Break time. At the AMPM. "100% real
beef" hot-dog. "High voltage" coffee. Deep breaths of "relaxation" while
gasoline fumes season the mushy gulps of bread and meat down my throat.
sludgy sustenance. Re-fuel for the grind. Sentence fragments reflecting
my fragmented mind. Broken record: I've written about this before.
What's new? nothing new under the sun.
Here, how about a story? "psy-fi"....
Setting:
In response to rotating cogs of a people generating a sense of self, the Fractal Bureau of Instigation, which deals with nu_clear visionary Narkotraffik, launches Operation Institutionalized Re-vision: OIR.
The F.B.I., cutting edge mafiosi equipped with the latest in crypto-low-tech: drones duck-tapped with cobalt-45 cocaine and radioactive marijuana, are a very highly organized body whose job it is to keep the neon black market revolving; it needs this invisible, darknet ecomony to name countless excuses to pin down guerillas, rebels, and any faction that works towards autonomy and awareness by labeling such groups as "e-terrorists" and dissidents. By invisibly controlling the black markets, pinning blame and justifying illegal detentions were made easier. Operation OIR aimed its sights at shooting silent soundwaves through AM/FM radio that would effectively disturb the solidarity of the sit-ins. In fact, many would be urged to walk out en masse. Walk out as a means of transforming the system from without. A statement. The Fractals worked toward implanting these "walk-out" ideas in every minute structure of reality.
You see...
Many people live Somewhere. Some live Nowehere. And if you're anything like these students staging sit ins, most of your days are "lived" Otherwhere--blind spots behind the periphery, a plasmatic space where denizens of _____ dwell. It's a space where souls float and where cognizance and awareness gain form from the phantasmagoria of plasmatic space. The unconditioned space of Otherwhere floats in eternal creativity, at least it seems that way. A sacred coil that evades discovery with every turn that attempts to reveal its phi-psy-cal structure.
The F.B.I. has been trying to to pin it downl. Make it a science. Exploitable, Deployable. That's where the sit-in's come from. That's where your dreams dwell. Childhood forgotten trauma, there. Memories of pain and doubt. The F.B.I. and its mad science, trying to figure the Otherwhere out. How could it do that with these students disrupting the ebb and flow of progress? Re-programming was top priority, and the Otherwhere held the key (at least that what they thought was the source of the disruptions). no no no, reprogram them and let them settle, or call for "appeasement," for after the hormones are gone and they settle into their virtua-machinery of a comfort zone existence, they won't really care (unless it feeds their ego); after all, just be thankful you live the the United Universe of America.
I've been observing this from the sidelines. I'm a neo-universe wormhole space trekker. Traversing into and out of the pores, orifices, and rectums of time-space. I hear the FBI tapping and the students marching. Prufrock hides behind me.
I'm trying to figure out the plasmatic "blind" space myself. The Other day (indeed, an "other" type of day), a blow of -ism hit me in the face whereby my neck twisted so fast that I caught a glimpse of a shadow that looked pale as a ghost, and then it disappeared; I haven't been able to see reality the same since. It might be the Fractals at work, or it might be Otherwhere...after Operation OIR I haven't been hearing, seeing, thinking things too soundly. I think it's just that I have nothing else to write about nothing else to write about. write about. Nothing new under the sun.
#chale
Here, how about a story? "psy-fi"....
Setting:
- c. 1968, the parallel omniverse
- The infamous West Lost Sit-ins. Student protest, refusing to leave school. Want to start their own curriculum.
In response to rotating cogs of a people generating a sense of self, the Fractal Bureau of Instigation, which deals with nu_clear visionary Narkotraffik, launches Operation Institutionalized Re-vision: OIR.
The F.B.I., cutting edge mafiosi equipped with the latest in crypto-low-tech: drones duck-tapped with cobalt-45 cocaine and radioactive marijuana, are a very highly organized body whose job it is to keep the neon black market revolving; it needs this invisible, darknet ecomony to name countless excuses to pin down guerillas, rebels, and any faction that works towards autonomy and awareness by labeling such groups as "e-terrorists" and dissidents. By invisibly controlling the black markets, pinning blame and justifying illegal detentions were made easier. Operation OIR aimed its sights at shooting silent soundwaves through AM/FM radio that would effectively disturb the solidarity of the sit-ins. In fact, many would be urged to walk out en masse. Walk out as a means of transforming the system from without. A statement. The Fractals worked toward implanting these "walk-out" ideas in every minute structure of reality.
You see...
Many people live Somewhere. Some live Nowehere. And if you're anything like these students staging sit ins, most of your days are "lived" Otherwhere--blind spots behind the periphery, a plasmatic space where denizens of _____ dwell. It's a space where souls float and where cognizance and awareness gain form from the phantasmagoria of plasmatic space. The unconditioned space of Otherwhere floats in eternal creativity, at least it seems that way. A sacred coil that evades discovery with every turn that attempts to reveal its phi-psy-cal structure.
The F.B.I. has been trying to to pin it downl. Make it a science. Exploitable, Deployable. That's where the sit-in's come from. That's where your dreams dwell. Childhood forgotten trauma, there. Memories of pain and doubt. The F.B.I. and its mad science, trying to figure the Otherwhere out. How could it do that with these students disrupting the ebb and flow of progress? Re-programming was top priority, and the Otherwhere held the key (at least that what they thought was the source of the disruptions). no no no, reprogram them and let them settle, or call for "appeasement," for after the hormones are gone and they settle into their virtua-machinery of a comfort zone existence, they won't really care (unless it feeds their ego); after all, just be thankful you live the the United Universe of America.
I've been observing this from the sidelines. I'm a neo-universe wormhole space trekker. Traversing into and out of the pores, orifices, and rectums of time-space. I hear the FBI tapping and the students marching. Prufrock hides behind me.
I'm trying to figure out the plasmatic "blind" space myself. The Other day (indeed, an "other" type of day), a blow of -ism hit me in the face whereby my neck twisted so fast that I caught a glimpse of a shadow that looked pale as a ghost, and then it disappeared; I haven't been able to see reality the same since. It might be the Fractals at work, or it might be Otherwhere...after Operation OIR I haven't been hearing, seeing, thinking things too soundly. I think it's just that I have nothing else to write about nothing else to write about. write about. Nothing new under the sun.
#chale
No comments:
Post a Comment