Thursday, September 24, 2015

naked nothings.

preconception.
preconceived meaning of "beginning" directs itself now.

a precautionary tale: expectations are never met. they are illusory. expectations are drilled into us so we do more than what we are doing which is fully experiencing the present state.
the purpose of expectations are to freak us the fuck out.
expectations demand reaction. when things aren't how we'd like them to be it's the apocalypse, somewhere inside the place where expectation-receptors tramsit neurotransmitters of themselves to.
expectations present a meaning for the unknown; give the unknown a face. (knowing is half the battle, considering knowledge is stored in the pre-conscious- we know. fishing for the knowledge at the moments we wish to is the other half of the battle.)

it was the best of times.
it was the worst of times.
we know it so well we don't even look at anything else.
it was the best of times.
it was the worst of times.
i'm living off movie stars- and borrowed time. these-
are secrets of mine
it was the best of times.
it was the worst of times.
it was the best of times.
I. it was the worst of times.

what is it i'm doing wrong? i'm just spending time on the internet....and not just the internet. other stuff on the computer, too. i'm just doing that. (just implies justice- what is is justifiable) justice is everything. drugs, you ask about? well, partner, justice is my drug. the number one drug right now can be bought of the streets as well as the high-end market right now. the stuff millionares get as well as hoods. technocracy is an eqalitarian movement. it brings us together.
speaking of technocracy, the ingestion of data has been added to the list of natural merits needed in order to live, which is shaped as a pyramid. whether a drug is a drug or not really depends entirely on a person's chemistry.
conclusively, drugs only exist when they're for bodies.

II. the law of discernment: abused for bitch moves.

example a: you know, alcohol is a drug. you are doing a drug.
doing a drug is secondary.
there is that which led to the action of doing a drug.

example b: marriage means making yourself a component in a light
that you've never had the opportunity to be in before. but it looks different,

because you're everything but a component.
you fully perceive at every moment. information sensitivity

is involved. we fully perceive information
at every moment. information might be relevant

as far as documentation goes- an ancient custom (like
marriage). documentation is history seemingly modernized (the shape of

how things are going right now as translated
by everyone at once).

if it is possible one can be without a sense
of history, history is timeless. time

is just as illusory as all the other components (01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06,
07, 08, 09, 10, and their

interchangeable elements). time

is alchemy. information is alchemy. expectations are
alchemy. none of this

is real gold. what it is

is happening.

marrying things doesn't necessarily mean
being married back unless papers

are involved. even so, the processing

is like waiting for a computer to boot. the meaning of processes
is defeating patience.
all the impatience was hard work. now we get somewhere

"heartfelt" that has long-term written all over the customs of it.
"heartfelt": it's hard to marry to. i must marry

myself first. this is the moment. i am part of it.

marriage by law

is kind of a deceiving institution, all because
it's been going on for far too long. it's crossed the
line.

divorce

is the expulsion of all remainders of innocence. you just
don't believe the same things that were always there for
you to hopefully live for one day. go on, but with grief.

my childhood dreams have been raped. they were third world as is.
now i'm the one that's third world.

IXIIIVIVXXI. the periodic table of elements is the yellow pages. look at all the data. there are so many elements and i don't care about any of them more than i care about the others.

here are the things i can talk about. i don't deserve trumpets. deserving is for people who get little debbies after eating all their spinach. that's some deserving right there.
i don't know anything. i have to be all over it to know it and i'm no where near any of it. i reach and it's a herculian effort; something epic and sonorous about itself. it's like we must be protected from one another.
a truth: i don't get any of it out there and i don't care. it's not my job.
i believe reactions are secondary and that's why they're the only thing that can be controlled.
last night i declared allegiance to patriotism and ripped out a chunk of pages from the yellow book. they are now my diary [what goes here is the oscar wilde quote from the importance of being earnest about diaries being sensational, but i don't register that which requires in verbatim if to be repeated. you just don't insult saints by going to quote them but not in verbatim]. this is how we share. i take it. i don't take it in, but i say yeah, it's mine. "look at these elements," i marvel, "countless. letters and numbers printed by computers. i doubt these being any more than alchemy- these elements are combined with the illusory. i experience my doubting during the moment.
"if plagiarizing had built-in meaning- if it was a scapegoat for anything other than criminality- taking what i am given is not it. taking what i am given is responsible.

if aimed at utilizing, it is to experiment with the structure of elements that are laws...the stuff that is there.

i am a hacker. i look at interchangeability.
and if i don't have interchangeability, i don't want it.

even when i was in the hospital, i was a hacker. i looked for
interchangeability. "you can't. you can't." things weren't appearing

before me how they were- they weren't at all- and i couldn't
do anything about shifting the structure in order to make

an impossibility a possibility. it felt like i was really
screwing up. i lied

repeatedly about my compelling desire to interchange, because
it was about something. my feelings had been hurt. things weren't
touching me anyway, and i wasn't touching things.

it all seemed pretty vague, i'm sure. why did you try to commit
suicide?
i wouldn't talk about anything, other than denying truths.

there was nothing i could do anywhere to get what i wanted.

in my straitjacket i lumbered away, still wanting
what i wanted which had driven me to an urgent demand
for interchangeability.

that sterile air? change its particles around- i want to see
what i want to see. magic

doesn't exist in hospitals.

IXIXIVVIIXI. things come forward, introducing themselves when they choose to. they never really mention names. the difference between:

hi i'm lily- i'm being my name today.

and

hi my name is lily, i'm being.

is whether you are the embodiment of your education or the knowing of your education.

"after that, communism was the only answer to me."-? (i don't remember? (someone who survived the mid-twentieth century.
(paul teck?
(someone who struck my tasting ability as one expressive of their inner genius, one who externalized it. (genius: awareness of light- utilizing genius: investment into such)

(no matter what, a quote is a quote. it means someone spoke. and when someone speaks- or when an idea expresses itself through one with a voice- it's to be heard.)

horse (wearing
a saddle. things being ten times bigger than really. living
in a stable.

william s. burroughs- cut-up- pastiche- i- want- to- be- some- sort- of- descendant- and- i think- i- have- the ambition- to -pull- it off.

naked lunch by william s. burroughs, james joyce, and emily dickinson (the three people i'd have dinner with dead or alive during the present moment):

all congregations are cults. not just churches, not just religious status, not socioeconomic status, not those who gather all class conscious and this is their one redeeming explanation of a bond- all that are gathered into a cluster are cults.
i like to go to the cult (cult "x") as a visitor and hear the cult members tell their war stories because they're santa claus. because they do not know they're santa claus- it's deeply repressed information- deeply- stored in a dumpster unit- outside of the cult, they need to let it out in the confines of the cult in order to survive outside the cult (microcosms would not be without macrocosms). they can only know they're santa claus within said confines of the cult. they feel safe behind closed doors; wild and free. things seem merry in the microcosm (slammer).

i'm passionate about making heroism - for a living- i'm so- passionate-
that i forget- everything except the- things i've done- to get-
jesus on my side- jesus- jesus fucking christ- accept
me- take me- under- a wing-
somebodies wing- out there- is a wing- somebodies- somewhere- of which
i will fit- until- i- indisputably- outgrow it- thus continuing-

the flux-of- movement-
on both- a cellular- and universal- scale- of which- neither
see differences- in one- another.

nests. same difference.  there is a

regular language out there. there is one word
in regular language. it's "loverfest".

look, it's christmas. it's given me all of you, all of this. all i want for christmas is to break one cult rule. nothing particular- i'll go to the wheel of fortune and spin. any cult rule is seductive to break. according to life experience, what it is that lie behind cult rules is the number one least deceiving constitution in the states right now.
sometimes i get sad and long for santa. i know, awful. i'm okay with initiating myself and others into the christmas cult of those to whom have been given. santa equates happiness.

INTERUM
INTERUM
IF YOU ARE HUMAN YOU ARE BORN WITH EVERYTHING YOU NEED.
CAPITAL-BOUND POSSESSIONS HAVE DISRUPTED OUR AWARENESS OF THIS AS WE DON'T KNOW HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT CAPITAL-BOUND POSSESSIONS ANYMORE.
I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DEFY THE ODDS.
being fine with the illusion:

things
with the most gravity
are what arouse the most fear
of which
a never-ending number of reactions
come from. unique blueprints all around
the world...

"this is what i know," is what, at the end of the day, they say, "this what i believe i know."

fear is the worst. "i'm dependent on knowing, and i don't know right now."

II. THE SEX IDENTIFIED

feminist wave one radio am: it is impossible to stretch myself out enough so i slit my legs up for others to proceed into examination; procession. there's stuff coming out and stuff coming in. sex. sex. sex- that's what i think about when stuff comes out and goes in, that's what leads me to question my maturity. sex is that elephant in the room. it's been situated in brooklyn for a while, where all the hot sex was being had. where i live in is gentrified as is, so what's happening to us is we're being like double-gentrified. it's too expensive to leave your parent's houses where i live, which is close enough to brooklyn that it's going to get infected with hot sex here too. unless you work some job you hate and you work it a lot and save all of your money, you can escape.
anyway, i'm being fucked because my gender is a gender and your gender is a gender.
SEMANTICS III. more than words hurt -exaggerated feeling.
it's not the words- it's my focus- on my reaction- seen- from every angle- from me-

     it is important to - socialize- - - - - the less you do
that- - - -the less likely you are going to want- - to do
that- as if you wanted to do that in the first place- i'm bobbing

away- please- let me out- loose in the sky- observing
the insides of it-

the german forest is black. the german forest is never ending. the trees of the german forest are sharp and spooky. they cut my skin. i run out in my nightie. i run out of skin while running out into the night of the forest. i run out of blood.

i am a puddle of once-was (no memory- history). after heavy rainfall, mushrooms grow on me.

-blinding colors and repeated noises over and over and over and over and over and over and over-

this is what i said: "must i go outside? i'm fine inside." but you've got to complete step number [x] or else you're going to feel terribly uncomfortable with yourself....

everybody was doing it; this going outside business. everybody is dreaming outside. it's california dreamin'. so, because i was still in this body- undeveloped and c-thru, however, within the body in which i had not felt safe- i had to go outside for my initiation to being among.

i did not want to be a big star, though, at the same time, i did. i felt guilty about it. i wanted to sit on it.
i was pushed out the enormous double doors- the front doors to the communist building. "no!" i was pushed.

i didn't have to go somewhere, not that i had anywhere to go, but i definitely had to screw the noise with this-where. i had to run- it was a running away from a harrowing fortress that believed in itself as an existence so well. i can't open my cunt at will.
i don't want to be an animal- but since- i had
sex- i run to the woods- to the animals- away from the

haunted castle- fond of love- but not of being
a possession- an object- i want to be
my own object- my own- proud of
making fuck ups- over the edge
i run deeper into the black forest- meaning to run away far past

everyday i go to sleep- every night i go to sleep- that's
all it is- just- sleep- so sleep-

hello (i wake up).
i am a little hard of hearing.
i sweep sweep sweep for little men in a little cottage. it's a quaint little cottage. i am six feet tall so i have to lean over, but that is okay, because it is practice for my future of osteoporosis. my mother had it. who was my mother?
the little men with whom i live in a cottage said they found me one day. i was a puddle of indeterminate fluids, but it wasn't animal piss, so it was worth looking at with either wonder or curiosity for half of a moment. "are you my mother?", they tell me i said.

"yes," they said. yes. they said again. yes. yes. yes. yes. so it became- the little men with whom i live in a cottage are my mother, and also fragments of my perception of myself. they are very reflective, so they are mirrors.

"now sweep-sweep," they said, in unison, "and don't go accepting half red half green apples from ugly old ladies who come to the house. talking to strangers is a normal people thing to do, and we want you to be special. you are the only girl; a star."

"okay," i said, but i was hard of hearing, and i couldn't get the hang of lip-reading as of yet, so it didn't really matter. it was lip service i paid them- they paid me with a place to clean. i was just scared, mostly, but also determined to sweep-sweep, to have control over my environment.

"oh, and only girl? if you do accept an apple from this old lady?" they added.

"yes?" i nodded, with a perplexed expression.

"just...don't do it. or else."

that is when i learned "or else" tasted like something i wanted to follow any given curiosities of.

DURING A DREAM, LITTLE BLACK FOREST, GERMANY-
i heard something; gasped.
that be- oh just silly me- "knock. knock. i've got a knock knock joke."
oh wait-maybe not.

i went to the door, curious as ever!
"your figure, dear. your figure! it's some figure. wouldn't you like
an apple? it's half red because

it's that angry, and half green because no matter what,
it comes from a tree."

my figure? an apple? i put two and two together. i was hungry. i needed
to be told. it took convincing. but in the end, i accepted it. i needed
to eat something.

i accepted her apple and i ate it to the core. i even sucked the worm out- and swallowed-
it- whole.

i was asleep, and limp in someones arms. it was a carriage that was
taking me to the big city.

"cit-y?" baffled, i pronounced. what's a cit-y?"

"you vapid fruit."

"cit-y? what's a cit-y?"

in the big city to where i arrived after being swept up in a carriage, i met more little men. i went to somewhere small where i wasn't allowed to sweep-sweep so it drove me a little crazy called CBGB's. before i wilted entirely (women: flowers), i was swept up behind a microphone where little men jumped and jumped around me and were noisy. i was charismatic and stylish and led the little men into shithole after shithole.

WASHINGTON, HUNGARY, GERMANY, ISIS TERRITORY, INTERNET, RESOURCE AVAILABILITY EVERYWHERE- SOS: asking for a second opinion. disturbed by original opinion. my self is the only authority left in town- in ghost town. i need to re-learn all the stuff the self learned from scratch; need to undergo hypnosis. i need to destroy all developmental foundations i built all my beliefs on. i need to grow without overpowering myself.
i see weakness in myself and that's why i let myself deteriorate.

i personally believe change has the most authority (gravity) of us all because even after i hack my history and die it will continue existing. change is all of the elements ever.
we need top secret ingredients to historical recipes and to tweak little bits of them again. over.
we need to copy, copy.

i need to be a star when i grow up. everyone hates me. i need a reason. over.

[preconceived meaning of ending happens now. endings are hard to master, because ends don't exist.]