Xenophiles And Agoraphobes
Of further interest... but to who, why, and for what purpose we've yet to uncover
( since no one is on LJ anymore I can do away with LJ-cut )
As dark matter envelops irradiating light with swift indifference galaxies merge and gaseous nebula intermingle producing epicurean eruptions, crash course comet collisions, and astrophysical avalanches of atomic audacity.
Edging themselves together to bridge the greater acausal void of hyperspace with the inconceivably supermassive elemental emptiness awaiting every meager molecule through the paradimensional never where. It is these fundamental particles or sub-microscopic packets of energy, so called quanta, that conform to our expectations of compositional substance.
The fully annotated post-script cliché runs a muck and then pushes itself well beyond the realm of normative behavioral writing exercise by running further than is humanly necessary. Maybe it's the endorphin rush. We don't know. No one ever bothered to ask. And, this is why the question of whether this is worth reporting or not escapes us because here we are reporting away nevertheless. There's simply no one to stop us.
The preceding phraseological clusterfuck from whence we came represents an obvious list-fetish inclination executing a massive core dump of all disposable inspirations, loose straggler memes, and stray thoughts expressed as titles, fragments of dialog, new slang, gags with no punchlines, pranks on literacy, lame comparison puns using doctored pronunciation keys, etc.
As far as list-fetishes, and any and all other textual vanities are concerned, visiting the auto-biographical section of my journal, specifically its interests page, may provide enthralled readers who can not seem to get enough of my circular logic and cultural inanities with a docket full of unnecessary information void of its original context and embellished beyond all sense of rationality.
Underwhelmed by nothingness as all internal systems are overloaded with vast empty pockets of data therewith containing veritable chasms of non-sense, chaos, and complex cellular puddles of consciousness flailing about existence at the cold-blooded primeval edge of a draconian proto-parthenogenesis initiating chain-reactions fringing the frayed limbs of more regulatory electro-chemical nerve activities and higher brain functions.
These enormous gaps in sensory experience cause vertigo, disorientation, loss of equilibrium, impairment of speech, hearing, and depth perception along with an overall blandness in taste and smell receptors. Added commentary, at this point, would be purely cosmetic, and quite frankly, that strain of extreme vanity is rather exhausting.
Population control methods and media-trafficking psychological operations
There is one problem amateur writers run into time and time again: imagining that their personal beliefs and the half dozen opinions shared by their sycophantic fair-weather associates actually stand for something other than a waste of refined paper products, dynamic story-telling abilities, or loosely strung together bandwidth-hogging static electro-fodder. When in stark contrast to one another the quantity of criticisms and insults are dwarfed by the generic quality of compliments borne of generic politeness, rest assured your material sucks.
Coming from experience in the business as a fourth generation pompous ass of the pen's mighty fountain splash I should warn any of you would-be publishers, poets, and half baked pot-headed think-it-alls that the next piece of explicitly poignant writing you'll be filling out is most likely your chapter 11 papers. They're the ones where all your shit is arbitrarily thrown onto the sidewalk and the treasury department sees fit to seize all your assets from your stereo and your beloved PC to your iron clad cookware and your salt-water fish tank.
Luckily no one wants the waterbed you bought eighteen years ago nor can any moving company be bothered to disassemble it so it's yours for good. However presumptuous and rude these words may seem I'm sure they sum up the predicament many of us writer's write credo believers have gotten ourselves into.
In even less simple language we find an obtuse explanation lurking amidst the dreary underworld of autonomous publishing where just about any crackpot who can successfully operate his or her word processor and intently navigate the alphanumeric lily pads of lenient bureaucracy lining the surface of this minuscule pond of Kinko collusion known as the independent publishing industry or some arbitrary analog 'zine scene.
In typical do-it-yourself fashion the eccentric author of the editorial nightmare that follows eventually took it upon himself to put out quarterly pamphlets full of bombastic bozos aptly called Nevermind Nothing Neither which fit neatly into the near-illiterate genepool currently producing the majority of today's low-budget periodicals filled with druggie drivel. The final product of which resembles that of a coupon-less angst-ridden counter-culture circular costing less than the postage required to snail out the few hundred individual copies.
As a synopsis of the findings credited to Auringe we offer a few words in his defense:
"... to this day there remains valid discussion of a menacing 'psychic implant' of sorts that psychometrists themselves admit they are but dimly aware of as their pseudo-clinical body of know how is rather limited to say the least.
They claim that the majority of subjects (I dare not call them 'patients' lest I seek to lay credence to their craft as a legitimate medical practice with procedural guidelines to follow and moral obligations to honor) maintain an independent anchor of their personality (a neutral proxy or non-player character) while under the contrived pretenses (read: kinesthesia or proprioception) of hypnotic trance induction.
Problem is, the inherent psychological complications of this identifiable 'split' in the psyche says nothing positive about the practice of hypnotism if indeed this split is seen as a necessary requisite to hypnosis as a tool or therapy agent. It could be said that the misuse of hypnosis on its own explains a great deal of modern scientistic (sci-fi) folklore dreamed up in the last hundred years or so.
This is especially accurate where the myth-marketing aspects of commercialized Newageism is concerned; as per claims of conspiracy theorists focusing on covert uni-lateral military campaigns, N.D.E.s, and reported cases of close encounters with extra-terrestrials. And to a lesser degree the influence of sleep paralysis visions that often sync with the abduction phenomena even though the affliction's symptoms are millennium old sans the definitive appearance of little Grey men.
Where humans originally got the idea to make money off of such lurid experiences we can only speculate, but suffice to say it's working ..."
written by Mssr. Heyan Auringe
excerpted from What The Fuck Are You Doing With That Type-Writer Now?!
essay courtesy of Daft Cunt! magazine, Trapezoid publishing © 1974
With such fanciful nuances fresh in our minds let us examine further base examples
It is these abysmal voids which frighten the mortal mind from inside itself. And although this subject makes for poor dinner conversation after six or seven shots of single malt Scotch almost anything can writhe its way into the shallow curiosities of well-to-do self-styled entrepreneurs. Thus we have a systemic solution to an individual dilemma: castrate the horse before your wife catches a glimpse of its endowment or you'll be plagued by hay in your bed henceforth.
Imagine shrinking or receding backward into yourself. Getting smaller and smaller the further inward you travel until your insular little grasp on the world becomes an eroded memory tormenting you in nightmares and distorting your reason with hallucinatory panic regressions and paranoid schizo conspiracy scenarios with regards to the C.D.C. carrier virus known to the public only as The Chasm™
What is widely considered an appalling travesty to upper-crust spectator-art museum trust groups like the wesoteric traditionalists and the hermetic party loyalists is conversely hailed as a visionary innovation in use of medium and range of functionality.
I definitely stepped up my game on this one. The central theme signifies do-it-yourself results to the white-collared shit broke working stiff straddling an uncomfortable chair at the office sneaking shots of fentanyl patch liquid between supervisor cross-traffic or the adversely blue-collared shit broke working stiff sledding a thousand pounds of 'crete a hundred and fifty feet in the air because some rich executive asshole wants the roof of his building to have a smart-bomb proof built-in jacuzzi pool.
In plain fact, The Chasm™ embodies the human capacity to over-ride instinctual conflicts and dissolve moral issues with cold reversions of logic and coarse revisions of law (tradition; old truth); the vile pandelirium nuisance lurking from the sewer to caution us of cthonic curb-side destiny.
They are the jolly jolly joy-drainers, and the jokes on you delivery jobs armed only with clever one-liners, neologisms and solecisms, passively-assimilative headworms, hypertrophied delusions of long ships and land war, and neuro-agrarian ambitions of mass infection, random satire or parodies or play on words or anagrams or acronyms or asinine alliteration, shout-outs with aimless promotional agendas, and even the occasional straight forward area of interest or practice or passion or proverb or jab at a particular person or their pet project or even their platitudinous pot-boiling precepts on prosaicism.
The contents of The Chasm™ we're chastising consists of obscure, remotely connected verbiage stylized as per the author with his timely wit which is unmatched in radio, tv, cinema, politics, or online. His caustic superiority which is wholly unfounded, but funny to laugh at nonetheless, and his brash and utter disregard for clarity, tact, brevity, taste, and integrity which has become his landmark signature as an artist and as one of the most protested figures on the Internet to date.
( since no one is on LJ anymore I can do away with LJ-cut )
As dark matter envelops irradiating light with swift indifference galaxies merge and gaseous nebula intermingle producing epicurean eruptions, crash course comet collisions, and astrophysical avalanches of atomic audacity.
Edging themselves together to bridge the greater acausal void of hyperspace with the inconceivably supermassive elemental emptiness awaiting every meager molecule through the paradimensional never where. It is these fundamental particles or sub-microscopic packets of energy, so called quanta, that conform to our expectations of compositional substance.
The fully annotated post-script cliché runs a muck and then pushes itself well beyond the realm of normative behavioral writing exercise by running further than is humanly necessary. Maybe it's the endorphin rush. We don't know. No one ever bothered to ask. And, this is why the question of whether this is worth reporting or not escapes us because here we are reporting away nevertheless. There's simply no one to stop us.
The preceding phraseological clusterfuck from whence we came represents an obvious list-fetish inclination executing a massive core dump of all disposable inspirations, loose straggler memes, and stray thoughts expressed as titles, fragments of dialog, new slang, gags with no punchlines, pranks on literacy, lame comparison puns using doctored pronunciation keys, etc.
As far as list-fetishes, and any and all other textual vanities are concerned, visiting the auto-biographical section of my journal, specifically its interests page, may provide enthralled readers who can not seem to get enough of my circular logic and cultural inanities with a docket full of unnecessary information void of its original context and embellished beyond all sense of rationality.
Underwhelmed by nothingness as all internal systems are overloaded with vast empty pockets of data therewith containing veritable chasms of non-sense, chaos, and complex cellular puddles of consciousness flailing about existence at the cold-blooded primeval edge of a draconian proto-parthenogenesis initiating chain-reactions fringing the frayed limbs of more regulatory electro-chemical nerve activities and higher brain functions.
These enormous gaps in sensory experience cause vertigo, disorientation, loss of equilibrium, impairment of speech, hearing, and depth perception along with an overall blandness in taste and smell receptors. Added commentary, at this point, would be purely cosmetic, and quite frankly, that strain of extreme vanity is rather exhausting.
Population control methods and media-trafficking psychological operations
There is one problem amateur writers run into time and time again: imagining that their personal beliefs and the half dozen opinions shared by their sycophantic fair-weather associates actually stand for something other than a waste of refined paper products, dynamic story-telling abilities, or loosely strung together bandwidth-hogging static electro-fodder. When in stark contrast to one another the quantity of criticisms and insults are dwarfed by the generic quality of compliments borne of generic politeness, rest assured your material sucks.
Coming from experience in the business as a fourth generation pompous ass of the pen's mighty fountain splash I should warn any of you would-be publishers, poets, and half baked pot-headed think-it-alls that the next piece of explicitly poignant writing you'll be filling out is most likely your chapter 11 papers. They're the ones where all your shit is arbitrarily thrown onto the sidewalk and the treasury department sees fit to seize all your assets from your stereo and your beloved PC to your iron clad cookware and your salt-water fish tank.
Luckily no one wants the waterbed you bought eighteen years ago nor can any moving company be bothered to disassemble it so it's yours for good. However presumptuous and rude these words may seem I'm sure they sum up the predicament many of us writer's write credo believers have gotten ourselves into.
In even less simple language we find an obtuse explanation lurking amidst the dreary underworld of autonomous publishing where just about any crackpot who can successfully operate his or her word processor and intently navigate the alphanumeric lily pads of lenient bureaucracy lining the surface of this minuscule pond of Kinko collusion known as the independent publishing industry or some arbitrary analog 'zine scene.
In typical do-it-yourself fashion the eccentric author of the editorial nightmare that follows eventually took it upon himself to put out quarterly pamphlets full of bombastic bozos aptly called Nevermind Nothing Neither which fit neatly into the near-illiterate genepool currently producing the majority of today's low-budget periodicals filled with druggie drivel. The final product of which resembles that of a coupon-less angst-ridden counter-culture circular costing less than the postage required to snail out the few hundred individual copies.
As a synopsis of the findings credited to Auringe we offer a few words in his defense:
"... to this day there remains valid discussion of a menacing 'psychic implant' of sorts that psychometrists themselves admit they are but dimly aware of as their pseudo-clinical body of know how is rather limited to say the least.
They claim that the majority of subjects (I dare not call them 'patients' lest I seek to lay credence to their craft as a legitimate medical practice with procedural guidelines to follow and moral obligations to honor) maintain an independent anchor of their personality (a neutral proxy or non-player character) while under the contrived pretenses (read: kinesthesia or proprioception) of hypnotic trance induction.
Problem is, the inherent psychological complications of this identifiable 'split' in the psyche says nothing positive about the practice of hypnotism if indeed this split is seen as a necessary requisite to hypnosis as a tool or therapy agent. It could be said that the misuse of hypnosis on its own explains a great deal of modern scientistic (sci-fi) folklore dreamed up in the last hundred years or so.
This is especially accurate where the myth-marketing aspects of commercialized Newageism is concerned; as per claims of conspiracy theorists focusing on covert uni-lateral military campaigns, N.D.E.s, and reported cases of close encounters with extra-terrestrials. And to a lesser degree the influence of sleep paralysis visions that often sync with the abduction phenomena even though the affliction's symptoms are millennium old sans the definitive appearance of little Grey men.
Where humans originally got the idea to make money off of such lurid experiences we can only speculate, but suffice to say it's working ..."
written by Mssr. Heyan Auringe
excerpted from What The Fuck Are You Doing With That Type-Writer Now?!
essay courtesy of Daft Cunt! magazine, Trapezoid publishing © 1974
With such fanciful nuances fresh in our minds let us examine further base examples
It is these abysmal voids which frighten the mortal mind from inside itself. And although this subject makes for poor dinner conversation after six or seven shots of single malt Scotch almost anything can writhe its way into the shallow curiosities of well-to-do self-styled entrepreneurs. Thus we have a systemic solution to an individual dilemma: castrate the horse before your wife catches a glimpse of its endowment or you'll be plagued by hay in your bed henceforth.
Imagine shrinking or receding backward into yourself. Getting smaller and smaller the further inward you travel until your insular little grasp on the world becomes an eroded memory tormenting you in nightmares and distorting your reason with hallucinatory panic regressions and paranoid schizo conspiracy scenarios with regards to the C.D.C. carrier virus known to the public only as The Chasm™
What is widely considered an appalling travesty to upper-crust spectator-art museum trust groups like the wesoteric traditionalists and the hermetic party loyalists is conversely hailed as a visionary innovation in use of medium and range of functionality.
I definitely stepped up my game on this one. The central theme signifies do-it-yourself results to the white-collared shit broke working stiff straddling an uncomfortable chair at the office sneaking shots of fentanyl patch liquid between supervisor cross-traffic or the adversely blue-collared shit broke working stiff sledding a thousand pounds of 'crete a hundred and fifty feet in the air because some rich executive asshole wants the roof of his building to have a smart-bomb proof built-in jacuzzi pool.
In plain fact, The Chasm™ embodies the human capacity to over-ride instinctual conflicts and dissolve moral issues with cold reversions of logic and coarse revisions of law (tradition; old truth); the vile pandelirium nuisance lurking from the sewer to caution us of cthonic curb-side destiny.
They are the jolly jolly joy-drainers, and the jokes on you delivery jobs armed only with clever one-liners, neologisms and solecisms, passively-assimilative headworms, hypertrophied delusions of long ships and land war, and neuro-agrarian ambitions of mass infection, random satire or parodies or play on words or anagrams or acronyms or asinine alliteration, shout-outs with aimless promotional agendas, and even the occasional straight forward area of interest or practice or passion or proverb or jab at a particular person or their pet project or even their platitudinous pot-boiling precepts on prosaicism.
The contents of The Chasm™ we're chastising consists of obscure, remotely connected verbiage stylized as per the author with his timely wit which is unmatched in radio, tv, cinema, politics, or online. His caustic superiority which is wholly unfounded, but funny to laugh at nonetheless, and his brash and utter disregard for clarity, tact, brevity, taste, and integrity which has become his landmark signature as an artist and as one of the most protested figures on the Internet to date.