META-NOMAD

Blog: TSPDT5

Let me tell you, watching this much film is strange, you very quickly notice how repetitive certain techniques are, how music is utilized well or just for filler etc. etc. You very quickly notice films that standout, ones that do not make you think Oh, here we go again. I couldn’t find a good copy of October (1927), and as Eisenstein is thus far one of the few silent film makers worth watching, I didn’t want to spoil that which many claim is his best or most important work. Murnau’s Sunrise (1927), though it technically holds 8th place (ranked) in the list, I found it not at all that great, something which is held in such reverance I feel shouldn’t merely fade into the background of that which surrounds, but it did…and so I have few memories, at least none worth recalling. Seventh Heaven (1927) I was unable to find.

Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927). The version I watched [here] had the New Pollutants soundtrack, which in my opinion is far greater than some grainy classical number. The score by the New Pollutants throws you directly into the acidic hell of the clearly symbolic underclass, proletariat etc., their lives constrained by pipe and machine, their lives literally utilized as fuel for the fire, a fire that heats the bellies and homes of those above. A very clear symbolic message of class struggle in the age of industry. The industrial revolution and industry in general here acting as the ‘villain’, that machinic process which via exhaustion and overwhelming suffocates the energies’ of humanity; industry as the creative end-game of humanities’ soul, agree or disagree this is the message. As the pipes hum and shifts change, the cogs flow into one another seamlessly, a difference only of a linear time. Lives, place and acts all a series of bleak repetitions amongst a vast network of the same, sterilized life. So what is it about Metropolis that makes is so great? Well quite simply it’s everything, there isn’t a part of it (Character, location, theme, acting etc.) that isn’t great, each and every screw and bolt is wound so tight it’s difficult to spot any fault. The concentration usually on this idea of proto-AI or proto-Robotics, or even Transhumanism, or, at a push, Feminine overcoming via the emancipation of the body. Whichever way you wish to play it the discussion of the Maschinenmensch usually holds the fore. Not that it shouldn’t, only it begs the attention of one’s eyes elsewhere, what of the city, what of this…expanse. This glaring testament to Art Deco, this thematic will of the future; this film acting as a lost manifesto of blithered hope, riding a convergent wave to its doomed reality.

And what of these strange houses, overlooked by the centuries, the odd, cult-like elements of Metropolis are what help retain its presence in this contemporary clownworld. Within the alleys, atop the skyscrapers and deep underground here, still exists skulls of old and the knee to the crucifix. Those who will bow to master and ignore the reality. As the living skeleton acts his strike, looking the viewer directly in the eye, we witness a domination away from sci-fi and robotics, away from class struggle, away from the pillars of civilization, and so the film accelerates towards a mass escape from death as the tide rises, the malevolence of all involved froths to the top and the death and scorn is unavoidable no longer, welcome human race to your own demise, one you built, turned on, coaxed forward, encouraged and then, in a fit of narcissistic rage, told to halt.

Sadly, I cannot find a good copy of Abel Gance’s Napoleon (1927), and I have heard great things, this might be a special case wherein in I order a copy. Un Chien Andalou (1928), Dali is an artist I not only dislike, but also distrust, and so this film doesn’t sit right for me. It’s famous for the eye-slice scene alone. The Cameraman and Steamboat Bill, Jr (1928) both Keaton flicks, and that’s all they really are now, flicks…not films. I lose interest so quickly, it may be a little overdramatic to say such a thing, but post-1950 such infantile and excessive humour just doesn’t seem right, and now, both Keaton and Chaplin stand as fragmented comics whose humour rings for another time.

The Docks of New York (1928) The Wind (1928) Storm Over Asia (1928) and The Crowd (1928) are all without accessible good copies, and I refuse to sit through 2 hours of 360p grainy silent film, it simply would not do them justice.

On Left and Right Accelerationism

Where one begins with Acceleration or Accelerationism (or Capitalismism) in the scholarly philosophical sense can not be from any centralized point; this rhizomatic point-of-origin is quite in-keeping with Accelerationist theory. One could begin from Marx’s Fragment on Machines, The Accelerationist Reader, Hyperstition, Nick Land’s Oeuvre, Deleuzeguattarian philosophy, late Nietzsche, CCRU or even niche Twitter subgroups (search-terms: u/acc, l/acc, r/acc, z/acc, #rhetttwitter & #cavetwitter) So where shall I begin, from the list aboves glaring lacuna…

I shall begin with a the MAP. Unfortunately, this MAP isn’t full of detailed schematics, measurements or routes, no. This MAP is in fact a manifesto, The Manifesto for an Accelerationist Politics (MAP) If it were a map I’d argue that it’d be so dated in its approach to cartography that we’d be dealing with but a crayon drawing of robo-Marx pointing which direction to go in. So, why begin here as opposed to the other Acceleration labyrinth (Acc-Lab) entry points? The MAP is one of the few entry locations of the Acc-Lab that actually has a defined position which is relative to any agreement; thus far, the MAP Acc-Lab doorway is the only agreed upon entry-point which leads to any constructive discussion as to acceleration. Why is this? To the meat!

As I stated MAP declares a position, which is of/on the left. Their proposition in short is to accelerate technology as a means to emancipate the worker from the shackles of capitalism, the acceleration of technology as a utopian-accelerative gesture.

‘Work for work’s sake is a perversity and a constraint imposed upon humanity by capitalism’s ideology of the work ethic. What accelerationism seeks is to allow human potential to escape from the trap set for it by contemporary capitalism.’ – #Accelerationism: Remembering the Future

It is quite transparently a ‘Marxism for the 21st century’ (Isaac Camacho) and so one may wonder why anyone would take seriously such a proposition, the idea that post/after/beyond/through capitalism lies this Marxist utopia is deluded, capitalism has already subsumed Marxism and unless you wish to make the case that it still exists but as mere internal-cyst upon capitalism’ innards waiting for its day or rupture, then your argument comes to a halt rather sharply. Postcapitalism, if such a nauseating political reality could come into existence, would exist much akin to postmodernism, yearning to be free of its suffix-master, yet perpetually attached via an economic umbilical cord for stability.

Yet this idea of ‘postcapitalism’ allows us to view that which Acceleration is truly indebted to: time. Postcapitalism could only come into existence via the ability of future-construction, via the ability to construct the future: ‘24. The future needs to be constructed.’ – MAP.  

‘The notion that the future is less ontologically settled than the past is less transcendentally unsustainable position, it’s a metaphysics of time in a strict critical sense and it’s convenient for political orientation but it’s a philosophically unsustainable commitment.’ – Nick Land

This idea of ‘construction’ is ontologically and temporally muddled, albeit wrong. MAP’s notion of construction implies both a retainment of agency (not surprising from a Marxist perspective), yet it also implies that history presents a choice, and that history is on a divergent wave as opposed to a convergent wave. The ripples move in reverse, back towards the ‘event’, the singularity; capitalism drags and draws the ‘past’ and the ‘now’ from its place in the future. A temporal lasso cuts through common notions of chronic-time and acts out its transcendent selection process. Acceleration is the struggle to keep up with the demands of the future.

If one is in doubt of this strange, outside, diagonal temporal process they may only look upon the influx of subcultures and movements indebted to a non-linear, anti-chronic or atypical theorizations of times: Cyberpunk, Cybergoth, Neoreaction, Archifuture, Retro-progressivism etc. Imminent examples of disorder within the supposedly (currently) ordered security system; the prediction market was reliant on an incorrect form of time and as such…we got a lot wrong. If one returns to the idea of time as a convergent wave, they find that of course prediction markets would be wrong, their predictions were blind darts thrown against the pull of the future.

Back to our entry-point. Why did we enter at L/Acc? Because (as is often the case) it is the left who imply, if not create the first point of reference upon the spectrum. So with an entry at L/Left we now (apparently) have a political left, a directional left, and a positional left, from the trajectory of the MAP one can now – with rough certainty – say their hand is to the Left wall of the Acc-Lab. So with the existence of a Left comes the implication and almost forced (unwarranted) creation of a right. For you cannot have left without the existence of a right, wherever it may lay, and whatever it may be. R/Acc is an inevitable semiotic effect from the coinage of L/Acc.

Can you hear that clicking, hissing and screeching in the distance? It’s the noise of a hundred shitposters frothing at the mouth at the prospect of R/Acc articulation.

R/Acc, that grand phantasm of accelerationist thought. It is easiest to begin from comparison. In the traditional sense the political spectrum has on its left Liberalism and Communism, and on its right Conservatism and Fascism. So where L/Acc see a constructed future once again pertaining to Marxist thought, R/Acc sees (amongst a few perceptions – Wait your turn!) the possibility of acceleration only existing with a reversion to some form of hierarchical structure; this is where we see the convergence of Neoreaction and R/Acc, both taking the blackpill in acceptance of deterritorialization as capitalism – ‘it sees capital’s oppressive reconfiguration of the social space as the inevitable price techno-industrial development.’ – So, Acc

More recently both ends of the spectrum have altered in mirrored ways (as they would). We have seen the left become increasingly more egalitarian, more inclusive and more tolerant, to the point of ignorance, frustration and delusion. What the Left wishes to tuck neatly under the rug and act as if it will simply disappear once/if technological emancipation is achieved, the right wishes to bring to the fore and accept as a means to ‘prove’ and foster the idea that either we need a reversion, or more recently ‘It’s too fucking late!’

R/Acc: An increasing proportion of the industrial surplus is being absorbed by the task of masking bio-social deterioration.

Z/Acc: Over 100% soon.

U/Acc: Oh c’mon.

L/Acc: Look, a squirrel! – Nick Land (Outsideness)

The discrepancies of an R/Acc definition come about precisely because in its origination it was anti-capitalism. To paraphrase Moldbug ‘Just because you’re no longer a red, doesn’t mean you have to become a blue.’. R/Acc were anti-capitalist, but they weren’t/aren’t those anti-capitalists, they can’t be, otherwise the spectrum just shot up its own arse. R/Acc’s form of anti-capitalism begins from the idea that (for R/Acc) capitalism and acceleration are synonymous, and thus, they are not anti-capitalism in the strict, empirical, political sense, no. They are anti-capitalism in the sense of understanding that capitalism’s ‘industrial surplus is being absorbed by the task of masking bio-social deterioration’ and as such this isn’t a convergent wave leading anywhere pleasant. But then again, who ever said the singularity was going to be pleasant?

If one is to refer to the root of Deleuze and Guattari’s now semi-famous ‘accelerationist passage’ one can find articulation. The root of the accelerationist ritual ‘Accelerate the process!’ (Anti-Oedipus) is of course to be found is the latter fragmented jottings of Nietzsche’s nachlass The Will to Power: ‘The levelling of the European man is the great process which cannot be obstructed; it should even be accelerated.’ What does this quote reveal to us of both L/Acc and R/Acc? It reveals priorities: L/Acc dumbfoundedly wishes to control the ritual process, whereas R/Acc are primarily focused on what the levelling does to European man. Or: It’s all well and good ‘levelling European man’ but if that process results in a dysgenic, IQ shredding, weak, slave-like mess then perhaps it’s best to question the method. (I would add here for those interested that Neoreaction focuses more on European man that levelling or its effects.)

R/Acc is L/Acc’s compensatory reterritorialized element, yet unlike the L/Acc R/Acc has not chained itself to archaic theory set in chronic time, and as such acts as a reterritorialization acting and moving in relation to L/Accs consistent compiling of ignorance. This would be my personal argument against the idea that R/Acc needs or has a consistent political position, R/Acc’s inherent understanding of agency within unhinged time allows them to acquire the blackpill-visors and metaphorically witness capital’s convergent lasso come forth. With L/Acc searching for the – supposed – true agent of acceleration exterior to capitalism, which in the view of R/Acc is capitalism itself. Thus the spectrum upon which both L and R/Acc coexist is one of ontology, wherein one side (L/Acc) promote an ontologically objective structure of time, with humanities agency at the wheel, and the other end (R/Acc) accepting the ontology of the future as a constant. R/Acc accept that capital is critique.

Thus the circuit diagram of both L/Acc and R/Acc remain the same, their ontology however, is entirely different. The circuit diagram itself is Acceleration pure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

R/Acc

Chem and Narax #2: Exit

Artwork by Leo C

 

The idle Progville citizens began their vote. A chaos ensued complete with shouting, debating, crying, whining, screaming, kicking, more whining, gossip and the tiniest flickers of rationale, each and every voter attempting to hold-their-own opinion amongst the blithering of the crowd. Few had reason nor thought as to why they thought the way they did, the majority, like the stock markets of the old times, merely based their vote on whether or not it would favour them in relation to popularity; and thus, from afar one could watch as the Mexican-wave of opinion rolled throughout, one side barking ‘No!’ and the others a ‘Yes!’, the pendulum had been cast and now all there was to do was wait.

Seriously, Chem, look for a fucking exit!’

Well what’s that going to look like…’

If I’m honest with you here, no one really knows, but it definitely doesn’t look like Democracy!’

Huh, what you chatting about mutt?’

Oh, I’ll explain once we’re outside this dump.’

The citizens continued their democratic wailing long into the night, all the while Chem and Narax wandered the streets shadowed by no one. Peering into window after window, display after display, their eyes attempting to fixate onto a morsel of authenticity.

Narax, what’s happened here…’ Chem stated whilst gazing upon a ‘sculpture’.

This is what they call art Chem, a strange mixture of consumer capital and virtue signalling.’

A’right, I get it, you’re smart. Explain’

This sordid mess of wires and rust Chem is now…art. It is the end of the line in terms of democratic creation, for once the democracy is in place there is only one direction down which to travel, especially in terms of public display.’

And that direction is?’

The expansion the state, or in this case the ‘ville’ of Prog. That is the democratic process keeps on striving towards a bureaucratic nothingness of inefficiency, virtue and egalitarianism.’

For someone who licks his own balls you sure do use a lot of fancy words…’

This ‘sculpture’ wasn’t born from some creative act Chem, it was born out of the artist’s lust to signal virtue…sorry, to signal to his fellow man that he ‘gets it’, that he’s ‘in’, that he will abide by the latest social fad, the latest minor grievance. An artistic act tied up both in virtue, but also red-tape, for to display anything external to virtue becomes an impossibility, for it simply will not be shown. And thus, the majority of art within a democracy, unless historic, is merely nothingness, proof only of democratic assimilation.’

And the eggy-tarian-ism?’

Egalitarianism, put simply, is the belief that all are equal.’

Ok, what’s wrong with that?’

Nothing’s wrong with it…it’s just not true. Nothing’s wrong with saying these apocalyptic wastes are lovely, or men and mutts are the same, nothing at all…it doesn’t make those statements true though.’

So, you’re saying you think some people are better than others?’

No. Why do people always assume this. The problem lies herein: Once everyone is equal to one another, once ‘equality’ is achieved – which is impossible by the way, I hope you can see that – everything that someone wants to be tolerated, needs to be tolerated and thus has to be tolerated. For if all are equal my dear Chem, then no need, want or desire is of greater importance than the next and thus the all of everything must be tolerated.’

And what the hell is wrong with tolerance?’

Because tolerance as a condition of government eventually comes to be used as a political tool. If those with the power, the know-how or the numbers wish to enact something they needn’t worry about laws, legislation or thought, no, all they need do is make it widely understood that to stand in their way is to be intolerant. And to be intolerant is to be many things…’

Chem lets out a long sigh ‘Such as…’

Well to be publicly intolerant is to draw scorn from your neighbour, to be known as the mean spirited ‘-ist’ of society, it is to quickly become marginalized and no longer listened to. A rigorous or lawful intolerance is to walk on a tightrope, for if you win your case then it’s only a matter of time until you’re outed as something-or-other, to lose your case is to lose all political footing…and in both cases it is to align yourself, once again, with those deemed ‘fringe’, radical or dissident a priori.’

What’s a priori?’

Knowledge of something prior to experiencing it. To know someone is bad without even hearing their case. A sad state of affairs indeed. And thus why we’re currently searching for the way out…’

Narax, have you ever been jolly?’

…very briefly, when I was a pup. Now, what’s this here?’

Chem and Narax had stumbled upon Progville’s rear entrance, or their exit. A strange, multi-layered contraption, filled with gears, levers, small screen-based inputs, a questionnaire, a depository and bundle upon bundle of wires.

Looks like we got two choices here Chem, back the way we came via the maddening crowd and packs of wanderers, or out through this…thing.’

I think we shou-’

Ha! There was never a choice, I’ll take my chances getting garotted by wires before facing that intolerable mass again.’ Narax said.

Narax looked back upon the crowd one last time before swiftly stepping into the exit-contraption. Slowly moving each paw onto a patch of uncovered ground.

Ok Chem, hurry up.’

Chem followed in Narax’s footsteps, holding his rifle to his chest as he lifted a bundle of wires over his head.

I’m in, now what?’

We try get to the other side of this thing as quickly as possible.’

Both Chem and Narax began making their way through the contraptions mechanisms and wires, quickly interrupted by a polite, yet machinic voice…

“Hello Gentleman and hound, how are you?”

The small display screens littering the contraption clicked on, each loading into:

E X I T – P R O G R A M

“Nothing to fear. This is merely a series of questions and tasks. You’ll be out before you know it.”

Chem get a fucking move on, this strangely gracious robot is freaking me out.’

“Question 1: Why is it you wish to leave?”

Do we answer Narax?’

No, just move…and watch your footing!’

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Question 1: Why is it you wish to leave?”

Chem and Narax were roughly 10 feet from an opening before the wiring began to contract.

“You will be detained if you do not answer the questions. Question 1: Why is it-”

Quick, think of the answers it wants to hear…needs to hear!’

The wires slowly beginning to constrict Narax’s legs.

“We just wish to visit another town, we’ll be back!” shouted Chem.

“Question 2: On a scale of 1/10 how would you rate your stay?”

“Errr…7, 7 out of 10!”

“That score is rather low,-” The wires tightened “-why is that score so low?”

“Wrong score! Wrong sco-” Chem attempted to shout whilst a cable fastened around his neck.

“Question 2: On a scale of 1-10 how-”

“10. 10 out of 10.”

“Fantastic, and finally what improvements could we make to our town?”

Say something menial Chem…something material that won’t change shit!’

“You could have a…a cleaner gate!”

“Thank you for volunteering your time to take part in our quiz. Now if you wish to donate some DNA for our records please say ‘Yes’.”

“…No.”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. If you wish-”

Chem, haven’t you worked it out by now…’

“Oh for fuck’s sake…YES!”

“Thank you.”

Two needles extended from either side of the contraption, one for both Chem and Narax, slowly sliding into their legs, before retracting back into the walls.

“Thank you once again, and have a nice day.”

The contraption quickly shut off before any questions could be asked. Chem and Narax tore the wires from their bodies, and Narax looked back through the machine, witnessing a small screen slide along the wall of Progville and out of sight. The duo exited the contraption and the town, heading off into cinder-world.

The screen slid along the wall of Progville until it reached the front gate, where it slid into the hands of the mutated floor guard, the captain.

“Those fuckers said our gate is dirty! 10 out of 10 again though.”

Blog: TSPDT4

Now comes the sudden realization that I’ve actually watched quite a few films from where we left off last week, which brings me to a key point: This list of 1000 films is inclusive of a film for a variety of reasons, it’s a cross-referenced list which includes multiple other rankings and ratings etc. so it’s the best of the best, and the most influential of the most influential. So what does that really mean? Well, as you saw with the first film on the list, it means that films are included for the very fact they invented a technique, or improved upon a technicality…not necessarily because they’re considered good. That’s not to say I’m going to just start smashing through these at the rate of 3 a day etc., no, only that…many are not worth commenting on. They are so of their time that it is now nigh impossible, if not simply a tiresome act to draw from them something of unique merit. Or, in short: There’s only so much Keaton and Chaplin one can watch before they begin to dissolve into a slapstick-mess, some funnier, some technically better etc.  I am however, now taking a quick glance at the list, only a few films from exiting what I’d call cinema’s teething period. From 1927 onwards there’s enough of a foundation in technique, sound, material, etc. for a film to have at least some criteria to begin a trajectory from. The problem herein is the fact that I have an extremely saturated mind when it comes to media and film, and thus much of what is technically incredible about these early films is for me akin to the background panels of cartoons, there only for need of a background. With all that said and done:

The Last Laugh (1924), honestly…I remember very little from this other than that it was a clear Hitchcock inspiration, I’m not going to attempt to drag water from a black and white stone.

The same applies to Seven Chances (1925), so apologies to any film students who’ve scrawled out 10000 words on either of these, but admittedly they’re alike to say Avatar, of-their-time and middle ground of their directors corpus, that which they wont be remembered for…

However, Battleship Potemkin (1925) is very good, and in only the space of 1 year Eisenstein moves leaps and bounds beyonds the visuals of Strike, it’s as if he had that moment which every artist aspires to find, wherein they recognize their own style amidst the relics, rubble and remnants of a thousand artistic memories and inspirations. That which once before was a little off or not as extreme has now been tuned into the most specific frequency.

Eisenstein’s clear use of a pot of boiling water about to boil over may seem obvious, yet interspersed with cuts of animals and animalistic ritual, chaotic collectives and artillery guns, there’s something temporal about the rippling of the water, the irreversible nature of a revolt, an inherent destruction and the radical disillusionment of the present time, for these men nothing else matters except the survival of the here and now. In fact, the entire film is shot and cut in such a way as to destroy the past, to allow the anonymity of particulars to guide the scene. For there is a porthole within the ship and the other side is obviously where the food is stored, behind this small window, yet all we – and the sailors – are allowed to see is the extending hand brandishing your meagre portion, this anonymous window of supply, it is that which brings the anger aboard. There’s another peculiar scene wherein the sailors debate the quality of some meat they are to fed, two hanging joints of a cow are assessed and found to have some form of worm or larvae infecting them, and so the captain analyizes them and simply states: “It’s good meat. End of discussion.” The beauty of the silent film rings true here, for it would take an incredible actor to deliver that line with much gravitas, yet written in simple black and white we understand, simply, that this man’s authority is final and that is the end of the discussion, quite literally.

The Odessa Steps scene is worth watching even when take by itself: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JecXKK2rmCc

Maybe I’m watching Chaplin ‘wrong’ but The Gold Rush (1925) – which is ranked 63rd on this list – I found to be unsurprising, and actually quite tiresome at times. I will almost always do a quick check for historical merit of these films…in case there’s a subtlety I’ve missed, yet to no avail, this is how it comes…perhaps dear Chaplin, you are just not for me, or perhaps the even bleaker statement would be: Perhaps dear Chaplin, you and your optimism have no place in 21st century, it is not that you’re not allowed in, no, only that the puzzle piece you created then fits not the piece we need now.

The General (1926) is your usual Keaton narrative so I shall not bother extrapolating. One thing I will quickly comment on however is Keaton’s performance, the man is not an actor nor a thespian, but a real performer, he makes it clear from merely his persona that his wish is for you to be entertained, an admirable trait. This, alongside his intense, albeit semi-insane stunts have thus far pushed Keaton far ahead of Chaplin for me. There’s something I don’t quite like about Chaplin, I hope I work it out…if I’m honest, at the moment it is because he reminds me so much of a ‘nice guy’, a liberal entertainer who wants not to entertain but to please.

More than likely will return to Faust (1926) as I’ve yet to read it (shame on me) and I don’t want to do it a disservice.

And finally Berlin: Symphony of a Great City (1927) is a must for anyone interested in German history, or the history of cities.

 

 

Blog: Organic Economics and TSPDT3

Serres & Nakamoto: Organic Economics

Connections between both Michel Serres’ ‘theorization’ of organisms as a series of interlocking boxes and Satoshi Nakamoto’s vision of a decentralized blockchain-based economy (Bitcoin)

It is not a unique black box, but a series of interlocking boxes; and this series is the organism, the body. Each level of information functions as an unconscious for the global level bordering it…What remains unknown and unconscious is, at the chain’s furthermost limit, the din of energy transformations: this must be so, for the din is by definition stripped of all meaning, like a set of pure signals or aleatory movements. – Michel Serres, The Origin of Language

The solution we propose [To the double-spending problem] begins with a timestamp server. A timestamp server works by taking a hash of a block of items to be timestamped and widely publishing the hash, such as in a newspaper or Usenet post [2-5]. The timestamp proves that the data must have existed at the time, obviously, in order to get into the hash. Each timestamp includes the previous timestamp inits hash, forming a chain, with each additional timestamp reinforcing the ones before it. – Nakamoto, Bitcoin: A Peer-to-Peer Electronic Cash System

Serres here writing in 1982 – 26 years prior to Nakamoto’s publication – notices the inherent capabilities and integration of a ‘blockchain’ (or in Serres’ example interlocking boxes) system within consciousness and notably communication. If we are to very roughly fuse both visions, that a single ‘block’ from Nakamoto’s economic system, makes as much sense as a single box from Serres’ series, both are pieces of information disconnected from the whole which makes sense of them. Much alike Serres’ series wherein that which remains at the chain’s furthermost limit is unknown and unconscious, what remains at the furthermost limit of Nakamoto’s blockchain is the distant memory of a proven transaction.

What is there Serres’ conception of an organism e.g. a system, from the blockchain: A globalized, ever-growing, decentralized ledger. Both systematically receiving, exchanging and storing information. However, here’s the part that really interests me:

Serres’ organism as systems retrieve information, but ultimately decipher the signal from the noise (as noted with ‘tiny perceptions’), that is, organisms actively deduce from the chaos of the interlocking boxes that which they need, yet at all times all those boxes and links are needed. I don’t need to feel the weight of my arm, texture and temperature of the can before and whilst I take a sip, yet they are there and always will be. “Organization, per se, as system and homeorhesis, functions precisely as a converter of time.” So it is from this “bouquet of times” we pick our signals.

So what of Nakamoto’s system, which in the same way as Serres’ is related to time, that is as Nick Land states:

“…the claim being made, but the claim being made here is that the blockchain is Post-Spacetime and that means that we are not Post-Kantian. We are not Post-Kantian because the Kantian Transcendental Aesthetic is not disrupted by Einstein spacetime, instead, it is the draft it is the blueprint, it is the precursor for the spacetime of the blockchain which has now been instantiated by the Bitcoin technology. So we have now artificial absolute time for the first time ever in human history.”

A goliath claim to be sure, yet what of its possibility. For if artificial absolute time is a reality and any form of Post-Kantian time is now impossible, this means that Serres’ “bouquet of times” or ‘bouquet of succession’ or successive experiences etc. become locked in, they become interlocked truths which cannot be altered, but can be looked back upon, in and of. One could (when the technology gets to this stage…it’s close) travel down the infinitesimal succession of times and perceptions they previously missed. So Serres’ unconscious is entirely deconstructed, his system of “mobile material points distributed in space and governed by a law” becomes a horrific, or emancipatory (in terms of economics) reality, and that “law” is cryptographically locked moments in time, cryptographic truths decentralized and available to all.

So in short: The utilization of the ‘blockchain’ (Bitcoin protocol/blockchain technology) as an extension of the ‘natural’ organic system, itself a series of interlocking boxes; either an abstract connection between the organic and mechanic via capital, or a material connection via acknowledgment/perception of ‘purchase/consuming’.

Note: The fact they both immensely dislike centralization was the thing that caused me to notice their connection.

TSPDT3

HÄXAN (1922), I could write about this film for a little too long to be quite honest, in fact a re-watch to analyize any single aspect of the film wouldn’t go a miss. This film is the epitome of ‘ahead of its time’. So much so, one wonders whether or not Haxan is some strange found object, as if film was transported back in time and is used in place of a skull during a satanic ritual.

This film embodies superstition, the documentary format is throw into scripture…ancient, forgotten, esoteric, myth comes alive and takes no human prisoners, rooms and lives are awash with literal, viral madness. Nunneries follow insanity, and the Nuns the devil. ‘The Devil Takes Many Forms’ in a general motto to hold onto throughout the film, whether it be gold pieces strewn over the floor, demonic pigs on their hind legs, witch-trials, torture, hate, suspicion, paranoia and more enters into a hellish stew of burning theo-historical documentary madness…from 1922. On a practical note, the cinematography isn’t necessarily sublime, but it is merticulous, everything framed, the costume design and ‘special effects’ (for what those words are worth in 1922) are all on par with that one would see 50 even 60 years later, it feels as if the film is both a debt and sacrifice to an unknown ancient being.

Keaton’s Our Hospitality (1923) isn’t my humour, I mean the 21st century’s cynicism and rorny have ruined my innocence for slapstick comedy, thus a lot of Keaton’s antics seem simply immature now.

Keaton’s Sherlock Jr (1924) is fantastic, the running length helps I must admit, 40 minutes of cut-to-the-chase humour works well, his control of flow is superb and I get this feeling that in comparison to Chaplin he’s not as artsy fartsy…the stunts also are grand.

Listen, I’m not some Rotten Tomatoes rate-everything-pre-1950-highly schmuck, thus, Chaplin’s A Woman of Paris is dull, I mean really dull, at no point did I give a shit about any high society antics, which seemed to exist in a feedback loop, perhaps that was the point, I don’t know, I’m none the wiser.

I can’t find a good enough version of Greed (1924). Also want to read McTeague prior to viewing.

Strike (1925), my first Eisenstein, and boy was I blown away. It’s blindingly obvious to me now which techniques filmmakers owe Eisenstein for. Precisely for the fact his use of montage and quick cuts are/is so well done it becomes near impossible to believe anyone else except this director could have invented such a technique. It’s glaring how this could very easily effect a down-and-out worker, or group of workers, how such a viral and infectious strain of perfectly paced cinema could crawl into the heart of a group and grow outwards, the fuel of utopian dreams. Eisenstein clearly marks the movement from objective reality, towards the forece of the subjective vision, Eisenstein’s utilization or proto-utilization/invention of montage as a means to sway how the viewer views the film is a technique heavily debated (André Bazin), yet without these early political subjective perspectives would Lynch exist, would a film be able to dig its claws as deep. Without Eisenstein’s political montage Lynch’s maggots would cease to exist.

Blog: TSPDT2, Outside

Second week of the TSPDT list, note, I’m not viewing 1 film per day or per week etc., it’s as and when I have the time/feel like watching something. The ‘Why?’ is because contemporary cinema has truly gone to shit, and that is not an understatement. If one is to act rather crassly and base the merit of a film off what it brought in at the box office, one merely needs to look at the top 10 films for each year prior to say, 2000, to note that something went drastically wrong. During the process of folding date myth into contemporary narrative we lost the underlying structure of the past and are left with only the banal filler of the present, that is, nowadays cinema offers little more than something to pass the time as opposed to a piece of art wherein one walks a way at least slightly changed. Great cinema is Heraclitean, dull cinema is Parmenidean – very roughly speaking. That said, sitting through hours of silent film is a task unto itself, at least for my stim-addled, k-addicted brain, which has some odd connection to screens: We did not heed Fisher’s warnings with regards to social media’s perpetual micro-dopamine fixes.

Broken Blossoms was a surprisingly refreshing film, the attitudes towards race and women of course dated, yet not in the same way as Griffith’s magnum opus The Birth of a Nation, the attitudes towards Chinese culture in general here seem weel meaning, specifically in a – once again dated – foreign-quarters-esque manner. That said, Broken Blossoms set designs acts as a precursor to Edward Hopper’s atmospheric usage of light and to Hitchcock’s entire (arguably), that is, the notion of hidden lives is quite literally brought to the fore, that inescapable lust for knowledge of the interior is given to the viewer on platter, quite uncomfortably at times. Broken Blossoms seems like a key starting place for silent film. Gish’s ethereal feminity holds the viewer’s hand almost always here, through these dire streets and through the sculpting of positivity we’re allowed to believe that something pure might just survive here, this in itself brings to questions contemporary notions of feminity.

True Heart Susie was too ‘lovely’ for me.

The Phantom Carriage stills. Interesting techniques to be sure, yet once again it’s a key example of my perception being spoilt, such a film, which was framed impeccably, drives itself into the chasms of repetition…sadly. The past is fading a little, and the future often can’t keep up with itself, the future need to innovate itself.

The Kid and Nosferatu both are without comment, they’ve had enough. The Kid was my first Chaplin viewing, was grand.

and finally for this week Nanook of the North, a documentary I was surprised I’d never come across, I adore Alone in the Wilderness and thought nothing could ever come close to the Walden-lite musings of a creator and craftsmen adrift and alone, yet Nanook adds something beautiful to mix.

A cliche ‘to be sure’, but Nanook adds something raw, and very early on. Whether it’s the hum of 1920’s film, fish-flesh or the acknowledgment of death from the start Nanook doesn’t fully enter into the noble savage genre. There is still a divide between the filmmakers and the subjects of the film, there remains a cultural divide and it works subtle wonders in drawing out the specifics of another life. A scene wherein a walrus is hunted and quickly eaten raw on the beach (above) due to excessive hunger-pangs stands out, that which, even in the 20’s, holds the real of another culture.

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I finally got around to looking at what Vast Abrupt have been up to and I have to say Reaching Beyond to the Other: On Communal Outside-Worship by Xenogoth is really, really good. In fact it’s been a while since something in the sphere has dealt with so much so fast and so well (my writing is lame today). I’ve noticed a lot of Vast Abrupt’s posts (maybe all?) are indexed at zero, whether or not this is a theoretical choice, wherein that which is posited at zero, prior, potentially a priori is that from which the post takes a trajectory, therein remains the unavoidable. The first ‘point’ that caught my interest:

“Whilst this broad definition is applicable to the narratives in much weird fiction, these tales explore the Outside through narrated ‘experience’ rather than objective academic analysis and they do so with an imaginative flare that has fascinated many.”

Academic analysis of the Outside often transforms the Outside into merely a component of a certain schema as opposed to a fluid experience, or a singular fluid experience from a certain perspective. The closest academic philosophy has come to a bridge between the two – for me – was Levinas’ Existence and Existents notably the phenomenology of the il y a (there is), that which wishes to be grasped from afar, yet at all times evades capture…in fact evades objective reasoning all together, that which teases humanity as being the “limitrophe of nothing”.

“To return to our Lovecraftian metaphor: if Land is an Outsider, having looked in the mirror and identified with the inhumanism of capital, Fisher is rather hoping to collectivise, organising an Acid Communist Cthulhu Cult of Outsider-worshippers. His focus on the aesthetic challenge is no doubt influenced by his subcultural affiliations. What are Goths if not Outside-worshippers who already live amongst us? However, even this subculture has been subsumed within capitalism — commodified, its vague political potentials have long been neutralised.”

No comment other than this paragraph stood out, a succinct articulation of the often hazy Land/Fisher connection, both working within the realm of ‘exit’ with such drastically different tools and techniques they act almost as two seperate species. Part 3 of Xenogath’s piece is a must read for anyone remotely interested in the concept of ‘exit’ à la Fisher/Land.

Chem and Narax #1: Inclusive

Artwork by OLOF_HANVARK

 

Dawn of the sun above a desecrated planet, its rays bowing pleasantly over yesterday’s cinders; garbage fires, shit-piles and hot corpses litter the ground, their shadows a homage to nothingness; the end of days stretched over all that is and could be conscious. Welcome to 2019 friends, let’s hope that along with all plant-life many of yesteryears’ ideas died too. A world still crumbling, yet hopeful to build a future atop the remains of the past, forget the ruins, forget the remnants…forget your nature and all will go to shit.

Across the irradiated wastes Chem and his mutt Narax wander. Chem is of medium height, skinny yet fat, medium length hair, wearing a grey flannel shirt and baggy jeans tucked into boots, the epitome of those who blend-in. Narax on the other hand stands proud as the poster-boy for Australian shepherds, if not for his matted, blood chunked fur, bleach blonde right eye and scarred ear. On a hill overlooking a small town, both stood still and silent, Chem waiting for Narax’s call and Narax confident in his ability to shit on humanity.

The town they looked down upon looked a little chaotic to say the least. Its border rife with wanderers, scoundrels, wasters, waste-landers, speculators, scavengers and no doubt many plunderers, all clawing at the walls, impatient and offering little to nothing in the way of tempting utility. The buildings, from afar, seemed unkept, rushed and smothered in warning signs and notices. It appeared that little, if nothing at all was happening within the walls, the occasional rise from a seat, or opening of door, no trade, no community, seclusion without safety. Chem and Narax begin their descent.

The road leading to the town littered on either side with signs, rules, symbols, posters, notices and warnings, many hypocritical and self-destroying.

Acceptance & Tolerance To Be Found Here!

All Accepted!

No Raiders!

Fires rising from various barrels left astray, light glimmering from the town’s gate a few hundred meters away. Sounds of arguing, berating, whining, moaning, belittling, shuffling, huffing and puffing and the occasional clang came from within. Audibly, it was such that life here had been compressed into the idea that all should be fair. Sounds and sights the likes of which Chem had never seen and Narax knew all too well.

‘Listen shit-for-brains, towns aren’t what they used to be, all weird and inclusive nowadays.’ snarled Narax as they both continued their walk towards the town.

‘Inclusive?’

‘Yes. Inclusive. It used to be ‘socially acceptable’ to actually choose who you built your community or civilization with and around.’

‘I mean, why wouldn’t you choose? Surely if someone isn’t pulling their weight, or you know someone will be actively destructive why would you let them in?’

‘Dear Chem, you’re beginning to get it. It’s as if society collapsed and with it every copy of Leviathan was simultaneously destroyed.’

Leviathan?’

‘I forgot you have little education-’

‘Listen mutt, if it wasn’t for me you’d still be wondering the wastes looking for scraps!’

‘Anger at one’s own ignorance, fantastic. I was going to simplify Hobbes for you, but now I might just go to the ends of the earth to find the last ever copy and let you go through the same pain as everybody else.’

Chem hastily stops ‘All I mean is Narax, remember where I found your sorry ass. If it wasn’t for your telepathic pleading I would’ve shot right on by!’

‘I understand Chem, no need to bring it up again. Now listen up, you can call this brief lesson ‘The Past Will Eat You Alive’, it will be a little reductionist, but I can make it work.’

‘Sounds rather historic.’

Beyond historic, it transcends history. Genetic, human, animal…instinctual, natural…unavoidable!’

‘Go on…’

‘When things turn bad, and I mean ‘collapse-event’ bad, ‘to-pure-shit’ as your eloquent mind would put it, humans aren’t the best things to be around. In fact, they are arguably the worst, the majority of you become illogical, overly-emotional drooling wrecks.’

‘Ok…’

‘You are, at heart…animals, and it pays to remember that, especially in times of the utmost security and stability. This is where Hobbes comes in. In short, he exemplifies the fact of your animalistic nature as a means to why social contracts, or collective agreements – such as towns – upon which safety and stability rest, are so important.’

‘What’s your point furball?’

‘Towns such as this one we’re about to enter, in fact, societies in general forget this fact very quickly and this removal, this erasure is a grave error in your programming. What do you humans do when the shit hits the fan? Panic.’

‘Well now I know this, I wont panic, ok. Now come on, I’m fucking hungry.’

Chem and Narax both pause to read the gate’s sign:

WELCOME TO PROGVILLE: ALL WELCOME, ALL EQUAL.

‘Oh shit.’ barks Narax.

‘What is it now?’

‘I’ve come across towns like Progville before, as the sign says…they accept anyone, literally, you know how that works right?’

‘Enlighten me…mutt.’

‘Well, like we said before, in a perfect would you would actively choose who can enter your society or town, yes?’

‘Sure.’

‘Say you let anyone in, you’re going to have conflicts, so what do you do? You give each and every person some tiny amount of power or responsibility, however menial.’

‘How’s that work?’

‘Anyone who’s given the most minor piece of power gets subsumed into the whole, the whole which will lay their lives on the line for, quite literally, in fear of losing the power they have.’

‘I don’t really see the problem’

‘Nothing ever gets done! Everyone’s just worried about keeping their slice, no one innovates, takes risks or offers a counter-argument, they want stability and they retain it by adhering to the status quo.’

‘I guess so. But I am hungry’

‘Humans…’

Chem swiftly enters the town, Narax begrudgingly follows.

‘Alright. We go in, get food, then get out…I know places like this, next thing you know you’ve been roped into some labour and I’m being petted by a thousand infants!’

‘Alright, god mutt, do you ever give it a rest…’

‘Listen skin-sack, don’t say I didn’t warn you. On the first sign of trouble I’ll bark like an undignified doggy again. So far you’re the only one who can hear my thoughts…and I still don’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse.’

The gates of Progville were a living horror. Droves of wanderers flocked from afar in hopes entry, all of them – with the occasional exception – peddled nothing whilst acting obnoxiously. Chem and Narax both quickly veered leftwards towards the official entry point, away from the makeshift traveller camp. Four men guarded the entrance, all of whom seemed nonchalant to existence itself and one had literally mutated into the floor, and as such had little option but to act as captain of the guard.

“Hello there chaps, what brings you to town?” said one of the three interchangeable men.

“Well we were ju-” Chem began, before being interrupted.

“Umm, gary. ‘Chaps’ is a bit male-centric don’t you think? What do you two identify as…for our records…” said the captain.

‘Tell him I identify as a fleabag!’ said Narax.

“I identify as…err, a man. And this is my companion Narax, who is a dog, a male dog.’

“…OK well, I believe they prefer hound or feline. Dog is quite derogatory. But anyway, what can I do for you both?”

‘I prefer silence to be quite honest.’

“We were just looking for some food and maybe a place to stay for the night? We’d be happy to help out or trade with you.”

“Umm, yes OK, that sounds fine. Just follow Gary.”

It had been a long time since Narax had kept so close to Chem, but for the time being it seemed the safest port of call. As they walked through the town there seemed to be whining, moaning and audible disputes coming from all angles. The shopkeepers shelves bare, except from repetitive tins and trinkets. The power a never-ending cycle of off and on. The town was, for its size, crammed with people, many of whom seemed entirely without a responsibility, let alone an occupation. The majority sauntering aimlessly to and fro, from person to person hinting at their needs and woes. Bad postures, beer guts, piercings, tattoos, tights, suspenders, greasy hair, baggy apparel, unkept entire…the air here took real pride in its indignity.

“Umm, right OK guys listen up!” said Gary “I’m going to need you all to gather round…”

‘Narax, what the fuck is going on?’

Occupants of Progville began to gather around the guard, many appearing from under matts and tarps, climbing up from the sodden mattresses where they lay. Shopkeepers leaving their shops, and the prisoners allowed out for a brief moment of ‘communal’ collection.

“Umm, OK everyone we’ve got a couple of newcomers here, Chem and his feline Narax. We’re going to take a vote as to whether or not they stay.”

Narax began frantically barking.

‘What is it? Is everything OK?’

‘Chem…it’s a fucking democracy! We’ve got to leave, now!’

‘A what?’

‘Oh Christ Chem, this is how we got in this mess, I thought I’d never see another one of these hapless affairs. You see any exits?’

Blog: Further, TSPDT etc.

Neural Shroud’s latest which covers the increase politicization of communication is succinct. I believe there’s an undercurrent of cybernetics running through this piece – can’t quite place it – that said, the increase of politics within the everyday sphere is generally just exhausting, nigh impossible to comment on the ‘merit’ of anything without first addressing its political backdrop, affiliations…these are becoming unavoidable however e.g. Star Wars. Intriguing as these protocols are, there are at least 2 things heading our way which are (to a certain extent apolitical), the first being the rise of AI and the second being Bitcoin, or digitalized cryptographic currency as our primary means of exchange, the latter here of course having political considerations, however even those are decentralized and disconnected from state, and thus we enter in a realm of micro-protocols adhering to that which small groups, or individuals wish to do.

 

I’ve decided to venture into the depths of film this year, my trajectory is from a fairly formal standpoint, that of the They Shoot Pictures Don’t They 1000 Greatest Films List, which I shall be tackling in chronological order as a means to comment on the history of film as a whole, also as a means for lovely digressions into all manner of haphazard opinions etc. As such I began with L’arrivee d’un train a la Ciotat from 1895, little to comment other than that my mind insta-clicked of, I’ve become so used to high-definition media that the origins of film are apparently beneath me…fucking K-Addiction. And onto Georges Méliès’ Le Voyage dans la lune (A Trip to the Moon, 1902):

There’s this odd sentiment of wonder and awe towards not only the moon itself, but the moon as the possibility of future, as opposed to simply continuation of the present. Wherein the ‘scientists’ above are seen as wizards, temporal-magicians who are the guiding force for man’s ability to transcend and overcome.

This short scene, wherein our scientists descend into a cave upon the moon, is an exemplary comment on the current climate, e.g. “What happened to the future…” we have become scared, as such these visionaries in 1902 vision the moon as this incredible place full of wonder. Our empirical abilities aside, we’ve lost our love for Mars even though the possibility of getting there grows ever nearer. It shall be a dull day when Musk lands upon Mars and the majority of TVs are tuned to some kitsch-celeb-shit-show.

D.W. Griffiths The Birth of a Nation (1915) is a masterpiece of cinema, the unavoidable racism and revisitionist history aside, technically Griffith’s magnum opus acts as a true game-changer. I must admit, I still find it difficult to engross myself in the clunky flow of these earlier works. I’m avoiding Feuillade’s Les Vampires for a while until I can find both the time and a good quality version.

Surprisingly I’d yet to watch The Cabinet of Dr Caligari and wasn’t as blown away as I thought I might be, that said, I’ve never been a fan of expressionism in general, however, on a little digging the book From Caligari to Hitler extrapolates as to some interesting temporal ideas:

“…in which he claimed that many of the elements of the expressionist film style, as well as Caligari’s overall story of a madman hypnotist who uses a mindless sleepwalker to carry out murders, were “a premonition of Hitler.” – link

“It was a bright jungle, more hell than paradise, but a paradise to those who had exchanged the horror of war for the terror of want.

It stood out lonely like a monolith.” – From Caligari to Hitler – PDF

And in my opinion, still does, the story of the sane turned insane, and of the absurdity/insanity of unquestioned authority is a continuing source of maddening loneliness (Kafka etc.). I must add that the removal of these film’s narratives from my contemporary perceptions is growing more difficult with each new watch, to appreciate their place in history, their place as creators and especially innovators is stifled immensely by K-Addiction and the awful explosion-loving programming of modern film-making. Michael Bay extends his arm into the past and rips away subtlety…

Review: digital americana mixtape

There’s an odd formation of ye olde Green Day grossness within the first strums, throw me a bone slices into a vibrant cocktail of pain, energy and remorse, the lyrics almost undefinable, reminiscent of a chaotic young-adult malaise spent amongst estates of dry grass. At once and all together you begin falling, a youthful freedom tinged with responsibility, deterministic punks.

eviction – entry of the DIY aesthetic ten-fold, crust and sludge combine into a harsh feedback of nausea-noise. Shoulders dislocate and the dancefloor rectangle spirals into a circular alco-chem-mess. The frame of the tracks so far a broken speaker, giving its all to the last, vibrations as formation. Caustic feedback as a musical resolution. Evicted from your ear drum’s expectations. and so damn angry‘s beginnings see reliable sincere angst mutate into something a little more digital, americana falling apart at the seams, becoming only capital-cana within the contemporary. Anger of the 21st century…exhaustion and apathy and the tap of a metal-machine, fractured digital output. There’s a sadness in the loss of the singular and fixed, yet what of an entire generation who knew no different.

happywaiting. A strange assemblage of notes, scrapes and whines, oddly jaunty and forgetful synonymously, the bar its own, its smell putting others off. cold shoulder to cry on quickly understands the subtle escape attempts of punks’ formative years, from the background, encased in a suffocative gauze of drone is the sincerity of a lonely musician attempting to scramble at the scraps, swiftly strummed into place by an faintly upbeat riff.

care, there’s lots of it within this album, a modest, warm and husky-late-night-sesh filled embrace of what went wrong. Withdrawing much of the energy from past artists, too many to name, into an exhausted, sympathetic and yet encouraging voice of a move forward, however bleak the first few steps might be. hellion 1, the digital disallowing true connection, a tinkered flicker and then dudbeats and 404’s spat into a sporadic frenzy. A heart palpitation run through melting vinyl. With bark alone testifying to the neutrality of your decision; western digital and western waste care not for what you do, just move. Post-nasal drip spluttered down strings.

walk with me allows the past to enter more thoroughly, a mid-morning, hot-sun jig with a beer, but everyone here senses that everyone here aint that great; feelin’ rough, hangover tough, dicky belly, foggy skull and over into the next morning, glugging down to bear the pain.

your heart’s too hungry. One of the best tracks I have the pleasure to review. A defiant sigh beaconed to no one, but fuck, why not. Maybe you should stop, maybe you shouldn’t, this album’s as pleasant as a hangover is going to get, your fear’s strange, not tacked to anything really.

Gotta admit, I went into a nostalgic trance for a bit there, :: i love you but, didn’t help, it takes me back somewhere I really can’t put my finger on, somewhere covered in annoyance and disappointment and yet, comfort. You only want to be horizontal right now, face perpendicular to the skies, colour don’t matter, you’re in your head…and you aint getting out for a while. Sorry champ.

 


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Review: CLWNWRLD PRESENTS: THE RINGLEADER’S SYMPHONY

You’re sat in this cafe, this cafe. The windows, the large, bowing panes of glass feel as if they’re vibrating, reflecting and strumming against bulb lines. Maleficent trembles as your entire glaze’s over, eyes over chips and under-others into a chem-soup. Into the muzak-home of a banal existence, falling backwards into plastic and mundanity as one does during a slow mourning; the daily march overstrung by a realist chorus of chiming techscape. [_Jester’s Bliss_] is our trance-trajectory into meditative k-scapes.

[_Train of Freaks_] is where the literal nature of the album awakens. The paranoia and intrusion of boxcart trivilations suffocates you, unable to focus on nothing or something, a constant to-and-fro of anxiety-sweats, too much coffee creates a beat-pandemic of repetition. Gaping caustic reverb mutating into authorative cluster-headaches. Don’t bother. [_Eyes in the Shadows_] does it too. We have two for the price of one on paranoid underground haste, flicking into ‘worst’-mode, coat-grip away from those. A spiralling tunnel-drone into your back as you refuse to turn. Haunted subways united the fears of the strange and mundane.

There’s calm in light, but only if one has just been removed from the dark, the reality is, the horror never leaves and a reminder of its existence only exacerbates your quivers. And your heart does this…thing, an expansion of the blood, cells collapse outward, muscle-pain, lung-stretch. Each deep breath acts as an aching reminder of life within the smog-pen. you, you… [_Drunkard_]. [_Leaf Lady’s Song_] tin steps past an arcade, a young lad without limbs drums on an arcade machine, rolling his head on the buttons in hope of hitting the big time. A Lynchian “Watch that man! Watch that man! Watch that man!” or “Hey! Hey! Hey…Sally!” with verbal elongation and smokers husk wouldn’t go a miss here; backstreets, fuck you, smoke behind the eyes.

[_Liz’s House of Color_] damn this thing kicked in.”Hey shut the fuck up im listening.” “Hasn’t that guy drunk 8lbs of coffee today.” the street flicks into anxious-time, a ripple effect under your feet and unto the morning into an eye-roll begotten. Teen tam tom and the trance rolls into a chased temporal agency, you want a headcave, watch this. Arcade boy has grow a huge leg and is stomping onto you, the subway train has stopped just out of sight and you just know the driver is reversing in hopes of finding you. Where’d you leave your bag? It had your Grandma’s polyfiller in it, she uses it to glue her teeth in. You wonder why the beat works for a second, just before it crashes. You’re finally home, resting your hand on your head, brain matter clicking into channel Z, LCD flickers in and out, tech-shutters and shadows of a neon sun fall upon your lids. Your sofa fucking hates your plump arse.

Sometimes my face shifts between 2 to 3 planes, flesh on flesh.

Laughter…from the rafters. Those little fuckin’ Deet Deets at it again. Beep boop. It will not stop. “Hey ma.” “Yes.” “?” “It’s been going on for days love, just ignore it.” [_A Midnight Conversation_] has begun. Over and over, then, then, the phone rings, a long jaunty ring, puts me in a fun panic. We call it happy sweat, the perspiration becomes faster, and faster, I spew sweat like jets from the innards of my elbows. I gotta sit down. I can’t, I’m still on the fucking train. Clowntime is in. Loud, open mouths produce rotund boops. They arch forward and back, faster each time, throwing their heads back and forth, smiles getting wider, and not a hair on their clown heads moving. Static comedic pulsating on a train. A pivoting immovable nightmare, I try to move, they all scream. Clowntrain baby! They march. The nightmare you have to sit through, acknowledging the pain one is about to suffer prior to suffering, this is hell. yet, sometimes, the pain doesn’t come, and one is left into a clicking-coma of worry.

Off you fucking get. The train doors were made of bio-waste. They sludge in and you step off. The ride keeps going. Out into [_Hollow City_] you know you’ve left this time, there’s no light. Just heavy beams of dark glow. You just want to walk. [_New Life_] plays like a pleasent Nintendo game, a farming sim. A warm summer where you kissed a girl once fades into memory, skyscrapers dissolve into the background for a momentary glimpse of contentment [_Perching Square_] Look at this fucking idiot. indeed. it’s clownworld, screech time clicks into gear, mechanistic screams for dumb human dreams. Try move, bitch. No movement, only submission to any clown who wonders by, an old animation where the lines are schizophrenic. Resist. The end here is sincerely morbid, a melancholic death involving tech, I can’t explain this; there’s acceptance here, a deep acceptance…of the future, and all that it will bring, it is he who walks knowingly into an electro-static death space.

[_NUTMEG SESH_] OH ma BOY. You were prepared for the future you thought, you didn’t think it would be so malicious, and downright mean. watch it, watch it all. Every vice of the past flicked into overgear and assembled on a hedonistic plane of sadomasochism. Industrial sex-drive mashed into a flesh blend. [_Manifesto_] the utilization of the previous tracks work as a means to contextualize the death of coherence into a chasmic meltdown of sonics. [_Take a Hint Royal Jester_] but that’s the problem isn’t it, the future doesn’t take hints, the temporal jester throwing  himself into chaotic schizo-tonic, why don’t you take a hint, yeah…

 

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