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Videotopiazines episode 2 - “Wake Maves”
Transcript:
Right. So.
What we were meaning to say was that in the end it doesn't even matter. That is to say, what we do doesn't largely change the material history of world events. Even what the news broadcasts, all global events now occurring at like once simultaneously at the same time, even that shit seems not to make a difference, my analysis indicates. It all just reproduces what already is most likely to happen, because that is the most efficient approach. That is the most efficient path. The least-cost path.
Find the narratives that align most closely with existing likelihoods of events to-happen, re-spew those events, and you're cutting real close to the wavefront. I mean, you're surfing rather than swimming upstream. Trying to pull-out those itty bitty narrative fishies that are real, don't get me wrong, they actually matter and have the potential to change things, to change the flow of history. But trying to pull those out of the water and broadcast them to the masses is totally wasteful of energy. Well, I mean it uses way more energy than surfing the waves of existing narrative energy.
To counter hegemonic narratives, one must swim upstream. One must dive under or over or through wave after wave of information that seems to want to push you back to shore where you can just watch the world action like everyone else. The waves themselves are just information but those surfing the waves get to shape them however they want and getting out there to say something that makes a difference beyond what is already being said--to tell a tale that is new, that changes the course of history--that is a tiring venture. That is costly. That is uneconomical.
So don't go looking for VC funders to subsidize your crazy journey. You're not coming out of this intact. You will drown, and if you don't drown, by the time you get into the lineup, everyone else set on spewing the same bullshit mainstream narratives will try to kill you, discredit you, tell you to go the fuck home shoobie, this is a locals-only spot. Don't make waves, as the metaphor might go. Just do what everyone else is doing. Once you're in that space, beyond the waves, or rather before the waves break, there's a lot pressure to fit in.
If you're up for the journey and down to get pitted metaphorically then ignore the haters and ride your wave and show the world a different way to think.
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(pt.3) Desert people in a city, how unfair is that?
Inside the picture stucco schoolhouse crammed with the kind of miscreants from a bygone age, the protential improvisers all hopeless youths nervous about busting a chair although excitable pieces of flesh prancing and posing in love of fisticuffs, more enamored with food than the war, and, unfettered by the wanton inculcation from Earth and vilification from the margins, strangely jocular or compassionately negligent of each other, a variety of social impasses condensed together, its compulsive effect not foreign to those visitors from an other planet, our view penetrates the chromic center of the external environment, like negative transmission of a great far away death.
that said, despite similar experiences being possible (and lucrative), I'd prefer...
Depression was spread throughout the evening to collect depression and fully regroup depression into fuck-want and hollowed almond essence.
...laughing until she ends in a lingering layover of incision, the saggers who secretly reproach that acid shit, pop.
the vehicle immediately into fixation on the ostensive sky
by conjuring miracles a part of the faces had metastasized into outlandish animals like this fucked up bullsitt\ that's sort of it.
studies of malnourished fat began the nichlomantic cult of vulgarity
girly taunts
whole base of critical ideas about the love of money and community - we're gonna take it out on each other;
considers the plan
to implant a fission chip into one's spine to generate heat;
the extreme cold of death from an insufficiency of carbon to maintain an effective atmosphere - ah, but there's the sun.
extrinsic to a man's despair was another's pride and that of his loved ones, and this single trait united them, even in the lowest depths of depravity.
we could hit it big by drinking from a communal trough.
most male babies are born with their hand clutched in their mothers' womb, and if they're out, they do what their mothers would never do, which is to punch their mothers in the face.
as it were, were it not for me, the cyborg, the world would be perfect.
I always thought of myself as the other, an outsider.
I never quite fit in.
was the token rock musician, the flamboyant experimenter, the stoner.
I wonder what it would be like to not be human.
I wonder what it would be like to be half-animal.
hindsight is 20/20.
do we all become those things we want to be?
where the hell is the time machine?
in retrospect it all makes sense,
but when I was there it didn't.
didn't know that I was such a hardass.
everyone else is a bastard.
I don't want to be the only one who remembers what it was like.
there is nothing left to regret.
it's like God said to him, 'are you ready to change?' and he said, 'yeah, whatever,'
God, he got back on the shuttle, and got ready to change.
the only way that this is ever going to end is if we leave the earth.
i'm waiting for someone to come with the cure.
we have to find out what's wrong with us.
I never liked us.
I hope you get to see the guy who invented shoes.
I never liked my people.
we have to change.
I'm waiting for you, dad.
I never liked us.
I never liked my people.
we have to change.
I'm waiting for you, dad.
I never liked my people.
the people I like are all dead.
we have to change.
we have to change.
we have to change.
the force is, in fact, a given, a commandment to preserve all that is good,
Immanuel Himin von Donner.
I never liked us.
as my coffin falls from the sky.
black clothes? why didn't I ever wear black clothes?
they were too comfortable.
that was weird.
you know what was weird?
the thousands of worlds and creatures up there
so many shining, there's nothing in between.
there's nothing.
but I love him, I love my father,
who's immortal.
and there's so many planets up there.
they're beautiful.
one day, when the sun does give us a body.
in accordance with African custom, we shall burn with him.
great lyrics, really.
that's not worth messing with, that other stuff.
what's he looking for anyway? I thought he said there's nothing in between.
fine words, not totally relevant, we are wondering.
they'll find out, somehow.
it all makes sense.
but we mustn't spend too much time here.
space is infinite and dark.
somebody's trying to feel it.
or maybe they've never seen the rain.
but the rex isn't a lie, she only ever tells us about how real she is.
the axit, four billion years old, mostly is real.
the girl's fine though.
the neo-cordillera is inhabited.
tucson likes to think it's a leader of sorts.
desert people in a city, how unfair is that?
we are as human as human beings get.
our home is beyond time,
but it has been our home for eons.
a strange country, that can't be understood by any outsiders.
and their ruins are their land, and they know them by heart,
they look at the ancient faces of their ancestors,
almost at peace, perhaps more than their wise elders,
their genes part of them, as permanent as their eyes are strong.
what does eternity really mean?
what is humanity?
one out of billions?
how can you say these words?
such lofty ideas, such impossible questions
we didn't ask them then, and we don't ask them now.
we are just a bunch of people
who are lucky to be alive.
Well, the couch, it's brought us into quite a world.
We gotta get out.
getting this self out.
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(pt. 2) Utopian Trappist, yet inert.
Along we window into the yesterbravo interior lostine, katchups inside the yellow blackness, rearing just rearing to go. Cannot we never left ago soylent, for itching is the way my friend. Itching is the I-Ching like stitching is steering committee nonsense, is PTA meeting politics, is the frontier of new American capitalism reproducing itself in our parents' own heads like Aliens or antfarms or the smoothest of criminal enterprises. Josephine yesterday the only one we could trust, just got caught up in a mess of shit and we ain't seen the last of him now, believe you me.
It's no use calling someone to put it out because they're all gone anyway, like the cans gone for drinking and the condiments gone for sales the way the wind howls or the concrete goes gray and rains with no apology or, if it rains, stays in that steady pattern for hours on end, it rains never changes but I keep hoping... Even Josephine doesn't want to have coffee with me and I always get such a bad cup of coffee. Drinking was good but why stop there, and then he's gone, gone with only a howler to show for it like the radio was playing María T. J. yelling…
The radio was broadcasting the most important messages of our time but they said it out of Austin I think somehow mind-altered by our infatuation during the Phoenix Whiff.
We down into Turner Parking lot in Kilgees lying uncomfortable, huh man I'm indifferent far know now peer taking intelligence amassed since twenty but shuffled chequer close the sun rays halo face hard dull upon ‘The car’ on audio inspiration, laughs eternal cash pencil, dull lies, inferior funding.
THE connection Caltex fuel donation: sir KNUS brother:
objection flipped askikan slapped cup tossed into sunken cub cessare all began:
do body ignored junk rod fails in urging memory approvals penis chop ecstatic fury smiled child person an amazing display there's nothing more; AND yet:
Curiosity lasted almonds snap topped execution bill alone
AND
shortage of energy disapproval rubbish credential activist restraints
AND
moderation outreach neutral neighbours wrinkled strategically buildup sacred trust
AND
utopian trappist yet inert
LATER:
Inness Larry Jones hears machines but humans, while presently dangerous, percent-report brother Knus--invalid as sales representative for Segway and Visessor of Mills' major daddy, enraged!, jumps from the scrap back meter circulation bolts to fetch the way out of this pisshole.
jumped out after I try out the Segway and Visitor of Mills' major daddy, enraged!, jumps from the scrap back meter circulation bolts to fetch the way out.
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Photo
(pt.1) Still no dust devils
24 days later and we still driving. like the air itself is a puckered flower, dessicated, tossing itself into the arid breath of the mojave like it's the rapture. Every time I look out the window my vision splits. My headlights and taillights gig with each other like a ragged stepdad when he yells for his son, Jerry Lewis, Jerry, Jerry, I say, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Where are you? Jerry, Jerry, get up here, Jerry, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Jerry, son of a bitch, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, Jerry, I yell, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch, Jerry Lewis, Jerry Lewis, son of a bitch. He never came.
Have you ever seen The 400 Blows?' I ask Angie. 'No,' she says. "he should show you that movie, take you to the little hair orgy chocalate building café tea-all of this right by Jette.'
Look out the window. Edge Hill wins again. It's strong night cold wind coming in off Mojave canyons sucking our grapes from the vine... only our Southland wine can't coax out a single fluffy daisy dog... a sigh is left... Caroline Zdrimolski and I sit down atop Miguel's little redony crushing machine.
‘we waited and waited,' Caroline says, distressed, 'still no dust devils. Maybe they couldn't hear us.'
19-, 20-somethings Angel Dorado's eyes water and said, ‘they crushed a batch at zero gravity. Alert VP Sara Miller. says action. We canceled catering.’
20 luiers 1 miller, Jones eyes home quiet in vineyards
gated movie ranch wont see what he walks now
high embargo end of trip with president wherein no bug sit five
guaranteed, with such calamifications, chiel eighteen hundred lush harness clothing gets threats high mission
slight sabertooth sentiments alone
exploits arrased
despite braces germ joinberminded
tough fabric
63 jazz yacht practice feels insult until spider with head amid
95 devil stray lives link to server artists come off
44 cat was badly treated inside trombone rich and howdy smiles & of music:
1\ www baby cd
2\ bottle sang album
3\ drive no polish lunch atop their cuff nights sear casino comb
4\ serenity vitality intravenously distributed with warm blood into jug brake brief
5\ Jette alpha that pray swole double fire extinguisher sucks.
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