Thursday, May 29, 2014

Transmission from Submarine#14 fifth transmission

Lord, have mercy on this land
We all gonna get it in due time
I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here
I’ve even stopped believing in prayer
-Nina Simone

 Police shooting frenzy raises concerns

“Mollock, whose buildings are judgment!”
-Allen Ginsburg

He opened the door and the first thing he saw was his computer on fire.  He felt calm about it and a little glad. He would miss his documents, the ease of banking, the images of ex-girlfriends in the information feed, the music library a click away, but he felt he could walk back out the door and keep going. Up and down the street he saw similar glow in each window. A strange fire had spread through the internet and consumed everything. That invisible world that deranged reality was gone. He felt his hands; he felt his legs, he looked at the pink light of the fading day. He thought, I must be having a dream. When will I wake up? I love the way those trees move in the wind.

The Circus-Circus is what the whole hep world would be doing Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war –Hunter S Thompson

Americans will never have the right to be forgotten
Ten comics that can help you understand mental illness.
Bombings could hurt Kenyan tourism

There is a common thought amongst those who study these things that Jorge Luis Borges prophesized or predicted the internet in his library of Babel, his aleph, his book of sand, and Tlon, Uqbar, and Orbis Tertius. It is almost as if a dream he had one day in the library or behind his poultry inspector desk had materialized and merged with reality. You could continue this silliness and ponder whether it was a pleasant day dream or the product of indigestion. Consider these quotes from the short story “Book of sand”, “…a nightmare thing thing, an obscene thing, and that it defiled and corrupted reality”, and this quote about destroying the book of sand, “I considered fire, but I feared that the burning of an infinite book might be similarly infinite, and suffocate the planet in smoke.” We remain uncomfortable with the effect of the internet on our lives but fear its destruction, fear what would happen if it vanished. It is a place of cat videos and endless outlet for our sexual desires and a place where you can see a grenade tossed in crowd during a hospital attack in Yemen or beheadings in Iraq and Mexico, a market square full of body parts in Nigeria. You can run a business or hound a teenager to suicide with the same tool. Obvious points it is for sure.  Real infrastructure crumbles while this architecture of image and dreams grows.

It doesn’t matter if justice is on your side. You have to depict your position as just.”
-Benjamin Netanyahu

We are like those old gods of thunder.
You are such a dork Magda.
Trying to have fun
Fun is not what we are doing. Lights and radio will go out right before we exit the cloud. We have a couple of miles of clear sky. We will look like nothing but a dark patch of the heavens on our approach.
Won’t their lights be out too.
Why do you think we brought those heat googles Kali? I am going to need you out front on the observation post. The heat of their stoves and tanks will guide us in.
Oh there are the stars. Lights and radio out. The mission is on at this point. We never heard a thing from the scouts.
We never did hear anything, Shora.
I know we can talk freely on missions Magda, but I prefer to be called captain.
Okay captain. Do you think there are only woman and children in this village?
You know I birthed two beautiful children myself. Who knows, if you ever settle down maybe you will too. There is nothing like them in your arms. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to defend that, but the thought of the storm of shrapnel and fire we are about to unleash on children gives me pause. I wish we had heard from the scouts. Ballast dropping, radio, and lights out. Kali out front. Launch the flare when we are on target. Not before.
Who are we going to kill captain?
Keep your finger steady on that release trigger. Think of that picnic with Roni when you get back.
That boy is so dumb but sweet. He told me he could find strawberries.

No triumph of peace is quite so great as the supreme triumph of war
-Theodore Roosevelt

Fleeing the tiny fists of panic comes our food to support people
Tired from fighting fires all night. All the furniture is going. Bugs are pouring in.
I’ve never felt like this before. I mean never
Twelve months since the disappearance #freeamsara
Is downloading music a sickness? Does anyone listen to what you download?
Do not summon the taco copter. What it brings are no longer tacos. Something unknown has happened to it. No one has clearance to destroy it. Just ignore it. Let it roost in its solitude.
Look at these plates of tiny burgers and burritos
Amnesia plague spreads in prairies.
I can no longer feel my hands
Cyborg monkey loose in downtown office complex. Multiple injuries reported.
Film of the singer’s breakdown
What are these hands? What is being shown here?

The end of the world has already happened and we are living in that apocalypse together
-Yan Jun

We’ve been living in a panic ever since.

Corpse paint and lipstick. SS uniforms and saxophones. Genocide themed dance party. Robot dolphins in the waves. Making out in the bathroom stalls corpse paint running in their eyes. Bags of flour tossed with abandon. A policebot wandered through stunning people and issuing arrest warrants. No recognized names on the downloaded forms. The bot had gotten the wrong address. The party fizzled and the attendees wandered out in a night lit by burning palm trees.

Will power plants of future use humans for fuel?
You won’t believe what’s under these ordinary people’s clothes.
How to text on an Iphone like a fucking rockstar

Amsara was being moved again. She had barely leaned against the wall and shut her eyes when the two guards entered, handcuffed her and brought her to a new cell. In this cell she could see her own breathe. A plate of food was on the floor. They had just fed her but she picked the mold off it and ate what she could. A man was shouting the next cell.
I didn’t tell them I didn’t tell them I didn’t tell them I didn’t tell them
The light was glaring in here. The man kept shouting. She shut her eyes. The sprinklers pulsed and woke her.
Two hours later they moved her to a cell where static and animal noises were randomly pumped in on the overhead stereo. The heat was intense in this room and the lights flashed.
Amsara had yet to be asked a question. She had yet to be spoken too by another human.

Oakland is giving kids post-traumatic stress disorder
Martial law selfies are hip in Thailand

Attention MOVE, this is America

Of all of our studies, history is the most prepared to reward all research, the white man made the mistake of letting me read his history books.
-Malcolm X

Pleasurehead danced around the discorporated cars. Ghosts were appearing. Katy hated her husband for the last ten years of his life and she hated that he had returned to linger around the living room. Ghost robots appeared to perform their old tasks. They just managed to move stuff around and cover it with slime. A ghost blimp hovered over Grover elementary. The kids gave up on recess after some initial enthusiasm for slipping around in the ectoplasm. The bad feelings were too much. Ghost cocaine caused overdoses and battered hearts. Ghost heroin dripped out of bathroom stalls. City wide car crashes and traffic jams from haunted traffic.

It tears through the walls. It has metal dripping from its skull. The monkey lets a long drip of drool caress the carpet. There is screaming as it lurches back in forth, seeming to be on the edge of falling down.  Dave wonders about poker night. He thinks of the watch he gave Bill when Bill swept up after a sorry hand. The watch that was his fathers. Will he be able to retrieve it, reclaim his honor? Will this monkey quit punching him repeatedly in the chest? Will this agony end, is he about to die? Sue Ann knows the kids disrespect her. She knows they scorn her gifts and run to the neighbor’s house where they pretend they might in reality belong there by birthright. This neglect shadows her every moment her failure to receive respect for her endless hours spent here with computer files, phone calls, pen clutched in hand for the entirety of meetings. The monkey was ripping her desk to pieces in front of her eyes. Her computer skidded across the floor; the letter she was writing blanked out, unsaved it would vanish. Her cup of pens disappeared, a slice of the desk skidded across her forehead drawing blood. The blood dripped into her mouth and she deliberated on why. Paul was crawling on the floor watching the carpet be decorated with his teeth. The coffee stain on his pants the olive oil stain he found on his shirt walking to the office. The long ropy strands of jizz the monkey is whipping across his desk. The shriek of joy or pain as this task is exhaustively finalized.

I am actually absolutely sure that the great god Pan slipped through some sort of gateway into our world, on that day.

The writer Sjon in reference to 9/11

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