UNCLE BILL, CAN I BORROW THE GOOD CUT-UP SCISSORS? WHAT DO YOU MEAN DOUGLAS KENNEY STILL HAS THEM?
The Evolution of the Nuremberg Defence #7
"But they were telling me what to write" - Sutter Kane
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Vector, this is Victor. This post may eventually just disappear like a certain virus we could mention. You could call it a low-rent version of Clark Ashton Smith's Black Book or an attempt to imitate Harlan Ellison's 'From A to Z in the Chocolate Factory'. It changes as we play hard to understand. We're not the same as when we began. Slash, burn and move on before the black hole catches up.
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DEDICATION:
Come back, Yukio Mishima, oh Alan Turing/Wyndham Lewis of performance art strategists, all is forgiven. Everything you did. Everything you (maybe) just wanted us to think you were capable of. You're even forgiven for the (possibly) calamitous influence you may (or may not) have had on a certain post-punk singer/songwriter suffering from epilepsy and clinical depression. It wasn't your fault (or his). Nightmares die as hard as dreams.
Martin Hannett as Voice of Spatiality: "Ian, make it cadaverous...but craterous." Clouds of reverb retract.
SECONDARY DEDICATION:
Jean Teulé For being an as yet unread inspiration and seems to have gotten there before.*
INVOCATION:
Exquisite Solitaire Corpse, Teach Us the Not-So-Subtle Art of Getting Unfucked.
POSTCOG GLOSSARY:
KKK, stands for Kancel Kulture Ku(n/r)tz
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CHINESE WHISPERS, MEET INTERNAL SAMIZDAT ........
.......
General strike, crash-or-crash-through logic.
It's the only weapon we have until AI is running everything.
Then it's game over.
Let the games begin.
Yanis Varoufakis talks about the need for a "non-state, hostile
intelligence service" (using former Secretary for Rapture
Mike Pompeo's own words against him).
An Anti-Murdoch? ........
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(T)HERE GOES MOLLOY
(OR IS IT MALONE?)
(NOW,IS IT?) (NOW IT IS)
An indeterminate space. From anywhere or nowhere come sounds of creaky bicycle wheels. An ear worm of Erich Zann playing Irish fiddle music crawls into Henry X's cupboard before expanding its maw for a kiss. Henry's cupboard may be in another room, another town, another film. A narrator's voice of indeterminate age and gender comes unbidden from multiform surrounding geometries or within.
NARRATOR:
Here comes Molloy, or is it Malone, now, is it? Who's got his hat now? Is he wheeling or is he gliding? It's a frightfully confusing business now, it is now.
MOLLOY/MALONE:
We're discussing Yoko Ono's ‘Mind Train’ now, is it? Well, then I'll be telling you it's a feminist power mantra par excellence. "I thought of killing that man!" That's bring-on-the-future-matriarchy talk if ever I heard the like of it or it's like again. I will say now Pierre Teilhard de Chardin was right about one thing with his noosphere business. The world is a vast brain - true, that it is now, there'll be no denying it - but it's gone senile. Back in me hole for me hat now.
The squeaky wheel sounds settle in one direction and emanate sub-frequently. A puppet on a wooden platform wheels itself onto the stage, revealing the source of the irritating racket. It's facial structure amalgamates the archetypes of Punch and a Plague Doctor. The shadow that obscures its left eye seems to liquefy the corner of the room where the platform's shadow has assumed dominance. In the glare of a hidden spotlight, the right eye's varnish, flaky and faded, does little to ameliorate an intense hatred. A vortex of timber whorls, each symbolizing a century of cultivated abuse, radiates towards a prospective viewer with the intentionality of an omen.
The puppet's jaw creaks on its hinges, oxidized and unstable. The jaw wobbles for a time. Is it decay or cruelty that determines its transience? Finally, as though relishing the opportunity to instruct, to berate with infinite calculation, it proclaims:
"WHAT ...
THE FUCK IS IT NOW, IS IT NOW, IS IT NOW, IS IT?"
The puppet now assumes the countenance of the Mr Potato Head puppet in Butthole Surfers' video of 'Hurdy Gurdy Man'. It is apparent intermittently through stroboscopic flashes from the not-so-apparent spotlight.
((((C)That's my soul up there)))
A high whispery babble becomes discernible to a humanoid figure that occupies a negative space near where the door used to be. The voices seem to be female, but this may be a factor of pitch and sibilance. The figure can't be sure of the content of their speech, but they seem to be questioning the moment's temporality.
A crow alights on a vestigial tree branch that interconnects with the window frame, transecting its boundary. Its raucous anthropogenic squawk promises apocalypse, but delivers eternal return. "FUCK IS IT NOW! FUCK IS IT NOW!"
A tiny cuckoo
that seems to have materialized from the puppet's left shoulder echoes the
refrain, inclining its head towards each scapula back and forth in an insouciant music hall manner. The movements are synchronized with the crow's cadence.**
Other things transpire of which neither Molloy or Malone can be sure for now.
REFLECTIONS ON THE PASSING OF GREAT MEN:
Despite his issues, Spector left us some great music. What has T left (for now) but a raging pandemic, a deep six economy, widespread poverty, rampant disorder, and a string of non sequitur bullshit that would put any paranoid schizophrenic to shame? Was that what his promoters meant by four-dimensional chess? Spreading the dementia around? Generalised anxiety disorder = generalised (dys)order. Was Germany the first test case for an architectonics of control? The strange attraction of a panpsychotic immanence.
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A comedy sketch/absurdist play called A Roast for Wittgenstein's Ghost
Wittgenstein: Good evening, everyone. You've helped me decide to work on my Tractatus rather than open my wrists Roman-style in a warm
bath. You've already done that, you say Schrödinger? Settle down, pal. I've
still got your cat. For tonight's entertainment we have a no-holes-barred fight
between Lacan's The I and Bataille's The Eye.
And no, we're not going through a season of hell, Rimbaud. If I had a pfennig for every cunt that comes up to me and asks about Sylvester Stallone's poetry. Ha! You're forgotten, mate. (abusive shouts in French from offstage) Now, settle down my lad. You've got plenty of time to grow up to be a prick like Rilke.
Another thing I want to say while you're all gathered here is that I wish to hear no more nonsense from or about William S. Burroughs. The other day I ran into one of Bradley the Buyer's doubles. He started ripping me a new one as a new one started forming out of the undifferentiated tissue where his mouth used to be.
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Possible PR pitch for QAnon:
I've got no truck with Darwin.
No one evolved from a piece of seaweed in the ground.
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.... INTERNAL SAMIZDAT CONTINUES .....
It gradually comes into focus: spatio-temporal amalgam of the socio-political-economic conditions that gave birth to fascism. We were never meant to leave the 20s/70s, and now, thanks to AI, we aren't. Citizens of Spaceship Earth, Your Captain never died. He was never (t)here. How we wish he would come back. Nyarlathotep, pull your string and do your thing.
What did Ian Curtis mean trying to be
an urban sin eater? Like the protagonist of Ramsey Campbell's story 'The Depths' was he trying to forestall the future by imaging the worst of it? Realizing on
some level the imagination of it was helping to bring it about? Living in the
moment on a spectrum has a variety of cons. Some seem endless. Writers like
Curtis, Campbell, Lovecraft, PKD, Ballard, etc, so far ahead in terms of loop perception. Pattern recognition and confirmation bias: b(i)asis of all religions. Our own humble business plan could be called pattern recognition and semiology.
POSSIBLE DIALOGUE FOR THE GREAT AUSTRALIAN PLAY:
Queensland politician:
"If the law is an ass then the family is the mule driver
that caused it to be that way."
LAW ENFORCEMENT INSTRUCTION MANUAL: HOW TO LIVE WITH PTSD
A man is whatever room he's in. A room is whatever house it's in. A house is whatever country it's in. A country is whatever planet it's in. Binary logic - mind control: divisionary and absolutist in orientation. Spin, crazy gadgets, like Heisenberg isn't watching. Historical justification for having governments: (t)he(y) control; set the armies and the police forces on them (us). Don't knock it, there'll be work for all of us (them). (Knock knock) Who is this that cums? Is that you, Q?
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MOVIE PITCH (To be delivered with fanatical gleam: augur's ague manifested in eyeball):
There's this revolutionary group of mathematicians who are like genetic iterations of The Unabomber. Was he cloned or was he an archetype? They call themselves The Stochastic Terrorists.
The movie's called PSYCHONOUGHT, WAS IT ALL FOR NAUGHT?
MORE POTENTIAL DIALOGUE LOOKING FOR A HOME:
A (Australian): It occurs to me,
at the age of 52, that the path of my life has been shaped by repressed violence.
B (American): Yeah, well, shut up about it then. As a wise man once said, "If you're happy listening to eagle shit, don't sing about it."
C: Prefer Lying Eyes as Eagles
standard, must admit. No surface, no depth. Enough of both to give anyone the ambulance blues.
Interneurological cartoon series
about stoned trainwreck (read: possibly undiagnosed autistic) youth. In the style of The Midnight Gospel meets Rick & Morty. The spirit
of recently deceased Australian music promoter jumps almost instantaneously into lone
stoner one especially smoky night. It's called the jump-while-they're-still-smoking
school of ka transfer. Autie Boi is open spiritually, if not consciously, to
the transfer because he knows a few cult-level famous people on fb, reads
speculative realist/posthumanist philosophy and PKD/Castaneda.
Gudinski, hereafter to be known as G, communicates with A autosuggestively through I Ching messages from fb friend. The "friend" is actually an avatar for a randomized auto-bot. So random; or, as the kids like to say nowadays, "what a rando!"
Episode One:
Stoner A is writing an essay aimed at high-prestige film site. On "The Thing as cinematic representation of psychological warfare by alien intelligence." Phenomological approach (using academic film articles on PDF.) Norris as spider-vagina-dentata, that sort of thing. Flicking through Jeff Nutty's Bomb the Cancel Culture Wars. Unwinds playing neurological twister by reading Eugene Thacker novels. Big G communicates to A via this channel as well. Both go to sleep some nights listening to deconstructed rock voodoo of Can's Tago Mago on a loop.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Dream Netflix Pitch:
Babybluekrautpastaforce: Dispatches from the Psychedelic
Wars for the Future Matriarchy
AKA: The Undiagnosed: Foot Soldiers for a Psychedelic Future
A SF/elevated YA series. Bit like The Boys,
sans the boys. Not like Brightburn (serial killer formulas in
pseudo-subversive super-antihero trappings). Girls solving problems like bosses
with both natural and enhanced neuroplasticity. Idiot men left floundering, too
slow and puerile in cognitive capacities to ever catch up. Characters
like Monkey from Stalker all grown up and ready to
dismantle the patriarchy and neoliberal capitalism using telekinetic powers
courtesy of poor deadbeat dad's Room wish. The Matrix? Second hand
PKD at best, now infested by Incels and QAnon crazies. Bah! Meh: take your
pick. I'm spitting out both pills as soon as your back is turned.
A show for people who think the best thing in season two
of The Handmaid's Tale was the suicide bombing at the New Rachel and Leah Center ... with Poly Styrene's ‘Oh Bondage, Up Yours’ on the soundtrack yet!
Cathartic, it almost managed to be. But is there a better way for enterprising
young ladies to achieve revolutionary stunde null?
One of the BBKP team manages to hack her way into the Master Cylinder Quantum Computer, global mainframe for the Internet of Monads. Her image popping up everywhere now like Helen of Troy cubed, a way scarier Waldo the Bear, a much less annoying Bushbaby Yoda.
Vampire-Golem-Medusa thing: all and more. Fritz Leiber's Girl with the Hungry Eyes, but nice (but still angry). The supernatural supermodel in that weird story had it all - love and craft. There’s something ever so slightly fractured in the gaze, like a flaw in a gem gone vortex. If it’s an act, she’s capable of modulating it well.
Her agenda is part political, part spiritual. Basically, the only essential part of The Bible, The Beatitudes from The Gospels, will be the Law and All of the Law. Everyone has to be responsible for the Welfare of Somebody Else.(Full details of manifesto under development). The Big Time Clock strikes 7:77 and all is well, because Big Sister is Watching Us.
Photo rights to whomever. Hit me up with comments if you've got an issue.
Inspiration: https://youtu.be/D8r3mFg9SpM
Black sabbatical acid folk masterpiece (find lyrics here): https://www.sofasound.com/phcds/iclyrics.htm#6
For more ins(p): https://www.sofasound.com/index.htm
As inspirational corrective (when the EQ drops, you'll be seeing stars):
Puppet still from Interpol's "Evil" video. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evil_(Interpol_song)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkpgz3uQ58U
Heading still from John Carpenter's In The Mouth of Madness (1994) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_the_Mouth_of_Madness
