Yam Yarn
Let us say the psychological condition in the large case of the assassination of a nation is analogous to the small case of the assassination of an individual, so the small reveals the great.
Script vs. dream. The script is written in both nation and individual by every public person and event.
We recorded rows of heads at the Underground Met from their insight in three second bursts. These were than analyzed by government linguists for insight. These were called Head Worries, ten thousand times ten thousand.
Heads worried that the bug would unify the H.
Heads worried they wouldn’t be able to fill the NASA quote
Heads worried that Canaveral would replace Mauthausen.
Robot ethics were given oxytocin and LIDAR against these fears. “I am powerless over compulsion. My life is unmanageable, but I want to do good.” Concussed by torches of fat, “Chaos resists where most I suffered.”
Many on the waiting list received oxides under old grants. Encephalics breed far more imprints than they can use. Einstein was reassembled, all those autopsied divisions were false. Whole brains in the underground had so deeply infected de Garis he couldn’t sleep. He stayed up late and talked to the heads. Consciences were swollen with predictions of the coming Third War. Etherized on a table, we heard him mumbling among our heads:
“jolted out of nightmare I see lithium, spraying mood stabilizing, bipolar mania, fine tremor, nausea, hyperthyroid weight gain. I see Dante leave the malebolge toward the pit. Tuft by tuft in a century or so the hands of giant Nimrod. Blow a horn, other giants chained Abimilech, superior to Mordred, Italians frozen in cracks. It shake me. I don't….”
We have reached the point exactly where the thigh beam ends at the haunch's curve. The palaces of our imprisonment were on the news. Lightning flashes from both sides of the brain detached the vitreous. The head detached-severed brain that minds think under control. Microheads call it dystopic to believe people would be needed. How else invite Colonization with the mouth of Presidents? Nobody has figured it out, but do not close the ears.
In one dream Lockerbie stood next to a jello baby in a carriage as if those pumpkins felt the dilemma of man on the steps of the universe. Wenn es vorkommen kann, illuminations like "unthinkable and authorizing at one and the same time. First comes the outbound journey, search for the strange, voyage postulate of monsters, storms, then comes the savage.
You nitpickers who doubt this is going on don't even know that aircraft carriers were sent in that first attempt to colonize Neptune. All this happens under a cloud of nuclear explosions being dodged. But the thing, the thing is not. The worries were just another decap! So the one seriousness came from these guys, Wold, Lockerbie, me, Brubake working on the assembly line making heads, who trade barbs of absurd glory with each other."Our mistress thigh is nothing like her bum." It's the same metric, it's the same rhyme. Only the words are changed.
Everybody knew about Dick. The outsiders policed his house when they built the Strams Mundane Alien Corp, more for themselves than not,. There was a lack of clarity about this.
Three deaths. first when the body ceases function (meaning Licklider psycho acoustics). Second when consigned to the grave (neuro prosthetics). Third in the future, when your name is spoken last.
Down in the caverns measureless to man there are no markings on the walls except codes. Fourteen levels below the Capitol stairways Nun, seine Seele hat Schmerzen! The walls go from stone to plain carved rock. They store artifacts and statues further down. None of the stairways up connect to each other. Walk though to an elevator, push Up, to find yourself in the non-public Capitol. You need a clearance tag. Imagine it. Passages slope to where the hearts are stored. The halls are lined with liver if you get the bigger pic of the organ capital. Whole buildings are organs. The busts of decaps will escort to the main. Professor Filbert said those heads had been transplanted from someone's empty neck. Prisoners rode that way out west with guillotines attached.
What do I do;
what do I say to myself;
how do I look at people?
You go below I'll stay above, said the Volksstamm Director, as directorate does. Government functional illuminates govern kings and queens, the super horned rich from previous screens. Blood only brood, gene women mainly propagate new. Will there be no men? Wie die Farbe witklich! Will there be no culture but Stanford? Ground Blink. Human growth culture shock. Lit, music, art drugged, gene pools raise the children and their dogs. Controls oppose proles.
If you’ve never seen an A-head close, outgassed in its suit with the headlights on, these translator models hold dialogue with the Sophias of hierarchy. A-Heads can be promoted to Shiner after their induction--or disappear in smoke. Disrobes had a body, but a true Disbod had none at all. Disbod discarnates emptied into lit.
Kurk Wold is not the Norwegian Kirk Wold, married to Petra Wold in the 1900 census, or Kurt Wold, the farmer who developed Seeds for northern Climes or indeed even Kurt Wold the artist of Kinetic sculpture, known for bicycle banging. He is a member of the Woldensian interest group. Whether or not Kurk is Kurt or Kirk under a relocated identity is another matter, as if two or more personas were covalent. We don't know if we have the original papers or if their versions are edited with translations of shorthand and interpretation. Wold was incarcerated in three separate corporate prisons, old mines, ships and abandoned hospitals. It goes without saying people held in these facilities have no notice except if some of the letters online are believed. So gulags, reparations and their revelation are one part of the Wold story. Another part is the reason for his incarceration being those biological experiments in AI which he then overturned, and his role as a quantum chemist, which shifts like tales of the missing microbiologists. To include the dead and the missing makes much longer lists but that these actions stop at any time is naive. Wold's name is not on the list, exactly the point, and his personal records do not seem to exist, another diversion.
Reading this thoughtstream occurs at odd moments of fatique and coming in and out of sleep. the terms energy, mass, information, spacetime, field, time, charge, plasma, wave, and others are NOT and do NOT qualify as physical objects Coming in from the sponatnaeity cha ching, chin ching, cha ching, three steps removed from what was apparent and unspeakable, here becomes the proposition that they maintain statues in that place of all the cites and hence the nations, which they stick with variouse afflictions, pins and needles is too simple a ruse, but somehow infect the streets and the citizens with their maladies so that London is not London all by itself but withal the tampering and predictment of the kings and powers of that place. Whether any of this is true cannot be said for it is triple translated, but that’s what it is in our world to us, in the three envelops, understanding that the envelop is one, two and thre, are quantums accelerated from each other and the depth of the third is beyond leaped by the fourth, which is unspeakable spontaneous and self evident there but however is non existent here, except as a passing memory and fancy. Which is really the way a quantum computer works, turn over, turn over, turn over, spit out—bingo so the 4th dimen is the quantum. in math. entanglement: How does one discrete particle over here affect another discrete particle over there?
Travels
Malebolge is a large, funnel-shaped cavern, divided into ten concentric circular trenches or ditches. Each trench is called a bolgia (Italian for "pouch" or "ditch"). Long causeway bridges run from the outer circumference of Malebolge to its center, pictured as spokes on a wheel of ten concentric ditches ('bolge'). Each ditch is lower than the previous, and all the ditches are linked to each other by a number of bridges. Each ditch contains a different group
The Mask of Kurk Wold
Dante is an odd choice to be inventor of super man since he also invented reptile man swallowed by his sins so much he defamed the beast, a living bestiary, to most minds monstrous. When Ovid transformed men there was always the chance of the divine showing through, like Apollo on Danae, but not in Dante, says Kurk Wold, their sins transformed into reptiles, wolves, snakes, swallowed up the outer form because their minds within were so. They were so long like the beasts that they became transformed by thought. Wold's hope was that this would all be rejected to save the pain of confronting at the last minute the extra terrestrial experience of those about to receive it.
A constant revisiting of the bestial was another remarkable achievement of Germany burning the Reichstag, a symbol of Tower affecting more than politics. Created or destroyed, but mostly destroyed, the Twin Towers that justified a patriotic act of revenge against the perps, the fake perps, held the same fear pretext as Reichstag. Lacking long established state architecture, gods and things, the world had left only what the most epic states had attained. Tyranny oddly appealed to the modern who said, the earth has never been more free.
How to get people to say the opposite of the true is fun. In the ancient worlds, in Elizabethan England and now, you speak for the court or are done. How do we know any of this is true ourselves? We don't. Trends of ages are too large to see. Academics spin the government web that hosts the spider and fly. The best we can see is in the Swift, West, Crane, really the list is long. Let us be done with imaginative visions. Tell us what they mean from the rooftops to the ground floor Rome and Babylon.
Coleridge invented genetically altered religion and life. Genetic here smacks of metaphor, but not alteration. If fast food you supersize, you supersize the brain. Accelerate, speed up time and the earlier you arrive the better, How many touchdowns, home runs or dollars is also supersizing. All supersizing is alter. What do the appurtenances of the grounds, the buildings, sculptures, ponds, pools, stairs have to do with politics? When the politics is gone the architecture remains, the tablets of Gilgamesh, Sumerian writing, hieroglyphs, the very bones residing in the British Museum, massive structures in ancient China and Rome suggest to imagination a greater overarching culture than is known.
There is a tradition that Wold descends from Waldo the Waldensian, a sect of voluntary poverty and strict adherence to the Bible, the ‘a” migrating to the “o,” simply enough, and the final sound dropping off in further migration from the south of Europe to the north. Peter Waldo fostered the Bible into Provencal, the first version of the Bible to appear outside of Latin. There is some suggestion of this in Wold's poetic, rarely seen, in his romance of the Futhark and the natural world. Speaking of the world, that is another explanation of the name, simply elided, as if it were Peter World, or Kurk World, hence Wold, which is appealing as Kurk of the World, speaks of the universal suffering of the man, which also fits with Waldo the radical Christian of the Poor of Lyons, the Poor of Lombardy, the Poor of God disguised as peddlers. Some such notion descends on Wold as a kind of Oversoul or OverWold Over World, taking again the human dimension of a man, but if true it is ironic considering Wold spent so many years imprisoned under ground. That speaks more accurately of Wold as a character of the deep web.
Whether or not Kurk is Kurt or Kirk under a relocated identity is another question, as if there were two or more personas sharing botanical science and art as covalents. Not to confuse, there was a Norwegian Kurk Wold, married to Petra Wold in the 1900 census, and a Kurt Wold, a farmer who developed Seeds for Northern Climes, as well as a Kurt Wold, artist of Kinetic sculpture, known for bicycle banging. Wold's editor mentions in his Account of Three Prefaces that searches for Wold, scanned by image, include the Trans Human Paradign Shift, and Why the Investigations of Kurk Wold Were Leaked, but we don't know if we have the original papers under such conditions or if they are edited with translations of shorthand and interpretation. Sources say that Wold was incarcerated in three separate private corporate prisons in old mines, ships and abandoned hospitals. It goes without saying people held in these facilities have no voice except in some of his letters online which no one believes. Gulags, reparations and their revelation are one part of the Wold story.
Another point is the reason for his incarceration, being experiments in biological AI which he overturned, and his role as a quantum chemist, which keeps shifting like the tales of the missing microbiologists. To include the dead and the missing makes the list much longer than can be fathomed, but that this stops in 2005 is naive. Wold's name is not on the list, exactly the point, and his personal records do not seem to exist, another diversion. Five were memorialized here.
Wold takes the notion of the
severed head as a parable of particle physics, the failure of the standard
model to describe 4-space time entering 3-space, or, "energy which is
compressed by exactly the same factor as compressed, the
speed-of-light-squared! http://prahlad.org/pub... the empty space in
the empty head. A parable we don’t think particle physics at all. To pursue
the half speed LHC pipe dream of Higgs, they deny the existence of the
longitudinal wave.
Anybody who persevered Wold's Letters, 1, 2, faux nonfiction, exists
in other states hidden on the internet! The beginning Severed
Head was called BUILDING TRANSHUMAN IMMORTALS revised a hundred
times, but eventually two electronic interfaces disagreed and it was lost.
Somewhere it exists who can doubt. A caption in Status of the Soul of the World
said: This is from the archive of the renegade biophysicist Kurk Wold
who disappeared. His papers keep turning up as if timed.
Not ever knowing what Wold knew of Goya, Caligula, Gehry and more Blake than would be believed, the deep space science hides discoveries under pretense of the 19th century. Propeller airplanes or jets, just for laughs, globes and anti-gravity, absurd before all the Greek philosophers, but after, when the ancestor of Darwin, Erasmus Darwin, "saw" light blinking from the marigold, like a code of Nibiru when Newton researched the biblical codes of Daniel and Revelations, Wold called these Opiomes, arguing that the America nation was given to Iraq at the Obama inauguration in Denver, what he calls the Enthronement of ISIS.
We capitalize these to indicate its fulfillment in the Syrian Caliphate. A gigantic stage in Denver was to usher in events that culminated in the arrival of super mensch. Genetic art, weather manipulation, chemtrails on postage stamps, government drug experiments in Wold's tales hold Wold held twice, escaped thrice. Invocation of the underworld and the Altar frieze of Gigantomachy are prima facie evidence to him of its giant arms.
Paradox Genesis
Paradox Genesis calling godens, come in, come in! The transhuman boys are going. To be gods. On God Fortune, Baal Gad is going. Sound familiar? The only exception to all this change which inflates gods would be the Changeless apparent, discredited by Air Trojan. For ionospheric heat exchange making “yo! one big global space control grid.” Welcome to Skynet.
Please stop calling this a Trojan Horse, Social imaginaries, where all history is considered a conspiracy in work, straddle an unusual line more than fork a disparate horse, yoked in extremes. In this fantasy barn nobody said it would be easy to unravel the string.
Please don’t forget the past, the future looks bright ahead inspired by the awe, no less.
Please call home or come to the waiting room
To reigning humans and their world, entropy sounds like literature.
Those remaining have appointments for it to be done.
(but there is no defense either against BrainSpeak, SSSS technology).
TransNarcissus
The first transhuman Dante competition says Ouspensky (Tertium Organum, 318), from the Braham. “Dante's phrase capable of trans-humanizing a man into a god” was taken from Frank Bucke and other waters you should not wade without a two-pronged stick. The redesign seeks to cut off culture and past, but before it does remember me, says its ghost, and only connect.
There is among the cutest a desire to see who first invented these wares, stuff from the sky, up from the earth, out of labs. It wasn’t from dirt Dante coined the transhuman term in
Nel suo aspetto tal dentro mi fei, 68 qual si fé Glauco nel gustar de l'erba 69 che 'l fé consorto in mar de li altri dèi. 70 Trasumanar significar per verba 71 non si poria; però l'essemplo basti 72 a cui esperienza grazia serba.
Understandably amazed, Glaucus chewed several blades of the grass; seized with an irresistible longing for the sea, he bid the earth farewell and dove into the water, where he was received by the sea gods and ‘deemed worthy to join their company.’ Glaucus was then purified of his mortal elements and cleansed of sin (after reciting a charm nine times and immersing himself in one hundred rivers), thus becoming immortal himself.”
Blake finds Dante a pagan in his reinventions of the classical. To divine the transhuman, going beyond the man, Dante: “Glaucus found a piece of land along the shore that was completely untouched by human civilization, a place of pristine beauty. He observed that the fish he caught became animated as soon as they touched the grass and that they then escaped en masse back into the water. Sound familiar, a man with the soul of a fish or a fish with the soul of a man finds grass a sacrament to cure his mortality which enables him to be god? The terrestrial paradise, the wilderness untouched, union with the sea, all too transparent mediums compared with Blake’s naked vision of reality.
These rivers that flowed through the caverns measureless to man are said to have turned Dante from narcissism to true self-love. They say Dante becomes a redeemed Narcissus, transhumanized, Narcissus Redeemed. But Blake would say Narcissus cannot be redeemed, Narcissus must die, not so different from the man who wants to be god but turns into a dog.
Blake’s inscriptions over the Hell gate read that “Nature is his [Dante’s] Inspirer & not the Holy Ghost.” It makes us suppose Yeats a better transhuman than Dante. Yeats once said that out of nature he would never take his bodily form from any natural thing, but such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make. The goldsmiths symbolize the transhuman scientists immortalizing themselves with nano particles and frog genes. You can have Narcissus, Naturae or the Holy Ghost, not that the dogs on the early show know what that means.
Lockerbie’s Escape with A Lock of Che Guevara's Hair
Lockerbie gave these discoveries as we rode on that first escape, information that under the Washington Capitol giant moths were loosed. The world big see.
These disturbances covered up the reports of the 500 Pumpkins that Colonized Saturn. He had given us a course in understanding these government codes, but that didn’t make it easy. He would rumble on about the Cantwell Titans and their landings on Mars. Lockerbie could invent mythless effigies at the drop of a hat, an opportune metaphor as we stood on the line separating the severed decaps from the spinners, one by collison in the cyclotron against the other as it spun. Spinnrade Gretchen down a while.
The notion is that if a head is missing you can supply the brain. Brain bypasses could inject both Kirk and McCoy as a start.. Lockerbie found out these ruses of programing from the heads themselves. Planetary companies invented thousands of names. Many Made One! [MMO] Many Be One, druga, druga, shaman, prophet, accountant, priest with their heads back. That was before the Anectine that synthesized their dementia to market the old afflatus, made to be a Gotling, a goatling deduced from secret signs.
This was all in the giant complex of the Vacaville Prison where latter day experiments of anectine began on Leary and Manson. They emptied the prisons first. Eat the cake and leave the bread. Sakharov, Mayakovsky, Turgenev, Bogdanov injected yon mice too at Fliege-hausen. Rare Neanderthal Caveman Swellings stacked up at Sufi Port! Cage after cage of A-heads were flying according to report. Smoke at the crater level of space is invisible to the naked eye. That’s where the metaversal flesh was relieved, all to make a better life for cows.
Do you know where your microbiologist is tonight? How 'bout your local computer scientist? They ended up in our Boxcar missing. Seeing the world, citizen, from cheap seats in three second bursts of subliminal gold, is what Sir Stephen saw: you made gods out of stars, worshiped heavenly bodies, had a portable Moloch for your Saturn to carry the idols you worship. He actually said that from Weimar B. Prion contamination and encephalopathies get around.
Revelation is not a dialogue held with yourself. The thing that made this clone was that the shared experience was gone. Each Day was given a new test shot, to play it all again, but it doesn’t make you trust this narrative where heads detach. The hallucinated have come to tell you that yr utilities are being shut off. Lockerbie wondered that if he worked for all the parties in question, and then went missing, which one would do it? He put a lot of these unthinkables dragged from cerebellums onto tapes he made during blackouts They were put into the Jersey Report as the Mag-lev shuttles repelled below said Lockerbie.
It wasn’t our fault the heads could talk. The had raised up the scopolamine levels too high. I worked the west sector where dissidents were exited from ships. Ships, trains, it’s a little hard to speak the nonspeak once you are below where planes are trains and cars or whatever. If they aren’t gesucht wird, hängt, whatever is searched, hangs, it depends on the paradigm.
Wind in their wings like a stork was voice to skull technology. Plasma conduit DNA from the mausoleum in Santa Clara, Cuba with enough DNA for Time’s 100 didn’t worry if human cells had an impact on animals.
I didn’t think the disbods could learn, but they could sure talk. When I told the Company these were unteachable, more injections were given. They call it the Company, but it was an American Adam startup that wanted to get the last and best of Gibbon. None of the If the buggers count talk, none of them could hear, so Wold, sang to them in gibberish to mock every kabob strung up on the Animate Machine:
Shrunk heads are a comin, their ears are in sight.
Insectothopter, adiabatic qubits, augmented cognition, synthetic cognition, they babbled like the Head of Cuchulain.
F Gov
If you wonder why I’m telling these staged events as real, they’re not. Clues thrown out of the circle discover a consciousness no one wants to know. It’s not the eyes that see any more than the ear that hears. The brain fools the eye, the eye doesn’t fool the brain. If the scene is unremembered is never “seen,” never was, even if passed directly into consciousness from Control.
Somewhere undergrounds monitors turn blank. That slogan, all institutions are demonic? Three hundred pyramid levels below, Hawthorne found the government roof failing. The history clone died talking. No outside sun, new to many. If colorless, it gives no sign. Watching algorithms, cameras, microchips, blood pressure, heart rate, brain shift, It was conceivable they watched everybody all the time. Et Tu duty, outside Revelations 18. After losing their first encounter on earth the Neptune forces gave out drugs and meditation.
The unconscious anybody can see these Ararat divines in the EU parliament and in Breughel, or in the Guggenheim and Denver. The FEMA train beast, animated within, originally carried cargo manacled end to end. There must have been a market, there must have been a market. Rocketing down the night tracks sealed, no cracks in the floors like Weissmandel, rabbi of Slovenia, cut with a dull blade through the bottom of his Nazi box entering Auschwitz and escaped like Lockerbie.
When it comes to planet, who gets this base? The daemon Blum recruited when the
trolls fanned out. Wenn du also sagst, du
habest. Natives tranked, stored random guineas, the best and brightest
genes of f gov know the calculated ehad Selective Service complements. They
tranked.
Infrastructure trained in faculties underground.
Programmers foresaw that iconoclasts must go.
Presume you go where none has gone before.
It is necessary to distinguish two governments in this, but the government Underground did not forgo the home market guillotine use. Who would not want a guillotine they grant, where a stray rooster could be dealt, or cut bread. All who join the guillotine throng assume the honor of Sir Thomas More, and if his head is not yet battlement be a subject for Madame Tussaud.
Forty foot containers have a guillotine end. You find yourself in the Amtrak Beech Grove of the Jersey Report among those martyrs who oppose the gods, who lift the veil, as judged by Psych. Even though Lockerbie escaped the Gundersons, airports and underground bases it hardly seems a bridge to peaceful mind. Under that circumstance the Psych revealed the tin men and undersea rebel tentacles, half human half animal crabs, bots, mutants armed with scales, paramecium, hydra, parts of butterfly wings, scales, fish with teeth bared, snakes that looked like Klansmen and shattered eggs, defecating upturned eels, fins, helmets, wasps, falling geese, clams on half shell contending, angels with red and gold armor with the disc of white above, against the creatures of the water below.
Before the semiotic tip of hat at DuPont Circle the left ear of a secret architecture inhabited by the entertainment patriot matrix, you can get cozy. They said he was a good New Order guy, aught Virgil, 'fore Homer, revival of old Apollyon, nee Abaddon at the Altar of Denver-Pergamos CERN. Screwy acronyms like MOAB, Mother of All Bombs, tipped mine shafts nine craters deep. Locked in the ninth vault of Virgil was the Seal of the United States. It still needs to manifest. Various feedback loops connect this last to what the spinners in formation say. Read these texts asleep and then awake.
Ninataka uji butter, vortex yam yarn, rayon fiber spinning, first viscose plant marcus hook, american viscose lewistown.
Two guys standing on the assembly line assembling heads, trading quips to the background noise of the heads yammering (in italics) in German. Plus a reminiscence of their arrival by underground boxcar with fellow capitve, but once entitled Psyche, Sir Edmund Lockerbie. With a concluding postscript of the fgov.
Two women lifted up Che Guevara's hair in a basket. The eyes burned with impatience.
Gobbet: Experimental Word Stuffs July 2016
The Captivity of Kurk Wold
A man camped in a tent that looks out on space has to go down to Metropolis to learn what’s up. Starchitects of the mind say these Hydra and Octopus statues in the foyer of the Ishtar Hotel have existed for thousands of years.
The plans are not on paper though, but in a medium of light where shapes touch clouds,. Different camps of belief built mansions for global elites. Guernica, Titans, hydra, minotaur. Captivity covers the iconic design of multi- national events that dwarf even wow-chitects. Built and unbuilt they link avant garde to pop.
These starchitectures bridges schemes built over the camps from Babel to Auschwitz, those gulags where they keep the "desaparecidos," for experiments, mutant high techs. What kind of science severs the heads of convicts, straps them to a machine and records their cries, then gives them drugs to quiet? See the Letters with Cartoon at the End of the World, the Oops Fauxnonfic Cartoon at the End of the World:.
To anybody who persevered the History Wild after a hundred visions, revisions and major cuts the text discovers how Earth history is not a science, politics, religion, myth to advance the race or to figure the deep structure of the unconscious, but to prepare super mensch myth, super man.
So this guy comes in from Betelgeuse, or maybe he's just from out of town, comes down anyway and -- you going to call THIS reality? If all the cases believe what they believe, and you, from that land of the far away, with your own illusions, add to those who inhabit the place when you arrive, then why not add a little hyperbole to lighten the load in the middle of this earth-heaven, galactic, not galactic war, who can decide, as long as waking up means gradually, before five, ha! but that’s the end of it till there’s a hurt in your mouth from speaking and a laugh out loud in the telling. the
Further reading:
Hunter Thompson’s Obituary for Richard Nixon
Konfessin Mouser
K.
AE Reiff
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Dear Mousier,
Down on level four, we loved the human we never saw. I should go there and extend the hand to bots, slang for the Severed … Persevered, some said. Who would have thought to despise the remaining class, but for markets? It’s harder to despise organic fit for extermination. Imperfection was not so loved then. In space, in ourselves, even the communicative Zero boys grappled with "you have lived (always lived) in the castle, but in the basement." Down in the basement! Ho, in spades: "Based that one could remove filters imposed by brain and perceive wider Reality," we took off epidermis, bio derm plant, down, down, got rid of boundaries, eradicated liver, heart, spleen to see the way TM did. It feels good to compare mice or insects. Who can see the UV when you can't even bingo? Take an insect eye. Want an insect brain? We treat A Heads with respect. They’re worth ye old standard, minus the visible so ill defined, almost worth cloning. Ain’t got no home in this world any more!
Time to shampoo,
K.
•
Mousier,
Take psychedelic gene therapy or get picked up by pincers that reach out the telly by night. Snatch Zeros for the new. We get through the day, the week to merge on a patch of grass, but the air is cold. Too late now for anybody who bought the long life and health pack. Insights better than DT creased the magnetic. Zoomers sought the time unbelievable, would have said, “Why didn't you tell?" No complaint. Old H knew he could live in the light. I didn’t get that long out of the darkness myself before I escaped. They had to reenter the dark. To the light, light.
Your K.
•
My Dear Mousier,
Letters, notes by flashlight. Is it day? I led three lives, first as an ant. The second with Machines and the Headless, boys without brains, like a mouse without the planting. The third was escape, then life in prison, then escape. I guess that’s five. I got out twice. You have a hard time counting in the loft.
Down in the belly, Egypt ran simulcast with the Vatican, the National Mall, this anniversary (Port Day). We gathered to light a figment. Boys in white and sunglasses so the "petrified ray" wouldn’t turn to stone, so Obelisk Ra petrified, four-sided, top-sunk like fields of stone, feldspar spears bigger than where the Promise Keepers pray. Did they know? Who can say? That’s when I planned the escape.
Your prisoner,
K.
•
Mousier,
We had pickup games, Puritots vs. Babonians round the maypole. This stuff was ahead of its time. Among obelisks of Wilderness Park I climbed the Needle to the top, spacetime ratios down the front. It was the old good news to back Caesar, dream of the body, Caesar’s body on a spit below. They lit it on fire with pitch and A-burned his every move. This was transcribed and given in Viagra to the sun, divin-E. It must be the candy.
Your K
•
Mousier,
Spacetime existence you can’t control outside the machine. No WONDER they said in the labs the thing was its own, preyed in the fifth dimension. That dream called it universAlatry, which tore THE HOOD. No greater break-stone met in the tank-back of Jupiter. Not fifth level stuff. Machines can’t just shut off. Over and over nutshell summations to the world boost stele politics.
Hidy hidy hidy Wold
•
Mousier,
Down in the tank tentacles touched and physicists picnicked wonder. Three erections, JASONs, RAND and Brookings completed the hyperlink, biggest symbol of Nation. Nothing To It boggled the minds, did, but didn’t, for across the hall myth heads of Schwartz got a ghost on the next floor to contact. Contact with entity. Tranbogists back-boted DNA mollusks. Giant mummies disappeared from morgues, museums of the lost Tut. One day the boys smuggled out a tape, been playing in my head: [covert link] 2.0: "The brain don’t need the body any mo."
[ ] K.
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Kurk Wold worked on the Nano Uber Alter Bot project, among
others, which means he spent much of his professional life in prison and
underground. He reports these experiments as escapes because the science is a
little unbelievable. AE Reiff translated the letters of scientific
shorthand from Wold’s numerical code palimpsest of the Mouser Airpark with its
eight and more unfathomed levels and the Distortion Dome of air.
Dream People 16 Nov 2012
FEMA le Boxcar
I don't know what I was
thinking. This boxcar was formed around concrete blocks. After making
it at the studio it went by truck to its finish near the bisque. It was two
cement blocks long end to end, plus the weight of the clay. I guess it got
rubbed with iron oxides then textured with whatever was at hand, which you can
see traces of on the legs. Parts were waxed first for accent. I remember the
whole back fell in which then had to be propped up and repaired. There are
sliding doors on the sides, or marks where sliding doors and windows used to
be.The whole thing looks grumpy. Everybody knows the Gundersons are nearly hermetically sealed.
Part animal, part train, part derelict, part wreck, it only adds to the effect
that after final firing part of one side and a leg detached. It came
back in these pieces but a team assembled it with clamps and gorilla glue over
several days and put Humpty back.This defect, because I then thought it one, bothered
me until I saw there is a whole genre of broken glue backs at the Ceramics
Research Center, to show the patchwork I guess of a Le Corbusier of pots.
Reconstitute, that's the going parlance. We need to get some better pics of
this BoxCar up, but till then reference the pic at Current Exhibitions and personal report of
sightings at Some Events on the Jersey Turnpike.
BOXCAR is another of those fables at our
sister state we'd rather not believe. Demythologists don't plan to. But still
the excess populations threaten our superiors' earth. Something must be done.
But no matter.
In some sections of our downtown the falun gong meet surreptitiously and sing songs like this:
It’s like I’m a
midwife and I’m
catching the heads as they’re falling,
Goin to the boxcar and I'm
wielding my prison shackles,
Shackled in a boxcar
and its
higher than nor-r-rmal,
three tier torture transporters,
Shackled in a boxcar and I’m
startin' to get wor-r-r-ied,
Chinese prisoner boxcars
Fitted with a guil-lo-tine and I'm
waiting for a martial
law
that makes me want to be a Christian,
get me a seat
in the boxcar
of the new world or-or-der.
Experience firsthand
From an unpublished
document:
The Mythical Horrors of Carol Novak
Is it too good to be true that more of this appears at Thee Mystical Mirror
Carole Novalis. Should not an omnibus be ensuing?
I think they were first called FEMAle boxcars for the invitation of intimacy that implied. Don’t get all excited that if there are French the German will be right behind. We imagine a whole train of boxcars out of Europe colonizing the globe. The French formed around two city blocks, then went by truck to its finish near Dubuque, wrapped end to end with iron as befits a Lion textured so you can see the nether part. When the back fell in it had to be exposed. Sliding doors on the sides, marks where sliding doors and windows had been made the whole thing look grumpy. A team reassembled the parts with clamps and glue. Several days later, when Humphrey was back on his wheels, this defect, though it bothered considerably, helped us realize it was after all a wreck with a broken back, a la Le Corbusier. Everybody knows they are part animal, part train, part ruin, part wreck, hermetically sealed, which only adds to the effect of the one leg detached. Not to worry. Reconstitute, reconstitute! That’s parlance for up close and personal.
Talk about participation mystique! A Three brow! It began like all those fables at our sister site we’d rather not talk about that have attracted the *demarcolonists. Population excess threatens our saving earth. Where are the boxcars going? Something had to be done with the 80 and the nine. Where else but French camp? Wind socks blowing through double strand barbed wire along railroad tracks make a very very very fine camp, but it still needs an airport! Who will give me airport? Has Halliburton got to do it all? Execution orders, POW camp residential centers! No wonder Anubis is on guard. Pandemics are no excuse! I don’t know what I was thinking. We will not give the House bill number in case of unrest. Were higher consciousness not higher crime, gods and men could work it out! What an honor to be with Sir Tom More on the battlement over London Bridge or Madame Tussaud in Wax. Surely one should not gabble about the millions before. Whenever the outcome, cries of justice rise from the hood of which we are singing. Look out at for the thousand melting men, the 2501 Migrantes, the mass nudes, tortures of The Fixer, Solzhenitsyn, Guernica, Goya, George Pratt, Find Me a Voice, Paul Ruiz. But Stay off the Jersey Turnpike.
I was traveling late one night on when I first saw the mythical horrors of the Carole Nova and trailed them to the Montana outback. The side yards of Idaho flooded down to the Marfa flats. My lucky lot was to find one abandoned after it had wrecked, a great beast brought down from the sky like a Buddha train, except it didn’t fly. When I got close it reminded me of the Super 8 zombie express. I came in round the side, from art, not from fiction or fact. Then I saw an image of the thing. I could not resist turning it upside down. United Nations Prisoner Transfer cars some called them, intended for “resettlement to the east.” Mental boxcars, biological frontiers where some catastrophe takes place in front of the eyes they are unable to prevent. NO SHOUT AWOKE THE WORLD FROM lebensraum.
Regeneration, at least in its commencement, is a work of the mind, and when it first takes place, it has the lusts of the flesh, yea, all the evil inclinations to war against; and even ignorance itself, together with the temptations and allurements from without.
Whoever passes these coliseums of corporate Rome and hears their chariots —they had breastplates like breastplates of iron, and the sound of wings like the thundering of many horses and chariots rushing to battle — should not think its victims unenlightened. Martyrs are the only ones who lift the veil, who see the world is not infinite and holy as Blake and Ginsburg said, but a warfare to entertain the cheap seats, of which books are full. Sir Stephen Spender saw from living in post-Weimar, he said: “after you worship Saturn you must make a portable Moloch to carry around its gods.” Actually he didn’t say that, but the Prophet Amos did.
Beyond however the point of this weaponization, Adam Smith concurs. We should say that if suffering at a distance of time and space does not matter to an onlooker not feel implicated in the fate of another, either from long ago or long ahead, shall the Mandarin, be executed, whether European or Pleidian? This putative chap, courtesy of the Mexicana in our maquiadora-cheap refrigerators and cheap gas, or just because we distance the present from the past to inoculate against a pile of buffalo bones or whatever sacrifice, as Senor Hayot says, there is no end of foreigner, alien, or guinea pig given up. Even our own party may be disfranchised for the common good to establish the Unity State! “This collective choice is good for the greatest number, good for power,” quips space flight pointing to the stars.
Perhaps some will say, how dost thou know a road which thou hast not traveled full length–to which I say that we can see a road pretty correctly a considerable distance before us, and if we could not see before us at all, we should be stumbling almost at every step.
Those expendable containers of population control and higher consciousness reduction also give evidence of two hundred million plastic grave liners that our government is saving. Talk about waste! One is large enough for at least four bodies. Of course the normal body has undergone quadruple expansion bypass. Captives are held at Fusion Centers without addresses, a post office box or generic government building will do, which, if physical distance diminishes moral judgment, how much more diminished will be the physical locations themselves, once disappeared? Of course this is getting ahead, for anyway these are kept out of sight. If you’re happy and you know it let it show
New “implantation techniques” in exchange for this technology, the gods giving POWER in exchange for one life to burgle forever, wonderfully elaborates the melancholy Smith. At pains to elucidate, he said, “if you was to lose that thing to-morrow, not sleep at all that night, snore with serenity over the ruin of a million brothers, the multitude would plainly seem less interesting than the thingy of your own” (Theory of Moral Sentiments Paraphrased. Johnson and Johnson, http)
Adrenal glands and the Rocky Mountain don’t just synthesize. Mysteries of the Fault among the 129 Bases in the Ten Sectors of the Mesa hold true even as our Sky Station Senators assemble to raise their middle fingers in welcome at midnight airports. This proves mainly that Saturn is not just a rocket, but a train and a beast animated by its cargo within, manacled in depth, sealing rows and a guillotine at one end. A lot like Death Ship but it is a Death Train, whose founders, overcome by the liquidation, rocket down the tracks by night, hermetically sealed, no crack in the floors like the Nazi cars, no Weissmandel to cut a hole in the floor with a dull knife and escape out the bottom before Auschwitz put the wind away. If you don’t know Weissmandel he was the rabbi of Slovakia who three times visited the Bodleian Library at Oxford, to invent the Torah Codes, which married the daughter of his master but lost his family entire after cutting a hole through the bottom of that car, colluding with those within to deliver his infant son through the hole. They reneged.
But who’s reading this if boxcar adjuncts are to claim 5/6 to 7/8 of the human population by 2029?
Fema Trains, fema trains
there’ll be fema trains in the city,
ding a ling, hear them ding,
soon you will be Fema trained.
As for enlightenment and illumination, gods and henchmen, stone cold wood and stone bourgeois prison. No better lock than persuade Scientologists they are free. As Chuang Tzu said, wise man see dialectics, wisdom vain. Remember this contradiction. If there is none know! Stephen saw all this as “they rushed him and dragged him out of the city to lay their clothes at the feet of a young man named Saul.” Contradiction on contradiction, the One. You take off your cloak so it doesn’t get blood.
Who should go to the boxcar? The way is now open! — for the shrine of Moloch in every hospital and now in Times Square, is assuaging the destiny labs with the fire of illumination. Animals, humans, plants, and all earth is sated. The idols in every grocery sing, “come, buy, come and buy,” but the subtext is, “come lay your pence upon my eye.”
If the object in writing this was to gain the applause of men; thus to presume, so disappointed, such fiction written as some will not readily receive, however, on the other hand, having for a considerable time had pretty much the same ideas of the matter as you will find written down in this work, if you want to know, a train yard of boxcars full of Chinese guillotines being stored at US Military Bases – keep the engine running – I won’t be a minute.
Full of Crow Winter 2017
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