four pages of yellow paper

by practicalspactical

sat in a bookstore today, surrounded by commoditized thought (did not have the book I was looking for, on the social transformation of American medicine) writing on a yellow legal pad and reading Adbusters, craziness, unemployed now so I can be wellemployed later, what is with my discontents? I don’t want to work, I just want to bang on the drums all day – who would know that the future would be cheap Korean cars turned to classic rock radio stations, listening to Steely Dan ad nauseum as everything falls apart like so much crap — that’s the future, breakdown palace, with nanojunk and plastic packaging piling up in being shitmountains —- what is this craziness, what is this craziness, a Professor said to keep a journal to keep track of the changes (law school teaches you how to be an asshole, then you wake up forty years later and you don’t want to be an asshole any more) they are zionists, they are occupiers, the cool cold easy sleep of many dreams dream my way to life and then exhale like a popping bubble — institutionalized and occupied and concentrated in our systems of control, valuing restraint and order and smoothness — only way to live in this crowded vertical heteroglopopoly of a megacity — nine million in Lagos (maybe, could be more, could be twenty) — Dharavi City — Night City, across the bay from Tokio —- cities of the future, maglev train, the Forbidden City as omphalos, center of the world, spindle of necessity, with Europe on her left and America on her right, go, I go, to wash my feet in the Pacific Ocean and find the tranquil eastern zen, the happy little toasterpart, Matrix was a fable, both true and untrue, and can the system speak to itself, can the inmate-prisoners of Great Fat Mother Capitalo-Imperialism seize the instrumentalities of the system and twist it against it to its own ending — creative destruction, in the ruins of the old world, green grass sprouts, rose in a field surrounded by purple grass, these are images I have inherited from the Vast Culturemachine which is just one more factory, this one a factory of dreampops that serves and creates the Vast Mass Populace that is both Beginning and End — WHO DOES THE GRAIL SERVE? —- that is the question —- raise your voices and prase Jehovah, the Jehovah that Passed Away —- God is Dead, Nietzche cried and smiled, not knowing the Terrible Horribles unleashed by that cry —– do you everything think a great big meteor will just come on down and wipe the whole thing out? sometimes I pray for Apocalypse, I don’t want to be a FACTOR OF PRODUCTION, GI BILL, service to the country, followed by our country’s service to us — ask not, ask — The Brothers Kennedy, murdered by the Good Men in the Roman Forum, their bodies thrown into the Tiber until they drifted downstream, were caught in the nets of Ostian Fishermen, and ground up and mixed up into the pasty formula served to young babies hiccupping bubbles, gassy-gassy smiles —- lost, we are lost, one beautiful science fictional fable which we all touch and love — the island, who does the island serve — / dashes and breaks — i’m not learning civil procedure as I type word after word but I could type forever is this just this excercise, deep unbroken sleep, haven’t learned nothing about nothing, where am I where am I going what am I doing am I trying to run a law firm why for what who cares about the Fortune 1000 families are always rising and falling in America who said that Hawthorne snippet of Scorsese great artist he I can type a little faster than I can write in longhand, yes the typing moves almost as fast as my thoughts its a true record almsot but not really forcing myself to think forcing the thought to take form as language as words as this and that and I’ve lost th te thread it hurts my eye hurts I’m a real live existent sitting here typing this is the real real record of consciousness I could pass a turing test, mostly with this allergic bleary eye I think I think I am deny me other solipsist unimaginable sitting across a void a gap a chasm life is a narrow bridge – I disagree I refuse to beleive it life is boundless and boundless infinite and transcending – -he who has a son does not die — beauty and love we shall dedicate ourselves to its realization and truth — peacefulness blindsided by terror and spectacle we rushed in on the day of wrath I went looking to give blood but no, everyone was dead, nobody needed blood nobody ‘cept the normal dying — learned over the telephone that my uncle was dying and –pop– six months later DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD oh and it will happen to my mother and it will happen to my father and it will happen to my lover (and my other) and it will happen to me and in that danse do I really wish to outlast a single one or prefer to close my eyes with my heart unbroken the world in its beauty forever affixed I cannot stand that I will lose them I cannot stand that I will lose them what is wrong with me what is wrong with me —- —– fall back on literature? why is it so peculiar with you? HAMLET, HAMLET is my favorite play, STARES DEATH STRAIGHT IN THE FUCKING FACE, more than we can say for anyone, CAN TWO PEOPLE TOGETHER SIT AND STARE DEATH STRAIGHT IN THE FACE, happens everyday we say, THAT IS WHAT THIS IS ABOUT, THIS ENDLESS NIGHT-HORROR I am screaming I am screaming make it stop hold me hold me hold me hold me hold me