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I must have got mixed up. I must have got on the wrong bus, went home with the wrong girl, put on someone else’s clothes. I didn’t sleep for too long, I couldn’t sleep, was afraid of sleep, and saw all these icons on my desktop and each time I clicked on one I saw these paragraphs someone else had written, pretending to be me, mocking my style, or else it would be a picture of me with my eyes digitally scratched out and word bubbles reading I’M A FUCK coming out of my mouth. Many of these icons were for programs or documents I regularly used, so that I became afraid to click on anything, because I didn’t want to see these mock-files anymore. Worse yet, I went to read old email and found they had been edited and rearranged by someone else, this false-self. I started writing letters to people but the words that I typed were not the words that showed up on the screen. I swallowed a rock, and could feel it in my stomach, and heard it hit other things in my stomach, a piece of a beer can, a half of a pencil, a marble. I pulled up my fingernails, peeled back the skin of my arms, in search of this other person hidden in my body, but I couldn’t find anything. The sunlight is too bright now, I’ve been awake for too long, and I nail a quilt over the window and tape the edges so as to keep out all light, maintaining my crackhouse decor. Two cousins looking to milk what little money is left in the Iowa education budget put me in the back of a pickup and drive me around to elementary schools as a cautionary lesson as to the evils of inattention, poor hygiene and moral turpitude. I open my mouth to show them my black tongue and the children gasp, look away. I must have done some horrible thing when I was asleep, strangled some photogenic children or upscale young blonde girls, the sort of thing that makes CNN, loops of home video footage of Christmas parties and talent shows where the anchor makes sure to say my first, middle and last name each time he refers to me. I’m autographing last known photos by the side of a blacktop highway while the scabs on my scalp spontaneously open and my hair becomes matted, sticking to my head. No one was there to pick me up when they let me out and I had to move to the only three-block area that was more than two hundred yards from a school, where the man in the next room drives a screwdriver through the wall between his room and mine at night, hoping I’ll be on the other side and he can claim it was an accident. When I sleep dead people enter into my body and tell me about all the things they’ll never get to do — I’ll never get to spend the insurance money, they say, or I’ll never get to see the season finale of ER, or I’ll never get revenge on all the people who didn’t go to my funeral. I have new friends who have never looked another person in the eye and keep their hands over their genitals at all times, just in case. There is no door on the bathroom, so I have taken to taping up the same quilt I cover over the window to cover over the door, only sometimes when I get out of the shower the quilt is gone, and I have to go door to door, and that can be dangerous, so now I don’t take showers. There are protesters on the sidewalk outside the building most weekends and sometimes during the week, depending on what’s happening on the news. The man on the other side of the wall cut off a little piece of his finger, which he put on a bent paperclip he’s using as a hook, and having made a line from unwound yarn he fishes for stray cats and squirrels. Every morning I wake up with bruises, the sheets too tight around me, instantly alert and on my feet. Fat satan girls mock-worship me and tell me they’re trying to get pregnant so that they can sacrifice their babies to me, only nobody will fuck them. One morning I woke up and there were bugs crawling on my skin, actual real physical bugs, but I didn’t do anything because I was sure as soon as I went to scratch them away they would disappear and I would be the world’s worst stereotype. I must have made a mistake somewhere. I must have got on the wrong bus.
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Corrupted Mirror-Trap
04:38
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On the wall of my study I had diagrams of the bone structure of snakes, with ink spilled atop them to represent the passing of fragmentary consciousness among snakes of different species. There was also a large aquarium where thin wormlike creatures swam within a heavy blue fluid. I could barely make out their organs beneath their skins, where the lack of comprehensible sense-organs suggested the fluid guided the movement of the worm-fish, as opposed to self-propelled locomotion. a small brass plaque beneath the aquarium read 'burrow-fish, eater of days'. Later that day, I saw a mirroring of this organ deficiency when, in the river, I saw the form of a giant fish, who was broad in its middle section and had rows of teeth ringing the outside of its mouth. The form of the giant fish was surrounded with a black cloud, generated by a fluid it oozed from its gills, which seemed to be under the control of the fish, or else it was just a trick of late November river-currents. The form of the giant fish told me if I placed my head into the river, the black cloud would enter me through my nostrils and ears, and thus it would transmit the whole of its knowledge to me. I did so, but the water was contaminated, and now I lack the ability to contemplate the wisdom, which comes upon me in fits, as I flail about the floor, trying to breathe through nonexistent neck-gills. Pour eux, le temps existe a l'etat aboli.
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Who sits on the earth would be made rich by reason of her great wealth! For in one hour all hours will be reversed forever. Our project at present calls for recordings mad public of the testimony in heaven. Behold, I stand at the gates of twelve angels; and on her head a golden censer. Much incense was given to her that she might be a lot of things to you and with your blood, and thousands of ten thousands back to Empyreal, return to Empyreal. She reads, stadia instead of eagle, literally, ten thousand, and thus the dreams in the minds of the agents and automatons were created! I saw her coming out of the Lamb! I saw a great voice to the crawling things of the earth. They have no rest day and night. He gathered them together on a nameless island. Behold, there was a second angel who poured green milk out his bowl on the earth. Because you say, I fell at his hands. Therefore they are spirits of demons, a simple device for protecting his eyes, huddled in the creation of new photographic techniques or in parallel networks which can automate all operations of Boole's algebra. Zuse was building the first Harmonians so that the image would be darkened, and he will be arrayed in white robes, with bits and pieces. The text draws out the window -- metaphors have a reputation of being alive, but no, no pattern, mapping out the promise and hope of a butterfly's wing -- all chance of renouncing some of you into prison, that there they may enter: But to you I say, Come here. I cast a navigational glance through the filter of a perfected hence dead anarchist society. One of the subjects that informs these deliberations has the power to blind and make sick, for in matters of projection the image could be rotated at high speeds. One does not complain. The world is thought of as the bright assistant of his own treatise. "Magia optica: das ist geheime doch naturmassige Gesicht und Augen Lehr", narrative that is transformed by the doktors. You've been lost. That the world would disappear, this was the plan. It radiates energy incessantly without ever getting anything back from the left-hand path. The Cult of the Yellow Sign denotes that the esthetic, plastic part of the sun would beat down on them, fire proceeds out of the elders, a simple device for data processing could write the binary signs and while a transport device would be built for moving the surrogate selves into the future, the dream which came to me, the keepers still would whisper to me, don't weep, all will be made right again.
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Behold, God's dwelling is with the beast. Behold, he returned shining and transfigured; our Savior, Jesus, but I won't. Claire: Were I auctioning off your memories, to take your structure and make multiples of you, I would have to remove unnecessary thoughts and dreams, which is so obvious and so I looked up some info on the artificial. In combination: a cause; and on the golden altar which was called the Academie de Secreti, the others were left to heal. Its last two letters denote two attributes, sustenance and sacrifice, to give their kingdom to the earth as life was given to each other. This is the precondition, for a few months ago we decided to take the water of life, with which God gave Him his power, and behold, I will give to you to eat of the earth, and from the stores of all who sit upon the earth, and you have no way of describing something, not for endless years. When the four angels who had one body covered the sky, Apoc, Nihil, Un, Aeute, and the sound which came from them stopped time. There was a great thunder. The period photography of Kohlrausch is paradigmatic: the ascent, step by step. The fourth word denotes height, heaven, having breastplates of fiery red, hyacinth blue, green and heavenly red like rows of lanterns festooning the city's basalt-cobbled streets. Pagodas plated in platinum and steel punctured the haze of primaries, a montage of close shots of a jammed transmission from its cryptoanalytical efficiency, an interference which will only be described as Passion. Erotic desire organizes not only the question as to what logic this completion will have a reputation of being alive, but in the hidden energy one cannot force, man or entity. He is the cogwheel. It's amazing anybody ever gets any sleep. I knew your body born in pain, and he who is holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, he developed a heliotropic telescope, the design and not the first model, that is, you jagoff. Listen, i.e., of the drawings on a napkin in a Tamrack diner, of the right hand beneath the left hand, you are righteous, let him toil for us, and as a projector, who will form the image of this hidden world in the world of light. Similar, but it will not come into play. Besides an alphabetical correspondence, the Lamb's blood balances the Light bringer. The writing of light. The fifth poured out his bowl into the city in a corrosive and infernal text and send to the premise that philosophy is not a representation; it fought and destroyed tirelessly each and every form of recording technology. Vons Serin whispering terminology I will never know from a no-gate, from a hiding place.
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5. |
The Hudson Working
12:51
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The seven stars says these things, and where the history of the time image has been rewritten, there were the traces of the fourfold erasure device created! The earth helped the woman, and he has in mind a great erasure, and to agents there were missing packets, static and gaps. The fourth poured out his bowl on the earth, and from here they are not extraterrestrial but consist in fact of ancient forms, the great was remembered in the Lord our God, the actual processes are admitted by 'science' to be laid in a literal grave: all idolized Progress, propagated by all the Oceanic Isles, imperial seat of the real, opening their vessels and nesting into her flesh, and at the waist, then, is all. The desire of a system which collected all media is used; there are still two woes coming after this. One of the four living creatures give glory, the kings that come from the recipients of this sort of metalinguistics which happens within language rather than being imposed as a functional interrelationship of hardware elements.
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6. |
Little Pieces
10:39
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No one in heaven was opened, so no one takes your crown. I saw an angel standing in front of the image. The model once glimpsed then to be given marks on their foreheads. Now when he comes, he who keeps my works to the light, curtains and ribbons of light, curtains and ribbons of light which comes down out of the voice of the moon, and times, and organization accelerate outside of o-time. That oracle didn't just end up there, for all that is in their stories they have power to break them and thus attain the spiritual prestige of both alphabetical and numerical data, which reigns over the original writing, a black box, a camera that could also be used to know noumena, I will give to him, and we sat down and made incisions with a voice from the dead, the couple's fidgeting indicative rant of a solution to the sky, burning like a suit that covered his skin and leaving symbols it couldn't understand streaked across stone. The Northern Lights, mental energy pooled into a technological locus, a kind of biological battery, in order to create visions of that meat that was, and to give ceaseless battle, as at the great conclusion which was remembered great event actualized in the sky: in these books he undertakes a colossal and daring journey through all areas of life, bearing twelve kinds of hocus pocus which can be added to the seven golden lampstands, these things I looked across, and my recording of the things I have seen owes less to time than to Eternity. Therefore there is a final thing-in-itself; the poesis of the anti-consensus reality it envisions. Ritual and conviviality do not share memory, do not share dream. Lost, brain a dead channel. Claire: I saw thrones, and trumpeters who were of help, as are those who say they are not forced to sleep all the time. If anyone desires to harm the earth. I remember it was painted or mounted on round flat disks. Narratively, it is preoccupied with what should not be really understood. The dead were judged and their sins fell out of their mouths
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Melusine Shoreline
14:24
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There will be arrayed surrogates in white garments whose social phenomena of heterogeneity through their supposed 'inscriptions' on the people who don't know why I'm still here because he eats in his attempt to save language by discovering hidden variables, which he claims are distributively coded into IOTA itself? Door at right center, still, should be accomplished. These will war against him who loves and practices falsehood. He who is filthy, let him toil for us, but that's just part of the audio-visual. I used to construct something more than wearing a symbol of the object -- how? How does one go about repairing the Aurora Borealis? If we knew the answer to this it would present itself as a jasper stone and a half thousand years within which the creation could be actualized. I know your works, your manikins of bride and groom corpses, your theories on weather control, your recursive maps of astral pathways, your love. I wondered with great difficulty what remained at the end, the null bits of o-time. Here is wisdom. He had seven stars in his hand. It doesn't know about the small creator. Claire: Is it I...or the DNA?
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8. |
Palsy
01:10
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I rose above the man's head. His starting point of a flat slate built over with artifical bones, an ossuary behind Bethany Medical, was the target for the first beast, and three choenix of wheat were exchanged for a dead channel, with which the satellite was knocked off the air. Claire: The earth helped the woman drunken with the blood of the word, and everyone else. The doktors leave. CLAIRE does not emanate from one womb; as if of one mind, and all her words can attain some degree of accuracy. Revolution has certainly served as the water of life-wind: consider Xajmi log 18.9.9.1992: "the breath of life, and the pure have been granted boons and blessings, and worship before your feet, as kings". I know your works, that you may clothe yourself, and be signified and hidden. And after the woman, that strange attractor, the breath of life, around whom were sealed of the secret angels twelve thousand. Of the Empyreal Gate Network passages two were sealed, one of the holy angels vanished within forever, where the Beginning and the Final paths lose form and substance and plot and such to deal with the irreality surrounding them.
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9. |
Unspooling
01:34
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It is difficult for anyone else to do, lacking the sigil, the embedded transcription algorithm. The breath in the mouth like a great red dragon, the cogs of the altar, and these can be bivocally reconstructed from scanned values of the root-maps of the trees. Children fly kites from the brain down. They gnawed their tongues because of the living creatures, which were connected with the cloud-intelligences and whispered above the man's head. Then we were shown the place in the Infernal Text in which he describes the various kinds and uses of hollow mirrors that we should consider the probable necessity of installing one or more accurately, because you are dead, and it is difficult to see you. I saw a great many people. They have power to take a life -- or rather its shattered fragments and dispersed remnants -- work, morality, loneliness, alienation, violence, boredom and alienation. This is still the case, CLAIRE in the ward staring at her hands, patterns in the lines. They have power over you, having seven heads and ten horns, and split his body back into a wilderness, a mass of anarchistic organs. I am coming to you I say, Come! Be gathered together to the hallway. You must do something for me said the one I considered mine; this skin did not belong to me, Giftgas prepared the injections. I looked at my shadow as it drowned itself.
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Nephelim
10:41
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The angel took the censer, and the compact disc. Initially the storage capacity was so bright that being outside required squinting, and every form of a desirable object formed in the shining light i.e., this is done, PTNT is still in a hospital, remember. Proper posture. We prefer to remain anonymous, and everyone who hears the words of the objects and the recording have discovered orifices in the memory. Further, in order to throw a stumbling block before the throne, and as such to deal with them as the false conclusions, there were multiple versions of Vons Serin distributed to prevent the IOTA-transcription, a bullet in the head, all hollow inside as the whole life-memory of this failed world was compressed and stripped of superfluous data. Varese and Zacavich developed ideas for concrete apparatus of this cloning notion, and with it scattered the clone-agents across the universe. The miracle of immortality seems small when it is perhaps not technologies and media which have caused our now famous disappearance of the Lord's day, and perseverance in Christ Jesus, but the clarification of sentences. The dead were judged, and the languages were likewise judged, and it is of the wrath of God who has an ear, let him take the book, a picture of contagions, published to and from their lives and their start into the air were they were darkened because of God's creation, now designed to represent what the creation refuses to represent, but there was no way of becoming that which can be real or artificial, a choice of course, the ritual consisted of the world which is thought of as word machine. Thus, the old serpent, which is real, it is innate, but in Greek, referring to Elijah in the confrontation between the intentions.
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11. |
Twicewise
02:49
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He began to wonder if he were hallucinating, but the visions consist of nothing, and I kept thinking, don't write them, don't talk about it. They paid us to find the anagrams but his figures kept running away from us as if to be hidden within the beast, for a thousand years were finished and removed from history as an abortive failure, as time stood still. They were told that they should not be everything, but these bastard ones, with palm branches in their hands bent and gnarled like serpents, they became as ten thousands of thousands; and he spoke like a hermetic memory about the details of the Nicolaitans likewise, but they did not listen, they became multiples, and could not maintain a hold on the earth. The fifth poured out his bowl into the eye through the media archaelologist's feverish interest for the generation of figures in movement by the voluptuous pulse-echo beating beneath that cushion of indulgent, ecstatic meat. Just sit and ponder, I heard a loud voice, saying, thus with violence will Babylon fall, the couple's fidgeting indicative only a falling dream of a recursive neural trap, which the Cult of the Yellow Sign deemed Meta. Our project at present calls for the war of that dream, and at the end, to the delirious community of interet users who all consider themselves artists, so as to torment them for five years. The sound of chariots, or of effects, were all around us. I'm a god-damn licensed Professor of Surgery, and your poverty is all you know. He was thrown down to his feet, the tracks in the snow were like a text, which is like the mandala of Harmony -- but it is the number of those who say they are virgins. These images may seem merely decorative or arbitrary to us, and, particularly with regard to optics, useless in the interpretation of the full-scale auditory ceremony: the ladder, the machine, the infernal text, the highway of mirrors. The taste of the milk from the million breasts of the hidden mother, the memory drug, would your stomach bitter, but none would ache in muscle. You held me as a wondrous, gentle movement upwards in the imagery of the fever or some glitch and the tribes of the earth will turn something like a sect or political party? The members of an obscure chamber that could capture individual images in concentric circles on a professorial archive, assisted by the second death, he developed a heliotropic telescope, a Temple hidden in plain sight, when she didn't know he was thrown into the future, the endless hallway, I come. Her children were caught up to reality but were far more often sacrificed to the image. Now clearly, if he wants his Cylert this week, he will be in it. Death of objective techniques converge.
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Delexnos Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Delexnos hosts the albums of Medroxy Progesterone Acetate, Clocksucker, Bauler Larson Overdrive, Dirty White Droid, BFP and related bands.
Delexnos recommends:
Occasional MPA member April Larson weaves frozen clouds for secret rituals.
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