A Revolt Against Entertainment

There have to be obfuscating amplifiers of that which, without a decorative appearance, would be wholly inassimilable travesties of this era. At least for now. There is an irony which goes towards unnecessary fixation. The territory is marked out as a relationship between objects or states. It also conjures up resonances about which can be indicated unknown configurations.

As though the connection, say, between a bread-bin and a bottle of wine was somehow emotional, then how could we not know it was disguising a state of mind or feeling? If the bottle of red wine is a satellite, the bread-bin our planet, then the bottle of red wine is not necessarily a person. This is a futile game of doll-within-doll. When an egg is broken open, the dinosaur emerging, discards the egg. There is no relationship between such objects, only a perfunctory, customary observation of them. The bottle of red wine is not another person, I said. Yet it has been personalised in opposition, or parallel to, the bread-bin. The bread-bin, being "you", the bottle of red wine becomes your friend or foe, nourisher or provider. You are defined by your differences, but the significance given is imposed. It seems that such objects would have more substance, perhaps, if the idea was to create even more elaborate interpretative conditions. . . .

To stab at this black hole, this rip in the fabric of space, takes courage and patience. To relay it in a cogent form, is something like trailing a wet tongue from the ankle all the way up to the bottom, up the spine, until it settles gently to tickle the ear. It requires sensitivity, and as you can see, as it has made the journey, the tongue has followed an outline of embodiment.

It is hard to make obvious what no-one suspects, addicted as everyone is to significance.

What has been described is transsubstantiation, the conversion of matter into its universal quintessence. The wafer of meaning is pressed to the roof of the mouth by a tongue which, whilst remaining unconfined, takes on the task of dissolving the vehicle of association. Absorption takes place. The wine is emptied into the throat. The snow and the wind and the rain and the sun do what they will. The brain becomes witness to natural causes, as opposed to culturally defined prepositions or methods of translation. The reason transsubstantiation is without adherence to a logical route taken in an altered state or under prescribed conditions, is that it is always available under any conditions.

Relationships are by definition, diagnoses, and are in need of a cure. Fascinating as they are to study, they are always yet to apply learning already. Having pointed out their own problem, they seek their own solution in a separately preserved notion of action.

And without memory, without transmigration, we are left with the continual effects of deeds.

The divided sign is indicated by enthusiasm for, and attachment to, me. The undivided sign is indicated by passion and longing for you.

The divided sign seems to gather. The undivided sign seems to split.

The divided sign runs on implications, as though it was objectified. The divided sign anticipates gain. The undivided sign runs on definitions, as though subject to one self. The undivided sign anticipates release. They are both projected into matter by evil. Evil synthesises the prosthetic nature, drawing it to its source by series of crises.

Anointment of sensation and attribute is part of our consummation. The temperament of bliss is revealed when the divided and the undivided signs cease to steal their hearts from what they will. The ongoing transmission from one observer to another takes place, and electrical absolution takes place, by virtue of the divine atomic which is not realised until it is made relative to the divided sign by the compass of desire reinvested in the fires of super sensual nourishment, the origin of luminosity, that which decodes attainment or loss and supersedes effort or ethics, belief or disbelief, in favour of liberation from cause and effect.

The trans-substance of this consummation is attended to by angels whose various characters determine and expose by empathy, whatever appears desirable. Consummation is located through, and in, ever-evolving patterns spontaneously brought forth by psychic-economic, pseudo-telepathic means. These patterns are grids projected into the earth which serve to gravitate bodies in as much as they function actively and progressively in proximity with other bodies. Apart from any conscious aspiration or the need to escape strategic helplessness or the desire to be consumed, the state any body happens to be in is one of consummation, nonetheless, embodied in the mind. It is the body acting as love-in-death, an evolving principle of eternity which emanates from the super-terrestrial arcanum of mystery. In word or form or deed, this is only ever forever realised. The trans-substance is wordless, formless, radiates and is realised in action, word or deed, and becomes recognisable in the moment the super-terrestrial arcanum is progressively inhabited and decorated; when structure is dispensed with.

Having been restored to my rightful place, I can honestly say I am resigned.

I would not say affectation has me bound. In another more passionate era perhaps, affectation would flow from the lips and fingertips. It could easily have been today.

Motives have attached themselves.

Upon the mantelpiece, a clock walks while no-one's looking. When it gets to the edge, it will just fall and break. Then everyone will want to know what time it is.

The glass house is overwhelming.

This is the germ: nescience, without suspects.

How charming. That farmyard animal just gave birth.

How semidetached you must be. Or is it me?

The respect that fails to attend to the subject, misses the intrigue. Whoever misses any intrigue, never follows the plot.