oil in the hourglass
A spark from the blindingly
titillating forestry surrounding hits the surface of the cloth covering the
table with breathtakingly immaculate whiteness. The virginal vastness of the
fabric features a nanogiggle, as the reflection almost unnoticeably tickles the
tightly woven threads. Typically a weblike map of delicate highwaylike yarns
hosting heavy traffic of plates, glasses, goblets, cutlery, bowls, and
movements assisting the passage of that what is served, this giant of the
stately castle welcomes no such objects.
The reflection stirs the
threads. The cloth wrinkles. A wave of nanomovements deforming the glistening
surface spreads, as an input of electric charge is being pumped into the
circuit, thereby fuelling the pathways conveying the packages from the source
of power. A silver splash conquers the screen melting the ice on the frozen
display. Crumbling pixels evaporate throughout the liquid crystal storm.
--In a gravity-free,
i.e., weightless universe, mass is but an illusion of supercomplex relations
between energy and velocity.
--Cool enough. But, wass
the word for that hwat enables talking abt mass to start with, ha?
--U name it.
--Cool enough. But, just
don’t fucking number it, orajt?
--Yo! Cybmalness.
The silver splash spurs
the hypersensitive transmission through the optical fiber cable, infusing into
the content carried a cosmic contingent of scorchingly bright milkish
billows. It’s not a cable whose connectors ensure the transmission. It’s that
what is transmitted that constitutes it. The imaginary membrane enacting the
sky overarching a pixel empire cracks open. The void of the etherized pathways
engulfs the feed, only to reciprocate by throwing up amalgamation
half-digested, half-enriched with fresh ingredients. The vomit saturates the
screen with dissolving particulates of alphabet-infested, allergy-inducing
narratives. It’s not a touch screen monitor. It’s a ray-sensitive display. An
overflow of static fuzz abounds, digitized bubbles pour down the walls of the
fibers like plasma dripping from electronic boils.
--If velocity happens in
time, it is in some way linked to the manner space manifests itself.
--As a matter of
fact--off act, ha!
--Wow to u tripartite
stories : one is prone to think one had too many unsmoked books.
Verily.
/
As if each screen became
a component of the integrated device not necessarily limited to the ocular
sphere. As if the input signal reflection were saturation in reverse, turning
the walls of the castle’s pride into a spongelike structure draining droplets
of the reciprocated signal reflection into the interior, assuming the
characteristics of an organic hi-fi not necessarily reduced to the domain
of noise.
A stream of
pixelated plasma flows down the etherized alleys, thereby upholstering
digitized blisters with semiliquid tissue resembling, yet not consisting of, a
mix of gelatinized saliva, molten ear wax & snot-shot icing a mucus
cupcake. Cheese-mafotherphunkie-cake.
--Nowadays, the
communication channel seems to be contaminated by an overload of infectants
such as the vulgarized private blurred with the trivialized public, the two
thus fused into a watered down concoction of a mundane atopia.
--One would by no means
suggest that a remedial alternative be an ongoing worldwide freudian session
that would probably advance destabilization of distance masking closeness in
degenerating alienation, and remoteness in bewildering immediacy.
If messages and language
are in a reciprocally nourishing, somewhat a chicken and an egg, relationship,
then both are also, in a certain sense, linked to the time / space / distance
triad. If this relationship, regardless of the degree of indirectness and / or
immanence, inspires thoughts about mutual conditioning, it may indicate the
sound basis constituting the poise featured by both discourse and the extralinguistic,
rather than an unleashed, uncritical “freeing” of the two and the relationship
between them.
--Just as weightlessness
reigns in the universe that knows no gravity, hence tending to render distance
redundant, so does a harsh sabotage within the communication channel threaten
to entail a reconfiguration in the realm of the temporal.
--Just because the “yo
o’clock vs. me o’clock” situation inspires thoughts about disqualification of
the notion of simultaneity, it by no means signals accuracy of the use of the
word in question.
/
The liquid crystal
membrane cracks open. Released into the surrounding is a fuzz cry announcing
agony of short-circuited noise agitation. Digital neurons dangling from torn
electromagnetic tissue. Shreds & shards seep from an etherized empire. Hard
buzz for hard times. Silver splash. likemafotherphunkiephunk.
--Do thou allergize to
alphabetized puffing, ha?
--Me no likes it, ha.
--Did thou once utter
“to fuck with darkness,” ha?
--Me no likes it, ha.
--Hwat shall thou smoke
postprandially in an afterorgy of gravity-free discourse reigning over a
postapocalyptic ghostown of ethix in a wasteland of electricians-turned-esthetitians
, ha?
--Me no likes it, ha.
Wow to u, number-named
science.
Verily.
Digitized plasma foaming
into the reflection-drenched interior of the stately chamber. The tablecloth
emanating the record of the pace and intensity of saturation. Tracking that
what spreads : observing the input
signal now transfigured, yet not to the point of unrecognizability. The goblet
reveling in effervescent euphoria. The delicate embroidery, wrapping its
microuniverse, sparkles the message worthy of lux -- lumen myriads in the
direction of the looks unshakably attached to the protean content of what used
to be fantasy imagery shrines. Pointilism of blinds half-blocking,
half-allowing the ray stream to pour a considerable contingent of the most
powerful disinfectant the abysmal trajectories of the universe could provide
architectural specimens, such as the stately castle, with. Blindingly bright.
Disarmingly sharp. likemafotherphunkiephunk.
--Contemplate thou not
of fact-free discourse?
--Art thou not weary of
be / wil / der / ment?
--Shan’t wee be, too?
--Me have been for quite
some time now, aяen’t i?
Wow to u, number-named
discourse.
Verily.
the spark stirs the
snot-shot titillating constellations breathing etherized jelly into blister satellites
/ an immaterial wave spreads to the abutting galaxies / saturation continues /
an invisible billow flooding the universe / intangible remapping of dispassioned
transmission passageways / glistening patches spread across the ungraspable
void, flamy films signaling the archipelago bridging reclusive gaps amidst the
forestry vastness / all time style shadow cyborgstyling / storming the
buzz-corroded communication channel /
dissolving / all short-circuited noise sucked into the whirlpool-in-reverse of
the gentle flow seeping down the walls of the hourglass / webwiered / kesenem sepen yous.
moonshine oiling the
wavy crust of the river.
sunshowered orangepurple trajectory.
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