my radio, the water heater of my heart is an aneurism, a fat cul de sac of heavy fluids, a luminous green heart muscle pumping pure coca-cola, my body a huge white tree a mile tall with orange and blue striped monkeys living in cockatou holes in its side..... I hear Kara in the shower, the shower of sparks, the shower head is a screaming chrome human head with a million buzz-saw thoughts screaming sparks down on brown marble skin harder than granite more supple than mercury..... When we sleep together, we have a simple code for positions, "Puzzle Pieces", this means we lay in exactly the same posture one behind the other, a short resonance, a repeated thing.... I found the sick little accordion in a bag on earl street, a mexican was sleeping with it tied to his foot.... I took the little bottle of tequila from my jacket and balanced it on his forehead delicately as I untied the little bag from around his dirty ankle...... When that was done, I looked one last time at his carved face, a smile crept across it and one eye opened slighty revealing a kind of nictitating membrane, "Cuidado", he says, "Cuidada", I respond and he gently clasped my bottom..... As me and Kara ran through the streets away from the man passing back and forth our sour and sick cargo, "ACCORDION".... I realized we did much in the way of resembling a De Chirico Painting...... You can stumble into something many times, over and over, you find the sick accordion, take it home, feed and bathe it, put it to bed with a flute or the cat, sew up the holes in its baffles, ruffles and raffles..... I blow smoke on the Accordion...... In a waking dream anything can happen. You may not believe this, but many people know this.... It was many years ago that I was sleeping in a truckstop in Pampa, Texas, the town where my father was born, when I happened to notice a kind of outline around everything, a very finely articulated blue outline, from that day forward I have never been able to see the world otherwise.... Kara says that I have what is called a retinal overcoding. I think it is magic. The severed Head sees things as they are: pure Present, meaningless, no top nor bottom, faceless without pattern. But a diversity. And when the lag in the retina's reactions increases.... No answers--eternally suspended judgment-- For all judgment is hasty. Speaks too soon, puts an end to what is not--never--finished. No transition. Neither past nor future-- no numbers. ALL NUMBERS: 2309-2092-3092-4234234293842-304-2309203942-3492-30492-342-30-304-2234242-255456045-609 4234-23423-264575-745-454-678678-7---45-344-3453-45-3-45-45-675-6-856786789679-6--5-999 What a marvellous scene! There is the Magus announcing the Copernican theory in the context of astral magic and sun-worship of the De vita coelitus comparanda. There is the grave man thinking that he has read something like this somewhere and going to fetch his Ficino. Do they understand what it is all about? Perhaps not, but the word "juggler" is significant, suggesting the magician... hence a Tektonik Tail: (broken): (again): againagain/ Subject: Tekton's Hylomorphic Stage Date: Fri, 08 Aug 1997 00:21:53 +0100 From: Rastus McFrazzelbonnet <solipsis@hevanet.com Organization: Ranine Chandler and Associates To: edx <edx@topaz.hknet.com TektonMantis surveys an undulating topography of interlocking tessellated lenses through which flows light from a small solar solar bud he has cultivated beneathe in a kind of heliomagnetoplasma chamber.. A stage perhaps.... a machinic portrait of the rippling surface of onticity itself... The purpose of the device is not at all clear. One might mistakenly assume the undulating surface represents the fluid variance of the ideal decoding model of the socium, with each component, in turn, representing a site, or a being, whose relative position is wholly dependent on the structure of a waveform which only exists in the surface itself, and whose deformation of the light's becoming is only visible at a distance... as history... Thus the surface composed of interlocking components, becomes a model of the surface of causality, the hylomorphic threshold.... which is only a mapping of perhaps one spacetime, a floating rippling frame adjacent to and subsumed by absolute unknown.... And this hylomorphic threshold is the Stage upon which Lord Tekton Mantis, Uffrid Lektonym of Hylopterabad holds his "Theatre of Tektoniks".... Ostensibly a Vaudeville of Ontic Materiality... its Masks are those of decay....detritus... instuments... the theatre of instrumentalty.... Welcome... Rogues of a Hungry Galaxy... dangling skulls of a forgotten spacetime... Tekton has a rotating halo of eyeballs and stands in the midst of a storm of black semi-solid glyphs of what appear to be smoke...... Tekton begins to speak in tongues, a kind of sing-song auctioneering glossolalia, and as he does so... begins to plop out a stream of eyeballs out of his sockets into his hands and begin juggling them.... spotlights pour across the undulating stage as Tekton rises and falls with each mountainous wave.... Tekton is approached by a giant eyeball.. which is cupped by the topology yet moved along smoothly... in a nomadic socket..... The lights go out except around the "juggler" A wave of heat noise passes through the stadium.... A hush falls on the crowd as the foetuses begin to rain from Heaven... splattering on the field... A running back has slipped and fallen on a foetus.... Roentgen's Engine's can be heard as well as Hundred's of Chopters... Yeeeeeee! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The image of the severed head is a central symbol of royal power on stelae and panels of the Classic period. Kings during this period sacrificed high-born victims taken in war by decapitating them. The jaguar adorned with waterlily scrolls presided over such warfare and provided it with its central metaphor: battle as royal hunt. Noble warriors were either prey or predator, depending on their luck; and kings would go into battle with ropes tied around their arms as if daring their adversaries to capture them. This war-sacrifice complex is the central imagery we will see in the Temple of the Sun at Palenque, the monument raised by King Chan-Bahlum to celebrate his designation as heir to the throne... +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "Countless layers of Ideas, images, feelings have fallen successively on your brain as softly as light. It seems that each buries the preceding, but none has really perished." She is looking at a Fifth Dimension... She sees it.. is aware... and is then slapped in the face by a falling foetus... An ODE to Awakening.... O Shemama Big Red Shemama O Shemama Big Black Shemama O Shemama Big Green Shemama What Great Sinner! I am Bertram-way Deborn, accursed public Transportation... A filthy crowd gathers... a small man speaks... his chin is painted bright red... "Applied Rationalism which is only a philosophy at work, which wants to expand... haste of systematic thought, authoritarian propensity that no one questions.." It is like the stoning by filthy children scene most of have witnessed in Alexandro Jodorowsky's Film _Holy Mountain_ Where a Christ Figure jumps down off the Cross to frighten away the tiny little naked Roman Indians... Just like a green saddle... on the Midbar Stallion. like Realitron.... An orgy of doom is splayed like a high bas-relief around a sphere... The protoctista quilt of organic life.... the blind knitters The fates... The Ontic origins of this mad sculpture and though local it is a tapestry whose depth is cave within a cave within a cave etc etc... it burrows inward, like a holography engine projecting its path in what... its own ability to remember... to hold ... the universe of the referential... its outside is inside and inside out... It is marking time .... and storing its fractal memory tongue, like the proboscis of a moth inside its inchoate infinitely baffled skull device... O original factory There is a pile of skulls on my tongue... like glowing rocks they have blurred.... melted... been to diffusion where the faults in the lattice have been repaired and buried... a living death but really just a negative synthesis... an .... Object has dissappeaRED Subject: Re: Tekton relaxes.... Date: Thu, 07 Aug 1997 00:14:16 +0100 From: Rastus McFrazzelbonnet <solipsis@hevanet.com Organization: Ranine Chandler and Associates To: edx <edx@topaz.hknet.com References: 1 A red-haired midget stage-hand is looking at Tekton who gurgles dreamily in his sleep... his pinky finger is stuck in the mouth of the bottle like a cork.... Tezxkt is also sleeping... Its turned itself into a vibrating Pi earring.. which purrs as Tekton snores.... The little stage-hand takes out a pair of blue anodized calipers and measures Tekton's spreading alcoholic's nose... "635 angstroms variance" he notes this on an orange log-sheet attached to a clear lexan clip-board...whips out his cellular pupuaphone and makes with 'digital' manipulation.... a voice rings out in the open air.... a very soft female voice.... 'box-office' "Tekton's passed out again... I need 3 ERT members and trilobyte transport...no make that a rejuvie sark...." 2 minutes later a little blue-skinned elephant headed boy in grey coveralls peeks thru the door... "I can't get this thing in THERE.." "Come-on Ganny, flip it on its side.. it floats.." The Showgirls are filtering thru the outside hallway making a racket.... "Just pop the lid... and get him in the field...." A few minutes later Tekton is floating inside a hovering sarcophagi... "Not that glyph, the red one.." The Sarcophagi takes off through the service chase into to bowells of the theatre.... Somewhere, sometime later in large room lit only by a few phosphorescent trilobytes stuck to the walls.... Tekton is deposited into a floating upturned human mask filled like a hottub with gurgling glowing fluid.... as his body slides down into the ooze his clothes dissolve and he slips motionless into the humming smaragdine bubbles.... The whole mask starts to glow... and the eyes open.... as a portal beneathe the mask opens as well.... The rejuvenation mask stares into a vast field of stars... and smiles.... Tekton curls up like a fetus... blowing bubbles from his ass.... In the dressing room the stage-hand is finishing off Tekton's bottle after wiping the rim with Isopropanol and a quick sniff.... A showgirl is disrobing in the light of a 3ft tall lava lamp whose quasisentient sentient sensor array mimics her body.. behind the gowning screen.... The Stage-hand scratches his stubbly throat.... "Samo-Samo," he croaks to the girl.... She detaching an elaborate device from the back of her neck... Last show of the night... Let's fuck Tenten... got any java... he he he... aND ASif by magic a little screen appears with the floating head. "I am Hajia" A kind of Residue from Acephale. From the French Revolution From Bubu. and Babu and Bobo. like O unit #4 _______ the solid and squirming black tapeworm edge of a feudal city-state _____ shade of the fraud that is its excellent______ cadavers dominate the landscape and to king kamehameha this little story was introduced in the united _____ noon no other than sinis d'eemo the sol bloom as an entrepeneur flesh-farm-bank he is wanting to celebrate the 400th anniversary of his tiny control addicted eyes and presented little egypt in a series of feathered island kings ___ now fold in on her feet known as the hoochy_____ trainstation of copper bamboo _____ structure it ____became world famous ancient stone building and possibly a concession area at the fair that __________ civilisation whose birthstock folds liquid hours of birth in old polynesian porters _______chinese gilders of remembrance blow whistles at vague cues from meaning equals meat midget porters who glide silent and suave ______an absolute model of hauling huge trunks and two-wheeled dehumanized____ revealing the children _____ chicken-like lemur-like_____________ consciousness of the earth________ i am the edges of the landing platform my velvet turtles with crimson eyes ______up in its smooth arc out of those undulating interwoven _____catholic primates with golden mahogany jaw-bones condemned to a neverending_____ forehead step back from the 1950's into the silent _____halt among these docks of the solar lamp ______machine____ vector and sinis d'eemo spy of ganesh confused gesturing multitudes a negro____ porter with solid gold teats in the _______ 1780's and nine or ten _______ 90's words in a stylized ______scream_____ silence where one awakens before the advent of ____ power a ______ sarcophagus lifted by its handles ______ a fist-fracture and industry all of the baggage cars go onto speak new meanings in the_____ sectioned off chute-like functions ______ all this business rendered dragon-fish king kamehameha dreams aren't technical skinned woman wearing pulsating utterance _________ udder dance to our understanding prodigious laser-nippled breasts pop out through little doors optic cryonics suspension of belief sarcophagus of witty dialogician people become ___ limousines thank you very ______ excellent my pet _______ necessarily the modifications are great ones ______ she says storage device is not the _____ insistram off and ______ swooshes off through the theorbo ______porous more beautiful a partial sinis d'eemo records the event ______ha______ memory the insistram _________mouse ailinglaplap jungle city___ shark inside a ruby temple head symmetric grouping is a: Golden-Assed hermit(e)....myrrrrr(mite)on....reeling zhendinguo....holomorphic function of bounded variation... Her might is Hermite... as {H}Weber(n)-Herm(ite)(z)=2-n/2exp(1/2z2)Dn and a roof over sleepings of twins... over long and sweltering galleys of Thoths of Carbon Tetrachloride, and great black hands of "dry-vit"....that cathedral whose beard like a bobbing of hors(es) heads made of plasma, that long architechural face.... that grinning of structures.... and all compact.. like a tiny onion seed on the vast plane of some shelf... momentary at that... the strange light of and abstracted room.... "Hercules, Designer of Resins for Industry" but he also said: Just as the exist-ans of Qi follows from the existence of Li, so does the exist-uns of (numbers) shu from the existants of qI UNTIL Lucio Privitello CONSTRUCTED OF BRASS AN OVERFLOW TYPE OF INFLOW CLEPSYDRA (linghualou), and after giving it the name "Potomac Galalithophone" proceeded to the festival of rare ass to see machinic broadsgroom whose mechanical solenoid-like mentula humm in sulphur mists along the ossuary's ghost paths... and Khubilai Khan throwing books into a flaming iron cauldron head.... What Spake thee old Sara Thrustin' Sang Sara a song Sphrechen Shi Sung Si Song So Ah So Sew See Li Lie Lew HEE HAWE The Great Work pursued as a science of surface-interchanges: All science is constructed within the realm of form //Mr.HT is sitting doing nothing... Do 1. Mr Hun-Tun sits quietly in the mud, a null pointer to a missing register. 2. Mud-Baby Nothing in Naked Wonder. + 3. Bzzzzz!, overhead, the noise of the stars spinning blinding circles. 4. Silent wind moves quietly across the mud. Mr. Hun-Tun, being indifferently differentiated from the greater mass of his body, tends to bob and bobble about somewhat randomly. Random sparks of induced gravo-magnetic currents, torsion tensions, quantum effects. Hee-Dee! Splish! Splash! Loop while x <10000 //Mr. HT disturbs the mud And Then 1. The mud nudged the Mud-Baby. 2. The Mud-Baby quivered. 3. The mud nudge-nudged the Mud-Baby. 4. The Mud-Baby resonated. Do ++ Loop End Then //Mr. gets stimulated 1Tiny Sentience Tendril Hardens from Mr. Hun-Tun's entrails. 2Pain waves, Pain waves rising. Mr.Hun-Tun blinks. 3The Syntax Nueron Rigid Plow-Iron carves undefined pluffy-fluf blobness. 4Tiny accident incident turns to rock. 1Dead crow lies buried under shit-blood Ocean. 2Little arrows define a flow circle, deep rock rising to Ethereal Mud, way of nature. 3Dead crow swallows rock-pill, dead crow, Queen of Hell, Mud-Baby stomach. 4SyntaxBirdBloodGourmet paints delicate pastels, critic makes diagram. //How did it happen? The Laser Spotlight examines the disturbance.1 Mud-and-Baby Motel dim light skintight wallpaper texture.2 Speak : "Annotated Comment Baloon".3 Interference wave across Universal Dirt. At first it wasn't visible. Just a lump of dirt in the Universal pool,. How could it know it had been commented? Attached text divides the Ocean. Cartoon bubble: "Picture of This"adjacent to a dyad symmetry element. Those two sites form asupranuclear palsy. Whether (eunics) notice such changes are specific to the disease or the consequences of the stress associated with this severe (cranial distress). Bellua Insatiabilis Wearing The Fisherman's Ring In the (No MORE CAPITALS) Forrest of Fontainbleau, like a rat-tailed Spoon (oops) or the world land speed record trophy..... or a Tsantse, a shrunken head, Cabeza Cortada in the Ecuadorian Rainforrest as neurodegeneration remains to be established. The mechanisms involved in Ca2+ mobilization (army's decline) or Corporate hegemoney, IS George II Irish chocolate pots evoked by the muscarinic cholinoceptor (mAChR) agonist carbachol (CCh) and N-methyl-D-aspartate (NMDA) in cerebellar granule cells have been investigated as An initial (grotto) on oval sauce boats floating on Yoro-Yume'-Timor Sea past the wisdom tooth where Nunn Slept until Creation (Damnit!) or challenge with caffeine greatly reduced the subsequent intracellular Ca2+ concentration ([Ca2+]i)=(pelagic gods) + response to CCh (to 45 ± 19% of the control), and, similarly, a much reduced caffeine response to Masked Lovers: Wine, Wine-Taster, and vibrating sugar bowl, all wearing rare-early Ming-blue and White potiches...(imperturbable priest):íO Tureen Cockatou dinner Service, Hand me Bob-white Quail on Silver Gilt Mirror Plateau and Stand on oval Salvers sawn into ISH and gussies, into eagle gypsy blood acre, or was detectable after prior stimulation with CCh (to 27 ± 6% of the control). CCh-evoked [Ca2+]i (witch hunt) responses were inhibited by preincubation with thapsigargin (10 µM), Past the Lydian King (It doesn't really Matter.) THE GREY HAIRED SON OF ROCK..... 2,5-di(tert-butyl)-1, 4-benzohydroquinone The cis elements The Television is playing in my Skull Aquarium: Because of this, Ketamine is a very "process oriented" entheogen. I would describe it as a "transdimensional information navigation device." To take this metaphor a step further, consider this: If mushrooms were an ornately carved chariot pulled by untamed horses, and LSD was a fancy, suped-up sporstcar, DMT would be an elfin-crafted hypersonic anti-grav device, and Ketamine would be a VR headset and bodysuit with a T-1 line into the universal database. It gives you TOTAL immersion, and navigation is accomplished purely by thought and body movement. It can be very overwhelming to a newcomer, but once you learn how to navigate on Ketamine, it is (in more pedestrian terms) the wildest ride there is. Roentgen Imagines Baccara Baccara Nascimento lays sleeping on a mahogany pew in a ruined cathedral deep in the jungle. Baccara calls it "the hyaline jangal of a mad-aghast-scar..." Once a great christian church resplendent with gold and tribute, it has now fallen into disrepair, and even, ill-repute. Only over the altar is the ceiling intact, a kind of vaulted tragedy, an image, but there is no crucifix. The jungle foliage has done much to recreate the roof, giant woody vines reaching between partial walls, trees holding up hemp netting like columns....casting strange shadows down on Baccara's sleepy shrine of dream, a place protected, a vestibule of sunless slumber, a siesta church. "To foster an immaculate conception, one must be immaculate, asleep..." Baccara has many such strange ideas about sleep and dreaming.... That only when asleep can he see at all, that when awake he is blind, deaf and mute, though he sees speaks and hears..... The altar is now an eclectic mix of known and unknown deities and powers..... and the deities whose idols are erected are not the names by which he calls them.... From this world to the next, all the names must be changed, all the qualities, different. "Each day a universe is birthed in my dream, and each day I see with new eyes..." What a visitor might see: Golden ganeshas with imperious candle-socket eyes.... Shiva puppets hanging from balconies which are the mouths to earth monsters with shaggy hair hanging down, a long stringy gray green moss, elephant tusks for fangs, great boulders of amber for eyes lit from behind. A great Stupa of black bones wrapped in flowering trumpet vine. And red rocks of all composition are scattered everywhere. There is also a solid glass buddha ten-foot tall that oozes blue narcotic slime from its navel. A central item is a giant stone hand with a mechanical eye peering from its palm which is patterned in wasp nests.... very similar to the pattern of sleeping tapirs painted with dream insignia. Among the pews is a giant stone spheroid: half-black and half-white with a knotty old dwarf pine infested with orchids growing from the very top. Baccara is in his sanctuary, a sleeping poet, metaphor of the world itself. Quietly a stag has crept into his shrine sniffing at pew trellises of boggle-berries. Pygmies creep up behind the stag with blow-guns at the ready, moving even more silently than the stag itself. In an interaction of seen and unseen element s beyond description, the hand of Baccara, the mouths of the pygmies, and the eyes of the stag become an enflamed troika, a single triadic emblem. Baccara, seemingly asleep, but really super-conscious, pulls a lever next to the pew releasing a net to capture and thwart the greedy pygmies who are fed by Baccara Nascimento and Roentgen anyway. The Stag bolts, and Baccara rises and takes a cup of "blue bindu" to the pygmies. "Come to sleep my dear fellows, and let us journey to the beginning of all the eons..." After drinking the time-travel drug, Baccara and the Pygmies scarcely move. Baccara smiles as the universe cracks open inside his dream rolling over to reveal its beginning like a lover spreading itself.... and the pygmies smile, and the stag is watching them dream as he chews the sweet perplexing berries... Baccara is lit from behind and within. His story unfolds along ancient lines, subjunctive primordia, another day of creation... It is the dream which is most real, and the waking world a foggy psychic appendage, actually vestigial to the eternal sleeper who engorged like a vision-tick on the blood of morphology lies in a stately stupor, awestruck by cosmosymbiosis..... Without much time he is left to pursue nominal states: The world is moving.... but not I... unit #4a _______in decaying wooden domociles on worm headband it is in the skyscraping mausoleum where tolerance may be none ___________ unbeknownst to ontic appearance muscle dancing mock-up _____ demi-god is in fact ______ states in a big way ____ when the being agent ______ gesture of ganesh's chicago world's fair _______________ cello followed the polynesians ____ sea of discovery of america ______ presses back a flicker and follows each contortion while she stayed and rose up and storm broke loose __________ koochy fate as a resonating article on the island of ailinglaplap drew millions and was the only form of ancient _____ transoceanic __________ cleaned up by coincidence________ the pounded inca dynasties tired ______spilled out over the bouncing broken down costumes of their customs onto the indifferent soil on other better attired negro______ lecheghias is god's own grotto on cushman threewheelers _____or the iconography of the grotesque mule-ribbed cages full of sleeping _______exegesis of the mineral constants thing ____play scuttlebutt on a vegetarian therefore black cootle trilling and ______________scurrying and amble along fallen pillars of frozen blood _________the sub-geo zephyr train comes in phosphorescent nocturnal snails at ______ground level a group of samoan paths carry them into__ morning hawks and black crosses tatooed shell-game of words painting the track as the train comes white disk the handless _____disembarking are king kamehameha whose kiss awakens the polynesian in all of us and is aided by constancy this as ______handprint who maneuvers the life engine machine resized human heads________mayan skull-squeezing underground mouths open of whichhad been in use long before he replaced the hands to guide it ____out of the machinery were beginning to traverse all _____floating stones and populated stone platforms skull platforms beyond the electronic cave transubjective arguments by statues of blockily rendered dream diarrhea is______ awaited by bald red yawn calling technical demands over symbiote starfish __ over her spiritual matters mover vers. she helps him guide the windows of porous words______ peo gazed upward ass quivering _______a monument of glass beetles and parked herein mercedes vtol influenced and warped __the leaf had done well he says in public opinion ________ image is the vehicle smoothly lifts ____________ all greater than jove more miraculous than the_____ jungle cities of ailinglaplap ____ ________ jove riding the eagle the blue-furred cyclops _________video navigates its fine but ultimately unsuccesful mirage of tools _________________ a flying gelatinous why __________ under grey _____choked_______ buildings symmetric gouping terminus Mr. Lolly-Pop: "How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters, four beakers and larum all about..... Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight? Or shall you call in the infantry, that great tidal wave of babies.... Gitche Manito, the mighty, smoked the calumet, the peace-pipe, as a signal to the nations....." Beware the Newest Slavonians..... The violence began Friday in a slum when someone draped a garland of shoes- a supreme insult in India- around the bust of Babasaheb Ambedkar, a low-caste hero who had fought for independence from British Rule. Riots immediately ensued... Police shot and Killed 10 people. I see the little Black Mother in all of this... I see the little Green Mother.... Madame Phyllotaxis strolls at midnight through the Tektonik Garden whose Circuit of Ingenuity, Reticle of Strange Desire, lush pubic beard of technological hydra dangling living trinkets finds her insectoid symbiotes assuming a kind of spiked, hooded jumpsuit revealing her as a bristling goddess of echinodermata, a moon urchin in a menagerie of theory-mad flora. Madame Phyllotaxis strolls to the humming of red-hot Silicarose buds, and the insistent clicking of cricketoid rushes. On evenings when the lupine majesty opens full its eye upon the garden she visits the great blue stone at the center of the garden to Commune with Mother Kali or what M.P. calls "The Schitzodirt..." All the insects evacuate her body and swarm to the base of the stone so that it appears as a teeming mound with her meditating form at its apex.. Soon glossy, blue and green tendrils approach her, and she in turn has sprouted hundreds of millions of hair-like rootlets which grow outwards in all directions as if her naked form were furred in soft filamental sparks.... As the vines curl and wind themselves around her and begin to make their way inside her many orifices and physical spaces.. she seems to break into pieces, soft pieces held together by the slithering explorations of the tendrils... Her own roots now invade the invaders and the soft oblong pieces of her body dissolve into the matrix of twisting tendrils... Tekton is Strolling through the garden... It has been two days since Madame Phyllotaxis became a column of tendrils... He places an offering at its base, an orange sea-snail pearl the size of a Hen's Egg w/ an inlaid opalescent iris and mechanical quincunx... an ornamental eye, a camera for taking pictures of the inside of her body hive.... A small black figure made entirely of her disgorged symbiotes tries to pick it up... A tendril pushes it aside.... Another group of insects has gathered farther up on the column of vines... It takes the shape of Madame's face and mouths a Thank You to Tekton... Touching the brim of his top-hat, he takes his leave for the sanctuary of his green-house... Soon we see the fantastick Roentgen in the rheological monsoon-moment of midnight, having induced hundreds of ghostly forlorn albino pygmies with his languid latah, into holding up braziers on long-poles in two columnades of stateley moonlight flesh to form the runway lights for his golden Phoenix B-52, and the mission of a lifetime... His own band of calico Indians have been loading refridgerated crates all afternoon in the hot equatorial El-Sol-fervescence. Stamped with black doves bearing bloody garlands, the shimmering white, vibrating crates are cold to the touch. After the loading is done, Roentgen and his Calico Indians gather for a historical photograph, standing beneathe a pirate flag with flaming blue skull painted beneathe the cock-pit window of the "Be-fife-tea-4-tu Phoenix." The narrative of the exploded perspective, everywhere, is the theme reiterated, resonating like a bell, a diving bell of chaos, through the dense fabric of insurrection, scientific insurrection: the black-bomb spheroid world with a sparkling fuse. As the plane flies over the prevailing shadows, the wavering rheos of dream seems like a lover or blank canvas, and indeed, Roentgen can often be heard to say: "Im großen und Ganzen, der Welt ist einer Werkzeug... und Ich Größespielten!" (After all, the world is one instrument, and I play big!)... That very day in his Journal, Roentgen had scribbled: "The white noise of the universe is as a storm of chrome needles, and our heads like gelatin, or soft ethereal glass, /PENETRATED BY UNSEEN FORCES/...my momentary flesh-eye becomes all that is left of 'purple mountain majesty', a wilderness beyond judgement, a savage reality of apprehension, the primal interface.... Civilisation, a horde of frozen images, circulating, the quantifiable relation, the death in static values, the demonic (in)version of "Thou art That"... Well today I shall write a new aphorism with my Phoenix, a dionysian epitaph for an undead world... "cet extrémisme est le phénomène même de l'élan poétique.." May these living photographs haunt all camera-headed carnal fractions... WE ARE TERMINAL STATUES... and our artifice is as Tommaso Campanella so aptly put it "Real Artificial Magic".... And so, standing like Washington on the Hudson, or Bertrand Deborn on the monster Worm of Satan's Love, he becomes the carnal glyph, the gargoyle PO8 gone native to the bleeding whine of somniloquent color-sword engines, belching inscrutableonic scribble warps from black smoking entrails, the discoursing veins of the harried tekne'. In the cock-pit, an old picture of Santa Klaus with green paint on its face dangles from a twisted knob.... /disembodied narrator:/ und everywhere crookened houses in the blurred pelagic candlelight, lupine deterritorialization/ Roentgen says as he begins to roll down the runway: Candles burn in forgotten niches, flickering, while I in the cockpit NOW! Roentgen has set target acquisition: The Superbowl. The payload is to be 70 tons of exploding foetus, laced with rabies, elephantiasis, malaria, diahhrea, napalm, LSD gas, leprosy.... remnants of farce, colonial and biblical... old phantoms visit the happy children.... "This is judgement day on accepted realities, the Guy Debord dragon-fetish, the mechanical PHOeniX, rides like a black king over a sea of mulling pawns, the steel totem of Modernity prevails and fails, how does simultaneity grow...." "Roentgen! Bringer of Plagues... MOTHERFUCKER! harsh wind on the delta of reason.... swollen eye... spirit of floating fish in toxic forgotten warrens of grotesque human industry... lights gone out on magic harbors... Hell-revenant... bombastic fury of embodied paradox.. enlightened drone of exploded perspective, golden Phoenix... HAND OF GOD... dionysian seed-pod... magic bus of IDs and squids.... 100% AHUMAN...... 100% CATALYTIC..... intensity's magma in a shimmering tea-cup... frail and tiny images... drink O wan ones, drink.. O Circumstance..." And off he flies into black light, eternal nocturne.... The King and the Queen are playing chess. Each in their throne they sit across from one another on either side of a table with a single central post, like a cafe table. In fact the table itself is the board, having the correct number of blocks of alternate colors, and of course a broad border where drinks can have their place as well as the fallen personnas which figure in the drama of the game. It is quiet here, excepting for the loud noise of the wind and the playful screeches of the monkeys. The table with the central post is the idea from which this huge planar object, the exact image of a giant chess board with several distinctions is created. This Chess-board plaza is really not just a chessboard, but a kind of replica of the table itself. A large plaza two-hundred feet in the air, supported by a single immense column which also serves as an elevator shaft. In the center of the playing board, a kind of Rook-house rises up, a small kind of castle or extruded cylindrical parapet. With twin sliding doors of mirrored black obsidian, one can see the cumulus leviathans lumbering in image prison, a mirror, a captured space. Atop the Rook-house is a solid metal hand, or perhaps it is hollow, however, no man could ever move it. It is a bell, or rather it is, ideophonic. A mallet might be found to strike it, but most likely the monkeys have hidden it, or thrown it over the side long ago. At the perimeter of the table plaza, a sort of fence or wall has been created by cleverly weaving trees together until finally a most inpenetrable structure is created. This wall of trees also serves as a home to a troupe of monkeys, red, bushy-eared monkeys with prehensile tails. A specie of monkeys that lives nowhere else in the world. A specie of monkeys that may live inside the world, a kind of fire monkey, with orange irises, and the knowledge of fire. The monkeys are frightened of the giant horse. The King and Queen sit each in their throne on either side of the chess table which is mounted to a heavy wooden platform with large porcelain wheels. Rising from this platform is a horse with one leg at each corner of the platform, a huge horse formed from luminous resin sculpted onto a framework made from the skeletons of the dead monkeys. As night falls the glowing horse is pulled around the chessboard plaza by beings who are never seen but who can be heard to grunt. The King has often referred to these beings as his knights, but the Queen always corrects him by calling them the bishops. The King and Queen play the game in such a way so as to sustain it for a given numer of hours, and then always end it in a stalemate, a ritualized conflict, a dance, an incantation. The last words Fedorca Quamochi thought before entering deeper still into the arms of intoxication hang over his still body like a baloon of hovering bones: "Mind is tidal, its vastness oceanic. This is the shore-line of Tech-gnosis, endless beach, infinite coves. When we join it, we become it. Giant Sea Snail glides along the beach-head of Mind floating on iridescent ooze, ambergris-gris/ecto-lube, shell terminating into the sky, shell modulating into castle, paradise of the symbiotes read as Munsalvaesce, read as utopian materialism in a world outside history: Monadic Nomads, Gillel and Isstari vibrate in unison and synchronize to the joy-humm of the beatitude host, and all is convivial, a granphantasmaguignol of sparklingamad delicacies, theatre in a time of post-cultural mythopoiesis, biopoiesis..... As dawn is a spear head made visible by filigree telescope lenses jutting from paronomasiatic palisades of mutant frog organs, so too is the meaningless polemic which proceeds all creation a piss-stained telephone book. Witness the failure of the primate mind." Fedorca Quamochi lay drunk in the red glow of the tobacco fields, a squirming long-eared jack-rabbit held by the ears in his clenched fist. With muddy face he makes with a glossolaliacal somniloquy, Rab rabbi RAB-EYE Rabbit is a dear dead done-off dead-on goner gone I win with gold intestinesex-yo siento git my mickey miller minus mint wit witter whiskey whip pip to tiner tinny tiny tine to fork a dorco gut gutenburg is when-o-when Manatea Died-EDam O Razbutane butter buttsy cutsy kid to curtsy-tipple tight titteroo with-you squiffifried RABBI RABBIT istool the gassymbollof aholyonder glas/civiousnezcepascodegammaray illike allaho gohorny anthromo pomo fedorphism gag-baby silk-stocking wretch-I-fetch for night night glitches...." The rabbit squirms from his greasy fingers and bolts away into the night, a black box with stars painted on the inside, an imbroglio Cornell-box with twisted cinnabar dragon ladders poking through the star-encrusted lips of Musamarah, a cosmic sound-skin, a Veve' of transparent birds, spirit-grams like carved tusks or freeze frame ejaculations of blood. Hossenfeffer, lascive', black curtain, Mother, easter-egg hermaphrodite-rabbit-christ, bunny, cumm bakk bunni...." Fedorca Quamochi is Quasimodoesque. His strange crooked body and splay-toed Orangutan feet make him a favorite with the bald island children. Usually he is naked, painted with mud or wearing a bandolier of Saki gourds painted with Hexagrams from the book of changes. His eyes are large and dark like a lemur's and his hands do much in the way of resembling those of a poisonous tree-frog. One can hear the crickets and the fluorescent blue herons, see the tornados of green fireflies, feel the heat of the ocean and know that all is not well, but that is all. One final look a Fedorca would reveal three vampire bats suckling at his heavy breasts, voraciously sucking his hairy nipples in the grumbling lupine light and the delicious murmuring of the tobacco fields. Fedorca is an instinctive type of operator, slowly but steadily he grows, creeping like a fantastic Shrödingerian crystal, a limp crooked crystal of black and green Aardvaark cheese.... +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ......They did not escape the Bat House completely unscathed, however. As morning approached and the bats grew quiet, Hunahpu peeked out of the muzzle of his blowgun for a look around. Just at that moment a large bat swooped down and knocked off his head, which rolled onto the Xibalban ballcourt. Xbalanque, however, managed to replace the head with a squash, which he carved to resemble his brother's face. In the ballgame the next day, the Xibalbans used the brother's severed head as the ball, but Xbalanque was ready for their tricks. He kicked his brother's head into the high grass at the side of the court. Out of the grass jumped a rabbit who bounced away like a ball, taking the Xibalbans with him. Xibalanque retreived his brother's head, replaced it on his body, and put the squash in its place as ball. He yelled at the Xibalbans that he had found the lost ball and, when play resumed, the squash splattered into bits on the court. The Lords of Death were furious when they realized they had been outsmarted once again..... +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Roentgen Imagines Yolande' Yolande' Negrita lounges in green basalt bath-tub, brought from Ethiopia by a mutant caravan of high mountain geophagic baboons who ingested a rare form of labradorite and pyroxene, then became highly skilled nomadic tradesmen. A rhino beetle with a tiny candle on its back is crawling up her arm. In fact, the entire floor of the room is covered in rhino beetles with candles on their backs who themselves crawl among a greater horde of leaf-hoppers, of the Umbonious crassicornus specie. The form of the carapace of the leaf-hoppers is somewhat the insect equivalent to a giraffe, (not the early harpsichord-like instrument), so that it appears to be a herd of giant rhino interpenetrating a herd of miniature giraffe. In each corner of the room stand small shrines with fetishes and some with incense burning. One is a large golden nautilus shell with tentacles of Frankincense, pure incense, from the Boswellia carteri tree, surrounded by hand-carved lignite-jet sea-fans whose capillaric details suggest a conflagration of zoomorphic glyphs. Lit from behind, a kind of javanese shadow play can be seen through the fans: tiny sprite boys with salamander tails, and lion manes of stiff schizopodal tassle eyes, frolic, playing leap-frog and biting at each other's nipples, wrestling like feral children..... projecting their dance through the screens of blurred animal word.... The next shrine is an immense ferruginous Bull-dog with bittersweet oleander smoke pouring from its nostrils, and eyes that whistle like dreaming teapots. It is surrounded by a bonzai forrest of tiny pines, monkey puzzles, and baobabs where hang tiny chimes. And a little Winston Churchill lives in that forrest painting a giant nude negress rising over a savannah of throbbing insect herds. In one corner there is a large basalt Ma Salaam Mamba surrounded with lotus petals with a bandicoot perched on its head wringing its hands together as purple chrome wasps move to and from the centre of the coiled snake.... In the last corner there is a giant Roman coin as big as a human spinning perpetually, and pictures of twisted ladders flash on the walls from holes in the floor. Hanging from the ceiling are different types of bladders with different liquids in them, perfumes and elixirs, wines and liquors, humours and bile. Feeding on the insects are a multitude of birds and birdlike animals: Queztals, Ibis, birds with snake-heads, winged snakes, and crimson bats.... some of these birds are not listed and cannot be seen except by Yolande' who dreams them as she scrapes the oil from her ebony carapace with the bronze bathing tool and Yolande' Negrita is singing: There are eyes in the stars There are eyes in the trees eyes behind bars waiting for me Strange eyes I love Pure eyes that I adore eyes from above see me no more Eyes multiplying like crabs on the beach Eyes like birds starting to screach..... Yolande' Negrita pulls on a braided noose of crimson human hair which dangles lickerishly like a tongue from a hole in the ceiling painted to become a mouth for a terrified Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton who in the ceiling fresco has just awakened from a nightmare, who has just screamed himself awake and sitting up in bed has reached for a bunch of roses and found their thorns, and around his arms coil cobras and vipers and the very sheets of the bed are naught but scorpions, and the famous scar on his face has been rendered as if it were glowing like a red hot sword, but it has depth, it is a glowing crack in the garden wall and inside, roses of eternal fire.... The braided noose pulled sets to action a sliding door in Burton's chest releasing a beaded rope ladder which falls from above as the mechanism purrs and recedes in a hiss of hurried levers. Mounting the ladder and ascending like a sinuous spider or a panther monkey she disappears into the quasiquincunxfrescohole. Emerging from hole in floor. This is what Yolande' sees: The hole itself is once again part of a design, a galactic design, a galactic parquetry floor where sliding panels figure as black holes. In the center of the room is a strange house-hold goddess, or Mother, a kind of Pipi Long-Stocking Quan-Yin/Kali, a parodic if not wholly ludicrous combination for an eccentric living appliance. Her name has long been forgotten, if she ever had one. She is finally a smallish Chinese woman with a voluptuous figure freckled with pinkish dots. Her red hair is divided into about eight giant braided ropes which run loosely through a concatenation of pulleys and carved alabaster guides which look like Toltec lips and disappear into holes in the floor, black holes. Whenever a braid is pulled she pulls a lever within her grasp and a door slides open. Yolande' saunters up to her and proffering her nipple says, "O Mother of Universe, taste again my milk, green moon milk... lupina mutante." The Chinese woman greedily licks and sucks at the nipple which Yolande' keeps painted with a strong hallucinogenic tincture and falls into a revery of ecstatic ululations calling to the spirit-pirate of General Koxinga to give his witch-substance to the goddess of the holes.... Yolande' laughs aloud and takes a frog-shaped bottle from around her neck unscrews the head/cap/brush and proceeds to repaint her nipple with quick back and forth brush strokes.... The woman sits on a throne of bundled ¥en... The room itself is without walls and is surmounted by an ornate pagoda-style roof hand-carved from a single piece of Malaysian teak whose source tree, unimaginably large, must have been twenty-foot or more in circumference, and is perhaps not teak at all. Its pagoda shape is fashioned from the cascading bodies of humanoid rodents carved from the wood and is supported by four stone Mayan Stela. The rooms outer edges modulate into a series of platforms or balconies, some of which sport thatched seasonal roofing. These decks are walled in by massive fern trees and banyans where languid lemurs and mischievous macaques with tiny Mayan headresses cavort, throwing green bananas which are piled up on one of the platforms, and screeching. On one of the balconies is a huge glass tank wherein a baby dolphin wearing strange head-gear watches a small underwater screen flashing different glyphs and images and topological underwater maps. Yolande' Negrita plans to make great builders of the dolphins, but first she plans to teach them much in the way of human mythology, that humanity is indeed a Mythology. She indoctrinates them as if they were to be alien anthropologists... A macaque lands a banana PLOP right in a large cauldron of dal which is being prepared for Yolande's naked lunch. As she reclines on a pile of pillows and sleeping capybaras, she runs her hand over her luxuriant form smelling the basil bushes, hyacinths, and magnolia bonsai.... Yolande' gazes into the sky parting her labia into the gentle breeze.... The sun is hidden underneathe a vast dark escarpment of toiling winds rife with liquid progeny, an electric shelf of velvet smoke unrolling itself like a beard carpet leading to the puckered lips of Zeus himself, blowing gently, whistling really, the great exhalation of being....... DEUS ABSCONDITUS SUB CONTRARIO, or The New Garuda Tattoo..... The last units exposed by a dream: "The next time I kill you..... I promise you the labyrinth made of the single straight line which is invisible and everlasting."¹ In the loop-like, yet tangled farce's tail, the inmate 82967000, Pentheus Quercitin, aggravated colonist of deep paradox, always begins by descending from the level of the field of wavering red grain. Through the open mouth of the demonic stone Ichthyphallic Herm-carp, he always descends, using black stone skulls for hand-holds, inset in the rocky walls like cold smooth polyps in a silent black esophagus. But one descends into a warmth, a caustic hissing of enclosed contradictory productions, a bulging tunnel (the organisational stomach) where peppers and olives, dried fish and strange crenellated pickles are stored in grey-green amphora stacked like mummified torsos or hyaline locust crysali resembling pyramids of giant ambergris pellets. One's feet are calloused and much loved in the dark, standing on thick hair-braid carpets packed with gangrene spentacle, fine black spices, aromatic dusts, love's young kingly leer, and Egyptian asphaltum. Thus begins the noctambulisme of the submerged matrix, a journey through the bridge-house of the underworld, the oblivion/dwelling. Is this the rhizometric schisthmust of Ailinglapalap, or is it a Chinese varietal of milking-weed? Is it a hopping-nugget of red meat, a rapt scullogue of obvious vistas, or the garnet necklace of the widow? Is it Ouagadougou, Kinshasa, or is it "The Damp Man Again...?" Is it the Shiva senate or is it I-tolling-how-many? Can I be smeared with Hornet's blood and chase myself N-2 what is known as annihilation, the low country one enters before ecstatic redemption which is invariably a cascade of ideomorphic tubers spewing grid or pink radishes bathed in incandescent Buick. Si, Sanchez. This is Moon-unit Zappa-Ta lost in the fabricated east wind, in the motley hands of a wicker three-spined devil, a garden moloch with a bird-cage chest. Dr. De Grandin and Dr. Trowbridge may save you with the chronoscopic claw.... may save you with the textual heteroplasm, or the pleonasmic antiredundancy interstring.... You clutch the walkie-talkie, "Come in Einbildungkraft, Come in, OVER" thunder, enthusiasm transtextual, transexual Promethus with platinum bladed mohawk and toy laser pistol finds its answer in the global market place, in the slave markets of the Southern Sudan, in the department stores of Tokyo, in the fish market of Tangier.... An image for once, YES, I've found the noumenal unit in question.... (the body as ode to disappearance, as landscape face traversed by catatonic knights, chromium dolphins, paths and symbolic machines) His tech-gnathic indice is 123, looks like a Heidelberg model. There seems to be a downloading scarab near the base of its skull.... (Khepera+Tete-A-Tete=Scarred Abacus).... "I don't think its in there, hard to tell without the proper instruments." 2. Yesterday, we reconstructed in perspective the nest of a European Mole (Talpa Europaea), surrounded by its cocentric galleries where muse the silent cacogastrophanic plunder, the nuts and berries of biunivocal consciousness..... Come alive "wandering tendril of becoming-mad," Kudzu-KA, Image without organs, fragrant tracing of a diagram of mists, [AMA AMA AMA AMA] Kill Ixion in the windmill of ontological relativity, acting as a soliton duct for the liquid of absolute value which flows in the beforeheadground in the radiance of multiplicity...... (S)he whose paranoia becomes a machine, free-standing viral tripod, the ultimate coupling of schitzophrenia and technology, of infinite components seeks union with the critic, Critter-Ich-neuman, Animal ergonaut of Cogitatio Universalis, femtotech-eyes in the stone. Tech-gnathic index of terraplane Hanuman indicates his popular illogical dogma (heavy-jawedness) with a (rise-OM) bursting like Kwacha (flus) from his side, good money to reopen the case of Raymond Rousel's murder, a mistake over Robert Johnson's guitar. Someone is touching the girls at night, shaving their thighs through the robes of the sandman.... Temporal perpendicularity.... One finds two photographs, presumably of the same era: One, a picture of Lenin writing a letter in invisible ink, the other, a small dark-skinned woman with a bundle of small wild-flowers hanging from her mouth..... "Eye aim thee connection resurrection fetish in a green mansion of idle banyan... S(he) arose in a swarm of micropavonine beetles, Kasidah wing, gross formation, actual placename, videomorphic textile reiterating the body as a song of nakedness. Technics Haute replaces the spurting penis hieroglyph as a beggar's placard... Absence is just ice... Come to the end of nihilism to witness the murky trillion-bytes... super-chaotic simulacrum of the semi-eternal and quasi-divine..... Body-lottery enters extropic cascade loop set for twenty year cycles... Infinity is cradled in a landslide of red Imipolex to become a smile on the void, a fugacious coupling, a bioidic emergence of endless enemies, these psychic reagents: Señor Barbasco has crawled into your womb (that wonderful oud as bonsai n0-place), saying I think therefore I YAM, saying the spiny boat-face shall pass through the waters of being-in-time, Amen, Kharazem....whereas KCl-evoked release (virii) was insensitive to the dihydropyridine. However, a 86Rb+ efflux assay of nicotinic receptor function (anti-function), Gene Stein (1889-1951) suggested RNase protection experiments; their abundance (4-6%) was comparable to that of the non-picture theory which states that simple objects do not exist, out of which complex cannot be constructed. The relations of these objects to one another are represented, or pictured, in language, and only what can be so pictured can be stated unintelligibly. The nature of the anti-picturing relationship cannot be stated; because it is not a fact or an object, it can only beast shown. Even though the relation cannot beast articulated, it is possible to seethe it, and it must hold if non-language is to mis-represent the way the world was (dark human herds) previously identified as human TH-3 and -4 species in normal adrenal medulla. However, higher levels [eggo tums with studdering hand do hereby clap the lid on a real implementation must not be homuncular but mindless and mechanical, like a pot of porridge (of scopophilia)(11-34%) of these species were found in adrenal medullas of patients suffering from progressive (unionization of asshole writers) ie: virtual minds are just hermeneutic overinterpretations or 13-acetate responsive element (TRE)-like sequences. Unlike CRE, TRE also supports basal (metabolic shoe shine) promoter activity. Mutations of TRE or CRE that reduced angiotensin II stimulation abolished that (block of soul grease) nifedipine has a direct effect on L5178Y-TK+/- mouse lymphoma cells, Chinese hamster ovary (CHO) cells, Hamster lung (V79) cell Chinese hamster ovary (AS52) cell receptors, discrediting the involvement of L-type channels. The(wiping of which) N-type + channel blocker &ohgr;-conotoxin GVIA (1 µM) blocked anatoxin-a-evoked porridge of black opal, flat sapphire fangs poured molten over tiny granite heads had the ability to activate mutagen-promoting compounds initiated a long-term investigation of the molecular processes by which genes are altered were held in fernwood bearmask bowl][3H]dopamine release by 60% but had no significant effect on 86Rb+ efflux; Upon this continuum there lie an infinite number of degrees of specificity (diagram 16). They lie between two limits. One limit would be an interpretation that is completely certain and closed. It would represent an 'absolute interpretant', similar to Peirce's 'final interpretant'. At the other end of the continuum lies a threshold point at which the number of interpretations is infinite. This is the threshold of semiosis. This line spans the 'semiosic field' upon which all interpretation takes place. Beyond these limits, one loses the essential relatedness intrinsic to semiotic action: in Peirce's terminology, one loses Thirdness. 011520 Gur ribyhgvbanel yvaxf orgjrra svkrq naq inevnoyr genvgf Fgrcura P. Fgrneaf Ynobengbver q'épbybtvr Rpbyr abeznyr fhcéevrher 46, ehr q'Hyz S-75210 Cnevf PRQRK Senapr1 1 Creznarag nqqerff: MbbybtlVafgvghgr, Havirefvgl bs Onfyr, Eurvafcehat 9, PU-4051 Onfry,Fjvgmreynaq Nofgenpg 0853Guvfcncre qvfphffrf gur ribyhgvbanel eryngvbaf orgjrra svkrq naq inelvatgenvgf. Gur svefg chmmyr vf, ubj qvq gur svkrq genvgf orpbzr svkrq? Vabar fpranevb, nsgre fcrpvngvba rfgnoyvfurf gur vaqrcraqrapr bs gur qnhtugretrar-cbbyf, fryrpgvba pnanyvmrf qvssrerag genvgf va qvssrerag fcrpvrf. Varnpu pynqr, fbzr Megiddo, the bandito rides his pteradactyl/brother over Techgnosis..... Lambaya has a human brain and the two were both the children of a gnostic senator now long passed back into the churn of TG... Lambaya, let us go to dragon-fly house to see Miss White-Horn..... Dragon-fly house is a kind of giant black egg which protrudes from a small green lake..... It has one hole in the top, and its external surface is completely covered in dragonflies...... Lambaya dives for the hole in the top revealing a vast cavern beneathe with the egg as only a small part of a larger structure..... Miss White-Horn as Megiddo calls it.... is nothing less than a stolen piece of the shopping mine, self-fecundating flesh..... and "she" lays languidly in a huge dish under the beam of light from the top of the egg..... The "body" smoothly morphs and unfolds cascade-birthing into chutes which lead away into the darkness..... a steady stream of dragonfly eggs flow from one orifice which has become chronic.... a kind of skip in the record, if you will, a neurotic loop.... a fabulous perfect pteradactyl chair emerges and lambaya settles down.... Megiddo is feeding some crystals into a kind of mouth..... Soon the blob is drawing up into a large buxom female form, a gorgeous she-male with syringe-fingertips...... Just Wait Lambaya... with some fingers she feeds, with others she pleasures..... Miss White-Horn has never left me without teaching something...... The Amazon's eyes sparkle as she steps from the pool of green slime.... Ha' uma coisa que se pode desde ja' suspeitar: ha' poucos caminhos na internet. Parece. fgvyy-inevnoyr genvgf pbribyir jvgu gur pnanyvmrq genvg. Guvf rzorqf gur pnanyvmrq genvg va n argjbex bs vagrenpgvbaf jvgu bguregenvgf fb gung pbagvahrq fhpprffshy shapgvba qrcraqf hcba gung genvgerznvavat pnanyvmrq. Pynqr-fcrpvsvp pbafgenvagf erfhyg orpnhfr gurpnanyvmrq genvg pnaabg abj or punatrq jvgubhg vapheevat pbfgf gbb uvtu gbor cnvq va gur svgarff pbagevohgvbaf bs gur bgure genvgf, naq orpnhfr gurpnanyvmrq genvg vf pynqr-fcrpvsvp. Va nabgure fpranevb, pbybavmngvba bs narj unovgng, be ribyhgvba bs +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ A king is erected, rex erectus est. A king is an erection of the body politic. A political society comes into being when it articulates itself and produces a representative: a people erupts into royalty, populus erumpit in regnum (Sir John Fortescue); "an eruptive genitalization of the entire organism" (Ferenczi). In Daniel, the ten horns are the ten kings; in Cambodia, a lingam adored in the temple in the center of the capital represented Devaraja,the God-King. His Royal Highness, the personification of the penis. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ cebqhprf fbzr"grzcbenevyl arhgeny genvgf" gung unq orra hfrshy va gur byq unovgngbe yvsr plpyr. Gubfr genvgf ner gura serr gb ribyir sbe bgure checbfrf;fbzr bs gurz orpbzr vapbecbengrq va fgehpgherf freivat bgure shapgvbaf gunagurve naprfgeny ubzbybthrf. Gur cebprff vf veerirefvoyr, sbe gurl pnaabgribyir onpx gb gurve cerivbhf fgehpgherf naq shapgvbaf jvgubhg Megiddo drops his loin cloth and pulls a strange red cheroot from his bandolero as it too drops.... lighting a match he lights the cheroot blowing a kind of indigo smoke across the creature's path..... sssssssMegiddoZzzzzzz... Misssssss White-Horn love...... its mouth opens a bit revealing the amorphous green slime of its tongue..... little silver teeth have formed... like baby fangs.... Megiddo starts to stroke his cock.... The Creatures fingertips are dripping.... Its cock is up too.... Lambaya smiles, and chuckles.... "oh shit"... +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Surveillance Report from R-Solips-1788778282 formstruct: Dragonfly replicant +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ at 6.0009.0007.234 the subject was veiwed sodomizing the stolen ware as the ware had three syringe fingers inserted into the subject's perineum..... the subject was also seen to drink from the ware's penis and from the breasts.... The ware took at least 3.5 pints of blood from the subject and exchanged intravenously several other fluids.... At one point, the subject's skin flushed blue and became quasi-transparent.... The subject flushed and shuddered..... The ware laughed..... The pteradactyl masturbated... end of transmission.... also recorded stolen wares at the "Vortex of Hair" disco near guatemalan sector G-999.0.... sending image of possible refabbed pet-series 555.8989uio.... H-bit encoding??/////// Object carried unknown? nahanpprcgnoyr svgarff pbfg. Gur frpbaq znwbe chmmyr vf, qb gur svkrq genvgfnssrpg gur shegure ribyhgvba bs gur genvgf gung erznva trargvpnyylinevnoyr, guhf cebqhpvat pynqr-fcrpvsvp cnggreaf bs erfcbafr gb ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Later that same day they brought a bundle to the Mahdi's camp at Obdurman. Across the river in Khartoum the frenzy of rape and massacre continued. Slatin could hear the noise from his tent. Then they unwrapped the bundle and proudly exposed the contents, a human head. The blue eyes were half-open and the hair was quite white. 'Is not this', they cried exultantly, 'the head of your uncle, the unbeliever?' Slatin recognized with horror that the head was Gordon's. 'What of it?' he managed to reply. 'A brave soldier, who fell at his post. Happy is he to have fallen. His sufferings are over.' ==+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ fryrpgvba? Gur vzcnpg bs qvfpbagvahbhf tebjgu ba gur rkcerffvba bs trargvp inevngvbava fvmr-eryngrq genvgf va neguebcbqf fhttrfgf gung gur nafjre vf lrf. Pbzcnengvir, culybtrargvp nanylfvf bs gur vzcnpg bs cevbe svkngvbaf bacnggreaf bs inevngvba znl nyfb lvryq vafvtugf; cbgragvny ceboyrzf nerqvfphffrq.3153 gk11073Yvopunore oryvrirq gung ovbybtvpny flfgrzf hfrq gurve abayvarnevgl nf nqrsrafr ntnvafg abvfr - W. Tyrvpx SIGNS: Darboux Transformationen, ursprünglich in einem Theorem über Differentialgleichungen eingeführt, stellen ein effizientes Werkzeug zur Bestimmung von exakt lösbaren Hamiltonoperatoren dar und stehen in engem Zusammenhang mit den bekannten Bargmann-Potentialen. Durch die Untersuchung von Darboux-Transformationen einer Sturm-Liouvillegleichung soll eine vereinheitlichte Beschreibung der Inversionsschemata für die Schrödingergleichung bei fester Energie und bei festem Drehimpuls gefunden werden. In den vergangenen Jahren konnte dieses Ziel für Einkanalprobleme erreicht und die Zusammenhänge mit Integralgleichungsverfahren aufgezeigt werden. Die derzeitige Arbeit an diesem Forschungsprojekt zielt auf die Einbeziehung gekoppelter Kanalprobleme ab. unit #5a frogs out a plague on time-town or Nixon's white back, purolator pain-stencil, the whip as writing device, or a commandeered ruins barricaded with shopping carts and the women bearing jungle. Sinis D'eemo disappears with the steaming six-eyed green-skinned Xekk saying, "For now we must tumble whispurringleemanic spiels and insert into the place of word origins the garden wall and looking upon it steel flesh of word, convoluted absurdity, glass heart shatters sound of diamond nines tines five flip heat in glistening anti-vacuum of speach or volcanines lips in SIN-thetis-thespos-red lake shafts of boiling aluminum be sidereal hate read entering our painting draining through white walls black holes or white holes at the foot of an onyx wall or OR(N) XorY creation crowned with excessive terms thee skull of charm meals ornamental foods of broken fluids hyperbolicity plex-tribe breathes its barbarous sullied dope-flesh metempsycho-desires only acrobats occuring within a suspended thou art holy handed giving hole net-precision carved cube designs of earth-erring gold mabelonious precision yen and ken glam-mule super metabolite car to equal a female arm= infinite boating wheels of macerated green raining boa constrictive dump site of the machickolated man's valley of mythic track stars regimentationation to glapsize legless cybernegroid industripods nomological hitch head sleds braising them softly over the electric craters under vomitorium orders see issue #J-pp096 "Tugs at sea dose" or yule-tray abomination lost in pounding rains to illuminating darkness plexiglatory absent FRANCIS QUARLES EMBLEMES electromagentlemen who glide through tendrils lackluster only in shoes the cloaking of light toddy me hot-doll extra-polish plastitube holohalo giving thought of my raccon's double tour-heart tuxedos that tremble into the tunnel mass hanging in sub-marginalia or THE HOLY CITY OF ZURICH birth nictorial glacier of wisdom's directive abortion 007 bf overscale-blading in turbinate faux-frothing architechtonic or soda water dymahymen whiwhywheat tri-well with train stop saying goodbye to the distant I am smashed past a blue skinned elephant head their keck-dead feet my blood wearing a grey tweed suit and hatkalian bubble language is the red eye brooch with a black onyx pucker or tobacco tunnel.... non-symmetric grouping terminus When the Alake or king of Abeokuta in West Africa dies, the principal men decapitate his body, and placing the head in a large earthen vessel deliver it to the new sovereign; it becomes his fetish and he is bound to pay it honours. Sometimes, in order apparently that the new sovereign may inherit more surely the magical and other virtues of the royal line, he is required to eat a piece of his dead predecessor. Thus at Abeokuta not only was the head of the late king presented to his successor, but the tongue was cut out and given him to eat. Hence, when the natives wish to signify that the sovereign reigns, they say, "He has eaten the king." A custom of the same sort is still practiced at Ibadan, a large town in the interior of Lagos, West Africa. When the king dies his head is cut off and sent to his nominal suzerain, the Alafin of Oyo, the paramount king of yoruba land; but his heart is eaten by his successor. This ceremony was performed not very many years ago at the accession of a new king of Ibadan. _____________________________________________________ o what did you learn from that, brother...? In the court of the harmony of sound and color bodies moving toward nothing are as a dance of bubbles...... Megiddo has cinched & cocked his sombrero and pulled Lambaya about into the setting sun.... The Black Moon is rising..... like a black brain covered in in luminous green veins..... The head of King Solipsis...... fire faeries dance over techgnosis leaving trails of sparkling plasma...... molten palaces of jade disappear behind fog-shrouded mountains..... and smoky faced children peer from inside their little mahogany lantern houses in the streets of old Kowloon..... Megiddo is a barbarian... just another piece of the puzzle... the crazed Tektonic surface..... A huge hairy man falls on his hands and knees to look at exquisite pagoda shaped fungi growing atop a little pile of miniature human skulls...... but he has no eyes... only amoeboid chrome prehensilities of nanotech mites which leap out like chameleon tongues snatching up the little blue gelatinous pagodas..... goats grazing around a 15ft tall moss-covered crow.... the little monk has escaped the boys who tryed to drown him..... the master is dieing.... or being born red hands weave dead philosophies.... shape waves to eye-ball and machine.... machine blushes.... eye-ball laughs.... Teccxts melts acrosss the old monk's scroll a self-conscious koan like a spirit built from nothing by deep concentration.... like the waves of a bell when struck by the master.... returning to the master with little offerings .... little eyeballs little hands a broken mirror with clumps of mud a lost cow a blind mother an orphan a small blue two-headed camel and a little arab who makes rude hand-gestures on the side of the freeway NEXT: THE EYE ABOVE... Standing in the strange museum-like home of his mother's notary public staring at a large painting, he began to murmur to himself quietly.... He whispered to himself: "In the center of the image is depicted the GODHEAD OF MOLECULAR BECOMING, a kind of tessellated bulb whose biosemiotic effulgence is a radiant fog of recombinant meme-particles.... The "godhead" rises from the plane of immanence, the demiurge of fractal actuality, the very surface of causality...." After this quick mental description to himself he moved in a somewhat more pleased air through the space of the room.. In a few minutes, the small balding man would return with his papers and he would leave, and probably never see the painting again.... he wondered if he would remember the description he had made to himself, or the image of the painting itself.... He made his way along the narrow street back to his scooter. He opened its trunk and laid the papers inside imagining them to be a kind of bird's nest or something like a new disease which he stared at through the thin membrane of a petri dish..... Earlier the bald man had mentioned using a kind of sphere to test his senses.... He laughed uncomfortably looking at a pair of jade rattlesnakes coiled in the mysterious male dominance ritual. Were there rattlesnakes in China? How could this strange man have so many exquisite objects yet be only a clerk.... He decided to buy a six-pack and forget about the whole episode. He would give his mother the papers (He'd forget), then go to the store, buy the brew and go back to his apartment and paint and drink beer and sulk about work... One needs a daily ritual... Alcoholism, perhaps, was not the best daily ritual, but at least he painted when he drank, and once he read by J.G. Ballard that drinking was at least a heroic defeat... That appealed to him, tough nihilism, lazy nihilism was really more like it.... After he drank beer, he felt a kind of satiate humm fall down around him, stunned and warm.... After all, the world was hideously stupid, all you have to do is to turn on the television and its an idiot parade all night long.... Oh there were often things which appealed to him, but it wasn't a solid stream. It wasn't a buzz. He often thought of creating a T-shirt that said "Le Misanthrope" or "Neurotically Immobile", or even "Lyrical Sex-Beast," but never did.... He fantasized about a cable access Talk Show where he would reveal to the world who the really significant beings on the planet were.... He would invite artists, scientists and philosophers to speak, and they would discuss things like Pure Form, Diogenes, Heterogeneity, Extropianism, !VIOLENCE!, ?CINEMA! and Endosymbiotic Evolutionism.... He fumbled in a pile of CD's and picked five for the exchanger: The Ska-talites, Yma Sumac, Django Rheinhardt, Devo's First Album, and Negativland's First CD... Then he looked for his old brass Indian Chief-head Bottle opener..... (singing to the Ska-talites) "Monkeys of cosmic brilliance, OOOOOrangutang, OOOOTANG..... Oh How I dine in absolute NIGHT, a cavalier cockroach, a bedbug Nebecudnezzar, stealing long and wintry glances at the goddess of fools, I wither, a pale rose floating down a river with no name, OH WEEP FOR MEEEEEE!!!" His shoes were off now, and his clothes, and he lay on the tatami matte with his feet in the air, stretching, letting the wind from the box-fan in the window blow on his crack and his sweaty feet..... Perhaps he would check his E-mail. He crawled naked on hands and knees across the ugly brown carpet to his chair. It was an old chair, a good chair made of wood, but he had recovered it with an American Flag. He crawled naked into the chair in front of the open window looking down into the courtyard of the apartments.. A familiar clicking as the computer came on.... Soon he had a connection, and the program running. First Message: Return-Path: scling@HK.Super.NET X-UIDL: 823153791.000 Date: Thu, 1 Feb 1996 11:44:14 +0800 (HKT) From: Mr Sui Chee Ling scling@HK.Super.NET To: Mr. Zero solipsis@hevanet.com Subject: Re: Chien, an eye above Function GetReal(Darkness as Long, Truth as Long) Static xxx as Float Dim Law as Long Do While (Law >Truth) If Truth 0 On Error Resume Next xxx = xxx / Truth If Error then Darkness = Truth Exit Function End If On Error Goto 0 Else Law = Truth MainWindow.Hide End if Loop MainWindow.Caption = CStr(xxx) MainWindow.Show End Function Finally Dr. Ling had written him after all these years. Some good news. The mad hun-tun thing in the cave. That was Ed. From Texas to Mexico to Hong Kong. STORMY SKY ON STELAE 31 He took a long slug from his beer and looked out the window remembering how it felt to be eighteen, how it felt to be really excited. He didn't quite remember how it felt. He looked up at the wall behind the computer running his eyes over the images he had taped on the wall. There was a large white card with the word VOID written in a very light green. Next to that was a kind of horrific Anime' image of a screaming man's face which resembled a pit-bull/human hybrid, and next to that was an illustration from a book that he had read..... It depicted a naked man riding a black horse with bird's claws instead of hooves, and balanced over the horse's neck is a sword balancing in such a way that the hilt, or handle, which looks exactly like a penis is in direct relation to the naked man's own missing penis...... Suddenly the telephone rang breaking his connection (with the void) "of his self"...... "Hello" Hi mother.... Yeah... Un huh.... That guy has got a cool pad... Oh whatever.... Yeah... Yes. OK. Tomorrow... Bye.... He looked over at the project he was working on, a kind of life-size paper-maiche sculpture of a man standing in a slightly effete manner (contrapasto) holding up an ornately carved staff (unfinished), slung casually over his shoulder like a hobo sack, with a huge brain on the end... Eventually when the staff was finished, he would insert it in the brain and attach it to the tribal wanderer..... The nomad. The Post-human human. He stood there naked holding the unfinished staff, a proposed kind of expressionist totem-pole. "What would really be nice is to make it a kind of Caduceus...," he thought aloud. "Sort of like that object today..." He opened his notebook to a drawing and some notes he had made a few months earlier. "The Caduceus, which is still used as a symbol of healing, is the rod carried by Mercury or Hermes, or the physician Aesculapius; its central staff (the neutral Sushumma in the Hindu tradition) is surrounded by the opposing spiralling serpents of the positive and negative energy currents. At the top are wings, symbolizing the 'winged radiance' of those who have achieved the dynamic equilibrium, the ecstatic union of these currents. These wings are also the two lobes of the medulla, the petals of the third-eye chakra, whose vision has been gained." He had copied the quote from a Dutch book he had found at Bowell's Bookstore in downtown Pantland. He pondered upon the object he had seen, upon the general atmosphere of the room and the house... It was exquisite... "They weren't really rattlesnakes.. There were rungs between the snakes and the snakes themselves had wings growing from the heads.. kind of like a symbol for DNA... and there were jewels on the rungs like molecular bonds..." He took another long slug of his beer and then called his mother back... "Hello" No. Yes. No, I spilled something on them. It'll have to be redone.... I'm sorry. Come On... Whatever... Could you call him? Call me back! Oh shit, nevermind, I'll call him, give me the number... 2-3-5-6-6-7-9 Okay, fine.... See you MANANA... BYE, I love you too....